Joshua Marvel

"Things are very much changed, Ellen," he observed. She would have resented his calling her by her Christian name on the present occasion, although he had often done so before; but he was Dan's patron and their chief dependence, and she did not dare to object. "Very much changed," he repeated. "Mr. Marvel, poor fellow, looks quite shabby. He has a difficulty in getting work, I believe. Very sad-very sad. But it's the way of the world. One man up, another man down, Lucky, man that who can always keep up."

"He is indeed, Mr. Fewster," said Ellen, constrained to say something in reply. "But we can't help misfortunes coming."

"No; but we can often turn bad fortune into good. Now, looking lately at Mr. and Mrs. Marvel, who are far from happy, poor things! far from happy, I have been thinking what a beautiful thing it would be to make them easier in their mind as regards their worldly circumstances, for there is no doubt that that constitutes the greatest part of their unhappiness. As for the other part of their unhappiness-family grief-time will soften that. But time doesn't soften poverty if it is always with you. It is a sad thing, a very sad thing, but it is so unfortunately. There is no harder misfortune in the world than poverty."

"Yes, there is, Mr. Fewster," said Ellen, who had taken baby on her lap as a kind of protection. "There are griefs of the heart which are bitterer to bear than poverty."

"I stand corrected. But then that will be the case with the few, not with the many-with the few who are superior to most people, and who are the more to be admired for the possession of such excellent virtues. I know one woman who is far above all others in this respect, and whom I therefore love and admire far above all other women." Ellen trembled and turned very pale, but Mr. Fewster proceeded rapidly, fearful lest he had been too precipitate, "Coming back to Mrs. Marvel-would it not be a good thing to make her comfortable in her mind about her worldly circumstances?"

"It would be-a very good thing," answered Ellen, in a low tone.

"And it can be done. There is one person who has it in her power to do this for Mrs. Marvel." Again Mr. Fewster paused until Ellen asked, "Who is that person, Mr. Fewster?"

"You," he said eagerly. "You can do this, and at the same time you can make a man who has loved you from the first day he saw you the happiest man in the world."

"Stop, sir!" cried Ellen, in a firm voice. "You must not say what you were about to say. It would be folly-worse than folly-it would be wicked for me to pretend not to understand you. It would be merciful to me, and best for both of us, that you should not say any thing more now. I have no heart for any thing but my grief and my child."

So earnestly did she speak, that Fewster was fain to desist. The only words he said were, "You shall see how I respect and love you: your word is my law;" and straightway left her. But he did not leave her despairingly. One little word that Ellen had unconsciously uttered filled him with hopeful anticipation. She had said, "It will be merciful to me, and best for both of us, that you should not say any thing more now." She had put no impression upon the word; but the wish that "keeps the word of promise to the ear" imbued it with a distinct utterance to Solomon Fewster's sense. "I must not say any thing more now," he thought; "that opens the way for the future. I must be content for a little while." He thought he had made a good move, and that he was sure to win the game.

When he was gone, Ellen caught her baby to her bosom, and ran to Dan's room for consolation-almost, as it seemed to her, for protection. There she found George Marvel sitting in an attitude of sadness. He had not had an hour's work for the last fortnight, and half of Joshua's savings was spent: but barely twenty pounds remained. When that was gone! Well, that was what was fermenting in George Marvel's mind now. When that was gone, what was he to do? Sit down and starve? Without doubt, they could not all live upon Dan's earnings; for Dan and his sisters earned barely enough to keep themselves. He groaned in bitterness of spirit to think that he, the only man in the house who could work, was doomed to idleness. He had striven hard, and still strove, to obtain employment-with what success has been narrated. He felt at times as if he would be justified in demanding work, instead of begging for it. Indeed, on one occasion he had asked for work in some what defiant tones, and, being refused, had spoken out of the bitterness of his heart, of the injustice and hardship that stood in his way of earning food, being willing to work for it honestly. The only answer he received was an order to quit the shop immediately, if he did not wish to be given in custody. The sentiments to which he had given utterance were soon made known to many masters in the trade, some of whom afterwards, in reply to his applications, said they did not want any Chartists in their workrooms. His case was a desperate one indeed. The problem which he was trying to solve as Ellen entered the room after her interview with Solomon Fewster was a common one enough, more's the pity. He would have expressed it in very simple words: "I must work to live. I am able to work, and willing. I cannot get work. How am I to live?" Ellen saw the trouble in his face, and sat down by his side. He gave her just one glance, and learned what had occurred; for he had seen Solomon Fewster go out of the house.

