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Everything About Fiction You Never Wanted to Know.
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===The Expedition===
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It was a cheerless morning when they got into the street; blowing
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and raining hard; and the clouds looking dull and stormy. The
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night had been very wet: large pools of water had collected in
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the road: and the kennels were overflowing. There was a faint
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glimmering of the coming day in the sky; but it rather aggravated
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than relieved the gloom of the scene: the sombre light only
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serving to pale that which the street lamps afforded, without
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shedding any warmer or brighter tints upon the wet house-tops,
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and dreary streets. There appeared to be nobody stirring in that
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quarter of the town; the windows of the houses were all closely
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shut; and the streets through which they passed, were noiseless
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and empty.
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By the time they had turned into the Bethnal Green Road, the day
<div id="content" class="mw-body" role="main">
had fairly begun to break. Many of the lamps were already
<a id="top"></a>
extinguished; a few country waggons were slowly toiling on,
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towards London; now and then, a stage-coach, covered with mud,
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rattled briskly by: the driver bestowing, as he passed, and
<h1 id="firstHeading" class="firstHeading" lang="en">Login required</h1> <div id="bodyContent" class="mw-body-content">
admonitory lash upon the heavy waggoner who, by keeping on the
<div id="contentSub"></div>
wrong side of the road, had endangered his arriving at the
<div id="jump-to-nav" class="mw-jump">
office, a quarter of a minute after his time. The public-houses,
Jump to: <a href="#mw-head">navigation</a>, <a href="#p-search">search</a>
with gas-lights burning inside, were already open. By degrees,
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other shops began to be unclosed, and a few scattered people were
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met with. Then, came straggling groups of labourers going to
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their work; then, men and women with fish-baskets on their heads;
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donkey-carts laden with vegetables; chaise-carts filled with
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live-stock or whole carcasses of meat; milk-women with pails; an
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unbroken concourse of people, trudging out with various supplies
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to the eastern suburbs of the town. As they approached the City,
<div id="mw-navigation">
the noise and traffic gradually increased; when they threaded the
<h2>Navigation menu</h2>
streets between Shoreditch and Smithfield, it had swelled into a
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roar of sound and bustle. It was as light as it was likely to
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be, till night came on again, and the busy morning of half the
<h3 id="p-personal-label">Personal tools</h3>
London population had begun.
<ul>

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Turning down Sun Street and Crown Street, and crossing Finsbury
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square, Mr. Sikes struck, by way of Chiswell Street, into
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Barbican: thence into Long Lane, and so into Smithfield; from
<div id="p-namespaces" role="navigation" class="vectorTabs" aria-labelledby="p-namespaces-label">
which latter place arose a tumult of discordant sounds that
<h3 id="p-namespaces-label">Namespaces</h3>
filled Oliver Twist with amazement.
<ul>

<li id="ca-nstab-special" class="selected"><span><a href="/w/index.php?action=raw&amp;title=Oliver+Twist%2FSource%2FChapter+21" title="This is a special page, and it cannot be edited">Special page</a></span></li> </ul>
It was market-morning. The ground was covered, nearly
</div>
ankle-deep, with filth and mire; a thick steam, perpetually
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rising from the reeking bodies of the cattle, and mingling with
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the fog, which seemed to rest upon the chimney-tops, hung heavily
<h3 id="p-variants-label">
above. All the pens in the centre of the large area, and as many
<span>Variants</span>
temporary pens as could be crowded into the vacant space, were
</h3>
filled with sheep; tied up to posts by the gutter side were long
<div class="menu">
lines of beasts and oxen, three or four deep. Countrymen,
<ul>
butchers, drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, idlers, and vagabonds
</ul>
of every low grade, were mingled together in a mass; the
</div>
whistling of drovers, the barking dogs, the bellowing and
</div>
plunging of the oxen, the bleating of sheep, the grunting and
</div>
squeaking of pigs, the cries of hawkers, the shouts, oaths, and
<div id="right-navigation">
quarrelling on all sides; the ringing of bells and roar of
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voices, that issued from every public-house; the crowding,
<h3 id="p-views-label">Views</h3>
pushing, driving, beating, whooping and yelling; the hideous and
<ul>
discordant dim that resounded from every corner of the market;
</ul>
and the unwashed, unshaven, squalid, and dirty figures constantly
</div>
running to and fro, and bursting in and out of the throng;
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rendered it a stunning and bewildering scene, which quite
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confounded the senses.
<h3 id="p-cactions-label"><span>More</span></h3>

