Nicholas Nickleby
servant girl, were enjoying the scene from a snug corner; the two
former indulging in many edifying remarks about the presumption of poor
upstarts, which occasioned a vast deal of laughter, in which even the
most miserable of all miserable servant girls joined: while Nicholas,
stung to the quick, drew over his head such bedclothes as he had, and
sternly resolved that the outstanding account between himself and
Mr. Squeers should be settled rather more speedily than the latter
anticipated.
Another day came, and Nicholas was scarcely awake when he heard the
wheels of a chaise approaching the house. It stopped. The voice of Mrs
Squeers was heard, and in exultation, ordering a glass of spirits
for somebody, which was in itself a sufficient sign that something
extraordinary had happened. Nicholas hardly dared to look out of the
window; but he did so, and the very first object that met his eyes was
the wretched Smike: so bedabbled with mud and rain, so haggard and worn,
and wild, that, but for his garments being such as no scarecrow was ever
seen to wear, he might have been doubtful, even then, of his identity.
‘Lift him out,’ said Squeers, after he had literally feasted his eyes,
in silence, upon the culprit. ‘Bring him in; bring him in!’
‘Take care,’ cried Mrs. Squeers, as her husband proffered his assistance.
‘We tied his legs under the apron and made’em fast to the chaise, to
prevent his giving us the slip again.’
With hands trembling with delight, Squeers unloosened the cord; and
Smike, to all appearance more dead than alive, was brought into the
house and securely locked up in a cellar, until such time as Mr. Squeers
should deem it expedient to operate upon him, in presence of the
assembled school.
Upon a hasty consideration of the circumstances, it may be matter of
surprise to some persons, that Mr. and Mrs. Squeers should have taken so
much trouble to repossess themselves of an incumbrance of which it was
their wont to complain so loudly; but their surprise will cease when
they are informed that the manifold services of the drudge, if performed
by anybody else, would have cost the establishment some ten or twelve
shillings per week in the shape of wages; and furthermore, that all
runaways were, as a matter of policy, made severe examples of, at
Dotheboys Hall, inasmuch as, in consequence of the limited extent of
its attractions, there was but little inducement, beyond the powerful
impulse of fear, for any pupil, provided with the usual number of legs
and the power of using them, to remain.
The news that Smike had been caught and brought back in triumph, ran
like wild-fire through the hungry community, and expectation was on
tiptoe all the morning. On tiptoe it was destined to remain, however,
until afternoon; when Squeers, having refreshed himself with his dinner,
and further strengthened himself by an extra libation or so, made his
appearance (accompanied by his amiable partner) with a countenance of
portentous import, and a fearful instrument of flagellation, strong,
supple, wax-ended, and new,--in short, purchased that morning, expressly
for the occasion.
‘Is every boy here?’ asked Squeers, in a tremendous voice.
Every boy was there, but every boy was afraid to speak, so Squeers
glared along the lines to assure himself; and every eye drooped, and
every head cowered down, as he did so.
‘Each boy keep his place,’ said Squeers, administering his favourite
blow to the desk, and regarding with gloomy satisfaction the universal
start which it never failed to occasion. ‘Nickleby! to your desk, sir.’
It was remarked by more than one small observer, that there was a very
curious and unusual expression in the usher’s face; but he took his
seat, without opening his lips in reply. Squeers, casting a triumphant
glance at his assistant and a look of most comprehensive despotism on
the boys, left the room, and shortly afterwards returned, dragging
Smike by the collar--or rather by that fragment of his jacket which was
nearest the place where his collar would have been, had he boasted such
a decoration.
In any other place, the appearance of the wretched, jaded, spiritless
object would have occasioned a murmur of compassion and remonstrance. It
had some effect, even there; for the lookers-on moved uneasily in their
seats; and a few of the boldest ventured to steal looks at each other,
expressive of indignation and pity.
They were lost on Squeers, however, whose gaze was fastened on the
luckless Smike, as he inquired, according to custom in such cases,
whether he had anything to say for himself.
‘Nothing, I suppose?’ said Squeers, with a diabolical grin.
Smike glanced round, and his eye rested, for an instant, on Nicholas,
as if he had expected him to intercede; but his look was riveted on his
desk.
‘Have you anything to say?’ demanded Squeers again: giving his right arm
two or three flourishes to try its power and suppleness. ‘Stand a little
out of the way, Mrs. Squeers, my dear; I’ve hardly got room enough.’
‘Spare me, sir!’ cried Smike.
‘Oh! that’s all, is it?’ said Squeers. ‘Yes, I’ll flog you within an
inch of your life, and spare you that.’
‘Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed Mrs. Squeers, ‘that’s a good ‘un!’
‘I was driven to do it,’ said Smike faintly; and casting another
imploring look about him.
‘Driven to do it, were you?’ said Squeers. ‘Oh! it wasn’t your fault; it
was mine, I suppose--eh?’
‘A nasty, ungrateful, pig-headed, brutish, obstinate, sneaking
dog,’ exclaimed Mrs. Squeers, taking Smike’s head under her arm, and
administering a cuff at every epithet; ‘what does he mean by that?’
‘Stand aside, my dear,’ replied Squeers. ‘We’ll try and find out.’
