At the stairs where we had taken him abroad, and ever since,I had looked warily for any token of our being suspected. I had seen none.We certainly had not been, and at that time as certainly we were not either attended or followed by any boat.If we had been waited on by any boat, I should have run in to shore, and have obliged her to go on,or to make her purpose evident. But we held our own without any appearance of molestation.
He had his boat-cloak on him, and looked, as I have said, a natural part of the scene.It was remarkable (but perhaps the wretched life he had led accounted for it) that he was the least anxious of any of us.He was not indifferent, for he told me that he hoped to live to see his gentleman one of the best of gentlemen in a foreign country;he was not disposed to be passive or resigned, as I understood it;but he had no notion of meeting danger half way. When it came upon him, he confronted it,but it must come before he troubled himself.
“If you knowed, dear boy,” he said to me,“what it is to sit here alonger my dear boy and have my smoke,arter having been day by day betwixt four walls, you’d envy me. But you don’t know what it is.”
“I think I know the delights of freedom,” I answered.
“Ah,” said he, shaking his head gravely. “But you don’t know it equal to me.You must have been under lock and key, dear boy, to know it equal to me, —but I ain’t a-going to be low.”
It occurred to me as inconsistent, that, for any mastering idea,he should have endangered his freedom, and even his life.But I reflected that perhaps freedom without danger was too much apart from all the habit of his existence to be to him what it would be to another man.I was not far out, since he said, after smoking a little:—
“You see, dear boy, when I was over yonder, t’other side the world,I was always a looking to this side; and it come flat to be there, for all I was a growing rich.Everybody knowed Magwitch, and Magwitch could come, and Magwitch could go,and nobody’s head would be troubled about him. They ain’t so easy concerning me here, dear boy,—wouldn’t be, leastwise, if they knowed where I was.”
“If all goes well,” said I, “you will be perfectly free and safe again within a few hours.”
“Well,” he returned, drawing a long breath, “I hope so.”
“And think so?”
He dipped his hand in the water over the boat’s gunwale, and said,smiling with that softened air upon him which was not new to me:—
“Ay, I s’pose I think so, dear boy. We’d be puzzled to be more quiet and easy-going than we are at present.But—it’s a flowing so soft and pleasant through the water, p’raps,as makes me think it—I was a thinking through my smoke just then,that we can no more see to the bottom of the next few hours than we can see to the bottom of this river what I catches hold of.Nor yet we can’t no more hold their tide than I can hold this.And it’s run through my fingers and gone, you see!” holding up his dripping hand.
“But for your face I should think you were a little despondent,” said I.
“Not a bit on it, dear boy!It comes of flowing on so quiet, and of that there rippling at the boat’s head making a sort of a Sunday tune.Maybe I’m a growing a trifle old besides.”
He put his pipe back in his mouth with an undisturbed expression of face,and sat as composed and contented as if we were already out of England.Yet he was as submissive to a word of advice as if he had been in constant terror; for,when we ran ashore to get some bottles of beer into the boat, and he was stepping out,I hinted that I thought he would be safest where he was, and he said. “Do you, dear boy?” and quietly sat down again.
The air felt cold upon the river, but it was a bright day, and the sunshine was very cheering.The tide ran strong, I took care to lose none of it,and our steady stroke carried us on thoroughly well. By imperceptible degrees, as the tide ran out,we lost more and more of the nearer woods and hills,and dropped lower and lower between the muddy banks,but the tide was yet with us when we were off Gravesend. As our charge was wrapped in his cloak,I purposely passed within a boat or two’s length of the floating Custom House,and so out to catch the stream, alongside of two emigrant ships,and under the bows of a large transport with troops on the forecastle looking down at us.And soon the tide began to slacken, and the craft lying at anchor to swing,and presently they had all swung round,and the ships that were taking advantage of the new tide to get up to the Pool began to crowd upon us in a fleet,and we kept under the shore, as much out of the strength of the tide now as we could,standing carefully off from low shallows and mudbanks.