"I know what has occurred, my dear," he said anxiously. "Mr. Fewster has been speaking to you. And your answer?"

"I have no need to tell you, father," said Ellen, raising her eyes to his. She said nothing of the bribe Fewster had offered for her love.

George Marvel saw that Ellen had refused Mr. Fewster, and he nodded grave approval; yet, from a sense of justice, was compelled to ask, -

"Have you considered all the circumstances, Ellen? Have you considered the future?"

"I don't know," she answered; "I only know that I have done what is right, and what is due to my dear Joshua's memory."

All this was Greek to Dan, and it had to be explained to him. He listened in silence, and was very thoughtful afterwards. He let the matter drop, however, until he and Ellen were alone; and then he told her, gently and by degrees, of his belief that Joshua was not lost, and of his earnest desire to go over the seas and commence a new life. She, listening eagerly, almost breathlessly, pressed his hand to her lips and kissed him again and again, and was absolutely so simple as to share his belief. Hope revived within her; and when Dan said, "You are not widowed yet, dear; of that I feel assured," she blessed him for the words in which there was no reason.

Other troubles came. Solomon Fewster, strong in cunning, made a new move in the game. His orders began to fall off, and in a short time he bought one bird where formerly he had bought three. Perhaps he thought, "If love won't drive Ellen into my arms, necessity may." It was a cruel device, mean and merciless, and it struck fresh terror to their hearts. They could do nothing; but wait and watch the tide come up. And things grew so bad for them that they had to content themselves with two meals a day, and those but poor and scanty ones. Their condition was a strange parallel to that of the unfortunate passengers of the "Merry Andrew" on the raft. There are wrecks on land as sad as any in the records of the sea.

Solomon Fewster, of course, was profuse in his regrets at the falling-off of the business, and offered to lend Dan and Ellen money, which they refused. He renewed his offer many times, not offended at the refusal. "He wants to buy Ellen," thought Dan; "but he doesn't know her. Jo said once that Ellen was not the kind of a girl for a heroine. Would he say so now, if he could see her, I wonder?"

It was in this way that he often thought of Joshua as of one who would be restored to them some day. He had fixed the belief firmly in his mind, and nothing could shake it. He had no hope of ever seeing Minnie again. She was as one who had passed out of his life forever. But she lived in his mind and in his heart, and came to him in his dreams. And in the light, often and often, he would muse upon her tenderly and lovingly.

So they lived on, and the tide of adversity rose higher and higher, until they were compelled to begin to pawn things. But a better time was coming. The Old Sailor passing a pawn-shop one day in Dan's neighborhood-he was on his way to Dan's house-saw Ellen hurry out of the shamefaced door. He was so staggered that he allowed her to escape his sight. He had had no idea that things were so hard with them as that. When he recovered himself, he gave his chest a great thump, called himself "a blind old swab," and made his way to Dan's house. He went straight down to the kitchen, prying old interloper as he was, and caught Ellen, in the act of counting a few-very few-small pieces of silver and copper in Mrs. Marvel's hand. He was so distressed, that the blood rushed into his face. He only desired to see Ellen alone and speak to her, and here he was shaming them in their poverty. The tender-hearted old fellow was fit to sink into the ground, he was so remorseful. He stammered out a few words of apology, said he thought Ellen was alone, but that Dan would do as well. He went up to Dan, and to Dan's astonishment locked the door. Then he inclined his head melodramatically, to be sure that no one was listening, and, being satisfied, drew a chair close to Dan's.

"Hark ye, my lad," he said: "can you and I speak to the point, and without beating about the bush?"

"I think we can, sir," replied Dan, smiling; the Old Sailor's voice always did him good.

"Frankly, then," said the Old Sailor, "do you find it a hard matter to live?"

"Very hard, sir."

"No money in the house, eh?"

"None, sir."

"And business falling off?"

