No More Learning

'We have more cause to think
of my aunt than of anyone. You know how much she has done. '

'Surely, surely,' answered Traddles. 'Who can forget it! '

'But even that is not all,' said I. 'During the last fortnight, some new
trouble has vexed her; and she has been in and out of London every day.
Several times she has gone out early, and been absent until evening.
Last night, Traddles, with this journey before her, it was almost
midnight before she came home. You know what her consideration for
others is. She will not tell me what has happened to distress her. '

My aunt, very pale, and with deep lines in her face, sat immovable until
I had finished; when some stray tears found their way to her cheeks, and
she put her hand on mine.

'It's nothing, Trot; it's nothing. There will be no more of it. You
shall know by and by. Now Agnes, my dear, let us attend to these
affairs. '

'I must do Mr. Micawber the justice to say,' Traddles began, 'that
although he would appear not to have worked to any good account for
himself, he is a most untiring man when he works for other people. I
never saw such a fellow. If he always goes on in the same way, he must
be, virtually, about two hundred years old, at present. The heat into
which he has been continually putting himself; and the distracted and
impetuous manner in which he has been diving, day and night, among
papers and books; to say nothing of the immense number of letters he has
written me between this house and Mr. Wickfield's, and often across the
table when he has been sitting opposite, and might much more easily have
spoken; is quite extraordinary. '

'Letters! ' cried my aunt. 'I believe he dreams in letters! '

'There's Mr. Dick, too,' said Traddles, 'has been doing wonders! As soon
as he was released from overlooking Uriah Heep, whom he kept in such
charge as I never saw exceeded, he began to devote himself to Mr.
Wickfield. And really his anxiety to be of use in the investigations we
have been making, and his real usefulness in extracting, and copying,
and fetching, and carrying, have been quite stimulating to us. '

'Dick is a very remarkable man,' exclaimed my aunt; 'and I always said
he was. Trot, you know it. '

'I am happy to say, Miss Wickfield,' pursued Traddles, at once with
great delicacy and with great earnestness, 'that in your absence Mr.
Wickfield has considerably improved. Relieved of the incubus that had
fastened upon him for so long a time, and of the dreadful apprehensions
under which he had lived, he is hardly the same person. At times,
even his impaired power of concentrating his memory and attention on
particular points of business, has recovered itself very much; and he
has been able to assist us in making some things clear, that we should
have found very difficult indeed, if not hopeless, without him. But
what I have to do is to come to results; which are short enough; not
to gossip on all the hopeful circumstances I have observed, or I shall
never have done. ' His natural manner and agreeable simplicity made it
transparent that he said this to put us in good heart, and to enable
Agnes to hear her father mentioned with greater confidence; but it was
not the less pleasant for that.

'Now, let me see,' said Traddles, looking among the papers on the
table. 'Having counted our funds, and reduced to order a great mass of
unintentional confusion in the first place, and of wilful confusion and
falsification in the second, we take it to be clear that Mr. Wickfield
might now wind up his business, and his agency-trust, and exhibit no
deficiency or defalcation whatever. '

'Oh, thank Heaven! ' cried Agnes, fervently.

'But,' said Traddles, 'the surplus that would be left as his means of
support--and I suppose the house to be sold, even in saying this--would
be so small, not exceeding in all probability some hundreds of pounds,
that perhaps, Miss Wickfield, it would be best to consider whether he
might not retain his agency of the estate to which he has so long been
receiver. His friends might advise him, you know; now he is free. You
yourself, Miss Wickfield--Copperfield--I--'

'I have considered it, Trotwood,' said Agnes, looking to me, 'and I feel
that it ought not to be, and must not be; even on the recommendation of
a friend to whom I am so grateful, and owe so much. '

'I will not say that I recommend it,' observed Traddles. 'I think it
right to suggest it. No more. '

