Joshua Marvel

They had, however, two friends and constant visitors, Praiseworthy Meddler and Solomon Fewster. Through good and evil report, these two friends remained faithful to Them, although from widely-different motives. Considering all the circumstances, every thing had turned out very fortunate for Solomon Fewster. He confessed as much to himself exultantly, and curiously enough, gave himself some credit for having brought it about. Every tittle of evidence against him had been destroyed; no suspicion rested against him. Joshua was drowned; and Ellen remained, looking prettier in her black dress than he had ever seen her. He was sure of her now. He had only to wait. She had an encumbrance, certainly, which he would gladly have dispensed with-her baby-girl, born in sorrow. But he made up his mind that he would be kind to her, if she lived; and this resolve, to his own thinking, atoned for any hand he may have had in Joshua's misfortunes. When he saw Ellen with her baby in her lap, he thought, and thought rightly, that he had never seen a more beautiful sight. "One day," he said to himself, "I shall see her with a child of mine upon her breast;" and he dreamed with tender pleasure, and with no pangs of conscience, of the happy time to come.

So time passed on, and no ray of sunshine illumined the darkness of that unhappy home. Things were going from bad to worse. George Marvel was not a confirmed drunkard, but he drank more than was good for him; and his reputation as a cunning workman was on the wane. He did not work regularly either; he was often absent, and earned less money. His wife expostulated with him many times, and begged him not to drink. He listened without impatience, and said, "It's of no use, Maggie; if I didn't drink I should go mad. I'm an altered man to what I was, and I've brought it all on myself."

"Nay, George," she said, "you cannot say that and mean it."

(It is to be noticed as a singular thing that now she never called her husband "father," and indeed had not done so since the news of Joshua's death had reached them. The delicacy and thoughtfulness of a faithful wife's love are not to be excelled.)

"I can say that and mean it, Maggie," he replied; "I have been the cause of all this. I wasn't content that my son should be a wood-turner; no, I drove him to sea and away from all of us. We might have been as happy as the day is long if he had remained at home. And he would have remained but for me. I remember what you said, Maggie, as well as if you'd said it last night: 'If Joshua is shipwrecked, don't forget that I warned you beforehand.'"

"O George!" cried Mrs. Marvel, in an agony of remorse, "how can you bring my wicked words up against me now?"

"I do not bring them up against you, wife; I bring them up against myself. And they were wise and good words-not wicked ones. I ought to have listened to them; but I was obstinate and pig-headed, and thought, like a fool, that I knew better than you. Ah! but it's too late to alter what is past; and I've brought death to our son and misery to you, and shame on all of us."

Then he refused to listen to her longer, and walked away to chew the cud of his remorse, and to drink more gin. To her and to the others in the house he was gentle: but to everybody else he was a bear. One night he came home in a condition which may be described as neither drunk nor sober. Dan and Ellen were sitting together, and the baby-to whom they had given Mrs. Marvel's name of Maggie-was lying in the cradle, when he came into the house. It belonged to his humor not to show himself ashamed of his new bad habit: when he was drunk he did not slink away and hide himself; but exhibited a kind of reckless defiance, for which it would have been as hard for him as for others to account. So upon this occasion he came into the room, quickly followed by his wife, who never watched him out of doors, but who attended to him in the house as if he were a child. He took his seat in the chair which Ellen placed for him, and sat moody and silent while Mrs. Marvel quickly set his supper before him. But he could not eat it. He pushed the food from him fretfully, and took his wife's hand and patted it, and then said suddenly, -

"Maggie, we must go away from here."

"Go away, George!" she exclaimed. "Where to?"

"I don't know; but I can't stop here much longer. If I do, I shall bring fresh disgrace upon you. I can't live this life any longer; it is killing me. We have already lost our good name and our good character in the neighborhood, and where I used to get respect I now get contempt. And, Maggie, I am afraid of myself! A new workman came into the shop to-day, and I heard Bob Turner tell him about us and about our poor lost boy, and speaking of him in such a way-Dan! Ellen!" he cried, appealing to them in justification of himself "could you stand by quietly and listen to shameful words spoken of our Joshua? Could you restrain yourself if you heard him spoken of as a-Oh, but I cannot say it!"

