But before we proceed any farther with Sophia, we must now look back to Mr. Jones.
CHAPTER X.
Containing several Matters, natural enough, perhaps, but LOW.
The Reader will be pleased to remember, that we left Mr. Jones in the Beginning of this Book, on his Road to Bristol; being determined to seek his Fortune at Sea; or rather, indeed, to fly away from his Fortune on Shore.
It happened, (a Thing not very unusual) that the Guide who undertook to conduct him on his Way, was unluckily unacquainted with the Road; so that having missed his right Track, and being ashamed to ask Information, he rambled about backwards and forwards till Night came on, and it began to grow dark. Jones suspecting what had happened, acquainted the Guide with his Apprehensions; but he insisted on it, that they were in the right Road, and added, it would be very strange if he should not know the Road to Bristol; tho’, in Reality, it would have been much stranger if he had known it, having never past through it in his Life before.
Jones had not such implicit Faith in his Guide, but that on their Arrival at a Village he enquired of the first Fellow he saw, whether they were in the Road to Bristol. ‘Whence did you come?’ cries the Fellow. ‘No Matter,’ says Jones, a little hastily, ‘I want to know if this be the Road to Bristol.’ ‘The Road to Bristol!’ cries the Fellow, scratching his Head, ‘Why, Master, I believe you will hardly get to Bristol this Way To-night.’ ‘Prithee, Friend, then,’ answered Jones, ‘do tell us which is the Way.’—‘Why, Measter,’ cries the Fellow, ‘you must be come out of your Road the Lord knows whither: For thick Way goeth to Glocester.’ ‘Well, and which Way goes to Bristol?’ said Jones. ‘Why, you be going away from Bristol,’ answered the Fellow—‘Then,’ said Jones, ‘we must go back again.’ ‘Ay, you must,’ said the Fellow. ‘Well, and when we come back to the Top of the Hill, which Way must we take?’ ‘Why you must keep the strait Road.’ ‘But I remember there are two Roads, one to the Right and the other to the Left.’ ‘Why you must keep the right-hand Road, and then gu strait vorwards; only remember to turn first to your Right, and then to your Left again, and then to your Right; and that brings you to the Squire’s, and then you must keep strait vorwards, and turn to the Left.’
Another Fellow now came up, and asked which Way the Gentlemen were going?—of which being informed by Jones, he first scratched his Head, and then leaning upon a Pole he had in his Hand, began to tell him, ‘That he must keep the Right-hand Road for about a Mile, or a Mile and half or zuch a Matter, and then he must turn short to the Left, which would bring him round by Master Jin Bearnes’s.’ ‘But which is Mr. John Bearnes’s?’ says Jones. ‘O Lord,’ cries the Fellow, ‘why don’t you know Measter Jin Bearnes? Whence then did you come?’
These two Fellows had almost conquered the Patience of Jones, when a plain well-looking Man (who was indeed a Quaker) accosted him thus: ‘Friend, I perceive thou hast lost thy Way; and if thou wilt take my Advice, thou wilt not attempt to find it To-night. It is almost dark, and the Road is difficult to hit; besides there have been several Robberies committed lately between this and Bristol. Here is a very creditable good House just by, where thou may’st find good Entertainment for thyself and thy Cattle till Morning.’ Jones, after a little Persuasion, agreed to stay in this Place ’till the Morning, and was conducted by his Friend to the Public-House.
The Landlord, who was a very civil Fellow, told Jones, ‘he hoped he would excuse the Badness of his Accommodation: For that his Wife was gone from home, and had locked up almost every Thing, and carried the Keys along with her.’ Indeed, the Fact was, that a favourite Daughter of hers was just married, and gone, that Morning, home with her Husband; and that she and her Mother together, had almost stript the poor Man of all his Goods, as well as Money: For tho’ he had several Children, this Daughter only, who was the Mother’s Favourite, was the Object of her Consideration; and to the Humour of this one Child she would, with Pleasure have sacrificed all the rest, and her Husband into the Bargain.
Tho’ Jones was very unfit for any Kind of Company, and would have preferred being alone; yet he could not resist the Importunities of the honest Quaker; who was the more desirous of sitting with him, from having remarked the Melancholy which appeared both in his Countenance and Behaviour; and which the poor Quaker thought his Conversation might in some Measure relieve.
