MY "FIRST HALF" AT SALEM HOUSE.
School began in earnest next day. A profound impression was made upon
me, I remember, by the roar of voices in the schoolroom suddenly
becoming hushed as death when Mr. Creakle entered after breakfast, and
stood in the doorway looking round upon us like a giant in a story-book
surveying his captives.
Tungay stood at Mr. Creakle's elbow. He had no occasion, I thought, to
cry out "Silence!" so ferociously, for the boys were all struck
speechless and motionless.
Mr. Creakle was seen to speak, and Tungay was heard, to this effect.
"Now, boys, this is a new half. Take care what you're about, in this new
half. Come fresh up to the lessons, I advise you, for I come fresh up to
the punishment. I won't flinch. It will be of no use your rubbing
yourselves; you won't rub the marks out that I shall give you. Now get
to work, every boy!"
When this dreadful exordium was over, and Tungay had stumped out again,
Mr. Creakle came to where I sat, and told me that if I were famous for
biting, he was famous for biting, too. He then showed me the cane, and
asked me what I thought of _that_, for a tooth? Was it a sharp tooth,
hey? Was it a double tooth, hey? Had it a deep prong, hey? Did it bite,
hey? Did it bite? At every question he gave me a fleshy cut with it that
made me writhe; so I was very soon made free of Salem House (as
Steerforth said), and very soon in tears also.
Not that I mean to say these were special marks of distinction, which
only I received. On the contrary, a large majority of the boys
(especially the smaller ones) were visited with similar instances of
notice, as Mr. Creakle made the round of the schoolroom. Half the
establishment was writhing and crying, before the day's work began; and
how much of it had writhed and cried before the day's work was over, I
am really afraid to recollect, lest I should seem to exaggerate.
I should think there never can have been a man who enjoyed his
profession more than Mr. Creakle did. He had a delight in cutting at the
boys, which was like the satisfaction of a craving appetite. I am
confident that he couldn't resist a chubby boy, especially; that there
was a fascination in such a subject, which made him restless in his
mind, until he had scored and marked him for the day. I was chubby
myself, and ought to know. I am sure when I think of the fellow now, my
blood rises against him with the disinterested indignation I should feel
if I could have known all about him without having ever been in his
power; but it rises hotly, because I know him to have been an incapable
brute, who had no more right to be possessed of the great trust he held,
than to be Lord High Admiral, or Commander-in-chief: in either of which
capacities, it is probable that he would have done infinitely less
mischief.
Miserable little propitiators of a remorseless Idol, how abject we were
to him! What a launch in life I think it now, on looking back, to be so
mean and servile to a man of such parts and pretensions!
Here I sit at the desk again, watching his eye--humbly watching his eye,
as he rules a cyphering-book for another victim whose hands have just
been flattened by that identical ruler, and who is trying to wipe the
sting out with a pocket-handkerchief. I have plenty to do. I don't watch
his eye in idleness, but because I am morbidly attracted to it, in a
dread desire to know what he will do next, and whether it will be my
turn to suffer, or somebody else's. A lane of small boys beyond me, with
the same interest in his eye, watch it too. I think he knows it, though
he pretends he don't. He makes dreadful mouths as he rules the
cyphering-book; and now he throws his eye sideways down our lane, and we
all droop over our books and tremble. A moment afterwards we are again
eyeing him. An unhappy culprit, found guilty of imperfect exercise,
approaches at his command. The culprit falters excuses, and professes a
determination to do better to-morrow. Mr. Creakle cuts a joke before he
beats him, and we laugh at it,--miserable little dogs, we laugh, with
our visages as white as ashes, and our hearts sinking into our boots.
Here I sit at the desk again, on a drowsy summer afternoon. A buzz and
hum go up around me, as if the boys were so many blue-bottles. A cloggy
sensation of the lukewarm fat of meat is upon me (we dined an hour or
two ago), and my head is as heavy as so much lead. I would give the
world to go to sleep. I sit with my eye on Mr. Creakle, blinking at him
like a young owl; when sleep overpowers me for a minute, he still looms
through my slumber, ruling those cyphering-books; until he softly comes
behind me and wakes me to plainer perception of him, with a red ridge
across my back.
Here I am in the playground, with my eye still fascinated by him, though
I can't see him. The window at a little distance from which I know he is
having his dinner, stands for him, and I eye that instead. If he shows
his face near it, mine assumes an imploring and submissive expression.
