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_ CHAPTER 64 - An old Acquaintance is recognised under melancholy Circumstances, and Dotheboys Hall breaks up for ever
Nicholas was one of those whose joy is incomplete unless it is
shared by the friends of adverse and less fortunate days.
Surrounded by every fascination of love and hope, his warm heart
yearned towards plain John Browdie. He remembered their first
meeting with a smile, and their second with a tear; saw poor Smike
once again with the bundle on his shoulder trudging patiently by his
side; and heard the honest Yorkshireman's rough words of
encouragement as he left them on their road to London.
Madeline and he sat down, very many times, jointly to produce a
letter which should acquaint John at full length with his altered
fortunes, and assure him of his friendship and gratitude. It so
happened, however, that the letter could never be written. Although
they applied themselves to it with the best intentions in the world,
it chanced that they always fell to talking about something else,
and when Nicholas tried it by himself, he found it impossible to
write one-half of what he wished to say, or to pen anything, indeed,
which on reperusal did not appear cold and unsatisfactory compared
with what he had in his mind. At last, after going on thus from day
to day, and reproaching himself more and more, he resolved (the more
readily as Madeline strongly urged him) to make a hasty trip into
Yorkshire, and present himself before Mr and Mrs Browdie without a
word of notice.
Thus it was that between seven and eight o'clock one evening, he and
Kate found themselves in the Saracen's Head booking-office, securing
a place to Greta Bridge by the next morning's coach. They had to go
westward, to procure some little necessaries for his journey, and,
as it was a fine night, they agreed to walk there, and ride home.
The place they had just been in called up so many recollections, and
Kate had so many anecdotes of Madeline, and Nicholas so many
anecdotes of Frank, and each was so interested in what the other
said, and both were so happy and confiding, and had so much to talk
about, that it was not until they had plunged for a full half-hour
into that labyrinth of streets which lies between Seven Dials and
Soho, without emerging into any large thoroughfare, that Nicholas
began to think it just possible they might have lost their way.
The possibility was soon converted into a certainty; for, on looking
about, and walking first to one end of the street and then to the
other, he could find no landmark he could recognise, and was fain to
turn back again in quest of some place at which he could seek a
direction.
It was a by-street, and there was nobody about, or in the few
wretched shops they passed. Making towards a faint gleam of light
which streamed across the pavement from a cellar, Nicholas was about
to descend two or three steps so as to render himself visible to
those below and make his inquiry, when he was arrested by a loud
noise of scolding in a woman's voice.
'Oh come away!' said Kate, 'they are quarrelling. You'll be hurt.'
'Wait one instant, Kate. Let us hear if there's anything the
matter,' returned her brother. 'Hush!'
'You nasty, idle, vicious, good-for-nothing brute,' cried the woman,
stamping on the ground, 'why don't you turn the mangle?'
'So I am, my life and soul!' replied the man's voice. 'I am always
turning. I am perpetually turning, like a demd old horse in a
demnition mill. My life is one demd horrid grind!'
'Then why don't you go and list for a soldier?' retorted the woman;
'you're welcome to.'
'For a soldier!' cried the man. 'For a soldier! Would his joy and
gladness see him in a coarse red coat with a little tail? Would she
hear of his being slapped and beat by drummers demnebly? Would she
have him fire off real guns, and have his hair cut, and his whiskers
shaved, and his eyes turned right and left, and his trousers
pipeclayed?'
'Dear Nicholas,' whispered Kate, 'you don't know who that is. It's
Mr Mantalini I am confident.'
'Do make sure! Peep at him while I ask the way,' said Nicholas.
'Come down a step or two. Come!'
