History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter ii.
2055 words | Chapter 154
The heroe of this great history appears with very bad omens. A little
tale of so LOW a kind that some may think it not worth their notice. A
word or two concerning a squire, and more relating to a gamekeeper and
a schoolmaster.
As we determined, when we first sat down to write this history, to
flatter no man, but to guide our pen throughout by the directions of
truth, we are obliged to bring our heroe on the stage in a much more
disadvantageous manner than we could wish; and to declare honestly,
even at his first appearance, that it was the universal opinion of all
Mr Allworthy's family that he was certainly born to be hanged.
Indeed, I am sorry to say there was too much reason for this
conjecture; the lad having from his earliest years discovered a
propensity to many vices, and especially to one which hath as direct a
tendency as any other to that fate which we have just now observed to
have been prophetically denounced against him: he had been already
convicted of three robberies, viz., of robbing an orchard, of stealing
a duck out of a farmer's yard, and of picking Master Blifil's pocket
of a ball.
The vices of this young man were, moreover, heightened by the
disadvantageous light in which they appeared when opposed to the
virtues of Master Blifil, his companion; a youth of so different a
cast from little Jones, that not only the family but all the
neighbourhood resounded his praises. He was, indeed, a lad of a
remarkable disposition; sober, discreet, and pious beyond his age;
qualities which gained him the love of every one who knew him: while
Tom Jones was universally disliked; and many expressed their wonder
that Mr Allworthy would suffer such a lad to be educated with his
nephew, lest the morals of the latter should be corrupted by his
example.
An incident which happened about this time will set the characters of
these two lads more fairly before the discerning reader than is in the
power of the longest dissertation.
Tom Jones, who, bad as he is, must serve for the heroe of this
history, had only one friend among all the servants of the family; for
as to Mrs Wilkins, she had long since given him up, and was perfectly
reconciled to her mistress. This friend was the gamekeeper, a fellow
of a loose kind of disposition, and who was thought not to entertain
much stricter notions concerning the difference of _meum_ and _tuum_
than the young gentleman himself. And hence this friendship gave
occasion to many sarcastical remarks among the domestics, most of
which were either proverbs before, or at least are become so now; and,
indeed, the wit of them all may be comprised in that short Latin
proverb, “_Noscitur a socio;_” which, I think, is thus expressed in
English, “You may know him by the company he keeps.”
To say the truth, some of that atrocious wickedness in Jones, of which
we have just mentioned three examples, might perhaps be derived from
the encouragement he had received from this fellow, who, in two or
three instances, had been what the law calls an accessary after the
fact: for the whole duck, and great part of the apples, were converted
to the use of the gamekeeper and his family; though, as Jones alone
was discovered, the poor lad bore not only the whole smart, but the
whole blame; both which fell again to his lot on the following
occasion.
Contiguous to Mr Allworthy's estate was the manor of one of those
gentlemen who are called preservers of the game. This species of men,
from the great severity with which they revenge the death of a hare or
partridge, might be thought to cultivate the same superstition with
the Bannians in India; many of whom, we are told, dedicate their whole
lives to the preservation and protection of certain animals; was it
not that our English Bannians, while they preserve them from other
enemies, will most unmercifully slaughter whole horse-loads
themselves; so that they stand clearly acquitted of any such
heathenish superstition.
I have, indeed, a much better opinion of this kind of men than is
entertained by some, as I take them to answer the order of Nature, and
the good purposes for which they were ordained, in a more ample manner
than many others. Now, as Horace tells us that there are a set of
human beings
_Fruges consumere nati,_
“Born to consume the fruits of the earth;” so I make no manner of
doubt but that there are others
_Feras consumere nati,_
“Born to consume the beasts of the field;” or, as it is commonly
called, the game; and none, I believe, will deny but that those
squires fulfil this end of their creation.
Little Jones went one day a shooting with the gamekeeper; when
happening to spring a covey of partridges near the border of that
manor over which Fortune, to fulfil the wise purposes of Nature, had
planted one of the game consumers, the birds flew into it, and were
marked (as it is called) by the two sportsmen, in some furze bushes,
about two or three hundred paces beyond Mr Allworthy's dominions.
Mr Allworthy had given the fellow strict orders, on pain of forfeiting
his place, never to trespass on any of his neighbours; no more on
those who were less rigid in this matter than on the lord of this
manor. With regard to others, indeed, these orders had not been always
very scrupulously kept; but as the disposition of the gentleman with
whom the partridges had taken sanctuary was well known, the gamekeeper
had never yet attempted to invade his territories. Nor had he done it
now, had not the younger sportsman, who was excessively eager to
pursue the flying game, over-persuaded him; but Jones being very
importunate, the other, who was himself keen enough after the sport,
yielded to his persuasions, entered the manor, and shot one of the
partridges.
