Charles Dickens - Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

Tom and his sister glanced at each other; and Ruth, after a moment's hesitation, asked Mrs Gamp what troubled her so much.

“My dear,” returned that lady, dropping her voice, “you are single, ain't you?”

Ruth laughed blushed, and said “Yes.”

“Worse luck,” proceeded Mrs Gamp, “for all parties! But others is married, and in the marriage state; and there is a dear young creetur a-comin” down this mornin” to that very package, which is no more fit to trust herself to sea, than nothin” is!”

She paused here to look over the deck of the packet in question, and on the steps leading down to it, and on the gangways. Seeming to have thus assured herself that the object of her commiseration had not yet arrived, she raised her eyes gradually up to the top of the escape-pipe, and indignantly apostrophised the vessel:

“Oh, drat you!” said Mrs Gamp, shaking her umbrella at it, “you're a nice spluttering nisy monster for a delicate young creetur to go and be a passinger by; ain't you! YOU never do no harm in that way, do you? With your hammering, and roaring, and hissing, and lamp-iling, you brute! Them Confugion steamers,” said Mrs Gamp, shaking her umbrella again, “has done more to throw us out of our reg'lar work and bring ewents on at times when nobody counted on “em (especially them screeching railroad ones), than all the other frights that ever was took. I have heerd of one young man, a guard upon a railway, only three years opened—well does Mrs Harris know him, which indeed he is her own relation by her sister's marriage with a master sawyer—as is godfather at this present time to six-and-twenty blessed little strangers, equally unexpected, and all on “um named after the Ingeines as was the cause. Ugh!” said Mrs Gamp, resuming her apostrophe, “one might easy know you was a man's inwention, from your disregardlessness of the weakness of our naturs, so one might, you brute!”

It would not have been unnatural to suppose, from the first part of Mrs Gamp's lamentations, that she was connected with the stage-coaching or post-horsing trade. She had no means of judging of the effect of her concluding remarks upon her young companion; for she interrupted herself at this point, and exclaimed:

“There she identically goes! Poor sweet young creetur, there she goes, like a lamb to the sacrifige! If there's any illness when that wessel gets to sea,” said Mrs Gamp, prophetically, “it's murder, and I'm the witness for the persecution.”

She was so very earnest on the subject, that Tom's sister (being as kind as Tom himself) could not help saying something to her in reply.

“Pray, which is the lady,” she inquired, “in whom you are so much interested?”

“There!” groaned Mrs Gamp. “There she goes! A-crossin” the little wooden bridge at this minute. She's a-slippin” on a bit of orangepeel!” tightly clutching her umbrella. “What a turn it give me.”

“Do you mean the lady who is with that man wrapped up from head to foot in a large cloak, so that his face is almost hidden?”

“Well he may hide it!” Mrs Gamp replied. “He's good call to be ashamed of himself. Did you see him a-jerking of her wrist, then?”

“He seems to be hasty with her, indeed.”

“Now he's a-taking of her down into the close cabin!” said Mrs Gamp, impatiently. “What's the man about! The deuce is in him, I think. Why can't he leave her in the open air?”

He did not, whatever his reason was, but led her quickly down and disappeared himself, without loosening his cloak, or pausing on the crowded deck one moment longer than was necessary to clear their way to that part of the vessel.

Tom had not heard this little dialogue; for his attention had been engaged in an unexpected manner. A hand upon his sleeve had caused him to look round, just when Mrs Gamp concluded her apostrophe to the steam-engine; and on his right arm, Ruth being on his left, he found their landlord, to his great surprise.

He was not so much surprised at the man's being there, as at his having got close to him so quietly and swiftly; for another person had been at his elbow one instant before; and he had not in the meantime been conscious of any change or pressure in the knot of people among whom he stood. He and Ruth had frequently remarked how noiselessly this landlord of theirs came into and went out of his own house; but Tom was not the less amazed to see him at his elbow now.

“I beg your pardon, Mr Pinch,” he said in his ear. “I am rather infirm, and out of breath, and my eyes are not very good. I am not as young as I was, sir. You don't see a gentleman in a large cloak down yonder, with a lady on his arm; a lady in a veil and a black shawl; do you?”

If HE did not, it was curious that in speaking he should have singled out from all the crowd the very people whom he described; and should have glanced hastily from them to Tom, as if he were burning to direct his wandering eyes.

“A gentleman in a large cloak!” said Tom, “and a lady in a black shawl! Let me see!”

“Yes, yes!” replied the other, with keen impatience. “A gentleman muffled up from head to foot—strangely muffled up for such a morning as this—like an invalid, with his hand to his face at this minute, perhaps. No, no, no! not there,” he added, following Tom's gaze; “the other way; in that direction; down yonder.”Again he indicated, but this time in his hurry, with his outstretched finger, the very spot on which the progress of these persons was checked at that moment.

“There are so many people, and so much motion, and so many objects,” said Tom, “that I find it difficult to—no, I really don't see a gentleman in a large cloak, and a lady in a black shawl. There's a lady in a red shawl over there!”

“No, no, no!” cried his landlord, pointing eagerly again, “not there. The other way; the other way. Look at the cabin steps. To the left. They must be near the cabin steps. Do you see the cabin steps? There's the bell ringing already! DO you see the steps?”

“Stay!” said Tom, “you're right. Look! there they go now. Is that the gentleman you mean? Descending at this minute, with the folds of a great cloak trailing down after him?”

“The very man!” returned the other, not looking at what Tom pointed out, however, but at Tom's own face. “Will you do me a kindness, sir, a great kindness? Will you put that letter in his hand? Only give him that! He expects it. I am charged to do it by my employers, but I am late in finding him, and, not being as young as I have been, should never be able to make my way on board and off the deck again in time. Will you pardon my boldness, and do me that great kindness?”

His hands shook, and his face bespoke the utmost interest and agitation, as he pressed the letter upon Tom, and pointed to its destination, like the Tempter in some grim old carving.

To hesitate in the performance of a good-natured or compassionate office was not in Tom's way. He took the letter; whispered Ruth to wait till he returned, which would be immediately; and ran down the steps with all the expedition he could make. There were so many people going down, so many others coming up, such heavy goods in course of transit to and fro, such a ringing of bell, blowing-off of steam, and shouting of men's voices, that he had much ado to force his way, or keep in mind to which boat he was going. But he reached the right one with good speed, and going down the cabin-stairs immediately, described the object of his search standing at the upper end of the saloon, with his back towards him, reading some notice which was hung against the wall. As Tom advanced to give him the letter, he started, hearing footsteps, and turned round.

What was Tom's astonishment to find in him the man with whom he had had the conflict in the field—poor Mercy's husband. Jonas!