If he looks out through the glass, the boldest boy (Steerforth excepted)
stops in the middle of a shout or yell, and becomes contemplative. One
day, Traddles (the most unfortunate boy in the world) breaks that window
accidentally, with a ball. I shudder at this moment with the tremendous
sensation of seeing it done, and feeling that the ball has bounded on to
Mr. Creakle's sacred head.
Poor Traddles! In a tight sky-blue suit that made his arms and legs like
German sausages, or roly-poly puddings, he was the merriest and most
miserable of all the boys. He was always being caned--I think he was
caned every day that half-year, except one holiday Monday when he was
only ruler'd on both hands--and was always going to write to his uncle
about it, and never did. After laying his head on the desk for a little
while, he would cheer up, somehow, begin to laugh again, and draw
skeletons all over his slate, before his eyes were dry. I used at first
to wonder what comfort Traddles found in drawing skeletons; and for some
time looked upon him as a sort of hermit, who reminded himself by those
symbols of mortality that caning couldn't last for ever. But I believe
he only did it because they were easy, and didn't want any features.
He was very honorable, Traddles was; and held it as a solemn duty in the
boys to stand by one another. He suffered for this on several occasions;
and particularly once, when Steerforth laughed in church, and the Beadle
thought it was Traddles, and took him out. I see him now, going away in
custody, despised by the congregation. He never said who was the real
offender, though he smarted for it next day, and was imprisoned so many
hours that he came forth with a whole churchyard-full of skeletons
swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But he had his reward.
Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles, and we all
felt that to be the highest praise. For my part, I could have gone
through a good deal (though I was much less brave than Traddles, and
nothing like so old) to have won such a recompense.
To see Steerforth walk to church before us, arm-in-arm with Miss
Creakle, was one of the great sights of my life. I didn't think Miss
Creakle equal to little Em'ly in point of beauty, and I didn't love her
(I didn't dare); but I thought her a young lady of extraordinary
attractions, and in point of gentility not to be surpassed. When
Steerforth, in white trousers, carried her parasol for her, I felt proud
to know him; and believed that she could not choose but adore him with
all her heart. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both notable personages in my
eyes; but Steerforth was to them what the sun was to two stars.
[Illustration: Steerforth and Mr. Mell.]
Steerforth continued his protection of me, and proved a very useful
friend; since nobody dared to annoy one whom he honored with his
countenance. He couldn't--or at all events, he didn't--defend me from
Mr. Creakle, who was very severe with me; but whenever I had been
treated worse than usual, he always told me that I wanted a little of
his pluck, and that he wouldn't have stood it himself; which I felt he
intended for encouragement, and considered to be very kind of him. There
was one advantage, and only one that I know of, in Mr. Creakle's
severity. He found my placard in his way, when he came up or down behind
the form on which I sat, and wanted to make a cut at me in passing; for
this reason it was soon taken off, and I saw it no more.
An accidental circumstance cemented the intimacy between Steerforth and
me, in a manner that inspired me with great pride and satisfaction,
though it sometimes led to inconvenience. It happened on one occasion,
when he was doing me the honor of talking to me in the playground,
that I hazarded the observation that something or somebody--I forget
what now--was like something or somebody in Peregrine Pickle. He said
nothing at the time; but when I was going to bed at night, asked me if
I had got that book.
I told him no, and explained how it was that I had read it, and all
those other books of which I have made mention.
"And do you recollect them?" Steerforth said.
Oh yes, I replied; I had a good memory, and I believed I recollected
them very well.
"Then I tell you what, young Copperfield," said Steerforth, "you shall
tell 'em to me. I can't get to sleep very early at night, and I
generally wake rather early in the morning. We'll go over 'em one after
another. We'll make some regular Arabian Nights of it."
I felt extremely flattered by this arrangement, and we commenced
carrying it into execution that very evening. What ravages I committed
on my favorite authors in the course of my interpretation of them, I am
not in a condition to say, and should be very unwilling to know; but I
had a profound faith in them, and I had, to the best of my belief, a
simple, earnest manner of narrating what I did narrate; and these
qualities went a long way.
The drawback was, that I was often sleepy at night, or out of spirits
and indisposed to resume the story; and then it was rather hard work,
and it must be done; for to disappoint or displease Steerforth was of
course out of the question. In the morning, too, when I felt weary and
should have enjoyed another hour's repose very much, it was a tiresome
thing to be roused, like the Sultana Scheherazade, and forced into a
long story before the getting-up bell rang; but Steerforth was resolute;
and as he explained to me, in return, my sums and exercises, and
anything in my tasks that was too hard for me, I was no loser by the
transaction. Let me do myself justice, however. I was moved by no
interested or selfish motive, nor was I moved by fear of him. I admired
and loved him, and his approval was return enough. It was so precious to
me that I look back on these trifles, now, with an aching heart.
