History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
occasion; one who was my greatest delight upon earth, and who within
this week is run away from me, and is married against my consent. I
had provided her a proper match, a sober man and one of substance; but
she, forsooth, would chuse for herself, and away she is gone with a
young fellow not worth a groat. If she had been dead, as I suppose thy
friend is, I should have been happy.”--“That is very strange, sir,”
said Jones. “Why, would it not be better for her to be dead, than to
be a beggar?” replied the Quaker: “for, as I told you, the fellow is
not worth a groat; and surely she cannot expect that I shall ever give
her a shilling. No, as she hath married for love, let her live on love
if she can; let her carry her love to market, and see whether any one
will change it into silver, or even into halfpence.”--“You know your
own concerns best, sir,” said Jones. “It must have been,” continued
the Quaker, “a long premeditated scheme to cheat me: for they have
known one another from their infancy; and I always preached to her
against love, and told her a thousand times over it was all folly and
wickedness. Nay, the cunning slut pretended to hearken to me, and to
despise all wantonness of the flesh; and yet at last broke out at a
window two pair of stairs: for I began, indeed, a little to suspect
her, and had locked her up carefully, intending the very next morning
to have married her up to my liking. But she disappointed me within a
few hours, and escaped away to the lover of her own chusing; who lost
no time, for they were married and bedded and all within an hour. But
it shall be the worst hour's work for them both that ever they did;
for they may starve, or beg, or steal together, for me. I will never
give either of them a farthing.” Here Jones starting up cried, “I
really must be excused: I wish you would leave me.”--“Come, come,
friend,” said the Quaker, “don't give way to concern. You see there
are other people miserable besides yourself.”--“I see there are
madmen, and fools, and villains in the world,” cries Jones. “But let
me give you a piece of advice: send for your daughter and son-in-law
home, and don't be yourself the only cause of misery to one you
pretend to love.”--“Send for her and her husband home!” cries the
Quaker loudly; “I would sooner send for the two greatest enemies I
have in the world!”--“Well, go home yourself, or where you please,”
said Jones, “for I will sit no longer in such company.”--“Nay,
friend,” answered the Quaker, “I scorn to impose my company on any
one.” He then offered to pull money from his pocket, but Jones pushed
him with some violence out of the room.
The subject of the Quaker's discourse had so deeply affected Jones,
that he stared very wildly all the time he was speaking. This the
Quaker had observed, and this, added to the rest of his behaviour,
inspired honest Broadbrim with a conceit, that his companion was in
reality out of his senses. Instead of resenting the affront,
therefore, the Quaker was moved with compassion for his unhappy
circumstances; and having communicated his opinion to the landlord, he
desired him to take great care of his guest, and to treat him with the
highest civility.
“Indeed,” says the landlord, “I shall use no such civility towards
him; for it seems, for all his laced waistcoat there, he is no more a
gentleman than myself, but a poor parish bastard, bred up at a great
squire's about thirty miles off, and now turned out of doors (not for
any good to be sure). I shall get him out of my house as soon as
possible. If I do lose my reckoning, the first loss is always the
best. It is not above a year ago that I lost a silver spoon.”
“What dost thou talk of a parish bastard, Robin?” answered the Quaker.
“Thou must certainly be mistaken in thy man.”
“Not at all,” replied Robin; “the guide, who knows him very well, told
it me.” For, indeed, the guide had no sooner taken his place at the
kitchen fire, than he acquainted the whole company with all he knew or
had ever heard concerning Jones.
The Quaker was no sooner assured by this fellow of the birth and low
fortune of Jones, than all compassion for him vanished; and the honest
plain man went home fired with no less indignation than a duke would
have felt at receiving an affront from such a person.
The landlord himself conceived an equal disdain for his guest; so that
when Jones rung the bell in order to retire to bed, he was acquainted
that he could have no bed there. Besides disdain of the mean condition
of his guest, Robin entertained violent suspicion of his intentions,
which were, he supposed, to watch some favourable opportunity of
robbing the house. In reality, he might have been very well eased of
these apprehensions, by the prudent precautions of his wife and
daughter, who had already removed everything which was not fixed to
the freehold; but he was by nature suspicious, and had been more
particularly so since the loss of his spoon. In short, the dread of
being robbed totally absorbed the comfortable consideration that he
had nothing to lose.
Jones being assured that he could have no bed, very contentedly betook
himself to a great chair made with rushes, when sleep, which had
lately shunned his company in much better apartments, generously paid
him a visit in his humble cell.
As for the landlord, he was prevented by his fears from retiring to
rest. He returned therefore to the kitchen fire, whence he could
survey the only door which opened into the parlour, or rather hole,
where Jones was seated; and as for the window to that room, it was
impossible for any creature larger than a cat to have made his escape
through it.
Chapter xi.
The adventure of a company of soldiers.