Ellen rose, with flashing eyes and cheeks burning with honest indignation.

"No," she exclaimed; "I could not, father. I should tell the wretch he was a coward and a villain."

"I told him so-your very words: I called him a coward and a villain; and I almost had my hand on his throat, when the other men interfered. But there was a row in the place for an hour: for I was almost mad. And then the master called me into his room, and told me-what do you think? Why, that he was very sorry to see the change that had taken place in me lately; that he was very sorry to see that I had taken to drink; that I was a good workman, and that I had worked well for him for a many years; but that if I couldn't behave myself as I used to do, I must find another shop. That was a pretty thing to say to me! – the best workman he ever had, and the steadiest too-no, I can't say that now; but I could up to a little time ago. I had a mind to take off my apron, and fling it in his face, but thought of all of you stopped me. Instead of that, I asked him what he would have done in my place supposing he had had a son; but he stopped me there, and said that he was talking business, and not sentiment. With that I flung myself out of the room, and swore I'd join the Chartists, and teach the masters one day that workmen have hearts" – But Mr. Marvel broke down here and glared about him in violent agitation.

They let him be, and waited till he was calmer; they had studied how best to humor him. Then Mrs. Marvel said: -

"What do you think we had best do, George?"

"I don't know," he answered somewhat roughly; "I'm not fit to give advice. I was dead against you when you didn't want our poor boy to go to sea, and I'm rightly served for it; but I'll never advise again. I'll be led now, not lead."

At this point, Dan, purposely, but without attracting observation, pushed the cradle so as to awake baby, and thus caused a diversion. After that, he quietly gave Ellen and Mrs. Marvel to understand that he wanted to speak to Mr. Marvel alone, and the women presently glided out of the room. George Marvel took no notice of their departure, and indeed did not notice it until Dan aroused his attention. Then he said, -

"Where's Ellen and the wife?"

"Gone to bed, sir," replied Dan; "and I'm glad of it, because I wanted to speak to you."

George Marvel gave Dan a disturbed look, and said, -

"Won't another time do, Dan?"

"No, sir; I want to say what I have to say now, particularly."

George Marvel nodded, and somehow or other, the flat bottle in which he carried his gin obtruded itself unpleasantly upon his notice. It made a bulge in his pocket, and he tried to hide it from Dan, but did not succeed.

"Will you give me leave to speak of certain things in the past, sir, and not consider it a liberty?" asked Dan.

"Say what you like, Dan; I can't consider any thing you say a liberty."

"Ah-then I may speak of another thing presently, which makes us all very unhappy." (George Marvel shifted uneasily upon his chair, and wished he could get rid of the flat bottle which made itself so conspicuous in his breast-pocket.) "We have gone through many changes in our humble life; but for the most part we have been very happy. Do you remember, sir, when father died, how perplexed I was as to how we should live, and how, when every thing seemed to be a failure, and there didn't seem to be a ray of hope, you came to me with twelve pounds four shillings, in a bag, which you had collected for us among the neighbors?" (George Marvel groaned, and thought, "What would the neighbors say to me now if I went to them on such an errand? But I was respected then.") "Well, sir, from that time fortune smiled upon us, and we got on, until the unhappy day came. You know, sir, what father died of; it causes me shame and sorrow to think of, although it is a long time ago. I remember how Ellen and I used to sit here, in this very room, and tremble when we heard his step in the passage-she was frightened, but I was more ashamed than frightened. There was the day poor mother was buried-I shall never forget that night when we sat here in the dark; Mrs. Marvel was very kind to us that day, but indeed she was always that. Jo's mother couldn't be otherwise." (George Marvel gave a gasp, and lowered his head.) "It cuts, sir, to speak of Jo in this way; I feel it as well as you. But it may do good. Now I'll tell you what I thought that night of poor mother's funeral, when I heard father stumbling in the passage. I thought it was cruel and unkind to mother; I thought that even if he had the right to bring shame on himself (which I am certain he hadn't, for no man has), he had no right to bring it on us; I thought that perhaps poor mother died sooner than she might have done if father had been a steady and sober man. For father earned very little money, and mother had to work very hard to make both ends meet. I have known her get up in the winter mornings at five o'clock, and work and slave till near midnight, and all because of father's idleness. Now tell me, sir, you whom I have always looked up to because you are a just man, could any thing justify father in leading the life he did?"