Steerforth was considerate, too; and showed his consideration, in one
particular instance, in an unflinching manner that was a little
tantalising, I suspect, to poor Traddles and the rest. Peggotty's
promised letter--what a comfortable letter it was!--arrived before "the
half" was many weeks old; and with it a cake in a perfect nest of
oranges, and two bottles of cowslip wine. This treasure, as in duty
bound, I laid at the feet of Steerforth, and begged him to dispense.
"Now, I'll tell you what, young Copperfield," said he: "the wine shall
be kept to wet your whistle when you are story-telling."
I blushed at the idea, and begged him, in my modesty, not to think of
it. But he said he had observed I was sometimes hoarse--a little roopy
was his exact expression--and it should be, every drop, devoted to the
purpose he had mentioned. Accordingly, it was locked up in his box, and
drawn off by himself in a phial, and administered to me through a piece
of quill in the cork, when I was supposed to be in want of a
restorative. Sometimes, to make it a more sovereign specific, he was so
kind as to squeeze orange juice into it, or to stir it up with ginger,
or dissolve a peppermint drop in it; and although I cannot assert that
the flavour was improved by these experiments, or that it was exactly
the compound one would have chosen for a stomachic, the last thing at
night and the first thing in the morning, I drank it gratefully and was
very sensible of his attention.
We seem, to me, to have been months over Peregrine, and months more over
the other stories. The institution never flagged for want of a story, I
am certain; and the wine lasted out almost as well as the matter. Poor
Traddles--I never think of that boy but with a strange disposition to
laugh, and with tears in my eyes--was a sort of chorus, in general; and
affected to be convulsed with mirth at the comic parts, and to be
overcome with fear when there was any passage of an alarming character
in the narrative. This rather put me out, very often. It was a great
jest of his, I recollect, to pretend that he couldn't keep his teeth
from chattering, whenever mention was made of an Alguazil in connexion
with the adventures of Gil Blas; and I remember, when Gil Blas met the
captain of the robbers in Madrid, this unlucky joker counterfeited such
an ague of terror, that he was overheard by Mr. Creakle, who was
prowling about the passage, and handsomely flogged for disorderly
conduct in the bedroom.
Whatever I had within me that was romantic and dreamy, was encouraged by
so much story-telling in the dark; and in that respect the pursuit may
not have been very profitable to me. But the being cherished as a kind
of plaything in my room, and the consciousness that this accomplishment
of mine was bruited about among the boys, and attracted a good deal of
notice to me though I was the youngest there, stimulated me to exertion.
In a school carried on by sheer cruelty, whether it is presided over by
a dunce or not, there is not likely to be much learnt. I believe our
boys were, generally, as ignorant a set as any schoolboys in existence;
they were too much troubled and knocked about to learn; they could no
more do that to advantage, than any one can do anything to advantage in
a life of constant misfortune, torment, and worry. But my little vanity,
and Steerforth's help, urged me on somehow; and without saving me from
much, if anything, in the way of punishment, made me, for the time I was
there, an exception to the general body, insomuch that I did steadily
pick up some crumbs of knowledge.
In this I was much assisted by Mr. Mell, who had a liking for me that I
am grateful to remember. It always gave me pain to observe that
Steerforth treated him with systematic disparagement, and seldom lost an
occasion of wounding his feelings, or inducing others to do so. This
troubled me the more for a long time, because I had soon told
Steerforth, from whom I could no more keep such a secret, than I could
keep a cake or any other tangible possession, about the two old women
Mr. Mell had taken me to see; and I was always afraid that Steerforth
would let it out, and twit him with it.
We little thought any one of us, I dare say, when I ate my breakfast
that first morning, and went to sleep under the shadow of the peacock's
feathers to the sound of the flute, what consequences would come of the
introduction into those alms-houses of my insignificant person. But the
visit had its unforeseen consequences; and of a serious sort, too, in
their way.
One day when Mr. Creakle kept the house from indisposition, which
naturally diffused a lively joy through the school, there was a good
deal of noise in the course of the morning's work. The great relief and
satisfaction experienced by the boys made them difficult to manage; and
though the dreaded Tungay brought his wooden leg in twice or thrice, and
took notes of the principal offenders' names, no great impression was
made by it, as they were pretty sure of getting into trouble to-morrow
do what they would, and thought it wise, no doubt, to enjoy themselves
to-day.
