Chapter 54

Chapter LIV

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows
cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. We had our
pea-coats with us, and I took a bag. Of all my worldly possessions I took no
more than the few necessaries that filled the bag. Where I might go, what I
might do, or when I might return, were questions utterly unknown to me; nor did
I vex my mind with them, for it was wholly set on Provis’s safety. I only
wondered for the passing moment, as I stopped at the door and looked back, under
what altered circumstances I should next see those rooms, if ever.

We loitered down to the Temple stairs, and stood loitering there, as if we were
not quite decided to go upon the water at all. Of course, I had taken care that
the boat should be ready and everything in order. After a little show of
indecision, which there were none to see but the two or three amphibious
creatures belonging to our Temple stairs, we went on board and cast off; Herbert
in the bow, I steering. It was then about high-water,—half-past eight.

Our plan was this. The tide, beginning to run down at nine, and being with us
until three, we intended still to creep on after it had turned, and row against
it until dark. We should then be well in those long reaches below Gravesend,
between Kent and Essex, where the river is broad and solitary, where the
water-side inhabitants are very few, and where lone public-houses are scattered
here and there, of which we could choose one for a resting-place. There, we
meant to lie by all night. The steamer for Hamburg and the steamer for Rotterdam
would start from London at about nine on Thursday morning. We should know at
what time to expect them, according to where we were, and would hail the first;
so that, if by any accident we were not taken abroad, we should have another
chance. We knew the distinguishing marks of each vessel.

The relief of being at last engaged in the execution of the purpose was so great
to me that I felt it difficult to realize the condition in which I had been a
few hours before. The crisp air, the sunlight, the movement on the river, and
the moving river itself,—the road that ran with us, seeming to sympathize with
us, animate us, and encourage us on,—freshened me with new hope. I felt
mortified to be of so little use in the boat; but, there were few better oarsmen
than my two friends, and they rowed with a steady stroke that was to last all
day.

At that time, the steam-traffic on the Thames was far below its present extent,
and watermen’s boats were far more numerous. Of barges, sailing colliers, and
coasting-traders, there were perhaps, as many as now; but of steam-ships, great
and small, not a tithe or a twentieth part so many. Early as it was, there were
plenty of scullers going here and there that morning, and plenty of barges
dropping down with the tide; the navigation of the river between bridges, in an
open boat, was a much easier and commoner matter in those days than it is in
these; and we went ahead among many skiffs and wherries briskly.

Old London Bridge was soon passed, and old Billingsgate Market with its
oyster-boats and Dutchmen, and the White Tower and Traitor’s Gate, and we were
in among the tiers of shipping. Here were the Leith, Aberdeen, and Glasgow
steamers, loading and unloading goods, and looking immensely high out of the
water as we passed alongside; here, were colliers by the score and score, with
the coal-whippers plunging off stages on deck, as counterweights to measures of
coal swinging up, which were then rattled over the side into barges; here, at
her moorings was to-morrow’s steamer for Rotterdam, of which we took good
notice; and here to-morrow’s for Hamburg, under whose bowsprit we crossed. And
now I, sitting in the stern, could see, with a faster beating heart, Mill Pond
Bank and Mill Pond stairs.

"Is he there?" said Herbert.

"Not yet."

"Right! He was not to come down till he saw us. Can you see his signal?"

"Not well from here; but I think I see it.—Now I see him! Pull both. Easy,
Herbert. Oars!"

We touched the stairs lightly for a single moment, and he was on board, and we
were off again. He had a boat-cloak with him, and a black canvas bag; and he
looked as like a river-pilot as my heart could have wished.

"Dear boy!" he said, putting his arm on my shoulder, as he took his seat.
"Faithful dear boy, well done. Thankye, thankye!"

Again among the tiers of shipping, in and out, avoiding rusty chain-cables
frayed hempen hawsers and bobbing buoys, sinking for the moment floating broken
baskets, scattering floating chips of wood and shaving, cleaving floating scum
of coal, in and out, under the figure-head of the John
of Sunderland making a speech to
the winds (as is done by many Johns), and the Betsy
of Yarmouth with a firm formality
of bosom and her knobby eyes starting two inches out of her head; in and out,
hammers going in ship-builders’ yards, saws going at timber, clashing engines
going at things unknown, pumps going in leaky ships, capstans going, ships going
out to sea, and unintelligible sea-creatures roaring curses over the bulwarks at
respondent lightermen, in and out,—out at last upon the clearer river, where the
ships’ boys might take their fenders in, no longer fishing in troubled waters
with them over the side, and where the festooned sails might fly out to the
wind.

