PAGE 4
Pip
by
Further acquaintance with the military gentlemen proved that they had not come for me, as I fully expected, but merely to have a pair of hand-cuffs mended, which Joe at once proceeded to do, and while the soldiers waited they stood about the kitchen, and piled their arms in the corner, telling us that they were on the search for the two convicts who had escaped from the prison ships. When Joe’s job was done, he proposed that some of us go with them to see the hunt. Only Mr. Wopsle cared to go, and then Joe said he would take me. To this Mrs. Joe merely remarked: “If you bring the boy back, with his head blown to bits with a musket, don’t look to me to put it together again!”
The soldiers took a polite leave of the ladies and then we started off, Joe whispering to me, “I’d give a shilling if they’d cut and run, Pip!”
There was no doubt in my mind that the man I had succoured and the other one I had seen, were the convicts in question, and as we went on and on, my heart thumped violently. The man had asked me if I was a deceiving imp. Would he believe now that I had betrayed him?
On we went, and on and on, down banks and up banks, and over gates, hearing the sound of shouting in the distance. As we came nearer to the sound, the soldiers ran like deer. Water was splashing, mud was flying, and oaths were being sworn, and then, “Here are both men!” panted the sergeant, struggling in a ditch. “Surrender, you two! Come asunder!” Other soldiers ran to help, and dragged up from the ditch my convict and the other one. Both were bleeding and panting and struggling, but of course I knew them both directly. While the manacles were being put on their hands, my convict saw me for the first time. I looked at him eagerly, and slightly moved my hands and shook my head, trying to assure him of my innocence, but he did not in any way show me that he understood my gestures. We soon set off, the convicts kept apart, and each surrounded by a separate guard. Mr. Wopsle would have liked to turn back, but Joe was resolved to see it out, so we went on with the party, carrying torches which flared up and lighted our way. We could not go fast because of the lameness of the prisoners, and they were so spent that we had to halt two or three times while they rested. After an hour or two of this travelling, we came to a hut where there was a guard. Here the sergeant made some sort of a report, and an entry in a book, and then the other convict was drafted to go on board the Hulks first. My convict only looked at me once. While we stood in the hut, he looked thoughtfully into the fire. Suddenly he turned to the sergeant and remarked that he wished to say something about his escape, adding that it might prevent some persons being laid under suspicions.
“You can say what you like,” returned the sergeant, and the convict continued:
“A man can’t starve, at least I can’t. I took some wittles up at the village yonder–where the church stands a’most out on the marshes, and I’ll tell you where from. From the blacksmith’s.”
“Halloa, Pip!” said Joe, staring at me.
“It was some broken wittles–and a dram of liquor–and a pie.”
“Have you happened to miss such an article as a pie, blacksmith?” asked the sergeant.
“My wife did, at the very moment when you came in. Don’t you know, Pip?”
“So,” said my convict, looking at Joe, “so you’re the blacksmith, are you? Then I’m sorry to say, I’ve eat your pie.”
“God knows you’re welcome to it, so far as it was ever mine,” returned Joe. “We don’t know what you’ve done, but we wouldn’t have you starve to death for it, poor miserable fellow-creature, would we, Pip?”