'I am happy to hear you say so,' answered Agnes, steadily, 'for it gives
me hope, almost assurance, that we think alike. Dear Mr. Traddles and
dear Trotwood, papa once free with honour, what could I wish for! I have
always aspired, if I could have released him from the toils in which he
was held, to render back some little portion of the love and care I owe
him, and to devote my life to him. It has been, for years, the utmost
height of my hopes. To take our future on myself, will be the next
great happiness--the next to his release from all trust and
responsibility--that I can know. '

'Have you thought how, Agnes? '

'Often! I am not afraid, dear Trotwood. I am certain of success. So many
people know me here, and think kindly of me, that I am certain. Don't
mistrust me. Our wants are not many. If I rent the dear old house, and
keep a school, I shall be useful and happy. '

The calm fervour of her cheerful voice brought back so vividly, first
the dear old house itself, and then my solitary home, that my heart was
too full for speech. Traddles pretended for a little while to be busily
looking among the papers.

'Next, Miss Trotwood,' said Traddles, 'that property of yours. '

'Well, sir,' sighed my aunt. 'All I have got to say about it is, that if
it's gone, I can bear it; and if it's not gone, I shall be glad to get
it back. '

'It was originally, I think, eight thousand pounds, Consols? ' said
Traddles.

'Right! ' replied my aunt.

'I can't account for more than five,' said Traddles, with an air of
perplexity.

'--thousand, do you mean? ' inquired my aunt, with uncommon composure,
'or pounds? '

'Five thousand pounds,' said Traddles.

'It was all there was,' returned my aunt. 'I sold three, myself. One, I
paid for your articles, Trot, my dear; and the other two I have by me.
When I lost the rest, I thought it wise to say nothing about that sum,
but to keep it secretly for a rainy day. I wanted to see how you would
come out of the trial, Trot; and you came out nobly--persevering,
self-reliant, self-denying! So did Dick. Don't speak to me, for I find
my nerves a little shaken! '

Nobody would have thought so, to see her sitting upright, with her arms
folded; but she had wonderful self-command.

'Then I am delighted to say,' cried Traddles, beaming with joy, 'that we
have recovered the whole money! '

'Don't congratulate me, anybody! ' exclaimed my aunt. 'How so, sir? '

'You believed it had been misappropriated by Mr. Wickfield? ' said
Traddles.

'Of course I did,' said my aunt, 'and was therefore easily silenced.
Agnes, not a word! '

'And indeed,' said Traddles, 'it was sold, by virtue of the power of
management he held from you; but I needn't say by whom sold, or on whose
actual signature. It was afterwards pretended to Mr. Wickfield, by that
rascal,--and proved, too, by figures,--that he had possessed himself of
the money (on general instructions, he said) to keep other deficiencies
and difficulties from the light. Mr. Wickfield, being so weak and
helpless in his hands as to pay you, afterwards, several sums of
interest on a pretended principal which he knew did not exist, made
himself, unhappily, a party to the fraud. '

'And at last took the blame upon himself,' added my aunt; 'and wrote me
a mad letter, charging himself with robbery, and wrong unheard of. Upon
which I paid him a visit early one morning, called for a candle, burnt
the letter, and told him if he ever could right me and himself, to
do it; and if he couldn't, to keep his own counsel for his daughter's
sake. ---If anybody speaks to me, I'll leave the house! '

We all remained quiet; Agnes covering her face.

'Well, my dear friend,' said my aunt, after a pause, 'and you have
really extorted the money back from him? '

'Why, the fact is,' returned Traddles, 'Mr. Micawber had so completely
hemmed him in, and was always ready with so many new points if an
old one failed, that he could not escape from us. A most remarkable
circumstance is, that I really don't think he grasped this sum even so
much for the gratification of his avarice, which was inordinate, as in
the hatred he felt for Copperfield. He said so to me, plainly. He said
he would even have spent as much, to baulk or injure Copperfield. '

'Ha! ' said my aunt, knitting her brows thoughtfully, and glancing at
Agnes. 'And what's become of him? '

'I don't know. He left here,' said Traddles, 'with his mother, who had
been clamouring, and beseeching, and disclosing, the whole time. They
went away by one of the London night coaches, and I know no more about
him; except that his malevolence to me at parting was audacious. He
seemed to consider himself hardly less indebted to me, than to Mr.
Micawber; which I consider (as I told him) quite a compliment. '

'Do you suppose he has any money, Traddles? ' I asked.

