J. Cole
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Emma Gellibrand >> J. Cole
I noticed whenever I spoke of going to town Joe did not seem to look
forward to the change with any pleasure, although he had never been
to London, he told me; but Dick had been once with his father, and
had seen lots of strange things; among others a sad one, that made a
great impression on Dick, and he had told the tale to Joe, so as to
have almost as great an effect on him.
It appeared that one night Dick and his father were crossing Waterloo
Bridge, and had seen a young girl running quickly along, crying
bitterly. Dick tried to keep up with her, and asked her what was the
matter. She told him to let her alone, that she meant to drown
herself, for she had nothing to live for, and was sick of her life.
Dick persuaded her to tell him her grief, and heard from her that her
mother and father had both been drowned in a steamer, and she was
left with a little brother to take care of; he had been a great
trouble to her, and had been led away by bad companions until he
became thoroughly wicked. She had been a milliner, and had a room of
her own, and paid extra for a little place where her brother could
sleep. She fed and clothed him out of her earnings, although he was
idle, and cruel enough to scold and abuse her when she tried to
reason with him, and refused to let him bring his bad companions to
her home. At last he stole nearly all she had, and pawned it; and
among other things, some bonnets and caps belonging to the people who
employed her, given as patterns for her to copy. These she had to pay
for, and lost her situation besides. By degrees all her clothes, her
home, and all she had, went for food; and then this wicked boy left
her, and the next thing she knew was that he had been taken up with a
gang of burglars concerned in a jewel robbery. That day she had seen
him in prison, and he was to be transported for seven years; so the
poor creature, mad with grief, was about to end her life. Dick and
his father would not leave her until she was quiet, and promised them
she would go and get a bed and supper with the money they gave her,
and they promised to see her again the next day at a place she named.
The next morning they went to the address, and found a crowd round
the house. Somebody said a young woman had thrown herself out of a
window, and had been taken up dead. It was too true; and the girl was
the wretched, heart-broken sister they had helped over night. Her
grief had been too much for her, and, poor thing, she awoke to the
light of another day, and could not face it alone and destitute; so,
despairing, she had ended her life. They went to the hospital, and
were allowed to see all that remained of the poor creature; and
Dick's description of it all, and his opinion that the brother "might
have been just such another little chap at first as Joe," and "What
would that brother feel," said Dick, "when he knew what he had done?
for he done it," said Dick; "he done that girl to death, the same as
if he'd shov'd her out of that winder hisself."
"And," said Joe, "I wonder if them chaps is goin' about London now
wot led her brother wrong? I don't like London; and I wish we could
stop 'ere."
I assured Joe that in London there was no danger of meeting such
people if he kept to himself, and made no friends of strangers.
Joe was also much afraid of having to wait at table when there were
guests. In spite of all I could do, he was hopelessly nervous and
confused when he had to wait on more than two or three people; and as
I expected to entertain a good deal when we were in town, I could not
help fearing Joe would be unequal to the duties.
I could not bear the idea of parting with the little fellow, for,
added to his good disposition, Joe, in his dark brown livery, with
gilt buttons, his neat little ties, and clean hands; his carefully
brushed curls, by this time trained into better order, and shining
like burnished gold in the sun; his tiny feet, with the favorite red
socks, which he could and did darn very neatly himself when they
began to wear out (and when he bought new ones they were always
bright red),--Joe, let me tell you, was quite an ornament in our
establishment, and the envy of several boys living in families round
about, who tried in vain to get acquainted with him, but he would not
be friends, although he always refused their advances with civil
words.
Sometimes a boy would linger when bringing a note or message for me,
and try to draw Joe into conversation. In a few minutes I would hear
Joe's deep voice say, "I think you had better go on now. I've got my
work to do, and I reckon you've got yours a-waiting for yer at your
place." Then the side-door would shut, and Joe was bustling about his
work.
CHAPTER III.
In the beginning of October we arrived in London. There had been much
packing up, and much extra work for everybody, and Joe was in his
element.
What those long arms, and that willing heart, and those quick little
hands got through, nobody but those he helped and worked for could
tell. Whatever was wanted Joe knew where to find it. Joe's knife was
ready to cut a stubborn knot; Joe's shoulders ready to be loaded with
as heavy a weight as any man could carry. More than once I met him
coming down-stairs with large boxes he himself could almost have been
packed in, and he declared he did not find them too heavy.