After they had past some Time together, in such a Manner that my honest Friend might have thought himself at one of his Silent-Meetings, the Quaker began to be moved by some Spirit or other, probably that of Curiosity; and said, ‘Friend, I perceive some sad Disaster hath befallen thee; but, pray be of Comfort. Perhaps thou hast lost a Friend. If so, thou must consider we are all mortal. And why shouldst thou grieve, when thou knowest thy Grief will do thy Friend no Good? We are all born to Affliction. I myself have my Sorrows as well as thee, and most probably greater Sorrows. Tho’ I have a clear Estate of 100l. a Year, which is as much as I want, and I have a Conscience, I thank the Lord, void of Offence. My Constitution is sound and strong, and there is no Man can demand a Debt of me, nor accuse me of an Injury—yet, Friend, I should be concerned to think thee as miserable as myself.’
Here the Quaker ended with a deep Sigh; and Jones presently answered, ‘I am very sorry, Sir, for your Unhappiness, whatever is the Occasion of it.’ ‘Ah! Friend,’ replied the Quaker, ‘one only Daughter is the Occasion. One who was my greatest Delight upon Earth, and who within this Week is run away from me, and is married against my Consent. I had provided her a proper Match, a sober Man, and one of Substance; but she, forsooth, would chuse for herself, and away she is gone with a young Fellow not worth a Groat. If she had been dead, as I suppose thy Friend is, I should have been happy!’ ‘That is very strange, Sir,’ said Jones. ‘Why, would it not be better for her to be dead, than to be a Beggar?’ replied the Quaker: ‘For, as I told you, the Fellow is not worth a Groat; and surely she cannot expect that I shall ever give her a Shilling. No, as she hath married for Love, let her live on Love if she can; let her carry her Love to Market, and see whether any one will change it into Silver, or even into Half-pence.’ ‘You know your own Concerns best, Sir,’ said Jones. ‘It must have been,’ continued the Quaker, ‘a long premeditated Scheme to cheat me: For they have known one another from their Infancy; and I always preached to her against Love—and told her a thousand Times over it was all Folly and Wickedness. Nay, the cunning Slut pretended to hearken to me, and to despise all wantonness of the Flesh; and yet, at last, broke out at a Window two Pair of Stairs:1 For I began, indeed, a little to suspect her, and had locked her up carefully, intending the very next Morning to have married her up to my Liking. But she disappointed me within a few Hours, and escaped away to the Lover of her own chusing, who lost no Time: For they were married and bedded, and all within an Hour.
‘But it shall be the worst Hour’s Work for them both that ever they did; for they may starve, or beg, or steal together for me. I will never give either of them a Farthing.’ Here Jones starting up, cry’d, ‘I really must be excused; I wish you would leave me.’ ‘Come, come, Friend,’ said the Quaker, ‘don’t give Way to Concern. You see there are other People miserable, besides yourself.’ ‘I see there are Madmen and Fools and Villains in the World,’ cries Jones— ‘But let me give you a Piece of Advice; send for your Daughter and Son-in-law home, and don’t be yourself the only Cause of Misery to one you pretend to love.’ ‘Send for her and her Husband home!’ cries the Quaker loudly, ‘I would sooner send for the two greatest Enemies I have in the World!’ ‘Well, go home yourself, or where you please,’ said Jones: ‘For I will sit no longer in such Company.’—‘Nay, Friend,’ answered the Quaker, ‘I scorn to impose my Company on any one.’ He then offered to pull Money from his Pocket, but Jones pushed him with some Violence out of the Room.
The Subject of the Quaker’s Discourse had so deeply affected Jones, that he stared very wildly all the Time he was speaking. This the Quaker had observed, and this; added to the rest of hi
s Behaviour, inspired honest Broadbrim2 with a Conceit, that his Companion was, in Reality, out of his Senses. Instead of resenting the Affront, therefore, the Quaker was moved with Compassion for his unhappy Circumstances; and having communicated his Opinion to the Landlord, he desired him to take great Care of his Guest, and to treat him with the highest Civility.
