It was a bleak and miserable morning when they stepped out into the street. The wind was blowing hard, and a heavy rain fell from dull, stormy clouds. The night had been incredibly wet, leaving large pools of water in the road and causing the gutters to overflow. A faint glimmer of dawn appeared in the sky, but it only seemed to make the scene look more depressing. This pale, somber light made the street lamps look dim without providing any warmth or brightness to the wet rooftops and empty streets. No one else seemed to be awake in that part of town; the windows were all tightly shut, and the streets they passed through were silent and deserted.
By the time they reached Bethnal Green Road, the day had officially begun to break. Many of the lamps had already been extinguished. A few heavy country wagons were moving slowly toward the center of London, and occasionally a mud-covered stagecoach rattled past. The coach drivers, eager to arrive on time, would sometimes lash their whips at the slower wagon drivers who happened to be on the wrong side of the road. The public houses were already open, their gaslights flickering inside. Gradually, other shops began to open, and they started to encounter a few people. First came small groups of laborers on their way to work, followed by men and women carrying fish baskets on their heads. There were donkey carts loaded with vegetables and carts filled with livestock or meat—an endless stream of people bringing supplies to the city’s eastern suburbs. As they approached the City, the noise and traffic increased until the streets between Shoreditch and Smithfield were filled with a roar of activity. The morning was now as bright as it was likely to get, and the busy life of London had fully begun.
Turning down Sun Street and Crown Street, Mr. Sikes led the way through Finsbury Square and into the area of Smithfield. From this market rose a chaotic mixture of sounds that filled Oliver with amazement.
It was market morning. The ground was covered nearly ankle-deep in filth and mud. A thick steam rose constantly from the warm bodies of the cattle, merging with the fog that hung heavily over the chimney tops. All the pens in the center of the large area were packed with sheep, while long lines of oxen were tied to posts along the gutters. It was a massive crowd of countrymen, butchers, thieves, and idlers. The air was filled with the whistling of drivers, the barking of dogs, the bellowing of oxen, and the squealing of pigs. There were shouts, oaths, and arguments on every side, combined with the ringing of bells and the roar of voices coming from the public houses. People were pushing, driving, and yelling in a stunning and bewildering scene that completely overwhelmed Oliver’s senses.
Mr. Sikes, dragging Oliver behind him, pushed his way through the thickest part of the crowd. He paid very little attention to the sights and sounds that so astonished the boy. He nodded a few times to passing acquaintances but refused several invitations to stop for a drink. He pressed steadily forward until they had left the turmoil behind and reached Holborn.
"Now, young man!" said Sikes, looking up at the clock of St. Andrew’s Church. "It’s nearly seven o'clock! You need to move faster. Come on, don't start falling behind already, you lazy boy!"
Mr. Sikes emphasized his words with a sharp jerk of Oliver’s wrist. Oliver, forced into a pace somewhere between a fast walk and a run, tried his best to keep up with the burglar’s long strides.
They maintained this speed until they had passed Hyde Park Corner and reached Kensington. At that point, Sikes slowed down until an empty cart approached them from behind. Seeing the name "Hounslow" written on it, he asked the driver, as politely as he could manage, if they could have a lift as far as Isleworth.
"Jump up," the man replied. "Is that your boy?"
"Yes, he’s my boy," Sikes answered, staring intensely at Oliver while resting his hand on the pocket where the pistol was hidden.
"Your father walks a bit too fast for you, doesn't he?" the driver asked, noticing that Oliver was out of breath.
"Not at all," Sikes interrupted. "He’s used to it. Here, take my hand, Ned. Get in!"
Addressing Oliver by this false name, he helped him into the cart. The driver pointed to a pile of empty sacks and told the boy to lie down there and rest.
As they passed the various milestones along the road, Oliver wondered more and more where Sikes was taking him. They passed through Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick, and Brentford, yet they continued as steadily as if they had only just begun their journey. Eventually, they reached a public house called the Coach and Horses, where the cart finally stopped.
