Martin Chuzzlewit
This mystery and loneliness engendered fancies in Tom’s mind, the folly
of which his common sense could readily discover, but which his common
sense was quite unable to keep away, notwithstanding; that quality being
with most of us, in such a case, like the old French Police--quick at
detection, but very weak as a preventive power. Misgivings, undefined,
absurd, inexplicable, that there was some one hiding in the inner
room--walking softly overhead, peeping in through the door-chink, doing
something stealthy, anywhere where he was not--came over him a
hundred times a day, making it pleasant to throw up the sash, and hold
communication even with the sparrows who had built in the roof and
water-spout, and were twittering about the windows all day long.
He sat with the outer door wide open, at all times, that he might hear
the footsteps as they entered, and turned off into the chambers on the
lower floor. He formed odd prepossessions too, regarding strangers in
the streets; and would say within himself of such or such a man, who
struck him as having anything uncommon in his dress or aspect, ‘I
shouldn’t wonder, now, if that were he!’ But it never was. And though
he actually turned back and followed more than one of these suspected
individuals, in a singular belief that they were going to the place he
was then upon his way from, he never got any other satisfaction by it,
than the satisfaction of knowing it was not the case.
Mr Fips, of Austin Friars, rather deepened than illumined the obscurity
of his position; for on the first occasion of Tom’s waiting on him to
receive his weekly pay, he said:
‘Oh! by the bye, Mr Pinch, you needn’t mention it, if you please!’
Tom thought he was going to tell him a secret; so he said that he
wouldn’t on any account, and that Mr Fips might entirely depend upon
him. But as Mr Fips said ‘Very good,’ in reply, and nothing more, Tom
prompted him:
‘Not on any account,’ repeated Tom.
Mr Fips repeated: ‘Very good.’
‘You were going to say’--Tom hinted.
‘Oh dear no!’ cried Fips. ‘Not at all.’ However, seeing Tom confused, he
added, ‘I mean that you needn’t mention any particulars about your place
of employment, to people generally. You’ll find it better not.’
‘I have not had the pleasure of seeing my employer yet, sir,’ observed
Tom, putting his week’s salary in his pocket.
‘Haven’t you?’ said Fips. ‘No, I don’t suppose you have though.’
‘I should like to thank him, and to know that what I have done so far,
is done to his satisfaction,’ faltered Tom.
‘Quite right,’ said Mr Fips, with a yawn. ‘Highly creditable. Very
proper.’
Tom hastily resolved to try him on another tack.
‘I shall soon have finished with the books,’ he said. ‘I hope that will
not terminate my engagement, sir, or render me useless?’
‘Oh dear no!’ retorted Fips. ‘Plenty to do; plen-ty to do! Be careful
how you go. It’s rather dark.’
This was the very utmost extent of information Tom could ever get out of
HIM. So it was dark enough in all conscience; and if Mr Fips expressed
himself with a double meaning, he had good reason for doing so.
But now a circumstance occurred, which helped to divert Tom’s thoughts
from even this mystery, and to divide them between it and a new channel,
which was a very Nile in itself.
The way it came about was this. Having always been an early riser and
having now no organ to engage him in sweet converse every morning,
it was his habit to take a long walk before going to the Temple; and
naturally inclining, as a stranger, towards those parts of the town
which were conspicuous for the life and animation pervading them, he
became a great frequenter of the market-places, bridges, quays, and
especially the steam-boat wharves; for it was very lively and fresh
to see the people hurrying away upon their many schemes of business or
pleasure, and it made Tom glad to think that there was that much change
and freedom in the monotonous routine of city lives.
In most of these morning excursions Ruth accompanied him. As their
landlord was always up and away at his business (whatever that might be,
no one seemed to know) at a very early hour, the habits of the people
of the house in which they lodged corresponded with their own. Thus they
had often finished their breakfast, and were out in the summer air, by
seven o’clock. After a two hours’ stroll they parted at some convenient
point; Tom going to the Temple, and his sister returning home, as
methodically as you please.
Many and many a pleasant stroll they had in Covent Garden Market;
snuffing up the perfume of the fruits and flowers, wondering at the
magnificence of the pineapples and melons; catching glimpses down side
avenues, of rows and rows of old women, seated on inverted baskets,
shelling peas; looking unutterable things at the fat bundles of
asparagus with which the dainty shops were fortified as with a
breastwork; and, at the herbalist’s doors, gratefully inhaling scents
as of veal-stuffing yet uncooked, dreamily mixed up with capsicums,
brown-paper, seeds, even with hints of lusty snails and fine young curly
leeches. Many and many a pleasant stroll they had among the poultry
markets, where ducks and fowls, with necks unnaturally long, lay
stretched out in pairs, ready for cooking; where there were speckled
eggs in mossy baskets, white country sausages beyond impeachment by
surviving cat or dog, or horse or donkey; new cheeses to any wild
extent, live birds in coops and cages, looking much too big to be
natural, in consequence of those receptacles being much too little;
rabbits, alive and dead, innumerable. Many a pleasant stroll they
had among the cool, refreshing, silvery fish-stalls, with a kind of
moonlight effect about their stock-in-trade, excepting always for
the ruddy lobsters. Many a pleasant stroll among the waggon-loads of
fragrant hay, beneath which dogs and tired waggoners lay fast asleep,
oblivious of the pieman and the public-house. But never half so good a
stroll as down among the steamboats on a bright morning.