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Mr. Sikes, dragging Oliver after him, elbowed his way through the
<ul>
thickest of the crowd, and bestowed very little attention on the
</ul>
numerous sights and sounds, which so astonished the boy. He
</div>
nodded, twice or thrice, to a passing friend; and, resisting as
</div>
many invitations to take a morning dram, pressed steadily onward,
<div id="p-search" role="search">
until they were clear of the turmoil, and had made their way
<h3>
through Hosier Lane into Holborn.
<label for="searchInput">Search</label>

</h3>
'Now, young 'un!' said Sikes, looking up at the clock of St.
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Andrew's Church, 'hard upon seven! you must step out. Come,
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don't lag behind already, Lazy-legs!'
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Mr. Sikes accompanied this speech with a jerk at his little
</div>
companion's wrist; Oliver, quickening his pace into a kind of
</div>
trot between a fast walk and a run, kept up with the rapid
</div>
strides of the house-breaker as well as he could.
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<div id="p-logo" role="banner"><a class="mw-wiki-logo" href="/wiki/Main_Page" title="Visit the main page"></a></div>
They held their course at this rate, until they had passed Hyde
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Park corner, and were on their way to Kensington: when Sikes
<h3 id="p-navigation-label">Navigation</h3>
relaxed his pace, until an empty cart which was at some little
<div class="body">
distance behind, came up. Seeing 'Hounslow' written on it, he
<ul>
asked the driver with as much civility as he could assume, if he
<li id="n-Home-Page"><a href="/wiki/Main_Page">Home Page</a></li><li id="n-ATT-Community-Portal"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:Community_Portal">ATT Community Portal</a></li><li id="n-recentchanges"><a href="/wiki/Special:RecentChanges" title="A list of recent changes in the wiki [r]" accesskey="r">Recent changes</a></li><li id="n-randompage"><a href="/wiki/Special:Random" title="Load a random page [x]" accesskey="x">Random page</a></li><li id="n-MediaWiki-Help"><a href="/wiki/Help:Contents">MediaWiki Help</a></li><li id="n-Upload-file"><a href="/wiki/Special:Upload">Upload file</a></li> </ul>
would give them a lift as far as Isleworth.
</div>

</div>
'Jump up,' said the man. 'Is that your boy?'
<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-Troper_Tools" aria-labelledby="p-Troper_Tools-label">

<h3 id="p-Troper_Tools-label">Troper Tools</h3>
'Yes; he's my boy,' replied Sikes, looking hard at Oliver, and
<div class="body">
putting his hand abstractedly into the pocket where the pistol
<ul>
was.
<li id="n-User-Blogs"><a href="/wiki/Special:ArticlesHome">User Blogs</a></li><li id="n-Newest-Blog-Posts"><a href="/wiki/Special:ArticleLists">Newest Blog Posts</a></li><li id="n-Write-a-Blog-Post"><a href="/wiki/Special:CreateBlogPost">Write a Blog Post</a></li><li id="n-Follow-Your-Friends"><a href="/wiki/Special:UserActivity">Follow Your Friends</a></li><li id="n-See-Friends.2FFoes"><a href="/wiki/Special:ViewRelationshipRequests">See Friends/Foes</a></li><li id="n-View-Your-Messages"><a href="/wiki/Special:UserBoard">View Your Messages</a></li><li id="n-See-Your-Gifts"><a href="/wiki/Special:ViewGifts">See Your Gifts</a></li><li id="n-Gift-a-Friend"><a href="/wiki/Special:GiveGift">Gift a Friend</a></li> </ul>

