The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend, Mr. Abraham Abrams/Book III, Chapter VI

CHAPTER VI.

_Moral reflections by Joseph Andrews; with the hunting adventure, and

parson Adams's miraculous escape._

"I have often wondered, sir," said Joseph, "to observe so few instances

of charity among mankind; for though the goodness of a man's heart did

not incline him to relieve the distresses of his fellow-creatures,

methinks the desire of honour should move him to it. What inspires a man

to build fine houses, to purchase fine furniture, pictures, clothes, and

other things, at a great expense, but an ambition to be respected more

than other people? Now, would not one great act of charity, one instance

of redeeming a poor family from all the miseries of poverty, restoring

an unfortunate tradesman by a sum of money to the means of procuring a

livelihood by his industry, discharging an undone debtor from his debts

or a gaol, or any suchlike example of goodness, create a man more honour

and respect than he could acquire by the finest house, furniture,

pictures, or clothes, that were ever beheld? For not only the object

himself who was thus relieved, but all who heard the name of such a

person, must, I imagine, reverence him infinitely more than the

possessor of all those other things; which when we so admire, we rather

praise the builder, the workman, the painter, the lace-maker, the

taylor, and the rest, by whose ingenuity they are produced, than the

person who by his money makes them his own. For my own part, when I have

waited behind my lady in a room hung with fine pictures, while I have

been looking at them I have never once thought of their owner, nor hath

any one else, as I ever observed; for when it hath been asked whose

picture that was, it was never once answered the master's of the house;

but Ammyconni, Paul Varnish, Hannibal Scratchi, or Hogarthi, which I

suppose were the names of the painters; but if it was asked--Who

redeemed such a one out of prison? Who lent such a ruined tradesman

money to set up? Who clothed that family of poor small children? it is

very plain what must be the answer. And besides, these great folks are

mistaken if they imagine they get any honour at all by these means; for

I do not remember I ever was with my lady at any house where she

commended the house or furniture but I have heard her at her return home

make sport and jeer at whatever she had before commended; and I have

been told by other gentlemen in livery that it is the same in their

families: but I defy the wisest man in the world to turn a true good

action into ridicule. I defy him to do it. He who should endeavour it

would be laughed at himself, instead of making others laugh. Nobody

scarce doth any good, yet they all agree in praising those who do.

Indeed, it is strange that all men should consent in commending

goodness, and no man endeavour to deserve that commendation; whilst, on

the contrary, all rail at wickedness, and all are as eager to be what

they abuse. This I know not the reason of; but it is as plain as

daylight to those who converse in the world, as I have done these three

years." "Are all the great folks wicked then?" says Fanny. "To be sure

there are some exceptions," answered Joseph. "Some gentlemen of our

cloth report charitable actions done by their lords and masters; and I

have heard Squire Pope, the great poet, at my lady's table, tell stories

of a man that lived at a place called Ross, and another at the Bath, one

Al--Al--I forget his name, but it is in the book of verses. This

gentleman hath built up a stately house too, which the squire likes very

well; but his charity is seen farther than his house, though it stands

on a hill,--ay, and brings him more honour too. It was his charity that

put him in the book, where the squire says he puts all those who deserve

it; and to be sure, as he lives among all the great people, if there

were any such, he would know them." This was all of Mr Joseph Andrews's

speech which I could get him to recollect, which I have delivered as

near as was possible in his own words, with a very small embellishment.

But I believe the reader hath not been a little surprized at the long

silence of parson Adams, especially as so many occasions offered

themselves to exert his curiosity and observation. The truth is, he was

fast asleep, and had so been from the beginning of the preceding

narrative; and, indeed, if the reader considers that so many hours had

passed since he had closed his eyes, he will not wonder at his repose,

though even Henley himself, or as great an orator (if any such be), had

been in his rostrum or tub before him.

Joseph, who whilst he was speaking had continued in one attitude, with

his head reclining on one side, and his eyes cast on the ground, no

sooner perceived, on looking up, the position of Adams, who was

stretched on his back, and snored louder than the usual braying of the

animal with long ears, than he turned towards Fanny, and, taking her

by the hand, began a dalliance, which, though consistent with the

purest innocence and decency, neither he would have attempted nor she

permitted before any witness. Whilst they amused themselves in this

harmless and delightful manner they heard a pack of hounds approaching

in full cry towards them, and presently afterwards saw a hare pop

forth from the wood, and, crossing the water, land within a few yards

of them in the meadows. The hare was no sooner on shore than it seated

itself on its hinder legs, and listened to the sound of the pursuers.

