Chapter 64

An old Acquaintance is recognised undermelancholy Circumstances, and Dotheboys Hallbreaks up for ever.

　　Nicholas was one of those whose joy is incomplete unless itis shared by the friends of adverse and less fortunatedays. Surrounded by every fascination of love and hope,his warm heart yearned towards plain John Browdie. Heremembered their first meeting with a smile, and their secondwith a tear; saw poor Smike once again with the bundle on hisshoulder trudging patiently by his side; and heard the honestYorkshireman’s rough words of encouragement as he left them ontheir road to London.

　　Madeline and he sat down, very many times, jointly to producea letter which should acquaint John at full length with his alteredfortunes, and assure him of his friendship and gratitude. It sohappened, however, that the letter could never be written.

　　Although they applied themselves to it with the best intentions inthe world, it chanced that they always fell to talking aboutsomething else, and when Nicholas tried it by himself, he found itimpossible to write one-half of what he wished to say, or to penanything, indeed, which on reperusal did not appear cold andunsatisfactory compared with what he had in his mind. At last,after going on thus from day to day, and reproaching himself moreand more, he resolved (the more readily as Madeline stronglyurged him) to make a hasty trip into Yorkshire, and present  1147himself before Mr and Mrs Browdie without a word of notice.

　　Thus it was that between seven and eight o’clock one evening,he and Kate found themselves in the Saracen’s Head booking-office, securing a place to Greta Bridge by the next morning’scoach. They had to go westward, to procure some little necessariesfor his journey, and, as it was a fine night, they agreed to walkthere, and ride home.

　　The place they had just been in called up so many recollections,and Kate had so many anecdotes of Madeline, and Nicholas somany anecdotes of Frank, and each was so interested in what theother said, and both were so happy and confiding, and had somuch to talk about, that it was not until they had plunged for a fullhalf-hour into that labyrinth of streets which lies between SevenDials and Soho, without emerging into any large thoroughfare,that Nicholas began to think it just possible they might have losttheir way.

　　The possibility was soon converted into a certainty; for, onlooking about, and walking first to one end of the street and thento the other, he could find no landmark he could recognise, andwas fain to turn back again in quest of some place at which hecould seek a direction.

　　It was a by-street, and there was nobody about, or in the fewwretched shops they passed. Making towards a faint gleam of lightwhich streamed across the pavement from a cellar, Nicholas wasabout to descend two or three steps so as to render himself visibleto those below and make his inquiry, when he was arrested by aloud noise of scolding in a woman’s voice.

　　‘Oh come away!’ said Kate, ‘they are quarrelling. You’ll behurt.’

　　  1148‘Wait one instant, Kate. Let us hear if there’s anything thematter,’ returned her brother. ‘Hush!’

　　‘You nasty, idle, vicious, good-for-nothing brute,’ cried thewoman, stamping on the ground, ‘why don’t you turn the mangle?’

　　‘So I am, my life and soul!’ replied the man’s voice. ‘I am alwaysturning. I am perpetually turning, like a demd old horse in ademnition mill. My life is one demd horrid grind!’

　　‘Then why don’t you go and list for a soldier?’ retorted thewoman; ‘you’re welcome to.’

　　‘For a soldier!’ cried the man. ‘For a soldier! Would his joy andgladness see him in a coarse red coat with a little tail? Would shehear of his being slapped and beat by drummers demnebly?

　　Would she have him fire off real guns, and have his hair cut, andhis whiskers shaved, and his eyes turned right and left, and histrousers pipeclayed?’

　　‘Dear Nicholas,’ whispered Kate, ‘you don’t know who that is.

　　It’s Mr Mantalini I am confident.’

　　‘Do make sure! Peep at him while I ask the way,’ said Nicholas.

　　‘Come down a step or two. Come!’