It was, properly, a half-holiday; being Saturday. But as the noise in
the playground would have disturbed Mr. Creakle, and the weather was not
favorable for going out walking, we were ordered into school in the
afternoon, and set some lighter tasks than usual, which were made for
the occasion. It was the day of the week on which Mr. Sharp went out to
get his wig curled; so Mr. Mell, who always did the drudgery, whatever
it was, kept school by himself.
If I could associate the idea of a bull or a bear with any one so mild
as Mr. Mell, I should think of him, in connexion with that afternoon
when the uproar was at its height, as of one of those animals, baited by
a thousand dogs. I recall him bending his aching head, supported on his
bony hand, over the book on his desk, and wretchedly endeavouring to get
on with his tiresome work, amidst an uproar that might have made the
Speaker of the House of Commons giddy. Boys started in and out of their
places, playing at puss in the corner with other boys; there were
laughing boys, singing boys, talking boys, dancing boys, howling boys;
boys shuffled with their feet, boys whirled about him, grinning, making
faces, mimicking him behind his back and before his eyes: mimicking his
poverty, his boots, his coat, his mother, everything belonging to him
that they should have had consideration for.
"Silence!" cried Mr. Mell, suddenly rising up, and striking his desk
with the book. "What does this mean! It's impossible to bear it. It's
maddening. How can you do it to me, boys?"
It was my book that he struck his desk with; and as I stood beside him,
following his eye as it glanced round the room, I saw the boys all stop,
some suddenly surprised, some half afraid, and some sorry perhaps.
Steerforth's place was at the bottom of the school, at the opposite end
of the long room. He was lounging with his back against the wall, and
his hands in his pockets, and looked at Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up
as if he were whistling, when Mr. Mell looked at him.
"Silence, Mr. Steerforth!" said Mr. Mell.
"Silence yourself," said Steerforth, turning red. "Whom are you talking
to?"
"Sit down," said Mr. Mell.
"Sit down yourself," said Steerforth, "and mind your business."
There was a titter, and some applause; but Mr. Mell was so white, that
silence immediately succeeded; and one boy, who had darted out behind
him to imitate his mother again, changed his mind, and pretended to want
a pen mended.
"If you think, Steerforth," said Mr. Mell, "that I am not acquainted
with the power you can establish over any mind here"--he laid his hand,
without considering what he did (as I supposed), upon my head--"or that
I have not observed you, within a few minutes, urging your juniors on to
every sort of outrage against me, you are mistaken."
"I don't give myself the trouble of thinking at all about you," said
Steerforth, coolly; "so I'm not mistaken, as it happens."
"And when you make use of your position of favoritism here, sir,"
pursued Mr. Mell, with his lip trembling very much, "to insult a
gentleman--"
"A what?--where is he?" said Steerforth.
Here somebody cried out, "Shame, J. Steerforth! Too bad!" It was
Traddles; whom Mr. Mell instantly discomfited by bidding him hold his
tongue.
--"To insult one who is not fortunate in life, sir, and who never gave
you the least offence, and the many reasons for not insulting whom you
are old enough and wise enough to understand," said Mr. Mell, with his
lip trembling more and more, "you commit a mean and base action. You can
sit down or stand up as you please, sir. Copperfield, go on."
"Young Copperfield," said Steerforth, coming forward up the room, "stop
a bit. I tell you what, Mr. Mell, once for all. When you take the
liberty of calling me mean or base, or anything of that sort, you are an
impudent beggar. You are always a beggar, you know; but when you do
that, you are an impudent beggar."
I am not clear whether he was going to strike Mr. Mell, or Mr. Mell was
going to strike him, or there was any such intention on either side. I
saw a rigidity come upon the whole school as if they had been turned
into stone, and found Mr. Creakle in the midst of us, with Tungay at his
side, and Mrs. and Miss Creakle looking in at the door as if they were
frightened. Mr. Mell, with his elbows on his desk and his face in his
hands, sat, for some moments, quite still.
"Mr. Mell," said Mr. Creakle, shaking him by the arm; and his whisper
was so audible now, that Tungay felt it unnecessary to repeat his words;
"you have not forgotten yourself, I hope?"