"Fallen off would be more correct, sir. My earnings for the last month not more than ten shillings."

"And Mr. Marvel?"

"About a day's work in the week, sir."

"And the money that poor Josh left?"

"All gone, sir."

"O Dan!" groaned the Old Sailor, "why wasn't I told of this?"

Dan gave him a sad look, but made no other reply.

"And the poor mother," continued the Old Sailor, "how must she have suffered! And Ellen, poor lass! and the little one! Dan, Dan! if I don't feel to you as if you were my son, I could find it in my heart to be angry with you!"

"Nay, sir," urged Dan gently, "you are not to blame. We are unfortunate, that is all. We are not the only ones, I dare say."

"Come, now, open your mind to me. Look things in the face. What do you see before you this time twelve months?"

The practical question was like a blow, and Dan trembled. The answer came from his reason in which there was no hope.

"What do I see before me this time twelve months? Worse poverty than this-and this is hard enough, God knows! We are growing poorer every day, and every day it is a puzzle where to-morrow's food will come from. All our friends have fallen off from us; when Ellen and Jo's mother go into the streets, not one pleasant face greets them. They come back, sad and suffering. And they must bear it while they remain in this neighborhood, if they are to be true to Jo. I can understand now how some good people are made bad by the world's injustice. It won't make them bad, I can answer for that; but I'm not so sure of Mr. Marvel. I haven't seen a smile on his face for months; his nature seems to be completely changed. I am almost afraid to think what remorse might drive him to, for he is continually reproaching himself with being the cause of all our misfortunes. He says he drove Jo to sea, when his influence would have kept him at home; and this thought stings him day and night. As for me, I earn very little money now. And I am so stupid," he added, with an odd smile, yet thoughtful withal, "as to repine sometimes that we can't live without silver and copper."

The Old Sailor dabbed his face with his handkerchief in a state of great excitement during this recital, and was compelled to wait until he was cool before he said, "So, taking them altogether, things are very bad."

"Taking them altogether, sir," said Dan, "I don't see how they could be worse. We have only one consolation."

"What is that, Dan?" asked the Old Sailor eagerly, with a faint hope that it was something tangible.

"Our faith in Jo, and our knowledge that he is good and true, as we have always known him to be. Poor Jo!"

The Old Sailor groaned.

"You can't live on that, Dan," he said.

"No, sir," replied Dan with rare simplicity; "but it is a great comfort, nevertheless."

The Old Sailor pressed Dan's hand.

"'Tisn't so bad a world," he murmured more to himself than to Dan, "despite its injustice." Then aloud: "What would be the best thing for all of you to do, Dan, under the circumstances?

"There is but one thing, sir; and I might as well wish for cheese from the moon as wish for that."

"Perhaps not, Dan, perhaps not. Tell your wish."

"I want some money."

"Ah! how much?"

"Enough to take us to Australia, where we could commence a new life."

"You hinted at that some time ago, Dan."

"Yes, sir."

"That's what you meant when you said you wanted a friend?"

"Yes, sir."

"And I took no notice of it, like a hard-hearted old hunks as I am. Do you know why I took no notice of it, Dan?"

"No, sir."

"Because I didn't want to part from you-because I didn't want to lose the only friends I have in the world-because I thought only of myself; and how lonely I should feel when you and my little Ellen and the good mother were thousands of miles away. Well, well! Old as I am, I'm not too old to learn from younger heads. Look you, my lad! But stop-we'll have the women up."

The Old Sailor went down into the kitchen where Ellen and Mrs. Marvel were, and took a hand of each, and led them gravely up stairs into Dan's room.

"This is a family council, my dears," he said, kissing them, "where we are to speak our minds without hesitation. Dan has been making things clear to me, and I see a good deal to which I've been blind, selfishly blind, more shame to me. When the storm came on, I had an idea that you might be able to weather it; but you were not strong enough, and human hearts have not been so kind to you as winds and waves are. The winds howl to-day, but a calm comes to-morrow; the waves dash over you for a time, but presently the sea grows smooth. That's at sea; 'tis different on land sometimes. You have found it so, my dears, eh?"

They sighed assent, and waited in a state of painful expectancy for what was to come.

