The Vicar of Wakefield (22 page)

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.

Mr Thornhill made his entrance with a smile, which he seldom
wanted, and was going to embrace his uncle, which the other
repulsed with an air of disdain. 'No fawning, Sir, at present,'
cried the Baronet, with a look of severity, 'the only way to my
heart is by the road of honour; but here I only see complicated
instances of falsehood, cowardice, and oppression. How is it, Sir,
that this poor man, for whom I know you professed a friendship, is
used thus hardly? His daughter vilely seduced, as a recompence for
his hospitality, and he himself thrown into a prison perhaps but
for resenting the insult? His son too, whom you feared to face as a
man—'

'Is it possible, Sir,' interrupted his nephew, 'that my uncle
could object that as a crime which his repeated instructions alone
have persuaded me to avoid.'

'Your rebuke,' cried Sir William, 'is just; you have acted in
this instance prudently and well, though not quite as your father
would have done: my brother indeed was the soul of honour; but
thou—yes you have acted in this instance perfectly right, and it
has my warmest approbation.'

'And I hope,' said his nephew, 'that the rest of my conduct will
not be found to deserve censure. I appeared, Sir, with this
gentleman's daughter at some places of public amusement; thus what
was levity, scandal called by a harsher name, and it was reported
that I had debauched her. I waited on her father in person, willing
to clear the thing to his satisfaction, and he received me only
with insult and abuse. As for the rest, with regard to his being
here, my attorney and steward can best inform you, as I commit the
management of business entirely to them. If he has contracted debts
and is unwilling or even unable to pay them, it is their business
to proceed in this manner, and I see no hardship or injustice in
pursuing the most legal means of redress.'

'If this,' cried Sir William, 'be as you have stated it, there
is nothing unpardonable in your offence, and though your conduct
might have been more generous in not suffering this gentleman to be
oppressed by subordinate tyranny, yet it has been at least
equitable.'

'He cannot contradict a single particular,' replied the 'Squire,
'I defy him to do so, and several of my servants are ready to
attest what I say. Thus, Sir,' continued he, finding that I was
silent, for in fact I could not contradict him, 'thus, Sir, my own
innocence is vindicated; but though at your entreaty I am ready to
forgive this gentleman every other offence, yet his attempts to
lessen me in your esteem, excite a resentment that I cannot govern.
And this too at a time when his son was actually preparing to take
away my life; this, I say, was such guilt, that I am determined to
let the law take its course. I have here the challenge that was
sent me and two witnesses to prove it; one of my servants has been
wounded dangerously, and even though my uncle himself should
dissuade me, which I know he will not, yet I will see public
justice done, and he shall suffer for it.'

'Thou monster,' cried my wife, 'hast thou not had vengeance
enough already, but must my poor boy feel thy cruelty. I hope that
good Sir William will protect us, for my son is as innocent as a
child; I am sure he is, and never did harm to man.'

'Madam,' replied the good man, 'your wishes for his safety are
not greater than mine; but I am sorry to find his guilt too plain;
and if my nephew persists—' But the appearance of Jenkinson and the
gaoler's two servants now called off our attention, who entered,
haling in a tall man, very genteelly drest, and answering the
description already given of the ruffian who had carried off my
daughter—'Here,' cried Jenkinson, pulling him in, 'here we have
him, and if ever there was a candidate for Tyburn, this is
one.'

The moment Mr Thornhill perceived the prisoner, and Jenkinson,
who had him in custody, he seemed to shrink back with terror. His
face became pale with conscious guilt, and he would have withdrawn;
but Jenkinson, who perceived his design, stopt him—'What, 'Squire,'
cried he, 'are you ashamed of your two old acquaintances, Jenkinson
and Baxter: but this is the way that all great men forget their
friends, though I am resolved we will not forget you. Our prisoner,
please your honour,' continued he, turning to Sir William, 'has
already confessed all. This is the gentleman reported to be so
dangerously wounded: He declares that it was Mr Thornhill who first
put him upon this affair, that he gave him the cloaths he now wears
to appear like a gentleman, and furnished him with the post-chaise.
The plan was laid between them that he should carry off the young
lady to a place of safety, and that there he should threaten and
terrify her; but Mr Thornhill was to come in in the mean time, as
if by accident, to her rescue, and that they should fight awhile
and then he was to run off, by which Mr Thornhill would have the
better opportunity of gaining her affections himself under the
character of her defender.'

Sir William remembered the coat to have been frequently worn by
his nephew, and all the rest the prisoner himself confirmed by a
more circumstantial account; concluding, that Mr Thornhill had
often declared to him that he was in love with both sisters at the
same time.

'Heavens,' cried Sir William, 'what a viper have I been
fostering in my bosom! And so fond of public justice too as he
seemed to be. But he shall have it; secure him, Mr Gaoler—yet hold,
I fear there is not legal evidence to detain him.'

Upon this, Mr Thornhill, with the utmost humility, entreated
that two such abandoned wretches might not be admitted as evidences
against him, but that his servants should be examined.—'Your
servants' replied Sir William, 'wretch, call them yours no longer:
but come let us hear what those fellows have to say, let his butler
be called.'

When the butler was introduced, he soon perceived by his former
master's looks that all his power was now over. 'Tell me,' cried
Sir William sternly, 'have you ever seen your master and that
fellow drest up in his cloaths in company together?' 'Yes, please
your honour,' cried the butler, 'a thousand times: he was the man
that always brought him his ladies.'—'How,' interrupted young Mr
Thornhill, 'this to my face!'—'Yes,' replied the butler, 'or to any
man's face. To tell you a truth, Master Thornhill, I never either
loved you or liked you, and I don't care if I tell you now a piece
of my mind.'—'Now then,' cried Jenkinson, 'tell his honour whether
you know any thing of me.'—'I can't say,' replied the butler, 'that
I know much good of you. The night that gentleman's daughter was
deluded to our house, you were one of them.'—'So then,' cried Sir
William, 'I find you have brought a very fine witness to prove your
innocence: thou stain to humanity! to associate with such
wretches!' (But continuing his examination) 'You tell me, Mr
Butler, that this was the person who brought him this old
gentleman's daughter.'—'No, please your honour,' replied the
butler, 'he did not bring her, for the 'Squire himself undertook
that business; but he brought the priest that pretended to marry
them.'—'It is but too true,' cried Jenkinson, 'I cannot deny it,
that was the employment assigned me, and I confess it to my
confusion.'