Stories from Dickens Page 2

  *I. OLIVER BEGINS LIFE IN A HARD WAY*

  Some years ago when the poorhouses of England were in a bad state andthe poor people housed within them were often ill-treated, a little waifbegan his life under the roof of one of the worst of them. His motherhad wandered there, weak, wretched and without friends, it seemed, forshe gave no clue to her identity; and after her little boy was born shehad only strength enough to kiss him once before she breathed her last.As no one knew anything about her, the child became a charge upon theparish. He was sent with other orphans and homeless little ones to becared for by an elderly woman named Mrs. Mann, who received from theparish officers but a scant allowance for the needs of the children, towhom she gave, in the shape of food and attention, a still shorterreturn.

  And so the first years of this child's life were devoted mainly to thestruggle to keep body and soul together. He won the fight by thenarrowest of margins, and his ninth birthday found him a pale, thin lad,somewhat short in stature and decidedly small in girth. But nature hadplaced a good sturdy spirit in his breast. It had plenty of room toexpand, thanks to the spare diet, else he might not have had any ninthbirthday at all.

  On this momentous day he received a visitor, in the person of Mr.Bumble, the fat and pompous beadle of the workhouse, who came to seeMrs. Mann in all the glory of his cocked hat and brass buttons.

  "Good morning, ma'am," said the beadle, taking out a leathernpocket-book. "The child that was half baptized Oliver Twist is nineyear old to-day."

  "Bless him!" interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with thecorner of her apron.

  "And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwardsincreased to twenty pound; notwithstanding the most superlative, and, Imay say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of this parish," saidBumble, "we have never been able to discover who is his father, or whatwas his mother's settlement, name, or con-dition."

  Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment'sreflection, "How comes he to have any name at all, then?"

  The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, "I inwented it."

  "You, Mr. Bumble!"

  "I, Mrs. Mann. We name our foundlings in alphabetical order. The lastwas a S,--Swubble, I named him. This was a T,--Twist I named _him_.The next one as comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have gotnames ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through itagain, when we come to Z."

  "Why, you're quite a literary character, sir!" said Mrs. Mann.

  "Well, well," said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment;"perhaps I may be. But the boy Oliver being now too old to remain here,the Board have determined to have him back into the house. I have comeout myself to take him there. So let me see him at once."

  "I'll fetch him directly," said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for thatpurpose. And so Oliver, having had as much of the outer coat of dirtwhich encrusted his face and hands removed as could be scrubbed off inone washing, was presently led into the room.

  "Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver," said Mrs. Mann.

  Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair andthe cocked hat on the table.

  "Will you go along with me, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble, in a majesticvoice.

  Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with greatreadiness, when, glancing upwards, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who hadgot behind the beadle's chair, and was shaking her fist at him with afurious countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had beentoo often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon hismemory.

  "Will _she_ go with me?" he inquired.

  "No, she can't," replied Mr. Bumble, "but she'll come and see yousometimes."

  This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was,however, he had sense enough to pretend great regret at going away. Itwas no very difficult matter for the boy to call the tears into hiseyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want tocry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him athousand embraces, and, what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece ofbread and butter, lest he should seem too hungry when he got to theworkhouse. With the slice of bread in his hand, and the littlebrown-cloth parish cap on his head, the boy was then led away by Mr.Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had neverlighted the gloom of his infant years.

  Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides, and little Oliver, firmlygrasping his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him; inquiring at the endof every quarter of a mile whether they were "nearly there." To theseinterrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief and snappish replies; forwas he not a beadle? But at last they were there, and the boy waslooking at his new home with interest not unmixed with dread.

  Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarter of anhour, and had scarcely completed the slice of bread, when Mr. Bumble,who had handed him over to the care of an old woman, returned, and,telling him it was a board night, took him before that august bodyforthwith.

  "Bow to the Board," said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tearsthat were lingering in his eyes, and seeing no board but the table,fortunately bowed to that.

  "What's your name, boy?" said a gentleman in a high chair.

  Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many fat, red-faced gentlemen,and the beadle gave him another tap behind, which made him cry. Thesetwo causes made him answer in a very low and hesitating voice; whereupona gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a fool,--which was acapital way of raising his spirits and putting him quite at his ease.

  "Boy," said the gentleman in the high chair, "listen to me. You knowyou're an orphan, I suppose?"

