History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter xiii.
2413 words | Chapter 219
Containing the great address of the landlady, the great learning of a
surgeon, and the solid skill in casuistry of the worthy lieutenant.
When the wounded man was carried to his bed, and the house began again
to clear up from the hurry which this accident had occasioned, the
landlady thus addressed the commanding officer: “I am afraid, sir,”
said she, “this young man did not behave himself as well as he should
do to your honours; and if he had been killed, I suppose he had but
his desarts: to be sure, when gentlemen admit inferior parsons into
their company, they oft to keep their distance; but, as my first
husband used to say, few of 'em know how to do it. For my own part, I
am sure I should not have suffered any fellows to _include_ themselves
into gentlemen's company; but I thoft he had been an officer himself,
till the serjeant told me he was but a recruit.”
“Landlady,” answered the lieutenant, “you mistake the whole matter.
The young man behaved himself extremely well, and is, I believe, a
much better gentleman than the ensign who abused him. If the young
fellow dies, the man who struck him will have most reason to be sorry
for it: for the regiment will get rid of a very troublesome fellow,
who is a scandal to the army; and if he escapes from the hands of
justice, blame me, madam, that's all.”
“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 window-lights, and yet we have
stopt up all we could; 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 phaenomena,
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 broke 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_. 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 foresee.”--“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 meantime 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 soup 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 though 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, though 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 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 though you feel no want of
strength in your bed, yet you most probably would after a thrust or
two. I can't consent to your taking him out tonight; 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 to-night:
now you have mentioned it to me, I shall not be able to rest.”
“Oh, 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 though 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? 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. 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, shook him
by the hand, and took his leave.
But though 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.
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