'Oh dear, yes, I should think so,' he replied, shaking his head,
seriously. 'I should say he must have pocketed a good deal, in one
way or other. But, I think you would find, Copperfield, if you had an
opportunity of observing his course, that money would never keep that
man out of mischief. He is such an incarnate hypocrite, that whatever
object he pursues, he must pursue crookedly. It's his only compensation
for the outward restraints he puts upon himself. Always creeping along
the ground to some small end or other, he will always magnify every
object in the way; and consequently will hate and suspect everybody that
comes, in the most innocent manner, between him and it. So the crooked
courses will become crookeder, at any moment, for the least reason,
or for none. It's only necessary to consider his history here,' said
Traddles, 'to know that. '

'He's a monster of meanness! ' said my aunt.

'Really I don't know about that,' observed Traddles thoughtfully. 'Many
people can be very mean, when they give their minds to it. '

'And now, touching Mr. Micawber,' said my aunt.

'Well, really,' said Traddles, cheerfully, 'I must, once more, give Mr.
Micawber high praise. But for his having been so patient and persevering
for so long a time, we never could have hoped to do anything worth
speaking of. And I think we ought to consider that Mr. Micawber did
right, for right's sake, when we reflect what terms he might have made
with Uriah Heep himself, for his silence. '

'I think so too,' said I.

'Now, what would you give him? ' inquired my aunt.

'Oh! Before you come to that,' said Traddles, a little disconcerted,
'I am afraid I thought it discreet to omit (not being able to carry
everything before me) two points, in making this lawless adjustment--for
it's perfectly lawless from beginning to end--of a difficult affair.
Those I. O. U. 's, and so forth, which Mr. Micawber gave him for the
advances he had--'

'Well! They must be paid,' said my aunt.

'Yes, but I don't know when they may be proceeded on, or where they
are,' rejoined Traddles, opening his eyes; 'and I anticipate, that,
between this time and his departure, Mr. Micawber will be constantly
arrested, or taken in execution. '

'Then he must be constantly set free again, and taken out of execution,'
said my aunt. 'What's the amount altogether? '

'Why, Mr. Micawber has entered the transactions--he calls them
transactions--with great form, in a book,' rejoined Traddles, smiling;
'and he makes the amount a hundred and three pounds, five. '

'Now, what shall we give him, that sum included? ' said my aunt. 'Agnes,
my dear, you and I can talk about division of it afterwards. What should
it be? Five hundred pounds? '

Upon this, Traddles and I both struck in at once. We both recommended
a small sum in money, and the payment, without stipulation to Mr.
Micawber, of the Uriah claims as they came in. We proposed that the
family should have their passage and their outfit, and a hundred pounds;
and that Mr. Micawber's arrangement for the repayment of the advances
should be gravely entered into, as it might be wholesome for him
to suppose himself under that responsibility. To this, I added the
suggestion, that I should give some explanation of his character and
history to Mr. Peggotty, who I knew could be relied on; and that to Mr.
Peggotty should be quietly entrusted the discretion of advancing another
hundred. I further proposed to interest Mr. Micawber in Mr. Peggotty,
by confiding so much of Mr. Peggotty's story to him as I might feel
justified in relating, or might think expedient; and to endeavour to
bring each of them to bear upon the other, for the common advantage. We
all entered warmly into these views; and I may mention at once, that the
principals themselves did so, shortly afterwards, with perfect good will
and harmony.

