The Flight of Florence
IN the wildness of her sorrow, shame, and terror, the forlorn girl hurried
through the sunshine of a bright morning, as if it were the darkness of a winter
night. Wringing her hands and weeping bitterly, insensible to everything but the
deep wound in her breast, stunned by the loss of all she loved, left like the
sole survivor on a lonely shore from the wreck of a great vessel, she fled
without a thought, without a hope, without a purpose, but to fly
somewhere--anywhere.
The cheerful vista of the long street, burnished by the morning light, the
sight of the blue sky and airy clouds, the vigorous freshness of the day, so
flushed and rosy in its conquest of the night, awakened no responsive feelings
in her so hurt bosom. Somewhere, anywhere, to hide her head! somewhere,
anywhere, for refuge, never more to look upon the place from which she fled!
But there were people going to and fro; there were opening shops, and
servants at the doors of houses; there was the rising clash and roar of the
day's struggle. Florence saw surprise and curiosity in the faces flitting past
her; saw long shadows coming back upon the pavement; and heard voices that were
strange to her asking her where she went, and what the matter was; and though
these frightened her the more at first, and made her hurry on the faster, they
did her the good service of recalling her in some degree to herself, and
reminding her of the necessity of greater composure.
Where to go? Still somewhere, anywhere! still going on; but where! She
thought of the only other time she had been lost in the wild wilderness of
London--though not lost as now--and went that way. To the home of Walter's
uncle.
Checking her sobs, and drying her swollen eyes, and endeavouring to calm the
agitation of her manner, so as to avoid attracting notice, Florence, resolving
to keep to the more quiet streets as long as she could, was going on more
quietly herself, when a familiar little shadow darted past upon the sunny
pavement, stopped short, wheeled about, came close to her, made off again,
bounded round and round her, and Diogenes, panting for breath, and yet making
the street ring with his glad bark, was at her feet.
`Oh, Di! oh, dear, true, faithful Di, how did you come here? How could I ever
leave you, Di, who would never leave me?'
Florence bent down on the pavement, and laid his rough, old, loving, foolish
head against her breast, and they got up together, and went on together; Di more
off the ground than on it, endeavouring to kiss his mistress flying, tumbling
over and getting up again without the least concern, dashing at big dogs in a
jocose defiance of his species, terrifying with touches of his nose young
housemaids who were cleaning doorsteps, and continually stopping, in the midst
of a thousand extravagances, to look back at Florence, and bark until all the
dogs within hearing answered, and all the dogs who could come out, came out to
stare at him.
With this last adherent, Florence hurried away in the advancing morning, and
the strengthening sunshine, to the City. The roar soon grew more loud, the
passengers more numerous, the shops more busy, until she was carried onward in a
stream of life setting that way, and flowing, indifferently, past marts and
mansions, prisons, churches, market-places, wealth, poverty, good, and evil,
like the broad river side by side with it, awakened from its dreams of rushes,
willows, and green moss, and rolling on, turbid and troubled, among the works
and cares of men, to the deep sea.
At length the quarters of the little Midshipman arose in view. Nearer yet,
and the little Midshipman himself was seen upon his post, intent as ever on his
observations. Nearer yet, and the door stood open, inviting her to enter.
Florence, who had again quickened her pace, as she approached the end of her
journey, ran across the road (closely followed by Diogenes, whom the bustle had
somewhat confused), ran in, and sank upon the threshold of the well-remembered
little parlour.
The Captain, in his glazed hat, was standing over the fire, making his
morning's cocoa, with that elegant trifle, his watch, upon the chimney-piece,
for easy reference during the progress of the cookery. Hearing a footstep and
the rustle of a dress, the Captain turned with a palpitating remembrance of the
dreadful Mrs. MacStinger, at the instant when Florence made a motion with her
hand towards him, reeled, and fell upon the floor.
The Captain, pale as Florence, pale in the very knobs upon his face, raised
her like a baby, and laid her on the same old sofa upon which she had slumbered
long ago.
