Oliver Twist : Chapter 21

by Charles Dickens  


     IT was a cheerless morning when they got into the street;  
     blowing and raining hard; and the clouds looked dull and  
     stormy.  The night had been very wet: large pools of water   
     had collected in the road: and the kennels were overflowing.  
     There was a faint glimmering of the coming day in the sky;  
     but it rather aggravated than relieved the gloom of the scene:  
     the sombre light only serving to pale that which the street  
     lamps afforded, without shedding any warmer or brighter  
     tints upon the wet house-tops, and dreary streets.  There ap-  
     peared to be nobody stirring in that quarter of the town; the  
     windows of the houses were all closely shut; and the streets  
     through which they passed, were noiseless and empty.   
        By the time they had turned into Bethnal Green Road,  
     the day had fairly begun to break.  Many of the lamps were  
     already extinguished; and a few country waggons were slowly  
     toiling on, towards London; now and then, a stage-coach,  
     covered with mud, rattled briskly by: the driver bestowing,  
     as he passed, an admonitory lash upon the heavy waggoner   
     who, by keeping on the wrong side of the road, had endan-  
     gered his arrival at the office, and quarter of a minute after  
     his time.  The public-houses, with gaslights burning inside,  
     were already open.  By degrees, other shops began to be un-  
     closed, and a few scattered people were met with.  Then,  
     came straggling groups of labourers going to their work; then,  
     men and women with fish-baskets on their heads; donkey-  
     carts laden with vegetables; chaise-carts filled with live-stock  
     or whole carcases of meat; milk-women with pails; an un-  
     broken concourse f people, trudging out with various sup-  
     plies to the eastern suburbs of the town.  As they approached  
     the City, the noise and traffic gradually increased; when   
     they threaded the streets between Shoreditch and Smithfield,  
     it had swelled into a roar of sound and bustle.  It was as  
     light as it was likely to be, till night came on again, and  
     the busy morning of half the London population had  
     begun.  
        Turning down Sun Street and Crown Street, and crossing  
     Finsbury Square , Mr. Sikes struck, by way of Chiswell street,  
     into Barbican: thence into Long Lane, and so into Smith-  
     field; from which place arose a tumult of discordant  
     sounds that filled Oliver Twist with amazement.  
        It was market-morning.  The ground was covered, nearly  
     ankle-deep, with filth and mire; a thick steam, perpetually  
     rising from the reeking bodies of the cattle, and mingling with  
     the fog, which seemed to rest upon the chimney-tops, hung  
     heavily above.  All the pens in the centre of the large area,  
     and as many temporary pens as could be crowded into the  
     vacant space, were filled with sheep; tied up to posts by the  
     gutter side were long lines of beasts and oxen, three or four  
     deep.  Countrymen, butchers, drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves,  
     idlers, and vagabonds of every low grade, were mingled to-  
     gether in a mass; the whistling of drovers, the barking of dogs,  
     the bellowing and plunging of oxen, the bleating of sheep,  
     the grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of hawkers, the  
     crowding, pushing, driving, beating, whooping and yelling;  
     the hideous and discordant din that resounded from every  
     corner of the market; and the unwashed, unshaven, squalid,  
     and dirty figures constantly running to and fro, and bursting  
     in and out of the throng; rendered it a stunning and bewil-  
     dering scene, which quite confounded the senses.  
        Mr. Sikes, dragging Oliver after him, elbowed his way  
     through the thickest of the crowd, and bestowed very little  
     attention on the numerous sights and sounds, which so aston-  
     ished the boy.  He nodded, twice or thrice, to a passing friend;  
     and resisting as many invitations to take a morning dram,  
     pressed steadily onward, until they were clear of the tur-  
     moil, and had made their way through Hosier Lane into  
     Holborn.  
        "Now, young 'un!" said Sikes, looking up at the clock of St.  
     Andrew's Church, "hard upon seven! you must step out.  
     Come, don't lag behind already, Lazy-legs!"  
