History of Tom Jones, a Foundling

by Henry Fielding

  Chapter iii.

  The departure of Jones from Upton, with what passed between him andPartridge on the road.

  At length we are once more come to our heroe; and, to say truth, wehave been obliged to part with him so long, that, considering thecondition in which we left him, I apprehend many of our readers haveconcluded we intended to abandon him for ever; he being at present inthat situation in which prudent people usually desist from enquiringany farther after their friends, lest they should be shocked byhearing such friends had hanged themselves.

  But, in reality, if we have not all the virtues, I will boldly say,neither have we all the vices of a prudent character; and though it isnot easy to conceive circumstances much more miserable than those ofpoor Jones at present, we shall return to him, and attend upon himwith the same diligence as if he was wantoning in the brightest beamsof fortune.

  Mr Jones, then, and his companion Partridge, left the inn a fewminutes after the departure of Squire Western, and pursued the sameroad on foot, for the hostler told them that no horses were by anymeans to be at that time procured at Upton. On they marched with heavyhearts; for though their disquiet proceeded from very differentreasons, yet displeased they were both; and if Jones sighed bitterly,Partridge grunted altogether as sadly at every step.

  When they came to the cross-roads where the squire had stopt to takecounsel, Jones stopt likewise, and turning to Partridge, asked hisopinion which track they should pursue. "Ah, sir," answered Partridge,"I wish your honour would follow my advice." "Why should I not?"replied Jones; "for it is now indifferent to me whither I go, or whatbecomes of me." "My advice, then," said Partridge, "is, that youimmediately face about and return home; for who that hath such a hometo return to as your honour, would travel thus about the country likea vagabond? I ask pardon, _sed vox ea sola reperta est_."

  "Alas!" cries Jones, "I have no home to return to;--but if my friend,my father, would receive me, could I bear the country from whichSophia is flown? Cruel Sophia! Cruel! No; let me blame myself!--No;let me blame thee. D--nation seize thee--fool--blockhead! thou hastundone me, and I will tear thy soul from thy body."--At which words helaid violent hands on the collar of poor Partridge, and shook him moreheartily than an ague-fit, or his own fears had ever done before.

  Partridge fell trembling on his knees, and begged for mercy, vowing hehad meant no harm--when Jones, after staring wildly on him for amoment, quitted his hold, and discharged a rage on himself, that, hadit fallen on the other, would certainly have put an end to his being,which indeed the very apprehension of it had almost effected.

  We would bestow some pains here in minutely describing all the madpranks which Jones played on this occasion, could we be well assuredthat the reader would take the same pains in perusing them; but as weare apprehensive that, after all the labour which we should employ inpainting this scene, the said reader would be very apt to skip itentirely over, we have saved ourselves that trouble. To say the truth,we have, from this reason alone, often done great violence to theluxuriance of our genius, and have left many excellent descriptionsout of our work, which would otherwise have been in it. And thissuspicion, to be honest, arises, as is generally the case, from ourown wicked heart; for we have, ourselves, been very often mosthorridly given to jumping, as we have run through the pages ofvoluminous historians.

  Suffice it then simply to say, that Jones, after having played thepart of a madman for many minutes, came, by degrees, to himself; whichno sooner happened, than, turning to Partridge, he very earnestlybegged his pardon for the attack he had made on him in the violence ofhis passion; but concluded, by desiring him never to mention hisreturn again; for he was resolved never to see that country any more.

  Partridge easily forgave, and faithfully promised to obey theinjunction now laid upon him. And then Jones very briskly cried out,"Since it is absolutely impossible for me to pursue any farther thesteps of my angel--I will pursue those of glory. Come on, my bravelad, now for the army:--it is a glorious cause, and I would willinglysacrifice my life in it, even though it was worth my preserving." Andso saying, he immediately struck into the different road from thatwhich the squire had taken, and, by mere chance, pursued the very samethrough which Sophia had before passed.

  Our travellers now marched a full mile, without speaking a syllable toeach other, though Jones, indeed, muttered many things to himself. Asto Partridge, he was profoundly silent; for he was not, perhaps,perfectly recovered from his former fright; besides, he hadapprehensions of provoking his friend to a second fit of wrath,especially as he now began to entertain a conceit, which may not,perhaps, create any great wonder in the reader. In short, he began nowto suspect that Jones was absolutely out of his senses.

  At length, Jones, being weary of soliloquy, addressed himself to hiscompanion, and blamed him for his taciturnity; for which the poor manvery honestly accounted, from his fear of giving offence. And now thisfear being pretty well removed, by the most absolute promises ofindemnity, Partridge again took the bridle from his tongue; which,perhaps, rejoiced no less at regaining its liberty, than a young colt,when the bridle is slipt from his neck, and he is turned loose intothe pastures.

