IN WHICH IT APPEARS THAT THE KNIGHT, WHEN HEARTILY SET IN FOR SLEEPING,
WAS NOT EASILY DISTURBED.
In all probability the kitchen of the Black Lion, from a domestic temple
of society and good fellowship, would have been converted into a scene or
stage of sanguinary dispute, had not Pallas, or Discretion, interposed in
the person of Mr. Fillet, and, with the assistance of the ostler,
disarmed the combatants, not only of their arms, but also of their
resentment.
The impetuosity of Mr. Clarke was a little checked at sight of the
gridiron, which Ferret brandished with uncommon dexterity; a circumstance
from whence the company were, upon reflection, induced to believe,
that before he plunged into the sea of politics, he had occasionally
figured in the character of that facetious droll, who accompanies your
itinerant physicians, under the familiar appellation of Merry-Andrew, or
Jack-Pudding, and on a wooden stage entertains the populace with a solo
on the saltbox, or a sonata on the tongs and gridiron. Be that as it
may, the young lawyer seemed to be a little discomposed at the glancing
of this extraordinary weapon of offence, which the fair hands of Dolly
had scoured, until it had shone as bright as the shield of Achilles; or
as the emblem of good old English fare, which hangs by a red ribbon round
the neck of that thrice-honoured sage’s head, in velvet bonnet cased, who
presides by rotation at the genial board, distinguished by the title of
the Beef-steak Club where the delicate rumps irresistibly attract the
stranger’s eye, and, while they seem to cry, “Come cut me--come cut me,”
constrain, by wondrous sympathy, each mouth to overflow. Where the
obliging and humorous Jemmy B----t, the gentle Billy H----d, replete with
human kindness, and the generous Johnny B----d, respected and beloved by
all the world, attend as the priests and ministers of mirth, good cheer,
and jollity, and assist with culinary art the raw, unpractised, awkward
guest.
But to return from this digressive simile. The ostler no sooner stept
between those menacing antagonists, than Tom Clarke very quietly resumed
his clothes, and Mr. Ferret resigned the gridiron without further
question. The doctor did not find it quite so easy to release the throat
of Captain Crowe from the masculine grasp of the virago Dolly, whose
fingers could not be disengaged until the honest seaman was almost at the
last gasp. After some pause, during which he panted for breath, and
untied his neckcloth, “D--n thee, for a brimstone galley,” cried he; “I
was never so grappled withal since I knew a card from a compass.--
Adzooks! the jade has so tautened my rigging, d’ye see, that I--Snatch my
bowlines, if I come athwart thy hawser, I’ll turn thy keel upwards--or
mayhap set thee a-driving under thy bare poles--I will--I will, you
hell-fire, saucy--I will.”
Dolly made no reply; but seeing Mr. Clarke sit down again with great
composure, took her station likewise at the opposite side of the
apartment. Then Mr. Fillet requested the lawyer to proceed with his
story, which, after three hems, he accordingly prosecuted in these words:
“I told you, gemmen, that Mr. Greaves was mounted on Scipio, when he saw
Miss Darnel and her mother in danger of being hurried over a precipice.
Without reflecting a moment, he gave Scipio the spur, and at one spring
he cleared five-and-twenty feet, over hedge and ditch and every
obstruction. Then he rode full speed, in order to turn the coach-horses;
and, finding them quite wild and furious, endeavoured to drive against
the counter of the hither horse, which he missed, and staked poor Scipio
on the pole of the coach. The shock was so great, that the coach-horses
made a full stop within ten yards of the quarry, and Mr. Greaves was
thrown forwards towards the coach-box, which mounting with admirable
dexterity, he seized the reins before the horses could recover of their
fright. At that instant the coachman came running up, and loosed them
from the traces with the utmost despatch. Mr. Greaves had now time to
give his attention to the ladies, who were well-nigh distracted with
fear. He no sooner opened the chariot door than Aurelia, with a wildness
of look, sprung into his arms, and, clasping him round the neck, fainted
away. I leave you to guess, gemmen, what were his feelings at this
instant. The mother was not so discomposed, but that she could
contribute to the recovery of her daughter, whom the young squire still
supported in his embrace. At length she retrieved the use of her senses,
and, perceiving the situation in which she was, the blood revisited her
face with a redoubled glow, while she desired him to set her down upon
the turf.
