Her Benny: A Story of Street Life, Page 5

  CHAPTER V.

  "Oh, Death! what does thou mean?"

  To sleep! perchance to dream;--ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. --Hamlet

  We must now go back to the morning when Benny and his sister left theirhome, and pay one more visit to "Addler's Hall." Dick Bates got up inthe morning with a splitting headache, and, if the truth must be told,with an aching heart. His sleep had been disturbed by horrid dreams,the recollection of which haunted him still, and made him feel anythingbut comfortable. He had dreamt that he had been working near the docks,and in going close to the edge of one of them he saw his two childrenrise to the surface of the water clasped in each other's arms; and whilehe looked at them, they opened their glassy eyes and cast upon him onelingering, reproachful glance, then sank to the bottom again. Twiceduring the night had this dream been repeated, and when he awoke in themorning it was with a vague fear of impending evil. Dick Bates, likemany other hardened and cruel men, was at heart a great coward, besidesbeing very superstitious. He listened several times for any movementdownstairs, but all was still; and this only increased his alarm, for heknew his children were in the habit of stirring early, and he saw by thelight that the morning was far advanced.

  We may judge, therefore, of his alarm when, on coming downstairs, hefound the room empty, and he thought, with a terror in his heart thatmade the perspiration ooze from his forehead, that perhaps his childrenhad been driven by his cruelty to put an end to their existence.

  He tried to banish the thought as weak and childish, but he could not;his nerves were completely unstrung to-day, and he did not seem atall himself. When his wife came down he sent her into the neighbours'houses, and into Bowker's Row, to inquire if any one had seen them. Buteverywhere the same answer was given: no one had either seen them orheard them. His wife characterized his fears as "bosh," and declared "hewur wuss nor any owd woman. The brats'll turn up agin to-night, neverfear," she said; and Dick sincerely hoped in his heart that they woulddo so. He was too late to get any work that morning, so he spent mostof the forenoon in the house, brooding over his fears. And while he satthere on the low stool with his face buried in his hands, memories ofother and happier years crowded in upon his brain. His boyhood life inthe country seemed to him now, as he looked back at it through a longvista of years, like a happy dream. And he was glad that his old fatherand mother were dead, and did not know how low he had fallen.

  Then he thought of the morning when he had led his first young bride tochurch, and of the few short years of happiness that had followed. Heremembered, too, the promise he had made her on her dying bed--that hewould take care of the children, and meet her in heaven. Alas! how hehad belied those solemn words! He had not cared for his children, headmitted to himself with shame; but, on the contrary, he had cruellyneglected them, had behaved towards them as the veriest brute. And nowperhaps they were dead--driven to death by his cruelty.

  Then other thoughts took possession of him. "If they're dead," he said,"they are better off: what is there to live for? Better for 'em to dienow than to grow up to be like me an' Sall."

  Then he began to wonder what dying meant. "If I wur sartin," he said,"that there wur nowt arter death, I'd die too." And he got up and walkedabout the room; after awhile he sat down again, and buried his face inhis hands once more. "Mary used to say," he mused, "that bad people wentto a bad place an' was tormented for ever; but that if we was good, an'trusted in the Saviour, we should go to 'eaven an' be 'appy for ever.And poor owd father and mother used to say t' same. I remembers it verywell! Ah me, I've nearly forgot all sense o' it, though."

  And thus he mused hour after hour, heedless that his wife swore andraved that "the brats had eat all the butter, and walked off all thetaters."

  When, however, he was made to comprehend this fact, he became lessconcerned about his children, and a little before noon he started off insearch of work. But all the afternoon he was gloomy and depressed, andinstead of going to a public house, as was his wont when the day's workwas done, he set off home, much to the surprise of his mates, who grewwarm in a discussion as the evening advanced as to what "'ad a-comedover Dick Bates."

  From seven to nine he sat in his own desolate home alone, for his wifewas in no humour to keep him company, and every patter of feet in thecourt made him start and look eagerly towards the door, in the hope thathe would see it open, and his children enter; but the door did not open,and his children never came.

  "I wouldna a-minded so much," he said, "if I hadna a-wolloped poorlittle Nell;" and he vowed with a terrible oath that "he would treat 'embetter in t' future, if he ever had the chance."

  But when the clock in the steeple not far away struck nine, he startedup, muttering to himself, "I canna stand this: I wonder what's comed tome? If 't bairns would come home, I reckon I'd be all right." But thebairns did not come, and he started out to get a glass, to help him todrown remorse.

  His mates tried to rally him, but they had to confess that it was "nogo;" and when at eleven o'clock he left them at the corner of thestreet, and once more directed his steps towards Addler's Hall, theytouched their foreheads significantly to each other, and whispered it astheir opinion "that Dick Bates was a-goin' wrong in his noddle, and wasabove a bit luny."

  When he reached his home, he opened the door with a beating heart. Allwas silent, save the heavy breathing of his wife in the room above.He went to the dark corner where his children slept, and felt withhis hands; but the bed, such as it was, was empty, and with a groan heturned away and hid his face in his hands. And again his past life cameback to him more vividly than it had done for years.

  "I mun go an' look for 'em," he said. "I shall see 'em floating in oneo' the docks, as I did last night in my dream." And with a feelingof despair in his heart he wandered forth again into the now almostdeserted streets.

  As we have before stated, it was a clear frosty night; not a singlecloud obscured the myriad stars that glittered in the deep vaultof heaven. And as Dick Bates wandered under the light of the starsalong the long line of docks, no one would have believed that thisanxious-faced man was the brutal drunkard that only on the previousnight punished his unoffending children without mercy.

  Was it God that was working in his heart, bringing back to him thememories of other years, and awaking within him better thoughts? Whoshall say it was not?

  Still on he went, starting continually as he fancied he saw somethingwhite on the dark still water. "How nice it would be," he muttered, "tosleep for ever! to be free fra the worry an' trouble." But how could heknow that death was endless sleep? Might it not be, as his Mary said itwas, the beginning of a life that should never end? He was now near theboat under which his children lay. It was his footstep that startledthem just as they were dropping off to sleep. It was his voice thatmuttered the words, "O Death! what dost thou mean?"

  How near father and children had come to each other! but neither knew ofthe other's presence: then they drifted apart again, to meet no more onearth. There were only a few small vessels in the next dock, and all thelights were out.

  "There they be, sure enough," said Dick, as something white, floating onthe surface of the water, caught his eye, and he went close up to theedge of the dock, forgetful of the fact that the huge damp coping stoneshad, by the action of the frost, become as slippery as glass. He hadscarcely planted his foot on one of the huge stones when it slipped frombeneath him; a piercing shriek rang out on the startled air, followed bya plunge, a gurgling cry, and the cold water closed over him.

  A moment later a pale agonized face gleamed up from the dark water, ahurried prayer floated up on the cold frosty air, "Saviour of my Mary,save me!" then the water closed over him again. Two other times, atlonger intervals, Dick Bates' agonized and horror-stricken face appearedfor a moment on the surface; then the ruffled waters grew smooth, hidingin their dark bosom the dead body of Richard Bates, whos
e soul had beenso suddenly called to its account.

  The next day the dead body was dragged to the surface, and conveyedto the dead-house, where it was claimed by his wife. An inquest and afuneral followed, of which Benny and little Nell never knew. And itwas well, perhaps, they did not. The knowledge would have been pain tothe little waifs, and they had already as much trouble as their littlehearts knew how to bear.