WHICH, IT IS TO BE HOPED, THE READER WILL FIND AN AGREEABLE MEDLEY OF
MIRTH AND MADNESS, SENSE AND ABSURDITY.
It was not without reason that our adventurer afflicted himself; his
fears were but too prophetic. When he alighted at the inn, which he had
left so abruptly the preceding evening, he ran directly to the apartment
where he had been so happy in Aurelia’s company; but her he saw not--all
was solitary. Turning to the woman of the house, who had followed him
into the room, “Where is the lady?” cried he, in a tone of impatience.
Mine hostess screwing up her features into a very demure aspect, said she
saw so many ladies she could not pretend to know who he meant. “I tell
thee, woman,” exclaimed the knight, in a louder accent, “thou never
sawest such another--I mean that miracle of beauty”--“Very like,” replied
the dame, as she retired to the room door. “Husband, here’s one as axes
concerning a miracle of beauty; hi, hi, hi. Can you give him any
information about this miracle of beauty? O la! hi, hi, hi.”
Instead of answering this question, the innkeeper advancing, and
surveying Sir Launcelot, “Friend,” said he, “you are the person that
carried off my horse out of the stable.”--“Tell me not of a horse--where
is the young lady?”--“Now, I will tell you of the horse, and I’ll make
you find him too before you and I part.”--“Wretched animal! how dar’st
thou dally with my impatience? Speak, or despair--what is become of Miss
Meadows? Say, did she leave this place of her own accord, or was she--
hah! speak--answer, or by the powers above”--“I’ll answer you flat--she
you call Miss Meadows is in very good hands--so you may make yourself
easy on that score.”--“Sacred Heaven! explain your meaning, miscreant, or
I’ll make you a dreadful example to all the insolent publicans of the
realm.” So saying, he seized him with one hand and dashed him on the
floor, set one foot on his belly, and kept him trembling in that
prostrate attitude. The ostler and waiter flying to the assistance of
their master, our adventurer unsheathed his sword, declaring he would
dismiss their souls from their bodies, and exterminate the whole family
from the face of the earth, if they would not immediately give him the
satisfaction he required.
The hostess being by this time terrified almost out of her senses, fell
on her knees before him, begging he would spare their lives, and
promising to declare the whole truth. He would not, however, remove his
foot from the body of her husband until she told him, that in less than
half an hour after he had sallied out upon the supposed robbers, two
chaises arrived, each drawn by four horses; that two men, armed with
pistols, alighted from one of them, laid violent hands upon the young
lady; and, notwithstanding her struggling and shrieking, forced her into
the other carriage, in which was an infirm gentleman, who called himself
her guardian; that the maid was left to the care of a third servant, to
follow with a third chaise, which was got ready with all possible
despatch, while the other two proceeded at full speed on the road to
London. It was by this communicative lacquey the people of the house
were informed that the old gentleman his master was Squire Darnel, the
young lady his niece and ward, and our adventurer a needy sharper who
wanted to make a prey of her fortune.
The knight, fired even almost to frenzy by this intimation, spurned the
carcase of his host; and, his eye gleaming terror, rushed into the yard,
in order to mount Bronzomarte and pursue the ravisher, when he was
diverted from his purpose by a new incident.
One of the postillions, who had driven the chaise in which Dolly was
conveyed, happened to arrive at that instant; when, seeing our hero, he
ran up to him cap in hand, and, presenting a letter, accosted him in
these words: “Please your noble honour, if your honour be Sir Launcelot
Greaves of the West Riding, here’s a letter from a gentlewoman, that I
promised to deliver into your honour’s own hands.”
The knight, snatching the letter with the utmost avidity, broke it up,
and found the contents couched in these terms:--
“HONOURED SIR,--The man az gi’en me leave to lat yaw knaw my dear leady
is going to Loondon with her unkle Squaire Darnel. Be not conzarned,
honoured sir, vor I’se take it on mai laife to let yaw knaw wheare we be
zettled, if zobe I can vind where you loadge in Loondon. The man zays
yaw may put it in the pooblic prints. I houp the bareheir will be honest
enuff to deliver this scrowl; and that your honour will pardon
Your umbil servant to command, DOROTHY COWSLIP.”
