"She is dead."
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.
She was very kind to me. She kept me there all day, and left me alone
sometimes; and I cried and wore myself to sleep, and awoke and cried
again.
The next night I left Salem House, after a tender adieu to Steerforth,
Traddles, and all the rest. I little thought that I left the school
never to return.
When I reached home I was in Peggotty's arms before I got to the door,
and she took me into the house. Her grief burst out when she first saw
me; but she controlled it soon, and spoke in whispers, and walked
softly, as if the dead could be disturbed. She had not been in bed, I
found, for a long time. She sat up at night still, and watched. As
long as her poor dear pretty was above the ground, she said, she would
never desert her.
Mr. Murdstone took no heed of me when I went into the parlor where he
was, but sat by the fireside, weeping silently, and pondering in his
elbow-chair. Miss Murdstone, who was busy at her writing-desk, which
was covered with letters and papers, gave me her cold finger-nails, and
asked me, in an iron whisper, if I had been measured for my mourning.
I will not dwell upon the dull, sorrowful days before and after my dear
mother's funeral. The house had been cold and quiet enough before, but
was now almost terrifying. And had it not been for Peggotty I do not
know how I should have stood it.
But soon even she was denied me. Miss Murdstone had never liked her,
and now lost no time in dismissing her from our service. The single ray
of light in this gloomy time is a little visit I was allowed to make
with her to Yarmouth, to our old friends, Mr. Peggotty, Ham, and Emily.
The latter was much grown now, but prettier than ever, and shyer about
letting me kiss her.
And Barkis, the honest carrier, after having been "willing" all this
time, was hugely gratified to gain a favorable answer from Peggotty.
They were married while I was there, and I was glad to leave my faithful
old nurse so well provided for.
Then I returned home--no, I cannot say that word--to Mr. and Miss
Murdstone.
*IV. I BEGIN LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT*
And now I fell into a state of neglect, which I cannot look back upon
without sorrow. I was as one alone--apart from all friendly notice,
apart from the society of all other boys of my own age, apart from all
companionship but my own spiritless thoughts,--which seems to cast its
gloom upon this paper as I write.
What would I have given to have been sent to the hardest school that
ever was kept--to have been taught something, anyhow, anywhere? No such
hope dawned upon me. They disliked me; and they steadily overlooked me.
I think Mr. Murdstone's means were straitened at about this time; but it
is little to the purpose. He could not bear me; and in putting me from
him he tried, as I believe, to put away the notion that I had any claim
upon him--and succeeded.
I was not actively ill-used. I was not beaten, or starved; but day by
day I was made to feel that I was in the way, and an altogether useless
member of society. Finally Mr. Murdstone called me to him one day, and
told me that he could not afford to send me to school, but that I must
go to work for myself. He had a partner in the wine trade in London,
and I was to be given a position there.
Accordingly, Miss Murdstone packed me off without loss of time; and I
went to work--at ten years old--washing bottles in a vile-smelling
warehouse down by the water-side.
There were three or four of us boys, counting me; and I was shown how to
work by an older lad whose name was Mick Walker, and who wore a ragged
apron and paper cap. He introduced me to another boy by the queer name
of Mealy Potatoes. I discovered, later, that this youth had started out
with another name, but had been given this one on account of a pale,
mealy complexion.
No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sank into this
companionship; compared these associates with those of my happier
childhood--not to say with Steerforth, Traddles, and the rest of those
boys; and felt my hopes of growing up to be a learned and distinguished
man crushed in my bosom. The feeling of being utterly without hope; of
the shame I felt in my position; of the misery it was to believe that
what I had learned would pass away from me, little by little, never to
be brought back any more; cannot be written. As often as Mick Walker
went away in the course of that forenoon, I mingled my tears with the
water in which I was washing the bottles. But I was careful never to
let the others see me in tears.
I was given the splendid salary of seven shillings[#] a week for my
services, and out of that I had to feed and clothe myself. My lodgings
were provided for, at the home of a Mr. Micawber, a portly, dignified
man with a large, shiny bald head and rusty, genteel clothes. Mr.
