Chapter xiv.

What happened to Mr Jones in his journey from St Albans.

They were got about two miles beyond Barnet, and it was now the dusk

of the evening, when a genteel-looking man, but upon a very shabby

horse, rode up to Jones, and asked him whether he was going to London;

to which Jones answered in the affirmative. The gentleman replied, “I

should be obliged to you, sir, if you will accept of my company; for

it is very late, and I am a stranger to the road.” Jones readily

complied with the request; and on they travelled together, holding

that sort of discourse which is usual on such occasions.

Of this, indeed, robbery was the principal topic: upon which subject

the stranger expressed great apprehensions; but Jones declared he had

very little to lose, and consequently as little to fear. Here

Partridge could not forbear putting in his word. “Your honour,” said

he, “may think it a little, but I am sure, if I had a hundred-pound

bank-note in my pocket, as you have, I should be very sorry to lose

it; but, for my part, I never was less afraid in my life; for we are

four of us, and if we all stand by one another, the best man in

England can't rob us. Suppose he should have a pistol, he can kill but

one of us, and a man can die but once.--That's my comfort, a man can

die but once.”

Besides the reliance on superior numbers, a kind of valour which hath

raised a certain nation among the moderns to a high pitch of glory,

there was another reason for the extraordinary courage which Partridge

now discovered; for he had at present as much of that quality as was

in the power of liquor to bestow.

Our company were now arrived within a mile of Highgate, when the

stranger turned short upon Jones, and pulling out a pistol, demanded

that little bank-note which Partridge had mentioned.

Jones was at first somewhat shocked at this unexpected demand;

however, he presently recollected himself, and told the highwayman,

all the money he had in his pocket was entirely at his service; and so

saying, he pulled out upwards of three guineas, and offered to deliver

it; but the other answered with an oath, That would not do. Jones

answered coolly, he was very sorry for it, and returned the money into

his pocket.

The highwayman then threatened, if he did not deliver the bank-note

that moment, he must shoot him; holding his pistol at the same time

very near to his breast. Jones instantly caught hold of the fellow's

hand, which trembled so that he could scarce hold the pistol in it,

and turned the muzzle from him. A struggle then ensued, in which the

former wrested the pistol from the hand of his antagonist, and both

came from their horses on the ground together, the highwayman upon his

back, and the victorious Jones upon him.

The poor fellow now began to implore mercy of the conqueror: for, to

say the truth, he was in strength by no means a match for Jones.

“Indeed, sir,” says he, “I could have had no intention to shoot you;

for you will find the pistol was not loaded. This is the first robbery

I ever attempted, and I have been driven by distress to this.”

At this instant, at about a hundred and fifty yards' distance, lay

another person on the ground, roaring for mercy in a much louder voice

than the highwayman. This was no other than Partridge himself, who,

endeavouring to make his escape from the engagement, had been thrown

from his horse, and lay flat on his face, not daring to look up, and

expecting every minute to be shot.

In this posture he lay, till the guide, who was no otherwise concerned

than for his horses, having secured the stumbling beast, came up to

him, and told him his master had got the better of the highwayman.

Partridge leapt up at this news, and ran back to the place where Jones

stood with his sword drawn in his hand to guard the poor fellow; which

Partridge no sooner saw than he cried out, “Kill the villain, sir, run

him through the body, kill him this instant!”

Luckily, however, for the poor wretch, he had fallen into more

merciful hands; for Jones having examined the pistol, and found it to

be really unloaded, began to believe all the man had told him, before

Partridge came up: namely, that he was a novice in the trade, and that

he had been driven to it by the distress he mentioned, the greatest

indeed imaginable, that of five hungry children, and a wife lying in

of the sixth, in the utmost want and misery. The truth of all which

the highwayman most vehemently asserted, and offered to convince Mr

Jones of it, if he would take the trouble to go to his house, which

was not above two miles off; saying, “That he desired no favour, but

upon condition of proving all he had all alledged.”

Jones at first pretended that he would take the fellow at his word,

and go with him, declaring that his fate should depend entirely on the

truth of his story. Upon this the poor fellow immediately expressed so

much alacrity, that Jones was perfectly satisfied with his veracity,

and began now to entertain sentiments of compassion for him. He

returned the fellow his empty pistol, advised him to think of honester

means of relieving his distress, and gave him a couple of guineas for

the immediate support of his wife and his family; adding, “he wished

he had more for his sake, for the hundred pound that had been

mentioned was not his own.”

Our readers will probably be divided in their opinions concerning this

action; some may applaud it perhaps as an act of extraordinary

humanity, while those of a more saturnine temper will consider it as a

want of regard to that justice which every man owes his country.

Partridge certainly saw it in that light; for he testified much

dissatisfaction on the occasion, quoted an old proverb, and said, he

should not wonder if the rogue attacked them again before they reached

London.

The highwayman was full of expressions of thankfulness and gratitude.

He actually dropt tears, or pretended so to do. He vowed he would

immediately return home, and would never afterwards commit such a

transgression: whether he kept his word or no, perhaps may appear

hereafter.

Our travellers having remounted their horses, arrived in town without

encountering any new mishap. On the road much pleasant discourse

passed between Jones and Partridge, on the subject of their last

adventure: in which Jones exprest a great compassion for those

highwaymen who are, by unavoidable distress, driven, as it were, to

such illegal courses, as generally bring them to a shameful death: “I

mean,” said he, “those only whose highest guilt extends no farther

than to robbery, and who are never guilty of cruelty nor insult to any

person, which is a circumstance that, I must say, to the honour of our

country, distinguishes the robbers of England from those of all other

nations; for murder is, amongst those, almost inseparably incident to

robbery.”

“No doubt,” answered Partridge, “it is better to take away one's money

than one's life; and yet it is very hard upon honest men, that they

can't travel about their business without being in danger of these

villains. And to be sure it would be better that all rogues were

hanged out of the way, than that one honest man should suffer. For my

own part, indeed, I should not care to have the blood of any of them

on my own hands; but it is very proper for the law to hang them all.

What right hath any man to take sixpence from me, unless I give it

him? Is there any honesty in such a man?”

“No, surely,” cries Jones, “no more than there is in him who takes the

horses out of another man's stable, or who applies to his own use the

money which he finds, when he knows the right owner.”

These hints stopt the mouth of Partridge; nor did he open it again

till Jones, having thrown some sarcastical jokes on his cowardice, he

offered to excuse himself on the inequality of fire-arms, saying, “A

thousand naked men are nothing to one pistol; for though it is true it

will kill but one at a single discharge, yet who can tell but that one

may be himself?”