"Davy," said my mother. "Davy, my child!"
Then when she would have caressed me in the old fashion, Mr. Murdstone
came up and sent the others away.
"David," he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, "if I
have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?"
"I don't know."
"I beat him. I make him wince and smart. I say to myself, 'I'll conquer
that fellow;' and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I should do
it. What is that upon your face?"
"Dirt," I said.
He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he had asked the
question twenty times, with twenty blows, I believe my baby heart would
have burst before I would have told him so.
"You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow," he said, "and
you understood me very well, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down
with me."
He pointed to the washstand, and motioned me to obey him directly, and I
have little doubt that he would have knocked me down, had I hesitated.
As he walked me into the parlour, he said to my mother, "Clara, my dear,
you will not be made uncomfortable any more, I hope. We shall soon improve
our youthful humours."
I might have been made another creature for life, by a kind word just
then. A word of welcome home, of reassurance that it _was_ home, might
have made me dutiful to my new father, and made me respect instead of hate
him; but the word was not spoken, and the time for it was gone.
After that my life was a lonely one. Mr. Murdstone seemed to be very fond
of my mother, and she of him, but also she seemed to stand in great awe of
him, and dared not do what he might not approve. Soon Miss Murdstone came
to live with us. She was a gloomy-looking lady, dark like her brother, and
much like him in character. She assumed the care of the house, and mother
had nothing more to do with it. Meanwhile, I learnt lessons at home.
Shall I ever forget those lessons! They were presided over nominally by my
mother, but really by Mr. Murdstone and his sister, who were always
present, and the very sight of the Murdstones had such an effect upon me,
that every word I had tried to learn would glide away, and go I know not
where. I was treated to so much systematic cruelty that after six months,
I became sullen, dull, and dogged, and this feeling was not lessened by
the fact that I was more and more shut out from my mother. I believe I
should have been almost stupified but for the small collection of books
which had belonged to my own father, and to which I had access. From that
blessed little room, came forth "Roderick Random," "Peregrine Pickle,"
"Tom Jones," "The Vicar of Wakefield," "Robinson Crusoe," "Gil Blas," and
"Don Quixote,"--a glorious company to sustain me. They kept alive my
fancy, and my hope of something beyond that place and time--they, and the
"Arabian Nights" and "Tales of the Genii,"--and were my only comfort.
One morning, when I went into the parlour with my books, I found Mr.
Murdstone poising a cane in the air, which he had obtained, it seemed, for
the purpose of flogging me for any mistake I might make. My apprehension
was so great, that the words of my lessons slipped off by the entire
page,--I made mistake after mistake, failure upon failure,--and presently
Mr. Murdstone rose, taking up the cane, and telling me to follow him. As
he took me out at the door, my mother ran towards us. Miss Murdstone said,
"Clara! are you a perfect fool?" and interfered. I saw my mother stop her
ears then, and I heard her crying.
Mr. Murdstone walked me up to my room, and when we got there suddenly
twisted my head under his arm.
"Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried, "Don't. Pray don't beat me! I have tried to
learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstone are by. I can't
indeed!"
"Can't you, indeed, David?" he said. "We'll try that." He had my head as
in a vise, but I twined round him somehow, and stopped him for a moment,
entreating him again not to beat me. It was only for a moment though, for
he cut me heavily an instant afterwards, and in the same instant I caught
the hand with which he held me in my mouth and bit it through. It sets my
teeth on edge to think of it.
He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all the
noise we made, I heard them running up the stairs and crying out--my
mother and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the door was locked outside;
and I was lying, fevered and hot, and torn, and sore, and raging in my
puny way, upon the floor.
How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillness
seemed to reign through the house! When my passion began to cool, how
wicked I began to feel! My stripes were sore and stiff, and made me cry
afresh when I moved, but they were nothing to the guilt I felt. It lay
like lead upon my breast. For five days I was imprisoned, and of the
length of those days I can convey no idea to any one. They occupy the
place of years in my remembrance. On the fifth night Peggotty came to my
door and whispered my name through the keyhole.
"What is going to be done with me, Peggotty dear?" I asked.
"School. Near London," was Peggotty's answer.
"When, Peggotty?"
"To-morrow."
"Is that the reason why Miss Murdstone took the clothes out of my
drawers?"
"Yes," said Peggotty. "Box."