Fanny was wonderfully pleased with the little wretch, and eagerly

longed to have it in her arms that she might preserve it from the

dangers which seemed to threaten it; but the rational part of the

creation do not always aptly distinguish their friends from their foes;

what wonder then if this silly creature, the moment it beheld her,

fled from the friend who would have protected it, and, traversing the

meadows again, passed the little rivulet on the opposite side? It was,

however, so spent and weak, that it fell down twice or thrice in its

way. This affected the tender heart of Fanny, who exclaimed, with tears

in her eyes, against the barbarity of worrying a poor innocent

defenceless animal out of its life, and putting it to the extremest

torture for diversion. She had not much time to make reflections of

this kind, for on a sudden the hounds rushed through the wood, which

resounded with their throats and the throats of their retinue, who

attended on them on horseback. The dogs now past the rivulet, and

pursued the footsteps of the hare; five horsemen attempted to leap

over, three of whom succeeded, and two were in the attempt thrown from

their saddles into the water; their companions, and their own horses

too, proceeded after their sport, and left their friends and riders to

invoke the assistance of Fortune, or employ the more active means of

strength and agility for their deliverance. Joseph, however, was not

so unconcerned on this occasion; he left Fanny for a moment to herself,

and ran to the gentlemen, who were immediately on their legs, shaking

their ears, and easily, with the help of his hand, obtained the bank

(for the rivulet was not at all deep); and, without staying to thank

their kind assister, ran dripping across the meadow, calling to their

brother sportsmen to stop their horses; but they heard them not.

The hounds were now very little behind their poor reeling, staggering

prey, which, fainting almost at every step, crawled through the wood,

and had almost got round to the place where Fanny stood, when it was

overtaken by its enemies, and being driven out of the covert, was

caught, and instantly tore to pieces before Fanny's face, who was unable

to assist it with any aid more powerful than pity; nor could she prevail

on Joseph, who had been himself a sportsman in his youth, to attempt

anything contrary to the laws of hunting in favour of the hare, which he

said was killed fairly.

The hare was caught within a yard or two of Adams, who lay asleep at

some distance from the lovers; and the hounds, in devouring it, and

pulling it backwards and forwards, had drawn it so close to him, that

some of them (by mistake perhaps for the hare's skin) laid hold of the

skirts of his cassock; others at the same time applying their teeth to

his wig, which he had with a handkerchief fastened to his head, began to

pull him about; and had not the motion of his body had more effect on

him than seemed to be wrought by the noise, they must certainly have

tasted his flesh, which delicious flavour might have been fatal to him;

but being roused by these tuggings, he instantly awaked, and with a jerk

delivering his head from his wig, he with most admirable dexterity

recovered his legs, which now seemed the only members he could entrust

his safety to. Having, therefore, escaped likewise from at least a third

part of his cassock, which he willingly left as his _exuviae_ or spoils

to the enemy, he fled with the utmost speed he could summon to his

assistance. Nor let this be any detraction from the bravery of his

character: let the number of the enemies, and the surprize in which he

was taken, be considered; and if there be any modern so outrageously

brave that he cannot admit of flight in any circumstance whatever, I say

(but I whisper that softly, and I solemnly declare without any intention

of giving offence to any brave man in the nation), I say, or rather I

whisper, that he is an ignorant fellow, and hath never read Homer nor

Virgil, nor knows he anything of Hector or Turnus; nay, he is

unacquainted with the history of some great men living, who, though as

brave as lions, ay, as tigers, have run away, the Lord knows how far,

and the Lord knows why, to the surprize of their friends and the

entertainment of their enemies. But if persons of such heroic

disposition are a little offended at the behaviour of Adams, we assure

them they shall be as much pleased with what we shall immediately relate

of Joseph Andrews. The master of the pack was just arrived, or, as the

sportsmen call it, come in, when Adams set out, as we have before

mentioned. This gentleman was generally said to be a great lover of

humour; but, not to mince the matter, especially as we are upon this

subject, he was a great hunter of men; indeed, he had hitherto followed

the sport only with dogs of his own species; for he kept two or three

couple of barking curs for that use only. However, as he thought he had

now found a man nimble enough, he was willing to indulge himself with

other sport, and accordingly, crying out, "Stole away," encouraged the

hounds to pursue Mr Adams, swearing it was the largest jack-hare he ever

saw; at the same time hallooing and hooping as if a conquered foe was

flying before him; in which he was imitated by these two or three couple

of human or rather two-legged curs on horseback which we have mentioned

before.

