11. CHAPTER XI.
The disasters which befel Jones on his departure for Coventry;
with the sage remarks of Partridge
No road can be plainer than that from the place where they now
were to Coventry; and though neither Jones, nor Partridge, nor the
guide, had ever travelled it before, it would have been almost
impossible to have missed their way, had it not been for the two
reasons mentioned in the conclusion of the last chapter.
These two circumstances, however, happening both unfortunately to
intervene, our travellers deviated into a much less frequented
track; and after riding full six miles, instead of arriving at the
stately spires of Coventry, they found themselves still in a very
dirty lane, where they saw no symptoms of approaching the suburbs of a
large city.
Jones now declared that they must certainly have lost their way; but
this the guide insisted upon was impossible; a word which, in common
conversation, is often used to signify not only improbable, but
often what is really very likely, and, sometimes, what hath
certainly happened; and hyperbolical violence like that which is so
frequently offered to the words infinite and eternal; by the former of
which it is usual to express a distance of half a yard, and by the
latter, a duration of five minutes. And thus it is as usual to
assert the impossibility of losing what is already actually lost. This
was, in fact, the case at present; for, notwithstanding all the
confident assertions of the lad to the contrary, it is certain they
were no more in the right road to Coventry, than the fraudulent,
griping, cruel, canting miser is in the right road to heaven.
It is not, perhaps, easy for a reader, who hath never been in
those circumstances, to imagine the horror with which darkness,
rain, and wind, fill persons who have lost their way in the night; and
who, consequently, have not the pleasant prospect of warm fires, dry
cloaths, and other refreshments, to support their minds in
struggling with the inclemencies of the weather. A very imperfect idea
of this horror will, however, serve sufficiently to account for the
conceits which now filled the head of Partridge, and which we shall
presently be obliged to open.
Jones grew more and more positive that they were out of their
road; and the boy himself at last acknowledged he believed they were
not in the right road to Coventry; though he affirmed, at the same
time, it was impossible they should have mist the way. But Partridge
was of a different opinion. He said, "When they first set out he
imagined some mischief or other would happen.- Did you not observe,
sir," said he to Jones, "that old woman who stood at the door just
as you was taking horse? I wish you had given her a small matter, with
all my heart; for she said then you might repent it; and at that
very instant it began to rain, and the wind hath continued rising ever
since. Whatever some people may think, I am very certain it is in
the power of witches to raise the wind whenever they please. I have
seen it happen very often in my time: and if ever I saw a witch in all
my life, that old woman was certainly one. I thought so to myself at
that very time; and if I had had any halfpence in my pocket, I would
have given her some; for to be sure it is always good to be charitable
to those sort of people, for fear what may happen; and many a person
hath lost his cattle by saving a halfpenny."
Jones, though he was horridly vexed at the delay which this
mistake was likely to occasion in his journey, could not help
smiling at the superstition of his friend, whom an accident now
greatly confirmed in his opinion. This was a tumble from his horse; by
which, however, he received no other injury than what the dirt
conferred on his cloaths.
Partridge had no sooner recovered his legs, than he appealed to
his fall, as conclusive evidence of all he had asserted; but Jones
finding he was unhurt, answered with a smile: "This witch of yours,
Partridge, is a most ungrateful jade, and doth not, I find,
distinguish her friends from others in her resentment. If the old lady
had been angry with me for neglecting her, I don't see why she
should tumble you from your horse, after all the respect you have
expressed for her."
"It is ill jesting," cries Partridge, "with people who have power to
do these things; for they are often very malicious. I remember a
farrier, who provoked one of them, by asking her when the time she had
bargained with the devil for would be out; and within three months
from that very day one of his best cows was drowned. Nor was she
satisfied with that; for a little time afterwards he lost a barrel
of best-drink: for the old witch pulled out the spigot, and let it run
all over the cellar, the very first evening he had tapped it, to
make merry with some of his neighbours. In short, nothing ever thrived
with him afterwards; for she worried the poor man so, that he took
to drinking; and in a year or two his stock was seized, and he and his
family are now come to the parish."
The guide, and perhaps his horse too, were both so attentive to this
discourse, that, either through want of care, or by the malice of
the witch, they were now both sprawling in the dirt.
Partridge entirely imputed this fall, as he had done his own, to the
same cause. He told Mr. Jones, "It would certainly be his turn next,"
and earnestly entreated him to return back, and find out the old
woman, and pacify her. We shall very soon," added he, "reach the
inn; for though we have seemed to go forward, I am very certain we are
in the identical place in which we were an hour ago; and I dare swear,
if it was daylight, we might now see the inn we set out from."
Instead of returning any answer to this sage advice, Jones was
entirely attentive to what had happened to the boy, who received no
other than what had before befallen Partridge, and which his cloaths
very easily bore, as they had been for many years inured to the
like. He soon regained his side-saddle, and by the hearty curses and
blows which he bestowed on his horse, quickly satisfied Mr. Jones that
no harm was done.