Great Expectations by Charles Dickens (best ereader under 100 TXT) 📖

Chapter V

The apparition of a file of soldiers ringing down the but-ends of

their loaded muskets on our doorstep, caused the dinner-party to

rise from table in confusion, and caused Mrs. Joe re-entering the

kitchen empty-handed, to stop short and stare, in her wondering

lament of “Gracious goodness gracious me, what’s gone—with the—

pie!”

The sergeant and I were in the kitchen when Mrs. Joe stood staring;

at which crisis I partially recovered the use of my senses. It was

the sergeant who had spoken to me, and he was now looking round at

the company, with his handcuffs invitingly extended towards them in

his right hand, and his left on my shoulder.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,” said the sergeant, “but as I

have mentioned at the door to this smart young shaver,” (which he

hadn’t), “I am on a chase in the name of the king, and I want the

blacksmith.”

“And pray what might you want with him?” retorted my sister, quick

to resent his being wanted at all.

“Missis,” returned the gallant sergeant, “speaking for myself, I

should reply, the honor and pleasure of his fine wife’s

acquaintance; speaking for the king, I answer, a little job done.”

This was received as rather neat in the sergeant; insomuch that Mr.

Pumblechook cried audibly, “Good again!”

“You see, blacksmith,” said the sergeant, who had by this time

picked out Joe with his eye, “we have had an accident with these,

and I find the lock of one of ‘em goes wrong, and the coupling

don’t act pretty. As they are wanted for immediate service, will

you throw your eye over them?”

Joe threw his eye over them, and pronounced that the job would

necessitate the lighting of his forge fire, and would take nearer

two hours than one, “Will it? Then will you set about it at once,

blacksmith?” said the off-hand sergeant, “as it’s on his Majesty’s

service. And if my men can bear a hand anywhere, they’ll make

themselves useful.” With that, he called to his men, who came

trooping into the kitchen one after another, and piled their arms

in a corner. And then they stood about, as soldiers do; now, with

their hands loosely clasped before them; now, resting a knee or a

shoulder; now, easing a belt or a pouch; now, opening the door to

spit stiffly over their high stocks, out into the yard.

All these things I saw without then knowing that I saw them, for I

was in an agony of apprehension. But beginning to perceive that

the handcuffs were not for me, and that the military had so far got

the better of the pie as to put it in the background, I collected a

little more of my scattered wits.

“Would you give me the time?” said the sergeant, addressing himself

to Mr. Pumblechook, as to a man whose appreciative powers justified

the inference that he was equal to the time.

“It’s just gone half past two.”

“That’s not so bad,” said the sergeant, reflecting; “even if I was

forced to halt here nigh two hours, that’ll do. How far might you

call yourselves from the marshes, hereabouts? Not above a mile, I

reckon?”

“Just a mile,” said Mrs. Joe.

“That’ll do. We begin to close in upon ‘em about dusk. A little

before dusk, my orders are. That’ll do.”

“Convicts, sergeant?” asked Mr. Wopsle, in a matter-of-course way.

“Ay!” returned the sergeant, “two. They’re pretty well known to be

out on the marshes still, and they won’t try to get clear of ‘em

before dusk. Anybody here seen anything of any such game?”

Everybody, myself excepted, said no, with confidence. Nobody

thought of me.

“Well!” said the sergeant, “they’ll find themselves trapped in a

circle, I expect, sooner than they count on. Now, blacksmith! If

you’re ready, his Majesty the King is.”

Joe had got his coat and waistcoat and cravat off, and his leather

apron on, and passed into the forge. One of the soldiers opened its

wooden windows, another lighted the fire, another turned to at

the bellows, the rest stood round the blaze, which was soon

roaring. Then Joe began to hammer and clink, hammer and clink, and

we all looked on.

The interest of the impending pursuit not only absorbed the general

attention, but even made my sister liberal. She drew a pitcher of

beer from the cask for the soldiers, and invited the sergeant to

take a glass of brandy. But Mr. Pumblechook said, sharply, “Give him

wine, Mum. I’ll engage there’s no Tar in that:” so, the sergeant

thanked him and said that as he preferred his drink without tar, he

would take wine, if it was equally convenient. When it was given

him, he drank his Majesty’s health and compliments of the season,

and took it all at a mouthful and smacked his lips.

“Good stuff, eh, sergeant?” said Mr. Pumblechook.

“I’ll tell you something,” returned the sergeant; “I suspect that

stuff’s of your providing.”

Mr. Pumblechook, with a fat sort of laugh, said, “Ay, ay? Why?”

“Because,” returned the sergeant, clapping him on the shoulder,

“you’re a man that knows what’s what.”

“D’ye think so?” said Mr. Pumblechook, with his former laugh. “Have

another glass!”

“With you. Hob and nob,” returned the sergeant. “The top of mine to

the foot of yours,—the foot of yours to the top of mine,—Ring

once, ring twice,—the best tune on the Musical Glasses! Your

health. May you live a thousand years, and never be a worse judge

of the right sort than you are at the present moment of your life!”

The sergeant tossed off his glass again and seemed quite ready for

another glass. I noticed that Mr. Pumblechook in his hospitality

appeared to forget that he had made a present of the wine, but took

the bottle from Mrs. Joe and had all the credit of handing it about

in a gush of joviality. Even I got some. And he was so very free of

the wine that he even called for the other bottle, and handed that

about with the same liberality, when the first was gone.

As I watched them while they all stood clustering about the forge,

enjoying themselves so much, I thought what terrible good sauce for

a dinner my fugitive friend on the marshes was. They had not

enjoyed themselves a quarter so much, before the entertainment was

brightened with the excitement he furnished. And now, when they

were all in lively anticipation of “the two villains” being taken,

and when the bellows seemed to roar for the fugitives, the fire to

flare for them, the smoke to hurry away in pursuit of them, Joe to

hammer and clink for them, and all the murky shadows on the wall to

shake at them in menace as the blaze rose and sank, and the red-hot

sparks dropped and died, the pale afternoon outside almost seemed

in my pitying young fancy to have turned pale on their account,

poor wretches.

At last, Joe’s job was done, and the ringing and roaring stopped.

As Joe got on his coat, he mustered courage to propose that some of

us should go down with the soldiers and see what came of the hunt.

Mr. Pumblechook and Mr. Hubble declined, on the plea of a pipe and

ladies’ society; but Mr. Wopsle said he would go, if Joe would. Joe

said he was agreeable, and would take me, if Mrs. Joe approved. We

never should have got leave to go, I am sure, but for Mrs. Joe’s

curiosity to know all about it and how it ended. As it was, she

merely stipulated, “If you bring the boy back with his head blown

to bits by a musket, don’t look to me to put it together again.”

The sergeant took a polite leave of the ladies, and parted from Mr.

Pumblechook as from a comrade; though I doubt if he were quite as

fully sensible of that gentleman’s merits under arid conditions, as

when something moist was going. His men resumed their muskets and

fell in. Mr. Wopsle, Joe, and I, received strict charge to keep in

the rear, and to speak no word after we reached the marshes. When

we were all out in the raw air and were steadily moving towards our

business, I treasonably whispered to Joe, “I hope, Joe, we shan’t

find them.” and Joe whispered to me, “I’d give a shilling if they

had cut and run, Pip.”

We were joined by no stragglers from the village, for the weather

was cold and threatening, the way dreary, the footing bad, darkness

coming on, and the people had