Leaving Captain Crowe and his nephew for the present, though they, and
even the misanthrope, will reappear in due season, we are now obliged to
attend the progress of the knight, who proceeded in a southerly
direction, insensible of the storm that blew, as well as of the darkness,
which was horrible. For some time, Crabshaw ejaculated curses in
silence; till at length his anger gave way to his fear, which waxed so
strong upon him, that he could no longer resist the desire of alleviating
it, by entering into a conversation with his master. By way of
introduction, he gave Gilbert the spur, directing him towards the flank
of Bronzomarte, which he encountered with such a shock, that the knight
was almost dismounted.
When Sir Launcelot, with some warmth, asked the reason of this attack,
the squire replied in these words: “The devil, God bless us! mun be
playing his pranks with Gilbert too, as sure as I’m a living soul--I’se
wager a teaster, the foul fiend has left the seaman, and got into
Gilbert, that he has--when a has passed through an ass and a horse, I’se
marvel what beast a will get into next.” “Probably into a mule,” said
the knight; “in that case, you will be in some danger--but I can, at any
time, dispossess you with a horse-whip.”--“Ay, ay,” answered Timothy,
“your honour has a mortal good hand at giving a flap with a fox’s tail,
as the saying is--‘t is a wonderment you did not try your hand on that
there wiseacre that stole your honour’s harness, and wants to be an
arrant with a murrain to ‘un. Lord help his fool’s head, it becomes him
as a sow doth a cart saddle.” “There is no guilt in infirmity,” said the
knight; “I punish the vicious only.” “I would your honour would punish
Gilbert then,” cried the squire, “for ‘t is the most vicious tuoad that
ever I laid a leg over--but as to that same seafaring man, what may his
distemper be?”
“Madness,” answered Sir Launcelot. “Bodikins,” exclaimed the squire, “I
doubt as how other volks are leame of the same leg--but it an’t vor such
small gentry as he to be mad; they mun leave that to their betters.”
“You seem to hint at me, Crabshaw. Do you really think I am mad?” “I
may say as how I have looked your honour in the mouth; and a sorry dog
should I be, if I did not know your humours as well as I know e’er a
beast in the steable at Greavesbury Hall.” “Since you are so well
acquainted with my madness,” said the knight, “what opinion have you of
yourself, who serve and follow a lunatic?” “I hope I han’t served your
honour for nothing, but I shall inherit some of your cast vagaries--when
your honour is pleased to be mad, I should be very sorry to be found
right in my senses. Timothy Crabshaw will never eat the bread of
unthankfulness--it shall never be said of him, that he was wiser than his
measter. As for the matter of following a madman, we may see your
honour’s face is made of a fiddle; every one that looks on you, loves
you.” This compliment the knight returned, by saying, “If my face is a
fiddle, Crabshaw, your tongue is a fiddlestick that plays upon it--yet
your music is very disagreeable--you don’t keep time.” “Nor you neither,
measter,” cried Timothy, “or we shouldn’t be here wandering about under a
cloud of night, like sheep-stealers, or evil spirits with troubled
consciences.”
Here the discourse was interrupted by a sudden disaster; in consequence
of which, the squire uttered an inarticulate roar, that startled the
knight himself, who was very little subject to the sensation of fear.
But his surprise was changed into vexation, when he perceived Gilbert
without a rider passing by, and kicking his heels with great agility. He
forthwith turned his steed, and riding back a few paces, found Crabshaw
rising from the ground. When he asked what was become of his horse, he
answered in a whimpering tone, “Horse! would I could once see him fairly
carrion for the hounds--for my part, I believe as how ‘t is no horse, but
a devil incarnate; and yet I’ve been worse mounted, that I have--I’d like
to have rid a horse that was foaled of an acorn.”
This accident happened in a hollow way, overshadowed with trees, one of
which the storm had blown down, so that it lay over the road, and one of
its boughs projecting horizontally, encountered the squire as he trotted
along in the dark. Chancing to hitch under his long chin, he could not
disengage himself, but hung suspended like a flitch of bacon; while
Gilbert, pushing forward, left him dangling, and, by his awkward gambols,
seemed to be pleased with the joke. This capricious animal was not
retaken, without the personal endeavours of the knight; for Crabshaw
absolutely refusing to budge a foot from his honour’s side, he was
obliged to alight, and fasten Bronzomarte to a tree. Then they set out
together, and, with some difficulty, found Gilbert with his neck
stretched over a five-barred gate, snuffing up the morning air. The
squire, however, was not remounted, without first having undergone a
severe reprehension from his master, who upbraided him with his
cowardice, threatened to chastise him on the spot, and declared that he
would divorce his dastardly soul from his body, should he ever be
incommoded or affronted with another instance of his baseborn
apprehension.