The landlord having taken his seat directly opposite to the door of
the parlour, determined to keep guard there the whole night. The guide
and another fellow remained long on duty with him, though they neither
knew his suspicions, nor had any of their own. The true cause of their
watching did, indeed, at length, put an end to it; for this was no
other than the strength and goodness of the beer, of which having
tippled a very large quantity, they grew at first very noisy and
vociferous, and afterwards fell both asleep.
But it was not in the power of liquor to compose the fears of Robin.
He continued still waking in his chair, with his eyes fixed stedfastly
on the door which led into the apartment of Mr Jones, till a violent
thundering at his outward gate called him from his seat, and obliged
him to open it; which he had no sooner done, than his kitchen was
immediately full of gentlemen in red coats, who all rushed upon him in
as tumultuous a manner as if they intended to take his little castle
by storm.
The landlord was now forced from his post to furnish his numerous
guests with beer, which they called for with great eagerness; and upon
his second or third return from the cellar, he saw Mr Jones standing
before the fire in the midst of the soldiers; for it may easily be
believed, that the arrival of so much good company should put an end
to any sleep, unless that from which we are to be awakened only by the
last trumpet.
The company having now pretty well satisfied their thirst, nothing
remained but to pay the reckoning, a circumstance often productive of
much mischief and discontent among the inferior rank of gentry, who
are apt to find great difficulty in assessing the sum, with exact
regard to distributive justice, which directs that every man shall pay
according to the quantity which he drinks. This difficulty occurred
upon the present occasion; and it was the greater, as some gentlemen
had, in their extreme hurry, marched off, after their first draught,
and had entirely forgot to contribute anything towards the said
reckoning.
A violent dispute now arose, in which every word may be said to have
been deposed upon oath; for the oaths were at least equal to all the
other words spoken. In this controversy the whole company spoke
together, and every man seemed wholly bent to extenuate the sum which
fell to his share; so that the most probable conclusion which could be
foreseen was, that a large portion of the reckoning would fall to the
landlord's share to pay, or (what is much the same thing) would remain
unpaid.
All this while Mr Jones was engaged in conversation with the serjeant;
for that officer was entirely unconcerned in the present dispute,
being privileged by immemorial custom from all contribution.
The dispute now grew so very warm that it seemed to draw towards a
military decision, when Jones, stepping forward, silenced all their
clamours at once, by declaring that he would pay the whole reckoning,
which indeed amounted to no more than three shillings and fourpence.
This declaration procured Jones the thanks and applause of the whole
company. The terms honourable, noble, and worthy gentleman, resounded
through the room; nay, my landlord himself began to have a better
opinion of him, and almost to disbelieve the account which the guide
had given.
The serjeant had informed Mr Jones that they were marching against the
rebels, and expected to be commanded by the glorious Duke of
Cumberland. By which the reader may perceive (a circumstance which we
have not thought necessary to communicate before) that this was the
very time when the late rebellion was at the highest; and indeed the
banditti were now marched into England, intending, as it was thought,
to fight the king's forces, and to attempt pushing forward to the
metropolis.
Jones had some heroic ingredients in his composition, and was a hearty
well-wisher to the glorious cause of liberty, and of the Protestant
religion. It is no wonder, therefore, that in circumstances which
would have warranted a much more romantic and wild undertaking, it
should occur to him to serve as a volunteer in this expedition.
Our commanding officer had said all in his power to encourage and
promote this good disposition, from the first moment he had been
acquainted with it. He now proclaimed the noble resolution aloud,
which was received with great pleasure by the whole company, who all
cried out, “God bless King George and your honour;” and then added,
with many oaths, “We will stand by you both to the last drops of our
blood.”
The gentleman who had been all night tippling at the alehouse, was
prevailed on by some arguments which a corporal had put into his
hands, to undertake the same expedition. And now the portmanteau
belonging to Mr Jones being put up in the baggage-cart, the forces
were about to move forwards; when the guide, stepping up to Jones,
said, “Sir, I hope you will consider that the horses have been kept
out all night, and we have travelled a great ways out of our way.”
Jones was surprized at the impudence of this demand, and acquainted
the soldiers with the merits of his cause, who were all unanimous in
condemning the guide for his endeavours to put upon a gentleman. Some
said, he ought to be tied neck and heels; others that he deserved to
run the gantlope; and the serjeant shook his cane at him, and wished
he had him under his command, swearing heartily he would make an
example of him.
Jones contented himself however with a negative punishment, and walked
off with his new comrades, leaving the guide to the poor revenge of
cursing and reviling him; in which latter the landlord joined, saying,
“Ay, ay, he is a pure one, I warrant you. A pretty gentleman, indeed,
to go for a soldier! He shall wear a laced wastecoat truly. It is an
old proverb and a true one, all is not gold that glisters. I am glad
my house is well rid of him.”
All that day the serjeant and the young soldier marched together; and
the former, who was an arch fellow, told the latter many entertaining