Joseph Andrews, Vol. 1

by Henry Fielding

  CHAPTER XVI.

  _The escape of the thief. Mr Adams's disappointment. The arrival oftwo very extraordinary personages, and the introduction of parson Adamsto parson Barnabas._

  Barnabas and the surgeon, being returned, as we have said, to the inn,in order to convey the thief before the justice, were greatly concernedto find a small accident had happened, which somewhat disconcerted them;and this was no other than the thief's escape, who had modestlywithdrawn himself by night, declining all ostentation, and not chusing,in imitation of some great men, to distinguish himself at the expense ofbeing pointed at.

  When the company had retired the evening before, the thief was detainedin a room where the constable, and one of the young fellows who tookhim, were planted as his guard. About the second watch a generalcomplaint of drought was made, both by the prisoner and his keepers.Among whom it was at last agreed that the constable should remain onduty, and the young fellow call up the tapster; in which disposition thelatter apprehended not the least danger, as the constable was wellarmed, and could besides easily summon him back to his assistance, ifthe prisoner made the least attempt to gain his liberty.

  The young fellow had not long left the room before it came into theconstable's head that the prisoner might leap on him by surprize, and,thereby preventing him of the use of his weapons, especially the longstaff in which he chiefly confided, might reduce the success of astruggle to a equal chance. He wisely, therefore, to prevent thisinconvenience, slipt out of the room himself, and locked the door,waiting without with his staff in his hand, ready lifted to fell theunhappy prisoner, if by ill fortune he should attempt to break out.

  But human life, as hath been discovered by some great man or other (forI would by no means be understood to affect the honour of making anysuch discovery), very much resembles a game at chess; for as in thelatter, while a gamester is too attentive to secure himself verystrongly on one side the board, he is apt to leave an unguarded openingon the other; so doth it often happen in life, and so did it happen onthis occasion; for whilst the cautious constable with such wonderfulsagacity had possessed himself of the door, he most unhappily forgotthe window.

  The thief, who played on the other side, no sooner perceived thisopening than he began to move that way; and, finding the passage easy,he took with him the young fellow's hat, and without any ceremonystepped into the street and made the best of his way.

  The young fellow, returning with a double mug of strong beer, was alittle surprized to find the constable at the door; but much more sowhen, the door being opened, he perceived the prisoner had made hisescape, and which way. He threw down the beer, and, without utteringanything to the constable except a hearty curse or two, he nimbly leaptout of the window, and went again in pursuit of his prey, being veryunwilling to lose the reward which he had assured himself of.

  The constable hath not been discharged of suspicion on this account; ithath been said that, not being concerned in the taking the thief, hecould not have been entitled to any part of the reward if he had beenconvicted; that the thief had several guineas in his pocket; that it wasvery unlikely he should have been guilty of such an oversight; that hispretence for leaving the room was absurd; that it was his constantmaxim, that a wise man never refused money on any conditions; that atevery election he always had sold his vote to both parties, &c.

  But, notwithstanding these and many other such allegations, I amsufficiently convinced of his innocence; having been positively assuredof it by those who received their informations from his own mouth;which, in the opinion of some moderns, is the best and indeedonly evidence.

  All the family were now up, and with many others assembled in thekitchen, where Mr Tow-wouse was in some tribulation; the surgeon havingdeclared that by law he was liable to be indicted for the thief'sescape, as it was out of his house; he was a little comforted, however,by Mr Barnabas's opinion, that as the escape was by night the indictmentwould not lie.