“P. S.--Please my kaind sarvice to laayer Clarke. Squire Darnel’s man is
very civil vor sartain; but I’ave no thoughts on him I’ll assure yaw.
Marry hap, worse ware may have a better chap, as the zaying goes.”
Nothing could be more seasonable than the delivery of this billet, which
he had no sooner perused than his reflection returned, and he entered
into a serious deliberation with his own heart. He considered that
Aurelia was by this time far beyond a possibility of being overtaken, and
that by a precipitate pursuit he should only expose his own infirmities.
He confided in the attachment of his mistress, and in the fidelity of her
maid, who would find opportunities of communicating her sentiments by
means of this lacquey, of whom he perceived by the letter she had already
made a conquest. He therefore resolved to bridle his impatience, to
proceed leisurely to London, and, instead of taking any rash step which
might induce Anthony Darnel to remove his niece from that city, remain in
seeming quiet until she should be settled, and her guardian returned to
the country. Aurelia had mentioned to him the name of Doctor Kawdle, and
from him he expected in due time to receive the most interesting
information formerly tormented with the pangs of despairing love, which
had actually unsettled his understanding, he was now happily convinced
that he had inspired the tender breast of Aurelia with mutual affection;
and, though she was invidiously snatched from his embrace in the midst of
such endearments as had wound up his soul to ecstasy and transport, he
did not doubt of being able to rescue her from the power of an inhuman
kinsman, whose guardianship would soon of course expire; and in the
meantime he rested with the most perfect dependence on her constancy and
virtue.
As he next day crossed the country, ruminating on the disaster that had
befallen his squire, and could now compare circumstances coolly, he
easily comprehended the whole scheme of that adventure, which was no
other than an artifice of Anthony Darnel and his emissaries to draw him
from the inn, where he proposed to execute his design upon the innocent
Aurelia. He took it for granted that the uncle, having been made
acquainted with his niece’s elopement, had followed her track by the help
of such information as he received, from one stage to another; and that,
receiving more particulars at the White Hart touching Sir Launcelot, he
had formed the scheme in which Crabshaw was an involuntary instrument
towards the seduction of his master.
Amusing himself with these and other cogitations, our hero in the
afternoon reached the place of his destination, and, entering the inn
where Timothy had been left at sick quarters, chanced to meet the
apothecary retiring precipitately in a very unsavoury pickle from the
chamber of his patient. When he inquired about the health of his squire,
this retainer to medicine, wiping himself all the while with a napkin,
answered in manifest confusion, that he apprehended him to be in a very
dangerous way from an inflammation of the piamater, which had produced a
most furious delirium. Then he proceeded to explain, in technical terms,
the method of cure he had followed; and concluded with telling him the
poor squire’s brain was so outrageously disordered, that he had rejected
all administration, and just thrown an urinal in his face.
The knight’s humanity being alarmed at this intelligence, he resolved
that Crabshaw should have the benefit of further advice, and asked if
there was not a physician in the place? The apothecary, after some
interjections of hesitation, owned there was a doctor in the village, an
odd sort of a humourist; but he believed he had not much to do in the way
of his profession, and was not much used to the forms of prescription.
He was counted a scholar, to be sure, but as to his medical capacity--he
would not take upon him to say. “No matter,” cried Sir Launcelot, “he
may strike out some lucky thought for the benefit of the patient, and I
desire you will call him instantly.”
While the apothecary was absent on this service, our adventurer took it
in his head to question the landlord about the character of this
physician, which had been so unfavourably represented, and received the
following information:--
“For my peart, measter, I knows nothing amiss of the doctor--he’s a quiet
sort of an inoffensive man; uses my house sometimes, and pays for what he
has, like the rest of my customers. They says he deals very little in
physic stuff, but cures his patients with fasting and water-gruel,
whereby he can’t expect the ‘pothecary to be his friend. You knows,
master, one must live, and let live, as the saying is. I must say, he,
for the value of three guineas, set up my wife’s constitution in such a
manner, that I have saved within these two years, I believe, forty pounds
in ‘pothecary’s bills. But what of that? Every man must eat, thof at
another’s expense; and I should be in a deadly hole myself if all my
customers should take it in their heads to drink nothing but water-gruel,
because it is good for the constitution. Thank God, I have as good a
constitution as e’er a man in England, but for all that, I and my whole
family bleed and purge, and take a diet-drink twice a year, by way of
serving the ‘pothecary, who is a very honest man, and a very good
neighbour.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the return of the apothecary with
the doctor, who had very little of the faculty in his appearance. He was
dressed remarkably plain; seemed to be turned of fifty; had a careless
air, and a sarcastical turn in his countenance. Before he entered the
sick man’s chamber, he asked some questions concerning the disease; and
when the apothecary, pointing to his own head, said, “It lies all here,”
the doctor, turning to Sir Launcelot, replied, “If that be all there’s
nothing in it.”