"Nothing, Dan," replied George Marvel, in a low voice.

"He did not even have the excuse of a great grief," said Dan courageously and tenderly. "Why, when he died that dreadful death, shamed and shocked as I was, I looked upon it as a mercy to him and to us that he was taken away. Yet, going a long way back, to the time when I was very young, I remember that father was not so very bad; he used to drink a little, but was not always drunk. It grew upon him, I suppose, until it mastered him, and made him what he became." Certainly, Dan proved himself the cunningest of physicians; he had brought home to George Marvel a consciousness of the abyss towards which he was walking, and had executed his task tenderly, wisely, and without giving offence. "Now, come, sir," continued Dan boldly; "let us look things straight in the face. You said you must go away from here-you mean all of us, of course. Have you any idea where we should move to?"

"None, Dan. Only one thing is plain to me-ay, much plainer to me after what you have said-and that is that I must go from this neighborhood, where once I held up my head and was respected, but where now every man and woman is my enemy. I never will be friends with them again-never! If they held out their hands to me now, I should refuse them after what they have said of our poor dead boy."

"Dead boy!" mused Dan. "Are you certain, sir, that Jo is dead?" So startled was Mr. Marvel by the question, that he gazed at Dan in speechless astonishment. "I haven't spoken of it to anybody else, but something tells me that our Joe is alive. Yes, sir, you may well stare at me, for every other person but you and Ellen and Mrs. Marvel would call me mad for saying such a thing. I can give you no reason for the belief-for it is a belief, not a fancy. Haven't you heard, sir, of men being wrecked on strange lands, and living there for many years after they were supposed to be dead? Haven't you heard of men living amongst savages, and suddenly appearing among their friends years and years after they were lost? Some such thing, happily, may have occurred to Jo."

"But it's two years now since Josh went away," gasped Mr. Marvel; and then added, "Don't tell mother, Dan; it would drive her out of her senses."

"I shall wait before I tell her, but I shall tell Ellen when the proper time comes. Hope isn't a bad thing, sir.

"But hope without reason," suggested Mr. Marvel.

"Except the reason that exists and the comfort that exists in thinking of the cases that we have read of in stories of shipwrecked men who have been preserved from death. But hope is a good thing always, whether it comes from reason or fancy. And if you can believe as I believe, it will be the better and not the worse for you. Indeed, indeed, sir, you don't know how earnest I am in this. Think of the friendship that exists between me and Jo; I believe it to be something better and higher than ordinary friendships among boys and men. It has grown up with us, until it has become almost a part of our very being. We are never out of each other's thoughts; when he was away on his first voyage he was always thinking of me, and I of him. And that Christmas night that he came home-do you know what happened then, sir? Ellen can tell you that during the whole of that day I was uneasy about Jo; I had dreamed of him the night before, and my dream made me unhappy, for I was convinced that he was in danger. I had no reason for that, nor had I any reason for telling Ellen that Jo was very near us an hour before he came to the door. But unhappily, it all came true as I feared. Now, sir, I have thought often that if Jo was dead, I should feel it and know it-and I don't feel it and don't know it. Something keeps whispering to me, 'You will see him again, be with him again.' And I believe that I shall. For last night, sir, I dreamed of Jo, and Jo was alive; and as sure as we're sitting here talking, we shall see Jo one day, and all the dreadful mystery that looks so black against him will be cleared up."

Mr. Marvel jumped to his feet, and walked excitedly about the room. There was something contagious in Dan's enthusiasm. So earnest, so thrilling was Dan's voice, that Mr. Marvel's heart beat high with the hope in which there was no reason.

"I have not done yet, sir. When you said to-night that you must go away from here, I was amazed, for it seemed to belong to part of my dream. Jo seemed to say to me, 'I can't come to you Dan; come to me.' And I want to go to him" -

Mr. Marvel stopped suddenly in his walk, and stood before Dan with a startled look on his face.

"I want to go to him, or as near to him as I can. The last place Jo was heard of was at Sydney, and the ship is supposed to have foundered somewhere near the Australian coast. Well, sir, if by any means it can be managed, we ought to go to Australia."

