Nicholas starts for Yorkshire. Of his leave-taking and his
fellow-travellers, and what befell them on the road
IF TEARS dropped into a trunk were charms to preserve its owner from sorrow
and misfortune, Nicholas Nickleby would have commenced his expedition under most
happy auspices. There was so much to be done, and so little time to do it in; so
many kind words to be spoken, and such bitter pain in the hearts in which they
rose to impede their utterance; that the little preparations for his journey
were made mournfully indeed. A hundred things which the anxious care of his
mother and sister deemed indispensable for his comfort, Nicholas insisted on
leaving behind, as they might prove of some after use, or might be convertible
into money if occasion required. A hundred affectionate contests on such points
as these, took place on the sad night which preceded his departure; and, as the
termination of every angerless dispute brought them nearer and nearer to the
close of their slight preparations, Kate grew busier and busier, and wept more
silently.
The box was packed at last, and then there came supper, with some little
delicacy provided for the occasion, and as a set-off against the expense of
which, Kate and her mother had feigned to dine when Nicholas was out. The poor
lady nearly choked himself by attempting to partake of it, and almost suffocated
himself in affecting a jest or two, and forcing a melancholy laugh. Thus, they
lingered on till the hour of separating for the night was long past; and then
they found that they might as well have given vent to their real feelings
before, for they could not suppress them, do what they would. So, they let them
have their way, and even that was a relief
Nicholas slept well till six next morning; dreamed of home, or of what was
home once -- no matter which, for things that are changed or gone will come back
as they used to be, thank God! in sleep -- and rose quite brisk and gay. He
wrote a few lines in pencil, to say the goodbye which he was afraid to pronounce
himself, and laying them, with half his scanty stock of money, at his sister's
door, shouldered his box and crept softly downstairs.
`Is that you, Hannah?' cried a voice from Miss La Creevy's sitting-room,
whence shone the light of a feeble candle.
`It is I, Miss La Creevy,' said Nicholas, putting down the box and looking
in.
`Bless us!' exclaimed Miss La Creevy, starting and putting her hand to her
curl-papers. `You're up very early, Mr Nickleby.'
`So are you,' replied Nicholas.
`It's the fine arts that bring me out of bed, Mr Nickleby,' returned the
lady. `I'm waiting for the light to carry out an idea.'
Miss La Creevy had got up early to put a fancy nose into a miniature of an
ugly little boy, destined for his grandmother in the country, who was expected
to bequeath him property if he was like the family.
`To carry out an idea,' repeated Miss La Creevy; `and that's the great
convenience of living in a thoroughfare like the Strand. When I want a nose or
an eye for any particular sitter, I have only to look out of window and wait
till I get one.'
`Does it take long to get a nose, now?' inquired Nicholas, smiling.
`Why, that depends in a great measure on the pattern,' replied Miss La
Creevy. `Snubs and Romans are plentiful enough, and there are flats of all sorts
and sizes when there's a meeting at Exeter Hall; but perfect aquilines, I am
sorry to say, are scarce, and we generally use them for uniforms or public
characters.'
`Indeed!' said Nicholas. `If I should meet with any in my travels, I'll
endeavour to sketch them for you.'
`You don't mean to say that you are really going all the way down into
Yorkshire this cold winter's weather, Mr Nickleby?' said Miss La Creevy. `I
heard something of it last night.'
`I do, indeed,' replied Nicholas. `Needs must, you know, when somebody
drives. Necessity is my driver, and that is only another name for the same
gentleman.'
`Well, I am very sorry for it; that's all I can say,' said Miss La Creevy;
`as much on your mother's and sister's account as on yours. Your sister is a
very pretty young lady, Mr Nickleby, and that is an additional reason why she
should have somebody to protect her. I persuaded her to give me a sitting or
two, for the street-door case. `Ah! she'll make a sweet miniature.' As Miss La
Creevy spoke, she held up an ivory countenance intersected with very perceptible
sky-blue veins, and regarded it with so much complacency, that Nicholas quite
envied her.
`If you ever have an opportunity of showing Kate some little kindness,' said
Nicholas, presenting his hand, `I think you will.'
`Depend upon that,' said the good-natured miniature painter; `and God bless
you, Mr Nickleby; and I wish you well.'
