2. CHAPTER II.
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
horseloads 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 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.