"No, sir, no," returned the Master, showing his face, and shaking his
head, and rubbing his hands in great agitation. "No, sir. No. I have
remembered myself, I--no, Mr. Creakle, I have not forgotten myself, I--I
have remembered myself, sir. I--I--could wish you had remembered me a
little sooner, Mr. Creakle. It--it--would have been more kind, sir, more
just, sir. It would have saved me something, sir."
Mr. Creakle, looking hard at Mr. Mell, put his hand on Tungay's
shoulder, and got his feet upon the form close by, and sat upon the
desk. After still looking hard at Mr. Mell from this throne, as he shook
his head, and rubbed his hands, and remained in the same state of
agitation, Mr. Creakle turned to Steerforth, and said:
"Now, sir, as he don't condescend to tell me, what _is_ this?"
Steerforth evaded the question for a little while; looking in scorn and
anger on his opponent, and remaining silent. I could not help thinking
even in that interval, I remember, what a noble fellow he was in
appearance, and how homely and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed to him.
"What did he mean by talking about favorites, then!" said Steerforth at
length.
"Favorites?" repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins in his forehead
swelling quickly. "Who talked about favorites?"
"He did," said Steerforth.
"And pray, what did you mean by that, sir?" demanded Mr. Creakle,
turning angrily on his assistant.
"I meant, Mr. Creakle," he returned in a low voice, "as I said; that no
pupil had a right to avail himself of his position of favoritism to
degrade me."
"To degrade _you_?" said Mr. Creakle. "My stars! But give me leave to
ask you, Mr. What's-your-name;" and here Mr. Creakle folded his arms,
cane and all, upon his chest, and made such a knot of his brows that his
little eyes were hardly visible below them; "whether, when you talk
about favorites, you showed proper respect to me? To me, sir," said Mr.
Creakle, darting his head at him suddenly, and drawing it back again,
"the principal of this establishment, and your employer."
"It was not judicious, sir, I am willing to admit," said Mr. Mell. "I
should not have done so, if I had been cool."
Here Steerforth struck in.
"Then he said I was mean, and then he said I was base, and then I called
him a beggar. If _I_ had been cool, perhaps I shouldn't have called him
a beggar. But I did, and I am ready to take the consequences of it."
Without considering, perhaps, whether there were any consequences to be
taken, I felt quite in a glow at this gallant speech. It made an
impression on the boys too, for there was a low stir among them, though
no one spoke a word.
"I am surprised, Steerforth--although your candor does you honor," said
Mr. Creakle, "does you honor, certainly--I am surprised, Steerforth, I
must say, that you should attach such an epithet to any person employed
and paid in Salem House, sir."
Steerforth gave a short laugh.
"That's not an answer, sir," said Mr. Creakle, "to my remark. I expect
more than that, from you, Steerforth."
If Mr. Mell looked homely, in my eyes, before the handsome boy, it would
be quite impossible to say how homely Mr. Creakle looked.
"Let him deny it," said Steerforth.
"Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth?" cried Mr. Creakle. "Why, where
does he go a begging?"
"If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation's one," said
Steerforth. "It's all the same."
He glanced at me, and Mr. Mell's hand gently patted me upon the
shoulder. I looked up, with a flush upon my face and remorse in my
heart, but Mr. Mell's eyes were fixed on Steerforth. He continued to pat
me kindly on the shoulder, but he looked at him.
"Since you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself," said Steerforth,
"and to say what I mean,--what I have to say is, that his mother lives
on charity in an alms-house."
Mr. Mell still looked at him, and still patted me kindly on the
shoulder, and said to himself, in a whisper, if I heard right: "Yes, I
thought so."
Mr. Creakle turned to his assistant, with a severe frown and labored
politeness.
"Now, you hear what this gentleman says, Mr. Mell. Have the goodness, if
you please, to set him right before the assembled school."
"He is right, sir, without correction," returned Mr. Mell, in the midst
of a dead silence; "what he has said, is true."
"Be so good then as declare publicly, will you," said Mr. Creakle,
putting his head on one side, and rolling his eyes round the school,
"whether it ever came to my knowledge until this moment?"
"I believe not directly," he returned.
"Why, you know not," said Mr. Creakle. "Don't you, man?"
"I apprehend you never supposed my worldly circumstances to be very
good," replied the assistant. "You know what my position is, and always
has been, here."
"I apprehend, if you come to that," said Mr. Creakle, with his veins
swelling again bigger than ever, "that you've been in a wrong position
altogether, and mistook this for a charity school. Mr. Mell, we'll part
if you please. The sooner the better."
"There is no time," answered Mr. Mell, rising, "like the present."
"Sir, to you!" said Mr. Creakle.
