We proceed on our Journey—are overtaken by a Highwayman who fires at
Strap—is prevented from shooting me by a Company of Horsemen, who ride
in pursuit of him—Strap is put to Bed at an Inn—Adventures at that Inn
After having paid our score and taken leave of our hostess, who
embraced me tenderly at parting, we proceeded on our journey, blessing
ourselves that we had come off so well. We had not walked above five
miles, when we observed a man on horseback galloping after us, whom we
in a short time recognised to be no other than this formidable hero who
had already given us so much vexation. He stopped hard by me, and asked
if I knew who he was? My astonishment had disconcerted me so much that
I did not hear his question, which he repeated with a volley of oaths
and threats; but I remained as mute as before.
Strap, seeing my discomposure, fell upon his knees in the mud,
uttering, with a lamentable voice, these words: “For Christ’s sake,
have mercy upon us, Mr. Rifle! we know you very well.” “Oho!” cried the
thief, “you do! But you never shall be evidence against me in this
world, you dog!” So saying, he drew a pistol, and fired it at the
unfortunate shaver, who fell flat upon the ground without speaking one
word.
My comrade’s fate and my own situation riveted me to the place where I
stood, deprived of all sense and reflection; so that I did not make the
least attempt either to run away or deprecate the wrath of this
barbarian, who snapped a second pistol at me; but, before he had time
to prime again, perceiving a company of horsemen coming up, he rode
off, and left me standing motionless as a statue, in which posture I
was found by those whose appearance had saved my life. This company
consisted of three men in livery, well armed, with an officer, who (as
I afterwards learned,) was the person from whom Rifle had taken the
pocket pistols the day before; and who, making known his misfortune to
a nobleman he met on the road, and assuring him his non-resistance was
altogether owing to his consideration for the ladies in the coach,
procured the assistance of his lordship’s servants to go in quest of
the plunderer. This holiday captain scampered up to me with great
address, and asked who fired the pistol which he had heard.
As I had not yet recovered my reason, he, before I could answer,
observed a body lying on the ground, at which sight his colour changed,
and he pronounced, with a faltering tongue, “Gentlemen, here’s murder
committed! Let us alight.” “No, no,” said one of his followers, “let us
rather pursue the murderer. Which way went he, young man?”
By this time I had recollected myself so far as to tell them that he
could not be a quarter of a mile before; and to beg one of them to
assist me in conveying the corpse of my friend to the next house, in
order to it being interred. The captain, foreseeing that, in case he
should pursue, he must soon come to action, began to curb his horse,
and gave him the spur at the same time, which treatment making the
creature rear up and snort, he called out, his horse was frightened,
and would not proceed; at the same time wheeling him round and round,
stroking his neck, whistling and wheedling him with “Sirrah,
sirrah—gently, gently.” etc. “Z—ds!”, cried one of the servants, “sure
my lord’s Sorrel is not resty!”
With these words he bestowed a lash on his buttocks, and Sorrel,
disdaining the rein sprang forward with the captain at a pace that
would have soon brought him up with the robber, had not the girth
(happily for him) given way, by which means he landed in the dirt; and
two of his attendants continued their pursuit, without minding his
situation. Meanwhile one of the three who remained at my desire,
turning the body of Strap, in order to see the wound which had killed
him, found him still warm and breathing: upon which, I immediately let
him blood, and saw him, with inexpressible joy, recover; he having
received no other wound than what his fear had inflicted. Having raised
him upon his legs, we walked together to an inn, about half a mile from
the place, where Strap, who was not quite recovered, went to bed; and
in a little time the third servant returned with the captain’s horse
and furniture, leaving him to crawl after as well as he could.
This gentleman of the sword, upon his arrival, complained grievously of
the bruise occasioned by his fall; and, on the recommendation of the
servant, who warranted my ability, I was employed to bleed him, for
which service he rewarded me with half-a-crown.
The time between this event and dinner I passed in observing a game at
cards between two farmers, an exciseman, and a young fellow in a rusty
gown and cassock, who, as I afterwards understood, was curate of a
neighbouring parish. It was easy to perceive that the match was not
equal; and that the two farmers, who were partners, had to do with a
couple of sharpers, who stripped them of all their cash in a very short
time. But what surprised me very much, was to hear this clergyman reply
to one of the countrymen, who seemed to suspect foul play, in these
words: “D—n me, friend, d’ye question my honour?”
I did not at all wonder to find a cheat in canonicals, this being a
character frequent in my own country; but I was scandalised at the
indecency of his behaviour, which appeared in the oaths he swore, and
the bawdy songs which he sung. At last, to make amends in some sort,
for the damage he had done to the unwary boors, he pulled out a fiddle
from the lining of his gown, and, promising to treat them at dinner,
began to play most melodiously, singing in concert all the while. This
good humour of this parson inspired the company with so much glee that
the farmers soon forgot their losses, and all present went to dancing
in the yard.