Upon a more particular inquiry about the symptoms, he was told that the
blood was seemingly viscous, and salt upon the tongue; the urine
remarkably acrosaline; and the faeces atrabilious and foetid. When the
doctor said he would engage to find the same phenomena in every healthy
man of the three kingdoms, the apothecary added, that the patient was
manifestly comatous, and moreover afflicted with griping pains and
borborygmata. “A f--t for your borborygmata,” cried the physician; “what
has been done?” To this question, he replied, that venesection had been
three times performed; that a vesicatory had been applied inter scapulas;
that the patient had taken occasionally of a cathartic apozem, and
between whiles, alexipharmic boluses and neutral draughts.--“Neutral,
indeed,” said the doctor; “so neutral, that I’ll be crucified if ever
they declare either for the patient or the disease.” So saying, he
brushed into Crabshaw’s chamber, followed by our adventurer, who was
almost suffocated at his first entrance. The day was close; the
window-shutters were fastened; a huge fire blazed in the chimney; thick
harateen curtains were close drawn round the bed, where the wretched
squire lay extended under an enormous load of blankets. The nurse, who
had all the exteriors of a bawd given to drink, sat stewing in this
apartment like a damned soul in some infernal bagnio; but rising when
the company entered, made her curtsies with great decorum.--“Well,” said
the doctor, “how does your patient, nurse?”--“Blessed be God for it, I
hope in a fair way. To be sure his apozem has had a blessed effect--
five-and-twenty stools since three o’clock in the morning. But then,
a’would not suffer the blisters to be put upon his thighs. Good lack!
a’has been mortally obstropolous, and out of his senses all this blessed
day.”--“You lie,” cried the squire, “I an’t out of my seven senses, thof
I’m half mad with vexation.”
The doctor having withdrawn the curtain, the hapless squire appeared very
pale and ghastly; and having surveyed his master with a rueful aspect,
addressed him in these words: “Sir Knight, I beg a boon. Be pleased to
tie a stone about the neck of the apothecary, and a halter about the neck
of the nurse, and throw the one into the next river, and the other over
the next tree, and in so doing you will do a charitable deed to your
fellow-creatures; for he and she do the devil’s work in partnership, and
have sent many a score of their betters home to him before their time.”
--“Oh, he begins to talk sensibly.”--“Have a good heart,” said the
physician. “What is your disorder?”--“Physic.”--“What do you chiefly
complain of?”--“The doctor.”--“Does your head ache?”--“Yea, with
impertinence.” “Have you a pain in your back?”--“Yes, where the blister
lies.”--“Are you sick at stomach?”--“Yes, with hunger.”--“Do you feel any
shiverings?”--“Always at sight of the apothecary.”--“Do you perceive any
load in your bowels?”--“I would the apothecary’s conscience was as
clear.”--“Are you thirsty?”--“Not thirsty enough to drink barley-water.”
--“Be pleased to look into his fauces,” said the apothecary; “he has got
a rough tongue, and a very foul mouth, I’ll assure you.”--“I have known
that the case with some limbs of the faculty, where they stood more in
need of correction than of physic.--Well, my honest friend, since you
have already undergone the proper purgations in due form, and say you
have no other disease than the doctor, we will set you on your legs again
without further question. Here, nurse, open that window, and throw these
phials into the street. Now lower the curtain, without shutting the
casement, that the man may not be stifled in his own steam. In the next
place, take off two-thirds of these coals, and one-third of these
blankets.--How dost feel now, my heart?” “I should feel heart-whole, if
so be as yow would throw the noorse a’ter the bottles, and the ‘pothecary
a’ter the noorse, and oorder me a pound of chops for my dinner, for I be
so hoongry, I could eat a horse behind the saddle.”