  "What's that, sir?" inquired poor Oliver.

  "The boy _is_ a fool--I thought he was," said the gentleman in the whitewaistcoat.

  "Hush!" said the gentleman who had spoken first. "You know you've gotno father or mother, and that you were brought up by the parish, don'tyou?"

  "Yes, sir," replied Oliver, weeping bitterly.

  "What are you crying for?" inquired the gentleman in the whitewaistcoat. And, to be sure, it was very extraordinary. What _could_the boy be crying for?

  "I hope you say your prayers every night," said another gentleman, in agruff voice, "and pray for the people who feed you, and take care ofyou--like a Christian."

  "Yes, sir," stammered the boy. The gentleman who spoke last wasunconsciously right. It would have been _very_ like a Christian, and amarvellously good Christian too, if Oliver had prayed for the people whofed and took care of _him_. But he hadn't, because nobody had taughthim.

  "Well! You have come here to be educated, and taught a useful trade,"said the red-faced gentleman in the high chair.

  "So you'll begin to pick oakum to-morrow morning at six o'clock," addedthe surly one in the white waistcoat.

  For the combination of both these blessings in the one simple process ofpicking oakum, Oliver bowed low, by the direction of the beadle, and washurried away to a large ward, where, on a rough hard bed, he sobbedhimself to sleep.

  Poor Oliver! He little knew, as he fell asleep, that the Board had justreached a sage decision in his and other cases. But they had, and thiswas it. The members of this Board were very wise men, and when theycame to turn their attention to the work-house, they found out at once,what ordinary folks would never have discovered--that the poor peopleliked it!

  "Oho!" said the Board, "we'll stop all this high living in no time!" Sothey brought the diet down to the edge of starvation. They contractedwith the waterworks to lay on an unlimited supply of water, and with amill to supply small quantities of oatmeal; and issued three meals ofthin gruel a day, and half a roll on Sundays.

  For the first six months after Oliver Twist was removed, the system wasin full operation. It was rather expensive at first, in consequence ofthe increase in the undertaker's bill, and the necessity of taking inthe clothes of all the paupers, which fluttered loosely
on their wasted,shrunken forms, after a week or two's gruel. But the number of workhouseinmates got thin as well as the paupers, and the Board were delighted.

  The room in which the boys were fed was a large stone hall, with acopper kettle at one end, out of which the master, dressed in an apronfor the purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel atmeal times. Of this festive composition each boy had one porringer, andno more--except on occasions of great public rejoicing, when he had twoounces and a quarter of bread besides. The bowls never wanted washing.The boys polished them with their spoons till they shone again; and whenthey had performed this operation (which never took very long, thespoons being nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit staring atthe kettle, with eager eyes, as if they could have devoured the verybricks of which it was composed; employing themselves, meanwhile, insucking their fingers, with the view of catching up any stray splashesof gruel that might have been cast thereon.

  OLIVER ASKS FOR MORE.]

  Boys have generally excellent appetites. Oliver Twist and his companionssuffered the tortures of slow starvation for three months, until at lastthey got so voracious and wild with hunger that one boy, who was tallfor his age and hadn't been used to that sort of thing (for his fatherhad kept a small cook's shop), hinted darkly to his companions thatunless he had another basin of gruel, he was afraid he might eat the boywho slept next him, who happened to be a weakly youth of tender age. Hehad a wild hungry eye, and they implicitly believed him. A council washeld, and lots were cast to decide who should walk up to the masterafter supper that evening and ask for more; and it fell to Oliver Twist.

  The evening arrived, and the boys took their places. The master, in hiscook's uniform, stationed himself at the kettle; his pauper assistantsranged themselves behind him; the gruel was served out, and a long gracewas said over the short rations. The gruel disappeared; the boyswhispered to each other, and winked at Oliver, while his next neighborsnudged him. Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger and recklesswith misery. He rose from the table and advancing to the master, basinand spoon in hand, said, somewhat alarmed at his own temerity:

  "Please, sir, I want some more."

  The master was a fat, healthy man, but he turned very pale. He gazed instupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and thenclung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralyzed withwonder; the boys with fear.

  "What!" said the master at length, in a faint voice.

  "Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."

  The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him inhis arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.

  The Board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed intothe room in great excitement, and, addressing the gentleman in the highchair, said:

  "Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked for more!"

  There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.

