My father's family name was Pirrip, and my own first name was Philip. But all my young tongue could say of these names was "Pip." So that is what I called myself—Pip.
I never saw my father or mother or any pictures of them, for they lived before the days of photographs. I lived with my sister, who was more than twenty years older than I. My first vivid impression of things was gained one memorable late afternoon in the churchyard. At that time I understood that my father and mother were dead, as were my five little brothers. Alone in this bleak place overgrown with nettles, I shivered with fear and began to cry.
"Stop your noise!" cried a terrible voice as a man rose up from among the graves. "Keep still or I'll cut your throat!" He was a frightening man dressed all in gray with an iron on his leg like prisoners wore.
"Oh! Don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror.
"Tell me your name! Quick!"
"Pip, sir."
"Show me where you live. Point out the place."
We lived in the marsh country down by the river, twenty miles from the sea. I pointed to the flat lands, where our village lay a mile or more from the church. After looking at me for a moment, the man turned me upside down and emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When I was right-side up again, I was seated on a high tombstone, trembling, while he ate the bread ravenously.
"Where's your mother?" asked the man.
"There, sir!" I pointed to her tombstone.
"And is that your father alongside her?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who do you live with—supposing you're allowed to live, which I haven't made up my mind about?"
"My sister, sir. Mrs. Joe Gargery, wife of Joe Gargery the blacksmith."
"Blacksmith, eh?" And he looked down at his leg. "Do you know what a file is?"
"Yes, sir," I said as the man tilted me back as far as he could to frighten me.
"You get me a file." He tilted me again. "And you get me food." He tilted me yet again. "You bring them both to me, or I'll rip your heart and liver out."
I was so frightened that I clung to him with both hands. "If you would kindly please keep me upright, sir, perhaps I wouldn't be sick and perhaps I could pay more attention."
He gave me a tremendous dip and roll. "You bring me all that tomorrow morning. You do that and don't say a word to anyone that you've seen a person such as me, and you shall be allowed to live. You fail and your heart and liver shall be torn out and eaten."
"Now I'm not alone. There's a young man who hid with me, and in comparison with him, I am an angel. It is with great difficulty that I am keeping that young man from harming you. Now what do you say?"
I said I would get him the file and what bits of food I could. "Good . . . good night, sir," I faltered.
I watched as he limped away toward the low wall around the church. When I saw him turning to look at me, I ran as fast as I could toward home. But soon I looked over my shoulder. The marshes were just a long, black, horizontal line then. On the edge of the river, I could make out two things. One of these was the beacon by which the sailors steered, the other a gallows that had once held a pirate. The convict was limping toward the gallows as if he were the pirate come to life. Now I was frightened again and ran home without stopping.
Joe's forge, where he did his blacksmith work, was attached to our house. When I arrived home, the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting alone in the kitchen.
"Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times looking for you, Pip. And she's out now."
"Is she?"
"Yes, Pip, and what's worse, she's got Tickler with her."
Tickler was a piece of cane that my sister used to hit me. "Here she comes!" said Joe. "Hide behind the door."
My sister threw open the door and, finding an obstruction behind it, pulled me out and used Tickler on me. "Where have you been, you young monkey?"
"I've been to the churchyard."
"If it weren't for me, you'd have been to the churchyard long ago and stayed there. Who brought you up?"
"You did." I cried as I sat down on my stool by the fire.
"That's right, and I'd never do it again. It's bad enough to be a blacksmith's wife without being your mother."
She put Tickler away. Then she set to work making our tea and slicing and buttering bread for Joe and me. Although I was hungry, I dared not eat my slice. I had to save something for my dreadful acquaintance and his young friend, so I resolved to put my hunk of bread and butter down the leg of my trousers. Later I managed to slip away and deposit the food in my bedroom upstairs.
It was Christmas Eve, and for an hour I had to stir the pudding for the next day. Afterward I sat near the fire, taking a final warming before going to bed. A booming sound came from over the marshes.
"Hark! What is that, Joe?" I asked.
"A convict escaped last night, and they fired a warning. And now it appears they're firing warning of another."
"Who's firing?"
"Drat that boy," said my sister, looking up from her needlework and frowning at me. "What a questioner he is. The firing comes from the prison ships across the marshes."
"I wonder who's put into prison ships and why they're put there?" I said.
This was too much for my sister, who rapped me on the head with her thimble. "I didn't bring you up to bother everyone with questions. People are put in prison ships because they murder or rob or do all sorts of bad things. And they always begin by asking questions. Now go to bed!"
I was never allowed a candle to light my way to bed. As I went upstairs in the dark, I thought how conveniently close the prison ships were for me because I was clearly on my way there. I had begun by asking questions, and now, because of the convict, I was going to rob Mrs. Joe.
At the first light of day, I crept downstairs to the pantry. I stole some bread, some cheese, half a jar of mincemeat, some brandy, a bone with very little meat on it, and a beautiful pork pie.
There was a door in the kitchen that led to Joe's forge. I unlocked it and got a file from among Joe's tools. Then I ran for the misty marshes.