Seeing that Traddles now glanced anxiously at my aunt again, I reminded
him of the second and last point to which he had adverted.

'You and your aunt will excuse me, Copperfield, if I touch upon a
painful theme, as I greatly fear I shall,' said Traddles, hesitating;
'but I think it necessary to bring it to your recollection. On the day
of Mr. Micawber's memorable denunciation a threatening allusion was made
by Uriah Heep to your aunt's--husband. '

My aunt, retaining her stiff position, and apparent composure, assented
with a nod.

'Perhaps,' observed Traddles, 'it was mere purposeless impertinence? '

'No,' returned my aunt.

'There was--pardon me--really such a person, and at all in his power? '
hinted Traddles.

'Yes, my good friend,' said my aunt.

Traddles, with a perceptible lengthening of his face, explained that he
had not been able to approach this subject; that it had shared the fate
of Mr. Micawber's liabilities, in not being comprehended in the terms he
had made; that we were no longer of any authority with Uriah Heep; and
that if he could do us, or any of us, any injury or annoyance, no doubt
he would.

My aunt remained quiet; until again some stray tears found their way to
her cheeks. 'You are quite right,' she said. 'It was very thoughtful to
mention it. '

'Can I--or Copperfield--do anything? ' asked Traddles, gently.

'Nothing,' said my aunt. 'I thank you many times. Trot, my dear, a vain
threat! Let us have Mr. and Mrs. Micawber back. And don't any of you
speak to me! ' With that she smoothed her dress, and sat, with her
upright carriage, looking at the door.

'Well, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber! ' said my aunt, when they entered.
'We have
been discussing your emigration, with many apologies to you for keeping
you out of the room so long; and I'll tell you what arrangements we
propose. '

These she explained to the unbounded satisfaction of the
family,--children and all being then present,--and so much to the
awakening of Mr. Micawber's punctual habits in the opening stage of
all bill transactions, that he could not be dissuaded from immediately
rushing out, in the highest spirits, to buy the stamps for his notes of
hand. But, his joy received a sudden check; for within five minutes,
he returned in the custody of a sheriff 's officer, informing us, in
a flood of tears, that all was lost. We, being quite prepared for this
event, which was of course a proceeding of Uriah Heep's, soon paid the
money; and in five minutes more Mr. Micawber was seated at the table,
filling up the stamps with an expression of perfect joy, which only
that congenial employment, or the making of punch, could impart in full
completeness to his shining face. To see him at work on the stamps, with
the relish of an artist, touching them like pictures, looking at them
sideways, taking weighty notes of dates and amounts in his pocket-book,
and contemplating them when finished, with a high sense of their
precious value, was a sight indeed.

'Now, the best thing you can do, sir, if you'll allow me to advise
you,' said my aunt, after silently observing him, 'is to abjure that
occupation for evermore. '

'Madam,' replied Mr. Micawber, 'it is my intention to register such a
vow on the virgin page of the future. Mrs. Micawber will attest it. I
trust,' said Mr. Micawber, solemnly, 'that my son Wilkins will ever bear
in mind, that he had infinitely better put his fist in the fire, than
use it to handle the serpents that have poisoned the life-blood of his
unhappy parent! ' Deeply affected, and changed in a moment to the image
of despair, Mr. Micawber regarded the serpents with a look of gloomy
abhorrence (in which his late admiration of them was not quite subdued),
folded them up and put them in his pocket.

This closed the proceedings of the evening. We were weary with sorrow
and fatigue, and my aunt and I were to return to London on the morrow.
It was arranged that the Micawbers should follow us, after effecting a
sale of their goods to a broker; that Mr. Wickfield's affairs should be
brought to a settlement, with all convenient speed, under the direction
of Traddles; and that Agnes should also come to London, pending those
arrangements. We passed the night at the old house, which, freed from
the presence of the Heeps, seemed purged of a disease; and I lay in my
old room, like a shipwrecked wanderer come home.

