Chapter 64

by Charles Dickens

　　An old Acquaintance is recognised under melancholy Circumstances,and Dotheboys Hall breaks up for everNicholas was one of those whose joy is incomplete unless it isshared by the friends of adverse and less fortunate days.Surrounded by every fascination of love and hope, his warm heartyearned towards plain John Browdie. He remembered their firstmeeting with a smile, and their second with a tear; saw poor Smikeonce again with the bundle on his shoulder trudging patiently by hisside; and heard the honest Yorkshireman's rough words ofencouragement as he left them on their road to London.Madeline and he sat down, very many times, jointly to produce aletter which should acquaint John at full length with his alteredfortunes, and assure him of his friendship and gratitude. It sohappened, however, that the letter could never be written. Althoughthey 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 towrite one-half of what he wished to say, or to pen anything, indeed,which on reperusal did not appear cold and unsatisfactory comparedwith what he had in his mind. At last, after going on thus from dayto day, and reproaching himself more and more, he resolved (the morereadily as Madeline strongly urged him) to make a hasty trip intoYorkshire, and present himself before Mr and Mrs Browdie without aword of notice.Thus it was that between seven and eight o'clock one evening, he andKate found themselves in the Saracen's Head booking-office, securinga place to Greta Bridge by the next morning's coach. They had to gowestward, 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, andKate had so many anecdotes of Madeline, and Nicholas so manyanecdotes of Frank, and each was so interested in what the othersaid, and both were so happy and confiding, and had so much to talkabout, that it was not until they had plunged for a full half-hourinto that labyrinth of streets which lies between Seven Dials andSoho, without emerging into any large thoroughfare, that Nicholasbegan to think it just possible they might have lost their way.The possibility was soon converted into a certainty; for, on lookingabout, and walking first to one end of the street and then to theother, he could find no landmark he could recognise, and was fain toturn back again in quest of some place at which he could seek adirection.It was a by-street, and there was nobody about, or in the fewwretched shops they passed. Making towards a faint gleam of lightwhich streamed across the pavement from a cellar, Nicholas was aboutto descend two or three steps so as to render himself visible tothose below and make his inquiry, when he was arrested by a loudnoise 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 thematter,' 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 alwaysturning. I am perpetually turning, like a demd old horse in ademnition 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 andgladness see him in a coarse red coat with a little tail? Would shehear of his being slapped and beat by drummers demnebly? Would shehave him fire off real guns, and have his hair cut, and his whiskersshaved, and his eyes turned right and left, and his trouserspipeclayed?''Dear Nicholas,' whispered Kate, 'you don't know who that is. It'sMr 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 intoa small boarded cellar. There, amidst clothes-baskets and clothes,stripped up to his shirt-sleeves, but wearing still an old patchedpair of pantaloons of superlative make, a once brilliant waistcoat,and moustache and whiskers as of yore, but lacking their lustrousdye--there, endeavouring to mollify the wrath of a buxom female--notthe lawful Madame Mantalini, but the proprietress of the concern--and grinding meanwhile as if for very life at the mangle, whosecreaking noise, mingled with her shrill tones, appeared almost todeafen him--there was the graceful, elegant, fascinating, and oncedashing Mantalini.'Oh you false traitor!' cried the lady, threatening personalviolence 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 MrMantalini, 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 allday yesterday, and gallivanting somewhere I know. You know you were!Isn't it enough that I paid two pound fourteen for you, and took youout of prison and let you live here like a gentleman, but must yougo on like this: breaking, my heart besides?''I will never break its heart, I will be a good boy, and never do soany more; I will never be naughty again; I beg its little pardon,'said Mr Mantalini, dropping the handle of the mangle, and foldinghis palms together; 'it is all up with its handsome friend! He hasgone to the demnition bow-wows. It will have pity? It will notscratch and claw, but pet and comfort? Oh, demmit!'Very little affected, to judge from her action, by this tenderappeal, 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, withoutanother word, leapt at one bound into a bed which stood behind thedoor, and drew the counterpane over his face: kicking meanwhileconvulsively.'