"And here you are with every sail split, with every spar broken, with bulwarks dashed in, and every thing adrift. And around you cruel tongues and unjust hearts. What! with all this craft in view, won't one come forward, and ask, What cheer? Not one? And yet you've held out a helping hand many a time, my dear" (to Mrs. Marvel), "as I well know, and spared a spar here and a bit of canvas there, with a willing heart and a free hand. But you are pearls, you women, and teach us goodness. The Lord love you, and send you happier days!"

He almost broke down here; but he recovered himself by a great effort, and continued, somewhat huskily at first: -

"Ah, my dears, I've been in storms, but never a worse than this has been to you. Look up, my lass!" he cried to Ellen, and pointing upwards to the dingy paper ceiling in so earnest a tone that he found all of them followed the direction of his finger, while a new-born hope entered their hearts. "Look up! D'ye see the clouds a-breaking? D'ye see the sun tipping the edges with white light? If you don't, take my word for it, the storm's over, and a friendly craft is bearing down upon you." He paused awhile before he spoke again. "'You see,' says Dan to me, 'what we want is a friend.' Says Ellen to me, the very same day, 'You're the only friend we've got.' What did I do? Clap on sail and bear down upon you? Not I!"

"Nay, sir," interposed Dan.

"Hold your tongue, Dan; I deserve to have the cat for my behavior. Now, hark ye. Before my poor lass here was married to Josh-don't cry, my dear-I made over my little bit of money to them jointly, for better or worse. I dare say it will come to a matter of two hundred pounds. Will that be enough, Dan?"

Dan's sobs prevented a reply, and the women sat silently thankful.

"So look upon that as settled," said the Old Sailor, rising; "and make your arrangements. I'll see what ships are going out, and 'll let you know to-morrow."

He left the room abruptly, unable to bear the thankful looks and tears of his friends. Besides which, he was almost unmanned at the thought of parting from them. They were the only friends he had in the world, as he had said; and when they were gone, he would be left lonely in his old age. The thought flashed across him to go with them, but he dismissed it at once. Not only was he too old to cross the seas, but he felt he could not leave his barge near the old Tower Stairs.

"I should be like a fish out of water," he thought; "and besides, I should only be an encumbrance to the poor souls. I shall be in my dotage soon, and they have troubles enough of their own. No; I'll stop and lay my bones in Old England."

So the faithful old soul set to work at once, and left himself with the very barest pittance to live on, in order to get together sufficient money for the necessities of his friends.

The news soon spread. Some of the neighbors said it was a good job they were going; some were envious; and a few repented of their harshness. These last went so far as to make slight advances towards Mr. and Mrs. Marvel. Mr. Marvel looked at them angrily, and responded with hard words; but his wife, a true peacemaker, was more conciliatory. When she remonstrated with him, and begged him to consider that they were sorry because they had concurred in the general verdict of condemnation of Joshua, he said, -

"Let be, Maggie; if they're sorry for what they've said about Josh, the more shame for them for hurting us as they did. You can do as you like; I sha'n't mind your shaking hands with them. But for me, I've said I'll never forgive them, and I never will." When Susan was told that they were going to Australia, her dull vacant face suddenly lit up.

"We shall be near him," she muttered; "near Minnie too. Poor Minnie! where is she?"

The next moment her old manner was upon her, and she relapsed into vacancy again.

But there was one by whom the news of their intended departure was received with a chill of angry despair. Solomon Fewster could scarcely believe it when he was told. He hurried to the house, blaming himself for his stupidity in trying to starve Ellen into acquiescence.

"This would never have come about," he thought, "if they had not been driven to it by necessity. I ought to have shown myself a greater friend than ever to Dan. Gratitude would have made Ellen love me."

To obtain Ellen's love had become a mania with him. The farther she was removed from him, the stronger grew his desire. "Perhaps it is not yet too late," he thought. He broke into Dan's room in feverish haste, and cried, -

"Good news, Dan! I've got a customer for four birds, and he wants them at once."

"Here are two bullfinches and two canaries," replied Dan with a queer smile; "I thought you would have wanted them earlier. I have others ready, if you want more."

