Chapter 1 Christmas Eve I was born Philip Pirip.
As a little boy I found it hard to say my name, so I became Pip and I've been called that ever since.
My mother, father, and five brothers all died when I was very young.
On a day like today, when I'm sitting by their tombstones, I imagine my mother with freckles and my father with curly black hair.
Being an orphan would have been worse had I not lived with my sister, Mrs Jo Gargery.
She was twenty years older than me and married to a blacksmith.
Our house was next to the forge where Jo kept a great fire, going to work with his metal at any time of day.
It was Christmas Eve.
A cold breeze rushed over the marsh and the sea crashed in the distance.
My teeth chattered.
My body shivered.
I missed my parents.
Alone by their graves in the churchyard, the sounds of the wind and water scared me.
I sat down and started to cry.
Be quiet, the man shouted.
Stay still or you'll be sorry.
I looked up to find a scary-looking man.
He wore rough gray pants and an old rag for a hat.
A giant prison cuff was wrapped around his leg.
Wet, muddy, and limping, he glared at me.
P-please don't hurt me, I begged.
What's your name?
Quickly!
Pip?
Point to where you live!
I had just lifted my arm when suddenly the world was upside down.
The man had me by the heels and shook me hard.
A piece of bread was dropped to the ground from my pocket.
Moments later, the church was right side up again.
Where are your parents?
He licked his lips.
There and there.
I tipped my head to either side as I held tight to a tombstone.
Where do you live if your parents are buried there?
He stepped forward, grabbed me by the shoulders, and tilted me backward.
My sister, sir, and her husband, the blacksmith, Joe Gargery.
A glint came into his eye.
The next question is whether or not I'm going to hurt you.
His fingers gripped my arms tightly.
You know what a file is, right?
I nodded.
You know what food is, right?
I nodded again.
You're going to get me a file and you're going to get me some food and you'll bring them both to me at the old shipyard tomorrow morning, or else.
He released me from his grip.
You'll remember every bit of this conversation, right?
Yes, sir.
Good, he said as he walked away.
Now, get going.
Too afraid to move, I watched as he limped toward the church wall.
Just before he crawled over, he looked back.
One glance from him sent me running home as fast as I could.
Joe was sitting alone in the kitchen when I returned, his blacksmith shop closed for the night.
He said as sweet and as calm as ever, Your sister's out looking for you.
She's been and gone a dozen times and has worked up a temper.
My sister burst into the room then, screaming.
Where have you been, you rascal?
I said, the churchyard.
I walked by there twice, and I didn't see you.
She didn't wait for an answer.
You might as well have stayed there for all the time I've wasted looking for you.
Sit in the corner while I make dinner.
My stomach growled with hunger, but I didn't dare eat the slice of bread she gave me for dinner.
I had to save food for the man.
When my sister wasn't looking, I quickly put the bread down my pant leg.
When Joe saw it was gone, he made a face.
My sister said, What on earth is the matter now?
Why do you look so funny?
You can't have chewed that bread, Pip, Joe said.
Have you been eating too fast again?
She pulled me up by the ear.
Sure as I have two feet, your stomach will ache.
You're taking some medicine.
A spoon was forced into my mouth.
I swallowed the foul mixture.
My tummy hurt instantly.
She said, With that down you, it's time to stir the Christmas pudding.
Come over here.
May I take my coat upstairs first, Mrs. Joe?
I asked.
If you must, my sister said.
But Hurry!
A cold wind crept up behind me as I slipped upstairs to my attic bedroom.
Its howling sound reminded me of the stranger's voice.
I tried to put his threats out of my mind as I hid the bread.
I didn't waste any time getting back downstairs.
Picking up the big copper spoon, I stirred the pudding.
After about an hour, I joined my sister and Joe in the living room.
Warm up by the fire, she ordered, and then get up to bed.
Huge sounds like thunder echoed through the house.
Do you hear those guns, Joe?
I asked.
He replied, It's got to be an escaped convict.
What's that?
Mrs. Joe answered, You know what it means to escape, you ninny.
You do it every day.
I whispered to Joe, Escaped from where?
The convict escaped from the prison ships a couple days ago.
Joe said.
They shot at him.
Another one's trying the same.
Who shot?
I asked.
Trat boy, my sister said.
Ask no questions and you'll be told no lies.
I asked.
Please, sister, who's been shooting?
If you must know, it's the guards on the prison ships, she frowned.
My sister did not like it when I interrupted her needlework, but I had to know.
What's A prison ship.
