Читать книгу Большие надежды. Уровень 2 / Great Expectations - Чарльз Диккенс, Geoffrey Palmer, Miriam Margolyes - Страница 6

The sergeant and I were in the kitchen when Mrs. Joe stared at us.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,” said the sergeant, “but I am on a chase in the name of the king, and I want the blacksmith.”

“And why do you want him?” retorted my sister.

“Missis,” returned the gallant sergeant, “a little job. You see, blacksmith, we had an accident with handcuffs. The lock of one of them goes wrong, it doesn’t act pretty. We need immediate service, will you look at them?”

Joe looked at them and said,

“The job will take two hours.”

“Will you give me the time?” said the sergeant to Mr. Pumblechook.

“It’s just half past two.”

“That’s not so bad,” said the sergeant. “How far are the marshes? Not above a mile, I reckon?”

“Just a mile,” said Mrs. Joe.

“Convicts, sergeant?” asked Mr. Wopsle.

“Ay!” returned the sergeant, “two. They are out on the marshes, and we are going to catch them.”

At last, Joe’s job was finished. Joe got on his coat, and offered us to go down with the soldiers. Mr. Pumblechook and Mr. Hubble declined; but Mr. Wopsle was ready to go with Joe. Joe wanted to take me. What will say Mrs. Joe? Mrs. Joe said,

“If you bring the boy back with his head crushed, don’t ask me to put it together again.”

Soon we were all out in the raw air. We were steadily moving towards the marshs, and I whispered to Joe,

“I hope, Joe, we shan’t find them.”

Joe whispered to me,

“I hope too, Pip.”

The weather was cold and threatening, the way was dreary. The people had good fires and were celebtaring the day. A few faces looked after us from the windows, but none came out. We passed the finger-post, and held straight on to the churchyard. There we were stopped by a signal from the sergeant’s hand. Two or three of his men dispersed themselves among the graves, and examined the porch. They did not find anything. Joe took me on his back.

I looked all about for any sign of the convicts. Finally, I saw them both. The soldiers stopped.

After that they began to run. After a while, we heard a voice “Murder!” and another voice, “Convicts! Runaways! Guard! This way!” The soldiers ran like deer, and Joe too.

“Here are both men!” panted the sergeant. “Surrender, you two!”

Water was splashing, and mud was flying.

“Mind that!” said my convict. He wiped blood from his face with his ragged sleeves: “I took him! I give him up to you! Mind that!”

The other was bruised and torn all over.

“Take notice, guard – he tried to murder me,” were his first words.

“Tried to murder him?” said my convict, disdainfully. “Try, and not do it? I took him; that’s all, I dragged him here. He’s a gentleman, if you please, this villain. Now, the Hulks has got its gentleman again, through me!”

The other one still gasped,

“He tried – he tried to – murder me.”

“Look here!” said my convict to the sergeant. “I tried to kill him? No, no, no.”

The other fugitive, who was evidently in extreme horror of his companion, repeated,

“He tried to murder me!”

“He lies!” said my convict, with fierce energy. “He’s a liar, and he’ll die a liar. Look at his face. Do you see him? Do you see what a villain he is?”

“Enough,” said the sergeant. “Light those torches. All right. March.”

My convict never looked at me, except that once. He turned to the sergeant, and remarked,

“I wish to say something.”

“You can say what you like,” returned the sergeant, “but you’ll have opportunity enough to say about it, and hear about it, you know.”

“A man can’t starve; at least I can’t. I took some food, at the village over there[15].”

“You mean stole,” said the sergeant.

“And I’ll tell you where from. From the blacksmith’s.”

“Halloa!” said the sergeant, staring at Joe.

“Halloa, Pip!” said Joe, staring at me.

“It was some food – that’s what it was – and liquor, and a pie.”

“Do you miss a pie, blacksmith?” asked the sergeant, confidentially.

“My wife does, at the very moment when you came in. Don’t you know, Pip?”

“So,” said my convict, without the least glance at me, “so you’re the blacksmith, are you? I’m sorry. I ate your pie.”

“You’re welcome,” returned Joe, “we don’t know what you did before, but you must not starve, poor miserable fellow. Right, Pip?”

Something clicked in the man’s throat, and he turned his back.

I did not want to lose Joe’s confidence. I was staring drearily at my companion and friend. I was too cowardly to tell Joe the truth. As I was sleepy, Joe took me on his back again and carried me home.