CHAPTER XVIII.
Adrift.
A fathomless sea is rolling O'er the wreck of the bravest bark; And my pain-muffled heart is tolling Its dumb peal down in the dark.
The waves of a mighty sorrow Have 'whelmed the pearl of my life; And there cometh to me no morrow, To solace this desolate strife.
Gone are the last faint flashes, Set is the sun of my years; And over a few poor ashes I sit in my darkness and tears. --Gerald Massey.
Had any of our readers been passing the front of St. George's Hallduring the afternoon of the day on which Benny was acquitted, they mighthave seen our hero sitting on one of the many steps, with his faceburied in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. Hour after hourhe sat unmolested, for Perks was no longer at liberty to tease him, andthe police did not notice him.
Benny was utterly unconscious of the flight of time, for he was tryingto decide upon some course of action by which he could honestly earn hisdaily bread. He felt that he was beginning life again, and beginning itunder tremendous disadvantages. He knew that there was a great deal oftruth in what Perks had said to him. All who knew him would mistrusthim, and even should he succeed in getting employment under thosewho did not know him, they might soon get to know, and then he wouldbe dismissed. He was getting too big to be a match boy. He did notunderstand blacking shoes, and yet to remain idle meant starvation.
"I'm wuss nor a chap buried," he said to himself, thrusting his handsinto his trousers pockets and staring around him. "I've heerd of chapsbeginnin' at the bottom, but lor a massy! I'm beginnin' furder down thanthat by a long chalk. I'm six feet under ground, an' I'll 'ave to bore ahole up inter the daylight, or die, I 'specks."
As the afternoon wore away he became conscious of a feeling of hunger.Fortunately, he had sufficient money to keep him from starving for aday or two. He counted over the coins very carefully, and laid asideeighteenpence as being due to granny, and which he resolved should bepaid.
"I'll begin honest," he said to himself, "an' I'll keep on at it too, orgo to heaven to little Nell."
So after purchasing two sheets of paper and two envelopes, he madehis way to a small eating-house and ordered some bread and cheese. Hewas not long in devouring his very simple meal, and then with a leadpencil commenced his first attempt at letter-writing. The first lettercontained only a few words of warning to Jerry Starcher. The secondletter was longer, and was addressed to granny. This letter cost Bennya tremendous effort, for, fearing that granny would not be able to readwriting, he had, to use his own words, "to print it," and he found it tobe a rather slow process. The letter was to the following effect:--
"Deer Grany,--I ken never come 'ome no more. You's heerd what's tookplaas, but I nevver stole the money. I is 'onest, for shure I dunno watI'll do or whair I'll go; but I meen to be 'onest or die. I wish I wurded. I is very, very, very 'bliged for ole you's don for me an' littelNel: tel Joe I is 'bliged to 'im to. P'r'aps I'll never see 'e no more,p'r'aps I'll go to littel Nel soon. I 'ope I may, I's very lon-ly. I putwith this the money I ow's. Good nite.--Benny."
More than one scalding tear fell upon the letter while he wrote, for thetears would come despite his efforts to keep them back. Life seemed tohim such an utter desolation, and hope had almost died out of his heart.
When he had carefully folded and sealed the letters, he went out againon the steps in the shadow of the great Hall, and waited for thedarkness. All around him the people hurried to and fro. But had he beenin the heart of Africa he could not have felt more utterly forsaken andalone.
When at length the darkness crept over the busy town, he hurried away toTempest Court, passing Jerry Starcher's, and pushing the letter underhis door on the way. His heart beat very fast when he reached granny'sdoor. He was strongly tempted to knock for admittance, for somethingtold him that granny would not turn him away, but he struggled againstthe feeling. Welcome as would have been his little bed under the stairs,and glad as he would have been for a hiding-place from the world'sscorn, yet he felt he would rather not see granny and Joe again whilethis stain darkened his name.