The last question was too much for her.
She stood up in a fury and said, I'll tell you what, young mister.
I didn't bring you up to bother people with endless questions.
People are imprisoned because they murder and rob.
All kinds of terrible behavior now.
Get to bed.
But, she screamed, bed!
Step by step, my only thought was how I'd end up on a prison ship.
The piece of bread hidden away in my room was stolen property.
I'd taken it from my sister, who would punish me if she ever knew what I was about to do.
My dreams were haunted by marshes and dark prison ships.
As soon as it was light outside, I crawled out of bed.
With last night's dinner tucked away, I snuck into the kitchen to grab more bread and some cheese.
I filled up the spare jug with my sister's Christmas punch and poured whatever was on the counter back into the bowl.
I grabbed a pork pie, too, and a bone with a bit of meat still on it.
With everything tied up in my pocket handkerchief, I unlocked the door to the forge.
The file was easy to find among Joe's tools.
Minutes later, I was outside in the foggy morning, running for the misty marshes.
I just about ran head first into a cow before I stumbled down into a ditch and had to climb back out.
At last, I spotted the man sleeping on a mound.
I scrambled over and touched him gently on the shoulder.
The man jumped up immediately.
He was dressed the same, but this man wasn't the one from the graveyard.
The stranger swung a punch and fell forward.
I cried out and ran fast in the direction of the old shipyard, where I found the right man waiting for me.
He grabbed my bundle, then said gruffly, What's in the bottle, boy?
Something to drink?
I caught my breath as he slurped and wolfed down the food.
You swear you brought no one with you?
No, sir, absolutely not.
Told no one where I am.
No.
It's a good thing I believe you.
He wiped his mouth on his filthy sleeve.
Did you hear the guns last night?
I asked.
Did you see the other man?
Indeed, I heard the shots.
Wait, what other man?
He said.
I saw another convict, like you, I said.
Where?
Over there.
I pointed my shaking finger.
I'll get him, my convict muttered.
Hand me that file.
The man sat down and worked away at the cuff on his leg.
The sight of him frightened me almost as much as the thought of my sister finding me out of the house on Christmas morning.
Without even saying good day, I ran away.
The last sound I heard was the file sawing away at the metal.
I fully expected the police to be in the kitchen waiting for me when I got home.
No one was there but Mrs. Joe.
She was getting everything ready for the holiday meal night this morning.
Good grief, pip.
Where on earth have you been, she demanded.
I lied i've been to church to hear the carols.
She said if i wasn't so busy being a blacksmith's wife i'd have time for the carols.
Joe came into the kitchen as my sister shouted you're not getting breakfast.
I've got too much cooking to do for tonight's meal.
She stood with the broom in hand and said to me You'd best make your way back to the church to do your duty for this family.
By the time we arrived home from church, the front door was open and waiting for company.
The table was set for Christmas dinner.
It looked festive and lovely.
My sister had invited Mr. and Mrs. Hubble, Mr. Wapsle, and Joe's Uncle Pumblechook for dinner.
As I opened the door to each of the guests, I was greeted by a cheerful, Happy Christmas!
Mrs. Joe was in a very good mood.
She talked and laughed as we all sat down to eat.
I was cramped into the smallest corner of the table.
Uncle Pumblechook's elbow was my closest companion.
Mr. Wopsle, our church clerk, said grace.
His dramatic speech lasted forever and ended with him saying On a day like today, there can be no other thought than being grateful for what one has.
Indeed, echoed Pumblechook, especially to those giving you a home.
He cleared his throat.
Pip.
My sister squinted and whispered, Do you hear that, Pip?
I kept quiet.
Mrs. Hubble said, Why is it that the young are never grateful?
Mr. Hubble replied, It must be natural wickedness.
Joe's kindness came in the form of extra gravy for me during dinner.
The more they talked about poor manners and ungrateful children, the more he poured onto my already filled plate.
I think, Uncle said, I should like a drink.
My sister stood up and went into the pantry.
When she came back into the room, she said, What on earth has happened to the second pork pie?
My stomach dropped when I saw she was carrying the punch bowl I had refilled with who knows what.
As I watched her poor uncle aglass, my heart might actually have stopped.
Pumblechook choked and spluttered on his first sip.
I could stand it no longer.
I stood up from the table, shouted, and ran for my life.
I got as far as the front door when I ran headfirst into a group of soldiers.
One held out a pair of handcuffs and said to me, Here you are.
Look sharp.
Come on.
Let's go.
