As soon as the bailiff returned down-stairs, which was immediately after he had lodged the doctor in the room, Booth had the curiosity to ask him who this man was. “Why, I don’t know much of him,” said the bailiff; “I had him once in custody before now: I remember it was when your honour was here last; and now I remember, too, he said that he knew your honour very well. Indeed, I had some opinion of him at that time, for he spent his money very much like a gentleman; but I have discovered since that he is a poor fellow, and worth nothing. He is a mere shy cock; I have had the stuff about me this week, and could never get at him till this morning; nay, I don’t believe we should ever have found out his lodgings had it not been for the attorney that was here just now, who gave us information. And so we took him this morning by a comical way enough; for we dressed up one of my men in women’s cloathes, who told the people of the house that he was his sister, just come to town — for we were told by the attorney that he had such a sister, upon which he was let up-stairs — and so kept the door ajar till I and another rushed in. Let me tell you, captain, there are as good stratagems made use of in our business as any in the army.”
“But pray, sir,” said Booth, “did not you tell me this morning that the poor fellow was desperately wounded; nay, I think you told the doctor that he was a dying man?” “I had like to have forgot that,” cries the bailiff. “Nothing would serve the gentleman but that he must make resistance, and he gave my man a blow with a stick; but I soon quieted him by giving him a wipe or two with a hanger. Not that, I believe, I have done his business neither; but the fellow is faint- hearted, and the surgeon, I fancy, frightens him more than he need. But, however, let the worst come to the worst, the law is all on my side, and it is only se fendendo. The attorney that was here just now told me so, and bid me fear nothing; for that he would stand my friend, and undertake the cause; and he is a devilish good one at a defence at the Old Bailey, I promise you. I have known him bring off several that everybody thought would have been hanged.”
“But suppose you should be acquitted,” said Booth, “would not the blood of this poor wretch lie a little heavy at your heart?”
“Why should it, captain?” said the bailiff. “Is not all done in a lawful way? Why will people resist the law when they know the consequence? To be sure, if a man was to kill another in an unlawful manner as it were, and what the law calls murder, that is quite and clear another thing. I should not care to be convicted of murder any more than another man. Why now, captain, you have been abroad in the wars they tell me, and to be sure must have killed men in your time. Pray, was you ever afraid afterwards of seeing their ghosts?”
“That is a different affair,” cries Booth; “but I would not kill a man in cold blood for all the world.”
“There is no difference at all, as I can see,” cries the bailiff. “One is as much in the way of business as the other. When gentlemen behave themselves like unto gentlemen I know how to treat them as such as well as any officer the king hath; and when they do not, why they must take what follows, and the law doth not call it murder.”
Booth very plainly saw that the bailiff had squared his conscience exactly according to law, and that he could not easily subvert his way of thinking. He therefore gave up the cause, and desired the bailiff to expedite the bonds, which he promised to do; saying, he hoped he had used him with proper civility this time, if he had not the last, and that he should be remembered for it.
But before we close this chapter we shall endeavour to satisfy an enquiry, which may arise in our most favourite readers (for so are the most curious), how it came to pass that such a person as was Doctor Harrison should employ such a fellow as this Murphy?
The case then was thus: this Murphy had been clerk to an attorney in the very same town in which the doctor lived, and, when he was out of his time, had set up with a character fair enough, and had married a maid-servant of Mrs. Harris, by which means he had all the business to which that lady and her friends, in which number was the doctor, could recommend him.
Murphy went on with his business, and thrived very well, till he happened to make an unfortunate slip, in which he was detected by a brother of the same calling. But, though we call this by the gentle name of a slip, in respect to its being so extremely common, it was a matter in which the law, if it had ever come to its ears, would have passed a very severe censure, being, indeed, no less than perjury and subornation of perjury.