‘Indeed,’ says the Landlord, ‘I shall use no such Civility towards him: For it seems, for all his laced Waste-coat there, he is no more a Gentleman than myself; but a poor Parish Bastard bred up at a great Squire’s about 30 Miles off, and now turned out of Doors, (not for any Good to be sure.) I shall get him out of my House as soon as possible. If I do lose my Reckoning, the first Loss is always the best. It is not above a Year ago that I lost a Silver-spoon.’
‘What dost thou talk of a Parish Bastard, Robin?’ answered the Quaker. ‘Thou must certainly be mistaken in thy Man.’
‘Not at all,’ replied Robin, ‘the Guide, who knows him very well, told it me.’ For, indeed, the Guide had no sooner taken his Place at the Kitchin-Fire, than he acquainted the whole Company with all he knew, or had ever heard concerning Jones.
The Quaker was no sooner assured by this Fellow of the Birth and low Fortune of Jones, than all Compassion for him vanished; and the honest, plain Man went home fired with no less Indignation than a Duke would have felt at receiving an Affront from such a Person.
The Landlord himself conceived an equal Disdain for his Guest; so that when Jones rung the Bell in order to retire to Bed, he was acquainted that he could have no Bed there. Besides Disdain of the mean Condition of his Guest, Robin entertained violent Suspicion of his Intentions, which were, he supposed, to watch some favourable Opportunity of robbing the House. In reality, he might have been very well eased of these Apprehensions by the prudent Precautions of his Wife and Daughter, who had already removed every thing which was not fixed to the Freehold; but he was by Nature suspicious, and had been more particularly so since the Loss of his Spoon. In short, the Dread of being robbed totally absorbed the comfortable Consideration that he had nothing to lose.
Jones being assured that he could have no Bed, very contentedly betook himself to a great Chair made with Rushes, when Sleep, which had lately shunned his Company in much better Apartments, generously paid him a Visit in his humble Cell.
As for the Landlord, he was prevented by his Fears from retiring to rest. He returned therefore to the Kitchin-Fire, whence he could survey the only Door which opened into the Parlour, or rather Hole, where Jones was seated; and as for the Window to that Room, it was impossible for any Creature larger than a Cat to have made his Escape through it.
CHAPTER XI.
The Adventure of a Company of Soldiers.
The Landlord having taken his Seat directly opposite to the Door of the Parlour, determined to keep Guard there the whole Night. The Guide and another Fellow remained long on Duty with him, tho’ they neither knew his Suspicions, nor had any of their own. The true Cause of their watching did indeed, at length, put an End to it; for this was no other than the Strength and Goodness of the Beer, of which having tippled a very large Quantity, they grew at first very noisy and vociferous, and afterwards fell both asleep.
But it was not in the Power of Liquor to compose the Fears of Robin. He continued still waking in his Chair, with his Eyes fixed stedfastly on the Door which led into the Apartment of Mr. Jones, till a violent Thundering at his outward Gate called him from his Seat, and obliged him to open it; which he had no sooner done, than his Kitchin was immediately full of Gentlemen in red Coats, who all rushed upon him in as tumultuous a Manner, as if they intended to take his little Castle by Storm.
The Landlord was now forced from his Post to furnish his numerous Guests with Beer, which they called for with great Eagerness; and upon his second or third Return from the Cellar, he saw Mr. Jones standing before the Fire in the midst of the Soldiers; for it may easily be believed, that the Arrival of so much good Company should put an End to any Sleep, unless that from which we are to be awakened only by the last Trumpet.1
The Company having now pretty well satisfied their Thirst, nothing remained but to pay the Reckoning, a Circumstance often productive of much Mischief and Discontent among the inferior Rank of Gentry; who are apt to find great Difficulty in assessing the Sum, with exact Regard to distributive Justice, which directs, that every Man shall pay according to the Quantity which he drinks. This Difficulty occurred upon the present Occasion; and it was the greater, as some Gentlemen had, in their extreme Hurry, marched off, after their first Draught, and had entirely forgot to contribute any thing towards the said Reckoning.
