Title: The Surprising Adventures of Bampfylde Moore Carew - King of the Beggars; containing his Life, a Dictionary of the - Cant Language, and many Entertaining Particulars of that - Extraordinary Man
Author: Unknown
Language: English
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BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW***


Transcribed from the 1850’s Thomas Allman and Son edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org

               [Picture: Bampfylde Disguised with Children]



                              THE SURPRISING
                                ADVENTURES
                                    OF
                          BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW,
                           KING OF THE BEGGARS;
                                CONTAINING
                                HIS LIFE,
                    A Dictionary of the Cant Language,
                                 AND MANY
                         ENTERTAINING PARTICULARS
                                    OF
                         THAT EXTRAORDINARY MAN.


               [Picture: Bampfylde Frightening the Bellman]

                                 LONDON:
                          THOMAS ALLMAN AND SON.
                        W. WALKER AND SON, OTLEY.



THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW.


Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew was descended from the ancient family of the
Carews, son of the Reverend Mr. Theodore Carew, of the parish of
Brickley, near Tiverton, in the county of Devon; of which parish he was
many years a rector, very much esteemed while living, and at his death
universally lamented.  Mr. Carew was born in the month of July 1693; and
never was there known a more splendid attendance of ladies and gentlemen
of the first rank and quality at any baptism in the west of England, than
at his: the Hon. Hugh Bampfylde, Esq., who afterwards died of an
unfortunate fall from his horse, and the Hon. Major Moore, were both his
illustrious godfathers, both of whose names he bears; who sometime
contending who should be the president, doubtless presaging the honour
that should redound to them from the future actions of our hero, the
affair was determined by throwing up a piece of money, which was won by
Mr. Bampfylde; who upon this account presented a large piece of plate,
whereon was engraved, in large letters,

                          BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW.

The reverend Mr. Carew had several other children, both sons and
daughters, besides Mr. Carew, all of whom he educated in a tender and
pious manner; and Mr. Carew was at the age of twelve sent to Tiverton
school, where he contracted an intimate acquaintance with some young
gentlemen of the first rank in Somersetshire, Devonshire, Cornwall, and
Dorsetshire.

The desire of the reader to be informed of the person of the hero of whom
they are reading is so natural, we should be guilty of a great neglect,
were we to omit satisfying our readers in this respect, more particularly
as we can, without making use of a figure in rhetoric, (which is of very
great service to many authors,) called amplification; or, in plain
English, enlarging, present our readers with a very amiable picture.

The stature of our hero was tall and majestic, his limbs strong and
well-proportioned, his features regular, his countenance open and
ingenuous, bearing all those characteristical marks which physiognomists
assert denote an honest and good-natured mind.

During the first four years of his continuance at Tiverton school, his
close application to, and delight in his studies, gave his friends great
hopes that he might one day make a good figure in that honourable
profession which his father became so well, for many years, and for which
he was designed.

He attained, for his age, a very considerable knowledge in the Latin and
Greek tongues; but soon a new exercise or accomplishment engaged all his
attention; this was that of hunting, in which our hero soon made a
surprising progress; for, besides that agility of limb and courage
requisite for leaping over five-barred gates, &c., our hero, by
indefatigable study and application, added to it a remarkable cheering
halloo to the dogs, of very great service to the exercise, and which, we
believe, was peculiar to himself; and, besides this, found out a secret,
hitherto known but to himself, of enticing any dog whatever to follow
him.

The Tiverton scholars had at this time the command of a fine cry of
hounds, whereby Mr. Carew had frequent opportunity of gratifying his
inclinations in that diversion.  It was then that he entered into a very
strict friendship and familiarity with John Martin, Thomas Coleman, John
Escott, and other young gentlemen of the best rank and fortune.

The wise Spaniards have a proverb, Tell me who you are with, and I will
tell you what you are; and we ourselves say, Birds of a feather flock
together.  It is generally allowed that proverbs are built upon
experience, and contain great truths; and though at this time very young,
he contracted no acquaintance, and kept no company, but with young
gentlemen of birth and fortune, who were rather superior to himself than
beneath him.

It happened that a farmer, living in a county adjacent to Tiverton, who
was a great sportsman, and used to hunt with the Tiverton scholars, came
and acquainted them of a fine deer, which he had seen with a collar about
his neck, in the fields about his farm, which he supposed to be the
favourite deer of some gentleman not far off; this was very agreeable
news to the Tiverton scholars, who, with Mr. Carew, John Martin, Thomas
Coleman, and John Escott, at their head, went in a great body to hunt it;
this happened a short time before the harvest.  The chase was very hot,
and lasted several hours, and they ran the deer many miles, which did a
great deal of damage to the fields of corn that were then almost ripe.
Upon the death of the deer and examination of the collar, it was found to
belong to Colonel Nutcombe, of the parish of Clayhanger.

Those farmers and gentlemen that sustained the greatest damage came to
Tiverton, and complained heavily to Mr. Rayner, the schoolmaster, of the
havock made in their fields, which occasioned strict enquiry to be made
concerning the ringleaders, who, proving to be our hero and his
companions, they were so severely threatened, that, for fear, they
absented themselves from school; and the next day, happening to go in the
evening to Brick-house, an alehouse, about half a mile from Tiverton,
they accidentally fell into company with a society of gipseys, who were
there feasting and carousing.  This society consisted of seventeen or
eighteen persons of both sexes, who that day met there with a full
purpose of merriment and jollity; and after a plentiful meal upon fowls,
and other dainty dishes, the flowing cups of October, and cider, went
most cheerfully round, and merry songs and country dances crowned the
jovial banquet; in short, so great an air of freedom, mirth, and
pleasure, appeared in this society, that our youngsters from that time
conceived a sudden inclination to enlist into their company; which, when
they communicated to the gipseys, they, considering their appearance,
behaviour, and education, regarded as only spoke in jest; but as they
tarried there all night in their company, and continued in the same
resolution the next morning, they were at length induced to believe them
to be serious, and accordingly encouraged them, and admitted them into
their number; the requisite ceremonials being first gone through, and the
proper oaths administered.

The reader may perhaps be surprised at the mention of oaths administered,
and ceremonials used, at the entrance of these young gentlemen; but his
surprise will lessen when we inform him, that these people are subject to
a form of government and laws peculiar to themselves, and though they
have no written laws, by which means they avoid all perplexity with
lawyers, yet they pay obedience to one who is styled their king; to which
great honour we shall hereafter see our hero arrive, having first proved
himself worthy of it, by a great number of necessary achievements.

There are, perhaps, no people so completely happy as they are, or enjoy
so great a share of liberty.  The king is elective by the whole people,
but none are allowed to stand as candidates for that honour, but such as
have been long in their society, and perfectly studied the nature and
institution of it; they must likewise have given repeated proofs of their
personal wisdom, courage and capacity; this is the better known, as they
always keep a public record or register of all remarkable (either good or
bad) actions performed by any of the society; and they can have no
temptation to make choice of any but the most worthy, as their king has
no titles or lucrative employments to bestow, which might influence or
corrupt their judgment.

The only advantage the king enjoys is, that he is constantly supplied
with whatever is necessary for his maintenance, from the contributions of
his people; whilst he, in return, directs all his care to the defending
and protecting his people from their enemies, in contriving and planning
whatever is most likely to promote their welfare and happiness, in seeing
a due regard paid to their laws, in registering their memorable actions,
and making a due report of all these things at their general assemblies;
so that, perhaps, at this time, it is amongst these people only that the
office of a king is the same as it was at its first institution;—viz. a
father and protector of his people.

The laws of these people are few and simple, but most exactly and
punctually observed; the fundamental of which is, that strong love and
mutual regard for each member in particular, and for the whole community
in general, which is inculcated into them from their earliest infancy; so
that this whole community is connected by stronger bands of love and
harmony, than oftentimes subsist even in private families under other
governments; this naturally prevents all oppressions, fraud, and
over-reachings of one another, so common amongst other people, and
totally extinguishes that bitter passion of the mind (the source,
perhaps, of most of the other vices) envy; for it is a great and certain
truth, that Love worketh no evil.

Their general meetings at stated times, which all are obliged to be
present at, is a very strong cement of their love, and indeed of all
their other virtues; for, as the general register of their actions, which
we have before spoken of, is read at these meetings, those who have
deserved well of the community, are honoured by some token or distinction
in the sight of all the rest; and those who have done any thing against
their fundamental laws, have some mark of ignominy put upon them; for
they have no high sense of pecuniary rewards, and they think the
punishing of the body of little service towards amending the mind.
Experience has shown them, that, by keeping up this nice sense of honour
and shame, they are always enabled to keep their community in better
order than the most severe corporeal punishments have been able to effect
in other governments.

But what has still more tended to preserve their happiness is, that they
know no other use of riches than the enjoyment of them; but, as the word
is liable to be misconstrued by many of our readers, we think it
necessary to inform them, we do not mean by it that sordid enjoyment
which the miser feels when he bolts up his money in a well-secured iron
chest, or that delicious pleasure he is sensible of when he counts over
his hoarded stores, and finds they are increased with a half-guinea, or
even a half-crown; nor do we mean that enjoyment which the well-known Mr.
K---, {12} the man-eater, feels when he draws out his money from his
bags, to discount the good bills of some honest but distressed tradesman
at fifteen or twenty per cent.

The people we are speaking of are happily ignorant of such enjoyment of
money, for they know no other use of it than that of promoting mirth and
good humour; for which end they generously bring their gains into a
common stock, whereby they whose gains are small have an equal enjoyment
with those whose profits are larger, excepting only that a mark of
ignominy is affixed on those who do not contribute to the common stock
proportionably to their abilities, and the opportunities they have of
gain; and this is the source of their uninterrupted happiness; for by
this means they have no griping usurer to grind them, lordly possessor to
trample on them, nor any envyings to torment them; they have no settled
habitations, but, like the Scythians of old, remove from place to place,
as often as their conveniency or pleasure requires it, which renders
their life a perpetual scene of the greatest variety.

By what we have said above, and much more that we could add, of the
happiness of these people, and of their peculiar attachment to each
other, we may account for what has been matter of much surprise to the
friends of our hero, viz., his strong attachment, for the space of above
forty years, to this community, and his refusing the large offers that
have been made to quit their society.—But to return to our history.

Thus was Mr. Carew initiated into the mysteries of a society, which, for
antiquity, need give place to none, as is evident from the name, as well
as their origin, which they derive from the Egyptians, one of the most
ancient and learned people in the world, and that they were persons of
more than common learning, who travelled to communicate their knowledge
to mankind.  Whether the divine Homer himself might not have been of this
society, will admit of a doubt, as there is much uncertainty about his
birth and education, though nothing is more certain than that he
travelled from place to place.

Mr. Carew did not continue long in it before he was consulted in
important matters: particularly Madam Musgrove, of Monkton, near Taunton,
hearing of his fame, sent for him to consult in an affair of difficulty.
When he came, she informed him, that she suspected a large quantity of
money was buried somewhere about her house, and if he would acquaint her
with the particular place, she would handsomely reward him.

Our hero consulted the secrets of his art upon this occasion, and after
long toil and study informed the lady, that under a laurel-tree in the
garden lay the treasure she anxiously sought for; but that her planet of
good fortune did not reign till such a day and hour, till which time she
should desist from searching for it; the good lady rewarded him very
generously with twenty guineas for his discovery.  We cannot tell whether
at this time our hero was sufficiently initiated in the art, or whether
the lady mistook her lucky hour, but the strict regard we pay to truth
obliges us to confess, that the lady dug below the roots of the
laurel-tree without finding the hidden treasure.

When he was further initiated in the art, he was consulted upon several
important matters, and generally gave satisfaction by his sagacious
answers.  In the meantime, his worthy parents sorrowed for him as one
that was no more, not being able to get the least tidings of him, though
they publicly advertised him, and sent messengers after him in every
direction; till, at the expiration of a year and a half, our hero having
repeated accounts of the sorrow and trouble his parents were in upon his
account, his heart melted with tenderness, and he repaired to his
father’s house, at Brickley, in Devonshire.  As he was much disguised,
both in habit and countenance, he was not at first known by his parents;
but when he discovered himself, joy gushed out in full streams, stopping
the power of speech; but the warm tears they bedewed his cheeks with,
whilst they imprinted them with kisses, performed the office of the
tongue with more expressive eloquence; but the good heart and tender
parent will feel this much better than we can describe.  The whole
neighbourhood, partook of this joy; and there was nothing for some time
but ringing of bells, with public feasting, and other marks of festive
joy.