At the stairs where we had taken him abroad, and ever since, I had looked warily
for any token of our being suspected. I had seen none. We certainly had not
been, and at that time as certainly we were not either attended or followed by
any boat. If we had been waited on by any boat, I should have run in to shore,
and have obliged her to go on, or to make her purpose evident. But we held our
own without any appearance of molestation.

He had his boat-cloak on him, and looked, as I have said, a natural part of the
scene. It was remarkable (but perhaps the wretched life he had led accounted for
it) that he was the least anxious of any of us. He was not indifferent, for he
told me that he hoped to live to see his gentleman one of the best of gentlemen
in a foreign country; he was not disposed to be passive or resigned, as I
understood it; but he had no notion of meeting danger half way. When it came
upon him, he confronted it, but it must come before he troubled himself.

"If you knowed, dear boy," he said to me, "what it is to sit here alonger my
dear boy and have my smoke, arter having been day by day betwixt four walls,
you’d envy me. But you don’t know what it is."

"I think I know the delights of freedom," I answered.

"Ah," said he, shaking his head gravely. "But you don’t know it equal to me. You
must have been under lock and key, dear boy, to know it equal to me,—but I ain’t
a going to be low."

It occurred to me as inconsistent, that, for any mastering idea, he should have
endangered his freedom, and even his life. But I reflected that perhaps freedom
without danger was too much apart from all the habit of his existence to be to
him what it would be to another man. I was not far out, since he said, after
smoking a little:—

"You see, dear boy, when I was over yonder, t’other side the world, I was always
a looking to this side; and it come flat to be there, for all I was a growing
rich. Everybody knowed Magwitch, and Magwitch could come, and Magwitch could go,
and nobody’s head would be troubled about him. They ain’t so easy concerning me
here, dear boy,—wouldn’t be, leastwise, if they knowed where I was."

"If all goes well," said I, "you will be perfectly free and safe again within a
few hours."

"Well," he returned, drawing a long breath, "I hope so."

"And think so?"

He dipped his hand in the water over the boat’s gunwale, and said, smiling with
that softened air upon him which was not new to me:—

"Ay, I s’pose I think so, dear boy. We’d be puzzled to be more quiet and
easy-going than we are at present. But—it’s a flowing so soft and pleasant
through the water, p’raps, as makes me think it—I was a thinking through my
smoke just then, that we can no more see to the bottom of the next few hours
than we can see to the bottom of this river what I catches hold of. Nor yet we
can’t no more hold their tide than I can hold this. And it’s run through my
fingers and gone, you see!" holding up his dripping hand.

"But for your face I should think you were a little despondent," said I.

"Not a bit on it, dear boy! It comes of flowing on so quiet, and of that there
rippling at the boat’s head making a sort of a Sunday tune. Maybe I’m a growing
a trifle old besides."

He put his pipe back in his mouth with an undisturbed expression of face, and
sat as composed and contented as if we were already out of England. Yet he was
as submissive to a word of advice as if he had been in constant terror; for,
when we ran ashore to get some bottles of beer into the boat, and he was
stepping out, I hinted that I thought he would be safest where he was, and he
said. "Do you, dear boy?" and quietly sat down again.

The air felt cold upon the river, but it was a bright day, and the sunshine was
very cheering. The tide ran strong, I took care to lose none of it, and our
steady stroke carried us on thoroughly well. By imperceptible degrees, as the
tide ran out, we lost more and more of the nearer woods and hills, and dropped
lower and lower between the muddy banks, but the tide was yet with us when we
were off Gravesend. As our charge was wrapped in his cloak, I purposely passed
within a boat or two’s length of the floating Custom House, and so out to catch
the stream, alongside of two emigrant ships, and under the bows of a large
transport with troops on the forecastle looking down at us. And soon the tide
began to slacken, and the craft lying at anchor to swing, and presently they had
all swung round, and the ships that were taking advantage of the new tide to get
up to the Pool began to crowd upon us in a fleet, and we kept under the shore,
as much out of the strength of the tide now as we could, standing carefully off
from low shallows and mudbanks.