There they lay, alongside of each other; hard and fast for ever, to all
appearance, but designing to get out somehow, and quite confident of
doing it; and in that faith shoals of passengers, and heaps of luggage,
were proceeding hurriedly on board. Little steam-boats dashed up and
down the stream incessantly. Tiers upon tiers of vessels, scores
of masts, labyrinths of tackle, idle sails, splashing oars, gliding
row-boats, lumbering barges, sunken piles, with ugly lodgings for
the water-rat within their mud-discoloured nooks; church steeples,
warehouses, house-roofs, arches, bridges, men and women, children,
casks, cranes, boxes, horses, coaches, idlers, and hard-labourers; there
they were, all jumbled up together, any summer morning, far beyond Tom’s
power of separation.
In the midst of all this turmoil there was an incessant roar from every
packet’s funnel, which quite expressed and carried out the uppermost
emotion of the scene. They all appeared to be perspiring and bothering
themselves, exactly as their passengers did; they never left off
fretting and chafing, in their own hoarse manner, once; but were always
panting out, without any stops, ‘Come along do make haste I’m very
nervous come along oh good gracious we shall never get there how late
you are do make haste I’m off directly come along!’
Even when they had left off, and had got safely out into the current,
on the smallest provocation they began again; for the bravest packet
of them all, being stopped by some entanglement in the river, would
immediately begin to fume and pant afresh, ‘oh here’s a stoppage what’s
the matter do go on there I’m in a hurry it’s done on purpose did you
ever oh my goodness DO go on here!’ and so, in a state of mind bordering
on distraction, would be last seen drifting slowly through the mist into
the summer light beyond, that made it red.
Tom’s ship, however; or, at least, the packet-boat in which Tom and his
sister took the greatest interest on one particular occasion; was not
off yet, by any means; but was at the height of its disorder. The press
of passengers was very great; another steam-boat lay on each side of
her; the gangways were choked up; distracted women, obviously bound
for Gravesend, but turning a deaf ear to all representations that this
particular vessel was about to sail for Antwerp, persisted in secreting
baskets of refreshments behind bulk-heads, and water-casks, and under
seats; and very great confusion prevailed.
It was so amusing, that Tom, with Ruth upon his arm, stood looking down
from the wharf, as nearly regardless as it was in the nature of flesh
and blood to be, of an elderly lady behind him, who had brought a large
umbrella with her, and didn’t know what to do with it. This tremendous
instrument had a hooked handle; and its vicinity was first made known
to him by a painful pressure on the windpipe, consequent upon its having
caught him round the throat. Soon after disengaging himself with perfect
good humour, he had a sensation of the ferule in his back; immediately
afterwards, of the hook entangling his ankles; then of the umbrella
generally, wandering about his hat, and flapping at it like a great
bird; and, lastly, of a poke or thrust below the ribs, which give him
such exceeding anguish, that he could not refrain from turning round to
offer a mild remonstrance.
Upon his turning round, he found the owner of the umbrella struggling
on tip-toe, with a countenance expressive of violent animosity, to look
down upon the steam-boats; from which he inferred that she had attacked
him, standing in the front row, by design, and as her natural enemy.
‘What a very ill-natured person you must be!’ said Tom.
The lady cried out fiercely, ‘Where’s the pelisse!’--meaning the
constabulary--and went on to say, shaking the handle of the umbrella
at Tom, that but for them fellers never being in the way when they was
wanted, she’d have given him in charge, she would.
‘If they greased their whiskers less, and minded the duties which
they’re paid so heavy for, a little more,’ she observed, ‘no one needn’t
be drove mad by scrouding so!’
She had been grievously knocked about, no doubt, for her bonnet was bent
into the shape of a cocked hat. Being a fat little woman, too, she was
in a state of great exhaustion and intense heat. Instead of pursuing the
altercation, therefore, Tom civilly inquired what boat she wanted to go
on board of?
‘I suppose,’ returned the lady, ‘as nobody but yourself can want to look
at a steam package, without wanting to go a-boarding of it, can they!
Booby!’
‘Which one do you want to look at then?’ said Tom. ‘We’ll make room for
you if we can. Don’t be so ill-tempered.’
‘No blessed creetur as ever I was with in trying times,’ returned the
lady, somewhat softened, ‘and they’re a many in their numbers, ever
brought it as a charge again myself that I was anythin’ but mild and
equal in my spirits. Never mind a contradicting of me, if you seem
to feel it does you good, ma’am, I often says, for well you know that
Sairey may be trusted not to give it back again. But I will not denige
that I am worrited and wexed this day, and with good reagion, Lord
forbid!’
By this time, Mrs Gamp (for it was no other than that experienced
practitioner) had, with Tom’s assistance, squeezed and worked herself
into a small corner between Ruth and the rail; where, after breathing
very hard for some little time, and performing a short series of
dangerous evolutions with her umbrella, she managed to establish herself
pretty comfortably.
‘And which of all them smoking monsters is the Ankworks boat, I wonder.
Goodness me!’ cried Mrs Gamp.
‘What boat did you want?’ asked Ruth.
‘The Ankworks package,’ Mrs Gamp replied. ‘I will not deceive you, my