Mr. Carew’s parents did every thing possible to render home agreeable to
him; every day he was engaged in some party of pleasure or other, and all
his friends strove who should entertain him, so that there seemed nothing
wanting to his happiness.  But the uncommon pleasure that he had enjoyed
in the community he had left, the freedom of their government, the
simplicity and sincerity of their manners, the frequent changes of their
habitation, the perpetual mirth and good humour that reigned amongst
them, and perhaps some secret presages of that high honour which he has
since arrived at; all these made too deep an impression to be effaced by
any other ideas; his pleasure therefore grew every day more and more
tasteless, and he relished none of those entertainments which his friends
daily provided for him.

For some time these unsatisfied longings after the community of gipseys
preyed upon his mind, his heart being too good to think of leaving his
fond parents again, without reluctance.  Long did filial piety and his
inclinations struggle for the victory; at length the last prevailed, but
not till his health had visibly suffered by these inward commotions.  One
day, therefore, without taking leave of any of his friends, he directed
his steps towards Brick-house, at Tiverton, where he had at first entered
into the community of the gipseys; and finding some of them there, he
joined their company, to the great satisfaction of them, as well as of
himself; they rejoiced greatly at having regained one who was likely to
be so useful a member to their community.

We are now entering into the busy part of our hero’s life, where we shall
find him acting in various characters, and performing all with propriety,
dignity, and decorum.—We shall, therefore, rather choose to account for
some of the actions of our hero, by desiring the reader to keep in mind
the principles of the government of the mendicants, which are, like those
of the Algerines, and other states of Barbary, in a perpetual state of
hostility with most other people; so that whatsoever stratagems or
deceits they can over-reach them by, are not only allowed by their laws,
but considered as commendable and praise-worthy; and, as the Algerines
are looked upon as a very honest people by those who are in alliance with
them, though they plunder the rest of mankind; and as most other
governments have thought that they might very honestly attack any weak
neighbouring state, whenever it was convenient for them, and murder forty
or fifty thousand of the human species; we hope, to the unprejudiced eye
of reason, the government of the gipseys in general, and our hero as a
member of it, will not appear in so disadvantageous a light, for
exercising a few stratagems to over-reach their enemies, especially when
it is considered they never, like other states, do any harm to the
persons of their enemies, and nothing considerable to their fortunes.

Our hero being again admitted at the first general assembly of the
gipseys, and having taken the proper oaths of allegiance to the
sovereign, was soon after sent out by him on a cruise upon their enemies.

Our hero’s wit was now set to work, by what stratagems he might best
succeed.  The first that occurred to his thoughts was that of equipping
himself with an old pair of trowsers, enough of a jacket to cover his
nakedness, stockings such as nature gave, shoes (or rather the body of
shoes, for soles they had none) which had leaks enough to sink a first
rate man of war, and a woollen cap, so black that one might more safely
swear it had not been washed since Noah’s flood, than any electors can
that they receive no bribes.  Being thus attired, our hero changed his
manners with his dress; he forgot entirely his family, education, and
politeness, and became neither more nor less than an unfortunate
shipwrecked seaman.

Here, if we may be allowed to compare great things with small, we could
wish that all orders of men were strict imitators of our hero; we mean
that they would put on the characteristics and qualifications of their
employment, at the same time they invest themselves with the ensigns of
it; that the divine, when he puts on his sacred and venerable habit,
would clothe himself with piety, goodness, gentleness, long-suffering,
charity, temperance, contempt of filthy lucre, and other godlike
qualifications of his office; that the judge, at the time he puts on his
ermined robes, would put on righteousness and equity as an upper garment,
with an integrity of mind more white and spotless than the fairest
ermine; that the grave physician, when he puts on his large perriwig,
would put under it the knowledge of the human frame, of the virtues and
effects of his medicines, of the signs and nature of diseases, with the
most approved and experienced forms of cure; that the mechanic, when he
puts on his leather or woollen apron, put on diligence, frugality,
temperance, modesty, and good nature; and that kings themselves, when the
crown, which is adorned with pearls and many precious stones, is put on
their heads, would put on at the same time the more inestimable gems of
all the precious virtues; that they would remember at times, they were
invested with the dalmatica at their coronation, only as an emblem of the
ornament of a good life and holy actions; that the rod they received was
the rod of virtue and equity, to encourage and make much of the godly,
and to terrify the wicked; to show the way to those that go astray, and
to offer the hand to those that fall; to repress the proud, and to lift
up the lowly; and the sword they were girt with, was to protect the
liberties of their people, to defend and help widows and orphans, restore
the things which have gone to decay, maintain those which are restored,
and confirm things that are in good order.

As to our hero, he so fully put on the character of a shipwrecked seaman,
that in his first excursion he gained a very considerable booty, having
likewise ingeniously imitated the passes and certificates that were
necessary for him to travel with unmolested.

After about a month’s travel, he accidentally, at Kingsbridge, in
Devonshire, met with Coleman, his late school-fellow, one of those who
entered with him into the community, as before related, but had, after a
year and a half’s sojourn, left them and returned to his friends:
however, not finding that satisfaction among them as with the gipseys, he
had again joined that people—great was the joy, therefore, of these two
friends at their meeting, and they soon agreed to travel together for
some time; and accordingly proceeded to Totness, from thence to the city
of Exeter, where they raised a contribution in one day amounting to
several pounds.

Having obtained all he could desire from this stratagem, his fruitful
invention soon hinted another.  He now became the plain honest country
farmer, who, living in the Isle of Sheppy, in Kent, had the misfortune to
have his grounds overflowed, and all his cattle drowned.  His habit was
now neat but rustic; his air and behaviour simple and inoffensive; his
speech in the Kentish dialect; his countenance dejected; his tale
pitiful—wondrous pitiful; a wife and seven helpless infants being
partakers of his misfortunes; so that if his former stratagem answered
his wishes, this did still more so, he now getting seldom less than a
guinea a day.

Having raised a considerable booty by these two stratagems, he made the
best of his way towards Straton, in Devonshire, where was soon to be held
a general assembly of the gipseys: here he was received with great
applause, on account of the successful stratagems he had executed, and he
had an honourable mark of distinction bestowed upon him, being seated
near the king.

Though our hero, by means of these stratagems, abounded with all the
pleasures he could desire, yet he began now to reflect with himself on
that grand and noble maxim of life, that we are not born for ourselves
only, but indebted to all mankind, to be of as great use and service to
them, as our capacities and abilities will enable us to be; he,
therefore, gave a handsome gratuity to a famous rat-catcher (who assumed
the honour of being rat-catcher to the king,) to be initiated into that,
and the still more useful secret of curing madness in dogs or cattle.

Our hero, by his close application, soon attained so considerable a
knowledge in his profession, that he practised with much success and
applause, to the great advantage of the public in general, not confining
the good effects of his knowledge to his own community only, but
extending them universally to all sorts of people, wheresoever they were
wanted; for though we have before observed that the mendicants are in a
constant state of hostility with all other people, and Mr. Carew was as
alert as any one in laying all manner of schemes and stratagems to carry
off a booty from them; yet he thought, as a member of the grand society
of human kind, he was obliged to do them all the good in his power, when
it was not opposite to the interest of that particular community of which
he was a member.

Mr. Carew’s invention being never at a loss, he now formed a new
stratagem; to execute which, he exchanged his habit, shirt, &c., for only
an old blanket; shoes and stockings he laid aside, because they did not
suit his present purpose.  Being thus accoutred, or rather unaccoutred,
he was now no more than Poor Mad Tom, whom the foul fiend had led through
fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, over bog and
quagmire, that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew,
set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud at heart to ride on a bay
trotting horse over four-inch bridges, to curse his own shadow for a
traitor; who eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the
wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the
foul fiend rages, swallows the old rat and ditch dog, drinks the green
mantle off the standing pool;

    And mice and rats, and such small gear,
    Have been Tom’s food for seven long year.

O do, de, do, de, do, de; bless thee from whirlwind, star-blasting, and
taking; do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes; there could
I have him now, and there, and there again, and there; through the sharp
hawthorn blows the cold wind; Tom’s a-cold! who gives any thing to poor
Tom?—In this character, and with such like expressions, our hero entered
the house both of great and small, claiming kindred to them, and
committing all manner of frantic actions; such as beating himself,
offering to eat coals of fire, running against the wall, and tearing to
pieces those garments that were given him to cover his nakedness; by
which means he raised very considerable contributions.

But these different habits and characters were still of farther use to
our hero, for by their means he had a better opportunity of seeing the
world, and knowing mankind, than most of our youths who make the grand
tour; for, as he had none of those petty amusements and raree-shows,
which so much divert our young gentlemen abroad, to engage his attention,
it was wholly applied to the study of mankind, their various passions and
inclinations; and he made the greater improvement in his study, as in
many of his characters they acted before him without reserve or disguise.
He saw in little and plain houses hospitality, charity and compassion,
the children of frugality; and found under gilded and spacious roofs,
littleness, uncharitableness and inhumanity, the offspring of luxury and
riot; he saw servants waste their master’s substance, and that there were
no greater nor more crafty thieves than domestic ones; and met with
masters who roared out for liberty abroad, acting the arbitrary tyrants
in their own houses:—he saw ignorance and passion exercise the rod of
justice; oppression, the handmaid of power; self-interest outweighing
friendship and honesty in the opposite scale; pride and envy spurning and
trampling on what was more worthy than themselves;—he saw the pure white
robes of truth sullied with the black hue of hypocrisy and dissimulation;
he sometimes, too, met much riches unattended by pomp and pride, but
diffusing themselves in numberless unexhausted streams, conducted by the
hands of two lovely servants, Goodness and Beneficence;—and he saw
honesty, integrity and goodness of mind, inhabitants of the humble cot of
poverty.

All these observations afforded him no little pleasure, but he felt a
much greater in the indulgence of the emotions of filial piety, paying
his parents frequent visits, unknown to them, in different disguises; at
which time, the tenderness he saw them express in their inquiries after
him (it being their constant custom so to do of all travellers) always
melted him into real tears.

It has been remarked, that curiosity, or the desire of knowledge, is that
which most distinguishes man from the brute, and the greater the mind is,
the more insatiable is that passion: we may, without flattery, say no man
had a more boundless one than our hero; for, not satisfied with the
observations he had made in England and Wales, (which we are well assured
were many more than are usually made by gentlemen before they travel into
foreign parts,) he now resolved to see other countries and manners.  He
was the more inclined to this, as he imagined it would enable him to be
of greater service to the community of which he was a member, by
rendering him capable of executing some of his stratagems with much
greater success.

He communicated this design to his school-fellow, Escott, one of those
who joined the gipseys with him, (for neither of the four wholly quitted
the community).  Escott very readily agreed to accompany him in his
travels, and there being a vessel ready to sail for Newfoundland, tying
at Dartmouth, where they then were, they agreed to embark on board her.
Nothing remarkable happened in their passage which relates to our hero;
we shall therefore pass it by, and land him safe in Newfoundland.  Having
remained there during the fishing season, he acquired all the information
he possibly could, and which he thought might be useful to him, and
returned in the same vessel to Dartmouth, from whence he had at first
sailed, bringing with him a surprising fierce and large dog, which he had
enticed to follow him, and made as gentle as a lamb, by an art peculiar
to himself.  Our hero was received with great joy by his fellow gipseys,
and they were loud in his praises, when they understood he had undertaken
this voyage to enable him to deceive his enemies with the greater
success.  He accordingly, in a few days, went out on a cruise in the
character of a shipwrecked sailor, lost in a vessel homeward bound from
Newfoundland, sometimes belonging to Pool, sometimes to Dartmouth, at
other times to other ports, and under such or such commander, according
as the newspapers gave account of such melancholy accidents.

