‘Ay! Ay! good Lack-a-day!’ said the Landlady, ‘who could have thoft it? Ay, ay, ay, I am satisfied your Honour will see Justice done; and to be sure it oft to be to every one. Gentlemen oft not to kill poor Folks without answering for it. A poor Man hath a Soul to be saved as well as his Betters.’
‘Indeed, Madam,’ said the Lieutenant, ‘you do the Volunteer wrong; I dare swear he is more of a Gentleman than the Officer.’
‘Ay,’ cries the Landlady, ‘why look you there now: Well, my first Husband was a wise Man; he used to say, you can’t always know the Inside by the Outside. Nay, that might have been well enough too: For I never saw’d him till he was all over Blood. Who would have thoft it! mayhap, some young Gentleman crossed in Love. Good Lack-a-day! if he should die, what a Concern it will be to his Parents! Why sure the Devil must possess the wicked Wretch to do such an Act. To be sure, he is a Scandal to the Army, as your Honour says: For most of the Gentlemen of the Army that ever I saw, are quite different Sort of People, and look as if they would scorn to spill any Christian Blood as much as any Men, I mean, that is, in a civil Way, as my first Husband used to say. To be sure, when they come into the Wars, there must be Bloodshed; but that they are not to be blamed for. The more of our Enemies they kill there, the better; and I wish with all my Heart, they could kill every Mother’s Son of them.’
‘O fie! Madam,’ said the Lieutenant smiling, ‘ALL is rather too bloody-minded a Wish.’
‘Not at all, Sir,’ answered she, ‘I am not at all bloody-minded, only to our Enemies, and there is no Harm in that. To be sure it is natural for us to wish our Enemies dead, that the Wars may be at an End, and our Taxes be lowered: For it is a dreadful Thing to pay as we do. Why now there is above forty Shillings for Windowlights, and yet we have stopt up all we could;1 we have almost blinded the House I am sure: Says I to the Exciseman, says I, I think you oft to favour us, I am sure we are very good Friends to the Government; and so we are for sartain: For we pay a Mint of Money to ’um. And yet I often think to myself, the Government doth not imagine itself more obliged to us, than to those that don’t pay ’um a Farthing. Ay, ay; it is the Way of the World.’
She was proceeding in this Manner, when the Surgeon entered the Room. The Lieutenant immediately asked how his Patient did? But he resolved him only by saying, ‘Better, I believe, than he would have been by this Time, if I had not been called; and even as it is, perhaps it would have been lucky if I could have been called sooner.’ ‘I hope, Sir,’ said the Lieutenant, ‘the Skull is not fractured.’ ‘Hum,’ cries the Surgeon, ‘Fractures are not always the most dangerous Symptoms. Contusions and Lacerations are often attended with worse Phænomena, and with more fatal Consequences than Fractures. People who know nothing of the Matter conclude, if the Skull is not fractured, all is well; whereas, I had rather see a Man’s Skull broken all to Pieces, than some Contusions I have met with.’ ‘I hope,’ says the Lieutenant, ‘there are no such Symptoms here.’ ‘Symptoms,’ answered the Surgeon, ‘are not always regular nor constant. I have known very unfavourable Symptoms in the Morning change to favourable ones at Noon, and return to unfavourable again at Night. Of Wounds, indeed, it is rightly and truly said, Nemo repente fuit turpissimus.2 I was once, I remember, called to a Patient, who had received a violent Contusion in his Tibia, by which the exterior Cutis was lacerated, so that there was a profuse sanguinary Discharge; and the interior Membranes were so divellicated, that the Os or Bone very plainly appeared through the Aperture of the Vulnus or Wound. Some febrile Symptoms intervening at the same Time, (for the Pulse was exuberant and indicated much Phlebotomy) I apprehended an immediate Mortification. To prevent which I presently made a large Orifice in the Vein of the left Arm, whence I drew twenty Ounces of Blood; which I expected to have found extremely sizy and glutinous, or indeed coagulated, as it is in pleuretic Complaints; but, to my Surprize, it appeared rosy and florid, and its Consistency differed little from the Blood of those in perfect Health. I then applied a Fomentation to the Part, which highly answered the Intention, and after three or four Times dressing, the Wound began to discharge a thick Pus or Matter, by which Means the Cohesion———but perhaps I do not make myself perfectly well understood.’ ‘No really,’ answered the Lieutenant, ‘I cannot say I understand a Syllable.’ ‘Well, Sir,’ said the Surgeon, ‘then I shall not tire your Patience; in short, within six Weeks, my Patient was able to walk upon his Legs, as perfectly as he could have done before he received the Contusion.’ ‘I wish, Sir,’ said the Lieutenant, ‘you would be so kind only to inform me, whether the Wound this young Gentleman hath had the Misfortune to receive is likely to prove mortal?’ ‘Sir,’ answered the Surgeon, ‘to say whether a Wound will prove mortal or not at first Dressing, would be very weak and foolish Presumption: We are all mortal, and Symptoms often occur in a Cure which the greatest of our Profession could never forsee.’—‘But do you think him in Danger?’ says the other. ‘In Danger! ay, surely,’ cries the Doctor, ‘who is there among us, who in the most perfect Health can be said not to be in Danger? Can a Man, therefore, with so bad a Wound as this be said to be out of Danger? All I can say at present is, that it is well I was called as I was, and perhaps it would have been better if I had been called sooner. I will see him again early in the Morning, and in the mean Time let him be kept extremely quiet, and drink liberally of Water-Gruel.’ ‘Won’t you allow him Sack-whey,’ said the Landlady? ‘Ay, ay, Sack-whey,’ cries the Doctor, ‘if you will, provided it be very small.’ ‘And a little Chicken-broth too,’ added she?— ‘Yes, yes, Chicken-broth,’ said the Doctor, ‘is very good.’ ‘Mayn’t I make him some Jellies too,’ said the Landlady? ‘Ay, ay,’ answered the Doctor, ‘Jellies are very good for Wounds, for they promote Cohesion.’ And, indeed, it was lucky she had not named Soop or high Sauces, for the Doctor would have complied, rather than have lost the Custom of the House.
The Doctor was no sooner gone, than the Landlady began to trumpet forth his Fame to the Lieutenant, who had not, from their short Acquaintance, conceived quite so favourable an Opinion of his physical Abilities as the good Woman, and all the Neighbourhood, entertained; (and perhaps very rightly) for tho’ I am afraid the Doctor was a little of a Coxcomb, he might be nevertheless very much of a Surgeon.
The Lieutenant having collected from the learned Discourse of the Surgeon, that Mr. Jones was in great Danger, gave Orders for keeping Mr. Northerton under a very strict Guard, designing in the Morning to attend him to a Justice of Peace, and to commit the conducting the Troops to Gloucester to the French Lieutenant, who, tho’ he could neither read, write, nor speak any Language, was, however, a good Officer.
In the Evening our Commander sent a Message to Mr. Jones, that if a Visit would not be troublesome he would wait on him. This Civility was very kindly and thankfully received by Jones, and the Lieutenant accordingly went up to his Room, where he found the wounded Man much better than he expected; nay, Jones assured his Friend, that if he had not received express Orders to the contrary from the Surgeon, he should have got up long ago: For he appeared to himself to be as well as ever, and felt no other Inconvenience from his Wound but an extreme Soreness on that Side of his Head.
‘I should be very glad,’ quoth the Lieutenant, ‘if you was as well as you fancy yourself: For then you could be able to do yourself Justice immediately; for when a Matter can’t be made up, as in a Case of a Blow, the sooner you take him out the better; but I am afraid you think yourself better than you are, and he would have too much Advantage over you.’
‘I’ll try, however,’ answered Jones, ‘if you please, and will be so kind to lend me a Sword: For I have none here of my own.’
‘My Sword is heartily at your Service, my dear Boy,’ cries the Lieutenant, kissing him, ‘you are a brave Lad, and I love your Spirit; but I fear your Strength: For such a Blow, and so much Loss of Blood, must have very much weakened you; and tho’ you feel no Want of Strength in your Bed, yet you most probably would after a Thrust or two. I can’t cons
ent to your taking him out To-night; but I hope you will be able to come up with us before we get many Days March Advance; and I give you my Honour you shall have Satisfaction, or the Man who hath injured you shan’t stay in our Regiment.’
‘I wish,’ said Jones, ‘it was possible to decide this Matter Tonight: Now you have mentioned it to me, I shall not be able to rest.’
