Happier prospects begin to appear. Let us be inflexible, and fortune
will at last change in our favour.
When I had thus finished and my audience was retired, the gaoler, who
was one of the most humane of his profession, hoped I would not be
displeased, as what he did was but his duty, observing that he must be
obliged to remove my son into a stronger cell, but that he should be
permitted to revisit me every morning. I thanked him for his clemency,
and grasping my boy’s hand, bade him farewell, and be mindful of the
great duty that was before him.
I again, therefore laid me down, and one of my little ones sate by my
bedside reading, when Mr Jenkinson entering, informed me that there was
news of my daughter; for that she was seen by a person about two hours
before in a strange gentleman’s company, and that they had stopt at a
neighbouring village for refreshment, and seemed as if returning to
town. He had scarce delivered this news, when the gaoler came with
looks of haste and pleasure, to inform me, that my daughter was found.
Moses came running in a moment after, crying out that his sister Sophy
was below and coming up with our old friend Mr Burchell.
Just as he delivered this news my dearest girl entered, and with looks
almost wild with pleasure, ran to kiss me in a transport of affection.
Her mother’s tears and silence also shewed her pleasure.—‘Here, pappa,’
cried the charming girl, ‘here is the brave man to whom I owe my
delivery; to this gentleman’s intrepidity I am indebted for my
happiness and safety—’ A kiss from Mr Burchell, whose pleasure seemed
even greater than hers, interrupted what she was going to add.
‘Ah, Mr Burchell,’ cried I, ‘this is but a wretched habitation you now
find us in; and we are now very different from what you last saw us.
You were ever our friend: we have long discovered our errors with
regard to you, and repented of our ingratitude. After the vile usage
you then received at my hands I am almost ashamed to behold your face;
yet I hope you’ll forgive me, as I was deceived by a base ungenerous
wretch, who, under the mask of friendship, has undone me.’
‘It is impossible,’ replied Mr Burchell, ‘that I should forgive you, as
you never deserved my resentment. I partly saw your delusion then, and
as it was out of my power to restrain, I could only pity it!’
‘It was ever my conjecture,’ cried I, ‘that your mind was noble; but
now I find it so. But tell me, my dear child, how hast thou been
relieved, or who the ruffians were who carried thee away?’
‘Indeed, Sir,’ replied she, ‘as to the villain who carried me off, I am
yet ignorant. For as my mamma and I were walking out, he came behind
us, and almost before I could call for help, forced me into the
post-chaise, and in an instant the horses drove away. I met several on
the road, to whom I cried out for assistance; but they disregarded my
entreaties. In the mean time the ruffian himself used every art to
hinder me from crying out: he flattered and threatened by turns, and
swore that if I continued but silent, he intended no harm. In the mean
time I had broken the canvas that he had drawn up, and whom should I
perceive at some distance but your old friend Mr Burchell, walking
along with his usual swiftness, with the great stick for which we used
so much to ridicule him. As soon as we came within hearing, I called
out to him by name, and entreated his help. I repeated my exclamations
several times, upon which, with a very loud voice, he bid the
postillion stop; but the boy took no notice, but drove on with still
greater speed. I now thought he could never overtake us, when in less
than a minute I saw Mr Burchell come running up by the side of the
horses, and with one blow knock the postillion to the ground. The
horses when he was fallen soon stopt of themselves, and the ruffian
stepping out, with oaths and menaces drew his sword, and ordered him at
his peril to retire; but Mr Burchell running up, shivered his sword to
pieces, and then pursued him for near a quarter of a mile; but he made
his escape. I was at this time come out myself, willing to assist my
deliverer; but he soon returned to me in triumph. The postillion, who
was recovered, was going to make his escape too; but Mr Burchell
ordered him at his peril to mount again, and drive back to town.
Finding it impossible to resist, he reluctantly complied, though the
wound he had received seemed, to me at least, to be dangerous. He
continued to complain of the pain as we drove along, so that he at last
excited Mr Burchell’s compassion, who, at my request, exchanged him for
another at an inn where we called on our return.’
‘Welcome then,’ cried I, ‘my child, and thou her gallant deliverer, a
thousand welcomes. Though our chear is but wretched, yet our hearts are
ready to receive you. And now, Mr Burchell, as you have delivered my
girl, if you think her a recompence she is yours, if you can stoop to
an alliance with a family so poor as mine, take her, obtain her
consent, as I know you have her heart, and you have mine. And let me
tell you, Sir, that I give you no small treasure, she has been
celebrated for beauty it is true, but that is not my meaning, I give
you up a treasure in her mind.’