If the booty he got before under this character was considerable, it was
much more so now, for being able to give an exact account of
Newfoundland, the settlements, harbours, fishery, and the inhabitants
thereof, he applied with great confidence to masters of vessels, and
gentlemen well acquainted with those parts; so that those to whom before
his prudence would not let him apply, now became his greatest
benefactors, as the perfect account he gave of the country engaged them
to give credit to all he asserted, and made them very liberal in his
favour.

It was about this time our hero became sensible of the power of love; we
mean of that sort which has more of the mind than the body, and is
tender, delicate and constant; the object of which remains constantly
fixed in the mind, and will not admit of any partner with it.  It was in
the town of Newcastle, so famous for its coal-works, which our hero
visited out of curiosity, appearing there undisguised and making a very
genteel appearance, that he became enamoured with the daughter of Mr.
Gray, an eminent surgeon there.  This young lady had charms perhaps equal
to any of her sex; and we might in that style, which one, who calls
himself an author of the first rate, calls the sublime, say, “Here was
whiteness, which no lilies, ivory, nor alabaster could match.  The finest
cambric might be supposed from envy to cover that bosom, which was much
whiter than itself;” but we must confess we always feel a cold horror
shoot through our limbs at the reading of this puerile sublime, and we
make no doubt but many other readers do the same, as it greatly tends to
make our hearts ache by putting us in mind of what our posteriors have
suffered for us at school.  We shall therefore content ourselves by
saying, this lady had charms sufficient to captivate the heart of any man
not unsusceptible of love; and they made so deep an impression upon our
hero, that they wholly effaced every object which before had created any
desire in him, and never permitted any other to raise them afterwards;
and, wonderful to tell, we have after about thirty years enjoyment, seen
him lament her occasional absence almost with tears, and talk of her with
all the fondness of one who had been in love but three days.  Our hero
tried all love’s soft persuasions with his fair one in an honourable way;
and, as his person was very engaging, and his appearance genteel, he did
not find her greatly averse to the proposals.  As he was aware that his
being of the community of the gipseys might prejudice her against him
without examination, he passed with her for the mate of a collier’s
vessel, in which he was supported by Captain L---n of Dartmouth, an old
acquaintance of our hero’s, who then commanded a vessel lying at
Newcastle, and acknowledged him for his mate.  These assertions satisfied
the young lady very well, and she at length consented to exchange the
tender care and love of a parent for that of a husband.  The reader may
perhaps be surprised that she did not make any farther inquiries about
him; it is therefore necessary that we should inform him, that our hero
had engaged on his side a very eloquent and persuasive advocate or
counsellor, for we know not which denomination most properly belongs to
him; one, though still beardless, existed as soon as the first woman was
created, and has had ever since, till within this last century, very
great practice in the business of uniting both sexes for life; but of
late years a neighbouring counsellor, named self-interest, has by
underhand dealings, false insinuations, and mean suggestions, taken away
the greatest part of his business, so that he is seldom retained on
either side.  Our hero, however, engaged him in his service, and he
pleaded so strongly for him in the young lady, that he removed all her
objections, and silenced all her scruples, and at last persuaded her to
leave her home and venture on board Captain L---n’s vessel with her
lover; for, though this counsellor, according to a very good picture of
him drawn by a famous master, has more of the wanton roguish smiles of a
boy in his countenance, than the formality, wisdom, and gravity of those
counsellors whom thou hast perhaps seen in Westminster-hall; and never
wore one of those ponderous perukes which are so essential to the
knowledge, wisdom, and eloquence of those gentlemen; yet we are assured
none of them ever equalled him in persuasive arguments, removing of
difficulties, and silencing of doubts; for he indeed differs in practice
from most of the counsellors we ever heard of: for, as these are apt to
puzzle and perplex their clients by their answers, and make intricate
what was plain before, on the contrary, the gentleman we are speaking of
had a wonderful faculty of making the greatest difficulties plain and
easy, and always answered every objection and scruple to the entire
satisfaction of his client.

The lover and his fair one being on board, they soon hoisted sail, and
the very winds being willing to favour these two happy lovers, they had
an exceeding quick passage to Dartmouth, where they landed.  Our hero
being now no longer able to conceal his being a member of the community
of gipseys, after some previous introduction, declared it to the young
lady, who was not a little surprised and troubled at it; but the
counsellor we have already spoken of being near at hand, soon composed
her mind, by suggesting to her the worthy family her lover was sprung
from; that the community of the gipseys was more happy, and less
disreputable than she imagined, that the person of her lover was quite
amiable, and that he had good nature, and love enough to make her happy
in any condition.

As these suggestions entirely satisfied her, the lovers in a few days set
out for Bath, where they lawfully solemnized their nuptials with great
gaiety and splendour, and were those two persons whom many of the old
slanders at Bath remembered for many years after to have made such an
eclat, but nobody could, at the time, conjecture who they were, which was
the occasion of much speculation and many false surmises.

We cannot conclude on this head, but with the deserved praises of our
hero, from whose mouth we have had repeated assurance, that, during their
voyage to Dartmouth, and their journey from thence to Bath, not the least
indignity was offered to the innocence or modesty of his dear Miss Gray.

Our lovers began to be at length weary of the same repeated rounds of
pleasure at Bath, for at that time the wit of man had not reached so high
as the invention of that most charming, entertaining, never-cloying
diversion, called E, O, which seems to have been reserved among the
secrets of fate to do honour to the present age; for upon the nicest
scrutiny, we are quite convinced it is entirely new, and cannot find the
least traces of its being borrowed from any nation under the sun; for,
though we have with great pains and labour inquired into all the games
and diversions of the ancients; though we have followed untutored Indians
through all their revels, and though we have accurately examined into the
dull pleasures of the uncouth Hottentots; yet in all these we find either
some marks of ingenuity to exercise and refresh the mind, or something of
labour to invigorate the body;—we therefore could not avoid interrupting
our history, to do honour to this truly interesting and original game.

Our lovers having left Bath, visited next the city of Bristol, where they
stayed some time, and caused more speculation there than they had before
done at Bath, and did as much damage to that city as the famous Lucullus
did at Rome, on his return from his victorious expedition; we have some
reason to think they first introduced the love of dress among those plain
and frugal citizens.  After some stay here, they made a tour through
Somerset and Dorset to Hampshire, where they paid a visit to an uncle of
our hero’s living then at Dorchester, near Gosport, who was a clergyman
of distinguished merit and character; here they were received with great
politeness and hospitality, and abode a considerable time.

His uncle took this opportunity of making use of every argument to
persuade him to quit the community of the gipseys; but our hero was so
thoroughly fixed in his principles, that even that argument which
oftentimes convinces patriots in a few hours, that all they said and did
before was wrong, that kings have a divine right to grind the faces of
their subjects, and that power which lays its iron hand on Nabal’s goodly
vineyard, and says, “This is mine, for so I will,” is preferable to
heavenly liberty, which says to every man, “Possess what is thine own,
reap what thou hast sown, gather what thou hast planted, eat, drink, and
lie down secure;” even this powerful argument had no effect upon our
hero; for, though his uncle made him very lucrative offers for the
present, and future promises of making him heir of all his possessions,
yet remembering his engagements with the gipseys, he rejected them all;
and reflecting that he had long lived useless to that community, he began
to prepare for his departure from his uncle’s, in order to make some
incursions on the enemy.

To do this with more effect, he bethought himself of a new stratagem.  He
therefore equipped himself in a loose black gown, puts on a band, a large
white peruke, and a broad-brimmed hat;—his whole deportment was agreeable
to his dress;—his pace was solemn and slow, his countenance thoughtful
and grave, his eyes turned on the ground—but now and then raised in
seeming ejaculations to heaven: in every look and action he betrayed his
want, but at the same time seemed overwhelmed with that shame which
modest merit feels, when it is obliged to solicit the cold hand of
charity; this behaviour excited the curiosity of many gentlemen, clergy,
&c., to inquire into the circumstances of his misfortunes; but it was
with difficulty they could engage him to relate them, it being with much
seeming reluctance that he acquainted them with his having exercised for
many years the sacred office of a clergyman at Aberistwith, a parish in
Wales; but that the government changing, he had preferred quitting his
benefice, to taking an oath contrary to his principles and conscience.
This relation he accompanied with frequent sighs, deep marks of adoration
of the ways of Providence, and warm expressions of his firm trust and
reliance in its goodness and faithfulness, with high encomiums on the
inward satisfaction of a good conscience.  When he discoursed with any
clergyman, or other person of literature, he would now and then introduce
some Latin or Greek sentences, that were applicable to what they were
talking about, which gave his hearers a high opinion of his learning; all
this, and his thorough knowledge of those persons whom it was proper to
apply to, made this stratagem succeed even beyond his own expectations.
But now, hearing of a vessel bound to Philadelphia, on board of which
were many Quakers, being cast away on the coast of Ireland, he laid aside
his gown, cassock, and band, clothes himself in a plain suit, pulls the
button from his hat, and flaps it on every side; his countenance was now
demure, his language unadorned with any flowers of speech, and the words
You and Sir, he seemed to hold in abomination; his hat was moved to none,
for, though under misfortunes, he would not think of bowing the knee to
Baal.

With these qualifications, he addressed himself to persons of the
denomination of Quakers with great success (for indeed it is to be wished
that all other sects would imitate them in their readiness to relieve
their brethren); and hearing that there was to be a great meeting of them
from all parts, at a place called Thorncombe, in Devonshire, he makes the
best of his way there; and with a demure look and modest assurance enters
the assembly, where, making his case known, and satisfying them, by his
behaviour, of his being one of their sect, they made a very considerable
subscription for his relief.

So active was the mind of our hero, that he was never more happy than
when engaged in some adventure or other; therefore, when he had no
opportunity of putting any great stratagem in execution, he would amuse
himself with those which did not require so great a share of art and
ingenuity.  Whenever he heard of any melancholy accident by fire; he
immediately repaired to the place where it happened, and there, remarking
very accurately the spot, inquired into the cause of it, and getting an
exact information of the trades, characters, families, and circumstances
of the unhappy sufferers, he immediately assumed the person and name of
one of them; and burning some part of his coat and hat, as an ocular
demonstration of his narrow escape, he made the best of his way to places
at some distance, and there passed for one who had been burnt out; and to
gain credit, showed a paper signed with the names of several gentlemen in
the neighbourhood of the place where the fire happened, recommending him
as an honest unhappy sufferer, by which he got considerable sums.

Under this character, he had once the boldness to address Justice Hall,
of Exmouth, in Devon, the terror and professed enemy of every order of
the gipseys; however, our hero managed so artfully, though he went
through a strict examination, that he at last convinced his worship that
he was an honest miller, whose house, mill, and whole substance had been
consumed by fire, occasioned by the negligence of an apprentice boy, and
was accordingly relieved by the justice.

Coming one day to Squire Portman’s, at Brinson, near Blandford, in the
character of a famous rat-catcher, with a hairy cap upon his head, a buff
girdle about his waist, and a tame rat in a little box by his side, he
boldly marched up to the house in this disguise, though his person was
well known by the family, and meeting in the court with Mr. Portman, the
Rev. Mr. Bryant, and several other gentlemen whom he well knew, but did
not suspect he should be known by them, he accosted them as a
rat-catcher, asking if their Honours had any rats to kill.  Do you
understand your business well? replied Mr. Portman.  Yes, and please your
honour; I have followed it many years, and have been employed in his
majesty’s yards and ships.  Well, go in and get something to eat; and
after dinner we will try your abilities.