"I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and of all of you," said Mr. Mell,
glancing round the room, and again patting me gently on the shoulder.
"James Steerforth, the best wish I can leave you is that you may come to
be ashamed of what you have done to-day. At present I would prefer to
see you anything rather than a friend, to me, or to any one in whom I
feel an interest."
Once more he laid his hand upon my shoulder; and then taking his flute
and a few books from his desk, and leaving the key in it for his
successor, he went out of the school, with his property under his arm.
Mr. Creakle then made a speech, through Tungay, in which he thanked
Steerforth for asserting (though perhaps too warmly) the independence
and respectability of Salem House; and which he wound up by shaking
hands with Steerforth, while we gave three cheers--I did not quite know
what for, but I supposed for Steerforth, and so joined in them ardently,
though I felt miserable. Mr. Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles for being
discovered in tears, instead of cheers, on account of Mr. Mell's
departure; and went back to his sofa, or his bed, or wherever he had
come from.
We were left to ourselves now, and looked very blank, I recollect, on
one another. For myself, I felt so much self-reproach and contrition for
my part in what had happened, that nothing would have enabled me to keep
back my tears but the fear that Steerforth, who often looked at me, I
saw, might think it unfriendly--or, I should rather say, considering our
relative ages, and the feeling with which I regarded him, undutiful--if
I showed the emotion which distressed me. He was very angry with
Traddles, and said he was glad he had caught it.
Poor Traddles, who had passed the stage of lying with his head upon the
desk, and was relieving himself as usual with a burst of skeletons, said
he didn't care. Mr. Mell was ill-used.
"Who has ill-used him, you girl?" said Steerforth.
"Why, you have," returned Traddles.
"What have I done?" said Steerforth.
"What have you done?" retorted Traddles. "Hurt his feelings, and lost
him his situation."
"His feelings!" repeated Steerforth disdainfully. "His feelings will
soon get the better of it, I'll be bound. His feelings are not like
yours, Miss Traddles. As to his situation--which was a precious one,
wasn't it?--do you suppose I am not going to write home, and take care
that he gets some money? Polly?"
We thought this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose mother was a
widow, and rich, and would do almost anything, it was said, that he
asked her. We were all extremely glad to see Traddles so put down, and
exalted Steerforth to the skies: especially when he told us, as he
condescended to do, that what he had done had been done expressly for
us, and for our cause; and that he had conferred a great boon upon us by
unselfishly doing it.
But I must say that when I was going on with a story in the dark that
night, Mr. Mell's old flute seemed more than once to sound mournfully in
my ears; and that when at last Steerforth was tired, and I lay down in
my bed, I fancied it playing so sorrowfully somewhere, that I was quite
wretched.
I soon forgot him in the contemplation of Steerforth, who, in an easy
amateur way, and without any book (he seemed to me to know everything by
heart), took some of his classes until a new master was found. The new
master came from a grammar-school; and before he entered on his duties,
dined in the parlor one day to be introduced to Steerforth. Steerforth
approved of him highly, and told us he was a Brick. Without exactly
understanding what learned distinction was meant by this, I respected
him greatly for it, and had no doubt whatever of his superior knowledge:
though he never took the pains with me--not that _I_ was anybody--that
Mr. Mell had taken.
There was only one other event in this half-year, out of the daily
school-life, that made an impression on me which still survives. It
survives for many reasons.
One afternoon, when we were all harassed into a state of dire confusion,
and Mr. Creakle was laying about him dreadfully, Tungay came in, and
called out in his usual strong way: "Visitors for Copperfield!"
A few words were interchanged between him and Mr. Creakle, as, who the
visitors were, and what room they were to be shown into; and then I, who
had, according to custom, stood up on the announcement being made, and
felt quite faint with astonishment, was told to go by the back stairs
and get a clean frill on, before I repaired to the dining-room. These
orders I obeyed, in such a flutter and hurry of my young spirits as I
had never known before; and when I got to the parlor-door, and the
thought came into my head that it might be my mother--I had only thought
of Mr. or Miss Murdstone until then--I drew back my hand from the lock,
and stopped to have a sob before I went in.
At first I saw nobody; but feeling a pressure against the door, I
looked round it, and there, to my amazement, were Mr. Peggotty and Ham,
ducking at me with their hats, and squeezing one another against the
wall. I could not help laughing; but it was much more in the pleasure
of seeing them, than at the appearance they made. We shook hands in
a very cordial way; and I laughed and laughed, until I pulled out my
pocket-handkerchief and wiped my eyes.
