advise which of these roads we should take."- "May I be so bold,"
says Partridge, "to offer my advice? Interdum stultus opportuna
loquitur."- "Why, which of them," cries Jones, "would you recommend?"-
"Truly neither of them," answered Partridge. "The only road we can
be certain of finding, is the road we came. A good hearty pace will
bring us back to Gloucester in an hour; but if we go forward, the Lord
Harry knows when we shall arrive at any place; for I see at least
fifty miles before me, and no house in all the way."- "You see,
indeed, a very fair prospect," says Jones, "which receives great
additional beauty from the extreme lustre of the moon. However, I will
keep the lefthand track, as that seems to lead directly to those
hills, which we were informed lie not far from Worcester. And here, if
you are inclined to quit me, you may, and return back again; but for
my part, I am resolved to go forward."
"It is unkind in you, sir," says Partridge, "to suspect me of any
such intention. What I have advised hath been as much on your
account as on my own: but since you are determined to go on, I am as
much determined to follow. I prae sequar te."
They now travelled some miles without speaking to each other, during
which suspense of discourse Jones often sighed, and Benjamin groaned
as bitterly, though from a very different reason. At length Jones made
a full stop, and turning about, cries, "Who knows, Partridge, but
the loveliest creature in the universe may have her eyes now fixed
on that very moon which I behold at this instant?" "Very likely, sir,"
answered Partridge; "and if my eyes were fixed on a good surloin of
roast beef, the devil might take the moon and her horns into the
bargain." "Did ever Tramontane make such an answer?" cries Jones.
"Prithee, Partridge, wast thou ever susceptible of love in thy life,
or hath time worn away all the traces of it from thy memory?"
"Alack-a-day!" cries Partridge, "well would it have been for me if I
had never known what love was. Infandum regina jubes renovare dolorem.
I am sure I have tasted all the tenderness, and sublimities, and
bitternesses of the passion." "Was your mistress unkind, then?" says
Jones. "Very unkind, indeed, sir," answered Partridge; "for she
married me, and made one of the most confounded wives in the world.
However, heaven be praised, she's gone; and if I believed she was in
the moon, according to a book I once read, which teaches that to be
the receptacle of departed spirits, I would never look at it for
fear of seeing her; but I wish, sir, that the moon was a looking-glass
for your sake, and that Miss Sophia Western was now placed before it."
"My dear Partridge," cries Jones, "what a thought was there! A thought
which I am certain could never have entered into any mind but that
of a lover. O Partridge! could I hope once again to see that face;
but, alas! all those golden dreams are vanished for ever, and my
only refuge from future misery is to forget the object of all my
former happiness." "And do you really despair of ever seeing Miss
Western again?" answered Partridge; "if you will follow my advice I
will engage you shall not only see her but have her in your arms."
"Ha! do not awaken a thought of that nature," cries Jones: "I have
struggled sufficiently to conquer all such wishes already." "Nay,"
answered Partridge, "if you do not wish to have your mistress in
your arms you are a most extraordinary lover indeed." "Well, well,"
says Jones, "let us avoid this subject; but pray what is your advice?"
"To give it you in the military phrase, then," says Partridge, "as
we are soldiers, 'To the right about.' Let us return the way we
came; we may yet reach Gloucester to-night, though late; whereas, if
we proceed, we are likely, for aught I see, to ramble about for ever
without coming either to house or home." "I have already told you my
resolution is to go on," answered Jones; "but I would have you go
back. I am obliged to you for your company hither; and I beg you to
accept a guinea as a small instance of my gratitude. Nay, it would
be cruel in me to suffer you to go any farther; for, to deal plainly
with you, my chief end and desire is a glorious death in the service
of my king and country." "As for your money," replied Partridge, "I
beg, sir, you will put it up; I will receive none of you at this time;
for at present I am, I believe, the richer man of the two. And as your
resolution is to go on, so mine is to follow you if you do. Nay, now
my presence appears absolutely necessary to take care of you, since
your intentions are so desperate; for I promise you my views are
much more prudent; as you are resolved to fall in battle if you can,
so I am resolved as firmly to come to no hurt if I can help it. And,
indeed, I have the comfort to think there will be but little danger;
for a popish priest told me the other day the business would soon be
over, and he believed without a battle." "A popish priest!" cries
Jones, "I have heard is not always to be believed when he speaks in
behalf of his religion." "Yes, but so far," answered the other,
"from speaking in behalf of his religion, he assured me the Catholicks
did not expect to be any gainers by the change; for that Prince
Charles was as good a Protestant as any in England; and that nothing
but regard to right made him and the rest of the popish party to be
Jacobites."- "I believe him to be as much a Protestant as I believe
he hath any right," says Jones; "and I make no doubt of our success,
but not without a battle. So that I am not so sanguine as your
friend the popish priest." "Nay, to be sure, sir," answered Partridge,
"all the prophecies I have ever read speak of a great deal of blood to
be spilt in the quarrel, and the miller with three thumbs, who is
now alive, is to hold the horses of three kings, up to his knees in
blood. Lord, have mercy upon us all, and send better times!" "With
what stuff and nonsense hast thou filled thy head!" answered Jones:
"this too, I suppose, comes from the popish priest. Monsters and
prodigies are the proper arguments to support monstrous and absurd
doctrines. The cause of King George is the cause of liberty and true
religion. In other words, it is the cause of common sense, my boy, and
I warrant you will succeed, though Briarius himself was to rise
again with his hundred thumbs, and to turn miller." Partridge made
no reply to this. He was, indeed, cast into the utmost confusion by
this declaration of Jones. For, to inform the reader of a secret,
which he had no proper opportunity of revealing before, Partridge
was in truth a Jacobite, and had concluded that Jones was of the
same party, and was now proceeding to join the rebels. An opinion
which was not without foundation. For the tall, long-sided dame,
mentioned by Hudibras- that many-eyed, many-tongued, many-mouthed,
many-eared monster of Virgil, had related the story of the quarrel
between Jones and the officer, with the usual regard to truth. She
had, indeed, changed the name of Sophia into that of the Pretender,
and had reported, that drinking his health was the cause for which
Jones was knocked down. This Partridge had heard, and most firmly
believed. 'Tis no wonder, therefore, that he had thence entertained
the above-mentioned opinion of Jones; and which he had almost
discovered to him before he found out his own mistake. And at this the
reader will be the less inclined to wonder, if he pleases to recollect
the doubtful phrase in which Jones first communicated his resolution
to Mr. Partridge; and, indeed, had the words been less ambiguous,
Partridge might very well have construed them as he did; being
persuaded as he was that the whole nation were of the same inclination
in their hearts; nor did it stagger him that Jones had travelled in
the company of soldiers; for he had the same opinion of the army which
he had of the rest of the people.