Our hero was accordingly placed at the second table to dinner, and very
handsomely entertained; after which he was called into a great parlour,
among a large company of gentlemen and ladies.  Well, honest Mr.
Rat-catcher, said Mr. Portman, can you lay any schemes to kill the rats,
without hurting my dogs?  Yes, boldly replied Mr. Carew, I shall lay it
where even cats can’t climb to reach it.  And what countryman are you,
pray?  A Devonshire man, please your honour.  What may be your name?  Our
hero now perceiving, by the smiles and whispering of the gentlemen, that
he was known, replied very composedly, B, a, m, p, f, y, l, d, e, M, o,
o, r, e, C, a, r, e, w.  This occasioned a good deal of mirth; and Mr.
Carew asking what scabby sheep had infected the whole flock? was told,
Parson Bryant was the man who had discovered him, none of the other
gentlemen knowing him under his disguise: upon which, turning to the
parson, he asked him if he had forgotten good king Charles’s rules?  Mr.
Pleydell, of St. Andrew’s, Milbourn, expressed a pleasure at seeing the
famous Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew, saying he had never seen him before.
Yes, but you have, replied he, and gave me a suit of clothes.  Mr.
Pleydell testified some surprise at this, and desired to know when it
was.  Mr. Carew asked him if he did not remember a poor wretch met him
one day at his stable-door with an old stocking round his head instead of
a cap, and a woman’s old ragged mantle on his shoulders, no shirt on his
back, nor stockings to his legs, and scarce any shoes on his feet; and
that he asked him if he was mad? to which he replied No; but a poor
unfortunate man, cast away on the coast, and taken up, with eight others,
by a Frenchman, the rest of the crew, sixteen in number, being all
drowned; and that Mr. Pleydell having asked what countryman he was, gave
him a guinea and a suit of clothes.  Mr. Pleydell said he well remembered
such a poor object.  Well, replied our hero, that object was no other
than the rat-catcher now before you: at which all the company laughed
very heartily.  Well, said Mr. Pleydell, I will bet a guinea I shall know
you again, come in what shape you will: the same said Mr. Seymour, of
Handford.  Some of the company asserting to the contrary of this, they
desired our hero to try his ingenuity upon them, and then to discover
himself, to convince them of it.

This being agreed upon, and having received a handsome contribution of
this company, he took his leave; but Parson Bryant followed him out, and
acquainted him that the same company, and many more, would be at Mr.
Pleydell’s on such a day, and advised him to make use of that opportunity
to deceive them all together; which our hero soon resolved to do.  He
therefore revolved in his mind what stratagem was most likely to succeed:
at length he fixed upon one, which he thought could not fail answering
his purpose.

When the day was come, the barber was called in to make his face as
smooth as his art could do, and a woman’s gown and other female
accoutrements of the largest size were provided for him.  Having jumped
into his petticoats, pinned a large dowde under his chin, and put a
high-crowned hat on his head, he made a figure so comical that even
Hogarth’s humour can scarcely parallel; yet our hero thought himself of
something else to render his disguise more impenetrable: he therefore
borrowed a little hump-backed child of a tinker, and two more of some
others of his community.  There remained now only in what situation to
place the children, and it was quickly resolved to tie two to his back,
and to take the other in his arms.

Thus accoutred, and thus hung with helpless infants, he marched forwards
for Mr. Pleydell’s; coming up to the door, he put his hand behind him,
and pinched one of the children, which set it a roaring; this gave the
alarm to the dogs, so that between their barking and the child’s crying,
the whole family was sufficiently disturbed.  Out came the maid, crying,
Carry away the children, old woman, they disturb the ladies.  God bless
their ladyships, I am the poor unfortunate grandmother to these poor
helpless infants, whose dear mother and all they had was burnt at the
dreadful fire at Kirton, and hope the good ladies, for God’s sake, will
bestow something on the poor famishing starving infants.  This moving
story was accompanied with tears; upon which, the maid ran in to acquaint
the ladies with this melancholy tale, while the good grandmother kept
pinching one or other of the children, that they might play their parts
to greater perfection; the maid soon returned with a half crown from the
ladies, and some good broth, which he went into the court-yard to eat,
(understanding the gentlemen were not in the house,) and got one of the
under-servants, whom he met, to give some to the children on his back.
He had not long been there, before the gentlemen all came in together,
who accosted him with, Where did you come from, my good old woman?  From
Kirton, please your honours, where the poor unfortunate mother of these
helpless babes was burnt to death by the flames, and all they had
consumed.

D---n you, said one of the gentlemen, (who is well known by the name of
Worthy Sir, and was particularly acquainted with Mr. Carew,) there has
been more money collected for Kirton than ever Kirton was worth; however,
he gave this good old grandmother a shilling, the other gentlemen
likewise relieved her, commiserating her age, and her burden of so many
helpless infants; not one of them discovering our hero in the old woman,
who received their alms very thankfully, and pretended to go away.

But the gentlemen were not got into the house before their ears were
saluted with a “tantivy, tantivy,” and halloo to the dogs, upon which
they turned about, supposing it to be some brother sportsman, but seeing
nobody, Worthy Sir swore the old woman they had relieved was Carew; a
servant therefore was dispatched to bring her back; and she was brought
into the parlour among the gentlemen, where, being examined, she
confessed herself to be the famous Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew, which made
the gentlemen very merry, and they were now all employed in untying the
children from his back, and observing the features and dress of this
grandmother, which afforded them sufficient entertainment.  They
afterwards rewarded our hero for the mirth he procured them.

In the same manner he raised a contribution of Mr. Jones, of Ashton near
Bristol, twice in one day, who had maintained, with a gentleman of his
acquaintance, that he could not be so deceived.  In the morning, with a
sooty face, leather apron, a dejected countenance, and a woollen cap, he
was generously relieved as an unfortunate blacksmith, whose all had been
consumed by fire: in the afternoon he exchanged his logs for crutches;
his countenance was now pale and sickly, his gestures very expressive of
pain, his complaints lamentable, a poor unfortunate tinner, disabled from
maintaining himself, a wife, and seven children, by the damps and
hardships he had suffered in the mines; and so well did he paint his
distress, that the disabled tinner was now as generously relieved as the
unfortunate blacksmith had been in the morning.

Being now near the city of Bath, where he had not long before made so
great a figure with his new married bride, he was resolved to visit it in
a very different shape and character; he therefore tied up one of his
legs behind him, and supplied its place with a wooden one, and putting on
a false beard, assumed the character of a poor old cripple.  In this
disguise he had an opportunity of entertaining himself with the different
receptions he met with from every order of men now, from what he had done
before in his fine rich clothes.  The rich, who before saluted him with
their hats and compliments, now spurned him out of their way; the
gamesters overlooked him, thinking he was no fish for their net; the
chairmen, instead of Please your honour, d---d him; and the pumpers, who
attentively marked his nod before, now denied him a glass of water.  Many
of the clergy, those disciples of humility, looked upon him with a
supercilious brow; the ladies too, who had before strove who should be
his partner at the balls, could not bear the sight of so shocking a
creature: thus despised is poverty and rags, though sometimes the veil of
real merit; and thus caressed and flattered is finery, though perhaps a
covering for shame, poverty of soul, and abandoned profligacy.  One
character alone vouchsafed to look upon this contemptible object; the
good man looked upon him with an eye melting into tenderness and soft
compassion, while at the same time the hand which was stretched out to
relieve him, showed the heart felt all the pangs which it supposed him to
feel.  But, notwithstanding the almost general contempt, he raised very
considerable contributions; for, as some tossed him money out of pride,
others to get rid of his importunity, and a few, as above, out of a good
heart, it amounted to no small sum by the end of the season.

It is almost unnecessary to inform the reader, that these successful
stratagems gained him high applause and honour in the company of the
gipseys: he soon became the favourite of their king, who was very old and
decrepid, and had always some honourable mark of distinction assigned him
at their public assemblies.  These honours and applauses were so many
fresh spurs to his ingenuity and industry; so certain it is, that
wherever those qualities are honoured, and publicly rewarded, though but
by an oaken garland, there industry will outwork itself, and ingenuity
will exceed the common bounds of art.  Our hero, therefore, was
continually planning new stratagems, and soon executed a very bold one on
his grace the Duke of Bolton.  Coming to his seat near Basingstoke, in
Hampshire, he dressed himself in a sailor’s ragged habit, and knocking at
the gate, desired of the porter, with a composed and assured countenance,
admittance to the duke, or at least that the porter would give his grace
a paper which he held in his hand; but, as he did not apply in a proper
manner to this great officer, (who we think may not improperly be styled
the turnkey of the gate) as he did not show him that passport which can
open every gate, pass by the surliest porter, and get admittance even to
kings, neither himself nor paper could gain any entrance.  However, he
was not disheartened with this, but waiting near the gate for some time,
he at last saw a servant come out, whom he followed, and, telling him
that he was a very unfortunate man, desired he would be so kind as to
introduce him where he might speak to his grace.  As this servant had no
interest in locking up his master, for that belonged to the porter only,
he very readily complied with his request, as soon as the porter was off
his stand; which he accordingly did, introducing him into a hall, where
the duke was to pass through soon.  He had not been long there before the
duke came in, upon which he clapped his knee to the ground, and very
graciously offered a paper to his hand for acceptance, which was a
petition, setting forth that the unfortunate petitioner, Bampfylde Moore
Carew, was supercargo of a large vessel that was cast away coming from
Sweden, in which were his whole effects, and none of which he had been
able to save.  The duke seeing the name of Bampfylde Moore Carew, and
knowing those names to belong to families of the greatest worth and note
in the west of England, inquired of what family he was, and how he became
entitled to those honourable names?  He replied, they were those of his
godfathers, the Honourable Hugh Bampfylde, and the Honourable Major
Moore.  The duke then asked him several questions about his friends and
relations, all of which he answers very fully; and the duke expressing
some surprise that he should apply for relief in his misfortunes to any
but his own family, who were so well able to assist him, he replied, he
had disobliged them by some follies in his youth, and had not seen them
for some years, but was now returning to them.  Many more questions did
the duke, and a lady who was present, ask him; all of which he answered
to their satisfaction.

As this was not a great while after his becoming a member of the
community of the gipseys, the duke had never heard that any of the noble
family of the Carews was become one of those people; and was very glad to
have it in his power to oblige any of that family; he therefore treated
him with respect, and called a servant to conduct him into an inner room,
where the duke’s barber waited on him to shave him.  Presently after came
in a footman, who brought in a good suit of trimmed clothes, a fine
Holland shirt, and all the other parts of dress suitable to these.  As
soon as he had finished dressing, he was introduced to the duke again,
who complimented him on his genteel appearance, and not without reason,
as few did more honour to dress.  He was now desired to sit down by the
duke, with whom were many other persons of quality, who were all greatly
taken with his person and behaviour, and very much condoled his
misfortunes; so that a collection was soon made for him to the amount of
ten guineas.  The duke, being engaged to go out in the afternoon, desired
him to stay there that night, and gave orders that he should be
handsomely entertained, leaving his gentleman to keep him company; but
Mr. Carew, probably not liking his company so well as the duke’s, took an
opportunity, soon after the duke was gone, to set out unobserved towards
Basingstoke, where he immediately went into a house which he knew was
frequented by some of his community.  The master of the house, who saw
him entering the door, cried out, Here’s his Grace the Duke of Bolton
coming in! upon which there was no small hurry amongst the company.  As
soon as he entered, he ordered the liquor to flow very plentifully at his
private cost; his brethren discovering who he was, were greatly amazed at
the appearance he made, so different from the usual custom of their
order; but when he had informed them fully of the bold stratagem he had
executed, the whole place resounded with applause, and every one
acknowledged he was the most worthy of succeeding their present good old
and respected king.