Drawing her after him, Nicholas crept down the steps and looked into
a small boarded cellar. There, amidst clothes-baskets and clothes,
stripped up to his shirt-sleeves, but wearing still an old patched
pair of pantaloons of superlative make, a once brilliant waistcoat,
and moustache and whiskers as of yore, but lacking their lustrous
dye--there, endeavouring to mollify the wrath of a buxom female--not
the lawful Madame Mantalini, but the proprietress of the concern--
and grinding meanwhile as if for very life at the mangle, whose
creaking noise, mingled with her shrill tones, appeared almost to
deafen him--there was the graceful, elegant, fascinating, and once
dashing Mantalini.
'Oh you false traitor!' cried the lady, threatening personal
violence on Mr Mantalini's face.
'False! Oh dem! Now my soul, my gentle, captivating, bewitching,
and most demnebly enslaving chick-a-biddy, be calm,' said Mr
Mantalini, humbly.
'I won't!' screamed the woman. 'I'll tear your eyes out!'
'Oh! What a demd savage lamb!' cried Mr Mantalini.
'You're never to be trusted,' screamed the woman; 'you were out all
day yesterday, and gallivanting somewhere I know. You know you were!
Isn't it enough that I paid two pound fourteen for you, and took you
out of prison and let you live here like a gentleman, but must you
go on like this: breaking, my heart besides?'
'I will never break its heart, I will be a good boy, and never do so
any more; I will never be naughty again; I beg its little pardon,'
said Mr Mantalini, dropping the handle of the mangle, and folding
his palms together; 'it is all up with its handsome friend! He has
gone to the demnition bow-wows. It will have pity? It will not
scratch and claw, but pet and comfort? Oh, demmit!'
Very little affected, to judge from her action, by this tender
appeal, the lady was on the point of returning some angry reply,
when Nicholas, raising his voice, asked his way to Piccadilly.
Mr Mantalini turned round, caught sight of Kate, and, without
another word, leapt at one bound into a bed which stood behind the
door, and drew the counterpane over his face: kicking meanwhile
convulsively.
'Demmit,' he cried, in a suffocating voice, 'it's little Nickleby!
Shut the door, put out the candle, turn me up in the bedstead! Oh,
dem, dem, dem!'
The woman looked, first at Nicholas, and then at Mr Mantalini, as if
uncertain on whom to visit this extraordinary behaviour; but Mr
Mantalini happening by ill-luck to thrust his nose from under the
bedclothes, in his anxiety to ascertain whether the visitors were
gone, she suddenly, and with a dexterity which could only have been
acquired by long practice, flung a pretty heavy clothes-basket at
him, with so good an aim that he kicked more violently than before,
though without venturing to make any effort to disengage his head,
which was quite extinguished. Thinking this a favourable
opportunity for departing before any of the torrent of her wrath
discharged itself upon him, Nicholas hurried Kate off, and left the
unfortunate subject of this unexpected recognition to explain his
conduct as he best could.
The next morning he began his journey. It was now cold, winter
weather: forcibly recalling to his mind under what circumstances he
had first travelled that road, and how many vicissitudes and changes
he had since undergone. He was alone inside the greater part of the
way, and sometimes, when he had fallen into a doze, and, rousing
himself, looked out of the window, and recognised some place which
he well remembered as having passed, either on his journey down, or
in the long walk back with poor Smike, he could hardly believe but
that all which had since happened had been a dream, and that they
were still plodding wearily on towards London, with the world before
them.
To render these recollections the more vivid, it came on to snow as
night set in; and, passing through Stamford and Grantham, and by the
little alehouse where he had heard the story of the bold Baron of
Grogzwig, everything looked as if he had seen it but yesterday, and
not even a flake of the white crust on the roofs had melted away.
Encouraging the train of ideas which flocked upon him, he could
almost persuade himself that he sat again outside the coach, with
Squeers and the boys; that he heard their voices in the air; and
that he felt again, but with a mingled sensation of pain and
pleasure now, that old sinking of the heart, and longing after home.
While he was yet yielding himself up to these fancies he fell
asleep, and, dreaming of Madeline, forgot them.