"All of us!" exclaimed Mr. Marvel.

"All of us," repeated Dan. "Why not? We are miserable here-unhappy here. We haven't, as you say, a friend in the place. Everybody is against Jo, and believe him to be bad, while we know him to good. I agree with you, sir, that if those we thought were our friends and who have spoken against Jo were to hold out their hands to me, I would not take them. It would be treasonable to Jo. To live on here in this way would only be adding to our unhappiness. I dare say we could manage to get along out there. Mr. Meddler says it is a rising place, and a splendid country for a poor man to get along in. You could take your tools, and could get work. I could take my birds, and should be able to get plenty there that I could train. Why, sir, it would be a splendid thing, and the best for all of us."

"I believe it would-I believe it would," said Mr. Marvel, his voice trembled with eagerness; "but where is the money to come from?"

"We have forty pounds of Jo's, sir, that he left for you and me; I wouldn't mind it being spent that way. That wouldn't be any thing like enough, I know; but I think I have a friend. However, sir, let us think over it for a little while. I am glad that we've had this talk. You'll forgive me, sir, won't you, for what I said in the first part of it?"

George Marvel made no reply, but, standing by Dan, put his arm affectionately round the neck of his son's friend; then left the room, and comforted his wife by a very simple act. He took the flat bottle out of his pocket, and said, "Maggie, I have done with this; I shall never fill it again." And, happily for him and all of them, he kept his word.

CHAPTER XXVIII

MR. MARVEL SHAKES THE DUST FROM HIS FEET

Dan took the Old Sailor in to his confidence, and the impracticable old fellow excitedly proposed that they should leave Stepney and come and live with him in his barge. But as Dan declared that that was impossible, the Old Sailor's hopes fell down to zero.

"We can't live in this neighborhood much longer," said Dan; "it wouldn't so much matter to me, for I'm always indoors, but it does to Jo's father. I know what he must suffer. You see, what we want is a friend."

"Ah!" said the Old Sailor, "what you want is a friend. Well, we'll talk of this again by and by."

"He went down stairs to see Ellen, and found her crying over her baby.

"Come, come, my dear," he said; "this won't do; you'll be making an old woman of yourself in no time." And he dried her eyes with his handkerchief.

"You're the only friend we've got now," said Ellen sadly.

The Old Sailor thought: "Says Dan, 'What we want is a friend.' Says Ellen, 'You're the only friend we've got.'" And he put this and that together, as he had done once before in the memorable conversation he had had with Joshua at Gravesend, when he set all matters straight.

"What were you crying for, my lass?" he said aloud.

"Ah, sir!" replied Ellen, "I don't mind telling you. I was looking down at baby, and thinking that when she is old enough to understand things-and baby is very quick, and almost understands already, don't you, my pet? – she will hear such stories from ill-natured people about father, as will make her as unhappy as her poor mother is. When I thought that, sir, I began to cry, and was almost wicked enough to believe that it would be better for both of us to die than to live amongst such bad-hearted people."

The Old Sailor did not stop long, but walked away in profound thought.

Soon after that, another misfortune occurred. George Marvel told them that he had left his situation. "I gave it up of my own accord, Maggie," he said to his wife, to whom he first spoke upon the subject; "If I hadn't, I should have done something that would have made the master give me warning, and I should have been disgraced. I can't make sure of myself now; my blood boils up so when I hear a word dropped about Josh, that every thing swims before my eyes. I can't help it, my dear. Don't blame me."

She did not blame him, but said she was sure he had done what he thought was for the best.

"I've worked in the shop, man and boy, for more than thirty years," he said huskily, "and I doubt if I shall get another. Trade's overdone. A good many men are out, and I'm not as young as I was. I don't quite see the end of it, Maggie."

She cheered him and comforted him, and he went out the next morning in search of work, feeling very much ashamed of himself. It was like begging. He came home disheartened and footsore, and hadn't a cheerful word or look for any one. "A nice ending this is!" he said bitterly. "But I brought it all on myself. I shouldn't have driven our boy to sea." He seemed to think it was nothing but strict justice that he should take all the blame upon himself. He earned so little money, that presently he had to break into Joshua's legacy to him and Dan, and it began to melt like magic. Things were getting very bad. The dressmaking work, too, was slackening, and Susan and Ellen had many idle days.