As our hero’s thoughts were bent on making still greater advantage of his
stratagem, he did not stay long with his brethren, but went to a
reputable inn, where he lodged, and set out the next morning for
Salisbury; here he presented his petition to the mayor, bishop, and other
gentlemen of great note and fortune, (applying to none but such who were
so,) and acquainted them with the favours he had received from his grace
the Duke of Bolton.  The gentlemen, having such ocular demonstration of
the duke’s great liberality, treated him with great complaisance and
respect, and relieved him very generously, not presuming to offer any
small alms to one whom the Duke of Bolton had thought so worthy of his
notice.  In the same manner, and with the same success, he visited Lord
Arundel, Sir Edward Bouverie, and many other gentlemen in the counties of
Wilts, Dorset, and Somerset.  Coming into Devonshire, his native country,
he visited all his friends and most intimate acquaintance in that part,
and was relieved by them, not one of them discovering this unfortunate
supercargo to be Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew.  Being one morning near the
seat of his friend Sir William Courtney, he was resolved to pay him three
visits that day: he went therefore to a house frequented by his order,
and there pulled off his fine clothes, and put on a parcel of rags; in
this dress he moved towards Sir William’s: there, with a piteous moan, a
dismal countenance, and a deplorable tale, he got half-a-crown of that
gentleman, as a man who had met with misfortunes at sea; at noon he put
on a leather apron, a coat which seemed scorched by the fire, with a
dejected countenance applied again, and was relieved as an unfortunate
shoemaker, who had been burned out of his house, and all he had; in the
afternoon he went again in his trimmed clothes, and desiring admittance
to Sir William, with a modest grace and submissive eloquence he repeated
his misfortunes as the supercargo of a vessel which had been cast away,
and his whole effects lost, at the same time mentioning the kindness he
had received from his grace the Duke of Bolton.  Sir William, seeing his
genteel appearance and behaviour, treated him with that respect which the
truly great will always pay to those who supplicate their assistance, and
generously relieved him, presenting him with a guinea at his departure.
There happened to be at that time a great number of the neighbouring
gentlemen and clergy at dinner with Sir William, not one of whom
discovered who this supercargo was, except the Reverend Mr. Richards, who
did not make it known till he was gone; upon which Sir William dispatched
a servant after him, to desire him to come back.  When he entered the
room again, Sir William and the rest of the company were very merry with
him, and he was desired to sit down and give them an account by what
stratagem he had got all his finery, and what success he had with it,
which he did; after which he asked Sir William if he had not bestowed
half-a-crown that morning on a beggar, and at noon relieved a poor
unfortunate shoemaker.  I remember, replied Sir William, that I bestowed
such alms on a poor ragged wretch.  Well, said Mr. Carew, that ragged
wretch was no other than the supercargo now before you.  Sir William
scarcely crediting this, Mr. Carew withdrew, and putting on the same
rags, came again with the same piteous moan, dismal countenance, and
deplorable tale, as he had done in the morning, which fully convinced Sir
William that he was the same man, and occasioned much diversion in the
company; he was however introduced again, and seated among them in his
rags; Sir William being one of the few who pay a greater regard to the
man than the dress, can discern and support merit under rags, and despise
poverty of soul and worthlessness in embroidery; but, notwithstanding the
success of this stratagem, our hero always looked upon it as one of the
most unfortunate in his whole life; for, after he had been at Sir
William’s, as above-mentioned, coming to Stoke Gabriel, near Totness, on
a Sunday, and having done that which discovered the nakedness of Noah, he
went to the Reverend Mr. Osburn, the minister of the parish, and
requested the thanksgivings of the church for the wonderful preservation
of himself, and the whole ship’s crew, in the imminent danger of a
violent tempest of thunder and lightning, which destroyed the vessel they
were aboard of.  Though Mr. Osburn knew him very well, yet he had no
suspicion of its being him in disguise, therefore readily granted his
request; and not only so, but recommending him to his parishioners, a
handsome collection was made for him by the congregation, which he had
generosity enough to distribute among the poor of the parish, reserving
but a small part to himself.  Though this was bringing good out of evil,
he still speaks of it (after above thirty years lapse since the
commission) with the greatest regret and compunction of mind; for he is
sensible, that though he can deceive man, he cannot deceive God, whose
eyes penetrate into every place, and mark all our actions, and who is a
Being too awful to be jested with.

It was about this time the good old king of the mendicants, named Clause
Patch, well known in the city of London, and most parts of England,
finished a life of true glory, being spent in promoting the welfare of
his people.  A little before his death, finding the decays of nature
increase every day, and his final dissolution approach, he called
together all his children, to the number of eighteen, and summoned as
many of his subjects as were within a convenient distance, being willing
that the last spark of his life should go out in the service of his
people; this summons was obeyed with heavy hearts by his loving subjects,
and, at the day and place appointed, a great number assembled together.

The venerable old king was brought in a high chair, and placed in the
midst of them, his children standing next to him, and his subjects behind
them.  Reader, if thou hast ever seen that famous picture of Seneca
bleeding to death in the bath, with his friends and disciples standing
round him, then mayest thou form some idea of this assembly: such was the
lively grief, such the profound veneration, such the solemn attention
that appeared in every countenance; but we can give thee no adequate idea
of the inward joy which the good old king felt at his seeing such
unfeigned marks of love in his subjects, which he considered as so many
testimonies of his own virtues; for, certain it is that, when kings are
fathers of their people, their subjects will have for them more than the
filial love or veneration of sons.  The mind of man cannot conceive any
thing so august, as that of a king beloved by his subjects.  Could kings
but taste this pleasure at their first mounting the throne, instead of
drinking of the intoxicating cup of power, we should see them considering
their subjects as children, and themselves the fathers, to nourish,
instruct, and provide for them as a flock, and themselves the shepherds
to bring them to pleasant pastures, refreshing streams, and secure folds;
for some time the king of the mendicants sat contemplating these emotions
of his subjects, then bending forward, thus addressed them:—

“Children and friends, or rather may I call you all my children, as I
regard you all with a parental love, I have taken you from your daily
employments, that you may all eat and drink with me before I die.  I am
not courtier enough yet, however, to make my favours an honest loss to my
friends; but, before you depart, the book shall be examined, and every
one of you shall receive from my privy purse, the same sum that you made
by your business this day of the last week.  Let not this honest act of
generosity displease my heirs; it is the last waste I shall make of their
stores: the rest of what I die possessed of is theirs by right, but my
counsel, though directed to them only, shall be of public good to all.
The good success, my dear children, with which it has pleased heaven to
bless my industry in this our calling, has given me the power of
bestowing one hundred pounds on each of you, a small, but improvable
fortune, and of most use, as it is a proof that every one of you may gain
as much as the whole, if your own idleness or vice prevent it not;—mark
by what means!  Our community, like people of other professions, live
upon the necessities, the passions, or the weaknesses of their
fellow-creatures.  The two great passions of the human breast are vanity
and pity; both these have great power in men’s actions, but the first the
greater far; and he who can attract these the most successfully, will
gain the largest fortune.

“There was a time when rules for doing this were of more worth to me than
gold; but now I am grown old, my strength and senses fail me, and I am
past being an object of compassion.  A real scene of affliction moves few
hearts to pity: dissembled wretchedness is what most reaches the human
mind, and I am past dissembling.  Take therefore among you, the maxims I
have laid down for my own guide, and use them with as much success as I
have done.

“Be not less friends because you are brothers, or of the same profession:
the lawyers herd together in their inns, the doctors in their college,
the mercers on Ludgate-hill, and the old clothes-men in Monmouth-street:
what one has not among these another has; and among you the heart of him
who is not moved by one lamentable object, will probably be so by
another; and that charity which was half awakened by the first, will
relieve a second, or a third.  Remember this, and always people a whole
street with objects skilled in scenes of different distress, placed at
proper distances: the tale that moves not one heart, may surprise the
next,—the obdurate passer-by of the first must be made of no human matter
if he feels no part of the distress that twenty different tales have
heaped together; and be assured, that where it is touched with a kindred
misfortune, it will bestow.

“Remember, that where one gives out of pity to you, fifty give out of
kindness to themselves, to rid them of your troublesome application; and
for one that gives out of real compassion, five hundred do it out of
ostentation.  On these principles, trouble people most who are most busy,
and ask relief where many see it given, and you’ll succeed in your
attempt.  Remember that the streets were made for people to walk, and not
to converse in: keep up their ancient use; and whenever you see two or
three gathered together, be you amongst them, and let them not hear the
sound of their own voices till they have bought off the noise of yours.
When self-love is thus satisfied, remember social virtue is the next
duty, and tell your next friend where he may go and obtain the same
relief, by the same means.

“Trouble not yourselves about the nobility: prosperity has made them vain
and insensible: they cannot pity what they cannot feel.

“The talkers in the street are to be tolerated on different conditions,
and at different prices; if they are tradesmen, their conversation will
soon end, and may be well paid for by a halfpenny: if an inferior clings
to the skirt of a superior, he will give twopence rather than be pulled
off; and when you are happy enough to meet a lover and his mistress,
never part with them under sixpence, for you may be sure they will never
part from one another.

“So much regards communities of men; but when you hunt single, the great
game of all is to be played.  However much you ramble in the day, be sure
to have some street near your home, where your chief residence is, and
all your idle time is spent, for the night.  Here learn the history of
every family, and whatever has been the latest calamity; of that provide
a brother or a sister that may pretend the same.  If the master of one
house has lost a son, let your eldest brother attack his compassion on
that tender side, and tell him he has lost the sweetest, hopefullest, and
dutifullest child, that was his only comfort: what would the answer be,
but, aye, poor fellow! I know how to pity thee in that; and a shilling be
in as much haste to fly out of his pocket as the first tear from his eye.

“Is the master of a second house sick? waylay his wife from morning till
night, and tell her you will pray, morning, noon, and night for his
recovery.  If he dies, grief is the reigning passion for the first
fortnight, let him have been what he would: grief leads naturally to
compassion, so let your sister thrust a pillow under her coats, tell her
she is a poor disconsolate widow, left with seven small children, and
that she lost the best husband in the world; and you may share
considerable gains.

“Whatever people seem to want, give it them largely in your address to
them: call the beau Sweet Gentleman, bless even his coat or perriwig, and
tell him they are happy ladies where he is going.  If you meet with a
schoolboy-captain, such as our streets are full of, call him Noble
General; and if the miser can be any way got to strip himself of a
farthing, it will be by the name of Charitable Sir.

“Some people show you in their looks the whole thoughts of their heart,
and give you a fine notice how to succeed with them: if you meet a
sorrowful countenance with a red coat, be sure the wearer is a disbanded
officer: let a female always attack him, and tell him she is the widow of
a poor marine, who had served twelve years, and then broke his heart
because he was turned out without a penny; if you see a plain man hang
down his head as he comes out of some nobleman’s gate, say to him, Good
worthy sir, I beg your pardon, but I am a poor ruined tradesman, that
once was in a good business, but the great people would not pay me.  And
if you see a pretty woman with a dejected look, send your sister that is
at hand, to complain to her of a bad husband, that gets drunk and beats
her; that runs to whores, and has spent all her substance: there are but
two things that can make a handsome woman melancholy: the having a bad
husband, or the having no husband at all; if the first of these is the
case, one of the former crimes will touch her to the quick, and loosen
the strings of her purse; in the other, let a second distressed object
tell her she was to have been married well, but that her lover died a
week before; one way or other the tender heart of the female will be
melted, and the reward will be handsome.  If you meet a homely, but
dressed-up lady, pray for her lovely face, and beg a penny; if you see a
mark of delicacy by the drawing up of the nose, send somebody to show her
a sore leg, a scalded head, or a rupture.  If you are happy enough to
fall in with a tender husband leading his big wife to church, send
companions that have but one arm, or two thumbs, or tell her of some
monstrous child you have brought forth, and the good man will pay you to
be gone, if he gives slightly, it is but following, getting before the
lady, and talking louder, and you may depend upon his searching his
pocket to better purpose a second time.  There are many more things of
which I have to speak, but my feeble tongue will not hold out.  Profit by
these: they will be found sufficient, and if they prove to you, my
children, what they have been to me these eighteen years, I shall not
repine at my dissolution.”

Here he paused for some time, being almost spent: then, recovering his
voice and spirits, he thus began again: “As I find the lamp of life is
not quite extinguished, I shall employ the little that remains in saying
a few words of my public conduct as your king.  I call heaven to witness,
that I have loved you all with a paternal love: these now feeble limbs
and broken spirits have been worn out in providing for your welfare, and
often have these dim eyes watched while you have slept, with a father’s
care for your safety.  I call you all to witness that I have kept an
impartial register of your actions, and no merit has passed unnoticed.  I
have, with a most exact hand, divided to every man his due portion of our
common stock, and have had no worthless favourite nor useless officer to
eat the honey of your labour.  And for all these I have had my reward, in
seeing the happiness, and having the love of all my subjects.  I depart,
therefore, in peace, to rest from my labours; it remains only that I give
you my last advice, which is, that in choosing my successor, you pay no
partial regard to my family, but let him only that is most worthy rule
over you.”  He said no more, but, leaning back in his chair, died without
a sigh.