We went back next day to my aunt's house--not to mine--and when she and
I sat alone, as of old, before going to bed, she said:

'Trot, do you really wish to know what I have had upon my mind lately? '

'Indeed I do, aunt. If there ever was a time when I felt unwilling that
you should have a sorrow or anxiety which I could not share, it is now. '

'You have had sorrow enough, child,' said my aunt, affectionately,
'without the addition of my little miseries. I could have no other
motive, Trot, in keeping anything from you. '

'I know that well,' said I. 'But tell me now. '

'Would you ride with me a little way tomorrow morning? ' asked my aunt.

'Of course. '

'At nine,' said she. 'I'll tell you then, my dear. '

At nine, accordingly, we went out in a little chariot, and drove to
London. We drove a long way through the streets, until we came to one of
the large hospitals. Standing hard by the building was a plain hearse.
The driver recognized my aunt, and, in obedience to a motion of her hand
at the window, drove slowly off; we following.

'You understand it now, Trot,' said my aunt. 'He is gone! '

'Did he die in the hospital? '

'Yes. '

She sat immovable beside me; but, again I saw the stray tears on her
face.

'He was there once before,' said my aunt presently. 'He was ailing a
long time--a shattered, broken man, these many years. When he knew his
state in this last illness, he asked them to send for me. He was sorry
then. Very sorry. '

'You went, I know, aunt. '

'I went. I was with him a good deal afterwards. '

'He died the night before we went to Canterbury? ' said I. My aunt
nodded. 'No one can harm him now,' she said. 'It was a vain threat. '

We drove away, out of town, to the churchyard at Hornsey. 'Better here
than in the streets,' said my aunt. 'He was born here. '

We alighted; and followed the plain coffin to a corner I remember well,
where the service was read consigning it to the dust.

'Six-and-thirty years ago, this day, my dear,' said my aunt, as we
walked back to the chariot, 'I was married. God forgive us all! ' We took
our seats in silence; and so she sat beside me for a long time, holding
my hand. At length she suddenly burst into tears, and said:

'He was a fine-looking man when I married him, Trot--and he was sadly
changed! '

It did not last long. After the relief of tears, she soon became
composed, and even cheerful. Her nerves were a little shaken, she said,
or she would not have given way to it. God forgive us all!

So we rode back to her little cottage at Highgate, where we found the
following short note, which had arrived by that morning's post from Mr.
Micawber:


'Canterbury,

'Friday.

'My dear Madam, and Copperfield,

'The fair land of promise lately looming on the horizon is again
enveloped in impenetrable mists, and for ever withdrawn from the eyes of
a drifting wretch whose Doom is sealed!

'Another writ has been issued (in His Majesty's High Court of King's
Bench at Westminster), in another cause of HEEP V. MICAWBER, and
the defendant in that cause is the prey of the sheriff having legal
jurisdiction in this bailiwick.

'Now's the day, and now's the hour,
See the front of battle lower,
See approach proud EDWARD'S power--
Chains and slavery!

'Consigned to which, and to a speedy end (for mental torture is not
supportable beyond a certain point, and that point I feel I have
attained), my course is run. Bless you, bless you! Some future
traveller, visiting, from motives of curiosity, not unmingled, let us
hope, with sympathy, the place of confinement allotted to debtors in
this city, may, and I trust will, Ponder, as he traces on its wall,
inscribed with a rusty nail,

'The obscure initials,

'W. M.

'P. S. I re-open this to say that our common friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles
(who has not yet left us, and is looking extremely well), has paid the
debt and costs, in the noble name of Miss Trotwood; and that myself and
family are at the height of earthly bliss. '



CHAPTER 55. TEMPEST


I now approach an event in my life, so indelible, so awful, so bound by
an infinite variety of ties to all that has preceded it, in these pages,
that, from the beginning of my narrative, I have seen it growing larger
and larger as I advanced, like a great tower in a plain, and throwing
its fore-cast shadow even on the incidents of my childish days.

