Chapter XXI

Oliver Twist

by Charles Dickens

The Expedition

It was a cheerless morning when they got into the street;
blowing and raining hard; and the clouds looking 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 aggrevated
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 appeared 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 the Bethnal Green Road, the day
had fairly begun to break. Many of the lamps were already
extinguished; 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, and admonitory lash
upon the heavy waggoner who, by keeping on the wrong side of the
road, had endangered his arriving at the office, a quarter of a
minute after his time. The public-houses, with gas-lights burning
inside, were already open. By degrees, other shops began to be
unclosed, 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 carcasses of
meat; milk-women with pails; an unbroken concourse of people,
trudging out with various supplies 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 Smithfield; from which latter
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 seemd 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
together in a mass; the whistling of drovers, the barking dogs, the
bellowing and plunging of the oxen, the bleating of sheep, the
grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of hawkers, the shouts,
oaths, and quarrelling on all sides; the ringing of bells and roar of
voices, that issued from every public-house; the crowding, pushing,
driving, beating, whooping and yelling; the hideous and discordant
dim that resounded from every corner of the market; and the unwashed,
unshaven, squalid, and dirty figues constantly running to and fro,
and bursting in and out of the throng; rendered it a stunning and
bewildering 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 astonished 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 turmoil, 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 little
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
house-breaker 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 Isleworth.

'Jump up,' said the man. 'Is that your boy?'

'Yes; he's my boy,' replied Sikes, looking hard at Oliver, and
putting his hand abstractedly into the pocket where the pistol
was.

'Your father walks rather too quick for you, don't he, my man?'
inquired the driver: seeing that 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, Brentford, 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 run off.
And here, the cart stopped.

Sikes dismounted with great precipitation, holding Oliver by the
hand all the while; and lifting him down directly, bestowed 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 several rough men in
smock-frocks, drinking and smoking. They took no notice of Oliver;
and very little of Sikes; and, as Sikes took very little notice of
the, he and his young comrade 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 with 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 communication with a labouring
man, over a pint of ale.

'So, you're going on to Lower Halliford, are you?' inquired
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 long 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 on to Shepperton,' replied Sikes.

'I'm your man, as far as I go,' replied the other. 'Is all
paid, Becky?'

'Yes, the other 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 accommodate us,
and wot's to prevent my standing treat for a pint or so, in
return?'

The stranger reflected upon this argument, with a very profound
face; having done so, he seized Sikes by the hand: and declared he
was a real good fellow. To which Mr. Sikes replied, 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 produce 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 himself for a short
time on his hind-legs, he started off at great speed, and rattled 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 conversation. 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
with 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 the 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.