Mrs. Squeers, being out of breath with her exertions, complied. Squeers
caught the boy firmly in his grip; one desperate cut had fallen on his
body--he was wincing from the lash and uttering a scream of pain--it was
raised again, and again about to fall--when Nicholas Nickleby, suddenly
starting up, cried ‘Stop!’ in a voice that made the rafters ring.
‘Who cried stop?’ said Squeers, turning savagely round.
‘I,’ said Nicholas, stepping forward. ‘This must not go on.’
‘Must not go on!’ cried Squeers, almost in a shriek.
‘No!’ thundered Nicholas.
Aghast and stupefied by the boldness of the interference, Squeers
released his hold of Smike, and, falling back a pace or two, gazed upon
Nicholas with looks that were positively frightful.
‘I say must not,’ repeated Nicholas, nothing daunted; ‘shall not. I will
prevent it.’
Squeers continued to gaze upon him, with his eyes starting out of his
head; but astonishment had actually, for the moment, bereft him of
speech.
‘You have disregarded all my quiet interference in the miserable lad’s
behalf,’ said Nicholas; ‘you have returned no answer to the letter in
which I begged forgiveness for him, and offered to be responsible
that he would remain quietly here. Don’t blame me for this public
interference. You have brought it upon yourself; not I.’
‘Sit down, beggar!’ screamed Squeers, almost beside himself with rage,
and seizing Smike as he spoke.
‘Wretch,’ rejoined Nicholas, fiercely, ‘touch him at your peril! I will
not stand by, and see it done. My blood is up, and I have the strength
of ten such men as you. Look to yourself, for by Heaven I will not spare
you, if you drive me on!’
‘Stand back,’ cried Squeers, brandishing his weapon.
‘I have a long series of insults to avenge,’ said Nicholas, flushed with
passion; ‘and my indignation is aggravated by the dastardly cruelties
practised on helpless infancy in this foul den. Have a care; for if you
do raise the devil within me, the consequences shall fall heavily upon
your own head!’
He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath,
and with a cry like the howl of a wild beast, spat upon him, and struck
him a blow across the face with his instrument of torture, which raised
up a bar of livid flesh as it was inflicted. Smarting with the agony
of the blow, and concentrating into that one moment all his feelings
of rage, scorn, and indignation, Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the
weapon from his hand, and pinning him by the throat, beat the ruffian
till he roared for mercy.
The boys--with the exception of Master Squeers, who, coming to his
father’s assistance, harassed the enemy in the rear--moved not, hand or
foot; but Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail
of her partner’s coat, and endeavoured to drag him from his infuriated
adversary; while Miss Squeers, who had been peeping through the
keyhole in expectation of a very different scene, darted in at the very
beginning of the attack, and after launching a shower of inkstands
at the usher’s head, beat Nicholas to her heart’s content; animating
herself, at every blow, with the recollection of his having refused her
proffered love, and thus imparting additional strength to an arm which
(as she took after her mother in this respect) was, at no time, one of
the weakest.
Nicholas, in the full torrent of his violence, felt the blows no more
than if they had been dealt with feathers; but, becoming tired of the
noise and uproar, and feeling that his arm grew weak besides, he threw
all his remaining strength into half-a-dozen finishing cuts, and flung
Squeers from him with all the force he could muster. The violence of
his fall precipitated Mrs. Squeers completely over an adjacent form; and
Squeers striking his head against it in his descent, lay at his full
length on the ground, stunned and motionless.
Having brought affairs to this happy termination, and ascertained, to
his thorough satisfaction, that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead
(upon which point he had had some unpleasant doubts at first), Nicholas
left his family to restore him, and retired to consider what course he
had better adopt. He looked anxiously round for Smike, as he left the
room, but he was nowhere to be seen.
After a brief consideration, he packed up a few clothes in a small
leathern valise, and, finding that nobody offered to oppose his
progress, marched boldly out by the front-door, and shortly afterwards,
struck into the road which led to Greta Bridge.
When he had cooled sufficiently to be enabled to give his present
circumstances some little reflection, they did not appear in a very
encouraging light; he had only four shillings and a few pence in his
pocket, and was something more than two hundred and fifty miles
from London, whither he resolved to direct his steps, that he might
ascertain, among other things, what account of the morning’s proceedings
Mr. Squeers transmitted to his most affectionate uncle.
Lifting up his eyes, as he arrived at the conclusion that there was no
remedy for this unfortunate state of things, he beheld a horseman coming
towards him, whom, on nearer approach, he discovered, to his infinite
chagrin, to be no other than Mr. John Browdie, who, clad in cords and
leather leggings, was urging his animal forward by means of a thick ash
stick, which seemed to have been recently cut from some stout sapling.
‘I am in no mood for more noise and riot,’ thought Nicholas, ‘and yet,
do what I will, I shall have an altercation with this honest blockhead,
and perhaps a blow or two from yonder staff.’
In truth, there appeared some reason to expect that such a result would
follow from the encounter, for John Browdie no sooner saw Nicholas
advancing, than he reined in his horse by the footpath, and waited until
such time as he should come up; looking meanwhile, very sternly between
the horse’s ears, at Nicholas, as he came on at his leisure.
‘Servant, young genelman,’ said John.
‘Yours,’ said Nicholas.
‘Weel; we ha’ met at last,’ observed John, making the stirrup ring under
a smart touch of the ash stick.