8. CHAPTER VIII.
In which fortune seems to have been in a better humour with Jones
than we have hitherto seen her
As there is no wholesomer, so perhaps there are few stronger,
sleeping potions than fatigue. Of this Jones might be said to have
taken a very large dose, and it operated very forcibly upon him. He
had already slept nine hours, and might perhaps have slept longer, had
he not been awakened by a most violent noise at his chamber-door,
where the sound of many heavy blows was accompanied with many
exclamations of murder. Jones presently leapt from his bed, where he
found the master of the puppet-show belabouring the back and ribs of
his poor Merry-Andrew, without either mercy or moderation.
Jones instantly interposed on behalf of the suffering party, and
pinned the insulting conqueror up to the wall: for the puppet-show man
was no more able to contend with Jones, than the poor party-coloured
jester had been to contend with this puppet-man.
But though the Merry-Andrew was a little fellow, and not very
strong, he had nevertheless some choler about him. He therefore no
sooner found himself delivered from the enemy, than he began to attack
him with the only weapon at which he was his equal. From this he first
discharged a volley of general abusive words, and thence proceeded
to some particular accusations- "D--n your bl--d, you rascal," says
he, "I have not only supported you (for to me you owe all the money
you get), but I have saved you from the gallows. Did you not want to
rob the lady of her fine riding-habit, no longer ago than yesterday,
in the back-lane here? Can you deny that you wished to have her alone
in a wood to strip her- to strip one of the prettiest ladies that
ever was seen in the world? and here you have fallen upon me, and have
almost murdered me, for doing no harm to a girl as willing as
myself, only because she likes me better than you."
Jones no sooner heard this than he quitted the master, laying on him
at the same time the most violent injunctions of forbearance from
any further insult on the Merry-Andrew; and then taking the poor
wretch with into his own apartment, he soon learned tidings of his
Sophia, whom the fellow, as he was attending his master with his
drum the day before, had seen pass by. He easily prevailed with the
lad to show him the exact place, and then having summoned Partridge,
he departed with the utmost expedition.
It was almost eight of the clock before all matters could be got
ready for his departure: for Partridge was not in any haste, nor could
the reckoning be presently adjusted; and when both these were
settled and over, Jones would not quit the place before he had
perfectly reconciled all differences between the master and the man.
When this was happily accomplished, he set forwards, and was by
the trusty Merry-Andrew conducted to the spot by which Sophia had
past; and then having handsomely rewarded his conductor, he again
pushed on with the utmost eagerness, being highly delighted with the
extraordinary manner in which he received his intelligence. Of this
Partridge was no sooner acquainted, than he, with great earnestness,
began to prophesy, and assured Jones that he would certainly have good
success in the end: for, he said, "two such accidents could never have
happened to direct him after his mistress, if Providence had not
designed to bring them together at last." And this was the first
time that Jones lent any attention to the superstitious doctrines of
his companion.
They had not gone above two miles when a violent storm of rain
overtook them; and, as they happened to be at the same time in sight
of an ale-house, Partridge, with much earnest entreaty, prevailed with
Jones to enter, and weather the storm. Hunger is an enemy (if indeed
it may be called one) which partakes more of the English than of the
French disposition; for, though you subdue this never so often, it
will always rally again in time; and so it did with Partridge, who was
no sooner arrived within the kitchen, than he began to ask the same
questions which he had asked the night before. The consequence of this
was an excellent cold chine being produced upon the table, upon
which not only Partridge, but Jones himself, made a very hearty
breakfast, though the latter began to grow again uneasy, as the people
of the house could give him no fresh information concerning Sophia.
Their meal being over, Jones was again preparing to sally,
notwithstanding the violence of the storm still continued; but
Partridge begged heartily for another mug; and at last casting his
eyes on a lad at the fire, who had entered into the kitchen, and who
at that instant was looking as earnestly at him, he turned suddenly to
Jones, and cried, "Master, give me your hand, a single mug shan't
serve the turn this bout. Why, here's more news of Madam Sophia come
to town. The boy there standing by the fire is the very lad that
rode before her. I can swear to my own plaister on his face."-
"Heavens bless you, sir," cries the boy, "it is your own plaister sure
enough; I shall have always reason to remember your goodness; for it
hath almost cured me."
At these words Jones started from his chair, and, bidding the boy
follow him immediately, departed from the kitchen into a private
apartment; for, so delicate was he with regard to Sophia, that he
never willingly mentioned her name in the presence of many people;
and, though he had, as it were, from the overflowings of his heart,
given Sophia as a toast among the officers, where he thought it was
impossible she should be known; yet, even there, the reader may
remember how difficultly he was prevailed upon to mention her sirname.
Hard, therefore, was it, and perhaps, in the opinion of many
sagacious readers, very absurd and monstrous, that he should
principally owe his present misfortune to the supposed want of that
delicacy with which he so abounded; for, in reality, Sophia was much
more offended at the freedoms which she thought (and not without
good reason) he had taken with her name and character, than at any
freedoms, in which, under his present circumstances, he had indulged
himself with the person of another woman; and to say truth, I
believe Honour could never have prevailed on her to leave Upton
without her seeing Jones, had it not been for those two strong
instances of a levity in his behaviour, so void of respect, and indeed
so highly inconsistent with any degree of love and tenderness in great
and delicate minds.
But so matters fell out, and so I must relate them; and if any
reader is shocked at their appearing unnatural, I cannot help it. I
must remind such persons that I am not writing a system, but a
history, and I am not obliged to reconcile every matter to the
received notions concerning truth and nature. But if this was never so
easy to do, perhaps it might be more prudent in me to avoid it. For
instance, as the fact at present before us now stands, without any
comment of mine upon it, though it may at first sight offend some
readers, yet, upon more mature consideration, it must please all;
for wise and good men may consider what happened to Jones at Upton
as a just punishment for his wickedness with regard to women, of which
it was indeed the immediate consequence; and silly and bad persons may
comfort themselves in their vices, by flattering their own hearts that
the characters of men are rather owing to accident than to virtue.
Now, perhaps, the reflections which we should be here inclined to
draw, would alike contradict both these conclusions, and would show
that these incidents contribute only to confirm the great, useful, and
uncommon doctrine, which it is the purpose of this whole work to
inculcate, and which we must not fill up our pages by frequently
repeating, as an ordinary parson fills his sermon by repeating his
text at the end of every paragraph.
We are contented that it must appear, however unhappily Sophia had
erred in her opinion of Jones, she had sufficient reason for her
opinion; since, I believe, every other young lady would, in her
situation, have erred in the same manner. Nay, had she followed her
lover at this very time, and had entered this very alehouse the moment
he was departed from it, she would have found the landlord as well
acquainted with her name and person as the wench at Upton had appeared
to be. For while Jones was examining his boy in whispers in an inner
room, Partridge, who had no such delicacy in his disposition, was in
the kitchen very openly catechising the other guide who had attended
Mrs. Fitzpatrick; by which means the landlord, whose ears were open on
all such occasions, became perfectly well acquainted with the tumble
of Sophia from her horse, etc., with the mistake concerning Jenny
Cameron, with the many consequences of the punch, and, in short,
with almost everything which had happened at the inn, whence we
dispatched our ladies in a coach-and-six when we last took our
leaves of them.