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My father?s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian
name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names
nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called
myself Pip, a nd came to be called Pip.
I give Pirrip as my father?s fami ly name, on the
authority of his tomb stone and my sister - Mrs. Joe
Gargery, who married th e blacksmi th. As I never saw my
father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either
of them (for their days were long before the days of
photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were
like, were unreasonabl y derive d from their tombstones.
The shape of the letters on my father?s, gave me an odd
idea that he was a square, stout, d ark man, w ith curly
black hair. F rom the cha racter and turn of the inscription,
?Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,? I drew a childish
conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To
five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long,
which were arranged in a neat row beside their g rave, and
were sacred to the memory of fi ve little brothers of mine -
who gave u p trying to get a living, exceedingl y early in
that universal struggle - I am indebted for a belief I
religiously entertained that they had all been born on their
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backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had
never taken them out in this state of existence.
Ours was the marsh country, down by the river,
within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My
first most vi vid and bro ad impressio n of the id entity of
things, seems to me to h ave been gained on a memorable
raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found
out for certain, that this bleak place overgrown with
nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of
this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above, were
dead and buried; and that Alex ander, Bartholomew,
Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, in fant childre n of the
aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat
wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dykes
and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it,
was the marshes; and tha t th e low leaden line beyond, was
the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the
wind was rushing, was the sea; and that the small bundle
of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was
Pip.
?Hold your noise!? cried a terrible voice, as a man
started up fr om among the graves at the side of the church
porch. ?Keep still, you little devil, or I?ll cut your throat!?
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A fearful man, all in coarse grey, wit h a great iro n on
his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and
with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been
soaked in water, and smothered i n mud, and lamed by
stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by
briars; who l imped, and shivered, and glared and growled;
and whose teeth chattered in hi s head as he seized me by
the chin.
?O! Don?t cut my throat, sir,? I pleaded in terror. ?Pray
don?t do it, sir.?
?Tell us your name!? said the man. ?Quick!?
?Pip, sir.?
?Once more,? said the man, staring at me. ?Give it
mouth!?
?Pip. Pip, sir.?
?Show us where you live,? sa id the man. ?Pint out the
place!?
I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore
among the alder-trees and polla rds, a mile or more from
the church.
The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me
upside down, and emptied my pockets. There was nothing
in them but a piece of bread. When the church came to
itself - for h e was so sud den and stro ng that he made it go
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head over h eels before me, and I saw the steeple under my
feet - when the ch urch came to itself, I say, I was seated
on a high tombstone, trembling, while he ate the bread
ravenously.
?You young dog,? said the man, licking his lips, ?what
fat cheeks you ha? got.?
I believe they were fat, t hough I was at that time
undersized for my years, and not strong.
?Darn me if I couldn?t ea t em,? sai d the man, with a
threatening shake of his head, ?and if I han?t half a mind
to?t!?
I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn?t, and
held tighter to the to mbstone on which he had put me;
partly, to keep myself upon it; partly, to keep myself from
crying.
?Now lookee here!? said the man. ?Where?s your
mother??
?There, sir!? said I.
He started, made a shor t run, and stopped and looked
over his shoulder.
?There, sir!? I timidly explained. ?Also Georgiana.
That? s my mother.?
?Oh!? said he, coming back. ?And is that your father
alonger your mother??
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?Yes, sir,? said I; ?him too; late of this parish.?
?Ha!? he muttered then, considering. ?Who d?ye live
with - supp osin? you?re kindly let to live, which I han? t
made up my mind about??
?My sister, sir - Mrs. Joe Gargery - w ife of Joe Gargery,
the blacksmi th, sir.?
?Blacksmith, eh?? said he. And looked down at his leg.
After darkly looking at his leg and m e several times, he
came clo ser to my tomb stone, took me by both arms, and
tilted me back as far as he could hold me; so that his eyes
looked most powerfully down into mine, and mine
looked most helplessly u p into his.
?Now lookee here,? he sa id, ?the question being
whether you ?re to be let to live. You know what a file is??
?Yes, sir.?
?And you know what wittles is??
?Yes, sir.?
After each question he ti lted me over a little more, so
as to give me a greater sense of helplessness and danger.
?You get me a file.? He tilted me again. ?And y ou get
me wittles.? He til ted me again. ? You bring ?em both to
me.? He tilted me again. ?Or I?ll have your h eart and liver
out.? He tilted me again.
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I was dreadfully frightened, and so gi ddy that I cl ung to
him with both hands, and said, ?If you would kindly please
to let me keep upright, sir, perhaps I shouldn?t be sick, and
perhaps I could attend more.?
He gave me a most tremend ous dip and roll, so that the
church jumped over its own weather-cock. The n, he held
me by the a rms, in an u pright positi on on the top of the
stone, and went on in these fearful terms:
?You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that fi le and
them wittles. You bring the lot to me, at that old Battery
over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word
or dare to make a sign co ncern ing your having seen such a
person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let
to live. Yo u fail, or you go from my words in any
partickler, no matter how small it i s, and your heart and
your liver s hall be tore out, roasted and ate. Now, I ain?t
alone, as you may think I am. There?s a young man hid
with me, in comparison with which young man I am a
Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That
young man has a secr et way pecooliar to hi mself, of
getting at a boy, and at his heart, and at his liver. It is in
wain for a b oy to attempt to hide hi mself from that young
man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may
tuck hi mself up, may dr aw the clo thes over his h ead, may
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think himself comfortabl e and safe, but that young man
will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him
open. I am a-keeping that y oung man from harming of
you at the p resent moment, with gr eat difficul ty. I find it
wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside.
Now, what do you say??
I said that I would get him the file, and I would get
him what broken bits of food I coul d, and I would come
to him at the Battery, early in the m orning.
?Say Lord strike you dead if you don?t!? said the man.
I said so, and he took me down.
?Now,? he pursued, ?you remember what you?ve
undertook, and you remember that young man, and you
get home!?
?Goo-good night, sir,? I faltered.
?Much of that!? said he, gl ancing about hi m over the
cold wet flat. ?I wish I was a frog. Or a eel!?
At the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in
both hi s ar ms - cla sping himself, as if to h old himself
together - a nd limped towards the low church wall. As I
saw him go, picking his way among the ne ttles, and
among the brambles that bo und the green mounds, he
looked in my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands
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of the dead people, stretching up cautiously out of their
graves, to get a twist upon his ankle and pull him in.
When he came to the low church wall, he got over it,
like a man whose legs were numbed and stiff, and then
turned round to look for me. When I saw him turning, I
set my face towards ho me, and made the best use of my
legs. But presently I lo oked over my shoulder, and saw
him going on again towa rds the river, still huggin g himself
in both arms, and picking his way with his sore feet
among the great stones dropped into the marshes here and
there, for stepping-places when the rains were heavy, or
the tide was in.
The marshes were just a long black horizontal line
then, as I stopped to look after him; and the river was just
another horizontal line, not nearly so broad nor yet so
black; and the sky was just a ro w of long angry red lines
and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the river
I could fai ntly make out the only two black things in all
the prospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of
these was the beacon by whic h the sailors steered - like an
unhooped cask upon a pole - an ugly thing w hen you
were near it; the other a g ibbet, with some chains hanging
to it which had once held a pirate. The man was limping
on towards this latter, as if he were t he pirate come to life,
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and come down, and going back to hook himself up
again. It gav e me a terrible turn when I thought so; and as
I saw the cattle lifting their heads to gaze afte r him, I
wondered w hether they thought so too. I looked all round
for the horrible young man, and coul d see no signs of him.
But, now I was frightened again, and ran home without
stopping.
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