“Mrs. Darnel, far from being shy or reserved in her compliments of
acknowledgments, kissed Mr. Launcelot without ceremony, the tears of
gratitude running down her cheeks; she called him her dear son, her
generous deliverer, who, at the hazard of his own life, had saved her and
her child from the most dismal fate that could be imagined.
“Mr. Greaves was so much transported on this occasion, that he could not
help disclosing a passion, which he had hitherto industriously concealed.
‘What I have done,’ said he, ‘was but a common office of humanity, which
I would have performed for any of my fellow-creatures; but for the
preservation of Miss Aurelia Darnel, I would at any time sacrifice my
life with pleasure.’ The young lady did not hear this declaration
unmoved. Her face was again flushed, and her eyes sparkled with
pleasure. Nor was the youth’s confession disagreeable to the good lady,
her mother, who, at one glance, perceived all the advantages of such an
union between the two families.
“Mr. Greaves proposed to send the coachman to his father’s stable for a
pair of sober horses, that could be depended upon, to draw the ladies
home to their own habitation; but they declined the offer, and chose to
walk, as the distance was not great. He then insisted upon his being
their conductor; and, each taking him under the arm, supported them to
their own gate, where such an apparition filled all the domestics with
astonishment. Mrs. Darnel taking him by the hand, led him into the
house, where she welcomed him with another affectionate embrace, and
indulged him with an ambrosial kiss of Aurelia, saying, ‘But for you, we
had both been by this time in eternity. Sure it was Heaven that sent you
as an angel to our assistance!’ She kindly inquired if he had himself
sustained any damage in administering that desperate remedy to which they
owed their lives. She entertained him with a small collation; and, in
the course of the conversation, lamented the animosity which had so long
divided two neighbouring families of such influence and character. He
was not slow in signifying his approbation of her remarks, and expressing
the most eager desire of seeing all those unhappy differences removed.
In a word, they parted with mutual satisfaction.
“Just as he advanced from the outward gate, on his return to Greavesbury
Hall, he was met by Anthony Darnel on horseback, who, riding up to him
with marks of surprise and resentment, saluted him with, ‘Your servant,
sir.--Have you any commands for me?’ The other replying with an air of
indifference, ‘None at all,’--Mr. Darnel asked, what had procured him the
honour of a visit. The young gentleman, perceiving by the manner in
which he spoke, that the old quarrel was not yet extinguished, answered
with equal disdain, that the visit was not intended for him; and that, if
he wanted to know the cause of it, he might inform himself by his own
servants. ‘So I shall,’ cried the uncle of Aurelia; ‘and perhaps let you
know my sentiments of the matter.’--‘Hereafter as it may be,’ said the
youth; who, turning out of the avenue, walked home, and made his father
acquainted with the particulars of this adventure.
“The old gentleman chid him for his rashness; but seemed pleased with the
success of his attempt; and still more so, when he understood his
sentiments of Aurelia, and the deportment of the ladies.
“Next day the son sent over a servant with a compliment to inquire about
their health; and the messenger, being seen by Mr. Darnel, was told that
the ladies were indisposed, and did not choose to be troubled with
messages. The mother was really seized with a fever, produced by the
agitation of her spirits, which every day became more and more violent,
until the physicians despaired of her life. Believing that her end
approached, she sent a trusty servant to Mr. Greaves, desiring that she
might see him without delay; and he immediately set out with the
messenger, who introduced him in the dark.
