The Expedition of Humphry ClinkerSmollett, T. (Tobias)
General
The Expedition of Humphry Clinker
Smollett, T. (Tobias)
Epistolary fiction; Great Britain -- Fiction; Travelers -- Fiction
Be that as it may, I saw the body of poor Clinker consigned to the
gaoler of Clerkenwell, to whose indulgence I recommended him so
effectually, that he received him in the most hospitable manner, though
there was a necessity for equipping him with a suit of irons, in which
he made a very rueful appearance. The poor creature seemed as much
affected by my uncle’s kindness, as by his own misfortune. When I
assured him, that nothing should be left undone for procuring his
enlargement, and making his confinement easy in the mean time, he fell
down on his knees, and kissing my hand, which he bathed with his tears,
‘0 ‘squire! (cried he, sobbing) what shall I say?--I can’t--no, I can’t
speak--my poor heart is bursting with gratitude to you and my dear--dear
generous--noble benefactor.’
I protest, the scene became so pathetic, that I was fain to force myself
away, and returned to my uncle, who sent me in the afternoon with
a compliment to one Mr Mead, the person who had been robbed on
Black-heath. As I did not find him at home, I left a message, in
consequence of which he called at our lodgings this morning, and very
humanely agreed to visit the prisoner. By this time, lady Griskin had
come to make her formal compliments of condolance to Mrs Tabitha, on
this domestic calamity; and that prudent maiden, whose passion was
now cooled, thought proper to receive her ladyship so civilly, that a
reconciliation immediately ensued. These two ladies resolved to comfort
the poor prisoner in their own persons, and Mr Mead and I ‘squired
them to Clerkenwell, my uncle being detained at home by some slight
complaints in his stomach and bowels.
The turnkey, who received us at Clerkenwell, looked remarkably sullen;
and when we enquired for Clinker, ‘I don’t care, if the devil had him
(said he); here has been nothing but canting and praying since the
fellow entered the place.--Rabbit him! the tap will be ruined--we han’t
sold a cask of beer, nor a dozen of wine, since he paid his garnish--the
gentlemen get drunk with nothing but your damned religion.--For my part,
I believe as how your man deals with the devil.--Two or three as bold
hearts as ever took the air upon Hounslow have been blubbering all
night; and if the fellow an’t speedily removed by Habeas Corpus, or
otherwise, I’ll be damn’d if there’s a grain of true spirit left within
these walls we shan’t have a soul to do credit to the place, or make his
exit like a true born Englishman--damn my eyes! there will be nothing
but snivelling in the cart--we shall all die like so many psalm-singing
weavers.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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