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 ifuncertain on whom to visit this extraordinary behaviour; but MrMantalini happening by ill-luck to thrust his nose from under thebedclothes, in his anxiety to ascertain whether the visitors weregone, she suddenly, and with a dexterity which could only have beenacquired by long practice, flung a pretty heavy clothes-basket athim, 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 favourableopportunity for departing before any of the torrent of her wrathdischarged itself upon him, Nicholas hurried Kate off, and left theunfortunate subject of this unexpected recognition to explain hisconduct as he best could.The next morning he began his journey. It was now cold, winterweather: forcibly recalling to his mind under what circumstances hehad first travelled that road, and how many vicissitudes and changeshe had since undergone. He was alone inside the greater part of theway, and sometimes, when he had fallen into a doze, and, rousinghimself, looked out of the window, and recognised some place whichhe well remembered as having passed, either on his journey down, orin the long walk back with poor Smike, he could hardly believe butthat all which had since happened had been a dream, and that theywere still plodding wearily on towards London, with the world beforethem.To render these recollections the more vivid, it came on to snow asnight set in; and, passing through Stamford and Grantham, and by thelittle alehouse where he had heard the story of the bold Baron ofGrogzwig, everything looked as if he had seen it but yesterday, andnot even a flake of the white crust on the roofs had melted away.Encouraging the train of ideas which flocked upon him, he couldalmost persuade himself that he sat again outside the coach, withSqueers and the boys; that he heard their voices in the air; andthat he felt again, but with a mingled sensation of pain andpleasure now, that old sinking of the heart, and longing after home.While he was yet yielding himself up to these fancies he fellasleep, 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 markettown, and inquired for John Browdie's house. John lived in theoutskirts, now he was a family man; and as everbody knew him,Nicholas had no difficulty in finding a boy who undertook to guidehim to his residence.Dismissing his guide at the gate, and in his impatience not evenstopping to admire the thriving look of cottage or garden either,Nicholas made his way to the kitchen door, and knocked lustily withhis stick.'Halloa!' cried a voice inside. 'Wa'et be the matther noo? Be thetoon a-fire? Ding, but thou mak'st noise eneaf!'With these words, John Browdie opened the door himself, and openinghis eyes too to their utmost width, cried, as he clapped his handstogether, and burst into a hearty roar:'Ecod, it be the godfeyther, it be the godfeyther! Tilly, here beMisther Nickleby. Gi' us thee hond, mun. Coom awa', coom awa'. Inwi 'un, doon beside the fire; tak' a soop o' thot. Dinnot say aword till thou'st droonk it a'! Oop wi' it, mun. Ding! but I'mreeght glod to see thee.'Adapting his action to his text, John dragged Nicholas into thekitchen, forced him down upon a huge settle beside a blazing fire,poured out from an enormous bottle about a quarter of a pint ofspirits, thrust it into his hand, opened his mouth and threw backhis head as a sign to him to drink it instantly, and stood with abroad grin of welcome overspreading his great red face like a jollygiant.'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 atschoolmeasther's door, eh? Ha, ha, ha! But I say; wa'at be a' thisaboot 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 beensentenced to be transported for seven years, for being in theunlawful possession of a stolen will; and, after that, he has tosuffer 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 itpresently.''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 thebottom o' a' explanations, for she says thot's the mutualconfidence. Ha, ha, ha! Ecod, it's a room start, is the mutualconfidence!'The entrance of Mrs Browdie, with a smart cap on, and very manyapologies for their having been detected in the act of breakfastingin the kitchen, stopped John in his discussion of this gravesubject, and hastened the breakfast: which, being composed of vastmounds of toast, new-laid eggs, boiled ham, Yorkshire pie, and othercold substantials (of which heavy relays were constantly appearingfrom another kitchen under the direction of a very plump servant),was admirably adapted to the cold bleak morning, and received theutmost justice from all parties. At last, it came to a close; andthe fire which had been lighted in the best parlour having by thistime burnt up, they adjourned thither, to hear what Nicholas had totell.Nicholas told them all, and never was there a story which awakenedso many emotions in the breasts of two eager listeners. At onetime, honest John groaned in sympathy, and at another roared withjoy; at one time he vowed to go up to London on purpose to get asight of the brothers Cheeryble; and, at another, swore that TimLinkinwater should receive such a ham by coach, and carriage free,as mortal knife had never carved. When Nicholas began to describeMadeline, he sat with his mouth wide open, nudging Mrs Browdie fromtime to time, and exclaiming under his breath that she must be'raa'ther a tidy sart,' and when he heard at last that his youngfriend had come down purposely to communicate his good fortune, andto convey to him all those assurances of friendship which he couldnot state with sufficient warmth in writing--that the only object ofhis journey was to share his happiness with them, and to tell themthat when he was married they must come up to see him, and thatMadeline insisted on it as well as he--John could hold out nolonger, but after looking indignantly at his wife, and demanding toknow what she was whimpering for, drew his coat sleeve over his eyesand blubbered outright.'Tell'ee wa'at though,' said John seriously, when a great deal hadbeen said on both sides, 'to return to schoolmeasther. If this newsaboot 'un has reached school today, the old 'ooman wean't have awhole boan in her boddy, nor Fanny neither.''Oh, John!' cried Mrs Browdie.'Ah! and Oh, John agean,' replied the Yorkshireman. 