Chapter xii.
In which is seen a more moving spectacle than all the blood in thebodies of Thwackum and Blifil, and of twenty other such, is capable ofproducing.
The rest of Mr Western's company were now come up, being just at theinstant when the action was over. These were the honest clergyman,whom we have formerly seen at Mr Western's table; Mrs Western, theaunt of Sophia; and lastly, the lovely Sophia herself.
At this time, the following was the aspect of the bloody field. In oneplace lay on the ground, all pale, and almost breathless, thevanquished Blifil. Near him stood the conqueror Jones, almost coveredwith blood, part of which was naturally his own, and part had beenlately the property of the Reverend Mr Thwackum. In a third placestood the said Thwackum, like King Porus, sullenly submitting to theconqueror. The last figure in the piece was Western the Great, mostgloriously forbearing the vanquished foe.
Blifil, in whom there was little sign of life, was at first theprincipal object of the concern of every one, and particularly of MrsWestern, who had drawn from her pocket a bottle of hartshorn, and washerself about to apply it to his nostrils, when on a sudden theattention of the whole company was diverted from poor Blifil, whosespirit, if it had any such design, might have now taken an opportunityof stealing off to the other world, without any ceremony.
For now a more melancholy and a more lovely object lay motionlessbefore them. This was no other than the charming Sophia herself, who,from the sight of blood, or from fear for her father, or from someother reason, had fallen down in a swoon, before any one could get toher assistance.
Mrs Western first saw her and screamed. Immediately two or threevoices cried out, "Miss Western is dead." Hartshorn, water, everyremedy was called for, almost at one and the same instant.
The reader may remember, that in our description of this grove wementioned a murmuring brook, which brook did not come there, as suchgentle streams flow through vulgar romances, with no other purposethan to murmur. No! Fortune had decreed to ennoble this little brookwith a higher honour than any of those which wash the plains ofArcadia ever deserved.
Jones was rubbing Blifil's temples, for he began to fear he had givenhim a blow too much, when the words, Miss Western and Dead, rushed atonce on his ear. He started up, left Blifil to his fate, and flew toSophia, whom, while all the rest were running against each other,backward and forward, looking for water in the dry paths, he caught upin his arms, and then ran away with her over the field to the rivuletabove mentioned; where, plunging himself into the water, he contrivedto besprinkle her face, head, and neck very plentifully.
Happy was it for Sophia that the same confusion which prevented herother friends from serving her, prevented them likewise fromobstructing Jones. He had carried her half ways before they knew whathe was doing, and he had actually restored her to life before theyreached the waterside. She stretched out her arms, opened her eyes,and cried, "Oh! heavens!" just as her father, aunt, and the parsoncame up.
Jones, who had hitherto held this lovely burthen in his arms, nowrelinquished his hold; but gave her at the same instant a tendercaress, which, had her senses been then perfectly restored, could nothave escaped her observation. As she expressed, therefore, nodispleasure at this freedom, we suppose she was not sufficientlyrecovered from her swoon at the time.
This tragical scene was now converted into a sudden scene of joy. Inthis our heroe was certainly the principal character; for as heprobably felt more ecstatic delight in having saved Sophia than sheherself received from being saved, so neither were the congratulationspaid to her equal to what were conferred on Jones, especially by MrWestern himself, who, after having once or twice embraced hisdaughter, fell to hugging and kissing Jones. He called him thepreserver of Sophia, and declared there was nothing, except her, orhis estate, which he would not give him; but upon recollection, heafterwards excepted his fox-hounds, the Chevalier, and Miss Slouch(for so he called his favourite mare).
All fears for Sophia being now removed, Jones became the object of thesquire's consideration.--"Come, my lad," says Western, "d'off thyquoat and wash thy feace; for att in a devilish pickle, I promisethee. Come, come, wash thyself, and shat go huome with me; and we'lzee to vind thee another quoat."
Jones immediately complied, threw off his coat, went down to thewater, and washed both his face and bosom; for the latter was as muchexposed and as bloody as the former. But though the water could clearoff the blood, it could not remove the black and blue marks whichThwackum had imprinted on both his face and breast, and which, beingdiscerned by Sophia, drew from her a sigh and a look full ofinexpressible tenderness.