It was very little that Nicholas knew of the world, but he guessed enough
about its ways to think, that if he gave Miss La Creevy one little kiss, perhaps
she might not be the less kindly disposed towards those he was leaving behind.
So, he gave her three or four with a kind of jocose gallantry, and Miss La
Creevy evinced no greater symptoms of displeasure than declaring, as she
adjusted her yellow turban, that she had never heard of such a thing, and
couldn't have believed it possible.
Having terminated the unexpected interview in this satisfactory manner,
Nicholas hastily withdrew himself from the house. By the time he had found a man
to carry his box it was only seven o'clock, so he walked slowly on, a little in
advance of the porter, and very probably with not half as light a heart in his
breast as the man had, although he had no waistcoat to cover it with, and had
evidently, from the appearance of his other garments, been spending the night in
a stable, and taking his breakfast at a pump.
Regarding, with no small curiosity and interest, all the busy preparations
for the coming day which every street and almost every house displayed; and
thinking, now and then, that it seemed rather hard that so many people of all
ranks and stations could earn a livelihood in London, and that he should be
compelled to journey so far in search of one; Nicholas speedily arrived at the
Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. Having dismissed his attendant, and seen the box
safely deposited in the coach-office, he looked into the coffee-room in search
of Mr Squeers.
He found that learned gentleman sitting at breakfast, with the three little
boys before noticed, and two others who had turned up by some lucky chance since
the interview of the previous day, ranged in a row on the opposite seat. Mr
Squeers had before him a small measure of coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a
cold round of beef; but he was at that moment intent on preparing breakfast for
the little boys.
`This is twopenn'orth of milk, is it, waiter?' said Mr Squeers, looking down
into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently, so as to get an accurate view of
the quantity of liquid contained in it.
`That's twopenn'orth, sir,' replied the waiter.
`What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London!' said Mr Squeers, with a
sigh. `Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, William, will you?'
`To the wery top, sir?' inquired the waiter. `Why, the milk will be
drownded.'
`Never you mind that,' replied Mr Squeers. `Serve it right for being so dear.
You ordered that thick bread and butter for three, did you?'
`Coming directly, sir.'
`You needn't hurry yourself,' said Squeers; `there's plenty of time. Conquer
your passions, boys, and don't be eager after vittles.' As he uttered this moral
precept, Mr Squeers took a large bite out of the cold beef, and recognised
Nicholas.
`Sit down, Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers. `Here we are, a breakfasting you see!'
Nicholas did not see that anybody was breakfasting, except Mr Squeers; but he
bowed with all becoming reverence, and looked as cheerful as he could.
`Oh! that's the milk and water, is it, William?' said Squeers. `Very good;
don't forget the bread and butter presently.'
At this fresh mention of the bread and butter, the five little boys looked
very eager, and followed the waiter out, with their eyes; meanwhile Mr Squeers
tasted the milk and water.
`Ah!' said that gentleman, smacking his lips, `here's richness! Think of the
many beggars and orphans in the streets that would be glad of this, little boys.
A shocking thing hunger, isn't it, Mr Nickleby?'
`Very shocking, sir,' said Nicholas.
`When I say number one,' pursued Mr Squeers, putting the mug before the
children, `the boy on the left hand nearest the window may take a drink; and
when I say number two, the boy next him will go in, and so till we come to
number five, which is the last boy. Are you ready?'
`Yes, sir,' cried all the little boys with great eagerness.
`That's right,' said Squeers, calmly getting on with his breakfast; `keep
ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my dears, and you've
conquered human natur. This is the way we inculcate strength of mind, Mr
Nickleby,' said the schoolmaster, turning to Nicholas, and speaking with his
mouth very full of beef and toast.
Nicholas murmured something -- he knew not what -- in reply; and the little
boys, dividing their gaze between the mug, the bread and butter (which had by
this time arrived), and every morsel which Mr Squeers took into his mouth,
remained with strained eyes in torments of expectation.
`Thank God for a good breakfast,' said Squeers, when he had finished. `Number
one may take a drink.'
Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just drunk enough to make him
wish for more, when Mr Squeers gave the signal for number two, who gave up at
the same interesting moment to number three; and the process was repeated until
the milk and water terminated with number five.
`And now,' said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread and butter for three
into as many portions as there were children, `you had better look sharp with
your breakfast, for the horn will blow in a minute or two, and then every boy
leaves off.'