'I dinnot knowwhat they lads mightn't do. When it first got aboot thatschoolmeasther was in trouble, some feythers and moothers sent andtook their young chaps awa'. If them as is left, should know waat'scoom tiv'un, there'll be sike a revolution and rebel!--Ding! But Ithink they'll a' gang daft, and spill bluid like wather!'In fact, John Browdie's apprehensions were so strong that hedetermined to ride over to the school without delay, and invitedNicholas to accompany him, which, however, he declined, pleadingthat his presence might perhaps aggravate the bitterness of theiradversity.'Thot's true!' said John; 'I should ne'er ha' thought o' thot.''I must return tomorrow,' said Nicholas, 'but I mean to dine withyou 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 bidetill I coom back, and ecod we'll make a day of it.'Giving his wife a hearty kiss, and Nicholas a no less hearty shakeof the hand, John mounted his horse and rode off: leaving MrsBrowdie to apply herself to hospitable preparations, and his youngfriend to stroll about the neighbourhood, and revisit spots whichwere rendered familiar to him by many a miserable association.John cantered away, and arriving at Dotheboys Hall, tied his horseto a gate and made his way to the schoolroom door, which he foundlocked on the inside. A tremendous noise and riot arose fromwithin, 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 wasquite clear. To all appearance, it had very recently become knownto the young gentlemen; for the rebellion had just broken out.It was one of the brimstone-and-treacle mornings, and Mrs Squeershad entered school according to custom with the large bowl andspoon, followed by Miss Squeers and the amiable Wackford: who,during his father's absence, had taken upon him such minor branchesof the executive as kicking the pupils with his nailed boots,pulling the hair of some of the smaller boys, pinching the others inaggravating 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 signalof revolt. While one detachment rushed to the door and locked it,and another mounted on the desks and forms, the stoutest (andconsequently the newest) boy seized the cane, and confronting MrsSqueers with a stern countenance, snatched off her cap and beaverbonnet, put them on his own head, armed himself with the woodenspoon, and bade her, on pain of death, go down upon her knees andtake a dose directly. Before that estimable lady could recoverherself, or offer the slightest retaliation, she was forced into akneeling posture by a crowd of shouting tormentors, and compelled toswallow a spoonful of the odious mixture, rendered more than usuallysavoury by the immersion in the bowl of Master Wackford's head,whose ducking was intrusted to another rebel. The success of thisfirst achievement prompted the malicious crowd, whose faces wereclustered together in every variety of lank and half-starvedugliness, to further acts of outrage. The leader was insisting uponMrs Squeers repeating her dose, Master Squeers was undergoinganother dip in the treacle, and a violent assault had been commencedon Miss Squeers, when John Browdie, bursting open the door with avigorous kick, rushed to the rescue. The shouts, screams, groans,hoots, and clapping of hands, suddenly ceased, and a dead silenceensued.'Ye be noice chaps,' said John, looking steadily round. 'What's todo here, thou yoong dogs?''Squeers is in prison, and we are going to run away!' cried a scoreof 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 thencoot off as quick as you loike. Tak'a good breath noo--Squeers bein 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 echoedbefore, and were destined never to respond to again. When the soundhad died away, the school was empty; and of the busy noisy crowdwhich had peopled it but five minutes before, not one remained.'Very well, Mr Browdie!' said Miss Squeers, hot and flushed from therecent encounter, but vixenish to the last; 'you've been and excitedour 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 notgoing 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 auldman has been caught out at last--dom'd glod--but ye'll sooffer eneafwi'out any crowin' fra' me, and I be not the mun to crow, nor beTilly 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 andI wi' a thout o' old times aboot us, ready to lend thee a hond. Andwhen I say thot, dinnot think I be asheamed of waa't I've deane, forI 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 thehorse's hoofs rang a merry accompaniment, sped back to his prettywife and to Nicholas.For some days afterwards, the neighbouring country was overrun withboys, who, the report went, had been secretly furnished by Mr andMrs Browdie, not only with a hearty meal of bread and meat, but withsundry shillings and sixpences to help them on their way. To thisrumour 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 hadbeen, and many as were the tears they had shed in the wretchedschool, still knew no other home, and had formed for it a sort ofattachment, which made them weep when the bolder spirits fled, andcling to it as a refuge. Of these, some were found crying underhedges and in such places, frightened at the solitude. One had adead bird in a little cage; he had wandered nearly twenty miles, andwhen his poor favourite died, lost courage, and lay down beside him.Another was discovered in a yard hard by the school, sleeping with adog, who bit at those who came to remove him, and licked thesleeping child's pale face.They were taken back, and some other stragglers were recovered, butby degrees they were claimed, or lost again; and, in course of time,Dotheboys Hall and its last breaking-up began to be forgotten by theneighbours, or to be only spoken of as among the things that hadbeen.