The apothecary, seeing what passed, retired of his own accord, holding up
his hands in sign of astonishment. The nurse was dismissed in the same
breath. Crabshaw rose, dressed himself without assistance, and made a
hearty meal on the first eatable that presented itself to view. The
knight passed the evening with the physician, who, from his first
appearance, concluded he was mad; but, in the course of the conversation,
found means to resign that opinion without adopting any other in lieu of
it, and parted with him under all the impatience of curiosity. The
knight, on his part, was very well entertained with the witty sarcasms
and erudition of the doctor, who appeared to be a sort of cynic
philosopher tinctured with misanthropy, and at open war with the whole
body of apothecaries, whom however it was by no means his interest to
disoblige.
Next day, Crabshaw, being to all appearance perfectly recovered, our
adventurer reckoned with the apothecary, paid the landlord, and set out
on his return for the London road, resolving to lay aside his armour at
some distance from the metropolis; for, ever since his interview with
Aurelia, his fondness for chivalry had been gradually abating. As the
torrent of his despair had disordered the current of his sober
reflection, so now, as that despair subsided, his thoughts began to flow
deliberately in their ancient channel. All day long he regaled his
imagination with plans of connubial happiness, formed on the possession
of the incomparable Aurelia; determined to wait with patience, until the
law should supersede the authority of her guardian, rather than adopt any
violent expedient which might hazard the interest of his passion.
He had for some time travelled in the turnpike road, when his reverie was
suddenly interrupted by a confused noise; and when he lifted up his eyes
he beheld at a little distance a rabble of men and women, variously armed
with flails, pitchforks, poles, and muskets, acting offensively against a
strange figure on horseback, who, with a kind of lance, laid about him
with incredible fury. Our adventurer was not so totally abandoned by the
spirit of chivalry, to see without emotion a single knight in danger of
being overpowered by such a multitude of adversaries. Without staying to
put on his helmet, he ordered Crabshaw to follow him in the charge
against those plebeians. Then couching his lance, and giving Bronzomarte
the spur, he began his career with such impetuosity as overturned all
that happened to be in his way; and intimidated the rabble to such a
degree, that they retired before him like a flock of sheep, the greater
part of them believing he was the devil in propria persona. He came in
the very nick of time to save the life of the other errant, against whom
three loaded muskets were actually levelled, at the very instant that our
adventurer began his charge. The unknown knight was so sensible of the
seasonable interposition, that, riding up to our hero, “Brother,” said
he, “this is the second time you have holp me off, when I was bump
ashore.--Bess Mizzen, I must say, is no more than a leaky bum-boat, in
comparison of the glorious galley you want to man. I desire that
henceforth we may cruise in the same latitudes, brother; and I’ll be
d--ned if I don’t stand by you as long as I have a stick standing, or can
carry a rag of canvas.”
By this address our knight recognised the novice Captain Crowe, who had
found means to accommodate himself with a very strange suit of armour.
By way of helmet, he wore one of the caps used by the light horse, with
straps buckled under his chin, and contrived in such a manner as to
conceal his whole visage, except the eyes. Instead of cuirass, mail,
greaves, and other pieces of complete armour, he was cased in a
postillion’s leathern jerkin, covered with thin plates of tinned iron.
His buckler was a potlid, his lance a hop-pole shod with iron, and a
basket-hilt broadsword, like that of Hudibras, depended by a broad buff
belt, that girded his middle. His feet were defended by jack-boots, and
his hands by the gloves of a trooper. Sir Launcelot would not lose time
in examining particulars, as he perceived some mischief had been done,
and that the enemy had rallied at a distance; he therefore commanded
Crowe to follow him, and rode off with great expedition; but he did not
perceive his squire was taken prisoner; nor did the captain recollect
that his nephew, Tom Clarke, had been disabled and secured in the
beginning of the fray. The truth is, the poor captain had been so
belaboured about the pate, that it was a wonder he remembered his own
name.