This brother attorney, being a very good-natured man, and unwilling to bespatter his own profession, and considering, perhaps, that the consequence did in no wise affect the public, who had no manner of interest in the alternative whether A., in whom the right was, or B., to whom Mr. Murphy, by the means aforesaid, had transferred it, succeeded in an action; we mention this particular, because, as this brother attorney was a very violent party man, and a professed stickler for the public, to suffer any injury to have been done to that, would have been highly inconsistent with his principles.
This gentleman, therefore, came to Mr. Murphy, and, after shewing him that he had it in his power to convict him of the aforesaid crime, very generously told him that he had not the least delight in bringing any man to destruction, nor the least animosity against him. All that he insisted upon was, that he would not live in the same town or county with one who had been guilty of such an action. He then told Mr. Murphy that he would keep the secret on two conditions; the one was, that he immediately quitted that country; the other was, that he should convince him he deserved this kindness by his gratitude, and that Murphy should transfer to the other all the business which he then had in those parts, and to which he could possibly recommend him.
It is the observation of a very wise man, that it is a very common exercise of wisdom in this world, of two evils to chuse the least. The reader, therefore, cannot doubt but that Mr. Murphy complied with the alternative proposed by his kind brother, and accepted the terms on which secrecy was to be obtained.
This happened while the doctor was abroad, and with all this, except the departure of Murphy, not only the doctor, but the whole town (save his aforesaid brother alone), were to this day unacquainted.
The doctor, at his return, hearing that Mr. Murphy was gone, applied to the other attorney in his affairs, who still employed this Murphy as his agent in town, partly, perhaps, out of good will to him, and partly from the recommendation of Miss Harris; for, as he had married a servant of the family, and a particular favourite of hers, there can be no wonder that she, who was entirely ignorant of the affair above related, as well as of his conduct in town, should continue her favour to him. It will appear, therefore, I apprehend, no longer strange that the doctor, who had seen this man but three times since his removal to town, and then conversed with him only on business, should remain as ignorant of his life and character, as a man generally is of the character of the hackney-coachman who drives him. Nor doth it reflect more on the honour or understanding of the doctor, under these circumstances, to employ Murphy, than it would if he had been driven about the town by a thief or a murderer.
CHAPTER VI.
What passed between the doctor and the sick man.
We left the doctor in the last chapter with the wounded man, to whom the doctor, in a very gentle voice, spoke as follows: —
“I am sorry, friend, to see you in this situation, and am very ready to give you any comfort or assistance within my power.”
“I thank you kindly, doctor,” said the man. “Indeed I should not have presumed to have sent to you had I not known your character; for, though I believe I am not at all known to you, I have lived many years in that town where you yourself had a house; my name is Robinson. I used to write for the attorneys in those parts, and I have been employed on your business in my time.”
“I do not recollect you nor your name,” said the doctor; “but consider, friend, your moments are precious, and your business, as I am informed, is to offer up your prayers to that great Being before whom you are shortly to appear
. But first let me exhort you earnestly to a most serious repentance of all your sins.”
“O doctor!” said the man; “pray; what is your opinion of a death-bed repentance?”
“If repentance is sincere,” cries the doctor, “I hope, through the mercies and merits of our most powerful and benign Intercessor, it will never come too late.”
“But do not you think, sir,” cries the man, “that, in order to obtain forgiveness of any great sin we have committed, by an injury done to our neighbours, it is necessary, as far as in us lies, to make all the amends we can to the party injured, and to undo, if possible, the injury we have done?”
“Most undoubtedly,” cries the doctor; “our pretence to repentance would otherwise be gross hypocrisy, and an impudent attempt to deceive and impose upon our Creator himself.”