"Shan't I see mama?"
"Yes," said Peggotty. "Morning."
Then followed some assurances of affection, which Peggotty sobbed through
the keyhole, and from that night I had an affection for her greater than
for any one, except my mother.
In the morning Miss Murdstone appeared and told me what I already knew,
and said that I was to come down into the parlour, and have my breakfast.
My mother was there, very pale, and with red eyes, into whose arms I ran,
and begged her pardon from my suffering soul.
"Oh, Davy," she said. "That you could hurt any one I love! Try to be
better, pray to be better! I forgive you, but I am so grieved, Davy, that
you should have such bad passions in your heart!"
They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she was more sorry
for that, than for my going away. I felt it sorely. I tried to eat, but
tears dropped upon my bread-and-butter, and trickled into my tea, and I
could not swallow.
Presently the carrier was at the door, my box was in the cart, and before
I could realise it, my mother was holding me in a farewell embrace, and
then I got into the cart, and the lazy horse started off.
About half a mile away from home the carrier stopped, and Peggotty burst
from a hedge and climbed into the cart. She squeezed me until I could
scarcely speak, and crammed some bags of cakes into my pockets, and a
purse into my hand, but not a word did she speak. Then with a final hug,
she climbed down and ran away again, and we started on once more.
Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I began to think it
was of no use crying any more. The carrier agreed with me, and proposed
that my pocket handkerchief should be spread upon the horse's back to dry,
to which I assented, and then turned my attention to the purse. It had
three bright shillings in it, which Peggotty had evidently polished up
with whitening,--but more precious yet,--were two half-crowns in a bit of
paper on which my mother had written, "For Davy. With my love."
I was so overcome by this that I asked the carrier to reach me my pocket
handkerchief again, but he thought I had better do without it, so I wiped
my eyes on my sleeve and stopped myself--and on we jogged.
At Yarmouth we drove to the inn-yard, where I dismounted, and was given
dinner, after which I mounted the coach for London, and at three o'clock
we started off on a trip which was not unpleasant to me, with its many
novel sights and experiences. In London, at an inn in Whitechapel, I was
met by a Mr. Mell, one of the teachers at Salem House, the school to which
I was going. We journeyed on together, and by the next day were at Salem
House, which was a square brick building with wings, enclosed with a high
brick wall. I was astonished at the perfect quiet there, until Mr. Mell
told me that the boys were at their homes on account of it being
holiday-time, and that even the proprietor was away. And he added that I
was sent in vacation as a punishment for my misdoing.
I can see the schoolroom now, into which he took me, with its long rows of
desks and forms, and bristling all round with pegs for hats and slates.
Scraps of old copy-books and exercises littered the dirty floor, ink had
been splashed everywhere, and the air of the place was indescribably
dreary. My companion left me there alone for a while, and as I roamed
round, I came upon a pasteboard placard, beautifully written, lying on a
desk, bearing these words, "_Take care of him. He bites_."
I got upon the desk immediately, apprehensive of at least a great dog
underneath, but I could see nothing of him. I was still peering about,
when Mr. Mell came back, and asked what I did up there.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said I, "I'm looking for the dog."
"Dog," said he, "What dog?"
"The one that's to be taken care of, sir; that bites."
"Copperfield," said he, gravely, "that's not a dog. That's a boy. My
instructions are, Copperfield, to put this placard on your back. I am
sorry to make such a beginning with you, but I must do it."
With that he took me down, and tied the placard on my shoulders, and
wherever I went afterwards I carried it. What I suffered from that
placard, nobody can imagine. I always fancied that somebody was reading
it, and I began to have a dread of myself, as a kind of wild boy who _did_
bite. Above and beyond all, I dreaded the coming back of the boys and what
they might think of me, and my days and nights were filled with gloomy
forebodings. In a month Mr. Creakle, the proprietor of Salem House
arrived. He was stout, with a bald head, a fiery face, small, deep-set
eyes, thick veins in his forehead, a little nose, and a large chin. His
face always looked angry, but what impressed me most about him was that he
spoke always in a whisper. He inquired at once about my behaviour, and
seemed disappointed to find that there was nothing against me so far. He
then told me that he knew my stepfather as a man of strong character, and
that he should carry out his wishes concerning me. He pinched my ear with
ferocious playfulness, and I was very much frightened by his manner and
words; but before I was ordered away, I ventured to ask if the placard
might not be removed. Whether Mr. Creakle was in earnest, or only meant to
frighten me, I don't know, but he made a burst out of his chair, before
which I precipitately retreated, and never once stopped until I reached my
own bedroom, where, finding I was not pursued, I went to bed, and lay
quaking for a couple of hours.