Our oarsmen were so fresh, by dint of having occasionally let her drive with the tide for a minute or two,that a quarter of an hour’s rest proved full as much as they wanted.We got ashore among some slippery stones while we ate and drank what we had with us,and looked about. It was like my own marsh country, flat and monotonous, and with a dim horizon;while the winding river turned and turned, and the great floating buoys upon it turned and turned,and everything else seemed stranded and still.For now the last of the fleet of ships was round the last low point we had headed;and the last green barge, straw-laden, with a brown sail, had followed; and some ballast-lighters,shaped like a child’s first rude imitation of a boat, lay low in the mud;and a little squat shoal-lighthouse on open piles stood crippled in the mud on stilts and crutches;and slimy stakes stuck out of the mud, and slimy stones stuck out of the mud,and red landmarks and tidemarks stuck out of the mud,and an old landing-stage and an old roofless building slipped into the mud,and all about us was stagnation and mud.
We pushed off again, and made what way we could. It was much harder work now,but Herbert and Startop persevered, and rowed and rowed and rowed until the sun went down.By that time the river had lifted us a little, so that we could see above the bank.There was the red sun, on the low level of the shore, in a purple haze, fast deepening into black;and there was the solitary flat marsh; and far away there were the rising grounds,between which and us there seemed to be no life,save here and there in the foreground a melancholy gull.
As the night was fast falling, and as the moon, being past the full, would not rise early,we held a little council; a short one, for clearly our course was to lie by at the first lonely tavern we could find.So, they plied their oars once more, and I looked out for anything like a house. Thus we held on,speaking little, for four or five dull miles. It was very cold, and, a collier coming by us,with her galley-fire smoking and flaring, looked like a comfortable home.The night was as dark by this time as it would be until morning; and what light we had,seemed to come more from the river than the sky,as the oars in their dipping struck at a few reflected stars.
At this dismal time we were evidently all possessed by the idea that we were followed.As the tide made, it flapped heavily at irregular intervals against the shore;and whenever such a sound came, one or other of us was sure to start, and look in that direction.Here and there, the set of the current had worn down the bank into a little creek,and we were all suspicious of such places, and eyed them nervously. Sometimes, “What was that ripple?” one of us would say in a low voice. Or another, “Is that a boat yonder?” And afterwards we would fall into a dead silence,and I would sit impatiently thinking with what an unusual amount of noise the oars worked in the thowels.
At length we descried a light and a roof,and presently afterwards ran alongside a little causeway made of stones that had been picked up hard by.Leaving the rest in the boat, I stepped ashore,and found the light to be in a window of a public-house. It was a dirty place enough,and I dare say not unknown to smuggling adventurers; but there was a good fire in the kitchen,and there were eggs and bacon to eat, and various liquors to drink. Also,there were two double-bedded rooms,—“such as they were,” the landlord said.No other company was in the house than the landlord, his wife, and a grizzled male creature,the “Jack” of the little causeway, who was as slimy and smeary as if he had been low-water mark too.
With this assistant, I went down to the boat again, and we all came ashore,and brought out the oars, and rudder and boat-hook, and all else, and hauled her up for the night.We made a very good meal by the kitchen fire, and then apportioned the bedrooms:Herbert and Startop were to occupy one; I and our charge the other.We found the air as carefully excluded from both, as if air were fatal to life;and there were more dirty clothes and bandboxes under the beds than I should have thought the family possessed.But we considered ourselves well off, notwithstanding,for a more solitary place we could not have found.
While we were comforting ourselves by the fire after our meal, the Jack—who was sitting in a corner,and who had a bloated pair of shoes on,which he had exhibited while we were eating our eggs and bacon,as interesting relics that he had taken a few days ago from the feet of a drowned seaman washed ashore—asked me if we had seen a four-oared galley going up with the tide?When I told him No, he said she must have gone down then, and yet she “took up too, ” when she left there.
“They must ha’ thought better on’t for some reason or another,” said the Jack, “and gone down.”
“A four-oared galley, did you say?” said I.
“A four,” said the Jack, “and two sitters.”
“Did they come ashore here?”