“He found the old lady in bed almost exhausted, and the fair Aurelia
sitting by her overwhelmed with grief, her lovely hair in the utmost
disorder, and her charming eyes inflamed with weeping. The good lady
beckoning Mr. Launcelot to approach, and directing all the attendants to
quit the room, except a favourite maid, from whom I learned the story,
she took him by the hand, and fixing her eyes upon him with all the
fondness of a mother, shed some tears in silence, while the same marks of
sorrow trickled down his cheeks. After this affecting pause, ‘My dear
son,’ said she, ‘Oh! that I could have lived to see you so indeed! you
find me hastening to the goal of life.’ Here the tender-hearted Aurelia,
being unable to contain herself longer, broke out into a violent passion
of grief, and wept aloud. The mother, waiting patiently till she had
thus given vent to her anguish, calmly entreated her to resign herself
submissively to the will of Heaven; then turning to Mr. Launcelot, ‘I had
indulged,’ said she, ‘a fond hope of seeing you allied to my family.
This is no time for me to insist upon the ceremonies and forms of a vain
world. Aurelia looks upon you with the eyes of tender prepossession.’
No sooner had she pronounced these words than he threw himself on his
knees before the young lady, and pressing her hand to his lips, breathed
the softest expressions which the most delicate love could suggest. ‘I
know,’ resumed the mother, ‘that your passion is mutually sincere, and I
should die satisfied if I thought your union would not be opposed; but
that violent man, my brother-in-law, who is Aurelia’s sole guardian, will
thwart her wishes with every obstacle that brutal resentment and
implacable malice can contrive. Mr. Greaves, I have long admired your
virtues, and am confident that I can depend upon your honour. You shall
give me your word, that when I am gone you will take no steps in this
affair without the concurrence of your father, and endeavour, by all fair
and honourable means, to vanquish the prejudices, and obtain the consent
of her uncle; the rest we must leave to the dispensation of Providence.’
“The squire promised, in the most solemn and fervent manner, to obey all
her injunctions, as the last dictates of a parent whom he should never
cease to honour. Then she favoured them both with a great deal of
salutary advice touching their conduct before and after marriage, and
presented him with a ring as a memorial of her affection, at the same
time he pulled another off his finger, and made a tender of it as a
pledge of his love to Aurelia, whom her mother permitted to receive this
token. Finally, he took a last farewell of the good matron, and returned
to his father with the particulars of this interview.
“In two days Mrs. Darnel departed this life, and Aurelia was removed to
the house of a relation, where her grief had like to have proved fatal to
her constitution.
“In the meantime, the mother was no sooner committed to the earth, than
Mr. Greaves, mindful of her exhortations, began to take measures for a
reconciliation with the guardian. He engaged several gentlemen to
interpose their good offices, but they always met with the most
mortifying repulse, and at last Anthony Darnel declared that his hatred
to the house of Greaves was hereditary, habitual, and unconquerable. He
swore he would spend his heart’s blood to perpetuate the quarrel, and
that, sooner than his niece should match with young Launcelot, he would
sacrifice her with his own hand.
“The young gentleman, finding his prejudice so rancorous and invincible,
left off making any further advances, and, since he found it impossible
to obtain his consent, resolved to cultivate the good graces of Aurelia,
and wed her in despite of her implacable guardian. He found means to
establish a literary correspondence with her as soon as her grief was a
little abated, and even to effect an interview, after her return to her
own house; but he soon had reason to repent of his indulgence. The uncle
entertained spies upon the young lady, who gave him an account of this
meeting, in consequence of which she was suddenly hurried to some distant
part of the country, which we never could discover.
“It was then we thought Mr. Launcelot a little disordered in his brain,
his grief was so wild, and his passion so impetuous. He refused all
sustenance, neglected his person, renounced his amusements, rode out in
the rain, sometimes bareheaded; strolled about the fields all night, and
became so peevish, that none of the domestics durst speak to him without
the hazard of broken bones. Having played these pranks for about three
weeks, to the unspeakable chagrin of his father, and the astonishment of
all that knew him, he suddenly grew calm, and his good-humour returned.
But this, as your seafaring people say, was a deceitful calm, that soon
ushered in a dreadful storm.