Though there was some risk in carrying on the altercation at this
juncture, Timothy, having bound up his jaws, could not withstand the
inclination he had to confute his master. He therefore, in a muttering
accent, protested, that, if the knight would give him leave, he should
prove that his honour had tied a knot with his tongue, which he could not
untie with all his teeth. “How, caitiff!” cried Sir Launcelot, “presume
to contend with me in argument?” “Your mouth is scarce shut,” said the
other, “since you declared that a man was not to be punished for madness,
because it was a distemper. Now I will maintain that cowardice is a
distemper, as well as madness; for nobody would be afraid, if he could
help it.” “There is more logic in that remark,” resumed the knight,
“than I expected from your clod-pate, Crabshaw. But I must explain the
difference between cowardice and madness. Cowardice, though sometimes
the effect of natural imbecility, is generally a prejudice of education,
or bad habit contracted from misinformation, or misapprehension; and may
certainly be cured by experience, and the exercise of reason. But this
remedy cannot be applied in madness, which is a privation or disorder of
reason itself.”
“So is cowardice, as I’m a living soul,” exclaimed the squire; “don’t you
say a man is frightened out of his senses? for my peart, measter, I can
neither see nor hear, much less argufy, when I’m in such a quandary.
Wherefore, I do believe, odds bodikins! that cowardice and madness are
both distempers, and differ no more than the hot and cold fits of an
ague. When it teakes your honour, you’re all heat, and fire, and fury,
Lord bless us! but when it catches poor Tim, he’s cold and dead-hearted,
he sheakes and shivers like an aspen leaf, that he does.” “In that
case,” answered the knight, “I shall not punish you for the distemper
which you cannot help, but for engaging in a service exposed to perils,
when you knew your own infirmity; in the same manner as a man deserves
punishment, who enlists himself for a soldier, while he labours under any
secret disease.” “At that rate,” said the squire, “my bread is like to
be rarely buttered o’ both sides, i’faith. But, I hope, as by the
blessing of God I have run mad, so I shall in good time grow valiant,
under your honour’s precept and example.”
By this time a very disagreeable night was succeeded by a fair bright
morning, and a market-town appeared at the distance of three or four
miles, when Crabshaw, having no longer the fear of hobgoblins before his
eyes, and being moreover cheered by the sight of a place where he hoped
to meet with comfortable entertainment, began to talk big, to expatiate
on the folly of being afraid, and finally set all danger at defiance;
when all of a sudden he was presented with an opportunity of putting in
practice those new-adopted maxims. In an opening between two lanes, they
perceived a gentleman’s coach stopped by two highwaymen on horseback, one
of whom advanced to reconnoitre and keep the coast clear, while the other
exacted contribution from the travellers in the coach. He who acted as
sentinel, no sooner saw our adventurer appearing from the lane, than he
rode up with a pistol in his hand, and ordered him to halt on pain of
immediate death.
To this peremptory mandate the knight made no other reply than charging
him with such impetuosity, that he was unhorsed in a twinkling, and lay
sprawling on the ground, seemingly sore bruised with his fall. Sir
Launcelot, commanding Timothy to alight and secure the prisoner, couched
his lance, and rode full speed at the other highwayman, who was not a
little disturbed at sight of such an apparition. Nevertheless, he fired
his pistol without effect; and, clapping spurs to his horse, fled away at
full gallop. The knight pursued him with all the speed that Bronzomarte
could exert; but the robber, being mounted on a swift hunter, kept him at
a distance; and, after a chase of several miles, escaped through a wood
so entangled with coppice, that Sir Launcelot thought proper to desist.
He then, for the first time, recollected the situation in which he had
left the other thief, and, remembering to have heard a female shriek, as
he passed by the coach window, resolved to return with all expedition,
that he might make a proffer of his service to the lady, according to the
obligation of knight-errantry. But he had lost his way; and after an
hour’s ride, during which he traversed many a field, and circled divers
hedges, he found himself in the market-town aforementioned. Here the
first object that presented itself to his eyes was Crabshaw, on foot,
surrounded by a mob, tearing his hair, stamping with his feet, and
roaring out in manifest distraction, “Show me the mayor! for the love of
God, show me the mayor!--O Gilbert, Gilbert! a murrain take thee,
Gilbert! sure thou wast foaled for my destruction!”
From these exclamations, and the antique dress of the squire, the people,
not without reason, concluded that the poor soul had lost his wits; and
the beadle was just going to secure him, when the knight interposed, and
at once attracted the whole attention of the populace. Timothy seeing
his master fell down on his knees, crying, “The thief has run away with
Gilbert--you may pound me into a peast, as the saying is. But now I’se
as mad as your worship, I an’t afeard of the divil and all his works.”
Sir Launcelot desiring the beadle would forbear, was instantly obeyed by
that officer, who had no inclination to put the authority of his place in
competition with the power of such a figure, armed at all points, mounted
on a fiery steed, and ready for the combat. He ordered Crabshaw to
attend him to the next inn, where he alighted; then, taking him into a
separate apartment, demanded an explanation of the unconnected words he
had uttered.