Within the cottage silence and darkness reigned, for granny had retiredearly to rest--not without a prayer, though, that the boy she waslearning to love might see the error of his ways, truly repent of hissin, and lead a new life. For Joe had told her what had befallen Benny,and furthermore had extracted from her the promise that if he shouldever seek again the shelter of her home, for his little sister's sakeand for the sake of the Saviour, she would not turn him away, but wouldhelp him to begin a better life.
Benny listened for awhile at the key-hole, then cautiously pushing theletter under the door, he hurried away into the darkness. He had no ideawhere he would spend the night, nor did he concern himself about thedirection he was taking; he only felt that he must go somewhere. So onhe went in a northerly direction, passing street after street, till,footsore and weary, he stumbled into a dark corner where he thoughtnobody would notice him, and soon fell fast asleep.
Why could not the policeman who passed a few minutes later, and spiedthe little crouching figure, have permitted the child to sleep on? Hewas doing no harm, and the policeman might have known that had the boy ahome to go to he would not have been found sleeping in the street.
I suppose he thought nothing about the matter, for he seized Benny bythe collar and lifted him off the ground, and after shaking him as aterrier might shake a rat, he ordered him to move on, giving emphasis tohis words by a cruel kick, which made Benny grind his teeth with pain,and hurry limping down the street.
He had not gone far before a clock near him began to strike slowly thehour of midnight. At the first stroke of the bell Benny started, andlooked carefully around him. Clang went the second stroke.
"It must be the same," he muttered to himself.
The third stroke made him certain.
He was near Addler's Hall without knowing it. The tone of the churchclock was as familiar to him as the voice of his father. Scores of timesduring the years of his childhood he had listened to that clang, wakingup the midnight silence when all the others were asleep.
"I wonder if father's comed home yet?" he said to himself; "I'll go andsee, anyhow."
Bowker's Row was as silent as the grave, and, as usual, wrapped indarkness. But the darkness was no difficulty to Benny, as he made hisway cautiously up the dingy street and into the dingier court that wasonce his home. It seemed very strange to him that he should be therealone in the silent night, and that Nelly should be alone in her littlegrave miles away from where he stood.
What a lot had been crowded into his lonely life since last he stood inAddler's Hall, holding his little sister by the hand! And he wonderedif ever Nelly left her beautiful home in the sky to pay a visit to thedreary haunts of her childhood.
Before him the door of his old home stood open--the night was not sodark but he could see that--and he could see also that the place woreeven a more forsaken appearance than in former days.
Pausing for a moment on the threshold, he plunged into the darkness,then stood still in the middle of the room and listened; but no sound ofbreathing or noise of any kind broke the oppressive stillness.
He soon discovered also that the house was destitute of furniture; a fewshavings under the stairs alone remained.
"The bobbies'll not find me 'ere, I reckon," he said to himself, "thoughNelly may."
And he stretched himself on the shavings in the corner where he and hislittle sister used to sleep in the days that had gone for ever.
It seemed so strange to be there again, and to be there in sorrow anddisgrace; and once or twice he stretched out his hand in the darkness asif expecting to find his little sister by his side. Then, as the memoryof his loss and the loneliness of his life crept over him, he gave ventto his feelings in a flood of tears. By-and-bye he grew calm, and soonafter fell asleep; and in happy dreams, in which he wandered with Nellythrough Eastham Woods, he forgot all his trouble and care
.
When he awoke the next morning the court was alive and stirring, andBowker's Row was crowded with ill-fed, ragged, and dirty children: somewere doing their best to climb the lamp-posts, some were practisingcart-wheel revolutions, some were squatted idly on the pavement, andothers were playing with the refuse in the street.
On Benny making his appearance, he was greeted with a shout and a howlthat made the street echo again, and summoned the elders to the doorwaysto see what had happened.
It was very evident that the older children had recognized him, whilemany a familiar face appeared at door and window. This Benny thought wasvery unfortunate, for he was in no mood to be questioned or to brookdelay. So he darted down the street as if on a race for life, knockingover several of the older lads who tried to check his progress.
For some distance he was followed by a whole tribe of noisy urchins, whoshouted at the top of their voices. But Benny was too fleet-footed forthem, and soon Bowker's Row and its noisy denizens were left far behind.