Now, thou, whoever thou art, whether a muse, or by what other name soever

thou choosest to be called, who presidest over biography, and hast

inspired all the writers of lives in these our times: thou who didst

infuse such wonderful humour into the pen of immortal Gulliver; who hast

carefully guided the judgment whilst thou hast exalted the nervous manly

style of thy Mallet: thou who hadst no hand in that dedication and

preface, or the translations, which thou wouldst willingly have struck

out of the life of Cicero: lastly, thou who, without the assistance of

the least spice of literature, and even against his inclination, hast,

in some pages of his book, forced Colley Cibber to write English; do

thou assist me in what I find myself unequal to. Do thou introduce on

the plain the young, the gay, the brave Joseph Andrews, whilst men shall

view him with admiration and envy, tender virgins with love and anxious

concern for his safety.

No sooner did Joseph Andrews perceive the distress of his friend, when

first the quick-scenting dogs attacked him, than he grasped his cudgel

in his right hand--a cudgel which his father had of his grandfather, to

whom a mighty strong man of Kent had given it for a present in that day

when he broke three heads on the stage. It was a cudgel of mighty

strength and wonderful art, made by one of Mr Deard's best workmen, whom

no other artificer can equal, and who hath made all those sticks which

the beaus have lately walked with about the Park in a morning; but this

was far his masterpiece. On its head was engraved a nose and chin, which

might have been mistaken for a pair of nutcrackers. The learned have

imagined it designed to represent the Gorgon; but it was in fact copied

from the face of a certain long English baronet, of infinite wit, humour,

and gravity. He did intend to have engraved here many histories: as the

first night of Captain B's play, where you would have seen critics

in embroidery transplanted from the boxes to the pit, whose ancient

inhabitants were exalted to the galleries, where they played on

catcalls. He did intend to have painted an auction room, where Mr Cock

would have appeared aloft in his pulpit, trumpeting forth the praises of

a china basin, and with astonishment wondering that "Nobody bids more

for that fine, that superb--" He did intend to have engraved many other

things, but was forced to leave all out for want of room.

No sooner had Joseph grasped his cudgel in his hands than lightning

darted from his eyes; and the heroick youth, swift of foot, ran with the

utmost speed to his friend's assistance. He overtook him just as

Rockwood had laid hold of the skirt of his cassock, which, being torn,

hung to the ground. Reader, we would make a simile on this occasion, but

for two reasons: the first is, it would interrupt the description, which

should be rapid in this part; but that doth not weigh much, many

precedents occurring for such an interruption: the second and much the

greater reason is, that we could find no simile adequate to our purpose:

for indeed, what instance could we bring to set before our reader's eyes

at once the idea of friendship, courage, youth, beauty, strength, and

swiftness? all which blazed in the person of Joseph Andrews. Let those,

therefore, that describe lions and tigers, and heroes fiercer than both,

raise their poems or plays with the simile of Joseph Andrews, who is

himself above the reach of any simile.

Now Rockwood had laid fast hold on the parson's skirts, and stopt his

flight; which Joseph no sooner perceived than he levelled his cudgel at

his head and laid him sprawling. Jowler and Ringwood then fell on his

greatcoat, and had undoubtedly brought him to the ground, had not

Joseph, collecting all his force, given Jowler such a rap on the back,

that, quitting his hold, he ran howling over the plain. A harder fate

remained for thee, O Ringwood! Ringwood the best hound that ever pursued

a hare, who never threw his tongue but where the scent was undoubtedly

true; good at trailing, and sure in a highway; no babler, no overrunner;

respected by the whole pack, who, whenever he opened, knew the game was

at hand. He fell by the stroke of Joseph. Thunder and Plunder, and

Wonder and Blunder, were the next victims of his wrath, and measured

their lengths on the ground. Then Fairmaid, a bitch which Mr John Temple

had bred up in his house, and fed at his own table, and lately sent the

squire fifty miles for a present, ran fiercely at Joseph and bit him by

the leg: no dog was ever fiercer than she, being descended from an

Amazonian breed, and had worried bulls in her own country, but now waged

an unequal fight, and had shared the fate of those we have mentioned

before, had not Diana (the reader may believe it or not if he pleases)

in that instant interposed, and, in the shape of the huntsman, snatched

her favourite up in her arms.