He slept at the inn at Greta Bridge on the night of his arrival,
and, rising at a very early hour next morning, walked to the market
town, and inquired for John Browdie's house. John lived in the
outskirts, now he was a family man; and as everbody knew him,
Nicholas had no difficulty in finding a boy who undertook to guide
him to his residence.
Dismissing his guide at the gate, and in his impatience not even
stopping to admire the thriving look of cottage or garden either,
Nicholas made his way to the kitchen door, and knocked lustily with
his stick.
'Halloa!' cried a voice inside. 'Wa'et be the matther noo? Be the
toon a-fire? Ding, but thou mak'st noise eneaf!'
With these words, John Browdie opened the door himself, and opening
his eyes too to their utmost width, cried, as he clapped his hands
together, and burst into a hearty roar:
'Ecod, it be the godfeyther, it be the godfeyther! Tilly, here be
Misther Nickleby. Gi' us thee hond, mun. Coom awa', coom awa'. In
wi 'un, doon beside the fire; tak' a soop o' thot. Dinnot say a
word till thou'st droonk it a'! Oop wi' it, mun. Ding! but I'm
reeght glod to see thee.'
Adapting his action to his text, John dragged Nicholas into the
kitchen, forced him down upon a huge settle beside a blazing fire,
poured out from an enormous bottle about a quarter of a pint of
spirits, thrust it into his hand, opened his mouth and threw back
his head as a sign to him to drink it instantly, and stood with a
broad grin of welcome overspreading his great red face like a jolly
giant.
'I might ha' knowa'd,' said John,;' that nobody but thou would ha'
coom wi' sike a knock as you. Thot was the wa' thou knocked at
schoolmeasther's door, eh? Ha, ha, ha! But I say; wa'at be a' this
aboot schoolmeasther?'
'You know it then?' said Nicholas.
'They were talking aboot it, doon toon, last neeght,' replied John,
'but neane on 'em seemed quite to un'erstan' it, loike.'
'After various shiftings and delays,' said Nicholas, 'he has been
sentenced to be transported for seven years, for being in the
unlawful possession of a stolen will; and, after that, he has to
suffer the consequence of a conspiracy.'
'Whew!' cried John, 'a conspiracy! Soom'at in the pooder-plot wa'?
Eh? Soom'at in the Guy Faux line?'
'No, no, no, a conspiracy connected with his school; I'll explain it
presently.'
'Thot's reeght!' said John, 'explain it arter breakfast, not noo,
for thou be'est hoongry, and so am I; and Tilly she mun' be at the
bottom o' a' explanations, for she says thot's the mutual
confidence. Ha, ha, ha! Ecod, it's a room start, is the mutual
confidence!'
The entrance of Mrs Browdie, with a smart cap on, and very many
apologies for their having been detected in the act of breakfasting
in the kitchen, stopped John in his discussion of this grave
subject, and hastened the breakfast: which, being composed of vast
mounds of toast, new-laid eggs, boiled ham, Yorkshire pie, and other
cold substantials (of which heavy relays were constantly appearing
from another kitchen under the direction of a very plump servant),
was admirably adapted to the cold bleak morning, and received the
utmost justice from all parties. At last, it came to a close; and
the fire which had been lighted in the best parlour having by this
time burnt up, they adjourned thither, to hear what Nicholas had to
tell.
Nicholas told them all, and never was there a story which awakened
so many emotions in the breasts of two eager listeners. At one
time, honest John groaned in sympathy, and at another roared with
joy; at one time he vowed to go up to London on purpose to get a
sight of the brothers Cheeryble; and, at another, swore that Tim
Linkinwater should receive such a ham by coach, and carriage free,
as mortal knife had never carved. When Nicholas began to describe
Madeline, he sat with his mouth wide open, nudging Mrs Browdie from
time to time, and exclaiming under his breath that she must be
'raa'ther a tidy sart,' and when he heard at last that his young
friend had come down purposely to communicate his good fortune, and
to convey to him all those assurances of friendship which he could
not state with sufficient warmth in writing--that the only object of
his journey was to share his happiness with them, and to tell them
that when he was married they must come up to see him, and that
Madeline insisted on it as well as he--John could hold out no
longer, but after looking indignantly at his wife, and demanding to
know what she was whimpering for, drew his coat sleeve over his eyes
and blubbered outright.