Jones received this full in his eyes, and it had infinitely a strongereffect on him than all the contusions which he had received before. Aneffect, however, widely different; for so soft and balmy was it, that,had all his former blows been stabs, it would for some minutes haveprevented his feeling their smart.
The company now moved backwards, and soon arrived where Thwackum hadgot Mr Blifil again on his legs. Here we cannot suppress a pious wish,that all quarrels were to be decided by those weapons only with whichNature, knowing what is proper for us, hath supplied us; and that coldiron was to be used in digging no bowels but those of the earth. Thenwould war, the pastime of monarchs, be almost inoffensive, and battlesbetween great armies might be fought at the particular desire ofseveral ladies of quality; who, together with the kings themselves,might be actual spectators of the conflict. Then might the field bethis moment well strewed with human carcasses, and the next, the deadmen, or infinitely the greatest part of them, might get up, like MrBayes's troops, and march off either at the sound of a drum or fiddle,as should be previously agreed on.
I would avoid, if possible, treating this matter ludicrously, lestgrave men and politicians, whom I know to be offended at a jest, maycry pish at it; but, in reality, might not a battle be as well decidedby the greater number of broken heads, bloody noses, and black eyes,as by the greater heaps of mangled and murdered human bodies? Mightnot towns be contended for in the same manner? Indeed, this may bethought too detrimental a scheme to the French interest, since theywould thus lose the advantage they have over other nations in thesuperiority of their engineers; but when I consider the gallantry andgenerosity of that people, I am persuaded they would never declineputting themselves upon a par with their adversary; or, as the phraseis, making themselves his match.
But such reformations are rather to be wished than hoped for: I shallcontent myself, therefore, with this short hint, and return to mynarrative.
Western began now to inquire into the original rise of this quarrel.To which neither Blifil nor Jones gave any answer; but Thwackum saidsurlily, "I believe the cause is not far off; if you beat the busheswell you may find her."--"Find her?" replied Western: "what! have youbeen fighting for a wench?"--"Ask the gentleman in his waistcoatthere," said Thwackum: "he best knows." "Nay then," cries Western, "itis a wench certainly.--Ah, Tom, Tom, thou art a liquorish dog. Butcome, gentlemen, be all friends, and go home with me, and make finalpeace over a bottle." "I ask your pardon, sir," says Thwackum: "it isno such slight matter for a man of my character to be thus injuriouslytreated, and buffeted by a boy, only because I would have done myduty, in endeavouring to detect and bring to justice a wanton harlot;but, indeed, the principal fault lies in Mr Allworthy and yourself;for if you put the laws in execution, as you ought to do, you willsoon rid the country of these vermin."
"I would as soon rid the country of foxes," cries Western. "I think weought to encourage the recruiting those numbers which we are every daylosing in the war.--But where is she? Prithee, Tom, show me." He thenbegan to beat about, in the same language and in the same manner as ifhe had been beating for a hare; and at last cried out, "Soho! Puss isnot far off. Here's her form, upon my soul; I believe I may cry stoleaway." And indeed so he might; for he had now discovered the placewhence the poor girl had, at the beginning of the fray, stolen away,upon as many feet as a hare generally uses in travelling.
Sophia now desired her father to return home; saying she found herselfvery faint, and apprehended a relapse. The squire immediately compliedwith his daughter's request (for he was the fondest of parents). Heearnestly endeavoured to prevail with the whole company to go and supwith him: but Blifil and Thwackum absolutely refused; the formersaying, there were more reasons than he could then mention, why hemust decline this honour; and the latter declaring (perhaps rightly)that it was not proper for a person of his function to be seen at anyplace in his present condition.
Jones was incapable of refusing the pleasure of being with his Sophia;so on he marched with Squire Western and his ladies, the parsonbringing up the rear. This had, indeed, offered to tarry with hisbrother Thwackum, professing his regard for the cloth would not permithim to depart; but Thwackum would not accept the favour, and, with nogreat civility, pushed him after Mr Western.
Thus ended this bloody fray; and thus shall end the fifth book of thishistory.
BOOK VI.
CONTAINING ABOUT THREE WEEKS.
History of Tom Jones, a Foundling Page 60