Permission being thus given to fall to, the boys began to eat voraciously,
and in desperate haste: while the schoolmaster (who was in high good humour
after his meal) picked his teeth with a fork, and looked smilingly on. In a very
short time, the horn was heard.
`I thought it wouldn't be long,' said Squeers, jumping up and producing a
little basket from under the seat; `put what you haven't had time to eat, in
here, boys! You'll want it on the road!'
Nicholas was considerably startled by these very economical arrangements; but
he had no time to reflect upon them, for the little boys had to be got up to the
top of the coach, and their boxes had to be brought out and put in, and Mr
Squeers's luggage was to be seen carefully deposited in the boot, and all these
offices were in his department. He was in the full heat and bustle of concluding
these operations, when his uncle, Mr Ralph Nickleby, accosted him.
`Oh! here you are, sir!' said Ralph. `Here are your mother and sister, sir.'
`Where?' cried Nicholas, looking hastily round.
`Here!' replied his uncle. `Having too much money and nothing at all to do
with it, they were paying a hackney coach as I came up, sir.'
`We were afraid of being too late to see him before he went away from us,'
said Mrs Nickleby, embracing her son, heedless of the unconcerned lookers-on in
the coach-yard.
`Very good, ma'am,' returned Ralph, `you're the best judge of course. I
merely said that you were paying a hackney coach. I never pay a hackney coach,
ma'am; I never hire one. I haven't been in a hackney coach of my own hiring, for
thirty years, and I hope I shan't be for thirty more, if I live as long.'
`I should never have forgiven myself if I had not seen him,' said Mrs
Nickleby. `Poor dear boy -- going away without his breakfast too, because he
feared to distress us!'
`Mighty fine certainly,' said Ralph, with great testiness. `When I first went
to business, ma'am, I took a penny loaf and a ha'porth of milk for my breakfast
as I walked to the City every morning; what do you say to that, ma'am?
Breakfast! Bah!'
`Now, Nickleby,' said Squeers, coming up at the moment buttoning his
greatcoat; `I think you'd better get up behind. I'm afraid of one of them boys
falling off and then there's twenty pound a year gone.'
`Dear Nicholas,' whispered Kate, touching her brother's arm, `who is that
vulgar man?'
`Eh!' growled Ralph, whose quick ears had caught the inquiry. `Do you wish to
be introduced to Mr Squeers, my dear?'
`That the schoolmaster! No, uncle. Oh no!' replied Kate, shrinking back.
`I'm sure I heard you say as much, my dear,' retorted Ralph in his cold
sarcastic manner. `Mr Squeers, here's my niece: Nicholas's sister!'
`Very glad to make your acquaintance, miss,' said Squeers, raising his hat an
inch or two. `I wish Mrs Squeers took gals, and we had you for a teacher. I
don't know, though, whether she mightn't grow jealous if we had. Ha! ha! ha!'
If the proprietor of Dotheboys Hall could have known what was passing in his
assistant's breast at that moment, he would have discovered, with some surprise,
that he was as near being soundly pummelled as he had ever been in his life.
Kate Nickleby, having a quicker perception of her brother's emotions, led him
gently aside, and thus prevented Mr Squeers from being impressed with the fact
in a peculiarly disagreeable manner.
`My dear Nicholas,' said the young lady, `who is this man? What kind of place
can it be that you are going to?'
`I hardly know, Kate,' replied Nicholas, pressing his sister's hand. `I
suppose the Yorkshire folks are rather rough and uncultivated; that's all.'
`But this person,' urged Kate.
`Is my employer, or master, or whatever the proper name may be,' replied
Nicholas quickly; `and I was an ass to take his coarseness ill. They are looking
this way, and it is time I was in my place. Bless you, love, and goodbye!
Mother, look forward to our meeting again someday! Uncle, farewell! Thank you
heartily for all you have done and all you mean to do. Quite ready, sir!'
With these hasty adieux, Nicholas mounted nimbly to his seat, and waved his
hand as gallantly as if his heart went with it.
At this moment, when the coachman and guard were comparing notes for the last
time before starting, on the subject of the way-bill; when porters were screwing
out the last reluctant sixpences, itinerant newsmen making the last offer of a
morning paper, and the horses giving the last impatient rattle to their harness;
Nicholas felt somebody pulling softly at his leg. He looked down, and there
stood Newman Noggs, who pushed up into his hand a dirty letter.