While we were agreeably amused in this manner, our musician, spying a
horseman a riding towards the inn, stopped all of a sudden, crying out,
“Gad so! gentlemen, I beg your pardon, there’s our dog of a doctor
coming into the inn.” He immediately commended his instrument, and ran
towards the gate, where he took hold of the vicar’s bridle, and helped
him off, inquiring very cordially into the state of his health.
This rosy son of the church, who might be about the age of fifty,
having alighted and entrusted the curate with his horse, stalked with
great solemnity, into the kitchen, where sitting down by the fire, he
called for a bottle of ale and a pipe; scarce deigning an answer to the
submissive questions of those who inquired about the welfare of his
family. While he indulged himself in this state, amidst a profound
silence, the curate, approaching him with great reverence, asked him if
he would not be pleased to honour him with his company at dinner? To
which interrogation he answered in the negative, saying, he had been to
visit Squire Bumpkin, who had drank himself into a high fever at the
last assizes; and that he had, on leaving his own house, told Betty he
should dine at home. Accordingly when he had made an end of his bottle
and pipe, he rose, and moved with prelatical dignity to the door, where
his journeyman stood ready with his nag. He had no sooner mounted than
the facetious curate, coming into the kitchen, held forth in this
manner: “There the old rascal goes, and the d—l go with him. You see
how the world wags, gentlemen. By gad, this rogue of a vicar does not
deserve to live; and yet he has two livings worth four hundred pounds
per annum, while poor I am fain to do all his drudgery, and ride twenty
miles every Sunday to preach—for what? why, truly, for twenty pounds a
year. I scorn to boast of my own qualifications but—comparisons are
odious. I should be glad to know how this wag-bellied doctor deserves
to be more at ease than me. He can loll in his elbow chair at home,
indulge himself in the best of victuals and wine and enjoy the
conversation of Betty, his housekeeper. You understand me, gentlemen.
Betty is the doctor’s poor kinswoman, and a pretty girl she is; but no
matter for that; ay, and dutiful girl to her parents, whom she visits
regularly every year, though I must own I could never learn in what
county they live, My service t’ye, gentlemen.”
By this time dinner being ready, I waked my companion, and we ate
altogether with great cheerfulness. When our meal was ended, and every
man’s share of the reckoning adjusted, the curate went out on pretence
of some necessary occasion, and, mounting his house, left the two
farmers to satisfy the host in the best manner they could. We were no
sooner informed of this piece of finesse, than the exciseman, who had
been silent hitherto, began to open with a malicious grin: “Ay, ay this
is an old trick of Shuffle; I could not help smiling when he talked of
treating. You must know this is a very curious fellow. He picked up
some scraps of learning while he served young Lord Trifte at the
university. But what he most excels in is pimping. No one knows his
talents better than I, for I was valet-de-chambre to Squire Tattle an
intimate companion of Shuffle’s lord. He got him self into a scrape by
pawning some of his lordship’s clothes on which account he was turned
away; but, as he was acquainted with some particular circumstances of
my lord’s conduct, he did not care to exasperate him too much, and so
made interest for his receiving orders, and afterwards recommended him
to the curacy which he now enjoys. However, the fellow cannot be too
much admired for his dexterity in making a comfortable livelihood, in
spite of such a small allowance. You hear he plays a good stick, and is
really diverting company; these qualifications make him agreeable
wherever he goes; and, as for playing at cards there is not a man
within three counties for him. The truth is, he is a d—able cheat, and
can shift a card with such address that it is impossible to discover
him.”
Here he was interrupted by one of the farmers, who asked, why he had
not justice enough to acquaint them with these particulars before they
engaged in play. The exciseman replied, without any hesitation, that it
was none of his business to intermeddle between man and man; besides,
he did not know they were ignorant of Shuffle’s character, which was
notorious to the whole country. This did not satisfy the other, who
taxed him with abetting and assisting the curate’s knavery, and
insisted on having his share of the winnings returned; this demand the
exciseman as positively refused affirming that, whatever sleights
Shuffle might practise on other occasions, he was very certain that he
had played on the square with them, and would answer it before any
bench in Christendom; so saying, he got up and, having paid his
reckoning, sneaked off.
The Landlord, thrusting his neck into the passage to see if he was
gone, shook his head, saying, “Ah! Lord help us! if every sinner was to
have his deserts. Well, we victuallers must not disoblige the
excisemen. But I know what; if parson Shuffle and he were weighed
together, a straw thrown into either scale would make the balance kick
the beam. But, masters, this is under the rose,” continued Boniface
with a whisper.