　　Drawing her after him, Nicholas crept down the steps andlooked into a small boarded cellar. There, amidst clothes-basketsand clothes, stripped up to his shirt-sleeves, but wearing still anold patched pair of pantaloons of superlative make, a once brilliantwaistcoat, and moustache and whiskers as of yore, but lackingtheir lustrous dye—there, endeavouring to mollify the wrath of abuxom female—not the lawful Madame Mantalini, but theproprietress of the concern—and grinding meanwhile as if for verylife at the mangle, whose creaking noise, mingled with her shrilltones, appeared almost to deafen him—there was the graceful,  1149elegant, fascinating, and once dashing Mantalini.

　　‘Oh you false traitor!’ cried the lady, threatening personalviolence on Mr Mantalini’s face.

　　‘False! Oh dem! Now my soul, my gentle, captivating,bewitching, and most demnebly enslaving chick-a-biddy, be calm,’

　　said Mr Mantalini, humbly.

　　‘I won’t!’ screamed the woman. ‘I’ll tear your eyes out!’

　　‘Oh! What a demd savage lamb!’ cried Mr Mantalini.

　　‘You’re never to be trusted,’ screamed the woman; ‘you wereout all day yesterday, and gallivanting somewhere I know. Youknow you were! Isn’t it enough that I paid two pound fourteen foryou, and took you out of prison and let you live here like agentleman, but must you go on like this: breaking, my heartbesides?’

　　‘I will never break its heart, I will be a good boy, and never doso any more; I will never be naughty again; I beg its little pardon,’

　　said Mr Mantalini, dropping the handle of the mangle, and foldinghis palms together; ‘it is all up with its handsome friend! He hasgone to the demnition bow-wows. It will have pity? It will notscratch and claw, but pet and comfort? Oh, demmit!’

　　Very little affected, to judge from her action, by this tenderappeal, the lady was on the point of returning some angry reply,when Nicholas, raising his voice, asked his way to Piccadilly.

　　Mr Mantalini turned round, caught sight of Kate, and, withoutanother word, leapt at one bound into a bed which stood behindthe door, and drew the counterpane over his face: kickingmeanwhile convulsively.

　　‘Demmit,’ he cried, in a suffocating voice, ‘it’s little Nickleby!

　　Shut the door, put out the candle, turn me up in the bedstead! Oh,  1150dem, dem, dem!’

　　The woman looked, first at Nicholas, and then at Mr Mantalini,as if uncertain on whom to visit this extraordinary behaviour; butMr Mantalini happening by ill-luck to thrust his nose from underthe bedclothes, in his anxiety to ascertain whether the visitorswere gone, she suddenly, and with a dexterity which could onlyhave been acquired by long practice, flung a pretty heavy clothes-basket at him, with so good an aim that he kicked more violentlythan before, though without venturing to make any effort todisengage his head, which was quite extinguished. Thinking this afavourable opportunity for departing before any of the torrent ofher wrath discharged itself upon him, Nicholas hurried Kate off,and left the unfortunate subject of this unexpected recognition toexplain his conduct as he best could.

　　The next morning he began his journey. It was now cold, winterweather: forcibly recalling to his mind under what circumstanceshe had first travelled that road, and how many vicissitudes andchanges he had since undergone. He was alone inside the greaterpart of the way, and sometimes, when he had fallen into a doze,and, rousing himself, looked out of the window, and recognisedsome place which he well remembered as having passed, either onhis journey down, or in the long walk back with poor Smike, hecould hardly believe but that all which had since happened hadbeen a dream, and that they were still plodding wearily on towardsLondon, with the world before them.

　　To render these recollections the more vivid, it came on to snowas night set in; and, passing through Stamford and Grantham, andby the little alehouse where he had heard the story of the boldBaron of Grogzwig, everything looked as if he had seen it but  1151yesterday, and not even a flake of the white crust on the roofs hadmelted away. Encouraging the train of ideas which flocked uponhim, he could almost persuade himself that he sat again outsidethe coach, with Squeers and the boys; that he heard their voices inthe air; and that he felt again, but with a mingled sensation of painand pleasure now, that old sinking of the heart, and longing afterhome. While he was yet yielding himself up to these fancies he fellasleep, and, dreaming of Madeline, forgot them.

　　He slept at the inn at Greta Bridge on the night of his arrival,and, rising at a very early hour next morning, walked to themarket town, and inquired for John Browdie’s house. John livedin the outskirts, now he was a family man; and as everbody knewhim, Nicholas had no difficulty in finding a boy who undertook toguide him to his residence.

