Nicholas Nickleby
of dead bodies than of living creatures; and there were others coiled up
into strange and fantastic postures, such as might have been taken for
the uneasy efforts of pain to gain some temporary relief, rather than
the freaks of slumber. A few--and these were among the youngest of the
children--slept peacefully on, with smiles upon their faces, dreaming
perhaps of home; but ever and again a deep and heavy sigh, breaking the
stillness of the room, announced that some new sleeper had awakened to
the misery of another day; and, as morning took the place of night, the
smiles gradually faded away, with the friendly darkness which had given
them birth.
Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport on earth
in the night season, and melt away in the first beam of the sun, which
lights grim care and stern reality on their daily pilgrimage through the
world.
Nicholas looked upon the sleepers; at first, with the air of one who
gazes upon a scene which, though familiar to him, has lost none of its
sorrowful effect in consequence; and, afterwards, with a more intense
and searching scrutiny, as a man would who missed something his eye was
accustomed to meet, and had expected to rest upon. He was still occupied
in this search, and had half risen from his bed in the eagerness of his
quest, when the voice of Squeers was heard, calling from the bottom of
the stairs.
‘Now then,’ cried that gentleman, ‘are you going to sleep all day, up
there--’
‘You lazy hounds?’ added Mrs. Squeers, finishing the sentence, and
producing, at the same time, a sharp sound, like that which is
occasioned by the lacing of stays.
‘We shall be down directly, sir,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Down directly!’ said Squeers. ‘Ah! you had better be down directly, or
I’ll be down upon some of you in less. Where’s that Smike?’
Nicholas looked hurriedly round again, but made no answer.
‘Smike!’ shouted Squeers.
‘Do you want your head broke in a fresh place, Smike?’ demanded his
amiable lady in the same key.
Still there was no reply, and still Nicholas stared about him, as did
the greater part of the boys, who were by this time roused.
‘Confound his impudence!’ muttered Squeers, rapping the stair-rail
impatiently with his cane. ‘Nickleby!’
‘Well, sir.’
‘Send that obstinate scoundrel down; don’t you hear me calling?’
‘He is not here, sir,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Don’t tell me a lie,’ retorted the schoolmaster. ‘He is.’
‘He is not,’ retorted Nicholas angrily, ‘don’t tell me one.’
‘We shall soon see that,’ said Mr. Squeers, rushing upstairs. ‘I’ll find
him, I warrant you.’
With which assurance, Mr. Squeers bounced into the dormitory, and,
swinging his cane in the air ready for a blow, darted into the corner
where the lean body of the drudge was usually stretched at night. The
cane descended harmlessly upon the ground. There was nobody there.
‘What does this mean?’ said Squeers, turning round with a very pale
face. ‘Where have you hid him?’
‘I have seen nothing of him since last night,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Come,’ said Squeers, evidently frightened, though he endeavoured to
look otherwise, ‘you won’t save him this way. Where is he?’
‘At the bottom of the nearest pond for aught I know,’ rejoined Nicholas
in a low voice, and fixing his eyes full on the master’s face.
‘Damn you, what do you mean by that?’ retorted Squeers in great
perturbation. Without waiting for a reply, he inquired of the boys
whether any one among them knew anything of their missing schoolmate.
There was a general hum of anxious denial, in the midst of which, one
shrill voice was heard to say (as, indeed, everybody thought):
‘Please, sir, I think Smike’s run away, sir.’
‘Ha!’ cried Squeers, turning sharp round. ‘Who said that?’
‘Tomkins, please sir,’ rejoined a chorus of voices. Mr. Squeers made
a plunge into the crowd, and at one dive, caught a very little boy,
habited still in his night-gear, and the perplexed expression of whose
countenance, as he was brought forward, seemed to intimate that he was
as yet uncertain whether he was about to be punished or rewarded for the
suggestion. He was not long in doubt.
‘You think he has run away, do you, sir?’ demanded Squeers.
‘Yes, please sir,’ replied the little boy.
‘And what, sir,’ said Squeers, catching the little boy suddenly by
the arms and whisking up his drapery in a most dexterous manner, ‘what
reason have you to suppose that any boy would want to run away from this
establishment? Eh, sir?’
The child raised a dismal cry, by way of answer, and Mr. Squeers,
throwing himself into the most favourable attitude for exercising his
strength, beat him until the little urchin in his writhings actually
rolled out of his hands, when he mercifully allowed him to roll away, as
he best could.
‘There,’ said Squeers. ‘Now if any other boy thinks Smike has run away,
I shall be glad to have a talk with him.’
There was, of course, a profound silence, during which Nicholas showed
his disgust as plainly as looks could show it.
‘Well, Nickleby,’ said Squeers, eyeing him maliciously. ‘YOU think he
has run away, I suppose?’
‘I think it extremely likely,’ replied Nicholas, in a quiet manner.
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ sneered Squeers. ‘Maybe you know he has?’
‘I know nothing of the kind.’
‘He didn’t tell you he was going, I suppose, did he?’ sneered Squeers.
‘He did not,’ replied Nicholas; ‘I am very glad he did not, for it would
then have been my duty to have warned you in time.’
‘Which no doubt you would have been devilish sorry to do,’ said Squeers
in a taunting fashion.
‘I should indeed,’ replied Nicholas. ‘You interpret my feelings with
great accuracy.’
Mrs. Squeers had listened to this conversation, from the bottom of
the stairs; but, now losing all patience, she hastily assumed her
night-jacket, and made her way to the scene of action.