For years after it occurred, I dreamed of it often. I have started up so
vividly impressed by it, that its fury has yet seemed raging in my quiet
room, in the still night. I dream of it sometimes, though at lengthened
and uncertain intervals, to this hour. I have an association between it
and a stormy wind, or the lightest mention of a sea-shore, as strong as
any of which my mind is conscious. As plainly as I behold what happened,
I will try to write it down. I do not recall it, but see it done; for it
happens again before me.

The time drawing on rapidly for the sailing of the emigrant-ship, my
good old nurse (almost broken-hearted for me, when we first met) came up
to London. I was constantly with her, and her brother, and the Micawbers
(they being very much together); but Emily I never saw.

One evening when the time was close at hand, I was alone with Peggotty
and her brother. Our conversation turned on Ham. She described to us how
tenderly he had taken leave of her, and how manfully and quietly he
had borne himself. Most of all, of late, when she believed he was most
tried. It was a subject of which the affectionate creature never tired;
and our interest in hearing the many examples which she, who was so much
with him, had to relate, was equal to hers in relating them.

My aunt and I were at that time vacating the two cottages at Highgate; I
intending to go abroad, and she to return to her house at Dover. We had
a temporary lodging in Covent Garden. As I walked home to it, after this
evening's conversation, reflecting on what had passed between Ham and
myself when I was last at Yarmouth, I wavered in the original purpose
I had formed, of leaving a letter for Emily when I should take leave of
her uncle on board the ship, and thought it would be better to write to
her now. She might desire, I thought, after receiving my communication,
to send some parting word by me to her unhappy lover. I ought to give
her the opportunity.

I therefore sat down in my room, before going to bed, and wrote to her.
I told her that I had seen him, and that he had requested me to tell her
what I have already written in its place in these sheets. I faithfully
repeated it. I had no need to enlarge upon it, if I had had the right.
Its deep fidelity and goodness were not to be adorned by me or any
man. I left it out, to be sent round in the morning; with a line to Mr.
Peggotty, requesting him to give it to her; and went to bed at daybreak.

I was weaker than I knew then; and, not falling asleep until the sun
was up, lay late, and unrefreshed, next day. I was roused by the silent
presence of my aunt at my bedside. I felt it in my sleep, as I suppose
we all do feel such things.

'Trot, my dear,' she said, when I opened my eyes, 'I couldn't make up my
mind to disturb you. Mr. Peggotty is here; shall he come up? '

I replied yes, and he soon appeared.

'Mas'r Davy,' he said, when we had shaken hands, 'I giv Em'ly your
letter, sir, and she writ this heer; and begged of me fur to ask you
to read it, and if you see no hurt in't, to be so kind as take charge
on't. '

'Have you read it? ' said I.

He nodded sorrowfully. I opened it, and read as follows:


'I have got your message. Oh, what can I write, to thank you for your
good and blessed kindness to me!

'I have put the words close to my heart. I shall keep them till I die.
They are sharp thorns, but they are such comfort. I have prayed over
them, oh, I have prayed so much. When I find what you are, and what
uncle is, I think what God must be, and can cry to him.

'Good-bye for ever. Now, my dear, my friend, good-bye for ever in this
world. In another world, if I am forgiven, I may wake a child and come
to you. All thanks and blessings. Farewell, evermore. '


This, blotted with tears, was the letter.

'May I tell her as you doen't see no hurt in't, and as you'll be so kind
as take charge on't, Mas'r Davy? ' said Mr. Peggotty, when I had read it.
'Unquestionably,' said I--'but I am thinking--'

'Yes, Mas'r Davy? '

'I am thinking,' said I, 'that I'll go down again to Yarmouth. There's
time, and to spare, for me to go and come back before the ship sails. My
mind is constantly running on him, in his solitude; to put this letter
of her writing in his hand at this time, and to enable you to tell her,
in the moment of parting, that he has got it, will be a kindness to
both of them. I solemnly accepted his commission, dear good fellow, and
cannot discharge it too completely. The journey is nothing to me. I am
restless, and shall be better in motion. I'll go down tonight. '

Though he anxiously endeavoured to dissuade me, I saw that he was of my
mind; and this, if I had required to be confirmed in my intention, would
have had the effect. He went round to the coach office, at my request,
and took the box-seat for me on the mail. In the evening I started,
by that conveyance, down the road I had traversed under so many
vicissitudes.