A violent Dispute now arose, in which every Word may be said to have been deposed upon Oath; for the Oaths were at least equal to all the other Words spoken. In this Controversy, the whole Company spoke together, and every Man seemed wholly bent to extenuate the Sum which fell to his Share; so that the most probable Conclusion which could be foreseen, was, that a large Portion of the Reckoning would fall to the Landlord’s Share to pay, or (what is much the same thing) would remain unpaid.
All this while Mr. Jones was engaged in Conversation with the Serjeant; for that Officer was entirely unconcerned in the present Dispute, being privileged, by immemorial Custom, from all Contribution.
The Dispute now grew so very warm, that it seemed to draw towards a military Decision, when Jones stepping forward, silenced all their Clamours at once, by declaring that he would pay the whole Reckoning, which indeed amounted to no more than three Shillings and Four-pence.
This Declaration procured Jones the Thanks and Applause of the whole Company. The Terms honourable, noble, and worthy Gentleman, resounded through the Room; nay, my Landlord himself began to have a better Opinion of him, and almost to disbelieve the Account which the Guide had given.
The Serjeant had informed Mr. Jones, that they were marching against the Rebels, and expected to be commanded by the glorious Duke of Cumberland.2 By which the Reader may perceive (a Circumstance which we have not thought necessary to communicate before) that this was the very Time when the late Rebellion was at the highest; and indeed the Banditti were now marched into England, intending, as it was thought, to fight the King’s Forces, and to attempt pushing forward to the Metropolis.3
Jones had some Heroic Ingredients in his Composition, and was a hearty Well-wisher to the glorious Cause of Liberty, and of the Protestant Religion. It is no Wonder, therefore, that in Circumstances which would have warranted a much more romantic and wild Undertaking, it should occur to him to serve as a Volunteer in this Expedition.
Our commanding Officer had said all in his Power to encourage and promote this good Disposition, from the first Moment he had been acquainted with it. He now proclaimed the noble Resolution aloud, which was received with great Pleasure by the whole Company, who all cried out, ‘God bless King George, and your Honour;’ and then added, with many Oaths, ‘We will stand by you both to the last Drops of our Blood.’
The Gentleman, who had been all Night tippling at the Alehouse, was prevailed on by some Arguments which a Corporal had put into his Hand, to undertake the same Expedition. And now the Portmanteau belonging to Mr. Jones being put up in the Baggage-cart, the Forces were about to move forwards; when the Guide, stepping up to Jones, said, ‘Sir, I hope you will consider that the Horses have been kept out all Night, and we have travelled a great ways out of our Way.’ Jones was surprized at the Impudence of this Demand, and acquainted the Soldiers with the Merits of his Cause, who were all unanimous in condemning the Guide for his Endeavours to put upon a Gentleman. Some said, he ought to be tied Neck and Heels; others, that he deserved to run the Gantlope;4 and the Serjeant shook his Cane at him, and wished he had him under his Command, swearing heartily he would make an Example of him.
Jones contented himself, however, with a negative Punishment, and walked off with his new Comrades, leaving the Guide to the poor Revenge of cursing and reviling him, in which latter the Landlord joined, sayin
g, ‘Ay, ay, he is a pure one, I warrant you. A pretty Gentleman, indeed, to go for a Soldier. He shall wear a laced Wastecoat truly. It is an old Proverb and a true one, all is not Gold that glisters. I am glad my House is well rid of him.’
All that Day the Serjeant and the young Soldier marched together; and the former, who was an arch Fellow, told the latter many entertaining Stories of his Campaigns, tho’ in Reality he had never made any; for he was but lately come into the Service, and had, by his own Dexterity, so well ingratiated himself with his Officers, that he had promoted himself to a Halberd,5 chiefly indeed by his Merit in recruiting, in which he was most excellently well skilled.
Much Mirth and Festivity passed among the Soldiers during their March. In which the many Occurrences that had passed at their last Quarters were remembered, and every one, with great Freedom, made what Jokes he pleased on his Officers, some of which were of the coarser Kind, and very near bordering on Scandal. This brought to our Heroe’s Mind the Custom which he had read of among the Greeks and Romans, of indulging, on certain Festivals and solemn Occasions, the Liberty to Slaves, of using an uncontrouled Freedom of Speech towards their Masters.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 43