Mr. Peggotty (who never shut his mouth once, I remember, during the
visit) showed great concern when he saw me do this, and nudged Ham to
say something.
"Cheer up, Mas'r Davy bor'!" said Ham, in his simpering way. "Why, how
you have growed!"
"Am I grown?" I said, drying my eyes. I was not crying at anything
particular that I know of; but somehow it made me cry to see old
friends.
"Growed, Mas'r Davy bor'? Ain't he growed!" said Ham.
"Ain't he growed!" said Mr. Peggotty.
They made me laugh again by laughing at each other, and then we all
three laughed until I was in danger of crying again.
"Do you know how mama is, Mr. Peggotty?" I said. "And how my dear, dear,
old Peggotty is?"
"Oncommon," said Mr. Peggotty.
"And little Em'ly, and Mrs. Gummidge?"
"On--common," said Mr. Peggotty.
There was a silence. Mr. Peggotty, to relieve it, took two prodigious
lobsters, and an enormous crab, and a large canvas bag of shrimps, out
of his pockets, and piled them up in Ham's arms.
"You see," said Mr. Peggotty, "knowing as you was partial to a little
relish with your wittles when you was along with us, we took the
liberty. The old Mawther biled 'em, she did. Mrs. Gummidge biled 'em.
Yes," said Mr. Peggotty slowly, who I thought appeared to stick to the
subject on account of having no other subject ready, "Mrs. Gummidge, I
do assure you, she biled 'em."
I expressed my thanks; and Mr. Peggotty, after looking at Ham, who stood
smiling sheepishly over the shell-fish, without making any attempt to
help him, said:
"We come, you see, the wind and tide making in our favor, in one of
our Yarmouth lugs to Gravesen'. My sister she wrote to me the name
of this here place, and wrote to me as if ever I chanced to come to
Gravesen', I was to come over and enquire for Mas'r Davy and give her
dooty, humbly wishing him well and reporting of the fam'ly as they was
oncommon toe-be-sure. Little Em'ly, you see, she'll write to my sister
when I go back, as I see you and as you was similarly oncommon, and so
we make it quite a merry-go-rounder."
I was obliged to consider a little before I understood what Mr. Peggotty
meant by this figure, expressive of a complete circle of intelligence. I
then thanked him heartily; and said, with a consciousness of reddening,
that I supposed Little Em'ly was altered too, since we used to pick up
shells and pebbles on the beach?
"She's getting to be a woman, that's wot she's getting to be," said Mr.
Peggotty. "Ask him."
He meant Ham, who beamed with delight and assent over the bag of
shrimps.
"Her pretty face!" said Mr. Peggotty, with his own shining like a light.
"Her learning!" said Ham.
"Her writing!" said Mr. Peggotty. "Why, it's as black as jet! And so
large it is, you might see it anywheres."
It was perfectly delightful to behold with what enthusiasm Mr. Peggotty
became inspired when he thought of his little favorite. He stands before
me again, his bluff hairy face irradiating with a joyful love and pride,
for which I can find no description. His honest eyes fire up, and
sparkle, as if their depths were stirred by something bright. His broad
chest heaves with pleasure. His strong loose hands clench themselves, in
his earnestness; and he emphasises what he says with a right arm that
shows, in my pigmy view, like a sledge hammer.
Ham was quite as earnest as he. I dare say they would have said much
more about her, if they had not been abashed by the unexpected coming in
of Steerforth, who, seeing me in a corner speaking with two strangers,
stopped in a song he was singing, and said: "I didn't know you were
here, young Copperfield!" (for it was not the usual visiting room), and
crossed by us on his way out.
I am not sure whether it was in the pride of having such a friend as
Steerforth, or in the desire to explain to him how I came to have such a
friend as Mr. Peggotty, that I called to him as he was going away. But I
said, modestly--Good Heaven, how it all comes back to me this long time
afterwards!--
"Don't go, Steerforth, if you please. These are two Yarmouth
boatmen--very kind, good people--who are relations of my nurse, and
have come from Gravesend to see me."
"Aye, aye?" said Steerforth, returning. "I am glad to see them. How are
you both?"
There was an ease in his manner--a gay and light manner it was, but not
swaggering--which I still believe to have borne a kind of enchantment
with it. I still believe him, in virtue of this carriage, his animal
spirits, his delightful voice, his handsome face and figure, and, for
aught I know, of some inborn power of attraction besides (which I think
a few people possess), to have carried a spell with him to which it was
a natural weakness to yield, and which not many persons could withstand.
