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1"What's the matter now?" said she, smartly, as she put down her cup. "I say, you know!" muttered Joe, shaking his head
2at me in very serious remonstrance. "Pip, old chap! You'll do yourself a mischief. It'll stick somewhere. You can't have
3chawed it, Pip." "What's the matter now?" repeated my sister, more sharply than before. "If you can cough any trifle on
4it up, Pip, I'd recommend you to do it," said Joe, all aghast. "Manners is manners, but still your elth's your elth." By
5this time, my sister was quite desperate, so she pounced on Joe, and, taking him by the two whiskers, knocked his head
6for a little while against the wall behind him, while I sat in the corner, looking guiltily on. "Now, perhaps you'll
7mention what's the matter," said my sister, out of breath, "you staring great stuck pig." Joe looked at her in a
8helpless way, then took a helpless bite, and looked at me again. "You know, Pip," said Joe, solemnly, with his last bite
9in his cheek, and speaking in a confidential voice, as if we two were quite alone, "you and me is always friends, and
10I'd be the last to tell upon you, any time. But such a--" he moved his chair and looked about the floor between us, and
11then again at me--"such a most oncommon Bolt as that!" "Been bolting his food, has he?" cried my sister. "You know, old
12chap," said Joe, looking at me, and not at Mrs. Joe, with his bite still in his cheek, "I Bolted, myself, when I was
13your age--frequent--and as a boy I've been among a many Bolters; but I never see your Bolting equal yet, Pip, and it's a
14mercy you ain't Bolted dead." My sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying nothing more than the
15awful words, "You come along and be dosed." Some medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine medicine,
16and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard; having a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness.
17At the best of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a choice restorative, that I was conscious of
18going about, smelling like a new fence. On this particular evening the urgency of my case demanded a pint of this
19mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greater comfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot
20would be held in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to swallow that (much to his disturbance, as he
21sat slowly munching and meditating before the fire), "because he had had a turn." Judging from myself, I should say he
22certainly had a turn afterwards, if he had had none before. Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy;
23but when, in the case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates with another secret burden down the leg of his trousers,
24it is (as I can testify) a great punishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe--I never thought I
25was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of the housekeeping property as his--united to the necessity of always
26keeping one hand on my bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered about the kitchen on any small errand, almost
27drove me out of my mind. Then, as the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the voice outside, of
28the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me to secrecy, declaring that he couldn't and wouldn't starve until
29to-morrow, but must be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if the young man who was with so much difficulty
30restrained from imbruing his hands in me should yield to a constitutional impatience, or should mistake the time, and
31should think himself accredited to my heart and liver to-night, instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody's hair stood on
32end with terror, mine must have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody's ever did? It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir
33the pudding for next day, with a copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it with the load upon my
34leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with the load on his leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring the
35bread and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped away, and deposited that part of my conscience
36in my garret bedroom. "Hark!" said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm in the chimney corner
37before being sent up to bed; "was that great guns, Joe?" "Ah!" said Joe. "There's another conwict off." "What does that
38mean, Joe?" said I. Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly, "Escaped. Escaped."
39Administering the definition like Tar-water. While Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put my
40mouth into the forms of saying to Joe, "What's a convict?" Joe put his mouth into the forms of returning such a highly
41elaborate answer, that I could make out nothing of it but the single word "Pip." "There was a conwict off last night,"
42said Joe, aloud, "after sunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they're firing warning of
43another." "Who's firing?" said I. "Drat that boy," interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work, "what a
44questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies." It was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply
45that I should be told lies by her even if I did ask questions. But she never was polite unless there was company. At
46this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost pains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into
47the form of a word that looked to me like "sulks." Therefore, I naturally pointed to Mrs. Joe, and put my mouth into the
48form of saying, "her?" But Joe wouldn't hear of that, at all, and again opened his mouth very wide, and shook the form
49of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could make nothing of the word. "Mrs. Joe," said I, as a last resort, "I should
50like to know--if you wouldn't much mind--where the firing comes from?" "Lord bless the boy!" exclaimed my sister, as if
51she didn't quite mean that but rather the contrary. "From the Hulks!" "Oh-h!" said I, looking at Joe. "Hulks!" Joe gave
52a reproachful cough, as much as to say, "Well, I told you so." "And please, what's Hulks?" said I. "That's the way with
53this boy!" exclaimed my sister, pointing me out with her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. "Answer him one
54question, and he'll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships, right 'cross th' meshes." We always used that name
55for marshes, in our country. "I wonder who's put into prison-ships, and why they're put there?" said I, in a general
56way, and with quiet desperation. It was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose. "I tell you what, young fellow,"
57said she, "I didn't bring you up by hand to badger people's lives out. It would be blame to me and not praise, if I had.
58People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob, and forge, and do all sorts of bad; and they
59always begin by asking questions. Now, you get along to bed!" I was never allowed a candle to light me to bed, and, as I
60went upstairs in the dark, with my head tingling,--from Mrs. Joe's thimble having played the tambourine upon it, to
61accompany her last words,--I felt fearfully sensible of the great convenience that the hulks were handy for me. I was
62clearly on my way there. I had begun by asking questions, and I was going to rob Mrs. Joe. Since that time, which is far
63enough away now, I have often thought that few people know what secrecy there is in the young under terror. No matter
64how unreasonable the terror, so that it be terror. I was in mortal terror of the young man who wanted my heart and
65liver; I was in mortal terror of my interlocutor with the iron leg; I was in mortal terror of myself, from whom an awful
66promise had been extracted; I had no hope of deliverance through my all-powerful sister, who repulsed me at every turn;
67I am afraid to think of what I might have done on requirement, in the secrecy of my terror.
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