Sikes got down quickly, holding Oliver’s hand the entire time. He lifted the boy down and gave him a furious look, tapping his side pocket significantly to remind Oliver of the weapon.
"Goodbye, boy," said the driver.
"He’s just sulky," Sikes replied, giving Oliver a shake. "Ignore him."
"I will!" the man laughed, getting back into his cart. "It’s a fine day, after all." And with that, he drove away.
Sikes waited until the man was gone. Then, telling Oliver he could look around if he wanted, he led him onward once more. They turned left past the public house and walked for a long time, passing large gardens and grand houses. They stopped only briefly for some beer until they reached a town where Oliver saw the name "Hampton" written on a wall. They spent several hours waiting in the nearby fields before returning to the town. They entered an old public house with a faded sign and ordered dinner by the kitchen fire.
The kitchen was an old, low-roofed room with a large wooden beam across the ceiling. Several rough-looking men were sitting on high-backed benches, smoking and drinking. They took no notice of Oliver and very little of Sikes. Consequently, the two of them sat in a corner by themselves, undisturbed.
They had cold meat for dinner. Afterward, Sikes smoked several pipes, and they sat there for so long that Oliver began to think they were not going any further. Being exhausted from the long walk and the early start, he eventually fell fast asleep, overwhelmed by fatigue and the smell of tobacco.
It was completely dark when Sikes woke him with a rough push. Oliver sat up and saw that Sikes was now talking privately with a laborer over a pint of beer.
"So, you’re heading to Lower Halliford, are you?" Sikes asked.
"Yes, I am," replied the man, who seemed slightly drunk. "And I’ll be going fast, too. My horse doesn't have a heavy load now, so he’ll make quick work of it."
"Could you give my boy and me a lift that far?" Sikes requested, pushing the beer toward his new companion.
"If you're ready to go right now, I can," the man replied. "Are you going to Halliford?"
"We're going on to Shepperton," Sikes said.
"I’ll take you as far as I’m going, then," the man agreed.
After paying for the drinks, they went outside. The horse was already harnessed to the cart. Oliver and Sikes climbed in, and the owner joined them after bragging to the stable boy that no other horse could match his. When they finally started, the horse was quite wild, tossing its head and nearly running into the windows across the street before finally galloping out of town at high speed.
The night was incredibly dark. A damp mist rose from the river and the surrounding marshy ground, spreading over the lonely fields. It was piercingly cold, and everything looked gloomy. No one spoke; the driver was sleepy, and Sikes was in no mood for conversation. Oliver sat huddled in a corner of the cart, terrified. He imagined strange, frightening shapes in the shadows of the trees, whose branches waved in the wind as if they were celebrating the desolation of the scene.
As they passed Sunbury Church, the clock struck seven. A light from a nearby house reflected across the road, casting dark shadows over an old yew tree and the graves beneath it. The dull sound of falling water could be heard nearby, and the leaves stirred gently in the night breeze. It felt like a quiet, mournful song for the dead.
They passed through Sunbury and back onto the lonely road. After a few more miles, the cart stopped. Sikes got out, took Oliver by the hand, and they began walking once more.
They did not stop at any house in Shepperton, as the exhausted boy had hoped. Instead, they kept walking through the mud and darkness, crossing cold, open fields until they saw the lights of a town in the distance. Looking ahead, Oliver realized the river was right below them and that they were approaching a bridge. Sikes walked straight toward it but then turned suddenly down a steep bank on the left.
"The water!" Oliver thought, feeling sick with terror. "He has brought me to this lonely place to murder me!"
He was about to throw himself on the ground to struggle for his life when he saw they were standing in front of a solitary, ruined house. There were windows on either side of the decaying entrance, but no light was visible inside. The house was dark, broken, and appeared completely abandoned.
Sikes, still gripping Oliver’s hand, approached the porch quietly and lifted the latch. The door opened, and they stepped inside together.