Benny's first thought now was to secure a substantial breakfast, whichwas by no means a difficult matter. That done, he made his way towardthe docks, in the hope that he might get employment of some kind. But toa little friendless lad, without character or recommendation, employmentwas not so easily obtained. Most of those whom he addressed did notcondescend to notice his question in any way. A few asked him what hecould do, and when he replied "Anything," the invariable answer was,"That means nothing," and he was sent about his business. In fact, thereseemed to be no work in the whole line of docks that a child of his agewas capable of doing. And night found him worn out with fatigue, andwith a sadly lightened pocket.
However, he kept up his heart as well as he could, and sought rest andsleep in a damp cellar upon some dirty straw, which for the paymentof twopence he shared with a dozen other lads, who appeared to be asfriendless as himself. That night he slept the sleep of the innocent andweary, and awoke next morning, strengthened and refreshed, to find thatall his companions had left and that his pockets were empty!
This was a terrible blow to Benny; but when he discovered that his"lucky shilling" was still safe in the lining of his waistcoat, he driedhis tears, and went bravely out, hungry as he was, to battle with anunfriendly world.
Before sunset, however, he had nearly lost heart, for he had been unableto earn a single penny, and he was almost faint with hunger. So insheer desperation he sought his old place on the landing-stage, in thehope that he might have the chance of carrying some one's portmanteau,and in that way earn his supper; but everyone to whom he offered hisservices repulsed him, and for the first time he wondered whether itwould be wrong to throw himself into the river, and whether that wouldnot be the easiest way out of his trouble. Somehow he could not helpthinking that it would be less wicked for him to do that than to steal.He could not starve; drowning he was sure would be a much less painfuldeath; and, as far as he could see, it had really come to this, that hemust either steal or die. But he would not steal, he had made up hismind to that. Had he not promised Nelly that he would be honest? And hadnot Joe and granny and his Sunday-school teacher told him what a wickedthing it was to be a thief? No; he had settled that matter, and when hehad settled a thing in his own mind he was not to be moved. The questionthen was, what was the easiest kind of death? The river looked beautifulthis summer evening, and he thought it must be very nice to rest beneathits cool sparkling waters after the hot glare of the streets. Should heplunge in now, or should he wait a little longer? He had been withoutfood for twenty-four hours. He had no place to sleep, no means ofgetting supper.
Then suddenly he remembered his "lucky shilling."
"Queer!" he mused. "The Lord sent His angel wi' this bob, an' I've neverwanted it till now, an' now I does want it, I've got it. I'm flooredagain. Nelly said the Lord 'ud provide, and He do." And he took out thebright shilling and looked at it fondly.
Just then he heard a countryman inquiring the way to Lime StreetStation, of a man who stood near him.
"Here's a chance," he thought; and, stepping forward, he said, "I'llshow you the way, sir, if yer likes."
"Dost thee know th' way thysel', lad?" inquired the man.
"I should think I do," said Benny, drawing himself up to his full height.
"Lead the way, then," said the farmer; and Benny trotted on before him,feeling sure that he was safe now for a good supper without spending hisshilling.
"Thankee," said the farmer, on their arrival at the station; "thee'rt asharp lad, an' no mistake."
And he smiled benevolently, and hurried away to the booking-office,leaving our hero staring after him in utter bewilderment.
Benny felt that he would have liked to have had his revenge on that manthen and there.
"Golly," he said, "don't I feel savage, just!"
Just then a gentleman pushed against him, carrying a bulky leathern bag.
"Carry yer bag, sir?" said Benny in an instant; and, without a word, thebag was hoisted on his shoulder, and once more Benny was on the trot.
By the time he had reached the top of Brownlow Hill he was almostexhausted, and without a word the man (gentleman, I suppose he thoughthimself) took the bag from his shoulder and handed him a penny inpayment for his services.
When will men, and professedly Christian men, learn the great thoughsimple lesson--to do unto others as they would that others should dounto them?