“They put in with a stone two-gallon jar for some beer. I’d ha’ been glad to pison the beer myself,” said the Jack, “or put some rattling physic in it.”
“Why?”
“_I_ know why,” said the Jack. He spoke in a slushy voice,as if much mud had washed into his throat.
“He thinks,” said the landlord, a weakly meditative man with a pale eye,who seemed to rely greatly on his Jack,—“he thinks they was, what they wasn’t.”
“_I_ knows what I thinks,” observed the Jack.
“_You_ thinks Custom ’Us, Jack?” said the landlord.
“I do,” said the Jack.
“Then you’re wrong, Jack.”
“AM I!”
In the infinite meaning of his reply and his boundless confidence in his views,the Jack took one of his bloated shoes off, looked into it,knocked a few stones out of it on the kitchen floor, and put it on again.He did this with the air of a Jack who was so right that he could afford to do anything.
“Why, what do you make out that they done with their buttons then, Jack?” asked the landlord, vacillating weakly.
“Done with their buttons?” returned the Jack. “Chucked ’em overboard. Swallered ’em. Sowed ’em, to come up small salad. Done with their buttons!”
“Don’t be cheeky, Jack,” remonstrated the landlord, in a melancholy and pathetic way.
“A Custom ’Us officer knows what to do with his Buttons,” said the Jack,repeating the obnoxious word with the greatest contempt,“when they comes betwixt him and his own light.A four and two sitters don’t go hanging and hovering, up with one tide and down with another,and both with and against another, without there being Custom ’Us at the bottom of it.” Saying which he went out in disdain; and the landlord, having no one to reply upon,found it impracticable to pursue the subject.
This dialogue made us all uneasy, and me very uneasy. The dismal wind was muttering round the house,the tide was flapping at the shore, and I had a feeling that we were caged and threatened.A four-oared galley hovering about in so unusual a way as to attract this notice was an ugly circumstance that I could not get rid of.When I had induced Provis to go up to bed,I went outside with my two companions (Startop by this time knew the state of the case),and held another council. Whether we should remain at the house until near the steamer’s time,which would be about one in the afternoon, or whether we should put off early in the morning,was the question we discussed. On the whole we deemed it the better course to lie where we were,until within an hour or so of the steamer’s time, and then to get out in her track,and drift easily with the tide. Having settled to do this,we returned into the house and went to bed.
I lay down with the greater part of my clothes on, and slept well for a few hours. When I awoke,the wind had risen, and the sign of the house (the Ship) was creaking and banging about,with noises that startled me. Rising softly, for my charge lay fast asleep,I looked out of the window. It commanded the causeway where we had hauled up our boat, and,as my eyes adapted themselves to the light of the clouded moon, I saw two men looking into her.They passed by under the window, looking at nothing else,and they did not go down to the landing-place which I could discern to be empty,but struck across the marsh in the direction of the Nore.
My first impulse was to call up Herbert, and show him the two men going away. But reflecting,before I got into his room, which was at the back of the house and adjoined mine,that he and Startop had had a harder day than I, and were fatigued, I forbore.Going back to my window, I could see the two men moving over the marsh. In that light, however,I soon lost them, and, feeling very cold, lay down to think of the matter, and fell asleep again.
We were up early. As we walked to and fro, all four together, before breakfast,I deemed it right to recount what I had seen. Again our charge was the least anxious of the party.It was very likely that the men belonged to the Custom House, he said quietly,and that they had no thought of us. I tried to persuade myself that it was so,—as, indeed,it might easily be. However, I proposed that he and I should walk away together to a distant point we could see,and that the boat should take us aboard there, or as near there as might prove feasible,at about noon. This being considered a good precaution, soon after breakfast he and I set forth, without saying anything at the tavern.
He smoked his pipe as we went along, and sometimes stopped to clap me on the shoulder.One would have supposed that it was I who was in danger, not he, and that he was reassuring me.We spoke very little. As we approached the point, I begged him to remain in a sheltered place,while I went on to reconnoitre; for it was towards it that the men had passed in the night.He complied, and I went on alone. There was no boat off the point,nor any boat drawn up anywhere near it, nor were there any signs of the men having embarked there.But, to be sure, the tide was high, and there might have been some footprints under water.
