12. CHAPTER XII.
In which is seen a more moving spectacle than all the blood in the
bodies of Thwackum and Blifil, and of twenty other such, is capable
of producing
The rest of Mr. Western's company were now come up, being just at
the instant when the action was over. These were the honest clergyman,
whom we have formerly seen at Mr. Western's table; Mrs. Western, the
aunt of Sophia; and lastly, the lovely Sophia herself.
At this time, the following was the aspect of the bloody field. In
one place lay on the ground, all pale, and almost breathless, the
vanquished Blifil. Near him stood the conqueror Jones, almost
covered with blood, part of which was naturally his own, and part
had been lately the property of the Reverend Mr. Thwackum. In a
third place stood the said Thwackum, like King Porus, sullenly
submitting to the conqueror. The last figure in the piece was
Western the Great, most gloriously forbearing the vanquished foe.
Blifil, in whom there was little sign of life, was at first the
principal object of the concern of every one, and particularly of Mrs.
Western, who had drawn from her pocket a bottle of hartshorn, and
was herself about to apply it to his nostrils, when on a sudden the
attention of the whole company was diverted from poor Blifil, whose
spirit, if it had any such design, might have now taken an opportunity
of stealing off to the other world, without any ceremony.
For now a more melancholy and a more lovely object lay motionless
before them. This was no other than the charming Sophia herself,
who, from the sight of blood, or from fear for her father, or from
some other reason, had fallen down in a swoon, before any one could
get to her assistance.
Mrs. Western first saw her and screamed. Immediately two or three
voices cried out, "Miss Western is dead." Hartshorn, water, every
remedy was called for, almost at one and the same instant.
The reader may remember, that in our description of this grove we
mentioned a murmuring brook, which brook did not come there, as such
gentle streams flow through vulgar romances, with no other purpose
than to murmur. No! Fortune had decreed to ennoble this little brook
with a higher honour than any of those which wash the plains of
Arcadia ever deserved.
Jones was rubbing Blifil's temples, for he began to fear he had
given him a blow too much, when the words, Miss Western and Dead,
rushed at once on his ear. He started up, left Blifil to his fate, and
flew to Sophia, whom, while all the rest were running against each
other, backward and forward, looking for water in the dry paths, he
caught up in his arms, and then ran away with her over the field to
the rivulet above mentioned; where, plunging himself into the water,
he contrived to besprinkle her face, head, and neck very plentifully.
Happy was it for Sophia that the same confusion which prevented
her other friends from serving her, prevented them likewise from
obstructing Jones. He had carried her half ways before they knew
what he was doing, and he had actually restored her to life before
they reached the waterside. She stretched our her arms, opened her
eyes, and cried, "Oh! heavens!" just as her father, aunt, and the
parson came up.
Jones, who had hitherto held this lovely burthen in his arms, now
relinquished his hold; but gave her at the same instant a tender
caress, which, had her senses been then perfectly restored, could
not have escaped her observation. As she expressed, therefore, no
displeasure at this freedom, we suppose she was not sufficiently
recovered from her swoon at the time.
This tragical scene was now converted into a sudden scene of joy. In
this our heroe was certainly the principal character; for as he
probably felt more ecstatic delight in having saved Sophia than she
herself received from being saved, so neither were the congratulations
paid to her equal to what were conferred on Jones, especially by Mr.
Western himself, who, after having once or twice embraced his
daughter, fell to hugging and kissing Jones. He called him the
preserver of Sophia, and declared there was nothing, except her, or
his estate, which he would not give him; but upon recollection, he
afterwards excepted his fox-hounds, the Chevalier, and Miss Slouch
(for so he called his favourite mare).
All fears for Sophia being now removed, Jones became the object of
the squire's consideration.- "Come, my lad," says Western, "d'off thy
quoat and wash thy feace; for att in a devilish pickle, I promise
thee. Come, come, wash thyself, and shat go huome with me; and we'l
zee to vind thee another quoat."
Jones immediately complied, threw off his coat, went down to the
water, and washed both his face and bosom; for the latter was as
much exposed and as bloody as the former. But though the water could
clear off the blood, it could not remove the black and blue marks
which Thwackum had imprinted on both his face and breast, and which,
being discerned by Sophia, drew from her a sigh and a look full of
inexpressible tenderness.