“He had long sought an opportunity to tamper with some of Mr. Darnel’s
servants, who could inform him of the place where Aurelia was confined;
but there was not one about the family who could give him that
satisfaction, for the persons who accompanied her remained as a watch
upon her motions, and none of the other domestics were privy to the
transaction. All attempts proving fruitless, he could no longer restrain
his impatience, but throwing himself in the way of the uncle, upbraided
him in such harsh terms, that a formal challenge ensued. They agreed to
decide their difference without witnesses, and one morning, before
sunrise, met on that very common where Mr. Greaves had saved the life of
Aurelia. The first pistol was fired on each side without any effect, but
Mr. Darnel’s second wounded the young squire in the flank; nevertheless,
having a pistol in reserve, he desired his antagonist to ask his life.
The other, instead of submitting, drew his sword, and Mr. Greaves, firing
his piece into the air, followed his example. The contest then became
very hot, though of short continuance. Darnel being disarmed at the
first onset, our young squire gave him back the sword, which he was base
enough to use a second time against his conqueror. Such an instance of
repeated ingratitude and brutal ferocity divested Mr. Greaves of his
temper and forbearance. He attacked Mr. Anthony with great fury, and at
the first lunge ran him up to the hilt, at the same time seized with his
left hand the shell of his enemy’s sword, which he broke in disdain. Mr.
Darnel having fallen, the other immediately mounted his horse, which he
had tied to a tree before the engagement, and, riding full speed to
Ashenton, sent a surgeon to Anthony’s assistance. He afterwards
ingenuously confessed all these particulars to his father, who was
overwhelmed with consternation, for the wounds of Darnel were judged
mortal; and, as no person had seen the particulars of the duel, Mr.
Launcelot might have been convicted of murder.
“On these considerations, before a warrant could be served upon him, the
old knight, by dint of the most eager entreaties, accompanied with marks
of horror and despair, prevailed upon his son to withdraw himself from
the kingdom until such time as the storm should be overblown. Had his
heart been unengaged, he would have chose to travel, but at this period,
when his whole soul was engrossed, and so violently agitated by his
passion for Aurelia, nothing but the fear of seeing the old gentleman run
distracted would have induced him to desist from the pursuit of that
young lady, far less quit the kingdom where she resided.
“Well then, gemmen, he repaired to Harwich, where he embarked for
Holland, from whence he proceeded to Brussels, where he procured a
passport from the French king, by virtue of which he travelled to
Marseilles, and there took a tartan for Genoa. The first letter Sir
Everhard received from him was dated at Florence. Meanwhile the
surgeon’s prognostic was not altogether verified. Mr. Darnel did not die
immediately of his wounds, but he lingered a long time, as it were in the
arms of death, and even partly recovered, yet, in all probability, he
will never be wholly restored to the enjoyment of his health, and is
obliged every summer to attend the hot-well at Bristol. As his wounds
began to heal, his hatred to Mr. Greaves seemed to revive with augmented
violence, and he is now, if possible, more than ever determined against
all reconciliation.
“Mr. Launcelot, after having endeavoured to amuse his imagination with a
succession of curious objects, in a tour of Italy, took up his residence
at a town called Pisa, and there fell into a deep melancholy, from which
nothing could rouse him but the news of his father’s death.
“The old gentleman, God rest his soul, never held up his head after the
departure of his darling Launcelot, and the dangerous condition of
Darnel kept up his apprehension. This was reinforced by the obstinate
silence of the youth, and certain accounts of his disordered mind,
which he had received from some of those persons who take pleasure in
communicating disagreeable tidings. A complication of all these
grievances, co-operating with a severe fit of the gout and gravel,
produced a fever, which, in a few days, brought Sir Everhard to his long
home, after he had settled his affairs with heaven and earth, and made
his peace with God and man. I’ll assure you, gemmen, he made a most
edifying and Christian end; he died regretted by all his neighbours
except Anthony, and might be said to be embalmed by the tears of the
poor, to whom he was always a bounteous benefactor.