`It's Heart's Delight!' said the Captain, looking intently in her face. `It's
the sweet creetur grow'd a woman!'
Captain Cuttle was so respectful of her, and had such a reverence for her, in
this new character, that he would not have held her in his arms, while she was
unconscious, for a thousand pounds.
`My Heart's Delight!' said the Captain, withdrawing to a little distance,
with the greatest alarm and sympathy depicted on his countenance. `If you can
hail Ned Cuttle with a finger, do it!'
But Florence did not stir.
`My Heart's Delight!' said the trembling Captain. `For the sake of Wal'r
drownded in the briny deep, turn to, and histe up something or another, if
able.'
Finding her insensible to this impressive adjuration also, Captain Cuttle
snatched from his breakfast-table a basin of cold water, and sprinkled some upon
her face. Yielding to the urgency of the case, the Captain then, using his
immense hand with extraordinary gentleness, relieved her of her bonnet,
moistened her lips and forehead, put back her hair, covered her feet with his
own coat which he pulled off for the purpose, patted her hand--so small in his,
that he was struck with wonder when he touched it--and seeing that her eyelids
quivered, and that her lips began to move, continued these restorative
applications with a better heart.
`Cheerily,' said the Captain. `Cheerily! Stand by, my pretty one, stand by!
There! You're better now. Steady's the word, and steady it is. Keep her so!
Drink a little drop o' this here,' said the Captain. `There you are! What cheer
now, my pretty, what cheer now?'
At this stage of her recovery, Captain Cuttle, with an imperfect association
of a Watch with a Physician's treatment of a patient, took his own down from the
mantel-shelf, and holding it out on his hook, and taking Florence's hand in his,
looked steadily from one to the other, as expecting the dial to do something.
`What cheer, my pretty?' said the Captain. `What cheer now? You've done her
some good, my lad, I believe,' said the Captain, under his breath, and throwing
an approving glance upon his watch. `Put you back half-an-hour every morning,
and about another quarter towards the afternoon, and you're a watch as can be
ekalled by few and excelled by none. What cheer, my lady lass?'
`Captain Cuttle! Is it you?' exclaimed Florence, raising herself a little.
`Yes, yes, my lady lass,' said the Captain, hastily deciding in his own mind
upon the superior elegance of that form of address, as the most courtly he could
think of.
`Is Walter's uncle here?' asked Florence.
`Here, pretty?' returned the Captain. `He an't been here this many a long
day. He an't been heerd on, since he sheered off arter poor Wal'r. But,' said
the Captain, as a quotation, `Though lost to sight, to memory dear, and England,
Home, and Beauty!'
`Do you live here?' asked Florence.
`Yes, my lady lass,' returned the Captain.
`Oh, Captain Cuttle!' cried Florence, putting her hands together, and
speaking wildly. `Save me! keep me here! Let no one know where I am! I'll tell
you what has happened by-and-by, when I can. I have no one in the world to go
to. Do not send me away!'
`Send you away, my lady lass!' exclaimed the Captain. `You, my Heart's
Delight! Stay a bit! We'll put up this here deadlight, and take a double turn on
the key!'
With these words, the Captain, using his one hand and his hook with the
greatest dexterity, got out the shutter of the door, put it up, made it all
fast, and locked the door itself.
When he came back to the side of Florence, she took his hand, and kissed it.
The helplessness of the action, the appeal it made to him, the confidence it
expressed, the unspeakable sorrow in her face, the pain of mind she had too
plainly suffered, and was suffering then, his knowledge of her past history, her
present lonely, worn, and unprotected appearance, all so rushed upon the good
Captain together, that he fairly overflowed with compassion and gentleness.
`My lady lass,' said the Captain, polishing the bridge of his nose with his
arm until it shone like burnished copper, `don't you say a word to Ed'ard
Cuttle, until such times as you finds yourself a riding smooth and easy; which
won't be to-day, nor yet to-morrow. And as to giving of you up, or reporting
where you are, yes verily, and by God's help, so I won't, Church catechism, make
a note on!'