Our oarsmen were so fresh, by dint of having occasionally let her drive with the
tide for a minute or two, that a quarter of an hour’s rest proved full as much
as they wanted. We got ashore among some slippery stones while we ate and drank
what we had with us, and looked about. It was like my own marsh country, flat
and monotonous, and with a dim horizon; while the winding river turned and
turned, and the great floating buoys upon it turned and turned, and everything
else seemed stranded and still. For now the last of the fleet of ships was round
the last low point we had headed; and the last green barge, straw-laden, with a
brown sail, had followed; and some ballast-lighters, shaped like a child’s first
rude imitation of a boat, lay low in the mud; and a little squat
shoal-lighthouse on open piles stood crippled in the mud on stilts and crutches;
and slimy stakes stuck out of the mud, and slimy stones stuck out of the mud,
and red landmarks and tidemarks stuck out of the mud, and an old landing-stage
and an old roofless building slipped into the mud, and all about us was
stagnation and mud.

We pushed off again, and made what way we could. It was much harder work now,
but Herbert and Startop persevered, and rowed and rowed and rowed until the sun
went down. By that time the river had lifted us a little, so that we could see
above the bank. There was the red sun, on the low level of the shore, in a
purple haze, fast deepening into black; and there was the solitary flat marsh;
and far away there were the rising grounds, between which and us there seemed to
be no life, save here and there in the foreground a melancholy gull.

As the night was fast falling, and as the moon, being past the full, would not
rise early, we held a little council; a short one, for clearly our course was to
lie by at the first lonely tavern we could find. So, they plied their oars once
more, and I looked out for anything like a house. Thus we held on, speaking
little, for four or five dull miles. It was very cold, and, a collier coming by
us, with her galley-fire smoking and flaring, looked like a comfortable home.
The night was as dark by this time as it would be until morning; and what light
we had, seemed to come more from the river than the sky, as the oars in their
dipping struck at a few reflected stars.

At this dismal time we were evidently all possessed by the idea that we were
followed. As the tide made, it flapped heavily at irregular intervals against
the shore; and whenever such a sound came, one or other of us was sure to start,
and look in that direction. Here and there, the set of the current had worn down
the bank into a little creek, and we were all suspicious of such places, and
eyed them nervously. Sometimes, "What was that ripple?" one of us would say in a
low voice. Or another, "Is that a boat yonder?" And afterwards we would fall
into a dead silence, and I would sit impatiently thinking with what an unusual
amount of noise the oars worked in the thowels.

At length we descried a light and a roof, and presently afterwards ran alongside
a little causeway made of stones that had been picked up hard by. Leaving the
rest in the boat, I stepped ashore, and found the light to be in a window of a
public-house. It was a dirty place enough, and I dare say not unknown to
smuggling adventurers; but there was a good fire in the kitchen, and there were
eggs and bacon to eat, and various liquors to drink. Also, there were two
double-bedded rooms,—"such as they were," the landlord said. No other company
was in the house than the landlord, his wife, and a grizzled male creature, the
"Jack" of the little causeway, who was as slimy and smeary as if he had been
low-water mark too.

With this assistant, I went down to the boat again, and we all came ashore, and
brought out the oars, and rudder and boat-hook, and all else, and hauled her up
for the night. We made a very good meal by the kitchen fire, and then
apportioned the bedrooms: Herbert and Startop were to occupy one; I and our
charge the other. We found the air as carefully excluded from both, as if air
were fatal to life; and there were more dirty clothes and bandboxes under the
beds than I should have thought the family possessed. But we considered
ourselves well off, notwithstanding, for a more solitary place we could not have
found.

While we were comforting ourselves by the fire after our meal, the Jack—who was
sitting in a corner, and who had a bloated pair of shoes on, which he had
exhibited while we were eating our eggs and bacon, as interesting relics that he
had taken a few days ago from the feet of a drowned seaman washed ashore—asked
me if we had seen a four-oared galley going up with the tide? When I told him
No, he said she must have gone down then, and yet she "took up too," when she
left there.

