A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)<\/p>\n
by Charles Dickens<\/p>\n
(OCF editing – Part 17)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they<\/strong><\/p>\n stood upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses<\/strong><\/p>\n of rude stone were cast about, as though it were the burial-place<\/strong><\/p>\n of giants; and water spread itself wheresoever it listed,<\/strong><\/p>\n or would have done so, but for the frost that held it prisoner;<\/strong><\/p>\n and nothing grew but moss and furze, and coarse rank grass.<\/strong><\/p>\n Down in the west the setting sun had left a streak of fiery<\/strong><\/p>\n red, which glared upon the desolation for an instant, like a<\/strong><\/p>\n sullen eye, and frowning lower, lower, lower yet, was lost in<\/strong><\/p>\n the thick gloom of darkest night.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “What place is this?” asked Scrooge.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “A place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of<\/strong><\/p>\n the earth,” returned the Spirit. “But they know me. See!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n A light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly they<\/strong><\/p>\n advanced towards it. Passing through the wall of mud and<\/strong><\/p>\n stone, they found a cheerful company assembled round a<\/strong><\/p>\n glowing fire. An old, old man and woman, with their<\/strong><\/p>\n children and their children’s children, and another generation<\/strong><\/p>\n beyond that, all decked out gaily in their holiday attire.<\/strong><\/p>\n The old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling<\/strong><\/p>\n of the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a<\/strong><\/p>\n Christmas song–it had been a very old song when he was a<\/strong><\/p>\n boy–and from time to time they all joined in the chorus.<\/strong><\/p>\n So surely as they raised their voices, the old man got quite<\/strong><\/p>\n blithe and loud; and so surely as they stopped, his vigour<\/strong><\/p>\n sank again.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade Scrooge hold his<\/strong><\/p>\n robe, and passing on above the moor, sped–whither? Not<\/strong><\/p>\n to sea? To sea. To Scrooge’s horror, looking back, he saw<\/strong><\/p>\n the last of the land, a frightful range of rocks, behind them;<\/strong><\/p>\n and his ears were deafened by the thundering of water, as it<\/strong><\/p>\n rolled and roared, and raged among the dreadful caverns it<\/strong><\/p>\n had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine the earth.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some league<\/strong><\/p>\n or so from shore, on which the waters chafed and dashed,<\/strong><\/p>\n the wild year through, there stood a solitary lighthouse.<\/strong><\/p>\n Great heaps of sea-weed clung to its base, and storm-birds<\/strong><\/p>\n –born of the wind one might suppose, as sea-weed of the<\/strong><\/p>\n water–rose and fell about it, like the waves they skimmed.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n But even here, two men who watched the light had made<\/strong><\/p>\n a fire, that through the loophole in the thick stone wall shed<\/strong><\/p>\n out a ray of brightness on the awful sea. Joining their<\/strong><\/p>\n horny hands over the rough table at which they sat, they<\/strong><\/p>\n wished each other Merry Christmas in their can of grog; and<\/strong><\/p>\n one of them: the elder, too, with his face all damaged and<\/strong><\/p>\n scarred with hard weather, as the figure-head of an old ship<\/strong><\/p>\n might be: struck up a sturdy song that was like a Gale in<\/strong><\/p>\n itself.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea<\/strong><\/p>\n –on, on–until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any<\/strong><\/p>\n shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman<\/strong><\/p>\n at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who<\/strong><\/p>\n had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations;<\/strong><\/p>\n but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or<\/strong><\/p>\n had a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his<\/strong><\/p>\n companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward<\/strong><\/p>\n hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or<\/strong><\/p>\n sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder word for another<\/strong><\/p>\n on that day than on any day in the year; and had shared<\/strong><\/p>\n to some extent in its festivities; and had remembered those<\/strong><\/p>\n he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted<\/strong><\/p>\n to remember him.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while listening to the<\/strong><\/p>\n moaning of the wind, and thinking what a solemn thing it<\/strong><\/p>\n was to move on through the lonely darkness over an unknown<\/strong><\/p>\n abyss, whose depths were secrets as profound as Death: it<\/strong><\/p>\n was a great surprise to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear<\/strong><\/p>\n a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge<\/strong><\/p>\n to recognise it as his own nephew’s and to find himself in a<\/strong><\/p>\n bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling<\/strong><\/p>\n by his side, and looking at that same nephew with approving<\/strong><\/p>\n affability!<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Ha, ha!” laughed Scrooge’s nephew. “Ha, ha, ha!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a<\/strong><\/p>\n man more blest in a laugh than Scrooge’s nephew, all I can<\/strong><\/p>\n say is, I should like to know him too. Introduce him to me,<\/strong><\/p>\n and I’ll cultivate his acquaintance.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that<\/strong><\/p>\n while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing<\/strong><\/p>\n in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and<\/strong><\/p>\n good-humour. When Scrooge’s nephew laughed in this way: holding<\/strong><\/p>\n his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the<\/strong><\/p>\n most extravagant contortions: Scrooge’s niece, by marriage,<\/strong><\/p>\n laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends being<\/strong><\/p>\n not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!” cried<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge’s nephew. “He believed it too!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “More shame for him, Fred!” said Scrooge’s niece,<\/strong><\/p>\n indignantly. Bless those women; they never do anything by<\/strong><\/p>\n halves. They are always in earnest.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n She was very pretty: exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled,<\/strong><\/p>\n surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth, that<\/strong><\/p>\n seemed made to be kissed–as no doubt it was; all kinds of<\/strong><\/p>\n good little dots about her chin, that melted into one another<\/strong><\/p>\n when she laughed; and the sunniest pair of eyes you ever<\/strong><\/p>\n saw in any little creature’s head. Altogether she was what<\/strong><\/p>\n you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory, too.<\/strong><\/p>\n Oh, perfectly satisfactory.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “He’s a comical old fellow,” said Scrooge’s nephew, “that’s<\/strong><\/p>\n the truth: and not so pleasant as he might be. However,<\/strong><\/p>\n his offences carry their own punishment, and I have nothing<\/strong><\/p>\n to say against him.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I’m sure he is very rich, Fred,” hinted Scrooge’s niece.<\/strong><\/p>\n “At least you always tell me so.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “What of that, my dear!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “His<\/strong><\/p>\n wealth is of no use to him. He don’t do any good with it.<\/strong><\/p>\n He don’t make himself comfortable with it. He hasn’t the<\/strong><\/p>\n satisfaction of thinking–ha, ha, ha!–that he is ever going<\/strong><\/p>\n