"You see, Missis," he said, "I'm that strong now since I've been
here, with all the good food I gets, and bein' so happy like, that I
feel almost up to carryin' anythink. I do believe I could lift that
there pianner, if somebody would just give it a hoist, and let me get
hold of it easy."
Yes, Joe was strong and well, and I am sure, happy, and I had never
had a single misgiving about him since he stood with his fading
flowers and shabby clothes at my window that summer day.
At last we were settled in town, and the winter season beginning. Our
house was situated in the West End of London, a little beyond
Bayswater. One of a row of detached houses, facing another row
exactly similar in every way, except that the backs of those we lived
in had small gardens, with each its own stable wall at the end, with
coachman's rooms above, the front of the stable facing the mews, and
having the entrance from there; the mews ran all along the backs of
these houses. On the opposite side the houses facing ours had their
gardens and back windows facing the high-road, and no stables. There
was a private road belonging to this, Holling Park as it was called,
and a watchman to keep intruders out, and to stop organ-grinders,
beggars, and such invaders of the peace from disturbing us.
Somehow I was never as comfortable as in my snug cottage in the
country. Rich, fashionable people lived about us, and all day long
kept up the round of "society life."
In the morning the large handsome houses would seem asleep, nothing
moving inside or out, except a tradesman's cart, calling for orders,
or workmen putting up or taking down awnings, at some house where
there would be, or had been, a ball or entertainment of some kind.
About eleven a carriage or two would be driven round from the mews,
and stop before a house to take some one for a morning drive; but
very seldom was anybody on foot seen about. In the afternoon it was
different,--carriages rolled along incessantly, and streams of
afternoon callers were going and coming from the houses when the
mistress was "at home;" and at my door, too, soon began the usual din
of bell and knocker. Joe was quite equal to the occasion, and enjoyed
Friday, the day I received. Dressed in his very best, and with a
collar that kept his chin in what seemed to me a fearful state of
torture, but added to his height by at least half an inch, Joe stood
behind the hall-door, ready to open it directly the knocker was
released. He ushered in the guests as though "to the manner born,"
giving out the names correctly, and with all the ease of an
experienced groom of the chambers.
The conservatory leading out of the drawing-room was Joe's especial
pride; it was his great pleasure to syringe the hanging baskets, and
attend to the ferns and plants. Many shillings from his pocket-money
were spent in little surprises for me in the form of pots of musk,
maiden-hair, or anything he could buy; his wages were all sent home,
and he only kept for his own whatever he had given to him, and
sometimes a guest would "tip" him more generously than I liked, for
his bright eyes and ready hands were always at everybody's service.
After my husband's return home, who from the first became Joe's
especial care, as to boots, brushing of clothes, etc., it became
necessary to give two or three dinner-parties, and I must confess I
felt nervous as to how Joe would acquit himself.
In our dining-room was a very large bear-skin rug, and the floor
being polished oak, it was dangerous to step on this rug, for it
would slip away from the feet on the smooth surface, and even the
dogs avoided it, so many falls had they met with upon it.
The first day of my husband's arrival we had my sister and a friend
to dine, and had been talking about Joe in the few moments before
dinner.
My husband had been laughing at the size of my page, and scolding me
a little, or rather pretending to do so, for taking a written
character.
"Little woman," he said, "don't be surprised if one night a few
country burglars make us a visit, and renew their acquaintance with
Mr. J. Cole."
"You don't know Joe," I replied, "or you would never say that."
"Do you know him so well, little wife?" said my dear sensible
husband; "remember he has only been in our service six months. In the
country he had very little of value in his hands, but here, it seems
to me, he has too much. All the plate, and indeed everything of
value, is in his pantry, and he is a very young boy to trust. One of
the women servants should take charge of the plate-chest, I think.
Where does this paragon sleep?"
"Down-stairs," I said, "next to the kitchen, at the back of the
house; and you should see how carefully every night he looks to the
plate-basket, counts everything, and then asks Mrs. Wilson to see it
is right, locks it up, and gives her the key to take care of. No one
can either open or carry away an iron safe easily, and there is
nothing else worth taking; besides, I know Joe is honest, I feel it."
"Well, I hope so, dear," was my husband's reply, but I could see he
was not quite comfortable about it.