Jones received this full in his eyes, and it had infinitely a
stronger effect on him than all the contusions which he had received
before. An effect, however, widely different; for so soft and balmy
was it, that, had all his former blows been stabs, it would for some
minutes have prevented his feeling their smart.
The company now moved backwards, and soon arrived where Thwackum had
got Mr. Blifil again on his legs. Here we cannot suppress a pious
wish, that all quarrels were to be decided by those weapons only
with which Nature, knowing what is proper for us, hath supplied us;
and that cold iron was to be used in digging no bowels but those of
the earth. Then would war, the pastime of monarchs, be almost
inoffensive, and battles between great armies might be fought at the
particular desire of several ladies of quality; who, together with the
kings themselves, might be actual spectators of the conflict. Then
might the field be this moment well strewed with human carcasses,
and the next, the dead men, or infinitely the greatest part of them,
might get up, like Mr. Bayes's troops, and march off either at the
sound of a drum or fiddle, as should be previously agreed on.
I would avoid, if possible, treating this matter ludicrously, lest
grave men and politicians, whom I know to be offended at a jest, may
cry pish at it; but, in reality, might not a battle be as well decided
by the greater number of broken heads, bloody noses, and black eyes,
as by the greater heaps of mangled and murdered human bodies? Might
not towns be contended for in the same manner? Indeed, this may be
thought too detrimental a scheme to the French interest, since they
would thus lose the advantage they have over other nations in the
superiority of their engineers; but when I consider the gallantry
and generosity of that people, I am persuaded they would never decline
putting themselves upon a par with their adversary; or, as the
phrase is, making themselves his match.
But such reformations are rather to be wished than hoped for: I
shall content myself, therefore, with this short hint, and return to
my narrative.
Western began now to inquire into the original rise of this quarrel.
To which neither Blifil nor Jones gave any answer; but Thwackum said
surlily, "I believe the cause is not far off; if you beat the bushes
well you may find her."- "Find her?" replied Western: "what! have you
been fighting for a wench?"- "Ask the gentleman in his waistcoat
there," said Thwackum: "he best knows." "Nay then," cries Western, "it
is a wench certainly.- Ah, Tom, Tom, thou art a liquorish dog. But
come, gentlemen, be all friends, and go home with me, and make final
peace over a bottle." "I ask your pardon, sir," says Thwackum: "it
is no such slight matter for a man of my character to be thus
injuriously treated, and buffeted by a boy, only because I would
have done my duty, in endeavouring to detect and bring to justice a
wanton harlot; but, indeed, the principal fault lies in Mr.
Allworthy and yourself; for if you put the laws in execution, as you
ought to do, you will soon rid the country of these vermin."
"I would as soon rid the country of foxes," cries Western. "I
think we ought to encourage the recruiting those numbers which we
are every day losing in the war.- But where is she? Prithee, Tom,
show me." He then began to beat about, in the same language and in the
same manner as if he had been beating for a hare; and at last cried
out, "Soho! Puss is not far off. Here's her form, upon my soul; I
believe I may cry stole away." And indeed so he might; for he had
now discovered the place whence the poor girl had, at the beginning of
the fray, stolen away, upon as many feet as a hare generally uses in
travelling.
Sophia now desired her father to return home; saying she found
herself very faint, and apprehended a relapse. The squire
immediately complied with his daughter's request (for he was the
fondest of parents). He earnestly endeavoured to prevail with the
whole company to go and sup with him: but Blifil and Thwackum
absolutely refused; the former saying, there were more reasons than he
could then mention, why he must decline this honour; and the latter
declaring (perhaps rightly) that it was not proper for a person of his
function to be seen at any place in his present condition.
Jones was incapable of refusing the pleasure of being with his
Sophia; so on he marched with Squire Western and his ladies, the
parson bringing up the rear. This had, indeed, offered to tarry with
his brother Thwackum, professing his regard for the cloth would not
permit him to depart; but Thwackum would not accept the favour, and,
with no great civility, pushed him after Mr. Western.
Thus ended this bloody fray; and thus shall end the fifth book of
this history.