`What's this?' inquired Nicholas.
`Hush!' rejoined Noggs, pointing to Mr Ralph Nickleby, who was saying a few
earnest words to Squeers, a short distance off: `Take it. Read it. Nobody knows.
That's all.'
`Stop!' cried Nicholas.
`No,' replied Noggs.
Nicholas cried stop, again, but Newman Noggs was gone.
A minute's bustle, a banging of the coach doors, a swaying of the vehicle to
one side, as the heavy coachman, and still heavier guard, climbed into their
seats; a cry of all right, a few notes from the horn, a hasty glance of two
sorrowful faces below, and the hard features of Mr Ralph Nickleby -- and the
coach was gone too, and rattling over the stones of Smithfield.
The little boys' legs being too short to admit of their feet resting upon
anything as they sat, and the little boys' bodies being consequently in imminent
hazard of being jerked off the coach, Nicholas had enough to do over the stones
to hold them on. Between the manual exertion and the mental anxiety attendant
upon this task, he was not a little relieved when the coach stopped at the
Peacock at Islington. He was still more relieved when a hearty-looking
gentleman, with a very good-humoured face, and a very fresh colour, got up
behind, and proposed to take the other corner of the seat.
`If we put some of these youngsters in the middle,' said the new-comer,
`they'll be safer in case of their going to sleep; eh?'
`If you'll have the goodness, sir,' replied Squeers, `that'll be the very
thing. Mr Nickleby, take three of them boys between you and the gentleman.
Belling and the youngest Snawley can sit between me and the guard. Three
children,' said Squeers, explaining to the stranger, `books as two.'
`I have not the least objection I am sure,' said the fresh-coloured
gentleman; `I have a brother who wouldn't object to book his six children as two
at any butcher's or baker's in the kingdom, I dare say. Far from it.'
`Six children, sir?' exclaimed Squeers.
`Yes, and all boys,' replied the stranger.
`Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers, in great haste, `catch hold of that basket. Let
me give you a card, sir, of an establishment where those six boys can be brought
up in an enlightened, liberal, and moral manner, with no mistake at all about
it, for twenty guineas a year each -- twenty guineas, sir -- or I'd take all the
boys together upon a average right through, and say a hundred pound a year for
the lot.'
`Oh!' said the gentleman, glancing at the card, `you are the Mr Squeers
mentioned here, I presume?'
`Yes, I am, sir,' replied the worthy pedagogue; `Mr Wackford Squeers is my
name, and I'm very far from being ashamed of it. These are some of my boys, sir;
that's one of my assistants, sir -- Mr Nickleby, a gentleman's son, amd a good
scholar, mathematical, classical, and commercial. We don't do things by halves
at our shop. All manner of learning my boys take down, sir; the expense is never
thought of; and they get paternal treatment and washing in.'
`Upon my word,' said the gentleman, glancing at Nicholas with a half-smile,
and a more than half expression of surprise, `these are advantages indeed.'
`You may say that, sir,' rejoined Squeers, thrusting his hands into his
great-coat pockets. `The most unexceptionable references are given and required.
I wouldn't take a reference with any boy, that wasn't responsible for the
payment of five pound five a quarter, no, not if you went down on your knees,
and asked me, with the tears running down your face, to do it.'
`Highly considerate,' said the passenger.
`It's my great aim and end to be considerate, sir,' rejoined Squeers.
`Snawley, junior, if you don't leave off chattering your teeth, and shaking with
the cold, I'll warm you with a severe thrashing in about half a minute's time.'
`Sit fast here, genelmen,' said the guard as he clambered up.
`All right behind there, Dick?' cried the coachman.
`All right,' was the reply. `Off she goes!' And off she did go -- if coaches
be feminine -- amidst a loud flourish from the guard's horn, and the calm
approval of all the judges of coaches and coach-horses congregated at the
Peacock, but more especially of the helpers, who stood, with the cloths over
their arms, watching the coach till it disappeared, and then lounged admiringly
stablewards, bestowing various gruff encomiums on the beauty of the turn-out.