“When the son, now Sir Launcelot, came home, he appeared so meagre, wan,
and hollow-eyed, that the servants hardly knew their young master. His
first care was to take possession of his fortune, and settle accounts
with the steward who had succeeded my father. These affairs being
discussed, he spared no pains to get intelligence concerning Miss Darnel;
and soon learned more of that young lady than he desired to know; for it
was become the common talk of the country, that a match was agreed upon
between her and young Squire Sycamore, a gentleman of a very great
fortune. These tidings were probably confirmed under her own hand, in a
letter which she wrote to Sir Launcelot. The contents were never exactly
known but to the parties themselves; nevertheless, the effects were too
visible, for, from that blessed moment, he spoke not one word to any
living creature for the space of three days; but was seen sometimes to
shed a flood of tears, and sometimes to burst out into a fit of laughing.
At last he broke silence, and seemed to wake from his disorder. He
became more fond than ever of the exercise of riding, and began to amuse
himself again with acts of benevolence.
“One instance of his generosity and justice deserves to be recorded in
brass or marble. You must know, gemmen, the rector of the parish was
lately dead, and Sir Everhard had promised the presentation to another
clergyman. In the meantime, Sir Launcelot chancing one Sunday to ride
through a lane, perceived a horse saddled and bridled, feeding on the
side of a fence; and, casting his eyes around, beheld on the other side
of the hedge an object lying extended on the ground, which he took to be
the body of a murdered traveller. He forthwith alighted, and, leaping
into the field, descried a man at full length, wrapped in a greatcoat and
writhing in agony. Approaching nearer, he found it was a clergyman, in
his gown and cassock. When he inquired into the case, and offered his
assistance, the stranger rose up, thanked him for his courtesy, and
declared that he was now very well. The knight who thought there was
something mysterious in this incident, expressed a desire to know the
cause of his rolling in the grass in that manner, and the clergyman, who
knew his person, made no scruple in gratifying his curiosity. ‘You must
know, sir,’ said he, ‘I serve the curacy of your own parish, for which
the late incumbent paid me twenty pounds a year; but this sum being
scarce sufficient to maintain my wife and children, who are five in
number, I agreed to read prayers in the afternoon at another church,
about four miles from hence; and for this additional duty I receive ten
pounds more. As I keep a horse, it was formerly an agreeable exercise
rather than a toil; but of late years I have been afflicted with a
rupture, for which I consulted the most eminent operators in the kingdom;
but I have no cause to rejoice in the effects of their advice, though one
of them assured me I was completely cured. The malady is now more
troublesome than ever, and often comes upon me so violently while I am on
horseback, that I am forced to alight, and lie down upon the ground,
until the cause of the disorder can for the time be reduced.’
“Sir Launcelot not only condoled with him upon his misfortune, but
desired him to throw up the second cure, and he would pay him ten pounds
a year out of his own pocket. ‘Your generosity confounds me, good sir,’
replied the clergyman; ‘and yet I ought not to be surprised at any
instance of benevolence in Sir Launcelot Greaves; but I will check the
fulness of my heart. I shall only observe, that your good intention
towards me can hardly take effect. The gentleman, who is to succeed the
late incumbent, has given me notice to quit the premises, as he hath
provided a friend of his own for the curacy.’ ‘What!’ cried the knight,
‘does he mean to take your bread from you, without assigning any other
reason?’ ‘Surely, sir,’ replied the ecclesiastic, ‘I know of no other
reason. I hope my morals are irreproachable, and that I have done my
duty with a conscientious regard; I may venture an appeal to the
parishioners among whom I have lived these seventeen years. After all,
it is natural for every man to favour his own friends in preference to
strangers. As for me, I propose to try my fortune in the great city, and
I doubt not but Providence will provide for me and my little ones.’
“To this declaration Sir Launcelot made no reply; but, riding home, set
on foot a strict inquiry into the character of this man, whose name was
Jenkins. He found that he was a reputed scholar, equally remarkable for
his modesty and good life; that he visited the sick, assisted the needy,
compromised disputes among his neighbours, and spent his time in such a
manner as would have done honour to any Christian divine. Thus informed,
the knight sent for the gentleman to whom the living had been promised,
and accosted him to this effect: ‘Mr. Tootle, I have a favour to ask of
you. The person who serves the cure of this parish is a man of good
character, beloved by the people, and has a large family. I shall be
obliged to you if you will continue him in the curacy.’ The other told
him he was sorry he could not comply with his request, being that he had
already promised the curacy to a friend of his own. ‘No matter,’ replied
Sir Launcelot, ‘since I have not interest with you, I will endeavour to
provide for Mr. Jenkins in some other way.’