　　Dismissing his guide at the gate, and in his impatience not evenstopping to admire the thriving look of cottage or garden either,Nicholas made his way to the kitchen door, and knocked lustilywith his stick.

　　‘Halloa!’ cried a voice inside. ‘Wa’et be the matther noo? Be thetoon a-fire? Ding, but thou mak’st noise eneaf!’

　　With these words, John Browdie opened the door himself, andopening his eyes too to their utmost width, cried, as he clapped hishands together, and burst into a hearty roar:

　　‘Ecod, it be the godfeyther, it be the godfeyther! Tilly, here beMisther Nickleby. Gi’ us thee hond, mun. Coom awa’, coom awa’.

　　In wi ’un, doon beside the fire; tak’ a soop o’ thot. Dinnot say aword till thou’st droonk it a’! Oop wi’ it, mun. Ding! but I’m reeghtglod to see thee.’

　　Adapting his action to his text, John dragged Nicholas into the  1152kitchen, forced him down upon a huge settle beside a blazing fire,poured out from an enormous bottle about a quarter of a pint ofspirits, thrust it into his hand, opened his mouth and threw backhis head as a sign to him to drink it instantly, and stood with abroad grin of welcome overspreading his great red face like a jollygiant.

　　‘I might ha’ knowa’d,’ said John,;’ that nobody but thou wouldha’ coom wi’ sike a knock as you. Thot was the wa’ thou knockedat schoolmeasther’s door, eh? Ha, ha, ha! But I say; wa’at be a’ thisaboot schoolmeasther?’

　　‘You know it then?’ said Nicholas.

　　‘They were talking aboot it, doon toon, last neeght,’ repliedJohn, ‘but neane on ’em seemed quite to un’erstan’ it, loike.’

　　‘After various shiftings and delays,’ said Nicholas, ‘he has beensentenced to be transported for seven years, for being in theunlawful possession of a stolen will; and, after that, he has to sufferthe consequence of a conspiracy.’

　　‘Whew!’ cried John, ‘a conspiracy! Soom’at in the pooder-plotwa’? Eh? Soom’at in the Guy Faux line?’

　　‘No, no, no, a conspiracy connected with his school; I’ll explainit presently.’

　　‘Thot’s reeght!’ said John, ‘explain it arter breakfast, not noo,for thou be’est hoongry, and so am I; and Tilly she mun’ be at thebottom o’ a’ explanations, for she says thot’s the mutualconfidence. Ha, ha, ha! Ecod, it’s a room start, is the mutualconfidence!’

　　The entrance of Mrs Browdie, with a smart cap on, and verymany apologies for their having been detected in the act ofbreakfasting in the kitchen, stopped John in his discussion of this  1153grave subject, and hastened the breakfast: which, being composedof vast mounds of toast, new-laid eggs, boiled ham, Yorkshire pie,and other cold substantials (of which heavy relays were constantlyappearing from another kitchen under the direction of a veryplump servant), was admirably adapted to the cold bleak morning,and received the utmost justice from all parties. At last, it came toa close; and the fire which had been lighted in the best parlourhaving by this time burnt up, they adjourned thither, to hear whatNicholas had to tell.

　　Nicholas told them all, and never was there a story whichawakened so many emotions in the breasts of two eager listeners.

　　At one time, honest John groaned in sympathy, and at anotherroared with joy; at one time he vowed to go up to London onpurpose to get a sight of the brothers Cheeryble; and, at another,swore that Tim Linkinwater should receive such a ham by coach,and carriage free, as mortal knife had never carved. WhenNicholas began to describe Madeline, he sat with his mouth wideopen, nudging Mrs Browdie from time to time, and exclaimingunder his breath that she must be ‘raa’ther a tidy sart,’ and whenhe heard at last that his young friend had come down purposely tocommunicate his good fortune, and to convey to him all thoseassurances of friendship which he could not state with sufficientwarmth in writing—that the only object of his journey was toshare his happiness with them, and to tell them that when he wasmarried they must come up to see him, and that Madeline insistedon it as well as he—John could hold out no longer, but afterlooking indignantly at his wife, and demanding to know what shewas whimpering for, drew his coat sleeve over his eyes andblubbered outright.