        Mr. Sikes accompanied this speech with a jerk at his lit-  
     tle companion's wrist; Oliver, quickening his pace into a kind  
     of trot between a fast walk and a run, kept up with the rapid  
     strides of the housebreaker as well as he could.  
        They held their course at this rate, until they had passed   
     Hyde Park corner, and were on their way to Kensington:  
     when Sikes relaxed his pace, until an empty cart which was  
     at some little distance behind, came up.  Seeing "Hounslow"  
     written on it, he asked the driver with as much civility as  
     he could assume, if he would give them a lift as far as Isle-  
     worth.  
        "Jump up," said the man. directly, be-   "Is that your boy?"  
        "Yes; he's my boy," replied Sikes, looking hard at Oliver,  
     and putting his hand abstractly into the pocket where the  
     pistol was.   
        "Your father walks rather too quick for you, don't he, my  
     man?" inquired the driver: seeing Oliver was out of  
     breath.   
        "Not a bit of it," replied Sikes, interposing.  He's used to  
     it.  Here, take hold of my hand, Ned.  In with you!"  
        Thus addressing Oliver, he helped him into the cart; and  
     the driver, pointing to a heap of sacks, told him to lie down  
     there, and rest himself.   
        As they passed the different mile-stones, Oliver wondered,  
     more and more, where his companion meant to take him.  
     Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick, Kew Bridge, Brent-  
     ford, were all passed; and yet they went on as steadily as if  
     they had only just begun their journey.  At length, they came  
     to a public-house called the coach and horses: a little way  
     beyond which, another road appeared to turn off.  And here,  
     the cart stopped.  
        Sikes dismounted with great precipitation, holding Oliver  
     by the hand all the while; and lifted him down directly, be-  
     stowed a furious look upon him, and rapped the side-pocket  
     with his fist, in a significant manner.  
        "Good-bye, boy," said the man.  
        "He's sulky," replied Sikes, giving him a shake; he's sulky.  
     A young dog!  Don't mind him."  
        "Not I!" rejoined the other, getting into his cart.  "It's a  
     fine day, after all."  And he drove away.  
        Sikes waited until he had fairly gone; and then, telling  
     Oliver he might look about him if he wanted, once again led  
     him onward on his journey.  
        They turned round to the left, a short way past the public-  
     house; and then, taking a right-hand road, walked on for a  
     long time; passing many large gardens and gentlemen's   
     houses on both sides of the way, and stopping for nothing  
     but a little beer, until they reached a town.  Here against the  
     wall of a house, Oliver saw written up in pretty large letters,  
     "Hampton."  They lingered about, in the fields, for some hours.  
     At length they came back into the town; and, turning into  
     an old public-house with a defaced sign-board, ordered some  
     dinner by the kitchen fire.   
        The kitchen was an old, low-roofed room; with a great  
     beam across the middle of the ceiling, and benches, with  
     high backs to them, by the fire; on which were seated sev-  
     eral rough men in smock-frocks, drinking and smoking.  They  
     took no notice of Oliver; and a very little of Sikes; and, as  
     Sikes took very little notice of them, he and his young com-  
     rade sat in a corner by themselves, without being much  
     troubled by their company.  
        They had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so long after   
     it, while Mr. Sikes indulged himself with three or four pipes,  
     that Oliver began to feel quite certain they were not going  
     any further.  Being much tired by the walk, and getting up  
     so early, he dozed a little at first; then, quite overpowered  
     by fatigue and the fumes of the tobacco, fell asleep.  
        It was quite dark when he was awakened by a push from  
     Sikes.  Rousing himself sufficiently to sit up and look about  
     him, he found that worthy in close fellowship and commmuni-  
     cation with a labouring man, over a pint of ale.  
        "So you're going on to Lower Halliford, are you?" in-  
     quired Sikes.  
        "Yes, I am," replied the man, who seemed a little the   
     worse——or better, as the case might be——for drinking; "and  
     not slow about it neither.  My horse hasn't got a load behind  
     him going back, as he had coming up in the mornin'; and he  
     won't be a-doing of it.  Here's luck to him.  Ecod! he's  
     a good 'un!"  