‘O never think of it,’ returned the other, ‘a few Days will make no Difference. The Wounds of Honour are not like those in your Body. They suffer nothing by the Delay of Cure. It will be altogether as well for you, to receive Satisfaction a Week hence as now.’
‘But suppose,’ says Jones, ‘I should grow worse, and die of the Consequences of my present Wound.’
‘Then your Honour,’ answered the Lieutenant, ‘will require no Reparation at all. I myself will do Justice to your Character, and testify to the World your Intention to have acted properly if you had recovered.’
‘Still,’ replied Jones, ‘I am concerned at the Delay. I am almost afraid to mention it to you who are a Soldier; but tho’ I have been a very wild young Fellow, still in my most serious Moments and at the Bottom, I am really a Christian.’
‘So am I too, I assure you,’ said the Officer: ‘And so zealous a one, that I was pleased with you at Dinner for taking up the Cause of your Religion; and I am a little offended with you now, young Gentleman, that you should express a Fear of declaring your Faith before any one.’
‘But how terrible must it be,’ cries Jones, ‘to any one who is really a Christian, to cherish Malice in his Breast, in Opposition to the Command of him who hath expressly forbid it?3 How can I bear to do this on a sick Bed? Or how shall I make up my Account, with such an Article as this in my Bosom against me?’
‘Why I believe there is such a Command,’ cries the Lieutenant; ‘but a Man of Honour can’t keep it. And you must be a Man of Honour, if you will be in the Army. I remember I once put the Case to our Chaplain over a Bowl of Punch, and he confessed there was much Difficulty in it; but he said, he hoped there might be a Latitude granted to Soldiers in this one Instance; and to be sure it is our Duty to hope so: For who would bear to live without his Honour? No, no, my dear Boy, be a good Christian as long as you live; but be a Man of Honour too, and never put up an Affront; not all the Books, nor all the Parsons in the World, shall ever persuade me to that. I love my Religion very well, but I love my Honour more.4 There must be some Mistake in the wording the Text, or in the Translation, or in the understanding it, or somewhere or other. But however that be, a Man must run the Risque; for he must preserve his Honour. So compose yourself To-night, and I promise you, you shall have an Opportunity of doing yourself Justice.’ Here he gave Jones a hearty Buss,5 shook him by the Hand, and took his Leave.
But tho’ the Lieutenant’s Reasoning was very satisfactory to himself, it was not entirely so to his Friend. Jones therefore having revolved this Matter much in his Thoughts, at last came to a Resolution, which the Reader will find in the next Chapter.
CHAPTER XIV.
A most dreadful Chapter indeed; and which few Readers ought to venture upon in an Evening, especially when alone.
Jones swallowed a large Mess of Chicken, or rather Cock, Broth, with a very good Appetite, as indeed he would have done the Cock it was made of, with a Pound of Bacon into the Bargain; and now, finding in himself no Deficiency of either Health or Spirit, he resolved to get up and seek his Enemy.
But first he sent for the Serjeant, who was his first Acquaintance among these military Gentlemen. Unluckily that worthy Officer having, in a literal Sense, taken his Fill of Liquor, had been some Time retired to his Bolster, where he was snoring so loud, that it was not easy to convey a Noise in at his Ears capable of drowning that which issued from his Nostrils.
However, as Jones persisted in his Desire of seeing him, a vociferous Drawer at length found Means to disturb his Slumbers, and to acquaint him with the Message. Of which the Serjeant was no sooner made sensible, than he arose from his Bed, and having his Clothes already on, immediately attended. Jones did not think fit to acquaint the Serjeant with his Design, tho’ he might have done it with great Safety; for the Halberdier was himself a Man of Honour, and had killed his Man. He would therefore have faithfully kept this Secret, or indeed any other which no Reward was published for discovering. But as Jones knew not those Virtues in so short an Acquaintance, his Caution was perhaps prudent and commendable enough.
He began therefore by acquainting the Serjeant, that as he was now entered into the Army, he was ashamed of being without what was perhaps the most necessary Implement of a Soldier, namely, a Sword; adding, that he should be infinitely obliged to him, if he could procure one. ‘For which,’ says he, ‘I will give you any reasonable Price; nor do I insist upon its being Silver-hilted, only a good Blade, and such as may become a Soldier’s Thigh.’