This the Captain said, reference and all, in one breath, and with much
solemnity; taking off his hat at `yes verily,' and putting it on again, when he
had quite concluded.
Florence could do but one thing more to thank him, and to show him how she
trusted in him; and she did it. Clinging to this rough creature as the last
asylum of her bleeding heart, she laid her head upon his honest shoulder, and
clasped him round his neck, and would have kneeled down to bless him, but that
he divined her purpose, and held her up like a true man.
`Steady!' said the Captain. `Steady! You're too weak to stand, you see, my
pretty, and must lie down here again. There, there!' To see the Captain lift her
on the sofa, and cover her with his coat, would have been worth a hundred state
sights. `And now,' said the Captain, `you must take some breakfast, lady lass,
and the dog shall have some too. And arter that you shall go aloft to old Sol
Gills's room, and fall asleep there, like a angel.'
Captain Cuttle patted Diogenes when he made allusion to him, and Diogenes met
that overture graciously, half-way. During the administration of the
restoratives he had clearly been in two minds whether to fly at the Captain or
to offer him his friendship; and he had expressed that conflict of feeling by
alternate waggings of his tail, and displays of his teeth, with now and then a
growl or so. But by this time his doubts were all removed. It was plain that he
considered the Captain one of the most amiable of men, and a man whom it was an
honour to a dog to know.
In evidence of these convictions, Diogenes attended on the Captain while he
made some tea and toast, and showed a lively interest in his housekeeping. But
it was in vain for the kind Captain to make such preparations for Florence, who
sorely tried to do some honour to them, but could touch nothing, and could only
weep and weep again.
`Well, well!' said the compassionate Captain, `arter turning in, my Heart's
Delight, you'll get more way upon you. Now, I'll serve out your allowance, my
lad.' To Diogenes. `And you shall keep guard on your mistress aloft.'
Diogenes, however, although he had been eyeing his intended breakfast with a
watering mouth and glistening eyes, instead of falling to, ravenously, when it
was put before him, pricked up his ears, darted to the shop-door, and barked
there furiously: burrowing with his head at the bottom, as if he were bent on
mining his way out.
`Can there be anybody there!' asked Florence, in alarm.
`No, my lady lass,' returned the Captain. `Who'd stay there, without making
any noise! Keep up a good heart, pretty. It's only people going by.'
But for all that, Diogenes barked and barked, and burrowed and burrowed, with
pertinacious fury; and whenever he stopped to listen, appeared to receive some
new conviction into his mind, for he set to, barking and burrowing again, a
dozen times. Even when he was persuaded to return to his breakfast, he came
jogging back to it, with a very doubtful air; and was off again, in another
paroxysm, before touching a morsel.
`If there should be some one listening and watching,' whispered Florence.
`Some one who saw me come--who followed me, perhaps.'
`It an't the young woman, lady lass, is it?' said the Captain, taken with a
bright idea.
`Susan?' said Florence, shaking her head. `Ah no! Susan has been gone from me
a long time.'
`Not deserted, I hope?' said the Captain. `Don't say that that there young
woman's run, my pretty!'
`Oh, no, no!' cried Florence. `She is one of the truest hearts in the world!'
The Captain was greatly relieved by this reply, and expressed his
satisfaction by taking off his hard glazed hat, and dabbing his head all over
with his handkerchief, rolled up like a ball, observing several times, with
infinite complacency, and with a beaming countenance, that he know'd it.
`So you're quiet now, are you, brother?' said the Captain to Diogenes. `There
warn't nobody there, my lady lass, bless you!'
Diogenes was not so sure of that. The door still had an attraction for him at
intervals; and he went snuffing about it, and growling to himself, unable to
forget the subject. This incident, coupled with the Captain's observation of
Florence's fatigue and faintness, decided him to prepare Sol Gills's chamber as
a place of retirement for her immediately. He therefore hastily betook himself
to the top of the house, and made the best arrangement of it that his
imagination and his means suggested.