  Mrs Tow-wouse delivered herself in the following words: "Sure never wassuch a fool as my husband; would any other person living have left a manin the custody of such a drunken drowsy blockhead as Tom Suckbribe?"(which was the constable's name); "and if he could be indicted withoutany harm to his wife and children, I should be glad of it." (Then thebell rung in Joseph's room.) "Why Betty, John, Chamberlain, where thedevil are you all? Have you no ears, or no conscience, not to tend thesick better? See what the gentleman wants. Why don't you go yourself, MrTow-wouse? But any one may die for you; you have no more feeling than adeal board. If a man lived a fortnight in your house without spending apenny, you would never put him in mind of it. See whether he drinks teaor coffee for breakfast." "Yes, my dear," cried Tow-wouse. She thenasked the doctor and Mr Barnabas what morning's draught they chose, whoanswered, they had a pot of cyder-and at the fire; which we will leavethem merry over, and return to Joseph.

  He had rose pretty early this morning; but, though his wounds were farfrom threatening any danger, he was so sore with the bruises, that itwas impossible for him to think of undertaking a journey yet; Mr Adams,therefore, whose stock was visibly decreased with the expenses of supperand breakfast, and which could not survive that day's scoring, began toconsider how it was possible to recruit it. At last he cried, "He hadluckily hit on a sure method, and, though it would oblige him to returnhimself home together with Joseph, it mattered not much." He then sentfor Tow-wouse, and, taking him into another room, told him "he wanted toborrow three guineas, for which he would put ample security into hishands." Tow-wouse, who expected a watch, or ring, or something of doublethe value, answered, "He believed he could furnish him." Upon whichAdams, pointing to his saddle-bag, told him, with a face and voice fullof solemnity, "that there were in that bag no less than nine volumes ofmanuscript sermons, as well worth a hundred pounds as a shilling wasworth twelve pence, and that he would deposit one of the volumes in hishands by way of pledge; not doubting but that he would have the honestyto return it on his repayment of the money; for otherwise he must be avery great loser, seeing that every volume would at least bring him tenpounds, as he had been informed by a neighbouring clergyman in thecountry; for," said he, "as to my own part, having never yet dealt inprinting, I do not pretend to ascertain the exact value of such things."

  Tow-wouse, who was a little surprized at the pawn, said (and not withoutsome truth), "That he was no judge of the price of such kind of goods;and as for money, he really was very short." Adams answered, "Certainlyhe would not scruple to lend him three guineas on what was undoubtedlyworth at least ten." The landlord replied, "He did not believe he hadso much money in the house, and besides, he was to make up a sum. He wasvery confident the books were of much higher value, and heartily sorryit did not suit him." He then cried out, "Coming sir!" though nobodycalled; and ran downstairs without any fear of breaking his neck.

  Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this disappointment, nor knew hewhat further stratagem to try. He immediately applied to his pipe, hisconstant friend and comfort in his afflictions; and, leaning over therails, he devoted himself to meditation, assisted by the inspiring fumesof tobacco.

  He had on a nightcap drawn over his wig, and a short greatcoat, whichhalf covered his cassock--a dress which, added to something comicalenough in his countenance, composed a figure likely to attract the eyesof those who were not over given to observation.

  Whilst he was smoaking his pipe in this posture, a coach and six, with anumerous attendance, drove into the inn. There alighted from the coach ayoung fellow and a brace of pointers, after which another young fellowleapt from the box, and shook the former by the hand; and both, togetherwith the dogs, were instantly conducted by Mr Tow-wouse into anapartment; whither as they passed, they entertained themselves with thefollowing short facetious dialogue:--