‘But I suppose, Sir,’ cried Mr Burchell, ‘that you are apprized of my
circumstances, and of my incapacity to support her as she deserves?’
‘If your present objection,’ replied I, ‘be meant as an evasion of my
offer, I desist: but I know no man so worthy to deserve her as you; and
if I could give her thousands, and thousands sought her from me, yet my
honest brave Burchell should be my dearest choice.’
To all this his silence alone seemed to give a mortifying refusal, and
without the least reply to my offer, he demanded if we could not be
furnished with refreshments from the next inn, to which being answered
in the affirmative, he ordered them to send in the best dinner that
could be provided upon such short notice. He bespoke also a dozen of
their best wine; and some cordials for me. Adding, with a smile, that
he would stretch a little for once, and tho’ in a prison, asserted he
was never better disposed to be merry. The waiter soon made his
appearance with preparations for dinner, a table was lent us by the
gaoler, who seemed remarkably assiduous, the wine was disposed in
order, and two very well-drest dishes were brought in.
My daughter had not yet heard of her poor brother’s melancholy
situation, and we all seemed unwilling to damp her cheerfulness by the
relation. But it was in vain that I attempted to appear chearful, the
circumstances of my unfortunate son broke through all efforts to
dissemble; so that I was at last obliged to damp our mirth by relating
his misfortunes, and wishing that he might be permitted to share with
us in this little interval of satisfaction. After my guests were
recovered, from the consternation my account had produced, I requested
also that Mr Jenkinson, a fellow prisoner, might be admitted, and the
gaoler granted my request with an air of unusual submission. The
clanking of my son’s irons was no sooner heard along the passage, than
his sister ran impatiently to meet him; while Mr Burchell, in the mean
time, asked me if my son’s name were George, to which replying in the
affirmative, he still continued silent. As soon as my boy entered the
room, I could perceive he regarded Mr Burchell with a look of
astonishment and reverence. ‘Come on,’ cried I, ‘my son, though we are
fallen very low, yet providence has been pleased to grant us some small
relaxation from pain. Thy sister is restored to us, and there is her
deliverer: to that brave man it is that I am indebted for yet having a
daughter, give him, my boy, the hand of friendship, he deserves our
warmest gratitude.’
My son seemed all this while regardless of what I said, and still
continued fixed at respectful distance.—‘My dear brother,’ cried his
sister, ‘why don’t you thank my good deliverer; the brave should ever
love each other.’
He still continued his silence and astonishment, till our guest at last
perceived himself to be known, and assuming all his native dignity,
desired my son to come forward. Never before had I seen any thing so
truly majestic as the air he assumed upon this occasion. The greatest
object in the universe, says a certain philosopher, is a good man
struggling with adversity; yet there is still a greater, which is the
good man that comes to relieve it. After he had regarded my son for
some time with a superior air, ‘I again find,’ said he, ‘unthinking
boy, that the same crime—’ But here he was interrupted by one of the
gaoler’s servants, who came to inform us that a person of distinction,
who had driven into town with a chariot and several attendants, sent
his respects to the gentleman that was with us, and begged to know when
he should think proper to be waited upon.—‘Bid the fellow wait,’ cried
our guest, ‘till I shall have leisure to receive him;’ and then turning
to my son, ‘I again find, Sir,’ proceeded he, ‘that you are guilty of
the same offence for which you once had my reproof, and for which the
law is now preparing its justest punishments. You imagine, perhaps,
that a contempt for your own life, gives you a right to take that of
another: but where, Sir, is the difference between a duelist who
hazards a life of no value, and the murderer who acts with greater
security? Is it any diminution of the gamester’s fraud when he alledges
that he has staked a counter?’
‘Alas, Sir,’ cried I, ‘whoever you are, pity the poor misguided
creature; for what he has done was in obedience to a deluded mother,
who in the bitterness of her resentment required him upon her blessing
to avenge her quarrel. Here, Sir, is the letter, which will serve to
convince you of her imprudence and diminish his guilt.’