Never was there a scene of more real distress, or more unfeigned grief,
than now appeared among his children and subjects.  Nothing was heard but
sighs and exclamations for their loss.  When the first transports of
their grief were over, they sent the sorrowful news to all the houses
that were frequented by their community in every part of the kingdom; at
the same time summoning them to repair to the city of London on a certain
day, in order to proceed to the election of a new king.

Before the day appointed for the election a vast concourse of mendicants
flocked from all parts of the kingdom to the city of London; for every
member of the community has a right to vote in the choice of their king,
as they think it inconsistent with that of natural liberty, which every
man is born heir to, to deny any one the privilege of making his own
choice in a matter of so great importance.

Here, reader, as thou wilt be apt to judge from what thou hast seen, thou
already expectest a scene of riot and debauchery; to see the candidates
servilely cringing, meanly suing, and basely bribing the electors,
depriving themselves of sense and reason, and selling more than Esau did
for a mess of pottage; for, what is birthright, what is inheritance, when
put in the scale against that choicest blessing, public liberty!  O,
Liberty! thou enlivener of life, thou solace of toils, thou patron of
virtue, thou encourager of industry, thou spring of justice, thou
something more than life, beyond the reach of fancy to describe, all
hail!  It is thou that beamest the sunshine in the patriot’s breast; it
is thou that sweetenest the toil of the labouring mechanic! thou dost
inspire the ploughman with his jocund mirth, and thou tunest the merry
milk-maid’s song; thou canst make the desert smile, and the barren rock
to sing for joy; by thy sacred protection the poorest peasant lies secure
under the shadow of his defenceless cot, whilst oppression at a distance
gnashes with her teeth, but dares not show her iron rod; and power, like
the raging billows, dashes its bounds with indignation, but dares not
overpass them.  But where thou art not, how changed the scene! how
tasteless, how irksome labour! how languid industry!  Where are the
beauteous rose, the gaudy tulip, the sweet-scented jessamine? where the
purple grape, the luscious peach, the glowing nectarine? wherefore smile
not the valleys with their beauteous verdure, nor sing for joy with their
golden harvest?  All are withered by the scorching sun of lawless power!
Where thou art not, what place so sacred as to be secure? or who can say,
this is my own!  This is the language only of the place where thou
delightest to dwell; but, as soon as thou spreadest thy wings to some
more pleasing clime, power walks abroad with haughty strides, and
tramples upon the weak, whilst oppression, with its heavy hand, bows down
the unwilling neck to the yoke.  O, my Country! alas, my Country! thou
wast once the chosen seat of liberty; her footsteps appeared in thy
streets, thy palaces, thy public assemblies: she exulted in thee: her
voice, the voice of joy and gladness was heard throughout the land: with
more than a mother’s love she held forth her seven-fold shield to protect
thee, the meanest of her sons; whilst justice, supported by law, rode
triumphant by her side with awful majesty, and looked into fear and
trembling every disturber of the public quiet.  O, thou whom my soul
loveth, wherefore dost thou sit dejected, and hidest thy face all the day
long?  Canst thou ask the reason of my grief?  See, see, my generous
hardy sons are become foolish, indolent, effeminate, thoughtless; behold,
how with their own hands they have loaded me with shackles: alas! hast
thou not seen them take the rod from my beloved sister, Justice, and give
it to the sons of blood and rapine?  Yet a little while I mourn over lost
and degenerate sons, and then with hasty flight fix my habitation in some
more happy clime.

Though the community of the gipseys at other times give themselves up to
mirth and jollity with perhaps too much licence, yet nothing is reckoned
more infamous and shameful amongst them than to appear intoxicated during
the time of an election, and it very rarely happens that any of them are
so, for they reckon it a choice of so much importance, that they cannot
exert in it too much judgment, prudence, and wisdom; they therefore
endeavour to have their faculties strong, lively, penetrating, and clear
at that time.  Their method of election is different from that of most
other people, though, perhaps, it is the best contrived of any, and
attended with the fewest inconveniences.  We have already observed, that
none but those who have long been members of the community, are well
acquainted with the institution of it, and have signalized themselves by
some remarkable actions, are permitted to offer themselves as candidates.
These are obliged, ten days before the election, to fix up in some place
of their public resort an account of those actions, upon the merit of
which they found their pretensions of becoming candidates; to which they
must add their opinions on liberty, and the office and duties of a king.
They must, during these ten days, appear every day at the place of
election, that their electors may have an opportunity of forming some
judgment from the lineaments and prognostics of their countenance.  A few
days before the election, a little white ball, and as many black ones as
with the white one will equal the number of candidates, are given to each
elector.

When the day of election is come, as many boxes are placed as there are
candidates, with the name of the particular candidate written on the box
which is appropriated to him; these boxes are quite closed, except a
little opening at the top, which is every night, during the election,
locked up under the keys and seals of each candidate, and of six of the
most venerable old men in the community; it is in the little opening at
the top of these boxes, that the elector puts in the little ball we have
just now mentioned; at the same time he puts his white ball into the box
of the candidate whom he chooses to be his king, he puts a black ball
into the boxes of all the other candidates; and when they have all done
so, the boxes are broken open, and the balls counted in presence of all
the candidates, and of as many electors as choose it, by the old men
above mentioned; and he who has the greatest number of white balls is
always duly chosen.  By this means no presiding officer has it in his
power to make one more than two, which sometimes happens in the elections
amongst other communities, who do not use this form.  There are other
innumerable advantages attending this manner of election, and it is
likely to preserve public liberty the longest; for, first, as the
candidates are obliged to fix up publicly an account of those actions
upon the merit of which they become candidates, it deters any but those
who are truly worthy from offering themselves; and, as the sentiments
which each of them gives upon public liberty, and the duty and office of
a king, is immediately entered in their public register, it stands as a
public witness against, and a check upon that candidate who is chosen, to
deter him from a change of sentiments and principles; for, though in some
countries this is known to have little effect, and men have on a sudden,
without any alteration in the nature of things, shamelessly espoused
those principles and sentiments, which they had vehemently all their life
before opposed, yet in this community, where there is so high a sense of
honour and shame kept up, it must necessarily be none of the least
binding obligations.  Secondly, by this method of balloting, or giving
their votes by balls, the elector’s choice is more free and unbiassed;
for, as none but himself can know the candidate he gives his white ball
to, there can be no influence of fear, interest, ties of blood, or any
other cause, to oblige him to give his vote contrary to his judgment;
even bribes, if they were known amongst these people, would lose their
effect under this method of voting; because few candidates would choose
to bribe, when they could have no security or knowledge whether the
bribed elector might have put a black ball instead of a white one into
his box.

Our hero was now one of the candidates, and exhibited to the electors so
long a list of bold and ingenious stratagems which he had executed, and
made so graceful and majestic an appearance in his person, that he had a
considerable majority of white balls in his box, though there were ten
candidates for the same honour; upon which he was declared duly elected,
and hailed by the whole assembly, King of the Mendicants.  The public
register of their actions being immediately committed to his care, and
homage done him by all the assembly, the whole concluded with great
feasting and rejoicing, and the electors sang the following ode:

    I.

    Cast your nabs {58a} and cares away,
    This is Maunders’ holiday;
    In the world look out and see,
    Where so blest a king as he! {58b}

    II.

    At the crowning of our king,
    Thus we ever dance and sing;
    Where’s the nation lives so free,
    And so merrily as we!

    III.

    Be it peace, or be it war,
    Here at liberty we are:
    Hang all Harmenbecks, {58c} we cry,
    We the Cuffin Queres {58d} defy.

    IV.

    We enjoy our ease and rest,
    To the field we are not press’d;
    And when taxes are increased,
    We are not a penny sess’d.

    V.

    Nor will any go to law
    With a Maunder {58e} for a straw;
    All which happiness, he brags,
    Is only owing to his rags.

Though Mr. Carew was now privileged by the dignity of his office from
going out on any cruise, and was provided with every thing necessary, by
joint contributions of the community, yet he did not give himself up to
the slow poison of the mind, indolence, which, though its operations are
imperceptible, is more hurtful and fatal than any of the quicker
passions; for we often see great virtues break through the cloud of other
vices, but indolence is a standing corrupted pool, which always remains
in the same state, unfit for every purpose.  Our hero, therefore,
notwithstanding the particular privilege of his office, was as active in
his stratagems as ever, and ready to encounter any difficulties which
seemed to promise success, of which the following is an instance.

Happening to be in the parish of Fleet, near Portland Race, in
Dorsetshire, he happened to hear in the evening of a ship in imminent
danger of being cast away, she having been driven on some shoals.  Early
in the morning, before it was well light, he pulled off his clothes,
which he flung into a deep pit, and then unseen by any one swam to the
vessel, which now parted asunder; he found only one of the crew alive,
who was hanging by his hands on the side of the vessel, the rest being
either washed overboard, or drowned in attempting to swim to the shore.
Never was there a more piteous object than this poor wretch hanging
between life and death; Mr. Carew immediately offered him his assistance
to get him to shore, at the same time inquiring the name of the vessel,
and her master, what cargo on board, whence she came, and whither bound.

The poor wretch replied, she belonged to Bristol, captain Griffin,
master, came from Hamburg, was bound to Bristol with a cargo of Hamburg
goods, and had seven men and a boy on board; at the same time our hero
was pressing him to let go his hold, and commit himself to his care, and
he would endeavour to swim with him to shore: but, when the danger is so
imminent, and death stands before our eyes, it is no easy matter to be
persuaded to quit the weakest stay; thus the poor wretch hesitated so
long before he would quit his hold of the vessel, that a large sea broke
upon the wreck, and overwhelmed him in the great deep.  Mr. Carew was in
no little danger, but, being an excellent swimmer, he with great
difficulty got to shore, though not without hurt, the sea throwing him
with great violence on the beach, whereby one of his arms was wounded.  By
this time a great number of spectators were gathered on the strand, who
rejoiced to see Mr. Carew come ashore alive, supposing him to be one of
the poor wretches belonging to the ship.  Naked, spent with fatigue, and
wounded, he raised a feeling of pity in all the spectators; for, so
strongly is this tender passion connected with our frame by the
beneficent Author of Nature, to promote the assistance of each other,
that, no sooner does the eye see a deplorable object, than the heart
feels it, and as quickly forces the hand to relieve it; so that those
whom the love of money, for we think that the greatest opposite to pity,
has rendered unfeeling of another’s woes, are said to have no hearts, or
hearts of stone; as we naturally conclude no one can be void of that soft
and Godlike passion—pity, but either one who by some cause or other
happens to be made up without a heart, or one in whom continual droppings
of self-love or avarice have quite changed the nature of it; which, by
the most skilful anatomist, is allowed in its natural state to be fleshy,
soft, and tender; but has been found, without exception, upon inspection
into the bodies of several money lovers, to be nothing but a callous
stony substance, from which the chemists, by most intense fires, have
been able to extract nothing but a _caput mortuum_, or an earthy, dry,
useless powder.

Amongst the spectators of Mr. Carew, was the housekeeper of Madam Mohun,
in the parish of Fleet, who had a heart made of the softest substance;
for she immediately, agreeable to the beneficent precepts of the gospel,
pulled off her own cloak to give to him that had none: and, like the good
Samaritan, giving him a handkerchief to bind up his wounds, bid him
follow her, and led him to her mistress’s house, where, placing him
before a good fire, she gave him two large glasses of brandy, with loaf
sugar in it; then bringing him a shirt and other apparel, she went up
stairs and acquainted Madam Mohun, her venerable mistress, in the most
feeling manner, with the whole affair.