Solomon Fewster observed all this with inward satisfaction, although outwardly he sympathized with them, and was profuse in his offers of assistance. But they would not accept any thing from him; and very soon the proceeds of the birds he continued to purchase from Dan became their most dependable source of revenue. Notwithstanding that he was careful never to say a word of the past that would be distasteful to them, he did not make much way in their good graces. They did not show this, however; he was consistent in his offers of assistance and in his friendly behavior, and they could not show ingratitude; but their instincts were against him. He allowed a year to pass before he spoke to Ellen of his love for her, and even then he thought it best first to make sure of the co-operation of her friends. He addressed himself in the first place to George Marvel, who opened his eyes very wide, and was indeed very much astonished at Mr. Fewster's declaration. He had never suspected that Mr. Fewster had an attachment for Ellen.

"I loved her before she was married," said Mr. Fewster to him; "but then I saw that she loved your poor son, and I was too honorable to interpose. So I did not distress her by telling her of my love."

Mr. Marvel thought that that was manly and straightforward, but asked Mr. Fewster why he spoke to him upon the subject.

"You are in a sort of way Ellen's father," replied Mr. Fewster, "and it is due to you that I should speak to you first. I should not be justified otherwise in offering myself to Ellen. I have something to say also, if you will excuse me for taking the liberty" -

Seeing that Mr. Fewster hesitated, Mr. Marvel bade him proceed, and then the wooer cunningly placed before Mr. Marvel certain advantages that would accrue to him if Ellen consented.

"I should feel it my duty," said Mr. Fewster, "to see that the man I look upon as Ellen's father is properly cared for."

"Never mind that," said Mr. Marvel; he had recovered from his astonishment, and felt a sort of displeasure at Mr. Fewster's proposal. "Never mind that," he repeated dryly, "but tell me what it is you want me to do."

"I want you to give your consent, Mr. Marvel, and to assist me."

"Assist you in making a woman love you, Mr. Fewster!" exclaimed Mr. Marvel. "No, no; the matter rests with you and Ellen. It is none of mine, and any feeling I may have in the matter it is but right I should keep to myself."

"But you won't say any thing in my disfavor," urged Mr. Fewster, alarmed at Mr. Marvel's coldness of manner, and thinking to himself that when Ellen was his wife, he would have as little as possible to do with the Marvels.

"I shall say nothing to Ellen one way or the other," replied Mr. Marvel moodily. "I have no doubt Ellen knows what is due to herself. And to Joshua," he was about to add, but he only thought the words; they did not pass his lips. When Mr. Fewster went away, Mr. Marvel was very despondent, and thought with some bitterness that he would have spoken to Ellen's lover very differently, if he hadn't been so low down in the world. So discouraged was Mr. Fewster by his interview with Mr. Marvel, that he did not speak to any other members of the family, not even to Dan, but came straight to the point at once with Ellen. After all, whom else did it concern but Ellen and himself? She was sitting in the kitchen, working; baby was in the cradle, and upon Ellen's face were traces of tears. When she and baby were alone, her tears flowed too readily now. Solomon Fewster had prepared himself carefully for the occasion. He was attired in his best, and presented quite a holiday appearance. He bought a bunch of flowers for Ellen, of which he begged her acceptance. With a little hesitancy of manner, she took them from his hand and placed them on the table. There is something in the air of a wooer that betrays his purpose to the woman he loves, and when Ellen looked into Mr. Fewster's face and saw this, she rose hurriedly, and stooped to take baby out of the cradle, intending to leave the room. But Mr. Fewster's hand upon her arm restrained her.

"Nay, Ellen," he said awkwardly, "let baby alone for a little; don't disturb her-she looks so pretty in her sleep." And calling up a look of admiration in his face, he contemplated baby with an appearance of affectionate interest, which would have won its way to the heart of most mothers at once. But not to Ellen's. Mr. Fewster's tender manner brought back to her the memory of all his disagreeable attentions when they were first acquainted, and she waited in silent apprehension for what she dreaded was to come. But round about the bush went Mr. Fewster.