The morning light was in no hurry to climb the prison wall and look in
at the Snuggery windows; and when it did come, it would have been more
welcome if it had come alone, instead of bringing a rush of rain with
it. But the equinoctial gales were blowing out at sea, and the impartial
south-west wind, in its flight, would not neglect even the narrow
Marshalsea.
While it roared through the steeple of St George's Church,
and twirled all the cowls in the neighbourhood, it made a swoop to beat
the Southwark smoke into the jail; and, plunging down the chimneys
of the few early collegians who were yet lighting their fires, half
suffocated them. Arthur Clennam would have been little disposed to
linger in bed, though his bed had been in a more private situation, and
less affected by the raking out of yesterday's fire, the kindling of
to-day's under the collegiate boiler, the filling of that Spartan vessel
at the pump, the sweeping and sawdusting of the common room, and other
such preparations. Heartily glad to see the morning, though little
rested by the night, he turned out as soon as he could distinguish
objects about him, and paced the yard for two heavy hours before the
gate was opened.
The walls were so near to one another, and the wild clouds hurried
over them so fast, that it gave him a sensation like the beginning of
sea-sickness to look up at the gusty sky. The rain, carried aslant by
flaws of wind, blackened that side of the central building which he had
visited last night, but left a narrow dry trough under the lee of the
wall, where he walked up and down among the waits of straw and dust
and paper, the waste droppings of the pump, and the stray leaves of
yesterday's greens. It was as haggard a view of life as a man need look
upon.
Nor was it relieved by any glimpse of the little creature who had
brought him there. Perhaps she glided out of her doorway and in at that
where her father lived, while his face was turned from both; but he saw
nothing of her. It was too early for her brother; to have seen him once,
was to have seen enough of him to know that he would be sluggish to
leave whatever frowsy bed he occupied at night; so, as Arthur Clennam
walked up and down, waiting for the gate to open, he cast about in
his mind for future rather than for present means of pursuing his
discoveries.
At last the lodge-gate turned, and the turnkey, standing on the step,
taking an early comb at his hair, was ready to let him out. With a
joyful sense of release he passed through the lodge, and found himself
again in the little outer court-yard where he had spoken to the brother
last night. There was a string of people already straggling in, whom it was not
difficult to identify as the nondescript messengers, go-betweens, and
errand-bearers of the place. Some of them had been lounging in the rain
until the gate should open; others, who had timed their arrival
with greater nicety, were coming up now, and passing in with damp
whitey-brown paper bags from the grocers, loaves of bread, lumps of
butter, eggs, milk, and the like. The shabbiness of these attendants
upon shabbiness, the poverty of these insolvent waiters upon insolvency,
was a sight to see.