  "You are a pretty fellow for a coachman, Jack!" says he from the coach;"you had almost overturned us just now."--"Pox take you!" says thecoachman; "if I had only broke your neck, it would have been savingsomebody else the trouble; but I sh
ould have been sorry for thepointers."--"Why, you son of a b--," answered the other, "if nobodycould shoot better than you, the pointers would be of no use."--"D--nme," says the coachman, "I will shoot with you five guineas ashot."--"You be hanged," says the other; "for five guineas you shallshoot at my a--."--"Done," says the coachman; "I'll pepper you betterthan ever you was peppered by Jenny Bouncer."--"Pepper yourgrandmother," says the other: "Here's Tow-wouse will let you shoot athim for a shilling a time."--"I know his honour better," criesTow-wouse; "I never saw a surer shot at a partridge. Every man missesnow and then; but if I could shoot half as well as his honour, I woulddesire no better livelihood than I could get by my gun."--"Pox on you,"said the coachman, "you demolish more game now than your head's worth.There's a bitch, Tow-wouse: by G-- she never blinked[A] a bird in herlife."--"I have a puppy, not a year old, shall hunt with her for ahundred," cries the other gentleman.--"Done," says the coachman: "butyou will be pox'd before you make the bett."--"If you have a mind for abett," cries the coachman, "I will match my spotted dog with your whitebitch for a hundred, play or pay."--"Done," says the other: "and I'llrun Baldface against Slouch with you for another."--"No," cries he fromthe box; "but I'll venture Miss Jenny against Baldface, or Hannibaleither."--"Go to the devil," cries he from the coach: "I will make everybett your own way, to be sure! I will match Hannibal with Slouch for athousand, if you dare; and I say done first."

  [Footnote A:To blink is a term used to signify the dog's passing by a bird withoutpointing at it.]

  They were now arrived; and the reader will be very contented to leavethem, and repair to the kitchen; where Barnabas, the surgeon, and anexciseman were smoaking their pipes over some cyder-and; and where theservants, who attended the two noble gentlemen we have just seen alight,were now arrived.

  "Tom," cries one of the footmen, "there's parson Adams smoaking hispipe in the gallery."--"Yes," says Tom; "I pulled off my hat to him, andthe parson spoke to me."

  "Is the gentleman a clergyman, then?" says Barnabas (for his cassock hadbeen tied up when he arrived). "Yes, sir," answered the footman; "andone there be but few like."--"Aye," said Barnabas; "if I had known itsooner, I should have desired his company; I would always shew a properrespect for the cloth: but what say you, doctor, shall we adjourn into aroom, and invite him to take part of a bowl of punch?"

  This proposal was immediately agreed to and executed; and parson Adamsaccepting the invitation, much civility passed between the twoclergymen, who both declared the great honour they had for the cloth.They had not been long together before they entered into a discourse onsmall tithes, which continued a full hour, without the doctor orexciseman's having one opportunity to offer a word.

  It was then proposed to begin a general conversation, and the excisemanopened on foreign affairs; but a word unluckily dropping from one ofthem introduced a dissertation on the hardships suffered by the inferiorclergy; which, after a long duration, concluded with bringing the ninevolumes of sermons on the carpet.

  Barnabas greatly discouraged poor Adams; he said, "The age was sowicked, that nobody read sermons: would you think it, Mr Adams?" saidhe, "I once intended to print a volume of sermons myself, and they hadthe approbation of two or three bishops; but what do you think abookseller offered me?"--"Twelve guineas perhaps," cried Adams.--"Nottwelve pence, I assure you," answered Barnabas: "nay, the dog refused mea Concordance in exchange. At last I offered to give him the printingthem, for the sake of dedicating them to that very gentleman who justnow drove his own coach into the inn; and, I assure you, he had theimpudence to refuse my offer; by which means I lost a good living, thatwas afterwards given away in exchange for a pointer, to one who--but Iwill not say anything against the cloth. So you may guess, Mr Adams,what you are to expect; for if sermons would have gone down, Ibelieve--I will not be vain; but to be concise with you, three bishopssaid they were the best that ever were writ: but indeed there are apretty moderate number printed already, and not all sold yet."--"Pray,sir," said Adams, "to what do you think the numbers may amount?"--"Sir,"answered Barnabas, "a bookseller told me, he believed five thousandvolumes at least."--"Five thousand?" quoth the surgeon: "What can theybe writ upon? I remember when I was a boy, I used to read oneTillotson's sermons; and, I am sure, if a man practised half so much asis in one of those sermons, he will go to heaven."--"Doctor," criedBarnabas, "you have a prophane way of talking, for which I must reproveyou. A man can never have his duty too frequently inculcated into him.And as for Tillotson, to be sure he was a good writer, and said thingsvery well; but comparisons are odious; another man may write as well ashe--I believe there are some of my sermons,"--and then he applied thecandle to his pipe.--"And I believe there are some of my discourses,"cries Adams, "which the bishops would not think totally unworthy ofbeing printed; and I have been informed I might procure a very large sum(indeed an immense one) on them."--"I doubt that," answered Barnabas:"however, if you desire to make some money of them, perhaps you may sellthem by advertising the manuscript sermons of a clergyman latelydeceased, all warranted originals, and never printed. And now I think ofit, I should be obliged to you, if there be ever a funeral one amongthem, to lend it me; for I am this very day to preach a funeral sermon,for which I have not penned a line, though I am to have a doubleprice."--Adams answered, "He had but one, which he feared would notserve his purpose, being sacred to the memory of a magistrate, who hadexerted himself very singularly in the preservation of the morality ofhis neighbours, insomuch that he had neither alehouse nor lewd woman inthe parish where he lived."--"No," replied Barnabas, "that will not doquite so well; for the deceased, upon whose virtues I am to harangue,was a little too much addicted to liquor, and publickly kept amistress.--I believe I must take a common sermon, and trust to my memoryto introduce something handsome on him."--"To your invention rather,"said the doctor: "your memory will be apter to put you out; for no manliving remembers anything good of him."