Here, could we hope our work would last to future ages, we might
immortalize this generous woman.—Her mistress was so affected with her
relation, that she immediately ordered a warm bed to be prepared for the
poor wretch, and that he should be taken great care of, which was
accordingly soon done, and Mr. Carew lay very quiet for three or four
hours; then waking, he seemed to be very much disturbed in his mind; his
talk was incoherent, his groans moving, and he tossed from one side of
the bed to the other, but seemed to find ease in none: the good people
seeing him so uneasy in bed, brought him a good suit of clothes, and he
got up.  Being told the bodies of some of his shipmates were flung up by
the sea on the shore, he seemed greatly affected, and the tears dropped
from his eyes.  Having received from Justice Farwell, who happened to be
there, ill of the gout, a guinea and a pass for Bristol, and considerable
contributions from the great number of people who flocked to see him, to
the amount of nine or ten pounds, he expressed an inclination of making
the best of his way to Bristol: and the good Justice Farwell lent him his
own horse to ride as far as the town of Dorchester, and the parson of the
parish sent his man to show him the way.

Mr. Carew would have been gladly excused from going through Dorchester,
as he had appeared there but four or five days before in the character of
a broken miller, and had thereby raised a contribution of the mayor and
corporation of that place; but as it lay in the direct road to Bristol,
and he was attended by a guide, he could not possibly avoid it.  As soon
as they came there, his guide presented the pass in behalf of Mr. Carew
to the mayor, who thereupon ordered the town-bell to be rung, and
assembled the heads of the corporation.  Though he had been so lately
with them, yet, being now in a quite different dress, and a pass which
they knew to be signed by Justice Farwell, and the guide testifying that
he was an unfortunate shipwrecked seaman, escaped from the most imminent
danger, they had no notion of his being the broken miller who had been
with them a few days before; they therefore treated him with great
humanity, and relieved him very generously.  After this, the guide took
his leave of him with a great many good wishes for his safe arrival at
Bristol; but Mr. Carew, instead of pursuing his way thither, steered his
course towards Devonshire, and raised contributions by the way, as a
shipwrecked seaman, on Colonel Brown of Framton, Squire Trenchard, and
Squire Falford of Tolla, Colonel Broadrip, Colonel Mitchell, and Squire
Richards of Long Britty, and several other gentlemen.

It was not long after this, that, being in the city of Bristol, he put in
execution a very bold and ingenious stratagem.  Calling to mind one Aaron
Cook, a trader of considerable worth and note, at St. John’s in
Newfoundland, whom he resembled both in person and speech, he resolved to
be the son of Aaron Cook for some time; he therefore went upon the
Tolsey, and other places of public resort for the merchants of Bristol,
and there modestly acquainted them with his name, as well as his
misfortunes; that he was born and lived all his life at St. John’s in
Newfoundland; that he was bound for England, in the Nicholas, Captain
Newman; which vessel springing a leak, they were obliged to quit her, and
were taken up by an Irishman, Patrick Pore, and by him carried into
Waterford; whence he had got passage, and landed at King’s Road; that his
business in England was to buy provisions and fishing craft, and to see
his relations, who lived in the parish of Cockington, near Torbay, where,
he said, his father was born.

Captains Elton, Galloway, Masters, Thomas, Turner, and several other
Newfoundland traders, many of whom personally knew his pretended father
and mother, asked him many questions about the family, their usual place
of fishing, &c., particularly if he remembered how the quarrel happened
at his father’s (when he was but a boy) which was of so unhappy a
consequence to Governor Collins?  Mr. Carew very readily replied, that
though he was then very young, he remembered that the governor, the
parson and his wife, Madam Short, Madam Bengy, Madam Brown, and several
other women of St. John’s, having met together, and feasting at his
father’s, a warm dispute happened among the men in the heat of liquor,
concerning the virtue of women, the governor obstinately averring that
there was not one honest woman in all Newfoundland.  What think you then
of my wife? said the parson.  The same as I do of all other women, all
whores alike, answered the governor roughly.  Hereupon the women, not
able to bear this gross aspersion on their honour, with one accord
attacked the governor, who, being overpowered by their fury, could not
defend his face from being disfigured by their nails, nor his clothes
from being torn off his back; and what was much worse, the parson’s wife
thinking herself most injured, cut the hamstring of his leg with a knife,
which rendered him a cripple his whole life after.

This circumstantial account, which was in every point exactly as the
affair happened, and many other questions concerning the family which the
captains asked him, and he as readily answered, (having got every
particular information concerning them when in Newfoundland,) fully
convinced them that he must really be the son of their good old friend
Mr. Aaron Cook; they therefore not only very generously relieved him, but
offered to lend him any moderate sum, to be paid again in Newfoundland,
the next fishing season; but Mr. Carew had too high a sense of honour to
abuse their generosity so far; he therefore excused himself from
accepting their offer, by saying he would be furnished with as much as he
should have occasion for, by merchant Pemm of Exeter.  They then took him
with them to Guildhall, recommending him to the benevolence of the mayor
and corporation, testifying he was a man of reputable family in
Newfoundland.  Here a very handsome collection was made for him; and the
circumstances of his misfortunes becoming public, many other respectable
ladies and gentlemen gave him that assistance according to their
abilities, which is always due to unfortunate strangers.  Three days did
the captains detain him by their civilities in Bristol, showing him all
the curiosities and pleasures of the place to divert his melancholy.  He
then set out for Cockington, where his relations lived, and Bridgewater
being on his road, he had a letter, from one of the Bristol captains, to
Captain Drake in that place.

As soon as he came to Bridgewater, he went directly to the mayor’s house,
and knocking at the gate, it was opened to him by madam mayoress, to whom
he related his misfortune; and the good lady, pitying him as an
unfortunate stranger, so far distant from his home, gave him
half-a-crown, and engaged her daughter, a child, to give him a shilling.

We cannot pass by this amiable lady, without paying her the due tribute
of praise; for tenderness and compassion ought to be the peculiar
ornament of every female breast; and it were to be wished that every
parent would betimes, like this good lady, instil into their children a
tender sense of humanity, and feeling for another’s woes, they would by
this means teach them the enjoyment of the most godlike and pleasing of
all other pleasures, that of relieving the distressed; and would
extinguish that sordid selfish spirit, which is the blot of humanity.
The good lady not content with what she had already done, ushered him
into the room, where her husband, an aged gentleman, was writing; to whom
she related Mr. Cook’s misfortunes in as moving a manner as she was able;
the old gentleman laid aside his spectacles, and asked him several
questions, then dispatched his servant into the town, who soon returned
with two Newfoundland captains, one of whom happened to be Captain Drake,
to whom our hero had a letter of recommendation given him by one of the
Bristol captains; and the other Captain Morris, whose business having
called him to Bristol, he had there been already informed by the captains
of the circumstances of Mr. Cook’s misfortunes; and he repeating the same
now to the mayor, Captain Morris confirmed this relation, told them how
he had been treated at Bristol, and made him a present of a guinea and a
greatcoat, it being then very rainy weather; Captain Drake likewise gave
him a guinea, for both these gentlemen perfectly well knew Mr. Cook’s
father and mother; the mayor likewise made him a present, and entertained
him very hospitably in his house.

In the same character he visited Sir Haswell Tent, and several other
gentlemen, raising considerable contributions.

This activity and ingenuity of their new king was highly agreeable to the
community of the mendicants, and his applauses resounded at all their
meetings; but, as fortune delights to change the scene, and of a sudden
to depress those she had most favoured, we come now to relate the
misfortunes of our hero, though we know not whether we should call them
by that name or not, as they gave him a large field of action, and
greater opportunities of exercising the more manly virtues—courage and
intrepidity in dangers.

Going one day to pay a visit to Mr. Robert Incledon, at Barnstaple in
Devon, (in an ill hour which his knowledge could not foresee,) knocking
at the door softly, it was, opened to him by the clerk, with the common
salutation of How do you do, Mr. Carew? where have you been?  He readily
replied, that he was making a visit to Squire Bassar, and in his return
had called to pay his respects to Mr. Incledon.

The clerk very civilly asked him to walk in; but no sooner had he entered
than the door was shut upon him by Justice Leithbridge, a very bitter
enemy to the whole community of mendicants, who concealed himself behind
it, and Mr. Carew was made a prisoner;—so sudden are the vicissitudes of
life; and misfortunes spring as it were out of the earth.

Thus suddenly and unexpectedly fell the mighty Cæsar, the master of the
world; and just so affrighted Priam looked when the shade of Hector drew
his curtains, and told him that his Troy was taken.

The reader will, undoubtedly, be at a loss to comprehend why he was thus
seized upon, contrary to the laws of hospitality; it is therefore our
business to inform him, that he had, some time before this, in the shape
of a poor lame cripple, frightened either the justice or his horse on
Hilton bridge; but which of the two it was, cannot be affirmed with any
certainty.  However, the justice vowed a dire revenge, and now exulted
greatly at having got him in his power; fame had no sooner sounded with
her hundred prattling tongues that our hero was in captivity, but the
justice’s house was crowded with intercessors for him:—however, Justice
Leithbridge was deaf to all, and even to the entreaties of
beauty,—several ladies being likewise advocates for him; whether it was
that the justice was past that age when love shoots his darts with most
success, or whether his heart was always made of that unmalleable stuff
which is quite unassailable by love, or by his cousin-german, pity, we
cannot well determine.

Amongst the rest who came to see him, were some captains of collier
vessels, whom the justice espying, very probably taking some disgust at
their countenances, demanded who they were, and immediately discharging
the guard which had been before placed over Mr. Carew, charged the
captains with the care of him, though they affirmed their vessels were to
sail the next tide; however the justice paying as little regard to their
allegations as he had done to their petitions for Mr. Carew, they found
they had no other hope but from the good-natured dame—Patience; a good
woman, who is always ready to render our misfortunes less, and was, in
all his adventures, a great friend to our hero.

At length a warrant was made out for conveying him to Exeter, and lodging
him in one of the securest places in that city; but, as it was now too
late to set forward on their journey that night, they were ordered to a
public house at Barnstaple; and the justice remembering the old proverb,
“fast bind, fast find,” would fain have locked the door of the room where
Mr. Carew was, and taken the key with him; but the honest landlord
offering to become security for his appearance in the morning, the
justice was at last persuaded to be content without a jailor.

Mr. Carew, notwithstanding his situation, was not cast down, but bravely
opposed his ill fortune with his usual courage, and passed the night with
great cheerfulness in the company of the collier captains, who were his
guard.

The next day Mr. Carew was conducted to Exeter, without any thing
remarkable happening on the road; here, to his great annoyance, he was
securely lodged for upwards of two months, before he was brought to trial
at the quarter sessions, held at the castle, when Justice Bevis was
chairman; but that awful appearance,

                   The judges all met—a terrible show,

did not strike any terror into his breast; though loaded with chains, he
preserved his usual firmness of mind, and saluted the court with a noble
assurance.  Being asked by the chairman what parts of the world he had
been in? he answered Denmark, Sweden, Muscovy, France, Spain, Portugal,
Newfoundland, Ireland, Wales, and some parts of Scotland.  The chairman
then told him he must proceed to a hotter country:—he inquired into what
climate, and being told Merryland, he with great composure made a
critical observation on the pronunciation of that word, implying, that he
apprehended it ought to be pronounced Maryland, and added, it would save
him five pounds for his passage, as he was very desirous of seeing that
country: but, notwithstanding, he with great resolution desired to know
by what law they acted, as he was not accused of any crime; however,
sentence of banishment was passed upon him for seven years; but his fate
was not singular, for he had the comfort of having fellow companions
enough in his unmerited sufferings, as, out of thirty-five prisoners,
thirty-two were ordered into the like banishment.

Whether at that period of time mankind were more profligate than usual,
or whether there was a more than ordinary demand for men in his majesty’s
colonies, cannot by us be determined.  Mr. Carew was not, as is most
commonly the case, deserted by his friends in adversity, for he was
visited during the time of his imprisonment by many gentlemen, who were
exceedingly liberal to him; and no sooner did the news of his captivity
reach the ears of his subjects, than they flocked to him from all parts,
administered to his necessities in prison, and daily visited him till his
departure.