I could not but see how pleased they were with him, and how they seemed
to open their hearts to him in a moment.
"You must let them know at home, if you please, Mr. Peggotty," I said,
"when that letter is sent, that Mr. Steerforth is very kind to me, and
that I don't know what I should ever do here without him."
"Nonsense!" said Steerforth, laughing. "You mustn't tell them anything
of the sort."
"And if Mr. Steerforth ever comes into Norfolk or Suffolk, Mr.
Peggotty," I said, "while I am there, you may depend upon it I shall
bring him to Yarmouth, if he will let me, to see your house. You never
saw such a good house, Steerforth. It's made out of a boat!"
"Made out of a boat, is it?" said Steerforth. "It's the right sort of
house for such a thorough-built boatman."
"So 'tis, sir, so 'tis, sir," said Ham, grinning. "You're right, young
gen'lm'n. Mas'r Davy bor', gen'lm'n 's right. A thorough-built boatman!
Hor, hor! That's what he is, too!"
Mr. Peggotty was no less pleased than his nephew, though his modesty
forbade him to claim a personal compliment so vociferously.
"Well, sir," he said, bowing and chuckling, and tucking in the ends of
his neckerchief at his breast, "I thankee, sir, I thankee! I do my
endeavours in my line of life, sir."
"The best of men can do no more, Mr. Peggotty," said Steerforth. He had
got his name already.
"I'll pound it, it's wot you do yourself, sir," said Mr. Peggotty,
shaking his head, "and wot you do well--right well! I thankee, sir. I'm
obleeged to you, sir, for your welcoming manner of me. I'm rough, sir,
but I'm ready--least ways, I _hope_ I'm ready, you understand. My house
ain't much for to see, sir, but it's hearty at your service if ever you
should come along with Mas'r Davy to see it. I'm a reg'lar Dodman, I
am," said Mr. Peggotty; by which he meant snail, and this was in
allusion to his being slow to go, for he had attempted to go after every
sentence, and had somehow or other come back again; "but I wish you both
well, and I wish you happy!"
Ham echoed this sentiment, and we parted with them in the heartiest
manner. I was almost tempted that evening to tell Steerforth about
pretty little Em'ly, but I was too timid of mentioning her name, and too
much afraid of his laughing at me. I remember that I thought a good
deal, and in an uneasy sort of way, about Mr. Peggotty having said that
she was getting on to be a woman; but I decided that was nonsense.
We transported the shell-fish, or the "relish" as Mr. Peggotty had
modestly called it, up into our room unobserved, and made a great supper
that evening. But Traddles couldn't get happily out of it. He was too
unfortunate even to come through a supper like anybody else. He was
taken ill in the night--quite prostrate he was--in consequence of Crab;
and after being drugged with black draughts and blue pills, to an extent
which Demple (whose father was a doctor) said was enough to undermine a
horse's constitution, received a caning and six chapters of Greek
Testament for refusing to confess.
The rest of the half-year is a jumble in my recollection of the
daily strife and struggle of our lives; of the waning summer and the
changing season; of the frosty mornings when we were rung out of bed,
and the cold, cold smell of the dark nights when we were rung into
bed again; of the evening schoolroom dimly lighted and indifferently
warmed, and the morning schoolroom which was nothing but a great
shivering-machine; of the alternation of boiled beef with roast beef,
and boiled mutton with roast mutton; of clods of bread-and-butter,
dog's-eared lesson-books, cracked slates, tear-blotted copy-books,
canings, rulerings, hair-cuttings, rainy Sundays, suet puddings, and a
dirty atmosphere of ink surrounding all.
I well remember though, how the distant idea of the holidays, after
seeming for an immense time to be a stationary speck, began to come
towards us, and to grow and grow. How, from counting months, we came to
weeks, and then to days; and how I then began to be afraid that I should
not be sent for, and, when I learnt from Steerforth that I _had_ been
sent for and was certainly to go home, had dim forebodings that I might
break my leg first. How the breaking-up day changed its place fast, at
last, from the week after next to next week, this week, the day after
to-morrow, to-morrow, to-day, to-night--when I was inside the Yarmouth
mail, and going home.
I had many a broken sleep inside the Yarmouth mail, and many an
incoherent dream of all these things. But when I awoke at intervals, the
ground outside the window was not the playground of Salem House, and the
sound in my ears was not the sound of Mr. Creakle giving it to Traddles,
but the sound of the coachman touching up the horses.