The next day the other masters and the scholars began to arrive. Jolly
Tommy Traddles was the first boy back, and it was a happy circumstance for
me. He enjoyed my placard so much that he saved me from the embarrassment
of either disclosure or concealment, by presenting me to the other boys in
this way; "Look here! Here's a game!" Happily, too, most of the boys came
back low-spirited, and were not as boisterous at my expense as I expected.
Some of them did dance about me like wild Indians and pretended I was a
dog, patting me and saying, "Lie down, sir!" and calling me Towzer, which
of course was trying, but, on the whole, much better than I had
anticipated.
I was not considered as formally received into the school until I had met
J. Steerforth. He was one of the older scholars, reputed to be brilliant
and clever, and quite the lion of the school. He inquired, under a shed in
the playground, into the particulars of my punishment, and said it was "a
jolly shame," which opinion bound me to him ever afterwards. Then he asked
me what money I had, and when I answered seven shillings, he suggested
that I spend a couple of shillings or so in a bottle of currant wine, and
a couple or so in almond cakes, and another in fruit, and another in
biscuit, for a little celebration that night in our bedroom, in honour of
my arrival, and of course I said I should be glad to do so. I was a little
uneasy about wasting my mother's half-crowns, but I did not dare to say
so, and Steerforth procured the feast and laid it out on my bed, saying,
"There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you've got."
I couldn't think of doing the honours of the feast, and begged him to
preside. So he sat upon my pillow, handing round the viands, and
dispensing the wine. As to me, I sat next to him, and the rest grouped
about us on the nearest beds and on the floor; and there we sat in the dim
moonlight, talking in whispers, while I heard all the school gossip, about
Mr. Creakle and his cruelty, and about the other masters, and that the
only boy on whom Mr. Creakle never dared to lay a hand was Steerforth. All
this and much more I heard before we at last betook ourselves to bed.
The next day school began in earnest, and so far as the boys were
concerned, Steerforth continued his protection of me, and was always a
very firm and useful friend, as no one dared annoy any one whom he liked.
One night he discovered that my head was filled with stories of my
favourite heroes, which I could relate with some measure of graphic
talent, and after that I was obliged to reel off stories by the yard,
making myself into a regular Sultana Scheherezade for his benefit. I was
much flattered by his interest in my tales, and the only drawback to
telling them was that I was often very sleepy at night, and it was
sometimes very hard work to be roused and forced into a long recital
before the rising bell rang, but Steerforth was resolute, and as in return
he explained sums and exercises to me, I was no loser by the transaction.
Also, I honestly admired and loved the handsome fellow, and desired to
please him.
And so from week to week the story-telling in the dark went on, and
whatever I had within me that was romantic or dreamy was encouraged by it.
By degrees the other boys joined the circle of listeners. Traddles was
always overcome with mirth at the comic parts of the stories. He used to
pretend that he couldn't keep his teeth from chattering when an Alguazil
was mentioned in connection with the adventures of Gil Blas, and I
remember when Gil Blas met the captain of the robbers in Madrid, Traddles
counterfeited such an ague of terror, that Mr. Creakle who was prowling
about the passage, overheard him, and flogged him for disorderly conduct.
There was little of especial moment in my first half-term at Salem House,
except the quarrel which took place between Steerforth and Mr. Mell; and
an unexpected visit from Ham and Mr. Peggotty when I had the delight of
introducing those rollicking fellows to Steerforth, whose bright, easy
manner charmed them, as it did most persons.
The rest of the half-year is a jumble in my recollection; and then came
the holidays, which were spent at home. I found my mother as tender as of
old. She hugged me and kissed me, and on that first blessed night, as Mr.
and Miss Murdstone were away on a visit, mother and Peggotty and I dined
together by the fireside in the old fashion. My mother spoke of herself as
a weak, ignorant young thing whom the Murdstones were endeavouring to make
as strong in character as themselves. Then we talked about Salem House and
my experiences and friends there, and were very happy. That evening as the
last of its race will never pass out of my memory. I was at home for a
month, but after that first night I felt in the way, for the Murdstones
were always with my mother. On the evening after my return I made a very
humble apology to Mr. Murdstone, which he received with cold dignity. I
tried to spend my evenings in the kitchen with Peggotty, but of this Mr.