When he looked out from his shelter in the distance, and saw that I waved my hat to him to come up,he rejoined me, and there we waited; sometimes lying on the bank, wrapped in our coats,and sometimes moving about to warm ourselves, until we saw our boat coming round.We got aboard easily, and rowed out into the track of the steamer.By that time it wanted but ten minutes of one o’clock, and we began to look out for her smoke.
But, it was half-past one before we saw her smoke,and soon afterwards we saw behind it the smoke of another steamer.As they were coming on at full speed, we got the two bags ready,and took that opportunity of saying good-bye to Herbert and Startop.We had all shaken hands cordially, and neither Herbert’s eyes nor mine were quite dry,when I saw a four-oared galley shoot out from under the bank but a little way ahead of us, and row out into the same track.
A stretch of shore had been as yet between us and the steamer’s smoke,by reason of the bend and wind of the river; but now she was visible, coming head on.I called to Herbert and Startop to keep before the tide, that she might see us lying by for her,and I adjured Provis to sit quite still, wrapped in his cloak. He answered cheerily, “Trust to me,dear boy,” and sat like a statue. Meantime the galley, which was very skilfully handled,had crossed us, let us come up with her, and fallen alongside.Leaving just room enough for the play of the oars, she kept alongside, drifting when we drifted,and pulling a stroke or two when we pulled. Of the two sitters one held the rudder-lines,and looked at us attentively,—as did all the rowers; the other sitter was wrapped up,much as Provis was, and seemed to shrink,and whisper some instruction to the steerer as he looked at us. Not a word was spoken in either boat.
Startop could make out, after a few minutes, which steamer was first, and gave me the word “Hamburg,” in a low voice, as we sat face to face. She was nearing us very fast,and the beating of her peddles grew louder and louder.I felt as if her shadow were absolutely upon us, when the galley hailed us. I answered.
“You have a returned Transport there,” said the man who held the lines. “That’s the man,wrapped in the cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch, otherwise Provis. I apprehend that man,and call upon him to surrender, and you to assist.”
At the same moment, without giving any audible direction to his crew,he ran the galley abroad of us. They had pulled one sudden stroke ahead, had got their oars in,had run athwart us, and were holding on to our gunwale, before we knew what they were doing.This caused great confusion on board the steamer, and I heard them calling to us,and heard the order given to stop the paddles, and heard them stop,but felt her driving down upon us irresistibly. In the same moment,I saw the steersman of the galley lay his hand on his prisoner’s shoulder,and saw that both boats were swinging round with the force of the tide,and saw that all hands on board the steamer were running forward quite frantically. Still,in the same moment, I saw the prisoner start up, lean across his captor,and pull the cloak from the neck of the shrinking sitter in the galley. Still in the same moment,I saw that the face disclosed, was the face of the other convict of long ago. Still,in the same moment, I saw the face tilt backward with a white terror on it that I shall never forget,and heard a great cry on board the steamer, and a loud splash in the water, and felt the boat sink from under me.
It was but for an instant that I seemed to struggle with a thousand mill-weirs and a thousand flashes of light;that instant past, I was taken on board the galley. Herbert was there, and Startop was there;but our boat was gone, and the two convicts were gone.
What with the cries aboard the steamer, and the furious blowing off of her steam,and her driving on, and our driving on,I could not at first distinguish sky from water or shore from shore;but the crew of the galley righted her with great speed, and,pulling certain swift strong strokes ahead, lay upon their oars,every man looking silently and eagerly at the water astern. Presently a dark object was seen in it,bearing towards us on the tide. No man spoke, but the steersman held up his hand,and all softly backed water, and kept the boat straight and true before it. As it came nearer,I saw it to be Magwitch, swimming, but not swimming freely. He was taken on board,and instantly manacled at the wrists and ankles.