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'Your father walks rather too quick for you, don't he, my man?'
</div>
inquired the driver: seeing that Oliver was out of breath.
<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-Troping_Utilities" aria-labelledby="p-Troping_Utilities-label">

<h3 id="p-Troping_Utilities-label">Troping Utilities</h3>
'Not a bit of it,' replied Sikes, interposing. 'He's used to it.
<div class="body">

<ul>
Here, take hold of my hand, Ned. In with you!'
<li id="n-ATT-Page-Creator"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:ATT_Page_Creator">ATT Page Creator</a></li><li id="n-Trope-Workshop"><a href="/wiki/Category:Trope_Workshop">Trope Workshop</a></li><li id="n-ATT-Forums"><a href="/wiki/Special:WikiForum">ATT Forums</a></li><li id="n-ATT-Forums-.28old.29"><a href="/wiki/Forum:All_The_Tropes">ATT Forums (old)</a></li><li id="n-ATT-WebChat-.28IRC.29"><a href="/wiki/Special:WebChat">ATT WebChat (IRC)</a></li><li id="n-ATT-WebChat-.28onwiki.29"><a href="/wiki/Special:Chat">ATT WebChat (onwiki)</a></li><li id="n-Troper-Userboxes"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:Userboxes">Troper Userboxes</a></li><li id="n-Mechanics-of-Writing"><a href="/wiki/Mechanics_of_Writing">Mechanics of Writing</a></li> </ul>

</div>
Thus addressing Oliver, he helped him into the cart; and the
</div>
driver, pointing to a heap of sacks, told him to lie down there,
<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-Troper_Social_Networks" aria-labelledby="p-Troper_Social_Networks-label">
and rest himself.
<h3 id="p-Troper_Social_Networks-label">Troper Social Networks</h3>

<div class="body">
As they passed the different mile-stones, Oliver wondered, more
<ul>
and more, where his companion meant to take him. Kensington,
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Hammersmith, Chiswick, Kew Bridge, Brentford, were all passed;
</div>
and yet they went on as steadily as if they had only just begun
</div>
their journey. At length, they came to a public-house called the
<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-tb" aria-labelledby="p-tb-label">
Coach and Horses; a little way beyond which, another road
<h3 id="p-tb-label">Tools</h3>
appeared to run off. And here, the cart stopped.
<div class="body">

<ul>
Sikes dismounted with great precipitation, holding Oliver by the
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hand all the while; and lifting him down directly, bestowed a
</div>
furious look upon him, and rapped the side-pocket with his fist,
</div>
in a significant manner.
</div>

</div>
'Good-bye, boy,' said the man.
<div id="footer" role="contentinfo">

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'He's sulky,' replied Sikes, giving him a shake; 'he's sulky. A
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young dog! Don't mind him.'
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'Not I!' rejoined the other, getting into his cart. 'It's a fine
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day, after all.' And he drove away.
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</ul>
Sikes waited until he had fairly gone; and then, telling Oliver
<ul id="footer-icons" class="noprint">
he might look about him if he wanted, once again led him onward
<li id="footer-copyrightico">
on his journey.
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They turned round to the left, a short way past the public-house;
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and then, taking a right-hand road, walked on for a long time:
</ul>
passing many large gardens and gentlemen's houses on both sides
<div style="clear: both;"></div>
of the way, and stopping for nothing but a little beer, until
</div>
they reached a town. Here against the wall of a house, Oliver
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saw written up in pretty large letters, 'Hampton.' They lingered
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into the town; and, turning into an old public-house with a
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defaced sign-board, ordered some dinner by the kitchen fire.
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They had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so long after it,
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while Mr. Sikes indulged himself with three or four pipes, that
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Oliver began to feel quite certain they were not going any
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further. Being much tired with the walk, and getting up so
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fatigue and the fumes of the tobacco, fell asleep.
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It was quite dark when he was awakened by a push from Sikes.
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Rousing himself sufficiently to sit up and look about him, he
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found that worthy in close fellowship and communication with a
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labouring man, over a pint of ale.
</html>

'So, you're going on to Lower Halliford, are you?' inquired
Sikes.