‘What’s all this here to-do?’ said the lady, as the boys fell off right
and left, to save her the trouble of clearing a passage with her brawny
arms. ‘What on earth are you a talking to him for, Squeery!’
‘Why, my dear,’ said Squeers, ‘the fact is, that Smike is not to be
found.’
‘Well, I know that,’ said the lady, ‘and where’s the wonder? If you
get a parcel of proud-stomached teachers that set the young dogs a
rebelling, what else can you look for? Now, young man, you just have the
kindness to take yourself off to the schoolroom, and take the boys off
with you, and don’t you stir out of there till you have leave given you,
or you and I may fall out in a way that’ll spoil your beauty, handsome
as you think yourself, and so I tell you.’
‘Indeed!’ said Nicholas.
‘Yes; and indeed and indeed again, Mister Jackanapes,’ said the excited
lady; ‘and I wouldn’t keep such as you in the house another hour, if I
had my way.’
‘Nor would you if I had mine,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Now, boys!’
‘Ah! Now, boys,’ said Mrs. Squeers, mimicking, as nearly as she could,
the voice and manner of the usher. ‘Follow your leader, boys, and take
pattern by Smike if you dare. See what he’ll get for himself, when he
is brought back; and, mind! I tell you that you shall have as bad, and
twice as bad, if you so much as open your mouths about him.’
‘If I catch him,’ said Squeers, ‘I’ll only stop short of flaying him
alive. I give you notice, boys.’
‘IF you catch him,’ retorted Mrs. Squeers, contemptuously; ‘you are sure
to; you can’t help it, if you go the right way to work. Come! Away with
you!’
With these words, Mrs. Squeers dismissed the boys, and after a little
light skirmishing with those in the rear who were pressing forward to
get out of the way, but were detained for a few moments by the throng
in front, succeeded in clearing the room, when she confronted her spouse
alone.
‘He is off,’ said Mrs. Squeers. ‘The cow-house and stable are locked up,
so he can’t be there; and he’s not downstairs anywhere, for the girl has
looked. He must have gone York way, and by a public road too.’
‘Why must he?’ inquired Squeers.
‘Stupid!’ said Mrs. Squeers angrily. ‘He hadn’t any money, had he?’
‘Never had a penny of his own in his whole life, that I know of,’
replied Squeers.
‘To be sure,’ rejoined Mrs. Squeers, ‘and he didn’t take anything to eat
with him; that I’ll answer for. Ha! ha! ha!’
‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed Squeers.
‘Then, of course,’ said Mrs. S., ‘he must beg his way, and he could do
that, nowhere, but on the public road.’
‘That’s true,’ exclaimed Squeers, clapping his hands.
‘True! Yes; but you would never have thought of it, for all that, if I
hadn’t said so,’ replied his wife. ‘Now, if you take the chaise and go
one road, and I borrow Swallow’s chaise, and go the other, what with
keeping our eyes open, and asking questions, one or other of us is
pretty certain to lay hold of him.’
The worthy lady’s plan was adopted and put in execution without a
moment’s delay. After a very hasty breakfast, and the prosecution of
some inquiries in the village, the result of which seemed to show that
he was on the right track, Squeers started forth in the pony-chaise,
intent upon discovery and vengeance. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Squeers,
arrayed in the white top-coat, and tied up in various shawls and
handkerchiefs, issued forth in another chaise and another direction,
taking with her a good-sized bludgeon, several odd pieces of strong
cord, and a stout labouring man: all provided and carried upon the
expedition, with the sole object of assisting in the capture, and (once
caught) insuring the safe custody of the unfortunate Smike.
Nicholas remained behind, in a tumult of feeling, sensible that whatever
might be the upshot of the boy’s flight, nothing but painful and
deplorable consequences were likely to ensue from it. Death, from want
and exposure to the weather, was the best that could be expected from
the protracted wandering of so poor and helpless a creature, alone and
unfriended, through a country of which he was wholly ignorant. There was
little, perhaps, to choose between this fate and a return to the tender
mercies of the Yorkshire school; but the unhappy being had established a
hold upon his sympathy and compassion, which made his heart ache at the
prospect of the suffering he was destined to undergo. He lingered on, in
restless anxiety, picturing a thousand possibilities, until the evening
of next day, when Squeers returned, alone, and unsuccessful.
‘No news of the scamp!’ said the schoolmaster, who had evidently been
stretching his legs, on the old principle, not a few times during the
journey. ‘I’ll have consolation for this out of somebody, Nickleby, if
Mrs. Squeers don’t hunt him down; so I give you warning.’
‘It is not in my power to console you, sir,’ said Nicholas. ‘It is
nothing to me.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Squeers in a threatening manner. ‘We shall see!’
‘We shall,’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘Here’s the pony run right off his legs, and me obliged to come home
with a hack cob, that’ll cost fifteen shillings besides other expenses,’
said Squeers; ‘who’s to pay for that, do you hear?’
Nicholas shrugged his shoulders and remained silent.
‘I’ll have it out of somebody, I tell you,’ said Squeers, his usual
harsh crafty manner changed to open bullying ‘None of your whining
vapourings here, Mr. Puppy, but be off to your kennel, for it’s past your
bedtime! Come! Get out!’
Nicholas bit his lip and knit his hands involuntarily, for his
fingerends tingled to avenge the insult; but remembering that the
man was drunk, and that it could come to little but a noisy brawl, he
contented himself with darting a contemptuous look at the tyrant, and
walked, as majestically as he could, upstairs: not a little nettled,
however, to observe that Miss Squeers and Master Squeers, and the