  With such kind of spiritual discourse, they emptied the bowl of punch,paid their reckoning, and separated: Adams and the doctor went up toJoseph, parson Barnabas departed to celebrate the aforesaid deceased,and the exciseman descended into the cellar to gauge the vessels.

  Joseph was now ready to sit down to a loin of mutton, and waited for MrAdams, when he and the doctor came in. The doctor, having felt his pulseand examined his wounds, declared him much better, which he imputed tothat sanative soporiferous draught, a medicine "whose virtues," he said,"were never to be sufficiently extolled." And great indeed they must be,if Joseph was so much indebted to them as the doctor imagined; sincenothing more than those effluvia which escaped the cork could havecontributed to his recovery; for the medicine had stood untouched in thewindow ever since its arrival.

  Joseph passed that day, and the three following, with his friend Adams,in which nothing so remarkable happened as the swift progress of hisrecovery. As he had an excellent habit of body, his wounds were nowalmost healed; and his bruises gave him so little uneasiness, that hepressed Mr Adams to let him depart; told him he should never be able toreturn sufficient thanks for all his favours, but begged that he mightno longer delay his journey to London.

  Adams, notwithstanding the ignorance, as he conceived it, of MrTow-wouse, and the envy (for such he thought it) of Mr Barnabas, hadgreat expectations from his sermons: seeing therefore Joseph in so gooda way, he told him he would agree to his setting out the next morning inthe stage-coach, that he believed he should have sufficient, after thereckoning paid, to procure him one day's conveyance in it, andafterwards he would be able to get on on foot, or might be favoured witha lift in some neighbour's waggon, especially as there was then to be afair in the town whither the coach would carry him, to which numbersfrom his parish resorted--And as to himself, he agreed to proceed to thegreat city.

  They were now walking in the inn-yard, when a fat, fair, short personrode in, and, alighting from his horse, went directly up to Barnabas,who was smoaking his pipe on a bench. The parson and the stranger shookone another very lovingly b
y the hand, and went into a room together.

  The evening now coming on, Joseph retired to his chamber, whither thegood Adams accompanied him, and took this opportunity to expatiate onthe great mercies God had lately shown him, of which he ought not onlyto have the deepest inward sense, but likewise to express outwardthankfulness for them. They therefore fell both on their knees, andspent a considerable time in prayer and thanksgiving.

  They had just finished when Betty came in and told Mr Adams Mr Barnabasdesired to speak to him on some business of consequence below-stairs.Joseph desired, if it was likely to detain him long, he would let himknow it, that he might go to bed, which Adams promised, and in that casethey wished one another good-night.