  As Partridge was inhibited from that topic which would have firstsuggested itself, he fell upon that which was next uppermost in hismind, namely, the Man of the Hill. "Certainly, sir," says he, "thatcould never be a man, who dresses himself and lives after such astrange manner, and so unlike other folks. Besides, his diet, as theold woman told me, is chiefly upon herbs, which is a fitter food for ahorse than a Christian: nay, landlord at Upton says that theneighbours thereabouts have very fearful notions about him. It runsstrangely in my head that it must have been some spirit, who, perhaps,might be sent to forewarn us: and who knows but all that matter whichhe told us, of his going to fight, and of his being taken prisoner,and of the great danger he was in of being hanged, might be intendedas a warning to us, considering what we are going about? besides, Idreamt of nothing all last night but of fighting; and methought theblood ran out of my nose, as liquor out of a tap. Indeed, sir,_infandum, regina, jubes renovare dolorem_."

  "Thy story, Partridge," answered Jones, "is almost as ill applied asthy Latin. Nothing can be more likely to happen than death to men whogo into battle. Perhaps we shall both fall in it--and what then?""What then?" replied Partridge; "why then there is an end of us, isthere not? when I am gone, all is over with me. What matters the causeto me, or who gets the victory, if I am killed? I shall never enjoyany advantage from it. What are all the ringing of bells, andbonfires, to one that is six foot under ground? there will be an endof poor Partridge." "And an end of poor Partridge," cries Jones,"there must be, one time or other. If you love Latin, I will repeatyou some fine lines out of Horace, which would inspire courage into acoward.

  `_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori Mors et fugacem persequitur virum Nec parcit imbellis juventae Poplitibus, timidoque tergo._'"

  "I wish you would construe them," cries Partridge; "for Horace is ahard author, and I cannot understand as you repeat them."

  "I will repeat you a bad imitation, or rather paraphrase, of my own,"said Jones; "for I am but an indifferent poet:

  `Who would not die in his dear country's cause? Since, if base fearhis dastard step withdraws, From death he cannot fly:--One commongrave Receives, at last, the coward and the brave.'"

  "That's very certain," cries Partridge. "Ay, sure, _Mors omnibuscommunis:_ but there is a great difference between dying in one's beda great many years hence, like a good Christian, with all our friendscrying about us, and being shot to-day or to-morrow, like a mad dog;or, perhaps, hacked in twenty pieces with the sword, and that toobefore we have repented of all our sins. O Lord, have mercy upon us!to be sure the soldiers are a wicked kind of people. I never loved tohave anything to do with them. I could hardly bring myself ever tolook upon them as Christians. There is nothing but cursing andswearing among them. I wish your honour would repent: I heartily wishyou would repent before it is t
oo late; and not think of going amongthem.--Evil communication corrupts good manners. That is my principalreason. For as for that matter, I am no more afraid than another man,not I; as to matter of that. I know all human flesh must die; but yeta man may live many years, for all that. Why, I am a middle-aged mannow, and yet I may live a great number of years. I have read ofseveral who have lived to be above a hundred, and some a great dealabove a hundred. Not that I hope, I mean that I promise myself, tolive to any such age as that, neither.--But if it be only to eighty orninety. Heaven be praised, that is a great ways off yet; and I am notafraid of dying then, no more than another man; but, surely, to temptdeath before a man's time is come seems to me downright wickedness andpresumption. Besides, if it was to do any good indeed; but, let thecause be what it will, what mighty matter of good can two people do?and, for my part, I understand nothing of it. I never fired off a gunabove ten times in my life; and then it was not charged with bullets.And for the sword, I never learned to fence, and know nothing of thematter. And then there are those cannons, which certainly it must bethought the highest presumption to go in the way of; and nobody but amadman--I ask pardon; upon my soul I meant no harm; I beg I may notthrow your honour into another passion."

  "Be under no apprehension, Partridge," cries Jones; "I am now so wellconvinced of thy cowardice, that thou couldst not provoke me on anyaccount." "Your honour," answered he, "may call me coward, or anythingelse you please. If loving to sleep in a whole skin makes a man acoward, _non immunes ab illis malis sumus_. I never read in my grammarthat a man can't be a good man without fighting. _Vir bonus est quis?Qui consulta patrum, qui leges juraque servat_. Not a word offighting; and I am sure the scripture is so much against it, that aman shall never persuade me he is a good Christian while he shedsChristian blood."