pocket?" "I have no such letter, I promise you," answered Sophia;
"and, if he be a murderer, he will soon be in no condition to give you
any further disturbance." "How, Miss Western!" said the aunt, "have
you the assurance to speak of him in this manner; to own your
affection for such a villain to my face?" "Sure, madam," said
Sophia, "you put a very strange construction on my words." "Indeed,
Miss Western," cries the lady, "I shall not bear this usage; you
have learnt of your father this manner of treating me; he hath
taught you to give me the lie. He hath totally ruined you by this
false system of education; and, please heaven, he shall have the
comfort of its fruits; for once more I declare to you, that
to-morrow morning I will carry you back. I will withdraw all my forces
from the field, and remain henceforth, like the wise king of
Prussia, in a state of perfect neutrality. You are both too wise to be
regulated by my measures; so prepare yourself, for to-morrow morning
you shall evacuate this house."
Sophia remonstrated all she could; but her aunt was deaf to all
she said. In this resolution therefore we must at present leave her,
as there seems to be no hopes of bringing her to change it.
Chapter 9
What happened to Mr. Jones in the prison
Mr. Jones passed about twenty-four melancholy hours by himself,
unless when relieved by the company of Partridge, before Mr.
Nightingale returned; not that this worthy young man had deserted or
forgot his friend; for, indeed, he had been much the greatest part
of the time employed in his service.
He had heard, upon enquiry, that the only persons who had seen the
beginning of the unfortunate rencounter were a crew belonging to a
man-of-war which then lay at Deptford. To Deptford therefore he went
in search of this crew, where he was informed that the men he sought
after were all gone ashore. He then traced them from place to place,
till at last he found two of them drinking together, with third
person, at a hedge-tavern near Aldersgate.
Nightingale desired to speak with Jones by himself (for Partridge
was in the room when he came in). As soon as they were alone,
Nightingale, taking Jones by the hand, cried, "Come, my brave
friend, be not too much dejected at what I am going to tell you-- I am
sorry I am the messenger of bad news; but I think it my duty to tell
you." "I guess already what that bad news is," cries Jones. "The
poor gentleman then is dead."-- "I hope not," answered Nightingale.
"He was alive this morning; though I will not flatter you; I fear,
from the accounts I could get, that his wound is mortal. But if the
affair be exactly as you told it, your own remorse would be all you
would have reason to apprehend, let what would happen; but forgive me,
my dear Tom, if I entreat you to make the worst of your story to
your friends. If you disguise anything to us, you will only be an
enemy to yourself."
"What reason, my dear Jack, have I ever given you," said Jones,
"to stab me with so cruel a suspicion?" "Have patience," cries
Nightingale," and I will tell you all. After the most diligent enquiry
I could make, I at last met with two of the fellows who were present
at this unhappy accident, and I am sorry to say, they do not relate
the story so much in your favour as you yourself have told it."
"Why, what do they say?" cries Jones. "Indeed what I am sorry to
repeat, as I am afraid of the consequence of it to you. They say
that they were at too great a distance to overhear any words that
passed between you: but they both agree that the first blow was
given by you." "Then, upon my soul," answered Jones, "they injure
me. He not only struck me first, but struck me without the least
provocation. What should induce those villains to accuse me
falsely?" "Nay, that I cannot guess," said Nightingale, "and if you
yourself, and I, who am so heartily your friend, cannot conceive a
reason why they should belie you, what reason will an indifferent
court of justice be able to assign why they should not believe them? I
repeated the question to them several times, and so did another
gentleman who was present, who, I believe, is a seafaring man, and who
really acted a very friendly part by you; for he begged them often to
consider that there was the life of a man in the case; and asked
them over and over, if they were certain; to which they both answered,
that they were, and would abide by their evidence upon oath. For
heaven's sake, my dear friend, recollect yourself; for, if this should
appear to be the fact, it will be your business to think in time of
making the best of your interest. I would not shock you; but you know,
I believe, the severity of the law, whatever verbal provocations may
have been given you." "Alas! my friend," cries Jones, "what interest
hath such a wretch as I? Besides, do you think I would even wish to
live with the reputation of a murderer? If I had any friends (as,
alas! I have none), could I have the confidence to solicit them to
speak in the behalf of a man condemned for the blackest crime in human
nature? Believe me, I have no such hope; but I have some reliance on a
throne still greatly superior; which will, I am certain, afford me all
the protection I merit."
He then concluded with many solemn and vehement protestations of the
truth of what he had at first asserted.
The faith of Nightingale was now again staggered, and began to
incline to credit his friend, when Mrs. Miller appeared, and made a
sorrowful report of the success of her embassy; which when Jones had
heard, he cried out most heroically, "Well, my friend, I am now
indifferent as to what shall happen, at least with regard to my
life; and if it be the will of Heaven that I shall make an atonement
with that for the blood I have spilt, I hope the Divine Goodness
will one day suffer my honour to be cleared, and that the words of a
dying man, at least, will be believed, so far as to justify his
character."
A very mournful scene now past between the prisoner and his friends,
at which, as few readers would have been pleased to be present, so
few, I believe, will desire to hear it particularly related. We
will, therefore, pass on to the entrance of the turnkey, who
acquainted Jones that there was a lady without who desired to speak
with him when he was at leisure.
Jones declared his surprize at this message. He said, "He knew no
lady in the world whom he could possibly expect to see there."
However, as he saw no reason to decline seeing any person, Mrs. Miller
and Mr. Nightingale presently took their leave, and he gave orders
to have the lady admitted.
If Jones was surprized at the news of a visit from a lady, how
greatly was he astonished when he discovered this lady to be no
other than Mrs. Waters! In this astonishment then we shall leave him
awhile, in order to cure the surprize of the reader, who will
likewise, probably, not a little wonder at the arrival of this lady.