'Yes, I am,' replied the man, who seemed a little the worse--or
better, as the case might be--for drinking; 'and not slow about
it neither. My horse hasn't got a load behind him going back, as
he had coming up in the mornin'; and he won't be long a-doing of
it. Here's luck to him. Ecod! he's a good 'un!'

'Could you give my boy and me a lift as far as there?' demanded
Sikes, pushing the ale towards his new friend.

'If you're going directly, I can,' replied the man, looking out
of the pot. 'Are you going to Halliford?'

'Going on to Shepperton,' replied Sikes.

'I'm your man, as far as I go,' replied the other. 'Is all paid,
Becky?'

'Yes, the other gentleman's paid,' replied the girl.

'I say!' said the man, with tipsy gravity; 'that won't do, you
know.'

'Why not?' rejoined Sikes. 'You're a-going to accommodate us,
and wot's to prevent my standing treat for a pint or so, in
return?'

The stranger reflected upon this argument, with a very profound
face; having done so, he seized Sikes by the hand: and declared
he was a real good fellow. To which Mr. Sikes replied, he was
joking; as, if he had been sober, there would have been strong
reason to suppose he was.

After the exchange of a few more compliments, they bade the
company good-night, and went out; the girl gathering up the pots
and glasses as they did so, and lounging out to the door, with
her hands full, to see the party start.

The horse, whose health had been drunk in his absence, was
standing outside: ready harnessed to the cart. Oliver and Sikes
got in without any further ceremony; and the man to whom he
belonged, having lingered for a minute or two 'to bear him up,'
and to defy the hostler and the world to produce his equal,
mounted also. Then, the hostler was told to give the horse his
head; and, his head being given him, he made a very unpleasant
use of it: tossing it into the air with great disdain, and
running into the parlour windows over the way; after performing
those feats, and supporting himself for a short time on his
hind-legs, he started off at great speed, and rattled out of the
town right gallantly.

The night was very dark. A damp mist rose from the river, and
the marshy ground about; and spread itself over the dreary
fields. It was piercing cold, too; all was gloomy and black.
Not a word was spoken; for the driver had grown sleepy; and Sikes
was in no mood to lead him into conversation. Oliver sat huddled
together, in a corner of the cart; bewildered with alarm and
apprehension; and figuring strange objects in the gaunt trees,
whose branches waved grimly to and fro, as if in some fantastic
joy at the desolation of the scene.

As they passed Sunbury Church, the clock struck seven. There was
a light in the ferry-house window opposite: which streamed
across the road, and threw into more sombre shadow a dark
yew-tree with graves beneath it. There was a dull sound of
falling water not far off; and the leaves of the old tree stirred
gently in the night wind. It seemed like quiet music for the
repose of the dead.

Sunbury was passed through, and they came again into the lonely
road. Two or three miles more, and the cart stopped. Sikes
alighted, took Oliver by the hand, and they once again walked on.

They turned into no house at Shepperton, as the weary boy had
expected; but still kept walking on, in mud and darkness, through
gloomy lanes and over cold open wastes, until they came within
sight of the lights of a town at no great distance. On looking
intently forward, Oliver saw that the water was just below them,
and that they were coming to the foot of a bridge.

Sikes kept straight on, until they were close upon the bridge;
then turned suddenly down a bank upon the left.

'The water!' thought Oliver, turning sick with fear. 'He has
brought me to this lonely place to murder me!'

He was about to throw himself on the ground, and make one
struggle for his young life, when he saw that they stood before a
solitary house: all ruinous and decayed. There was a window on
each side of the dilapidated entrance; and one story above; but
no light was visible. The house was dark, dismantled: and the
all appearance, uninhabited.

Sikes, with Oliver's hand still in his, softly approached the low
porch, and raised the latch. The door yielded to the pressure,
and they passed in together.


[[Category:Source]]
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Revision as of 01:46, 26 October 2018

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