'Don't you think that,' I asked the coachman, in the first stage out of
London, 'a very remarkable sky? I don't remember to have seen one like
it. '

'Nor I--not equal to it,' he replied. 'That's wind, sir. There'll be
mischief done at sea, I expect, before long. '

It was a murky confusion--here and there blotted with a colour like the
colour of the smoke from damp fuel--of flying clouds, tossed up into
most remarkable heaps, suggesting greater heights in the clouds than
there were depths below them to the bottom of the deepest hollows in the
earth, through which the wild moon seemed to plunge headlong, as if, in
a dread disturbance of the laws of nature, she had lost her way and were
frightened. There had been a wind all day; and it was rising then, with
an extraordinary great sound. In another hour it had much increased, and
the sky was more overcast, and blew hard.

But, as the night advanced, the clouds closing in and densely
over-spreading the whole sky, then very dark, it came on to blow, harder
and harder. It still increased, until our horses could scarcely face
the wind. Many times, in the dark part of the night (it was then late in
September, when the nights were not short), the leaders turned about, or
came to a dead stop; and we were often in serious apprehension that the
coach would be blown over. Sweeping gusts of rain came up before this
storm, like showers of steel; and, at those times, when there was any
shelter of trees or lee walls to be got, we were fain to stop, in a
sheer impossibility of continuing the struggle.

When the day broke, it blew harder and harder. I had been in Yarmouth
when the seamen said it blew great guns, but I had never known the like
of this, or anything approaching to it. We came to Ipswich--very late,
having had to fight every inch of ground since we were ten miles out of
London; and found a cluster of people in the market-place, who had
risen from their beds in the night, fearful of falling chimneys. Some of
these, congregating about the inn-yard while we changed horses, told us
of great sheets of lead having been ripped off a high church-tower, and
flung into a by-street, which they then blocked up. Others had to tell
of country people, coming in from neighbouring villages, who had seen
great trees lying torn out of the earth, and whole ricks scattered about
the roads and fields. Still, there was no abatement in the storm, but it
blew harder.

As we struggled on, nearer and nearer to the sea, from which this mighty
wind was blowing dead on shore, its force became more and more terrific.
Long before we saw the sea, its spray was on our lips, and showered
salt rain upon us. The water was out, over miles and miles of the flat
country adjacent to Yarmouth; and every sheet and puddle lashed its
banks, and had its stress of little breakers setting heavily towards us.
When we came within sight of the sea, the waves on the horizon, caught
at intervals above the rolling abyss, were like glimpses of another
shore with towers and buildings. When at last we got into the town, the
people came out to their doors, all aslant, and with streaming hair,
making a wonder of the mail that had come through such a night.

I put up at the old inn, and went down to look at the sea; staggering
along the street, which was strewn with sand and seaweed, and with
flying blotches of sea-foam; afraid of falling slates and tiles; and
holding by people I met, at angry corners. Coming near the beach, I saw,
not only the boatmen, but half the people of the town, lurking behind
buildings; some, now and then braving the fury of the storm to look
away to sea, and blown sheer out of their course in trying to get zigzag
back.

Joining these groups, I found bewailing women whose husbands were away
in herring or oyster boats, which there was too much reason to think
might have foundered before they could run in anywhere for safety.
Grizzled old sailors were among the people, shaking their heads, as they
looked from water to sky, and muttering to one another; ship-owners,
excited and uneasy; children, huddling together, and peering into older
faces; even stout mariners, disturbed and anxious, levelling their
glasses at the sea from behind places of shelter, as if they were
surveying an enemy.