“Indeed, I am of the same opinion,” cries the penitent; “and I think further, that this is thrown in my way, and hinted to me by that great Being; for an accident happened to me yesterday, by which, as things have fallen out since, I think I plainly discern the hand of Providence. I went yesterday, sir, you must know, to a pawnbroker’s, to pawn the last moveable, which, except the poor cloathes you see on my back, I am worth in the world. While I was there a young lady came in to pawn her picture. She had disguised herself so much, and pulled her hood so over her face, that I did not know her while she stayed, which was scarce three minutes. As soon as she was gone the pawnbroker, taking the picture in his hand, cried out, Upon my word, this is the handsomest face I ever saw in my life! I desired him to let me look on the picture, which he readily did — and I no sooner cast my eyes upon it, than the strong resemblance struck me, and I knew it to be Mrs. Booth.”
“Mrs. Booth! what Mrs. Booth?” cries the doctor.
“Captain Booth’s lady, the captain who is now below,” said the other.
“How?” cries the doctor with great impetuosity.
“Have patience,” said the man, “and you shall hear all. I expressed some surprize to the pawnbroker, and asked the lady’s name. He answered, that he knew not her name; but that she was some undone wretch, who had the day before left all her cloathes with him in pawn. My guilt immediately flew in my face, and told me I had been accessory to this lady’s undoing. The sudden shock so affected me, that, had it not been for a dram which the pawnbroker gave me, I believe I should have sunk on the spot.”
“Accessary to her undoing! how accessary?” said the doctor. “Pray tell me, for I am impatient to hear.”
“I will tell you all as fast as I can,” cries the sick man. “You know, good doctor, that Mrs. Harris of our town had two daughters, this Mrs. Booth and another. Now, sir, it seems the other daughter had, some way or other, disobliged her mother a little before the old lady died; therefore she made a will, and left all her fortune, except one thousand pound, to Mrs. Booth; to which will Mr. Murphy, myself, and another who is now dead, were the witnesses. Mrs. Harris afterwards died suddenly; upon which it was contrived by her other daughter and Mr. Murphy to make a new will, in which Mrs. Booth had a legacy of ten pound, and all the rest was given to the other. To this will, Murphy, myself, and the same third person, again set our hands.”
“Good Heaven! how wonderful is thy providence!” cries the doctor —
“Murphy, say you?”
“He himself, sir,” answered Robinson; “Murphy, who is the greatest rogue, I believe, now in the world.”
“Pray, sir, proceed,” cries the doctor.
“For this service, sir,” said Robinson, “myself and the third person, one Carter, received two hundred pound each. What reward Murphy himself had I know not. Carter died soon afterwards; and from that time, at several payments, I have by threats extorted above a hundred pound more. And this, sir, is the whole truth, which I am ready to testify if it would please Heaven to prolong my life.”
“I hope it will,” cries the doctor; “but something must be done for fear of accidents. I will send to counsel immediately to know how to secure your testimony. — Whom can I get to send? — Stay, ay — he will do — but I know not where his house or his chambers are. I will go myself — but I may be wanted here.”
While the doctor was in this violent agitation the surgeon made his appearance. The doctor stood still in a meditating posture, while the surgeon examined his patient. After which the doctor begged him to declare his opinion, and whether he thought the wounded man in any immediate danger of death. “I do not know,” answered the surgeon, “what you call immediate. He may live several days — nay, he may recover. It is impossible to give any certain opinion in these cases.” He then launched forth into a set of terms which the doctor, with all his scholarship, could not understand. To say the truth, many of them were not to be found in any dictionary or lexicon.
One discovery, however, the doctor made, and that was, that the surgeon was a very ignorant, conceited fellow, and knew nothing of his profession. He resolved, therefore, to get better advice for the sick; but this he postponed at present, and, applying himself to the surgeon, said, “He should be very much obliged to him if he knew where to find such a counsellor, and would fetch him thither. I should not ask such a favour of you, sir,” says the doctor, “if it was not on business of the last importance, or if I could find any other messenger.”
