No situation, however wretched it seems, but has some sort of comfort
attending it.
We set forward from this peaceful neighbourhood, and walked on slowly.
My eldest daughter being enfeebled by a slow fever, which had begun for
some days to undermine her constitution, one of the officers, who had
an horse, kindly took her behind him; for even these men cannot
entirely divest themselves of humanity. My son led one of the little
ones by the hand, and my wife the other, while I leaned upon my
youngest girl, whose tears fell not for her own but my distresses.
We were now got from my late dwelling about two miles, when we saw a
crowd running and shouting behind us, consisting of about fifty of my
poorest parishioners. These, with dreadful imprecations, soon seized
upon the two officers of justice, and swearing they would never see
their minister go to gaol while they had a drop of blood to shed in his
defence, were going to use them with great severity. The consequence
might have been fatal, had I not immediately interposed, and with some
difficulty rescued the officers from the hands of the enraged
multitude. My children, who looked upon my delivery now as certain,
appeared transported with joy, and were incapable of containing their
raptures. But they were soon undeceived, upon hearing me address the
poor deluded people, who came, as they imagined, to do me service.
‘What! my friends,’ cried I, ‘and is this the way you love me! Is this
the manner you obey the instructions I have given you from the pulpit!
Thus to fly in the face of justice, and bring down ruin on yourselves
and me! Which is your ringleader? Shew me the man that has thus seduced
you. As sure as he lives he shall feel my resentment. Alas! my dear
deluded flock, return back to the duty you owe to God, to your country,
and to me. I shall yet perhaps one day see you in greater felicity
here, and contribute to make your lives more happy. But let it at least
be my comfort when I pen my fold for immortality, that not one here
shall be wanting.’
They now seemed all repentance, and melting into tears, came one after
the other to bid me farewell. I shook each tenderly by the hand, and
leaving them my blessing, proceeded forward without meeting any farther
interruption. Some hours before night we reached the town, or rather
village; for it consisted but of a few mean houses, having lost all its
former opulence, and retaining no marks of its ancient superiority but
the gaol.
Upon entering, we put up at an inn, where we had such refreshments as
could most readily be procured, and I supped with my family with my
usual cheerfulness. After seeing them properly accommodated for that
night, I next attended the sheriff’s officers to the prison, which had
formerly been built for the purposes of war, and consisted of one large
apartment, strongly grated, and paved with stone, common to both felons
and debtors at certain hours in the four and twenty. Besides this,
every prisoner had a separate cell, where he was locked in for the
night.
I expected upon my entrance to find nothing but lamentations, and
various sounds of misery; but it was very different. The prisoners
seemed all employed in one common design, that of forgetting thought in
merriment or clamour. I was apprized of the usual perquisite required
upon these occasions, and immediately complied with the demand, though
the little money I had was very near being all exhausted. This was
immediately sent away for liquor, and the whole prison soon was filled
with riot, laughter, and prophaneness.
‘How,’ cried I to myself, ‘shall men so very wicked be chearful, and
shall I be melancholy! I feel only the same confinement with them, and
I think I have more reason to be happy.’
With such reflections I laboured to become chearful; but chearfulness
was never yet produced by effort, which is itself painful. As I was
sitting therefore in a corner of the gaol, in a pensive posture, one of
my fellow prisoners came up, and sitting by me, entered into
conversation. It was my constant rule in life never to avoid the
conversation of any man who seemed to desire it: for if good, I might
profit by his instruction; if bad, he might be assisted by mine. I
found this to be a knowing man, of strong unlettered sense; but a
thorough knowledge of the world, as it is called, or, more properly
speaking, of human nature on the wrong side. He asked me if I had taken
care to provide myself with a bed, which was a circumstance I had never
once attended to.
‘That’s unfortunate,’ cried he, ‘as you are allowed here nothing but
straw, and your apartment is very large and cold. However you seem to
be something of a gentleman, and as I have been one myself in my time,
part of my bed-cloaths are heartily at your service.’
I thanked him, professing my surprize at finding such humanity in a
gaol in misfortunes; adding, to let him see that I was a scholar, ‘That
the sage ancient seemed to understand the value of company in
affliction, when he said, Ton kosman aire, ei dos ton etairon; and in
fact,’ continued I, ‘what is the World if it affords only solitude?’
‘You talk of the world, Sir,’ returned my fellow prisoner; ‘_the world
is in its dotage, and yet the cosmogony or creation of the world has
puzzled the philosophers of every age. What a medly of opinions have
they not broached upon the creation of the world. Sanconiathon,
Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus have all attempted it in vain.
The latter has these words. Anarchon ara kai atelutaion to pan, which
implies_’—‘I ask pardon, Sir,’ cried I, ‘for interrupting so much
learning; but I think I have heard all this before. Have I not had the
pleasure of once seeing you at Welbridge fair, and is not your name
Ephraim Jenkinson?’ At this demand he only sighed. ‘I suppose you must
recollect,’ resumed I, ‘one Doctor Primrose, from whom you bought a
horse.’
He now at once recollected me; for the gloominess of the place and the
approaching night had prevented his distinguishing my features
before.—‘Yes, Sir,’ returned Mr Jenkinson, ‘I remember you perfectly
well; I bought an horse, but forgot to pay for him. Your neighbour
Flamborough is the only prosecutor I am any way afraid of at the next
assizes: for he intends to swear positively against me as a coiner. I
am heartily sorry, Sir, I ever deceived you, or indeed any man; for you
see,’ continued he, shewing his shackles, ‘what my tricks have brought
me to.’
‘Well, sir,’ replied I, ‘your kindness in offering me assistance, when
you could expect no return, shall be repaid with my endeavours to
soften or totally suppress Mr Flamborough’s evidence, and I will send
my son to him for that purpose the first opportunity; nor do I in the
least doubt but he will comply with my request, and as to my evidence,
you need be under no uneasiness about that.’
‘Well, sir,’ cried he, ‘all the return I can make shall be yours. You
shall have more than half my bed-cloaths to night, and I’ll take care
to stand your friend in the prison, where I think I have some
influence.’
I thanked him, and could not avoid being surprised at the present
youthful change in his aspect; for at the time I had seen him before he
appeared at least sixty.—‘Sir,’ answered he, ‘you are little acquainted
with the world; I had at that time false hair, and have learnt the art
of counterfeiting every age from seventeen to seventy. Ah sir, had I
but bestowed half the pains in learning a trade, that I have in
learning to be a scoundrel, I might have been a rich man at this day.
But rogue as I am, still I may be your friend, and that perhaps when
you least expect it.’
We were now prevented from further conversation, by the arrival of the
gaoler’s servants, who came to call over the prisoners names, and lock
up for the night. A fellow also, with a bundle of straw for my bed
attended, who led me along a dark narrow passage into a room paved like
the common prison, and in one corner of this I spread my bed, and the
cloaths given me by my fellow prisoner; which done, my conductor, who
was civil enough, bade me a good-night. After my usual meditations, and
having praised my heavenly corrector, I laid myself down and slept with
the utmost tranquility till morning.