When the guard (who was a stout old Yorkshireman) had blown himself quite out
of breath, he put the horn into a little tunnel of a basket fastened to the
coach-side for the purpose, and giving himself a plentiful shower of blows on
the chest and shoulders, observed it was uncommon cold; after which, he demanded
of every person separately whether he was going right through, and if not, where
he was going. Satisfactory replies being made to these queries, he surmised that
the roads were pretty heavy arter that fall last night, and took the liberty of
asking whether any of them gentlemen carried a snuff-box. It happening that
nobody did, he remarked with a mysterious air that he had heard a medical
gentleman as went down to Grantham last week, say how that snuff-taking was bad
for the eyes; but for his part he had never found it so, and what he said was,
that everybody should speak as they found. Nobody attempting to controvert this
position, he took a small brown-paper parcel out of his hat, and putting on a
pair of horn spectacles (the writing being crabbed) read the direction
half-a-dozen times over; having done which, he consigned the parcel to its old
place, put up his spectacles again, and stared at everybody in turn. After this,
he took another blow at the horn by way of refreshment; and, having now
exhausted his usual topics of conversation, folded his arms as well as he could
in so many coats, and falling into a solemn silence, looked carelessly at the
familiar objects which met his eye on every side as the coach rolled on; the
only things he seemed to care for, being horses and droves of cattle, which he
scrutinised with a critical air as they were passed upon the road.
The weather was intensely and bitterly cold; a great deal of snow fell from
time to time; and the wind was intolerably keen. Mr Squeers got down at almost
every stage -- to stretch his legs as he said -- and as he always came back from
such excursions with a very red nose, and composed himself to sleep directly,
there is reason to suppose that he derived great benefit from the process. The
little pupils having been stimulated with the remains of their breakfast, and
further invigorated by sundry small cups of a curious cordial carried by Mr
Squeers, which tasted very like toast-and-water put into a brandy bottle by
mistake, went to sleep, woke, shivered, and cried, as their feelings prompted.
Nicholas and the good-tempered man found so many things to talk about, that
between conversing together, and cheering up the boys, the time passed with them
as rapidly as it could, under such adverse circumstances.
So the day wore on. At Eton Slocomb there was a good coach dinner, of which
the box, the four front outsides, the one inside, Nicholas, the good-tempered
man, and Mr Squeers, partook; while the five little boys were put to thaw by the
fire, and regaled with sandwiches. A stage or two further on, the lamps were
lighted, and a great to-do occasioned by the taking up, at a roadside inn, of a
very fastidious lady with an infinite variety of cloaks and small parcels, who
loudly lamented, for the behoof of the outsides, the non-arrival of her own
carriage which was to have taken her on, and made the guard solemnly promise to
stop every green chariot he saw coming; which, as it was a dark night and he was
sitting with his face the other way, that officer undertook, with many fervent
asseverations, to do. Lastly, the fastidious lady, finding there was a solitary
gentleman inside, had a small lamp lighted which she carried in reticule, and
being after much trouble shut in, the horses were put into a brisk canter and
the coach was once more in rapid motion.
The night and the snow came on together, and dismal enough they were. There
was no sound to be heard but the howling of the wind; for the noise of the
wheels, and the tread of the horses' feet, were rendered inaudible by the thick
coating of snow which covered the ground, and was fast increasing every moment.
The streets of Stamford were deserted as they passed through the town; and its
old churches rose, frowning and dark, from the whitened ground. Twenty miles
further on, two of the font outside passengers, wisely availing themselves of
their arrival at one of the best inns in England, turned in, for the night, at
the George at Grantham. The remainder wrapped themselves more closely in their
coats and cloaks, and leaving the light and warmth of the town behind them,
pillowed themselves against the luggage, and prepared, with many half-suppressed
moans, again to encounter the piercing blast which swept across the open
country.
They were little more than a stage out of Grantham, or about halfway between
it and Newark, when Nicholas, who had been asleep for a short time, was suddenly
roused by a violent jerk which nearly threw him from his seat. Grasping the
rail, he found that the coach had sunk greatly on one side, though it was still
dragged forward by the horses; and while -- confused by their plunging and the
loud screams of the lady inside -- he hesitated, for an instant, whether to jump
off or not, the vehicle turned easily over, and relieved him from all further
uncertainty by flinging him into the road.
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