He took the letter, and hastily read it over. ‘This,’ says he, ‘though
not a perfect excuse, is such a palliation of his fault, as induces me
to forgive him. And now, Sir,’ continued he, kindly taking my son by
the hand, ‘I see you are surprised at finding me here; but I have often
visited prisons upon occasions less interesting. I am now come to see
justice done a worthy man, for whom I have the most sincere esteem. I
have long been a disguised spectator of thy father’s benevolence. I
have at his little dwelling enjoyed respect uncontaminated by flattery,
and have received that happiness that courts could not give, from the
amusing simplicity around his fire-side. My nephew has been apprized of
my intentions of coming here, and I find is arrived; it would be
wronging him and you to condemn him without examination: if there be
injury, there shall be redress; and this I may say without boasting,
that none have ever taxed the injustice of Sir William Thornhill.’
We now found the personage whom we had so long entertained as an
harmless amusing companion was no other than the celebrated Sir William
Thornhill, to whose virtues and singularities scarce any were
strangers. The poor Mr Burchell was in reality a man of large fortune
and great interest, to whom senates listened with applause, and whom
party heard with conviction; who was the friend of his country, but
loyal to his king. My poor wife recollecting her former familiarity,
seemed to shrink with apprehension; but Sophia, who a few moments
before thought him her own, now perceiving the immense distance to
which he was removed by fortune, was unable to conceal her tears.
‘Ah, Sir,’ cried my wife, with a piteous aspect, ‘how is it possible
that I can ever have your forgiveness; the slights you received from me
the last time I had the honour of seeing you at our house, and the
jokes which I audaciously threw out, these jokes, Sir, I fear can never
be forgiven.’
‘My dear good lady,’ returned he with a smile, ‘if you had your joke, I
had my answer: I’ll leave it to all the company if mine were not as
good as yours. To say the truth, I know no body whom I am disposed to
be angry with at present but the fellow who so frighted my little girl
here. I had not even time to examine the rascal’s person so as to
describe him in an advertisement. Can you tell me, Sophia, my dear,
whether you should know him again?’
‘Indeed, Sir,’ replied she, ‘I can’t be positive; yet now I recollect
he had a large mark over one of his eye-brows.’ ‘I ask pardon, madam,’
interrupted Jenkinson, who was by, ‘but be so good as to inform me if
the fellow wore his own red hair?’—‘Yes, I think so,’ cried
Sophia.—‘And did your honour,’ continued he, turning to Sir William,
‘observe the length of his legs?’—‘I can’t be sure of their length,’
cried the Baronet, ‘but I am convinced of their swiftness; for he
out-ran me, which is what I thought few men in the kingdom could have
done.’—‘Please your honour,’ cried Jenkinson, ‘I know the man: it is
certainly the same; the best runner in England; he has beaten Pinwire
of Newcastle, Timothy Baxter is his name, I know him perfectly, and the
very place of his retreat this moment. If your honour will bid Mr
Gaoler let two of his men go with me, I’ll engage to produce him to you
in an hour at farthest.’ Upon this the gaoler was called, who instantly
appearing, Sir William demanded if he knew him. ‘Yes, please your
honour,’ reply’d the gaoler, ‘I know Sir William Thornhill well, and
every body that knows any thing of him, will desire to know more of
him.’—‘Well then,’ said the Baronet, ‘my request is, that you will
permit this man and two of your servants to go upon a message by my
authority, and as I am in the commission of the peace, I undertake to
secure you.’—‘Your promise is sufficient,’ replied the other, ‘and you
may at a minute’s warning send them over England whenever your honour
thinks fit.’
In pursuance of the gaoler’s compliance, Jenkinson was dispatched in
search of Timothy Baxter, while we were amused with the assiduity of
our youngest boy Bill, who had just come in and climbed up to Sir
William’s neck in order to kiss him. His mother was immediately going
to chastise his familiarity, but the worthy man prevented her; and
taking the child, all ragged as he was, upon his knee, ‘What, Bill, you
chubby rogue,’ cried he, ‘do you remember your old friend Burchell; and
Dick too, my honest veteran, are you here, you shall find I have not
forgot you.’ So saying, he gave each a large piece of gingerbread,
which the poor fellows eat very heartily, as they had got that morning
but a very scanty breakfast.
We now sate down to dinner, which was almost cold; but previously, my
arm still continuing painful, Sir William wrote a prescription, for he
had made the study of physic his amusement, and was more than
moderately skilled in the profession: this being sent to an apothecary
who lived in the place, my arm was dressed, and I found almost
instantaneous relief. We were waited upon at dinner by the gaoler
himself, who was willing to do our guest all the honour in his power.
But before we had well dined, another message was brought from his
nephew, desiring permission to appear, in order to vindicate his
innocence and honour, with which request the Baronet complied, and
desired Mr Thornhill to be introduced.