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I let slip an Ay me as I crouched to see him in the Darkness beneath the Church, then I rose from my Knees in a dung Sweat and burst out Laughing; for indeed there would be no great Miss of him. Yet I walk'd away at once, lest my Case should be discovered to the Watchman, and I hurried across Rope-Makers-Field to the River side; but as I did so I was forced to pass the Congrégation of Beggars who were sat beside small Fires to fry their Scraps of Rotte
Some of them seemed elevated strangely, and danced about a pitiful Fire in one corner of the Field: they stompt and roared like those being whipt at Bridewell, but that their Lashes came from strong Liquor and Forgetfulnesse. And as the Winde gusted from the River I heard Snatches of their Song, viz.
A Wheel that turns, a Wheel that turned ever, A Wheel that turns, and will leave turning never.
I must have stood listening in a strange Posture for this Band of Rogues caught sight of me and let out a loud Bawling and Calling to one another; and then a confus'd Hurry of Thought and Dizzinesse came upon me like a Man often meets in a Dreame. I ran towards them with outstretch'd Arms and cried, Do you remember me? I will never, never leave thee! I will never, never leave thee!
AND AS the cry faded away, the noise of the traffic returned with increased clarity. The group of vagrants were standing in a corner of some derelict ground, where unwanted objects from the city had over the years been deposited: broken bottles and unrecognisable pieces of metal were strewn over a wide area, crab grass and different varieties of tall ragweed partially obscured the shapes of abandoned or burnt-out cars, while rotting mattresses sank into the soil. A hoarding had been erected by the river side: it was of a dark red colour, but from here the images were indistinct and only the words HAVE ANOTHER BEFORE YOU GO were still visible. Now, in the early summer, this forgotten area had the sweet, rank, dizzying odour of decay. The vagrants had started a fire, piling up the old rags and newspapers which they found lying beside them, and were now dancing around it -or, rather, they stumbled backwards and forwards with their fire as the wavering centre. They shouted out words in the air but they were too deeply imbued in alcohol or meths to know either the time or the place in which they found themselves. A light rain fell across their faces as they stared upward from the turning earth.
Some distance away from them, in a corner of the ground closest to the Thames, a solitary tramp was staring at the figure in the dark coat who was now walking away: 'Do you remember me?' the tramp cried out, 'You're the one, aren't you! I've seen you! I've watched you!' The figure paused for a moment before hurrying on; then the tramp's attention shifted and, forgetting all about the man (who had even now reached the river and stood with his back towards the city), he bent over once more and continued digging with his hands into the damp earth. Behind him the outline of the Limehouse church could be seen against the darkening sky; he gazed up at the building, with its massive but now crumbling and discoloured stone, and rubbed his neck with the palm of his right hand. 'It's getting cold,' he said, T'm off. I've had enough of this. I'm cold.'
It was about half-an-hour before sunset and, although the other vagrants would stay by the fire until they dropped exhausted on the ground and slept where they fell, he started making his way to a derelict house (early Georgian in appearance) which stood at the corner of Narrow Street and Rope-Maker's-Field. This was an area in which there were many such dwellings, with their windows boarded up and their doors fastened with planks, but this particular place had been used for many years -and, as such, it was recognised and permitted by the police. The theory was that the employment of this one house prevented the vagrants from trying to enter the church or its crypt as a resting place but, in truth, none of them would have ventured into St A
The tramp had reached Narrow Street when he paused, recalling with sudden ferocity the back of the man who had walked away from him towards the river, although he could not remember when precisely this event had occurred. He turned around quickly and then, seeing nothing, with a slow step he walked into the house. The rain was being blown in as he entered the hallway, and he paused to look down at his cracked and gaping shoes; then he examined the moisture on his hands before rubbing them against the wall. He peered into the ground floor rooms to see if there were any faces he recognised as 'trouble': there were some who picked quarrels with anyone who came near them, and others who screamed or called out in the night.
There had even been occasions when, in a place such as this where tramps sheltered, one would get up in the middle of the night, kill another, and then go back to sleep again.
Three of them were already settled in the house: in the far corner of the largest room, a man and woman were lying against an old mattress: both of them seemed old, except that time moves fast for vagrants and they age quickly. In the middle of the room a young man was frying something in a battered saucepan, holding it gingerly above the fire which he had lit on the cracked stone floor. This is something, Ned,' he said to the tramp who now entered the room, This is really something, Neddo'. Ned glanced into the saucepan and saw food of an olive colour sizzling in its own fat. The smell made him feel uneasy: 'I'm off!' he shouted at the young man, although they were only a few inches apart.
'It's terrible rainy, Ned.'
T'm not happy here. I'm off!'
But instead of going outside he walked into the next room, which was used as a latrine; he pissed in a corner and then came back, glaring at the young man who was still bent over his fire. The old couple paid no attention to either of them: the woman had a dark brown bottle in one hand, and waved it around as she continued with what seemed to be an interrupted conversation. 'Dust, just look at the dust,' she was saying, 'and you know where it comes from, don't you? Yes, you know.' She turned her head sideways and glanced at her companion, who was bowed down with his head between his knees. Then she started singing in a low voice, Shadows of the evening Steal across the sky…
But her words became confused, and she repeated 'sky' or 'night' several times before relapsing into silence. She stared out of the window's broken panes: 'Now look at those clouds there. I'm sure there's a face in there looking at me.' She handed the bottle to her companion, who held it for a minute without bringing it to his lips.
Then she grabbed it from him.
Thanks for the drink,' he said abashed.
'Are you happy there?'
'I have been happy but I'm not happy now,' and he lay down with his back to her.
Ned had also settled himself into a corner, sighing as he did so. He put his hand into the right hand pocket of his capacious coat, which he wore even in the heat of summer, and took out an envelope; he opened it, and stared at the photograph which was inside. He ca