A benevolent baker, moved to pity by the sight of Benny's sufferingface, gave him a twopenny loaf for his penny, with a smile and a kindlyword into the bargain, and Benny went out into the darkening street witha lighter heart than he had felt for the day.
The evening was oppressively warm, and having no inclination to go backagain into the dingy town, where policemen were plentiful, Benny madehis way in an easterly direction, hoping that he might find a darkcorner somewhere where he might sleep undisturbed.
After a while he found himself in the neighbourhood of the cemeterywhere Nelly was buried. He was not superstitious, so without a moment'shesitation he climbed over the wall, and, getting dark as it was, heeasily found his sister's grave; and, stretching himself on the dampgrass, with his head upon the little mound under which his Nelly sleptin peace, he tried to think--to form some plan for the future.
Above him twinkled the silent stars. Around him slept the silent dead.Everything was silent; not a leaf stirred, not even a blade of grass;and yielding to the silent influence of the hour, he fell asleep,though not before he had resolved that he would return to his old hauntsno more, but would commence his new life as far away from Liverpool ashe could possibly get.
Next morning he was up with the lark, and kissing the sod above hissister's face, he hurried away. At noon Liverpool was several milesbehind him, and before him--what?
Under the shadow of a tree by the roadside he rested for an hour duringthe heat of the day, and in a clear stream that babbled by he slakedhis thirst and washed the dust from his hands and face, then hurried onagain.
The country looked very beautiful bathed in the summer's sunshine, buthe was in no mood to enjoy it. The birds sang their glad songs in thetrees, but to him they seemed only to mock his sorrow. In the fieldshe saw the sleek cattle grazing as he passed, or lying in the sunshinecontentedly chewing their cud, while he was footsore, hungry, and sad,and he wondered what the end of it all would be.
As the afternoon wore away he found himself hedged in with plantationson every side, and not a single human habitation in sight.
For awhile he dragged himself along with fast failing courage andstrength; then he gave up in despair.
"It's no go," he said; "I ken go no furder."
His feet were hot and blistered with his long tramp over the hard anddusty road. His head ached from the fierce heat that had been beatingdown on him all the day, his strength was all but gone, for he hadtasted no food since the previous evening.
"I dunno how the Lord's goin' to do it," he said, the tears starting inhis eyes. "Nelly said as how the
Lord 'ud provide, an' so did the angelthat gived me the bob; but I dunna see how. I wonder if He's goin' totake me to heaven? P'r'aps that's the way He's goin' to do it, an' thenI'll never be 'ungry no more."
Climbing on a gate, he looked around him, but no house was anywherevisible.
"It's all up, I reckon," he said sadly, getting down on the inside andmaking his way through the tangled undergrowth into the heart of theplantation. "I'll find a snug place 'ere somewheres, where I ken waittill the Lord comes. I wonder if He'll be long?"
He had not gone far before he found a place that suited him. A luxuriantpatch of ferns growing out of a carpet of moss, bordered on every sidewith tall brushwood, while overhead giant fir-trees sighed and moaned inthe evening breeze, made a perfect arbour of quiet and repose. Pressingdown the yielding ferns, he had soon a bed soft as he could desire,while a mossy bank made a pillow grateful as a kiss of love to hisaching head and burning cheek.
"I'll be comfortable 'ere till the Lord comes," he said, stretching outhis weary limbs. "I wonder if He'll bring Nelly wi' Him?"
Then he closed his eyes and waited. Above him the fir-branches swayedgently in the soft evening breeze, and from far away came the subduedplash of falling water. It was very strange and solemn, but soothing andrestful withal.
The pangs of hunger abated, too, after he had rested awhile, and hishead ceased to ache, while the wind in the trees sounded like an eveninglullaby, and brought back to him a vague and misty recollection of hismother rocking him to sleep on her lap, in the years long, long ago.
Then the music seemed to come from farther and farther away, till itceased altogether, and once more Benny slept. And there in the solemnwood we will leave him for awhile to the mercy and care that areinfinite.
Her Benny: A Story of Street Life Page 18