Micawber was perpetually dodging creditors while he waited for
"something to turn up," as he expressed it. But in his way he was kind
to me.
[#] About $1.68.
Still I had no one upon earth to go to for friendship or advice, I must
needs skimp and save to be sure of having enough bread and cheese to
eat; and no one lifted a finger to help me, a frightened little stranger
in a large, terrifying city. I look back upon it now as a horrible
dream. I know that I worked from morning till night with common men and
boys, a shabby child. I know that I lounged about the streets poorly
clothed and half starved. I know that but for the mercy of God, I might
easily have been--for any other care that was taken of me--a little
thief or vagabond.
But in these darkest days a bright idea came to me--I don't know when or
how, but come it did, and refused to depart. I remembered having heard
of an aunt, Miss Betsey Trotwood, my dear father's sister. I had heard
both my mother and Peggotty speak of her, with some awe, it is true, as
being a rather eccentric woman, who did not like boys, but still I
resolved to find her. So I wrote to Peggotty and asked the address, and
also for the loan of half a guinea. I had resolved to run away and
appeal to my aunt for protection.
Peggotty's answer soon came with much love and the half guinea. She
told me that Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but she couldn't say exactly
where. This was vague enough, but didn't deter me in the slightest. I
worked my week out at the warehouse, and, bidding Mick Walker and Mealy
Potatoes good-bye, ran away forthwith. I may have had the notion of
running all the way to Dover when I started. I had a small box of
clothes and the half guinea, but a carter robbed me of both of them the
first day. So, reduced to a few odd pence, I made but slow progress on
foot, and sleeping out in the open by night.
For six days I trudged my weary way, pawning my coat for food, and not
daring to ask aid from any one, for fear of being seized and sent back
to London. But at last I limped in upon the bare white downs near
Dover, sunburnt and in rags.
By dint of inquiries I was directed to Miss Betsey Trotwood's house, and
I lost no time in going there--a sorry enough figure, as you may
imagine. It was a neat little cottage looking out from some cliffs upon
the sea.
As I stood at the gate peeping in and wondering how I had best proceed,
a tall, slim lady came out of the house. She had a handkerchief tied
over her cap, a pair of gardener's gloves on her hands, and carried a
pruning-knife.
"Go away!" said Miss Betsey (for it was none other), shaking her head
when she saw me, and making a distant chop in the air with her knife.
"Go along! No boys here!"
I watched her, with my heart at my lips, as she marched to a corner of
her garden, and stooped to dig a root. Then, without a scrap of
courage, but with a great deal of desperation, I went softly in and
stood beside her, touching her with my finger.
"If you please, ma'am," I began.
She started and looked up.
"If you please, aunt."
"EH?" exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of amazement I have never heard
approached.
"If you please, aunt, I am your nephew."
"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden-path.
"I am David Copperfield, of the Rookery. I used to hear my dear mamma
speak of you before she died. I have been neglected and mistreated, and
so I ran away and came to you. I was robbed at first setting out, and
have walked all the way, and have never slept in a bed since I began the
journey."
Here my self-support gave way all at once; and with a movement of my
hands, intended to show her my ragged state, and call it to witness that
I had suffered something, I broke into a passion of crying, which I
suppose had been pent up within me all the week.
My aunt, with every sort of expression, sat on the gravel, staring at
me, until I began to cry; when she got up in a great hurry, collared me,
and took me into the parlor. Her first proceeding there was to unlock a
tall press, bring out several bottles, and pour some of the contents of
each into my mouth. I think they must have been taken out at random,
for I am sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing.
Then she rang the bell.
"Janet," she said, when her servant came in, "go upstairs, give my
compliments to Mr. Dick, and say I wish to speak to him."
Mr. Dick proved to be a pleasant-faced man of whimsical ways, but upon
whose advice my aunt greatly relied. As he proposed now that I be given
a bath and put to bed, my aunt lost no time in following these ideas.