The squire was in such agitation, that, with infinite difficulty, and by
dint of a thousand different questions, his master learned the adventure
to this effect. Crabshaw, according to Sir Launcelot’s command, had
alighted from his horse, and drawn his cutlass, in hope of intimidating
the discomfited robber into a tame surrender, though he did not at all
relish the nature of the service. But the thief was neither so much hurt
nor so tame as Timothy had imagined. He started on his feet with his
pistol still in his hand; and presenting it to the squire, swore with
dreadful imprecations, that he would blow his brains out in an instant.
Crabshaw, unwilling to hazard the trial of this experiment, turned his
back, and fled with great precipitation; while the robber, whose horse
had run away, mounted Gilbert, and rode off across the country. It was
at this period, that two footmen, belonging to the coach, who had stayed
behind to take their morning’s whet at the inn where they lodged, came up
to the assistance of the ladies, armed with blunderbusses; and the
carriage proceeded, leaving Timothy alone in distraction and despair. He
knew not which way to turn, and was afraid of remaining on the spot, lest
the robbers should come back and revenge themselves upon him for the
disappointment they had undergone. In this distress, the first thought
that occurred was to make the best of his way to the town, and demand the
assistance of the civil magistrate towards the retrieval of what he had
lost; a design which he executed in such a manner, as justly entailed
upon him the imputation of lunacy.
While Timothy stood fronting the window, and answering the interrogations
of his master, he suddenly exclaimed, “Bodikins! there’s Gilbert!” and
sprung into the street with incredible agility. There finding his
strayed companion brought back by one of the footmen who attended the
coach, he imprinted a kiss on his forehead; and, hanging about his neck,
with the tears in his eyes, hailed his return with the following
salutation: “Art thou come back, my darling? ah, Gilbert, Gilbert! a pize
upon thee! thou hadst like to have been a dear Gilbert to me! how couldst
thou break the heart of thy old friend, who has known thee from a colt?
seven years next grass have I fed thee and bred thee; provided thee with
sweet hay, delicate corn, and fresh litter, that thou mought lie warm,
dry, and comfortable. Han’t I currycombed thy carcass till it was as
sleek as a sloe, and cherished thee as the apple of mine eye? for all
that thou hast played me an hundred dog’s tricks; biting, and kicking,
and plunging, as if the devil was in thy body; and now thou couldst run
away with a thief, and leave me to be flayed alive by measter. What
canst thou say for thyself, thou cruel, hard-hearted, unchristian tuoad?”
To this tender expostulation, which afforded much entertainment to the
boys, Gilbert answered not one word; but seemed altogether insensible to
the caresses of Timothy, who forthwith led him into the stable. On the
whole, he seems to have been an unsocial animal; for it does not appear
that he ever contracted any degree of intimacy, even with Bronzomarte,
during the whole course of their acquaintance and fellowship. On the
contrary, he has been more than once known to signify his aversion, by
throwing out behind, and other eruptive marks of contempt for that
elegant charger, who excelled him as much in personal merit, as his rider
Timothy was outshone by his all-accomplished master.
While the squire accommodated Gilbert in the stable, the knight sent for
the footman who had brought him back; and, having presented him with a
liberal acknowledgment, desired to know in what manner the horse had been
retrieved.
The stranger satisfied him in this particular, by giving him to
understand, that the highwayman, perceiving himself pursued across the
country, plied Gilbert so severely with whip and spur, that the animal
resented the usage, and being besides, perhaps, a little struck with
remorse for having left his old friend Crabshaw, suddenly halted, and
stood stock still, notwithstanding all the stripes and tortures he
underwent; or if he moved at all, it was in a retrograde direction. The
thief, seeing all his endeavours ineffectual, and himself in danger of
being overtaken, wisely quitted his acquisition, and fled into the bosom
of a neighbouring wood.
Then the knight inquired about the situation of the lady in the coach,
and offered himself as her guard and conductor; but was told that she was
already safely lodged in the house of a gentleman at some distance from
the road. He likewise learned that she was a person disordered in her
senses, under the care and tuition of a widow lady, her relation, and
that in a day or two they should pursue their journey northward to the
place of her habitation.
After the footman had been some time dismissed, the knight recollected
that he had forgot to ask the name of the person to whom he belonged; and
began to be uneasy at this omission, which indeed was more interesting
than he could imagine. For an explanation of this nature would, in all
likelihood, have led to a discovery, that the lady in the coach was no
other than Miss Aurelia Darnel, who seeing him unexpectedly in such an
equipage and attitude, as he passed the coach, for his helmet was off,
had screamed with surprise and terror, and fainted away. Nevertheless,
when she recovered from her swoon, she concealed the real cause of her
agitation, and none of her attendants were acquainted with the person of
Sir Launcelot.
The circumstances of the disorder under which she was said to labour
shall be revealed in due course. In the meantime, our adventurer, though
unaccountably affected, never dreamed of such an occurrence; but being
very much fatigued, resolved to indemnify himself for the loss of last
night’s repose; and this happened to be one of the few things in which
Crabshaw felt an ambition to follow his master’s example.