The galley was kept steady, and the silent, eager look-out at the water was resumed. But,the Rotterdam steamer now came up, and apparently not understanding what had happened,came on at speed. By the time she had been hailed and stopped,both steamers were drifting away from us,and we were rising and falling in a troubled wake of water. The look-out was kept,long after all was still again and the two steamers were gone;but everybody knew that it was hopeless now.
At length we gave it up, and pulled under the shore towards the tavern we had lately left,where we were received with no little surprise. Here I was able to get some comforts for Magwitch,—Provis no longer,—who had received some very severe injury in the chest, and a deep cut in the head.
He told me that he believed himself to have gone under the keel of the steamer,and to have been struck on the head in rising.The injury to his chest (which rendered his breathing extremely painful) he thought he had received against the side of the galley.He added that he did not pretend to say what he might or might not have done to Compeyson,but that, in the moment of his laying his hand on his cloak to identify him,that villain had staggered up and staggered back, and they had both gone overboard together,when the sudden wrenching of him (Magwitch) out of our boat,and the endeavour of his captor to keep him in it, had capsized us.He told me in a whisper that they had gone down fiercely locked in each other’s arms,and that there had been a struggle under water, and that he had disengaged himself, struck out, and swum away.
I never had any reason to doubt the exact truth of what he thus told me.The officer who steered the galley gave the same account of their going overboard.
When I asked this officer’s permission to change the prisoner’s wet clothes by purchasing any spare garments I could get at the public-house,he gave it readily: merely observing that he must take charge of everything his prisoner had about him.So the pocket-book which had once been in my hands passed into the officer’s.He further gave me leave to accompany the prisoner to London;but declined to accord that grace to my two friends.
The Jack at the Ship was instructed where the drowned man had gone down,and undertook to search for the body in the places where it was likeliest to come ashore.His interest in its recovery seemed to me to be much heightened when he heard that it had stockings on.Probably, it took about a dozen drowned men to fit him out completely;and that may have been the reason why the different articles of his dress were in various stages of decay.
We remained at the public-house until the tide turned,and then Magwitch was carried down to the galley and put on board.Herbert and Startop were to get to London by land, as soon as they could. We had a doleful parting,and when I took my place by Magwitch’s side,I felt that that was my place henceforth while he lived.
For now, my repugnance to him had all melted away; and in the hunted, wounded,shackled creature who held my hand in his, I only saw a man who had meant to be my benefactor,and who had felt affectionately, gratefully, and generously,towards me with great constancy through a series of years.I only saw in him a much better man than I had been to Joe.
His breathing became more difficult and painful as the night drew on,and often he could not repress a groan. I tried to rest him on the arm I could use,in any easy position; but it was dreadful to think that I could not be sorry at heart for his being badly hurt,since it was unquestionably best that he should die. That there were, still living,people enough who were able and willing to identify him, I could not doubt.That he would be leniently treated, I could not hope.He who had been presented in the worst light at his trial,who had since broken prison and had been tried again,who had returned from transportation under a life sentence,and who had occasioned the death of the man who was the cause of his arrest.
As we returned towards the setting sun we had yesterday left behind us,and as the stream of our hopes seemed all running back,I told him how grieved I was to think that he had come home for my sake.
“Dear boy,” he answered, “I’m quite content to take my chance. I’ve seen my boy, and he can be a gentleman without me.”
No. I had thought about that, while we had been there side by side. No.Apart from any inclinations of my own, I understood Wemmick’s hint now. I foresaw that,being convicted, his possessions would be forfeited to the Crown.
“Lookee here, dear boy,” said he “It’s best as a gentleman should not be knowed to belong to me now.Only come to see me as if you come by chance alonger Wemmick.Sit where I can see you when I am swore to, for the last o’ many times, and I don’t ask no more.”
“I will never stir from your side,” said I, “when I am suffered to be near you. Please God,I will be as true to you as you have been to me!”
I felt his hand tremble as it held mine,and he turned his face away as he lay in the bottom of the boat,and I heard that old sound in his throat,—softened now, like all the rest of him.It was a good thing that he had touched this point,for it put into my mind what I might not otherwise have thought of until too late,—that he need never know how his hopes of enriching me had perished.
