The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling Henry Fielding (ebook reader android .TXT) 📖

breast, in opposition to the command of Him who hath expressly forbid it? How can I bear to do this on a sickbed? Or how shall I make up my account, with such an article as this in my bosom against me?”

“Why, I believe there is such a command,” cries the lieutenant; “but a man of honour can’t keep it. And you must be a man of honour, if you will be in the army. I remember I once put the case to our chaplain over a bowl of punch, and he confessed there was much difficulty in it; but he said, he hoped there might be a latitude granted to soldiers in this one instance; and to be sure it is our duty to hope so; for who would bear to live without his honour? No, no, my dear boy, be a good Christian as long as you live; but be a man of honour too, and never put up an affront; not all the books, nor all the parsons in the world, shall ever persuade me to that. I love my religion very well, but I love my honour more. There must be some mistake in the wording the text, or in the translation, or in the understanding it, or somewhere or other. But however that be, a man must run the risk, for he must preserve his honour. So compose yourself tonight, and I promise you you shall have an opportunity of doing yourself justice.” Here he gave Jones a hearty buss, shook him by the hand, and took his leave.

But though the lieutenant’s reasoning was very satisfactory to himself, it was not entirely so to his friend. Jones therefore, having revolved this matter much in his thoughts, at last came to a resolution, which the reader will find in the next chapter.

XIV

A most dreadful chapter indeed; and which few readers ought to venture upon in an evening, especially when alone.

Jones swallowed a large mess of chicken, or rather cock, broth, with a very good appetite, as indeed he would have done the cock it was made of, with a pound of bacon into the bargain; and now, finding in himself no deficiency of either health or spirit, he resolved to get up and seek his enemy.

But first he sent for the sergeant, who was his first acquaintance among these military gentlemen. Unluckily that worthy officer having, in a literal sense, taken his fill of liquor, had been some time retired to his bolster, where he was snoring so loud that it was not easy to convey a noise in at his ears capable of drowning that which issued from his nostrils.

However, as Jones persisted in his desire of seeing him, a vociferous drawer at length found means to disturb his slumbers, and to acquaint him with the message. Of which the sergeant was no sooner made sensible, than he arose from his bed, and having his clothes already on, immediately attended. Jones did not think fit to acquaint the sergeant with his design; though he might have done it with great safety, for the halberdier was himself a man of honour, and had killed his man. He would therefore have faithfully kept this secret, or indeed any other which no reward was published for discovering. But as Jones knew not those virtues in so short an acquaintance, his caution was perhaps prudent and commendable enough.

He began therefore by acquainting the sergeant, that as he was now entered into the army, he was ashamed of being without what was perhaps the most necessary implement of a soldier; namely, a sword; adding, that he should be infinitely obliged to him, if he could procure one. “For which,” says he, “I will give you any reasonable price; nor do I insist upon its being silver-hilted; only a good blade, and such as may become a soldier’s thigh.”

The sergeant, who well knew what had happened, and had heard that Jones was in a very dangerous condition, immediately concluded, from such a message, at such a time of night, and from a man in such a situation, that he was lightheaded. Now as he had his wit (to use that word in its common signification) always ready, he bethought himself of making his advantage of this humour in the sick man. “Sir,” says he, “I believe I can fit you. I have a most excellent piece of stuff by me. It is not indeed silver-hilted, which, as you say, doth not become a soldier; but the handle is decent enough, and the blade one of the best in Europe. It is a blade that⁠—a blade that⁠—in short, I will fetch it you this instant, and you shall see it and handle it. I am glad to see your honour so well with all my heart.”

Being instantly returned with the sword, he delivered it to Jones, who took it and drew it; and then told the sergeant it would do very well, and bid him name his price.

The sergeant now began to harangue in praise of his goods. He said (nay he swore very heartily), “that the blade was taken from a French officer, of very high rank, at the battle of Dettingen. I took it myself,” says he, “from his side, after I had knocked him o’ the head. The hilt was a golden one. That I sold to one of our fine gentlemen; for there are some of them, an’t please your honour, who value the hilt of a sword more than the blade.”

Here the other stopped him, and begged him to name a price. The sergeant, who thought Jones absolutely out of his senses, and very near his end, was afraid lest he should injure his family by asking too little. However, after a moment’s hesitation, he contented himself with naming twenty guineas, and swore he would not sell it for less to his own brother.

“Twenty guineas!” says Jones, in the utmost surprise: “sure