"I'll take them by and by," said Solomon Fewster; and then treated Dan to a long account of the late dulness and the expected revival of trade, and to the certain prospect of there being a great demand for Dan's birds presently. Dan listened in silence, and discomfited Solomon Fewster by charging a higher price than usual for the bullfinches and canaries. Solomon Fewster thought it would be fatal to hesitate, and he paid the money with apparent willingness; and Dan gave another queer little smile as he put the money in his pocket. Then Fewster referred to the rumor, and Dan said it was true.

"We shall sail in about a month," said Dan.

"But why go at all?" asked Fewster.

"We are not able to get a living here, sir," said Dan. He did not tell everybody of his fancy about Joshua.

"If that's your only reason," urged Fewster, "stop, and let me be your friend. I promise that you shall never want, especially if-if" -

But he could not get the intended reference to Ellen gracefully off his tongue.

"I understand you, sir," said Dan; "but nothing that you can say can keep us here."

At this point Mr. Marvel entered, and Fewster left. Between the two men there had been an utter absence of cordiality since Fewster's overtures respecting Ellen. Besides, Mr. Marvel had suspected why Fewster's commissions for birds had fallen off, and had made Dan acquainted with his suspicions; and this, indeed, was the reason why Dan, whose eyes were open to Fewster's meanness, had taken a secret pleasure in charging him a high price for his present purchase.

Solomon Fewster tried by every means to induce them to stay, but his efforts were unavailing. The passages were taken, the day was fixed. The Old Sailor made special arrangements for the accommodation of Dan's birds on board ship, and Dan bought a number of young songsters to train on the voyage out, although the Old Sailor shook his head and expressed grave doubts whether the birds would live. As the day of departure approached, the excitement in the neighborhood grew stronger, and public opinion veered steadily round in favor of the Marvels. The band of the remorseful ones received fresh recruits daily, until, when the day arrived, there were not a dozen of the neighbors who were not sorry for the judgment that had been pronounced against Joshua, and who did not, in one way or another, give expression to their sorrow. Mr. Marvel would not listen to them; the others did, and took pleasure in listening to apologies which were in some sort a vindication of Joshua's character. But Mr. Marvel declared bitterly that he would shake the dust from his shoes the day he left Stepney, and that he was only too thankful to escape from the nest of vipers.

"You women," he said, "are too soft-hearted for justice: if a scoundrel who has wronged you comes crying to you, you look kindly on him, and cry with him, out of the tenderness of your hearts. But for me, when I think of the many years we've lived here, with never a black mark against us-when I think of the good turns we've done for this one and that one, and of the manner in which they have returned our good offices, I'm fit to choke with passion. They tried to disgrace me, and would have seen us starve without offering us bit or sup. But now that we're going, well off as they think, they come whining round us, sorry for the mud they threw at us. The mud didn't stick, that's one comfort. I could dash my fist in their faces when I think of it!"

So matters went on until the morning came when they were to go aboard the ship at Blackwell. They had a few little odds and ends to take with them, and a cart was at the door to convey them to the docks. All the women and children in the neighborhood flocked round the cart to see the last of the emigrants. First Ellen, with her child, got in; the women kissed their hands to her, and murmured to each other that she looked older than her years. Ellen's eyes were blinded with tears as she looked up at the old house and at the familiar faces in the crowd. Susan was the next: she looked vacantly at the throng, and turned her eyes to her lap, taking no further heed of them. Dan followed with his birds, and listened gravely, and not without tenderness, to the farewells which greeted him. After him came Mr. and Mrs. Marvel.

"Good-by, my dear; God bless you! God take you safely over, my dear!"

In twenty different ways were these farewells and good wishes expressed, and Mrs. Marvel pressed her hand upon her heart, and sobbed till she could not distinguish a face in the crowd that surrounded her.

"Get in Maggie," said George Marvel; and then, deliberately and gravely, stooped and took off his shoes. He climbed into the cart in his stockings, and bending over the wheel, shook the dust from his shoes. "I'll take no dust from here with me," he said in a loud tone; "I leave that and your lying words behind me. I loved you once, and loved these streets; but I've hated you and them from the time you turned upon us and made our lives bitterer than misfortune had already made them. By and by, you can tell the men I've worked with and been kind to, that I was glad to go from the place where I was born, and that I shook the dust from my feet before I went away."