At dinner that day Joe had an accident; he was dreadfully nervous, as
usual, and when waiting, he forgot to attend to my guests first, but
always came to me. The parlor-maid, a new one, and not a great
favorite with Joe, made matters worse by correcting him in an audible
voice; and once, when somebody wanted oyster-sauce, she told Joe to
hand it. The poor boy, wishing to obey quickly, forgot to give the
bear-skin a wide berth, slipped on it, and in a moment had fallen
full length, having in his fall deposited the contents of the sauce-
tureen partly into a blue leather armchair, and the rest onto my
sister's back.
The boy's consternation was dreadful. I could see he was completely
overcome with fright and sorrow for what he had done. He got up, and
all his trembling lips could say was, "Oh, please, I'm so sorry; it
was the bear as tripped me up. I am so very sorry."
Even my husband could scarcely keep from smiling, the sorrow was so
genuine, the sense of shame so true.
"There, never mind, Joe," he said kindly; "you must be more careful.
Now run and get a sponge, and do the best you can with it."
After that Joe had the greatest terror of that treacherous skin, and
I heard him telling the parlor-maid about it.
"You mind," he said, "or that bear'll ketch 'old of yer. I shan't
forget how he ketched 'old of my leg that day and knocked me over; so
you'd better take care, and not go nigher than you can 'elp. He's
always a-lookin' out to ketch yer, but he won't 'ave me no more, I
can tell him."
This fall of Joe's made him still more nervous of waiting at table,
and at last, when he had made some very serious mistakes, I had to
speak to him and tell him I was afraid, if he did not soon learn to
wait better, I must send him away, for his master was annoyed at the
mistakes he made, such as pouring port instead of sherry, giving cold
plates when hot ones were required, handing dishes on the wrong side,
etc.
My little lecture was listened to quietly and humbly, and Joe had
turned to go away, when, to my surprise and distress, he suddenly
burst into a perfect passion of tears and sobs.
"I will try and learn myself," he said, as well as his sobs would let
him, "indeed, I will. I know I'm stoopid. I sez to myself every time
company comes, 'I'll mind wot I'm about, and remember dishes left-
'anded, pour-in's out right, sherry wine's yeller, and port wine
afterwards with the nuts, grapes, and things; and the cruits when
there's fish, and begin with the strangerest lady next to master's
side, and 'elp missus last.' I knows it all, but when they're all
sittin' down, and everybody wantin' somethin', I don't know if Jane's
a-goin' to giv' it 'em, or I am; and I gets stoopid, and my 'ands
shakes, and somehow I can't do nothin'; but please don't send me
away. I do like you and the master. I'll ask Jane to learn me better.
You see if I don't. Oh, please'm, say you'll try me!"
What could I say but "yes," and for a day or two Joe did better, but
we were a small party, and the waiting was easy; but shortly we were
to have a large dinner-party, and as the time drew near, Joe became
quite pale and anxious.
About this time, too, I had been awakened at night by curious sounds
down-stairs, as of somebody moving about, and once I heard an
unmistakable fall of some heavy article.
My husband assured me it was nothing alarming, and he went down-
stairs, but could neither hear or see anything unusual. All was
quiet.
Another night I felt sure I heard sounds down-stairs; and in spite of
my husband's advice to remain still, I called Mrs. Wilson, and
entreated her to come down to the kitchen-floor with me. It was so
very easy, I knew, for anybody to enter the house from the back, and
there being a deep area all round, they could work away with their
tools at the ground-floor back windows unseen. Any one could get on
the top of the stable from the mews, drop into the garden, and be
safe; for the watchman and policeman were on duty in the front of the
house only, the back was quite unprotected. True, there were iron
bars to Joe's window and the kitchen, but iron bars could be sawed
through, and I lived in dread of burglars.
This night Mrs. Wilson and I went softly down, and as we neared the
kitchen stairs, I heard a voice say in a whisper, "Make haste!"
"There, Mrs. Wilson, did you hear that?" I said. "Was that
imagination?"
"No, ma'am," she replied; "there's somebody talking, and I believe
it's in Joe's room. Let us go up and fetch the master."
So we returned up-stairs, and soon my husband stood with us at the
door of Joe's room.
"Open the door, Joe!" cried my husband. "Who have you got there?"
"Nobody, please, sir," said a trembling voice.
"Open the door at once!" said the master, and in a moment it was
opened. Joe stood there very pale, but with no sort of fear in his
face. There was nobody in the room, and as Joe had certainly been in
bed, we concluded he must have talked in his sleep, and, perhaps,
walked about also, for what we knew.