        "Could you give my boy and me a lift as far as  
     there?" demanded Sikes, pushing the ale towards his new  
     friend.  
        "If you're going directly, I can," replied the man, looking  
     out of the pot.  "Are you going to Halliford?"  
        "Going to Shepperton," replied Sikes.  
        "I'm your man, as far as I go," replied the other.  "Is all   
     paid, Becky?"  
        "Yes, the gentleman's paid," replied the girl.  
        "I say!" said the man, with tipsy gravity; "that won't do,  
     you know."  
        "Why not?" rejoined Sikes.  "You're a-going to accommo-   
     date us, and wot's to prevent my standing treat for a pint   
     or so, in return?"  
        The stranger reflected upon the argument, with a very pro-  
     found face; having done so, he seized Sikes by the hand: and  
     declared he was a real good fellow.  To which Mr. Sikes re-  
     plied, he was joking; as, if he had been sober, there would  
     have been strong reason to suppose he was.  
        After the exchange of a few more compliments, they bade   
     the company good-night, and went out; the girl gathering up  
     the pots and glasses as they did so, and lounging out to the  
     door, with her hands full, to see the party start.  
        The horse, whose health had been drunk in his absence,  
     was standing outside: ready harnessed to the cart.  Oliver  
     and Sikes got in without any further ceremony; and the man  
     to whom he belonged, having lingered for a minute or two "to  
     bear him up," and to defy the hostler and the world to pro-  
     duce his equal, mounted also.  Then, the hostler was told to  
     give the horse his head; and, his head being given him, he  
     made a very unpleasant use of it: tossing it into the air with  
     great disdain, and running into the parlour windows over  
     the way; after performing those feats, and supporting him-  
     self for a short time on his hind-legs, he started off at great   
     speed, and rattled right out of the town right gallantly.  
        The night was very dark.  A damp mist rose from the  
     river, and the marshy ground about; and spread itself over   
     the dreary fields.  It was piercing cold, too; all was gloomy  
     and black.  Not a word was spoken; for the driver had grown  
     sleepy; and Sikes was in no mood to lead him into conver-  
     sation.  Oliver sat huddled together. in a corner of the cart;  
     bewildered with alarm and apprehension; and figuring strange  
     objects in the gaunt trees, whose branches waved grimly  
     to and fro, as if in some fantastic joy at the desolation of  
     the scene.  
        As they passed Sunbury Church, the clock struck seven.  
     There was a light in the ferry-house window opposite: which  
     streamed across the road, and threw into more sombre shadow  
     a dark yew-tree wit graves beneath it.  There was a dull sound  
     of falling water not far off; and the leaves of the old tree  
     stirred gently in the night wind.  It seemed like quiet music  
     for the repose of the dead.  
        Sunbury was passed through, and they came again into  
     the lonely road.  Two or three miles more, and the cart  
     stopped.  Sikes alighted, took Oliver by the hand, and they  
     once again walked on.  
        They turned into no house at Shepperton, as the weary  
     boy had expected; but still kept walking on, in mud and  
     darkness through gloomy lanes and over cold open wastes,  
     until they came within sight of the lights of a town at no  
     great distance.  On looking intently forward, Oliver saw that  
     the water was just below them, and that they were coming  
     to the foot of a bridge.  
        Sikes kept straight on, until they were close upon the  
     bridge; then turned suddenly down a bank upon the left.  
        "The water!" thought Oliver, turning sick with fear.  "He  
     has brought me to this lonely place to murder me!"  
        He was about to throw himself on the ground, and make  
     one struggle for his young life, when he saw that they stood     
     before a solitary house: all ruinous and decayed.  There was  
     a window on each side of the dilapidated entrance; and one  
     story above; but no light was visible.  The house was dark,  
     dismantled: and to all appearance, uninhabited.    
        Sikes, with Oliver's hand still in his, softly approached the  
     low porch, and raised the latch.  The door yielded to the  
     pressure, and they passed in together.     

Oliver Twist, first published by Charles Dickens in 1837;
Washington Square Press, New York;
3rd printing, November, 1962; pp. 169 - 175