It was very clean already; and the Captain being an orderly man, and
accustomed to make things ship-shape, converted the bed into a couch, by
covering it all over with a clean white drapery. By a similar contrivance, the
Captain converted the little dressing-table into a species of alter, on which he
set forth two silver teaspoons, a flower-pot, a telescope, his celebrated watch,
a pocket-comb, and a song-book, as a small collection of rarities, that made a
choice appearance. Having darkened the window, and straightened the pieces of
carpet on the floor, the Captain surveyed these preparations with great delight,
and descended to the little parlour again, to bring Florence to her bower.
Nothing would induce the Captain to believe that it was possible for Florence
to walk upstairs. If he could have got the idea into his head, he would have
considered it an outrageous breach of hospitality to allow her to do so.
Florence was too weak to dispute the point, and the Captain carried her up out
of hand, laid her down, and covered her with a great watch-coat.
`My lady lass!' said the Captain, `you're as safe here as if you was at the
top of St. Paul's Cathedral, with the ladder cast off. Sleep is what you want,
afore all other things, and may you be able to show yourself smart with that
there balsam for the still small woice of a wownded mind! When there's anything
you want, my Heart's Delight, as this here humble house or town can offer, pass
the word to Ed'ard Cuttle, as'll stand off and on outside that door, and that
there man will wibrate with joy.' The Captain concluded by kissing the hand that
Florence stretched out to him, with the chivalry of any old knight-errant, and
walking on tip-toe out of the room.
Descending to the little parlour, Captain Cuttle, after holding a hasty
council with himself, decided to open the shopdoor for a few minutes, and
satisfy himself that now, at all events, there was no one loitering about it.
Accordingly he set it open, and stood upon the threshold, keeping a bright
look-out, and sweeping the whole street with his spectacles.
`How de do, Captain Gills?' said a voice beside him. The Captain, looking
down, found that he had been boarded by Mr. Toots while sweeping the horizon.
`How are you, my lad?' replied the Captain.
`Well, I'm pretty well, thank'ee, Captain Gills,' said Mr. Toots. `You know
I'm never quite what I could wish to be, now. I don't expect that I ever shall
be any more.'
Mr. Toots never approached any nearer than this to the great theme of his
life, when in conversation with Captain Cuttle, on account of the agreement
between them.
`Captain Gills,' said Mr. Toots, `if I could have the pleasure of a word with
you, it's--it's rather particular.'
`Why, you see, my lad,' replied the Captain, leading the way into the
parlour, `I an't what you may call exactly free this morning; and therefore if
you can clap on a bit, I should take it kindly.'
`Certainly, Captain Gills,' replied Mr. Toots, who seldom had any notion of
the Captain's meaning. `To clap on, is exactly what I could wish to do.
Naturally.'
`If so be, my lad,' returned the Captain, `do it!'
The Captain was so impressed by the possession of his tremendous secret--by
the fact of Miss Dombey being at that moment under his roof, while the innocent
and unconscious Toots sat opposite to him--that a perspiration broke out on his
forehead, and he found it impossible while slowly drying the same, glazed hat in
hand, to keep his eyes off Mr. Toots's face. Mr. Toots, who himself appeared to
have some secret reasons for being in a nervous state, was so unspeakably
disconcerted by the Captain's stare, that after looking at him vacantly for some
time in silence, and shifting uneasily on his chair, he said:
`I beg your pardon, Captain Gills, but you don't happen to see anything
particular in me, do you?'
`No, my lad,' returned the Captain. `No.'
`Because you know,' said Mr. Toots with a chuckle, `I KNOW I'm wasting away.
You needn't at all mind alluding to that. I--I should like it. Burgess and Co.
have altered my measure, I'm in that state of thinness. It's a gratification to
me. I--I'm glad of it. I--I'd a great deal rather go into a decline, if I could.
I'm a mere brute you know, grazing upon the surface of the earth, Captain
Gills.'