“That same afternoon he walked over to the curate’s house, and told
him that he had spoken in his behalf to Dr. Tootle, but the curacy was
pre-engaged. The good man having made a thousand acknowledgments for the
trouble his honour had taken; ‘I have not interest sufficient to make you
curate,’ said the knight, ‘but I can give you the living itself, and that
you shall have.’ So saying, he retired, leaving Mr. Jenkins incapable of
uttering one syllable, so powerfully was he struck with this unexpected
turn of good fortune. The presentation was immediately made out, and in
a few days Mr. Jenkins was put in possession of his benefice, to the
inexpressible joy of the congregation.
“Hitherto everything went right, and every unprejudiced person commended
the knight’s conduct; but in a little time his generosity seemed to
overleap the bounds of discretion, and even in some cases might be
thought tending to a breach of the king’s peace. For example, he
compelled, vi et armis, a rich farmer’s son to marry the daughter of a
cottager, whom the young fellow had debauched. Indeed, it seems there
was a promise of marriage in the case, though it could not be legally
ascertained. The wench took on dismally, and her parents had recourse to
Sir Launcelot, who, sending for the delinquent, expostulated with him
severely on the injury he had done the young woman, and exhorted him to
save her life and reputation by performing his promise, in which case he,
Sir Launcelot, would give her three hundred pounds to her portion.
Whether the farmer thought there was something interested in this
uncommon offer, or was a little elevated by the consciousness of his
father’s wealth, he rejected the proposal with rustic disdain, and said,
if so be as how the wench would swear the child to him, he would settle
it with the parish; but declared, that no squire in the land should
oblige him to buckle with such a cracked pitcher. This resolution,
however, he could not maintain; for, in less than two hours the rector of
the parish had direction to publish the banns, and the ceremony was
performed in due course.
“Now, though we know not precisely the nature of the arguments that were
used with the farmer, we may conclude they were of the minatory species,
for the young fellow could not, for some time, look any person in the
face.
“The knight acted as the general redresser of grievances. If a woman
complained to him of being ill-treated by her husband, he first inquired
into the foundation of the complaint, and, if he found it just,
catechised the defendant. If the warning had no effect, and the man
proceeded to fresh acts of violence, then his judge took the execution of
the law in his own hand, and horsewhipped the party. Thus he involved
himself in several law-suits, that drained him of pretty large sums of
money. He seemed particularly incensed at the least appearance of
oppression; and supported divers poor tenants against the extortion of
their landlords. Nay, he has been known to travel two hundred miles as a
volunteer, to offer his assistance in the cause of a person, who he heard
was by chicanery and oppression wronged of a considerable estate. He
accordingly took her under his protection, relieved her distresses, and
was at a vast expense in bringing the suit to a determination; which
being unfavourable to his client, he resolved to bring an appeal into the
House of Lords, and certainly would have executed his purpose, if the
gentlewoman had not died in the interim.”
At this period Ferret interrupted the narrator, by observing that the
said Greaves was a common nuisance, and ought to be prosecuted on the
statute of barratry.
“No, sir,” resumed Mr. Clarke, “he cannot be convicted of barratry,
unless he is always at variance with some person or other, a mover of
suits and quarrels, who disturbs the peace under colour of law.
Therefore he is in the indictment styled, Communis malefactor,
calumniator, et seminator litium.”
“Pr’ythee, truce with thy definitions,” cried Ferret, “and make an end to
thy long-winded story. Thou hast no title to be so tedious, until thou
comest to have a coif in the Court of Common Pleas.”
Tom smiled contemptuous, and had just opened his mouth to proceed, when
the company were disturbed by a hideous repetition of groans, that seemed
to issue from the chamber in which the body of the squire was deposited.
The landlady snatched the candle, and ran into the room, followed by the
doctor and the rest; and this accident naturally suspended the narration.
In like manner we shall conclude the chapter, that the reader may have
time to breathe and digest what he has already heard.