The day before the dinner-party, Cook came and told me she felt sure
there was something wrong with Joe. He was so changed from what he
used to be; there was no getting him to wake in the morning, and he
seemed so heavy with sleep, as if he had no rest at night. Also Cook
had proofs of his having been in her kitchen after he was supposed to
have gone to bed; chairs were moved, and several things not where she
had left them. She had asked Joe, and he replied he did go into the
kitchen, but would not say what for.
I did not like to talk to Joe that day, so decided to wait till after
the dinner, and I would then insist on the mystery being cleared up.
I knew Joe would tell the truth; my trust was unshaken, although
circumstances seemed against him.
That night Mrs. Wilson came to my door, and said she was sure Joe was
at his nightwork again, for she could see from her bedroom window a
light reflected on the stable wall, which must be in his room.
"How can we find out," I said, "what he is doing?"
"That is easily done," said my husband. "We can go out at the garden-
door, and down the steps leading from the garden into the area; they
are opposite his window. We can look through the Venetian blinds, if
they are down, and see for ourselves. He won't be able to see us."
Accordingly, having first wrapped up in our furs, we went down, and
were soon at Joe's window, standing in the area that surrounded the
house. The laths of the blind were some of them open, and between
them we saw distinctly all over the room.
At first we could not understand the strange sight that met our gaze.
In the middle of Joe's room was a table, spread with a cloth, and on
it saucers from flower-pots, placed at intervals down each side;
before each saucer a chair was placed, and in the centre of the table
a high basket, from which a Stilton cheese had been unpacked that
morning,-this was evidently to represent a tall _epergne_. On Joe's
wash-stand were several bottles, a jug, and by each flower-pot saucer
two vessels of some kind--by one, two jam-pots of different sizes; by
another, a broken specimen glass and a teacup--and so on; and from
chair to chair moved Joe, softly but quickly, on tiptoe, now with
bottles which contained water. We could see his lips move, and
concluded he was saying something to imaginary persons, for he would
put a jampot on his tray, and pour into it from the bottle, and then
replace it. Sometimes he would go quickly to his bed, which we saw
represented the dinner-wagon, or sideboard, and bring imaginary
dishes from there and hand them. Then he would go quickly from chair
to chair, always correcting himself if he went to the wrong side, and
talking all the time softly to himself. So here was the solution of
the mystery; here melted into air the visions of Joe in league with
midnight burglars.
The poor boy, evidently alarmed at the prospect of the dinner-party,
and feeling that he must try to improve in waiting at table before
that time somehow, had stolen all those hours nightly from his rest,
to practise with whatever substitutes were at hand for the usual
table requisites.
Here every night, when those who had worked far less during the day
were soundly sleeping, had that anxious, striving little heart shaken
off fatigue, and the big blue eyes refused to yield to sleep, in
order to fight with the nervousness that alone prevented his willing
hands acting with their natural cleverness. I felt a choking in my
throat, when I saw the thin, pale little face, that should have been
on the pillow hours before, lighted up with triumph as the supposed
guests departed; the dumb show of folding the dinner napkins
belonging to myself and the master, and putting them in their
respective rings, told us the ordeal was over. What a weird scene it
was,--the dim light, the silent house, the spread table, and the
empty chairs! One could imagine ghostly revellers, visible only to
that one fragile attendant, who ministered so willingly to their
numerous wants. The sort of nervous thrill that heralds hysterical
attacks was rapidly overcoming me, and I whispered to my husband,
"Let us go now;" but he lingered yet a few seconds, and silently drew
my attention again to the window.
Joe was on his knees by his bedside, his face hidden in his hands.
What silent prayer was ascending to the Throne of Grace, who shall
say? I only know that it were well if many a kneeling worshipper in
"purple and fine linen" could feel as sure of being heard as Joe did
when, his victory won, he knelt, in his humble servant's garb, and
said his prayers that night in spite of the aching head and weary
limbs that needed so badly the few hours' rest that remained before
six o'clock, the time Joe always got up.
Silently we stole away, and in my mind from that moment my faith in
Joe never wavered. Not once, in spite of sad events that came to pass
later on, when even I, his staunchest friend, had to recall to memory
that kneeling little form in the silence of the night, alone with his
God, in order to stifle the cruel doubts of his truth that were
forced upon us all by circumstances I must soon relate.