The gentleman himself was at that time on horse-back, at a little
distance from them; and hearing the gun go off, he immediately made
towards the place, and discovered poor Tom; for the gamekeeper had
leapt into the thickest part of the furze-brake, where he had happily
concealed himself.
The gentleman having searched the lad, and found the partridge upon
him, denounced great vengeance, swearing he would acquaint Mr
Allworthy. He was as good as his word: for he rode immediately to his
house, and complained of the trespass on his manor in as high terms
and as bitter language as if his house had been broken open, and the
most valuable furniture stole out of it. He added, that some other
person was in his company, though he could not discover him; for that
two guns had been discharged almost in the same instant. And, says he,
“We have found only this partridge, but the Lord knows what mischief
they have done.”
At his return home, Tom was presently convened before Mr Allworthy. He
owned the fact, and alledged no other excuse but what was really true,
viz., that the covey was originally sprung in Mr Allworthy's own
manor.
Tom was then interrogated who was with him, which Mr Allworthy
declared he was resolved to know, acquainting the culprit with the
circumstance of the two guns, which had been deposed by the squire and
both his servants; but Tom stoutly persisted in asserting that he was
alone; yet, to say the truth, he hesitated a little at first, which
would have confirmed Mr Allworthy's belief, had what the squire and
his servants said wanted any further confirmation.
The gamekeeper, being a suspected person, was now sent for, and the
question put to him; but he, relying on the promise which Tom had made
him, to take all upon himself, very resolutely denied being in company
with the young gentleman, or indeed having seen him the whole
afternoon.
Mr Allworthy then turned towards Tom, with more than usual anger in
his countenance, and advised him to confess who was with him;
repeating, that he was resolved to know. The lad, however, still
maintained his resolution, and was dismissed with much wrath by Mr
Allworthy, who told him he should have to the next morning to consider
of it, when he should be questioned by another person, and in another
manner.
Poor Jones spent a very melancholy night; and the more so, as he was
without his usual companion; for Master Blifil was gone abroad on a
visit with his mother. Fear of the punishment he was to suffer was on
this occasion his least evil; his chief anxiety being, lest his
constancy should fail him, and he should be brought to betray the
gamekeeper, whose ruin he knew must now be the consequence.
Nor did the gamekeeper pass his time much better. He had the same
apprehensions with the youth; for whose honour he had likewise a much
tenderer regard than for his skin.
In the morning, when Tom attended the reverend Mr Thwackum, the person
to whom Mr Allworthy had committed the instruction of the two boys, he
had the same questions put to him by that gentleman which he had been
asked the evening before, to which he returned the same answers. The
consequence of this was, so severe a whipping, that it possibly fell
little short of the torture with which confessions are in some
countries extorted from criminals.
Tom bore his punishment with great resolution; and though his master
asked him, between every stroke, whether he would not confess, he was
contented to be flead rather than betray his friend, or break the
promise he had made.
The gamekeeper was now relieved from his anxiety, and Mr Allworthy
himself began to be concerned at Tom's sufferings: for besides that Mr
Thwackum, being highly enraged that he was not able to make the boy
say what he himself pleased, had carried his severity much beyond the
good man's intention, this latter began now to suspect that the squire
had been mistaken; which his extreme eagerness and anger seemed to
make probable; and as for what the servants had said in confirmation
of their master's account, he laid no great stress upon that. Now, as
cruelty and injustice were two ideas of which Mr Allworthy could by no
means support the consciousness a single moment, he sent for Tom, and
after many kind and friendly exhortations, said, “I am convinced, my
dear child, that my suspicions have wronged you; I am sorry that you
have been so severely punished on this account.” And at last gave him
a little horse to make him amends; again repeating his sorrow for what
had past.
Tom's guilt now flew in his face more than any severity could make it.
He could more easily bear the lashes of Thwackum, than the generosity
of Allworthy. The tears burst from his eyes, and he fell upon his
knees, crying, “Oh, sir, you are too good to me. Indeed you are.
Indeed I don't deserve it.” And at that very instant, from the fulness
of his heart, had almost betrayed the secret; but the good genius of
the gamekeeper suggested to him what might be the consequence to the
poor fellow, and this consideration sealed his lips.
Thwackum did all he could to persuade Allworthy from showing any
compassion or kindness to the boy, saying, “He had persisted in an
untruth;” and gave some hints, that a second whipping might probably
bring the matter to light.
But Mr Allworthy absolutely refused to consent to the experiment. He
said, the boy had suffered enough already for concealing the truth,
even if he was guilty, seeing that he could have no motive but a
mistaken point of honour for so doing.
“Honour!” cryed Thwackum, with some warmth, “mere stubbornness and
obstinacy! Can honour teach any one to tell a lie, or can any honour
exist independent of religion?”
This discourse happened at table when dinner was just ended; and there
were present Mr Allworthy, Mr Thwackum, and a third gentleman, who now
entered into the debate, and whom, before we proceed any further, we
shall briefly introduce to our reader's acquaintance.
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