"They must ha’ thought better on’t for some reason or another," said the Jack,
"and gone down."

"A four-oared galley, did you say?" said I.

"A four," said the Jack, "and two sitters."

"Did they come ashore here?"

"They put in with a stone two-gallon jar for some beer. I’d ha’ been glad to
pison the beer myself," said the Jack, "or put some rattling physic in it."

"Why?"

"I know why," said the Jack.
He spoke in a slushy voice, as if much mud had washed into his throat.

"He thinks," said the landlord, a weakly meditative man with a pale eye, who
seemed to rely greatly on his Jack,—"he thinks they was, what they wasn’t."

"I knows what I thinks,"
observed the Jack.

"You thinks Custum ’Us, Jack?"
said the landlord.

"I do," said the Jack.

"Then you’re wrong, Jack."

"AM I!"

In the infinite meaning of his reply and his boundless confidence in his views,
the Jack took one of his bloated shoes off, looked into it, knocked a few stones
out of it on the kitchen floor, and put it on again. He did this with the air of
a Jack who was so right that he could afford to do anything.

"Why, what do you make out that they done with their buttons then, Jack?" asked
the landlord, vacillating weakly.

"Done with their buttons?" returned the Jack. "Chucked ’em overboard. Swallered
’em. Sowed ’em, to come up small salad. Done with their buttons!"

"Don’t be cheeky, Jack," remonstrated the landlord, in a melancholy and pathetic
way.

"A Custum ’Us officer knows what to do with his Buttons," said the Jack,
repeating the obnoxious word with the greatest contempt, "when they comes
betwixt him and his own light. A four and two sitters don’t go hanging and
hovering, up with one tide and down with another, and both with and against
another, without there being Custum ’Us at the bottom of it." Saying which he
went out in disdain; and the landlord, having no one to reply upon, found it
impracticable to pursue the subject.

This dialogue made us all uneasy, and me very uneasy. The dismal wind was
muttering round the house, the tide was flapping at the shore, and I had a
feeling that we were caged and threatened. A four-oared galley hovering about in
so unusual a way as to attract this notice was an ugly circumstance that I could
not get rid of. When I had induced Provis to go up to bed, I went outside with
my two companions (Startop by this time knew the state of the case), and held
another council. Whether we should remain at the house until near the steamer’s
time, which would be about one in the afternoon, or whether we should put off
early in the morning, was the question we discussed. On the whole we deemed it
the better course to lie where we were, until within an hour or so of the
steamer’s time, and then to get out in her track, and drift easily with the
tide. Having settled to do this, we returned into the house and went to bed.

I lay down with the greater part of my clothes on, and slept well for a few
hours. When I awoke, the wind had risen, and the sign of the house (the Ship)
was creaking and banging about, with noises that startled me. Rising softly, for
my charge lay fast asleep, I looked out of the window. It commanded the causeway
where we had hauled up our boat, and, as my eyes adapted themselves to the light
of the clouded moon, I saw two men looking into her. They passed by under the
window, looking at nothing else, and they did not go down to the landing-place
which I could discern to be empty, but struck across the marsh in the direction
of the Nore.

My first impulse was to call up Herbert, and show him the two men going away.
But reflecting, before I got into his room, which was at the back of the house
and adjoined mine, that he and Startop had had a harder day than I, and were
fatigued, I forbore. Going back to my window, I could see the two men moving
over the marsh. In that light, however, I soon lost them, and, feeling very
cold, lay down to think of the matter, and fell asleep again.

We were up early. As we walked to and fro, all four together, before breakfast,
I deemed it right to recount what I had seen. Again our charge was the least
anxious of the party. It was very likely that the men belonged to the Custom
House, he said quietly, and that they had no thought of us. I tried to persuade
myself that it was so,—as, indeed, it might easily be. However, I proposed that
he and I should walk away together to a distant point we could see, and that the
boat should take us aboard there, or as near there as might prove feasible, at
about noon. This being considered a good precaution, soon after breakfast he and
I set forth, without saying anything at the tavern.