“I fetch, sir!” said the surgeon very angrily. “Do you take me for a footman or a porter? I don’t know who you are; but I believe you are full as proper to go on such an errand as I am.” (For as the doctor, who was just come off his journey, was very roughly dressed, the surgeon held him in no great respect.) The surgeon then called aloud from the top of the stairs, “Let my coachman draw up,” and strutted off without any ceremony, telling his patient he would call again the next day.
At this very instant arrived Murphy with the other bail, and, finding Booth alone, he asked the bailiff at the door what was become of the doctor? “Why, the doctor,” answered he, “is above-stairs, praying with —— .” “How!” cries Murphy. “How came you not to carry him directly to Newgate, as you promised me?” “Why, because he was wounded,” cries the bailiff. “I thought it was charity to take care of him; and, besides, why should one make more noise about the matter than is necessary?” “And Doctor Harrison with him?” said Murphy. “Yes, he is,” said the bailiff; “he desired to speak with the doctor very much, and they have been praying together almost this hour.” “All is up and undone!” cries Murphy. “Let me come by, I have thought of something which I must do immediately.”
Now, as by means of the surgeon’s leaving the door open the doctor heard Murphy’s voice naming Robinson peevishly, he drew softly to the top of the stairs, where he heard the foregoing dialogue; and as soon as Murphy had uttered his last words, and was moving downwards, the doctor immediately sallied from his post, running as fast as he could, and crying, Stop the villain! stop the thief!
The attorney wanted no better hint to accelerate his pace; and, having the start of the doctor, got downstairs, and out into the street; but the doctor was so close at his heels, and being in foot the nimbler of the two, he soon overtook him, and laid hold of him, as he would have done on either Broughton or Slack in the same cause.
This action in the street, accompanied with the frequent cry of Stop thief by the doctor during the chase, presently drew together a large mob, who began, as is usual, to enter immediately upon business, and to make strict enquiry into the matter, in order to proceed to do justice in their summary way.
Murphy, who knew well the temper of the mob, cried out, “If you are a bailiff, shew me your writ. Gentlemen, he pretends to arrest me here without a writ.”
Upon this, one of the sturdiest and forwardest of the mob, and who by a superior strength of body and of lungs presided in this assembly, declared he would suffer no such thing. “D — n me,” says he, “away to the pump with the catchpole directly — shew me your writ, or let the gentleman go — you shall not arrest a man contrary to law.”
He th
en laid his hands on the doctor, who, still fast griping the attorney, cried out, “He is a villain — I am no bailiff, but a clergyman, and this lawyer is guilty of forgery, and hath ruined a poor family.”
“How!” cries the spokesman— “a lawyer! — that alters the case.”
“Yes, faith,” cries another of the mob, “it is lawyer Murphy. I know him very well.”
“And hath he ruined a poor family? — like enough, faith, if he’s a lawyer. Away with him to the justice immediately.”
The bailiff now came up, desiring to know what was the matter; to whom Doctor Harrison answered that he had arrested that villain for a forgery. “How can you arrest him?” cries the bailiff; “you are no officer, nor have any warrant. Mr. Murphy is a gentleman, and he shall be used as such.”
“Nay, to be sure,” cries the spokesman, “there ought to be a warrant; that’s the truth on’t.”
“There needs no warrant,” cries the doctor. “I accuse him of felony; and I know so much of the law of England, that any man may arrest a felon without any warrant whatever. This villain hath undone a poor family; and I will die on the spot before I part with him.”
“If the law be so,” cries the orator, “that is another matter. And to be sure, to ruin a poor man is the greatest of sins. And being a lawyer too makes it so much the worse. He shall go before the justice, d — n me if he shan’t go before the justice! I says the word, he shall.”
“I say he is a gentleman, and shall be used according to law,” cries the bailiff; “and, though you are a clergyman,” said he to Harrison, “you don’t shew yourself as one by your actions.”
“That’s a bailiff,” cries one of the mob: “one lawyer will always stand by another; but I think the clergyman is a very good man, and acts becoming a clergyman, to stand by the poor.”
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 228