'Tell'ee wa'at though,' said John seriously, when a great deal had
been said on both sides, 'to return to schoolmeasther. If this news
aboot 'un has reached school today, the old 'ooman wean't have a
whole boan in her boddy, nor Fanny neither.'
'Oh, John!' cried Mrs Browdie.
'Ah! and Oh, John agean,' replied the Yorkshireman. 'I dinnot know
what they lads mightn't do. When it first got aboot that
schoolmeasther was in trouble, some feythers and moothers sent and
took their young chaps awa'. If them as is left, should know waat's
coom tiv'un, there'll be sike a revolution and rebel!--Ding! But I
think they'll a' gang daft, and spill bluid like wather!'
In fact, John Browdie's apprehensions were so strong that he
determined to ride over to the school without delay, and invited
Nicholas to accompany him, which, however, he declined, pleading
that his presence might perhaps aggravate the bitterness of their
adversity.
'Thot's true!' said John; 'I should ne'er ha' thought o' thot.'
'I must return tomorrow,' said Nicholas, 'but I mean to dine with
you today, and if Mrs Browdie can give me a bed--'
'Bed!' cried John, 'I wish thou couldst sleep in fower beds at once.
Ecod, thou shouldst have 'em a'. Bide till I coom back; on'y bide
till I coom back, and ecod we'll make a day of it.'
Giving his wife a hearty kiss, and Nicholas a no less hearty shake
of the hand, John mounted his horse and rode off: leaving Mrs
Browdie to apply herself to hospitable preparations, and his young
friend to stroll about the neighbourhood, and revisit spots which
were rendered familiar to him by many a miserable association.
John cantered away, and arriving at Dotheboys Hall, tied his horse
to a gate and made his way to the schoolroom door, which he found
locked on the inside. A tremendous noise and riot arose from
within, and, applying his eye to a convenient crevice in the wall,
he did not remain long in ignorance of its meaning.
The news of Mr Squeers's downfall had reached Dotheboys; that was
quite clear. To all appearance, it had very recently become known
to the young gentlemen; for the rebellion had just broken out.
It was one of the brimstone-and-treacle mornings, and Mrs Squeers
had entered school according to custom with the large bowl and
spoon, followed by Miss Squeers and the amiable Wackford: who,
during his father's absence, had taken upon him such minor branches
of the executive as kicking the pupils with his nailed boots,
pulling the hair of some of the smaller boys, pinching the others in
aggravating places, and rendering himself, in various similar ways,
a great comfort and happiness to his mother. Their entrance,
whether by premeditation or a simultaneous impulse, was the signal
of revolt. While one detachment rushed to the door and locked it,
and another mounted on the desks and forms, the stoutest (and
consequently the newest) boy seized the cane, and confronting Mrs
Squeers with a stern countenance, snatched off her cap and beaver
bonnet, put them on his own head, armed himself with the wooden
spoon, and bade her, on pain of death, go down upon her knees and
take a dose directly. Before that estimable lady could recover
herself, or offer the slightest retaliation, she was forced into a
kneeling posture by a crowd of shouting tormentors, and compelled to
swallow a spoonful of the odious mixture, rendered more than usually
savoury by the immersion in the bowl of Master Wackford's head,
whose ducking was intrusted to another rebel. The success of this
first achievement prompted the malicious crowd, whose faces were
clustered together in every variety of lank and half-starved
ugliness, to further acts of outrage. The leader was insisting upon
Mrs Squeers repeating her dose, Master Squeers was undergoing
another dip in the treacle, and a violent assault had been commenced
on Miss Squeers, when John Browdie, bursting open the door with a
vigorous kick, rushed to the rescue. The shouts, screams, groans,
hoots, and clapping of hands, suddenly ceased, and a dead silence
ensued.