Murdstone did not approve, so I sat wearily in the parlour, waiting for
the hours to wear themselves away. What walks I took alone! What meals I
had in silence and embarrassment! What dull evenings, poring over tables
of weights and measures, and what yawns and dozes I lapsed into in spite
of all my care! Thus the holidays lagged away, until the morning came when
Miss Murdstone gave me the closing cup of tea of the vacation. I was not
sorry to go. I had lapsed into a stupid state; but I was recovering a
little and looking foward to Steerforth. I kissed my mother, and had
climbed into the carrier's cart when I heard her calling me. I looked
back, and she stood at the garden-gate, looking intently at me.
So I lost her. So I saw her afterwards, in my sleep at school,--a silent
presence near my bed--looking at me with the same intent face,--and the
vision is still a constant blessing to me.
From then I pass over all that happened at Salem House until my birthday
in March. On the morning of that day I was summoned into Mr. Creakle's
august presence. Mrs. Creakle was in the room too, and somehow they broke
it to me that my mother was very ill. I knew all now!
"She is dead," they said.
There was no need to tell me so. I had already broken out into a desolate
cry, and felt an orphan in the wide world. If ever child were stricken
with sincere grief, I was. But I remember even so, that my sorrow was a
kind of satisfaction to me, when I walked in the playground, while the
boys were in school, and saw them glancing at me out of the windows, and
because of my grief I felt distinguished, and of vast importance. We had
no story-telling that night, and Traddles insisted on lending me his
pillow as a guarantee of his sympathy, which I understood and accepted.
I left Salem House upon noon the next day, stopping in Yarmouth to be
measured for my suit of black. Then all too soon I was at home again, only
it was home no longer, for my mother was not there. Mr. Murdstone, who was
weeping, took no notice of me. Miss Murdstone gave me her cold fingers,
and asked if I had been measured for my mourning, and if I had brought
home my shirts. There was no sign that they thought of my suffering,
and--alone--except for dear faithful Peggotty, I remained there,
motherless, and worse than fatherless, still stunned and giddy with the
shock. As soon as the funeral was over, Peggotty obtained permission to
take me home with her for a visit, and I was thankful for the change, even
though I knew that Peggotty was leaving the Rookery forever.
We found the old boat the same pleasant place as ever, only little Em'ly
and I seldom wandered on the beach now. She had tasks to learn, and
needlework to do. During the visit I had a great surprise, which was no
less than Peggotty's marriage to the carrier who had taken me on so many
trips, and whose affections it seemed, had long been fastened upon
Peggotty. He took her to a nice little home, and there she showed me a
room which she said would be mine whenever I chose to occupy it. I felt
the constancy of my dear old nurse, and thanked her as well as I could,
but the next day I was obliged to go back to the Murdstones. Peggotty made
the journey with me, and no words can express my forlorn and desolate
feelings when the cart took her away again, and I was left alone in the
place where I used to be so happy.
And now I fell into a state of neglect, apart from other boys of my own
age, and apart from all friendly faces. What would I not have given to
have been sent to school! I think Mr. Murdstone's means were straightened
at that time, and there was no mention of Salem House or of any other
school. I was not beaten or starved, only coldly neglected. Peggotty I was
seldom allowed to visit, but once a week she either came to see me or met
me somewhere, and that, and the dear old books were my only comfort.
One day Mr. Quinion, a visitor at the house, took pains to ask me some
questions about myself, and afterwards Mr. Murdstone called me to him, and
said:
"I suppose you know, David, that I am not rich. You have received some
considerable education already. Education is costly; and even if I could
afford it, I am of opinion that it would not be at all advantageous to you
to be kept at a school. There is before you a fight with the world; and
the sooner you begin it the better. You may have heard of the counting
house of Murdstone and Grinby, in the wine trade? Mr. Quinion manages the
business, and he suggests thit it gives employment to some other boys, and
that he sees no reason why it shouldn't give employment to you. You will
earn enough to provide for your eating, and drinking, and pocket money.