The more Mr. Toots went on in this way, the more the Captain was weighed down
by his secret, and stared at him. What with this cause of uneasiness, and his
desire to get rid of Mr. Toots, the Captain was in such a scared and strange
condition, indeed, that if he had been in conversation with a ghost, he could
hardly have evinced greater discomposure.
`But I was going to say, Captain Gills,' said Mr. Toots. `Happening to be
this way early this morning--to tell you the truth, I was coming to breakfast
with you. As to sleep, you know, I never sleep now. I might be a Watchman,
except that I don't get any pay, and he's got nothing on his mind.'
`Carry on, my lad!' said the Captain, in an admonitory voice.
`Certainly, Captain Gills,' said Mr. Toots. `Perfectly true!Happening to be
this way early this morning (an hour or so ago), and finding the door shut--'
`What! were you waiting there, brother?' demanded the Captain.
`Not at all, Captain Gills,' returned Mr. Toots. `I didn't stop a moment. I
thought you were out. But the person said--by the bye you don't keep a dog, do
you, Captain Gills?'
The Captain shook his head.
`To be sure,' said Mr. Toots, `that's exactly what I said. I knew you didn't.
There is a dog, Captain Gills, connected with--but excuse me. That's forbidden
ground.'
The Captain stared at Mr. Toots until he seemed to swell to twice his natural
size; and again the perspiration broke out on the Captain's forehead, when he
thought of Diogenes taking it into his head to come down and make a third in the
parlour.
`The person said,' continued Mr. Toots, `that he had heard a dog barking in
the shop: which I knew couldn't be, and I told him so. But he was as positive as
if he had seen the dog.'
`What person, my lad?' inquired the Captain.
`Why, you see there it is, Captain Gills,' said Mr. Toots, with a perceptible
increase in the nervousness of his manner. `It's not for me to say what may have
taken place, or what may not have taken place. Indeed, I don't know. I get mixed
up with all sorts of things that I don't quite understand, and I think there's
something rather weak in my--in my head, in short.'
The Captain nodded his own, as a mark of assent.
`But the person said, as we were walking away,' continued Mr. Toots, `that
you knew what, under existing circumstances, might occur--he said "Might," very
strongly--and that if you were requested to prepare yourself, you would, no
doubt, come prepared.'
`Person, my lad!' the Captain repeated.
`I don't know what person, I'm sure, Captain Gills,' replied Mr. Toots, `I
haven't the least idea. But coming to the door, I found him waiting there; and
he said was I coming back again, and I said yes; and he said did I know you, and
I said yes, I had the pleasure of your acquaintance--you had given me the
pleasure of your acquaintance, after some persuasion; and he said, if that was
the case, would I say to you what I have said, about existing circumstances and
coming prepared, and as soon as ever I saw you, would I ask you to step round
the corner, if it was only for one minute, on most important business, to Mr.
Brogley's the Broker's. Now, I tell you what, Captain Gills--whatever it is, I
am convinced it's very important; and if you like to step round, now, I'll wait
here till you come back.'
The Captain, divided between his fear of compromising Florence in some way by
not going, and his horror of leaving Mr. Toots in possession of the house with a
chance of finding out the secret, was a spectacle of mental disturbance that
even Mr. Toots could not be blind to. But that young gentleman, considering his
nautical friend as merely in a state of preparation for the interview he was
going to have, was quite satisfied, and did not review his own discreet conduct
without chuckles.
At length the Captain decided, as the lesser of two evils, to run round to
Brogley's the Broker's: previously locking the door that communicated with the
upper part of the house, and putting the key in his pocket. `If so be,' said the
Captain to Mr. Toots, with not a little shame and hesitation, `as you'll excuse
my doing of it, brother.'
`Captain Gills,' returned Mr. Toots, `whatever you do, is satisfactory to
me.'
The Captain thanked him heartily, and promising to come back in less that
five minutes, went out in quest of the person who had intrusted Mr. Toots with
this mysterious message. Poor Mr. Toots, left to himself, lay down upon the
sofa, little thinking who had reclined there last, and gazing up at the skylight
and resigning himself to visions of Miss Dombey, lost all heed of time and
place.