Chapter LV.
He was taken to the Police Court next day, and would have been immediately committed for trial,but that it was necessary to send down for an old officer of the prison-ship from which he had once escaped,to speak to his identity. Nobody doubted it; but Compeyson, who had meant to depose to it,was tumbling on the tides, dead, and it happened that there was not at that time any prison officer in London who could give the required evidence.I had gone direct to Mr. Jaggers at his private house, on my arrival over night,to retain his assistance, and Mr. Jaggers on the prisoner’s behalf would admit nothing.It was the sole resource; for he told me that the case must be over in five minutes when the witness was there,and that no power on earth could prevent its going against us.
I imparted to Mr. Jaggers my design of keeping him in ignorance of the fate of his wealth. Mr.Jaggers was querulous and angry with me for having “let it slip through my fingers,” and said we must memorialise by and by, and try at all events for some of it.But he did not conceal from me that, although there might be many cases in which the forfeiture would not be exacted,there were no circumstances in this case to make it one of them. I understood that very well.I was not related to the outlaw, or connected with him by any recognisable tie;he had put his hand to no writing or settlement in my favour before his apprehension,and to do so now would be idle. I had no claim, and I finally resolved,and ever afterwards abided by the resolution,that my heart should never be sickened with the hopeless task of attempting to establish one.
There appeared to be reason for supposing that the drowned informer had hoped for a reward out of this forfeiture,and had obtained some accurate knowledge of Magwitch’s affairs. When his body was found,many miles from the scene of his death,and so horribly disfigured that he was only recognisable by the contents of his pockets,notes were still legible, folded in a case he carried.Among these were the name of a banking-house in New South Wales, where a sum of money was,and the designation of certain lands of considerable value.Both these heads of information were in a list that Magwitch, while in prison, gave to Mr. Jaggers,of the possessions he supposed I should inherit. His ignorance, poor fellow, at last served him;he never mistrusted but that my inheritance was quite safe, with Mr. Jaggers’s aid.
After three days’ delay, during which the crown prosecution stood over for the production of the witness from the prison-ship,the witness came, and completed the easy case.He was committed to take his trial at the next Sessions, which would come on in a month.
It was at this dark time of my life that Herbert returned home one evening, a good deal cast down, and said,—
“My dear Handel, I fear I shall soon have to leave you.”
His partner having prepared me for that, I was less surprised than he thought.
“We shall lose a fine opportunity if I put off going to Cairo, and I am very much afraid I must go, Handel, when you most need me.”
“Herbert, I shall always need you, because I shall always love you;but my need is no greater now than at another time.”
“You will be so lonely.”
“I have not leisure to think of that,” said I.“You know that I am always with him to the full extent of the time allowed,and that I should be with him all day long, if I could. And when I come away from him,you know that my thoughts are with him.”
The dreadful condition to which he was brought, was so appalling to both of us,that we could not refer to it in plainer words.
“My dear fellow,” said Herbert, “let the near prospect of our separation—for,it is very near—be my justification for troubling you about yourself. Have you thought of your future?”
“No, for I have been afraid to think of any future.”
“But yours cannot be dismissed; indeed, my dear dear Handel, it must not be dismissed.I wish you would enter on it now, as far as a few friendly words go, with me.”
“I will,” said I.
“In this branch house of ours, Handel, we must have a—”
I saw that his delicacy was avoiding the right word, so I said, “A clerk.”
“A clerk. And I hope it is not at all unlikely that he may expand (as a clerk of your acquaintance has expanded) into a partner.Now, Handel,—in short, my dear boy, will you come to me?”
There was something charmingly cordial and engaging in the manner in which after saying “Now,Handel,” as if it were the grave beginning of a portentous business exordium,he had suddenly given up that tone, stretched out his honest hand, and spoken like a schoolboy.
“Clara and I have talked about it again and again,” Herbert pursued,“and the dear little thing begged me only this evening, with tears in her eyes, to say to you that,if you will live with us when we come together, she will do her best to make you happy,and to convince her husband’s friend that he is her friend too. We should get on so well, Handel!”