The Serjeant, who well knew what had happened, and had heard that Jones was in a very dangerous Condition, immediately concluded, from such a Message, at such a Time of Night, and from a Man in such a Situation, that he was light-headed. Now as he had his Wit (to use that Word in its common Signification) always ready, he bethought himself of making his Advantage of this Humour in the sick Man. ‘Sir,’ says he, ‘I believe I can fit you. I have a most excellent Piece of Stuff by me. It is not indeed Silver-hilted, which, as you say, doth not become a Soldier; but the Handle is decent enough, and the Blade one of the best in Europe.——It is a Blade that—a Blade that—In short, I will fetch it you this Instant, and you shall see it and handle it—I am glad to see your Honour so well with all my Heart.’
Being instantly returned with the Sword, he delivered it to Jones, who took it and drew it; and then told the Serjeant it would do very well, and bid him name his Price.
The Serjeant now began to harangue in Praise of his Goods. He said (nay he swore very heartily) ‘that the Blade was taken from a French Officer of very high Rank, at the Battle of Dettingen.1 I took it myself,’ says he, ‘from his Side, after I had knocked him o’ the Head. The Hilt was a golden one. That I sold to one of our fine Gentlemen; for there are some of them, an’t please your Honour, who value the Hilt of a Sword more than the Blade.’
Here the other stopped him, and begged him to name a Price. The Serjeant, who thought Jones absolutely out of his Senses, and very near his End, was afraid, lest he should injure his Family by asking too little.—However, after a Moment’s Hesitation, he contented himself with naming twenty Guineas, and swore he would not sell it for less to his own Brother.
‘Twenty Guineas!’ says Jones, in the utmost Surprize, ‘sure you think I am mad, or that I never saw a Sword in my Life. Twenty Guineas, indeed! I did not imagine you would endeavour to impose upon me.—Here, take the Sword—No, now I think on’t, I will keep it myself, and shew it your Officer in the Morning, acquainting him, at the same Time, what a Price you asked me for it.’
The Serjeant, as we have said, had always his Wit (in sensu prædicto) about him, and now plainly saw that Jones was not in the Condition he had apprehended him to be; he now, therefore, counterfeited as great Surprize as the other had shewn, and said, ‘I am certain, Sir, I have not asked you so much out of the way. Besides, you are to consider, it is the only Sword I have, and I must run the Risque of my Officer’s Displeasure, by going without one myself. And truly, putting all this together, I don’t think twenty Shillings was so much out of the Way.’
‘Twenty Shillings!’ cried Jones, ‘why you just now asked me twenty Guineas.’ ‘How!’ cries the Serjeant—‘Sure your Honour must have mistaken me; or else I mistook myself—and indeed I am but half awake——Twenty Guineas indeed! no wonder your Honour flew into such a Passion. I say twenty Guineas too—No, no, I meant twenty Shillings, I assure you. And when your Honour comes to consider every Thing, I hope you will not think that so extravagant a Price. It is indeed true, you may buy a Weapon which looks as well for less Money. But—’
Here Jones interrupted him, saying, ‘
I will be so far from making any Words with you, that I will give you a Shilling more than your Demand.’ He then gave him a Guinea, bid him return to his Bed, and wished him a good March; adding, he hoped to overtake them before the Division reached Worcester.
The Serjeant very civilly took his Leave, fully satisfied with his Merchandize, and not a little pleased with his dextrous Recovery from that false Step into which his Opinion of the sick Man’s Light-headedness had betrayed him.
As soon as the Serjeant was departed, Jones rose from his Bed, and dressed himself entirely, putting on even his Coat, which, as its Colour was white, shewed very visibly the Streams of Blood which had flowed down it; and now, having grasped his new-purchased Sword in his Hand, he was going to issue forth, when the Thought of what he was about to undertake laid suddenly hold of him, and he began to reflect that in a few Minutes he might possibly deprive a human Being of Life, or might lose his own. ‘Very well,’ said he, ‘and in what Cause do I venture my Life? Why, in that of my Honour. And who is this human Being? A Rascal who hath injured and insulted me without Provocation. But is not Revenge forbidden by Heaven?—Yes, but it is enjoined by the World. Well, but shall I obey the World in Opposition to the express Commands of Heaven? Shall I incur the divine Displeasure rather than be called—Ha—Coward—Scoundrel?— I’ll think no more; I am resolved, and must fight him.’
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 45