　　  1154‘Tell’ee wa’at though,’ said John seriously, when a great dealhad been said on both sides, ‘to return to schoolmeasther. If thisnews aboot ’un has reached school today, the old ‘ooman wean’thave a whole boan in her boddy, nor Fanny neither.’

　　‘Oh, John!’ cried Mrs Browdie.

　　‘Ah! and Oh, John agean,’ replied the Yorkshireman. ‘I dinnotknow what they lads mightn’t do. When it first got aboot thatschoolmeasther was in trouble, some feythers and moothers sentand took their young chaps awa’. If them as is left, should knowwaat’s coom tiv’un, there’ll be sike a revolution and rebel!—Ding!

　　But I think they’ll a’ gang daft, and spill bluid like wather!’

　　In fact, John Browdie’s apprehensions were so strong that hedetermined to ride over to the school without delay, and invitedNicholas to accompany him, which, however, he declined,pleading that his presence might perhaps aggravate the bitternessof their adversity.

　　‘Thot’s true!’ said John; ‘I should ne’er ha’ thought o’ thot.’

　　‘I must return tomorrow,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I mean to dinewith you today, and if Mrs Browdie can give me a bed—’

　　‘Bed!’ cried John, ‘I wish thou couldst sleep in fower beds atonce. Ecod, thou shouldst have ’em a’. Bide till I coom back; on’ybide till I coom back, and ecod we’ll make a day of it.’

　　Giving his wife a hearty kiss, and Nicholas a no less heartyshake of the hand, John mounted his horse and rode off: leavingMrs Browdie to apply herself to hospitable preparations, and hisyoung friend to stroll about the neighbourhood, and revisit spotswhich were rendered familiar to him by many a miserableassociation.

　　John cantered away, and arriving at Dotheboys Hall, tied his  1155horse to a gate and made his way to the schoolroom door, whichhe found locked on the inside. A tremendous noise and riot arosefrom within, and, applying his eye to a convenient crevice in thewall, he did not remain long in ignorance of its meaning.

　　The news of Mr Squeers’s downfall had reached Dotheboys;that was quite clear. To all appearance, it had very recentlybecome known to the young gentlemen; for the rebellion had justbroken out.

　　It was one of the brimstone-and-treacle mornings, and MrsSqueers had entered school according to custom with the largebowl and spoon, followed by Miss Squeers and the amiableWackford: who, during his father’s absence, had taken upon himsuch minor branches of the executive as kicking the pupils withhis nailed boots, pulling the hair of some of the smaller boys,pinching the others in aggravating places, and rendering himself,in various similar ways, a great comfort and happiness to hismother. Their entrance, whether by premeditation or asimultaneous impulse, was the signal of revolt. While onedetachment rushed to the door and locked it, and anothermounted on the desks and forms, the stoutest (and consequentlythe newest) boy seized the cane, and confronting Mrs Squeerswith a stern countenance, snatched off her cap and beaver bonnet,put them on his own head, armed himself with the wooden spoon,and bade her, on pain of death, go down upon her knees and takea dose directly. Before that estimable lady could recover herself, oroffer the slightest retaliation, she was forced into a kneelingposture by a crowd of shouting tormentors, and compelled toswallow a spoonful of the odious mixture, rendered more thanusually savoury by the immersion in the bowl of Master  1156Wackford’s head, whose ducking was intrusted to another rebel.

　　The success of this first achievement prompted the maliciouscrowd, whose faces were clustered together in every variety oflank and half-starved ugliness, to further acts of outrage. Theleader was insisting upon Mrs Squeers repeating her dose, MasterSqueers was undergoing another dip in the treacle, and a violentassault had been commenced on Miss Squeers, when JohnBrowdie, bursting open the door with a vigorous kick, rushed tothe rescue. The shouts, screams, groans, hoots, and clapping ofhands, suddenly ceased, and a dead silence ensued.