It was as well that he did so; for although the Captain was not gone long, he
was gone much longer than he had proposed. When he came back, he was very pale
indeed, and greatly agitated, and even looked as if he had been shedding tears.
He seemed to have lost the faculty of speech, until he had been to the cupboard
and taken a dram of rum from the case-bottle, when he fetched a deep breath, and
sat down in a chair with his hand before his face.
`Captain Gills,' said Toots, kindly, `I hope and trust there's nothing
wrong?'
`Thank'ee, my lad, not a bit,' said the Captain. `Quite contrary.'
`You have the appearance of being overcome, Captain Gills,' observed Mr.
Toots.
`Why, my lad, I am took aback,' the Captain admitted. `I am.'
`Is there anything I can do, Captain Gills?' inquired Mr. Toots. `If there
is, make use of me.'
The Captain removed his hand from his face, looked at him with a remarkable
expression of pity and tenderness, and took him by the hand and shook it hard.
`No, thank'ee,' said the Captain. `Nothing. Only I'll take it as a favour if
you'll part company for the present. I believe, brother,' wringing his hand
again, `that, after Wal'r, and on a different model, you're as good a lad as
ever stepped.'
`Upon my word and honour, Captain Gills,' returned Mr. Toots, giving the
Captain's hand a preliminary slap before shaking it again, `it's delightful to
me to possess your good opinion. Thank'ee.'
`And bear hand and cheer up,' said the Captain, patting him on the back.
`What! There's more than one sweet creetur in the world!'
`Not to me, Captain Gills,' replied Mr. Toots gravely. `Not to me, I assure
you. The state of my feelings towards Miss Dombey is of that unspeakable
description, that my heart is a desert island, and she lives in it alone. I'm
getting more used up every day, and I'm proud to be so. If you could see my legs
when I take my boots off, you'd form some idea of what unrequited affection is.
I have been prescribed bark, but I don't take it, for I don't wish to have any
tone whatever given to my constitution. I'd rather not. This, however, is
forbidden ground. Captain Gills, good-bye!'
Captain Cuttle cordially reciprocating the warmth of Mr. Toots's farewell,
locked the door behind him, and shaking his head with the same remarkable
expression of pity and tenderness as he had regarded him with before, went up to
see if Florence wanted him.
There was an entire change in the Captain's face as he went upstairs. He
wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, and he polished the bridge of his nose
with his sleeve as he had done already that morning, but his face was absolutely
changed. Now, he might have been thought supremely happy; now, he might have
been thought sad; but the kind of gravity that sat upon his features was quite
new to them, and was as great an improvement to them as if they had undergone
some sublimating process.
He knocked softly, with his hook, at Florence's door, twice or thrice; but,
receiving no answer, ventured first to peep in, and then to enter: emboldened to
take the latter step, perhaps, by the familiar recognition of Diogenes, who,
stretched upon the ground by the side of her couch, wagged his tail, and winked
his eyes at the Captain, without being at the trouble of getting up.
She was sleeping heavily, and moaning in her sleep; and Captain Cuttle, with
a perfect awe of her youth and beauty, and her sorrow, raised her head, and
adjusted the coat that covered her, where it had fallen off, and darkened the
window a little more that she might sleep on, and crept out again, and took his
post of watch upon the stairs. All this, with a touch and tread as light as
Florence's own.
Long may it remain in this mixed world a point not easy of decision, which is
the more beautiful evidence of the Almighty's goodness--the delicate fingers
that are formed for sensitiveness and sympathy of touch, and made to minister to
pain and grief, or the rough hard Captain Cuttle hand, that the heart teaches,
guides, and softens in a moment!
Florence slept upon her couch, forgetful of her homelessness and orphanage,
and Captain Cuttle watched upon the stairs. A louder sob or moan than usual,
brought him sometimes to her door; but by degrees she slept more peacefully, and
the Captain's watch was undisturbed.
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