Who this Mrs. Waters was, the reader pretty well knows; what she
was, he must be perfectly satisfied. He will therefore be pleased to
remember that this lady departed from Upton in the same coach with Mr.
Fitzpatrick and the other Irish gentleman, and in their company
travelled to Bath.
Now there was a certain office in the gift of Mr. Fitzpatrick at
that time vacant, namely that of a wife: for the lady who had lately
filled that office had resigned, or at least deserted her duty. Mr.
Fitzpatrick therefore, having thoroughly examined Mrs. Waters on the
road, found her extremely fit for the place, which, on their arrival
at Bath, he presently conferred upon her, and she without any
scruple accepted. As husband and wife this gentleman and lady
continued together all the time they stayed at Bath, and as husband
and wife they arrived together in town.
Whether Mr. Fitzpatrick was so wise a man as not to part with one
good thing till he had secured another, which he had at present only a
prospect or whether Mrs. Waters had so well discharged her office,
that he intended still to retain her as principal, and to make his
wife (as is often the case) only her deputy, I will not say; but
certain it is, he never mentioned his wife to her, never
communicated to her the letter given him by Mrs. Western, nor ever
once hinted his purpose of repossessing his wife; much less did he
ever mention the name of Jones. For, though he intended to fight
with him wherever he met him, he did not imitate those prudent persons
who think a wife, a mother, a sister, or sometimes a whole family, the
safest seconds on these occasions. The first account, therefore, which
she had of all this was delivered to her from his lips, after he was
brought home from the tavern where his wound had been drest.
As Mr. Fitzpatrick, however, had not the clearest way of telling a
story at any time, and was now, perhaps, a little more confused than
usual, it was some time before she discovered that the gentleman who
had given him this wound was the very same person from whom her
heart had received a wound, which, though not of a mortal kind, was
yet so deep that it had left a considerable scar behind it. But no
sooner was she acquainted that Mr. Jones himself was the man who had
been committed to the Gatehouse for this supposed murder, than she
took the first opportunity of committing Mr. Fitzpatrick to the care
of his nurse, and hastened away to visit the conqueror.
She now entered the room with an air of gaiety, which received an
immediate check from the melancholy aspect of poor Jones, who
started and blessed himself when he saw her. Upon which she said,
"Nay, I do not wonder at your surprize; I believe you did not expect
to see me; for few gentlemen are troubled here with visits from any
lady, unless a wife. You see the power you have over me, Mr. Jones.
Indeed, I little thought, when we parted at Upton, that our next
meeting would have been in such a place." "Indeed, madam," says Jones,
"I must look upon this visit as kind; few will follow the miserable,
especially to such dismal habitations." "I protest, Mr. Jones," says
she, "I can hardly persuade myself you are the same agreeable fellow I
saw at Upton. Why, your face is more miserable than any dungeon in the
universe. What can be the matter with you?" "I thought, madam," said
Jones, "as you knew of my being here, you knew the unhappy reason."
"Pugh!" says she, "you have pinked a man in a duel, that's all." Jones
exprest some indignation at this levity, and spoke with the utmost
contrition for what had happened. To which she answered, "Well,
then, sir, if you take it so much to heart, I will relieve you; the
gentleman is not dead, and, I am pretty confident, is in no danger
of dying. The surgeon, indeed who first dressed him was a young
fellow, and seemed desirous of representing his case to be as bad as
possible, that he might have the more honour from curing him: but
the king's surgeon hath seen him since, and says, unless from a fever,
of which there are at present no symptoms, he apprehends not the least
danger of life." Jones shewed great satisfaction at this report;
upon which she affirmed the truth of it, adding, "By the most
extraordinary accident in the world I lodge at the same house; and
have seen the gentleman, and I promise you he doth you justice, and
says, whatever be the consequence, that he was entirely the aggressor,
and that you was not in the least to blame."
Jones expressed the utmost satisfaction at the account which Mrs.
Waters brought him. He then informed her of many things which she well
knew before, as who Mr. Fitzpatrick was, the occasion of his
resentment, &c. He likewise told her several facts of which she was
ignorant, as the adventure of the muff, and other particulars,
concealing only the name of Sophia. He then lamented the follies and
vices of which he had been guilty; every one of which, he said, had
been attended with such ill consequences, that he should be
unpardonable if he did not take warning, and quit those vicious
courses for the future. He lastly concluded with assuring her of his
resolution to sin no more, lest a worse thing should happen to him.
Mrs. Waters with great pleasantry ridiculed all this, as the effects
of low spirits and confinement. She repeated some witticisms about the
devil when he was sick, and told him, "She doubted not but shortly
to see him at liberty, and as lively a fellow as ever; and then," says
she, "I don't question but your conscience will be safely delivered of
all these qualms that it is now so sick in breeding."
Many more things of this kind she uttered, some of which it would do
her no great honour, in the opinion of some readers, to remember;
nor are we quite certain but that the answers made by Jones would be
treated with ridicule by others. We shall therefore suppress the
rest of this conversation, and only observe that it ended at last with
perfect innocence, and much more to the satisfaction of Jones than
of the lady; for the former was greatly transported with the news
she had brought him; but the latter was not altogether so pleased with
the penitential behaviour of a man whom she had, at her first
interview, conceived. a very different opinion of from what she now
entertained of him.
Thus the melancholy occasioned by the report of Mr. Nightingale
was pretty well effaced; but the dejection into which Mrs. Miller
had thrown him still continued. The account she gave so well tallied
with the words of Sophia herself in her letter, that he made not the
least doubt but that she had disclosed his letter to her aunt, and had
taken a fixed resolution to abandon him. The torments this thought