The famous dinner passed off well. Joe was splendid; his midnight
practice had brought its reward, and he moved about so swiftly, and
anticipated everybody's wants so well, that some of my friends asked
me where I got such a treasure of a page; he must have had a good
butler or footman to teach him, they said; he is evidently used to
waiting on many guests. I was proud of Joe.
The next day he came to me with more than a sovereign in silver, and
told me the gentlemen had been so very kind to him, "and a'most every
one had given him somethin', tho' he never arst, or waited about, as
some fellers did, as if they wouldn't lose sight of a gent till he
paid 'em. But," said Joe, "they would giv' it me; and one gent, he
follered me right up the passage, he did, and sez, 'Ere, you small
boy,' he sez, and he give me a whole 'arf-crown. Whatever for, I
don't know."
But I knew that must have been Dr. Loring, a celebrated physician,
and my husband's dearest friend. We had told him about Joe's midnight
self-teaching, and he had been much interested in the story.
You little thought, Joe, the hand that patted your curly head so
kindly that night would one day hold your small wrist, and count its
feeble life-pulse beating slowly and yet more slowly, while we, who
loved you, should watch the clever, handsome face, trying in vain to
read there the blessed word "Hope."
CHAPTER IV.
And now I must confess to those--for surely there will be a few--who
have felt a little interest, so far, in the fortunes of J. Cole, that
a period in my story has arrived when I would fain lay down my pen,
and not awaken the sleeping past, to recall the sad trouble that
befell him.
I am almost an old woman now, and all this happened many years ago,
when my hair was golden instead of silver. I was younger in those
days, and now am peacefully and hopefully waiting God's good time for
my summons. Troubles have been my lot, many and hard to bear. Loss of
husband, children, dear, good friends, many by death, and some
troubles harder even than those, the loss of trust, and bitter
awakening to the ingratitude and worthlessness of those in whom I
have trusted,--all these I have endured. Yet time and trouble have
not sufficiently hardened my heart that I can write of what follows
without pain. Christmas was over, and my dear husband again away for
some months. As soon as I could really say, "Spring is here," we were
to leave London for our country home; and Joe was constantly talking
to Mrs. Wilson about his various pets, left behind in the gardener's
care. There was an old jackdaw, an especial favorite of his, a
miserable owl, too, who had met with an accident, resulting in the
loss of an eye; a more evil-looking object than "Cyclops," as my
husband christened him, I never saw. Sometimes on a dark night this
one eye would gleam luridly from out the shadowy recesses of the
garden, and an unearthly cry of "Hoo-oo-t," fall on the ear, enough
to give one the "creeps for a hour," as Mary, the housemaid, said.
But Joe loved Cyclops, or rather "Cloppy," as he called him; and the
bird hopped after Joe about the garden, as if he quite returned the
feeling.
All our own dogs, and two or three maimed ones, and a cat or two,
more or less hideous, and indebted to Joe's mercy in rescuing them
from traps, snares, etc.,--all these creatures were Joe's delight.
Each week the gardener's boy wrote a few words to Joe of their health
and wonderful doings, and each week Joe faithfully sent a shilling,
to be laid out in food for them. Then there was Joe's especial
garden, also a sort of hospital, or convalescent home rather, where
many blighted, unhealthy-looking plants and shrubs, discarded by the
gardener, and cast aside to be burnt on the weed-heap, had been
rescued by Joe, patiently nursed and petted as it were into life
again by constant care and watching, and, after being kept in pots a
while, till they showed, by sending forth some tiny shoot or bud,
that the sap of life was once more circulating freely, were then
planted in the sheltered corner he called "his own."
What treasures awaited him in this small square of earth. What
bunches of violets he would gather for the Missis; and his longing to
get back to his various pets, and his garden, was the topic of
conversation on many a long evening between Joe and Mrs. Wilson.
Little Bogie, the fox-terrier, was the only dog we had with us in
town, and Bogie hated London. After the quiet country life, the
incessant roll of carriages, tramping of horses, and callings of
coachmen, shrill cab-whistles, and all the noises of a fashionable
neighborhood at night during a London season, were most objectionable
to Bogie; he could not rest, and often Joe got out of bed in the
night, and took him in his arms, to prevent his waking all of us,
with his shrill barking at the unwonted sounds.