Your lodging will be paid by me. So will your washing. Your clothes will
be looked after for you, too," said Mr. Murdstone, "as you will not be
able, yet awhile, to get them for yourself. So you are now going to
London, David, to begin the world on your own account."
Behold me, on the morrow, in a much-worn little white hat, with a crape
band round it, a black jacket, and stiff corduroy trousers! Behold me so
attired, and with my little worldly all in a small trunk, sitting, a lone,
lorn child, in the post-chaise, journeying to London with Mr. Quinion!
Behold me at ten years old, a little labouring hind in Murdstone and
Grinby's warehouse on the waterside at Blackfriars! It was a crazy old
house with a wharf of its own, but rotting with dirt and age. Their trade
was among many kinds of people, chiefly supplying wines and spirits to
certain packet ships. My work was pasting labels on full bottles, or
fitting corks to them, or sealing the corks, and the work was not half so
distasteful as were my companions, far below me in birth and education.
The oldest of the regular boys was named Mick Walker, and another boy in
my department, on account of his complexion, was called Mealy Potatoes. No
words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into this
companionship, and thought sadly of Traddles, Steerforth, and those other
boys, whom I felt sure would grow up to be great men.
I lodged with a Mr. Micawber who lived in Windsor Terrace. My pay at the
warehouse was six shillings a week. I provided my own breakfast and kept
bread and cheese to eat at night. Also, child that I was,--sometimes I
could not resist pastry cakes and puddings in the shop windows, all of
which made a large hole in my six shillings. From Monday to Saturday I had
no advice, no encouragement or help of any kind. I worked with common men
and boys, a shabby child. I lounged about the streets, insufficiently and
unsatisfactorily fed. But for the mercy of God, I might easily have been,
for any care that was taken of me, a little robber or a little vagabond.
Yet they were kind to me at the warehouse and that I suffered and was
miserably unhappy, no one noticed. I concealed the fact even from Peggotty
(partly for love of her, and partly for shame).
I did my work not unskilfully, and though perfectly familiar with my
companions, my conduct and manner placed a space between us and I was
usually spoken of as the "little Gent." In my desolate condition, I became
really attached to the Micawbers, and when they experienced reverses of
fortune, and Mr. Micawber was carried off to the Debtors' Prison, I did
all that I could for them, and remained with Mrs. Micawber in lodgings
near the prison. But I plainly saw that a parting was near at hand, as it
was the Micawbers' intention to leave London as soon as Mr. Micawber could
free himself. So keen was my dread of lodging with new people, added to
the misery of my daily life at the warehouse, that I could not endure the
thought, and finally I made a resolution. I would run away!
Many times in the old days, my mother had told me the story of my one
relative, Aunt Betsey, who had been present at the time of my birth,
confident in her hopes of a niece who should be named for her, Betsey
Trotwood, and for whom she proposed to provide liberally. When I, David
Copperfield, came in place of the longed-for niece, Aunt Betsey shook the
dust of the place off her feet, and my mother never saw her afterwards. My
idea now was to find Aunt Betsey. Not knowing where she lived, I wrote a
long letter to Peggotty, and asked in it incidentally if she knew the
address, and also if she could lend me half a guinea for a short time. She
answered promptly and enclosed the half guinea, saying that Miss Betsey
lived just outside of Dover, which place I at once resolved to set out
for. However, I considered myself bound to remain at the warehouse until
Saturday night; and as when I first came there I had been paid for a week
in advance, not to present myself as usual to receive my wages. For this
reason I had borrowed the half guinea, that I might have a fund for my
travelling expenses.
Accordingly, when Saturday night came, I shook Mick Walker's hand, bade
good-night to Mealy Potatoes--and ran away.
My box was at my old lodging, and I had a card ready for it, addressed to
"Master David, to be left till called for at the Coach Office, Dover."
I found a young man with a donkey-cart whom I engaged for sixpence, to
remove my box, and in pulling the card for it out of my pocket, I tumbled
my half guinea out too. I put it in my mouth for safety, and had just tied
the card on, when I felt myself violently chucked under the chin by the
young man, and saw my half guinea fly out of my mouth into his hand.
"You give me my money back, if you please," said I, very much frightened.
"And leave me alone!"
"Come to the pollis," said he; "you shall prove it yourn to the pollis!"
"Give me my box and money, will you?" I cried, bursting into tears.