Janet had gone away to get the bath ready, when my aunt, to my great
alarm, became in one moment rigid with wrath, and had hardly voice to
cry out, "Janet! Donkeys!"
Upon which, Janet came running up the stairs as if the house were in
flames, darted out on a little piece of green in front, and warned off
two donkeys that had presumed to set hoof upon it; while my aunt,
rushing out of the house, seized the bridle of a third animal, led him
forth from those sacred precincts, and boxed the ears of the unlucky
urchin in attendance.
To this hour I don't know whether my aunt had any lawful right of way
over that patch of green; but she had settled it in her own mind that
she had, and it was all the same to her. The one great outrage of her
life, demanding to be constantly avenged, was the passage of a donkey
over that spot. No matter what she was doing or saying, a donkey turned
the current of her ideas in a moment, and she was upon him straight.
Jugs of water and watering-pots were kept in secret places ready to be
discharged on the offending boys; sticks were laid in ambush behind the
door; sallies were made at all hours; and incessant war prevailed.
Perhaps this was an agreeable excitement to the donkey-boys; or perhaps
the more sagacious of the donkeys, understanding how the case stood,
stubbornly delighted in coming that way. I only know that there were
three alarms before the bath was ready; and that on the occasion of the
last and most desperate of all, I saw my aunt engage, single-handed,
with a sandy-headed lad of fifteen, and bump his sandy head against her
own gate, before he realized what was the matter. These interruptions
were the more ridiculous to me, because she was giving me broth out of a
tablespoon at the time (having firmly persuaded herself that I was
actually starving, and must receive food at first in very small
quantities), and, while my mouth was yet open to receive the spoon, she
would put it back into the basin, cry "Janet! Donkeys!" and go out to
the assault.
The bath was a great comfort. For I began to be sensible of acute pains
in my limbs from lying out in the fields, and was now so tired and low
that I could hardly keep myself awake for five minutes together. When I
had bathed they enrobed me in a shirt and a pair of trousers belonging
to Mr. Dick, and tied me up in two or three great shawls. What sort of
bundle I looked like, I don't know, but I felt a very hot one. Feeling
also very faint and drowsy, I soon fell asleep.
The next morning at breakfast my aunt said, with a determined shake of
her head, "Well, I've written to him."
"To whom?" I ventured.
"To Mr. Murdstone."
"Does he know where I am, aunt?" I inquired, alarmed.
"I have told him," said my aunt, with a nod.
"Shall I--be--given up to him?" I faltered.
"I don't know," said my aunt. "We shall see."
"Oh! I can't think what I shall do," I exclaimed, "if I have to go back
to Mr. Murdstone!"
"I don't know anything about it," said my aunt, shaking her head. "I
can't say, I am sure. We shall see."
My spirits sank under these words, and I became very downcast and heavy
of heart.
For the next few days I felt like a criminal condemned to die; although
my aunt and Mr. Dick both were very kind to me. Finally the day of the
expected visit from Mr. Murdstone arrived, but without bringing him till
late in the afternoon. Our dinner had been postponed; but it was
growing so late that my aunt had ordered it to be got ready, when she
gave a sudden alarm of donkeys, and to my consternation, I beheld Miss
Murdstone, on a side-saddle, ride deliberately over the sacred piece of
green, and stop in front of the house, looking about her.
"Go along with you!" cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist out of
the window. "You have no business there. How dare you trespass? Go
along! Oh, you bold-faced thing!"
My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which Miss Murdstone
looked about her, that I really believe she did not know what to do. I
hastened to tell her who it was, and that Mr. Murdstone was following
behind, but it made no difference. She glared at them as they entered
the room in a most terrible way.
"Oh!" said my aunt, "I was not aware at first to whom I had the pleasure
of objecting. But I don't allow anybody to ride over that turf. I make
no exceptions. I don't allow anybody to do it."
"Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers," said Miss Murdstone.
"_Is_ it!" said my aunt.