He smoked his pipe as we went along, and sometimes stopped to clap me on the
shoulder. One would have supposed that it was I who was in danger, not he, and
that he was reassuring me. We spoke very little. As we approached the point, I
begged him to remain in a sheltered place, while I went on to reconnoitre; for
it was towards it that the men had passed in the night. He complied, and I went
on alone. There was no boat off the point, nor any boat drawn up anywhere near
it, nor were there any signs of the men having embarked there. But, to be sure,
the tide was high, and there might have been some footpints under water.

When he looked out from his shelter in the distance, and saw that I waved my hat
to him to come up, he rejoined me, and there we waited; sometimes lying on the
bank, wrapped in our coats, and sometimes moving about to warm ourselves, until
we saw our boat coming round. We got aboard easily, and rowed out into the track
of the steamer. By that time it wanted but ten minutes of one o’clock, and we
began to look out for her smoke.

But, it was half-past one before we saw her smoke, and soon afterwards we saw
behind it the smoke of another steamer. As they were coming on at full speed, we
got the two bags ready, and took that opportunity of saying good by to Herbert
and Startop. We had all shaken hands cordially, and neither Herbert’s eyes nor
mine were quite dry, when I saw a four-oared galley shoot out from under the
bank but a little way ahead of us, and row out into the same track.

A stretch of shore had been as yet between us and the steamer’s smoke, by reason
of the bend and wind of the river; but now she was visible, coming head on. I
called to Herbert and Startop to keep before the tide, that she might see us
lying by for her, and I adjured Provis to sit quite still, wrapped in his cloak.
He answered cheerily, "Trust to me, dear boy," and sat like a statue. Meantime
the galley, which was very skilfully handled, had crossed us, let us come up
with her, and fallen alongside. Leaving just room enough for the play of the
oars, she kept alongside, drifting when we drifted, and pulling a stroke or two
when we pulled. Of the two sitters one held the rudder-lines, and looked at us
attentively,—as did all the rowers; the other sitter was wrapped up, much as
Provis was, and seemed to shrink, and whisper some instruction to the steerer as
he looked at us. Not a word was spoken in either boat.

Startop could make out, after a few minutes, which steamer was first, and gave
me the word "Hamburg," in a low voice, as we sat face to face. She was nearing
us very fast, and the beating of her peddles grew louder and louder. I felt as
if her shadow were absolutely upon us, when the galley hailed us. I answered.

"You have a returned Transport there," said the man who held the lines. "That’s
the man, wrapped in the cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch, otherwise Provis. I
apprehend that man, and call upon him to surrender, and you to assist."

At the same moment, without giving any audible direction to his crew, he ran the
galley abroad of us. They had pulled one sudden stroke ahead, had got their oars
in, had run athwart us, and were holding on to our gunwale, before we knew what
they were doing. This caused great confusion on board the steamer, and I heard
them calling to us, and heard the order given to stop the paddles, and heard
them stop, but felt her driving down upon us irresistibly. In the same moment, I
saw the steersman of the galley lay his hand on his prisoner’s shoulder, and saw
that both boats were swinging round with the force of the tide, and saw that all
hands on board the steamer were running forward quite frantically. Still, in the
same moment, I saw the prisoner start up, lean across his captor, and pull the
cloak from the neck of the shrinking sitter in the galley. Still in the same
moment, I saw that the face disclosed, was the face of the other convict of long
ago. Still, in the same moment, I saw the face tilt backward with a white terror
on it that I shall never forget, and heard a great cry on board the steamer, and
a loud splash in the water, and felt the boat sink from under me.

It was but for an instant that I seemed to struggle with a thousand mill-weirs
and a thousand flashes of light; that instant past, I was taken on board the
galley. Herbert was there, and Startop was there; but our boat was gone, and the
two convicts were gone.

What with the cries aboard the steamer, and the furious blowing off of her
steam, and her driving on, and our driving on, I could not at first distinguish
sky from water or shore from shore; but the crew of the galley righted her with
great speed, and, pulling certain swift strong strokes ahead, lay upon their
oars, every man looking silently and eagerly at the water astern. Presently a
dark object was seen in it, bearing towards us on the tide. No man spoke, but
the steersman held up his hand, and all softly backed water, and kept the boat
straight and true before it. As it came nearer, I saw it to be Magwitch,
swimming, but not swimming freely. He was taken on board, and instantly manacled
at the wrists and ankles.