　　‘Ye be noice chaps,’ said John, looking steadily round. ‘What’sto do here, thou yoong dogs?’

　　‘Squeers is in prison, and we are going to run away!’ cried ascore of shrill voices. ‘We won’t stop, we won’t stop!’

　　‘Weel then, dinnot stop,’ replied John; ‘who waants thee tostop? Roon awa’ loike men, but dinnot hurt the women.’

　　‘Hurrah!’ cried the shrill voices, more shrilly still.

　　‘Hurrah?’ repeated John. ‘Weel, hurrah loike men too. Noothen, look out. Hip—hip,—hip—hurrah!’

　　‘Hurrah!’ cried the voices.

　　‘Hurrah! Agean;’ said John. ‘Looder still.’

　　The boys obeyed.

　　‘Anoother!’ said John. ‘Dinnot be afeared on it. Let’s have agood ’un!’

　　‘Hurrah!’

　　‘Noo then,’ said John, ‘let’s have yan more to end wi’, and thencoot off as quick as you loike. Tak’a good breath noo—Squeers bein jail—the school’s brokken oop—it’s a’ ower—past and gane—think o’ thot, and let it be a hearty ’un! Hurrah!’

　　  1157Such a cheer arose as the walls of Dotheboys Hall had neverechoed before, and were destined never to respond to again. Whenthe sound had died away, the school was empty; and of the busynoisy crowd which had peopled it but five minutes before, not oneremained.

　　‘Very well, Mr Browdie!’ said Miss Squeers, hot and flushedfrom the recent encounter, but vixenish to the last; ‘you’ve beenand excited our boys to run away. Now see if we don’t pay you outfor that, sir! If my pa is unfortunate and trod down by henemies,we’re not going to be basely crowed and conquered over by youand ’Tilda.’

　　‘Noa!’ replied John bluntly, ‘thou bean’t. Tak’ thy oath o’ thot.

　　Think betther o’ us, Fanny. I tell ’ee both, that I’m glod the auldman has been caught out at last—dom’d glod—but ye’ll sooffereneaf wi’out any crowin’ fra’ me, and I be not the mun to crow, norbe Tilly the lass, so I tell ’ee flat. More than thot, I tell ’ee noo, thatif thou need’st friends to help thee awa’ from this place—dinnotturn up thy nose, Fanny, thou may’st—thou’lt foind Tilly and I wi’

　　a thout o’ old times aboot us, ready to lend thee a hond. And whenI say thot, dinnot think I be asheamed of waa’t I’ve deane, for I sayagain, Hurrah! and dom the schoolmeasther. There!’

　　His parting words concluded, John Browdie strode heavily out,remounted his nag, put him once more into a smart canter, and,carolling lustily forth some fragments of an old song, to which thehorse’s hoofs rang a merry accompaniment, sped back to hispretty wife and to Nicholas.

　　For some days afterwards, the neighbouring country wasoverrun with boys, who, the report went, had been secretlyfurnished by Mr and Mrs Browdie, not only with a hearty meal of  1158bread and meat, but with sundry shillings and sixpences to helpthem on their way. To this rumour John always returned a stoutdenial, which he accompanied, however, with a lurking grin, thatrendered the suspicious doubtful, and fully confirmed all previousbelievers.

　　There were a few timid young children, who, miserable as theyhad been, and many as were the tears they had shed in thewretched school, still knew no other home, and had formed for it asort of attachment, which made them weep when the bolderspirits fled, and cling to it as a refuge. Of these, some were foundcrying under hedges and in such places, frightened at the solitude.

　　One had a dead bird in a little cage; he had wandered nearlytwenty miles, and when his poor favourite died, lost courage, andlay down beside him. Another was discovered in a yard hard bythe school, sleeping with a dog, who bit at those who came toremove him, and licked the sleeping child’s pale face.

　　They were taken back, and some other stragglers wererecovered, but by degrees they were claimed, or lost again; and, incourse of time, Dotheboys Hall and its last breaking-up began tobe forgotten by the neighbours, or to be only spoken of as amongthe things that had been.