  "For _more_!" said Mr. Limbkins. "Compose yourself, Bumble, and answerme distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he hadeaten the supper allotted by the dietary?"

  "He did, sir," replied Bumble.

  "That boy will be hung," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "Iknow that boy will be hung."

  Nobody disputed this opinion. An animated discussion took place.Oliver was ordered into instant confinement; and a bill was posted onthe outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody whowould take Oliver Twist off the hands of the parish. In other words,five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wantedan apprentice to any trade, business, or calling.

  Oliver had a very narrow escape a few days later, as the result of thisbill, from a villanous-looking man who wanted a chimney-sweep. Butfinally he became the apprentice of an undertaker named Sowerberry. Hislife here was some improvement over the workhouse, but still hardenough. Nevertheless he did get enough to eat, in the shape of brokenvictuals, and he slept among the coffins in the shop.

  Unfortunately there was another apprentice, a great overgrown fellownamed Noah Claypole, who delighted to bully Oliver in every waypossible. Oliver stood it as long as he could, but Noah mistook hisattitude for cowardice and added insults to rough usage. But, one day,Noah spoke ill of the boy's dead mother.

  "What did you say?" asked Oliver quickly.

  "A regular right-down bad 'un, she was, Work'us," repeated Noah coolly.

  Crimson with fury, Oliver started up, overthrew the chair and table,seized Noah by the throat, shook him, in the violence of his rage, tillhis teeth chattered in his head, and, collecting his whole force intoone heavy blow, felled him to the ground.

  A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet, mild, dejected creature thatharsh treatment had made him. But his spirit was roused at last; thecruel insult had set his blood on fire. His breast heaved, and hedefied his tormentor with an energy he had never known before.

  "He'll murder me!" blubbered Noah. "Charlotte! missis! Here's the newboy a-murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver's gone mad! Char-lotte!"

  His cries brought the fat maid-servant running to the scene.

  "Oh, you little wretch!" screamed Charlotte, seizing Oliver with herutmost force, which was about equal to that of a strong man in goodtraining. "Oh, you little un-grate-ful, mur-der-ous, hor-rid villain!"And between every syllable Charlotte gave Oliver a blow with all hermight, accompanying it with a scream, for the benefit of society.

  Charlotte's fist was by no means a light one; but, lest it should not beeffectual in calming Oliver's wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry plunged into thekitchen, and assisted to hold him with one hand while she scratched hisface with the other. In this favorable position of affairs Noah rosefrom the ground and pommelled him behind.

  This was rather too violent exercise to last long. When they were allthree wearied out and could tear and beat no longer, they draggedOliver, struggling and shouting but nothing daunted, into thedust-cellar, and there locked him up. This being done, Mrs. Sowerberrysank into a chair and burst into tears.

  "Oh, Charlotte!" she cried; "what a mercy we have not all been murderedin our beds, with such a little villain in the house!"

  And when Mr. Sowerberry presently came home, he gave Oliver a whippingon his own account for good measure.

  It was not until he was left alone in the silence and stillness of thecellar that Oliver gave way to the feelings which the day's treatmenthad awakened. He had listened to their taunts with a look of contempt;he had borne the lash without a cry, for he felt that pride swelling inhis heart which would have kept down a shriek to the last, though theyhad roasted him alive. But now, when there was none to see or hear him,he fell upon his knees on the floor, and, hiding his face in his hands,wept bitter tears.

  For a long time Oliver remained motionless in this attitude. The candlewas burning low in the socket when he rose to his feet. Having gazedcautiously round him and listened intently, he gently undid thefastenings of the door and looked abroad.

  It was a cold, dark night. The stars seemed, to the boy's eyes, fartherfrom the earth than he had ever seen them before. There was no wind,and the sombre shadows thrown by the trees upon the ground lookedsepulchral and death-like, from being so still. He softly re-closed thedoor. He resolved to run away in the early morning--to go to that greatcity of London.

  With the first ray of light that struggled through the crevices in theshutters, Oliver arose, and again unbarred the door. One timid lookaround,--one moment's pause of hesitation,--he had closed it behind him,and was in the open street.

  He looked to the right and to the left, uncertain whither to fly. Heremembered to have seen the wagons, as they went out, toiling up thehill. He took the same route, and arriving at a footpath across thefields, which he knew led out again into the road, struck into it andwalked quickly on.

  He was then only ten years old.