History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter vi.
1628 words | Chapter 253
Containing, among other things, the ingenuity of Partridge, the
madness of Jones, and the folly of Fitzpatrick.
It was now past five in the morning, and other company began to rise
and come to the kitchen, among whom were the serjeant and the
coachman, who, being thoroughly reconciled, made a libation, or, in
the English phrase, drank a hearty cup together.
In this drinking nothing more remarkable happened than the behaviour
of Partridge, who, when the serjeant drank a health to King George,
repeated only the word King; nor could he be brought to utter more;
for though he was going to fight against his own cause, yet he could
not be prevailed upon to drink against it.
Mr Jones, being now returned to his own bed (but from whence he
returned we must beg to be excused from relating), summoned Partridge
from this agreeable company, who, after a ceremonious preface, having
obtained leave to offer his advice, delivered himself as follows:--
“It is, sir, an old saying, and a true one, that a wise man may
sometimes learn counsel from a fool; I wish, therefore, I might be so
bold as to offer you my advice, which is to return home again, and
leave these _horrida bella_, these bloody wars, to fellows who are
contented to swallow gunpowder, because they have nothing else to eat.
Now, everybody knows your honour wants for nothing at home; when
that's the case, why should any man travel abroad?”
“Partridge,” cries Jones, “thou art certainly a coward; I wish,
therefore, thou wouldst return home thyself, and trouble me no more.”
“I ask your honour's pardon,” cries Partridge; “I spoke on your
account more than my own; for as to me, Heaven knows my circumstances
are bad enough, and I am so far from being afraid, that I value a
pistol, or a blunderbuss, or any such thing, no more than a pop-gun.
Every man must die once, and what signifies the manner how? besides,
perhaps I may come off with the loss only of an arm or a leg. I assure
you, sir, I was never less afraid in my life; and so, if your honour
is resolved to go on, I am resolved to follow you. But, in that case,
I wish I might give my opinion. To be sure, it is a scandalous way of
travelling, for a great gentleman like you to walk afoot. Now here are
two or three good horses in the stable, which the landlord will
certainly make no scruple of trusting you with; but, if he should, I
can easily contrive to take them; and, let the worst come to the
worst, the king would certainly pardon you, as you are going to fight
in his cause.”
Now, as the honesty of Partridge was equal to his understanding, and
both dealt only in small matters, he would never have attempted a
roguery of this kind, had he not imagined it altogether safe; for he
was one of those who have more consideration of the gallows than of
the fitness of things; but, in reality, he thought he might have
committed this felony without any danger; for, besides that he doubted
not but the name of Mr Allworthy would sufficiently quiet the
landlord, he conceived they should be altogether safe, whatever turn
affairs might take; as Jones, he imagined, would have friends enough
on one side, and as his friends would as well secure him on the other.
When Mr Jones found that Partridge was in earnest in this proposal, he
very severely rebuked him, and that in such bitter terms, that the
other attempted to laugh it off, and presently turned the discourse to
other matters; saying, he believed they were then in a bawdy house,
and that he had with much ado prevented two wenches from disturbing
his honour in the middle of the night. “Heyday!” says he, “I believe
they got into your chamber whether I would or no; for here lies the
muff of one of them on the ground.” Indeed, as Jones returned to his
bed in the dark, he had never perceived the muff on the quilt, and, in
leaping into his bed, he had tumbled it on the floor. This Partridge
now took up, and was going to put into his pocket, when Jones desired
to see it. The muff was so very remarkable, that our heroe might
possibly have recollected it without the information annexed. But his
memory was not put to that hard office; for at the same instant he saw
and read the words Sophia Western upon the paper which was pinned to
it. His looks now grew frantic in a moment, and he eagerly cried out,
“Oh Heavens! how came this muff here?” “I know no more than your
honour,” cried Partridge; “but I saw it upon the arm of one of the
women who would have disturbed you, if I would have suffered them.”
“Where are they?” cries Jones, jumping out of bed, and laying hold of
his cloaths. “Many miles off, I believe, by this time,” said
Partridge. And now Jones, upon further enquiry, was sufficiently
assured that the bearer of this muff was no other than the lovely
Sophia herself.
The behaviour of Jones on this occasion, his thoughts, his looks, his
words, his actions, were such as beggar all description. After many
bitter execrations on Partridge, and not fewer on himself, he ordered
the poor fellow, who was frightened out of his wits, to run down and
hire him horses at any rate; and a very few minutes afterwards, having
shuffled on his clothes, he hastened down-stairs to execute the orders
himself, which he had just before given.
But before we proceed to what passed on his arrival in the kitchen, it
will be necessary to recur to what had there happened since Partridge
had first left it on his master's summons.
The serjeant was just marched off with his party, when the two Irish
gentlemen arose, and came downstairs; both complaining that they had
been so often waked by the noises in the inn, that they had never once
been able to close their eyes all night.
The coach which had brought the young lady and her maid, and which,
perhaps, the reader may have hitherto concluded was her own, was,
indeed, a returned coach belonging to Mr King, of Bath, one of the
worthiest and honestest men that ever dealt in horse-flesh, and whose
coaches we heartily recommend to all our readers who travel that road.
By which means they may, perhaps, have the pleasure of riding in the
very coach, and being driven by the very coachman, that is recorded in
this history.
The coachman, having but two passengers, and hearing Mr Maclachlan was
going to Bath, offered to carry him thither at a very moderate price.
He was induced to this by the report of the hostler, who said that the
horse which Mr Maclachlan had hired from Worcester would be much more
pleased with returning to his friends there than to prosecute a long
journey; for that the said horse was rather a two-legged than a
four-legged animal.
Mr Maclachlan immediately closed with the proposal of the coachman,
and, at the same time, persuaded his friend Fitzpatrick to accept of
the fourth place in the coach. This conveyance the soreness of his
bones made more agreeable to him than a horse; and, being well assured
of meeting with his wife at Bath, he thought a little delay would be
of no consequence.
Maclachlan, who was much the sharper man of the two, no sooner heard
that this lady came from Chester, with the other circumstances which
he learned from the hostler, than it came into his head that she might
possibly be his friend's wife; and presently acquainted him with this
suspicion, which had never once occurred to Fitzpatrick himself. To
say the truth, he was one of those compositions which nature makes up
in too great a hurry, and forgets to put any brains into their head.
Now it happens to this sort of men, as to bad hounds, who never hit
off a fault themselves; but no sooner doth a dog of sagacity open his
mouth than they immediately do the same, and, without the guidance of
any scent, run directly forwards as fast as they are able. In the same
manner, the very moment Mr Maclachlan had mentioned his apprehension,
Mr Fitzpatrick instantly concurred, and flew directly up-stairs, to
surprize his wife, before he knew where she was; and unluckily (as
Fortune loves to play tricks with those gentlemen who put themselves
entirely under her conduct) ran his head against several doors and
posts to no purpose. Much kinder was she to me, when she suggested
that simile of the hounds, just before inserted; since the poor wife
may, on these occasions, be so justly compared to a hunted hare. Like
that little wretched animal, she pricks up her ears to listen after
the voice of her pursuer; like her, flies away trembling when she
hears it; and, like her, is generally overtaken and destroyed in the
end.
This was not however the case at present; for after a long fruitless
search, Mr Fitzpatrick returned to the kitchen, where, as if this had
been a real chace, entered a gentleman hallowing as hunters do when
the hounds are at a fault. He was just alighted from his horse, and
had many attendants at his heels.
Here, reader, it may be necessary to acquaint thee with some matters,
which, if thou dost know already, thou art wiser than I take thee to
be. And this information thou shalt receive in the next chapter.
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