The tremendous sea itself, when I could find sufficient pause to look at
it, in the agitation of the blinding wind, the flying stones and sand,
and the awful noise, confounded me. As the high watery walls came
rolling in, and, at their highest, tumbled into surf, they looked as if
the least would engulf the town. As the receding wave swept back with a
hoarse roar, it seemed to scoop out deep caves in the beach, as if its
purpose were to undermine the earth. When some white-headed billows
thundered on, and dashed themselves to pieces before they reached the
land, every fragment of the late whole seemed possessed by the full
might of its wrath, rushing to be gathered to the composition of another
monster. Undulating hills were changed to valleys, undulating valleys
(with a solitary storm-bird sometimes skimming through them) were lifted
up to hills; masses of water shivered and shook the beach with a booming
sound; every shape tumultuously rolled on, as soon as made, to change
its shape and place, and beat another shape and place away; the ideal
shore on the horizon, with its towers and buildings, rose and fell; the
clouds fell fast and thick; I seemed to see a rending and upheaving of
all nature.

Not finding Ham among the people whom this memorable wind--for it is
still remembered down there, as the greatest ever known to blow upon
that coast--had brought together, I made my way to his house. It was
shut; and as no one answered to my knocking, I went, by back ways and
by-lanes, to the yard where he worked. I learned, there, that he had
gone to Lowestoft, to meet some sudden exigency of ship-repairing
in which his skill was required; but that he would be back tomorrow
morning, in good time.

I went back to the inn; and when I had washed and dressed, and tried to
sleep, but in vain, it was five o'clock in the afternoon. I had not sat
five minutes by the coffee-room fire, when the waiter, coming to stir
it, as an excuse for talking, told me that two colliers had gone down,
with all hands, a few miles away; and that some other ships had been
seen labouring hard in the Roads, and trying, in great distress, to keep
off shore. Mercy on them, and on all poor sailors, said he, if we had
another night like the last!

I was very much depressed in spirits; very solitary; and felt an
uneasiness in Ham's not being there, disproportionate to the occasion. I
was seriously affected, without knowing how much, by late events; and my
long exposure to the fierce wind had confused me. There was that jumble
in my thoughts and recollections, that I had lost the clear arrangement
of time and distance. Thus, if I had gone out into the town, I should
not have been surprised, I think, to encounter someone who I knew must
be then in London. So to speak, there was in these respects a curious
inattention in my mind. Yet it was busy, too, with all the remembrances
the place naturally awakened; and they were particularly distinct and
vivid.

In this state, the waiter's dismal intelligence about the ships
immediately connected itself, without any effort of my volition, with my
uneasiness about Ham. I was persuaded that I had an apprehension of his
returning from Lowestoft by sea, and being lost. This grew so strong
with me, that I resolved to go back to the yard before I took my dinner,
and ask the boat-builder if he thought his attempting to return by sea
at all likely? If he gave me the least reason to think so, I would go
over to Lowestoft and prevent it by bringing him with me.

I hastily ordered my dinner, and went back to the yard. I was none too
soon; for the boat-builder, with a lantern in his hand, was locking
the yard-gate. He quite laughed when I asked him the question, and said
there was no fear; no man in his senses, or out of them, would put off
in such a gale of wind, least of all Ham Peggotty, who had been born to
seafaring.

So sensible of this, beforehand, that I had really felt ashamed of doing
what I was nevertheless impelled to do, I went back to the inn. If
such a wind could rise, I think it was rising. The howl and roar, the
rattling of the doors and windows, the rumbling in the chimneys, the
apparent rocking of the very house that sheltered me, and the prodigious
tumult of the sea, were more fearful than in the morning. But there
was now a great darkness besides; and that invested the storm with new
terrors, real and fanciful.