But however well affected he might be to James or Charles, he was
still much more attached to Little Benjamin than to either; for
which reason he no sooner discovered the principles of his
fellow-traveller than he thought proper to conceal and outwardly
give up his own to the man on whom he depended for the making his
fortune, since he by no means believed the affairs of Jones to be so
desperate as they really were with Mr. Allworthy; for as he had kept a
constant correspondence with some of his neighbours since he left that
country, he had heard much, indeed more than was true, of the great
affection Mr. Allworthy bore this young man, who, as Partridge had
been instructed, was to be that gentleman's heir, and whom, as we have
said, he did not in the least doubt to be his son.
He imagined therefore that whatever quarrel was between them, it
would be certainly made up at the return of Mr. Jones; an event from
which he promised great advantages, if he could take this
opportunity of ingratiating himself with that young gentleman; and
if he could by any means be instrumental in procuring his return, he
doubted not, as we have before said, but it would as highly advance
him in the favour of Mr. Allworthy.
We have already observed, that he was a very good-natured fellow,
and he hath himself declared the violent attachment he had to the
person and character of Jones; but possibly the views which I have
just before mentioned, might likewise have some little share in
prompting him to undertake this expedition, at least in urging him
to continue it, after he had discovered that his master and himself,
like some prudent fathers and sons, though they travelled together
in great friendship, had embraced opposite parties. I am led into this
conjecture, by having remarked, that though love, friendship,
esteem, and such like, have very powerful operations in the human
mind; interest, however, is an ingredient seldom omitted by wise
men, when they would work others to their own purposes. This is indeed
a most excellent medicine, and, like Ward's pill, flies at once to the
particular part of the body on which you desire to operate, whether it
be the tongue, the hand, or any other member, where it scarce ever
fails of immediately producing the desired effect.
Chapter 10
In which our travellers meet with a very extraordinary adventure
Just as Jones and his friend came to the end of their dialogue in
the preceding chapter, they arrived at the bottom of a very steep
hill. Here Jones stopt short, and directing his eyes upwards, stood
for a while silent. At length he called to his companion, and said,
"Partridge, I wish I was at the top of this hill: it must certainly
afford a most charming prospect, especially by this light; for the
solemn gloom which the moon casts on all objects, is beyond expression
beautiful, especially to an imagination which is desirous of
cultivating melancholy ideas."- "Very probably," answered Partridge;
"but if the top of the hill be properest to produce melancholy
thoughts, I suppose the bottom is the likeliest to produce merry ones,
and these I take to be much the better of the two. I protest you
have made my blood run cold with the very mentioning the top of that
mountain; which seems to me to be one of the highest in the world. No,
no, if we look for anything, let it be for a place under ground, to
screen ourselves from the frost."- "Do so," said Jones; "let it be
but within hearing of this place, and I will hallow to you at my
return back."- "Surely, sir, you are not mad," said Partridge.-
"Indeed, I am," answered Jones, "if ascending this hill be madness;
but as you complain so much of the cold already, I would have you stay
below. I will certainly return to you within an hour."- "Pardon me,
sir," cries Partridge; "I have determined to follow you wherever you
go." Indeed he was now afraid to stay behind; though he was coward
enough in all respects, yet his chief fear was that of ghosts, with
which the present time of night, and the wildness of the place,
extremely well suited.
At this instant Partridge espied a glimmering light through some
trees, which seemed very near to them. He immediately cried out in a
rapture, "Oh, sir! Heaven hath at last heard my prayers, and hath
brought us a house; perhaps it may be an inn. Let beseech you, sir, if
you have any compassion either for me or yourself, do not despise
the goodness of Providence, but let us go directly to yon light.
Whether it be a public-house or no, I am sure if they be Christians
that well there, they will not refuse a little house-room to persons
in our miserable condition." Jones at length yielded to the earnest
supplications of Partridge, and both together made directly towards
the place whence the light issued.
They soon arrived at the door of this house, or cottage, for it
might be called either, without much impropriety. Here Jones knocked
several times without receiving any answer from within; at which
Partridge, whose head was full of nothing but of ghosts, devils,
witches, and such like, began to tremble, crying, "Lord, have mercy
upon us! surely the people must be all dead. I can see no light
neither now, and yet I am certain I saw a candle burning but a
moment before.- Well! I have heard of such things."- "What hast thou
heard of?" said Jones. "The people are either fast asleep, or
probably, as this is a lonely place, are afraid to open their door."
He then began to vociferate pretty loudly, and at last an old woman,
opening an upper casement, asked, Who they were, and what they wanted?