The galley was kept steady, and the silent, eager look-out at the water was
resumed. But, the Rotterdam steamer now came up, and apparently not
understanding what had happened, came on at speed. By the time she had been
hailed and stopped, both steamers were drifting away from us, and we were rising
and falling in a troubled wake of water. The look-out was kept, long after all
was still again and the two steamers were gone; but everybody knew that it was
hopeless now.

At length we gave it up, and pulled under the shore towards the tavern we had
lately left, where we were received with no little surprise. Here I was able to
get some comforts for Magwitch,—Provis no longer,—who had received some very
severe injury in the Chest, and a deep cut in the head.

He told me that he believed himself to have gone under the keel of the steamer,
and to have been struck on the head in rising. The injury to his chest (which
rendered his breathing extremely painful) he thought he had received against the
side of the galley. He added that he did not pretend to say what he might or
might not have done to Compeyson, but that, in the moment of his laying his hand
on his cloak to identify him, that villain had staggered up and staggered back,
and they had both gone overboard together, when the sudden wrenching of him
(Magwitch) out of our boat, and the endeavor of his captor to keep him in it,
had capsized us. He told me in a whisper that they had gone down fiercely locked
in each other’s arms, and that there had been a struggle under water, and that
he had disengaged himself, struck out, and swum away.

I never had any reason to doubt the exact truth of what he thus told me. The
officer who steered the galley gave the same account of their going overboard.

When I asked this officer’s permission to change the prisoner’s wet clothes by
purchasing any spare garments I could get at the public-house, he gave it
readily: merely observing that he must take charge of everything his prisoner
had about him. So the pocket-book which had once been in my hands passed into
the officer’s. He further gave me leave to accompany the prisoner to London; but
declined to accord that grace to my two friends.

The Jack at the Ship was instructed where the drowned man had gone down, and
undertook to search for the body in the places where it was likeliest to come
ashore. His interest in its recovery seemed to me to be much heightened when he
heard that it had stockings on. Probably, it took about a dozen drowned men to
fit him out completely; and that may have been the reason why the different
articles of his dress were in various stages of decay.

We remained at the public-house until the tide turned, and then Magwitch was
carried down to the galley and put on board. Herbert and Startop were to get to
London by land, as soon as they could. We had a doleful parting, and when I took
my place by Magwitch’s side, I felt that that was my place henceforth while he
lived.

For now, my repugnance to him had all melted away; and in the hunted, wounded,
shackled creature who held my hand in his, I only saw a man who had meant to be
my benefactor, and who had felt affectionately, gratefully, and generously,
towards me with great constancy through a series of years. I only saw in him a
much better man than I had been to Joe.

His breathing became more difficult and painful as the night drew on, and often
he could not repress a groan. I tried to rest him on the arm I could use, in any
easy position; but it was dreadful to think that I could not be sorry at heart
for his being badly hurt, since it was unquestionably best that he should die.
That there were, still living, people enough who were able and willing to
identify him, I could not doubt. That he would be leniently treated, I could not
hope. He who had been presented in the worst light at his trial, who had since
broken prison and had been tried again, who had returned from transportation
under a life sentence, and who had occasioned the death of the man who was the
cause of his arrest.

As we returned towards the setting sun we had yesterday left behind us, and as
the stream of our hopes seemed all running back, I told him how grieved I was to
think that he had come home for my sake.

"Dear boy," he answered, "I’m quite content to take my chance. I’ve seen my boy,
and he can be a gentleman without me."

No. I had thought about that, while we had been there side by side. No. Apart
from any inclinations of my own, I understood Wemmick’s hint now. I foresaw
that, being convicted, his possessions would be forfeited to the Crown.

"Lookee here, dear boy," said he "It’s best as a gentleman should not be knowed
to belong to me now. Only come to see me as if you come by chance alonger
Wemmick. Sit where I can see you when I am swore to, for the last o’ many times,
and I don’t ask no more."

"I will never stir from your side," said I, "when I am suffered to be near you.
Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!"

I felt his hand tremble as it held mine, and he turned his face away as he lay
in the bottom of the boat, and I heard that old sound in his throat,—softened
now, like all the rest of him. It was a good thing that he had touched this
point, for it put into my mind what I might not otherwise have thought of until
too late,—that he need never know how his hopes of enriching me had perished.