The parson now faced about, and with his crabstick felled many to the

earth, and scattered others, till he was attacked by Caesar and pulled

to the ground. Then Joseph flew to his rescue, and with such might

fell on the victor, that, O eternal blot to his name! Caesar ran

yelping away.

The battle now raged with the most dreadful violence, when, lo! the

huntsman, a man of years and dignity, lifted his voice, and called his

hounds from the fight, telling them, in a language they understood, that

it was in vain to contend longer, for that fate had decreed the victory

to their enemies.

Thus far the muse hath with her usual dignity related this prodigious

battle, a battle we apprehend never equalled by any poet, romance or

life writer whatever, and, having brought it to a conclusion, she

ceased; we shall therefore proceed in our ordinary style with the

continuation of this history. The squire and his companions, whom the

figure of Adams and the gallantry of Joseph had at first thrown into a

violent fit of laughter, and who had hitherto beheld the engagement with

more delight than any chase, shooting-match, race, cock-fighting, bull

or bear baiting, had ever given them, began now to apprehend the danger

of their hounds, many of which lay sprawling in the fields. The squire,

therefore, having first called his friends about him, as guards for

safety of his person, rode manfully up to the combatants, and, summoning

all the terror he was master of into his countenance, demanded with an

authoritative voice of Joseph what he meant by assaulting his dogs in

that manner? Joseph answered, with great intrepidity, that they had

first fallen on his friend; and if they had belonged to the greatest man

in the kingdom, he would have treated them in the same way; for, whilst

his veins contained a single drop of blood, he would not stand idle by

and see that gentleman (pointing to Adams) abused either by man or

beast; and, having so said, both he and Adams brandished their wooden

weapons, and put themselves into such a posture, that the squire and his

company thought proper to preponderate before they offered to revenge

the cause of their four-footed allies.

At this instant Fanny, whom the apprehension of Joseph's danger had

alarmed so much that, forgetting her own, she had made the utmost

expedition, came up. The squire and all the horsemen were so

surprized with her beauty, that they immediately fixed both their

eyes and thoughts solely on her, every one declaring he had never

seen so charming a creature. Neither mirth nor anger engaged them a

moment longer, but all sat in silent amaze. The huntsman only was

free from her attraction, who was busy in cutting the ears of the

dogs, and endeavouring to recover them to life; in which he succeeded

so well, that only two of no great note remained slaughtered on the

field of action. Upon this the huntsman declared, "'Twas well it was

no worse; for his part he could not blame the gentleman, and wondered

his master would encourage the dogs to hunt Christians; that it was

the surest way to spoil them, to make them follow vermin instead of

sticking to a hare."

The squire, being informed of the little mischief that had been done,

and perhaps having more mischief of another kind in his head, accosted

Mr Adams with a more favourable aspect than before: he told him he was

sorry for what had happened; that he had endeavoured all he could to

prevent it the moment he was acquainted with his cloth, and greatly

commended the courage of his servant, for so he imagined Joseph to be.

He then invited Mr Adams to dinner, and desired the young woman might

come with him. Adams refused a long while; but the invitation was

repeated with so much earnestness and courtesy, that at length he was

forced to accept it. His wig and hat, and other spoils of the field,

being gathered together by Joseph (for otherwise probably they would

have been forgotten), he put himself into the best order he could; and

then the horse and foot moved forward in the same pace towards the

squire's house, which stood at a very little distance.

Whilst they were on the road the lovely Fanny attracted the eyes of all:

they endeavoured to outvie one another in encomiums on her beauty; which

the reader will pardon my not relating, as they had not anything new or

uncommon in them: so must he likewise my not setting down the many

curious jests which were made on Adams; some of them declaring that

parson-hunting was the best sport in the world; others commending his

standing at bay, which they said he had done as well as any badger; with

such like merriment, which, though it would ill become the dignity of

this history, afforded much laughter and diversion to the squire and his

facetious companions.