'Ye be noice chaps,' said John, looking steadily round. 'What's to
do here, thou yoong dogs?'
'Squeers is in prison, and we are going to run away!' cried a score
of shrill voices. 'We won't stop, we won't stop!'
'Weel then, dinnot stop,' replied John; 'who waants thee to stop?
Roon awa' loike men, but dinnot hurt the women.'
'Hurrah!' cried the shrill voices, more shrilly still.
'Hurrah?' repeated John. 'Weel, hurrah loike men too. Noo then,
look out. Hip--hip,--hip--hurrah!'
'Hurrah!' cried the voices.
'Hurrah! Agean;' said John. 'Looder still.'
The boys obeyed.
'Anoother!' said John. 'Dinnot be afeared on it. Let's have a good
'un!'
'Hurrah!'
'Noo then,' said John, 'let's have yan more to end wi', and then
coot off as quick as you loike. Tak'a good breath noo--Squeers be
in jail--the school's brokken oop--it's a' ower--past and gane--
think o' thot, and let it be a hearty 'un! Hurrah!'
Such a cheer arose as the walls of Dotheboys Hall had never echoed
before, and were destined never to respond to again. When the sound
had died away, the school was empty; and of the busy noisy crowd
which had peopled it but five minutes before, not one remained.
'Very well, Mr Browdie!' said Miss Squeers, hot and flushed from the
recent encounter, but vixenish to the last; 'you've been and excited
our boys to run away. Now see if we don't pay you out for that,
sir! If my pa IS unfortunate and trod down by henemies, we're not
going to be basely crowed and conquered over by you and 'Tilda.'
'Noa!' replied John bluntly, 'thou bean't. Tak' thy oath o' thot.
Think betther o' us, Fanny. I tell 'ee both, that I'm glod the auld
man has been caught out at last--dom'd glod--but ye'll sooffer eneaf
wi'out any crowin' fra' me, and I be not the mun to crow, nor be
Tilly the lass, so I tell 'ee flat. More than thot, I tell 'ee noo,
that if thou need'st friends to help thee awa' from this place--
dinnot turn up thy nose, Fanny, thou may'st--thou'lt foind Tilly and
I wi' a thout o' old times aboot us, ready to lend thee a hond. And
when I say thot, dinnot think I be asheamed of waa't I've deane, for
I say again, Hurrah! and dom the schoolmeasther. There!'
His parting words concluded, John Browdie strode heavily out,
remounted his nag, put him once more into a smart canter, and,
carolling lustily forth some fragments of an old song, to which the
horse's hoofs rang a merry accompaniment, sped back to his pretty
wife and to Nicholas.
For some days afterwards, the neighbouring country was overrun with
boys, who, the report went, had been secretly furnished by Mr and
Mrs Browdie, not only with a hearty meal of bread and meat, but with
sundry shillings and sixpences to help them on their way. To this
rumour John always returned a stout denial, which he accompanied,
however, with a lurking grin, that rendered the suspicious doubtful,
and fully confirmed all previous believers.
There were a few timid young children, who, miserable as they had
been, and many as were the tears they had shed in the wretched
school, still knew no other home, and had formed for it a sort of
attachment, which made them weep when the bolder spirits fled, and
cling to it as a refuge. Of these, some were found crying under
hedges and in such places, frightened at the solitude. One had a
dead bird in a little cage; he had wandered nearly twenty miles, and
when his poor favourite died, lost courage, and lay down beside him.
Another was discovered in a yard hard by the school, sleeping with a
dog, who bit at those who came to remove him, and licked the
sleeping child's pale face.
They were taken back, and some other stragglers were recovered, but
by degrees they were claimed, or lost again; and, in course of time,
Dotheboys Hall and its last breaking-up began to be forgotten by the
neighbours, or to be only spoken of as among the things that had
been. _
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