This, and the thoughts of the many new scenes and adventures which he was
likely to encounter, whereby he might have an opportunity of making his
name as famous in America as it was already in Europe, often filled his
mind with too-pleasing reflections to regret his fate, though he could
have liked to have performed the voyage under more agreeable
circumstances; whenever the thought of being cruelly separated from his
beloved wife and daughters glanced on his mind, the husband and father
unmanned the hero, and melted him into tenderness and fear; the
reflection too of the damage his subjects might sustain by his absence,
and the disorder the whole community would be put in by it, filled him
with many disquietudes.

Thus, between pleasing ideas and heartfelt pangs, did he pass his time
till the day arrived that he was to be conducted on board the Julian,
Captain Froade, commander.  But how, gentle reader, shall I describe the
ceremony of parting—the last farewell of that dreadful day!

Leaving the reader, therefore, to suppose all these fine things, behold
the sails already spread, and the vessel cutting the waves; but, as if
fate had opposed itself to the banishment of our hero, the winds soon
proved contrary, and they were obliged to stay more than a fortnight in
Falmouth harbour for a fair wind, and from thence, in eleven weeks, they
arrived safely at Maryland, after a disagreeable voyage.

The first place they touched at was Hampton, between Cape Charles and
Cape Henry, where the captain went on shore and got a pilot; and after
about two days stay there, the pilot brought the vessel down Mile’s
River, and cast anchor in Talbot county, when the captain ordered a gun
to be fired as a signal for the planters to come down, and then went
ashore.  He soon after sent on board a hogshead of rum, and ordered all
the men prisoners to be close shaved against the next morning, and the
women to have their best head-dresses put on, which occasioned no little
hurry on board; for, between the trimming of beards, and putting on of
caps, all hands were fully employed.

Early in the morning the captain ordered public notice to be given of the
day of sale; and the prisoners, who were pretty near a hundred, were all
ordered upon deck, where a large bowl of punch was made, and the planters
flocked on board; their first inquiry was for letters from old England,
what passage he had, how their friends did, and the like.

The captain informed them of the war being declared against Spain, that
it was expected it would soon be declared against France; and that he had
been eleven weeks and four days in his passage.

Their next inquiry was, if the captain had brought them good store of
joiners, carpenters, blacksmiths, weavers, and tailors; upon which the
captain called out one Griffy, a tailor, who had lived at Chumleigh, in
the county of Devon, and was obliged to take a voyage to Maryland, for
making too free with his neighbour’s sheep.  Two planters, who were
parson Nicholas and Mr. Rolls, asked him if he was sound wind and limb?
and told him it would be worse for him if he told them an untruth; and at
last purchased him from the captain.  The poor tailor cried and bellowed
like a bell-wether, cursing his wife who had betrayed him.  Mr. Carew,
like a brave man, to whom every soil is his own country, ashamed of his
cowardice, gave the tailor to the devil; and, as he knew he could not do
without them, sent his shears, thimble, and needle, to bear him company.
Wherefore all these wailings? said our hero: have we not a fine country
before us? pointing to the shore.  And indeed in this he was very right,
for Maryland not only affords every thing which preserves and confirms
health, but also all things that are charming.  The beauty of the
prospect, the fragrancy of the fields and gardens, the brightness of the
sky, and the serenity of the air, affect the ravished senses; the country
being a large plain, and hills in it so easy of ascent, and of such a
moderate height, that they seem rather an artificial ornament to it, than
one of the accidents of nature.  The abundance of rivers and brooks is no
little help to the almost incredible fertility of the soil.

But to return.—When all the best tradesmen were bought up, a planter came
to Mr. Carew, and asked him what trade he was of.  Mr. Carew, to satisfy
him of his usefulness, told him he was a rat-catcher, a mendicant, and a
dog merchant.—What the devil trades are these? inquired the planter in
astonishment; for I have never before heard of them: upon which the
captain thinking he should lose the sale of him, takes the planter aside,
and tells him he did but jest, being a man of humour, for that he was a
great scholar, and was only sent over on account of having disobliged
some gentlemen; that he had no indenture with him, but he should have him
for seven years, and that he would make an excellent school-master;
however, he did not buy him.

The next day the captain asked him to go on shore with him to see the
country, but with a view of getting a purchaser for him among the
planters.  As they were walking, several people came up to Mr. Carew, and
asked him what countryman he was, &c.  At length they went to a tavern,
where one Mr. David Huxter, who was formerly of Lyme in Dorset, and Mr.
Hambleton, a Scotchman, seemed to have an inclination to buy him between
them; soon after came in one Mr. Ashcraft, who put in for him too, and
the bowl of punch went merrily round.  In the midst of their mirth, Mr.
Carew, who had given no consent to the bargain they were making for him,
thought it no breach of honour or good manners to seize an opportunity of
slipping away without taking leave of them; and taking away with him
about a pint of brandy and some biscuit cakes, which by good luck he
chanced to put his hand on, he immediately betook himself to the woods as
the only place of security for him.

Mr. Carew, having found he had eluded their search, congratulated himself
on his happy escape and deliverance; for he now made no doubt of getting
to old England again, notwithstanding the difficulties which lay in his
way, as he knew his courage was equal to every danger; but we are too
often apt, as the proverb says, “to reckon without our host,” and are
sometimes near danger when we think ourselves most secure: and so it
happened to our hero at this time; for, amidst his joyful reflections, he
did not know that none were allowed to travel there, unless when known,
without proper passes, of which he was not provided; and there is
moreover a reward of five pounds for any one who apprehends a runaway.

It therefore happened, that one morning early, passing through a narrow
path, he was met by four timbermen, going to work; he would fain have
escaped their observation, but they soon hailed him, and demanded where
he was going, and where his pass was?  These were questions which he
would willingly have been excused from answering; however, as his wit was
always ready, he immediately told them he belonged to the Hector
privateer, (which he knew then lay upon the coast,) and that he was going
on some business for the captain to Charles’ county:—but, as he could
produce no pass, this would not satisfy them, so they seized upon him,
and conducted him to one Colonel Brown’s, a justice of the peace in Anne
Arundel county.

But here, most gentle reader, that thou mayest not form a wrong idea of
this justice, and, as is too often the case, judge of what thou hast not
seen, from what thou hast seen, it will be necessary to inform thee, that
he was not such a one as Hudibras describes:

    An old dull sot, who told the clock,
    For many years at Bridewell dock.

Neither was he such a one as that excellent artist, Mr. Hogarth, has
depicted in his picture of a Modern Midnight Conversation;—nor such a one
as the author of Joseph Andrews has, above all authors, so inimitably
drawn to the life; nor yet was he such a one as thou hast often seen at a
quarter sessions, with a large wig, a heavy unmeaning countenance, and a
sour aspect, who gravely nods over a cause, and then passes a decision on
what he does not understand; and no wonder, when he, perhaps, never saw,
much less read the laws of his country; but of Justice Brown, I can
assure the reader, he could not only read, but upon occasion write a
mittimus, without the assistance of his clerk; he was thoroughly
acquainted with the general duties of his office, and the particular laws
of Maryland; his countenance was an awful majesty, tempered with a humane
sweetness, ever unwilling to punish, yet always afraid of offending
justice; and if at any time necessity obliged him to use the rod, he did
it with so much humanity and compassion, as plainly indicated the duties
of his office forced, rather than the cruelty or haughtiness of his
temper prompted to it; and while the unhappy criminal suffered a
corporeal punishment, he did all that lay in his power, to the end that
it might have a due effect, by endeavouring to amend the mind with
salutary advice; if the exigencies of the state required taxes to be
levied upon the subjects, he never, by his authority or office, excused
himself from bearing his full proportion; nor even would he meanly submit
to see any of his fellow-justices do so.

It was before such a justice Mr. Carew had the good fortune to be
carried: they found him in his court-yard, just mounting his horse to go
out, and he very civilly inquired their business; the timbermen told him
they had got a runaway: the justice then inquired of Mr. Carew who he
was: he replied he was a sea-faring man, belonging to the Hector
privateer of Boston, captain Anderson, and as they could not agree, he
had left the ship.  The justice told him he was very sorry it should
happen so, but he was obliged by the laws of his country to stop all
passengers who could not produce passes; and, therefore, though
unwillingly, he should be obliged to commit him; he then entertained him
very plentifully with victuals and drink, and in the mean time made his
commitment for New Town gaol.  Mr. Carew, finding his commitment made,
told the timbermen, that, as they got their money easily, he would have a
horse to ride upon, for it was too hot for him to walk in that country.
The justice merrily cried, Well spoken, prisoner.  There was then a great
ado with the timbermen to get a horse for him; but at last one was
procured, and our hero, mounted on a milk-white steed, was conveyed in a
sort of triumph to New Town, the timbermen performing the cavalcade on
foot.

The commitment was directed to the under-sheriff in New Town, a saddler
by profession, who immediately waited on him to the prison; he found it
well peopled, and his ears were confused with almost as many dialects as
put a stop to the building of Babel.  Mr. Carew saluted them, and
courteously inquired what countrymen they were: some were from Kilkenny,
some Limeric, some Dublin, others of Somerset, Dorset, Devon, and
Cornwall; so that he found he had choice enough of companions, and, as he
saw he had no remedy but patience, he endeavoured to amuse himself as
well as he could.

Looking through the bars one day, he espied a whipping-post and gallows,
at which he turned to his companions, and cried out, A fine sight truly
this is, my friends! which was a jest many of them could not relish, as
they had before tasted of the whipping; looking on the other side, he saw
a fine house, and demanding whose it was, they told him it was the
assembly-house.  While he was thus amusing himself, reflecting on the
variety of his fate, fortune was preparing a more agreeable scene for
him.  A person coming up to the window, asked where the runaway was, who
had been brought in that day, Mr. Carew composedly told him he was the
man; they then entered into discourse, inquiring of each other of what
country they were, and soon found they were pretty near neighbours, the
person who addressed him being one out of Dorsetshire.  While they were
talking, our hero seeing the tops of some vessels riding in the river,
inquired what place they belonged to.  The man replied, To the west of
England, to one Mr. Buck of Biddeford, to whom most of the town belonged.
Our hero’s heart leaped for joy at this good news, and he hastily asked
if the captains Kenny, Hervey, Hopkins, and George Bird were there; the
man replying in the affirmative, still heightened his satisfaction.  Will
you have the goodness to be an unfortunate prisoner’s friend, said he to
the person he was talking with, and present my humble duty to any of
them, but particularly to Captain Hervey, and inform them I am here.  The
man very civilly replied he would do it; and asked what he should tell
them was his name?  Carew, replied our hero.  Away ran the messenger with
great haste, but before he got half way, forgetting the name ran back
again to ask it.  Tell them my name is Carew, the rat-catcher; away went
the man again, repeating all the way, Carew, the rat-catcher, lest he
should forget it a second time; and he now executed his message so well,
that very soon after came the captains to the gaol door.

Inquiring for Carew, the rat-catcher, as they wanted to speak with him;
our hero, who heard them, answered with a tantivy, and a halloo to the
dogs; upon which Captain Hervey swore it was Carew, and fell a laughing
very heartily, then coming to the window, they very cordially shook hands
with him, saying, they should as soon have expected to have seen Sir
Robert Walpole there as him.  They then inquired by what means he came
there; and he informed them circumstantially of every thing as already
mentioned.  The captains asked him if he would drink a glass of rum,
which he accepted of very gladly in his present condition; one of them
quickly sent down to the storehouse for a bottle of rum and a bottle of
October, and then they all went into the gaol, and sat down with him.

Thus did he see himself once more surrounded by his friends, so that he
scarcely regretted his meeting with the timbermen, as they had brought
him into such good company.  He was so elevated with his good fortune,
that he forgot all his misfortunes, and passed the evening as cheerfully
as if he was neither a slave nor a prisoner.  The captains inquired if he
had been sold to a planter before he made his escape; he replied in the
negative, when they informed him, that unless his captain came and
demanded him, he would be publicly sold the next court-day.  When they
took their leaves, they told him they would see him the next morning.

Accordingly they returned very early, and having got admittance into the
prison, hailed him with the pleasing sound of liberty, telling him, they
had agreed among themselves to purchase him, then give him his release,
and furnish him with proper passes; but instead of receiving this joyful
news with the transports they expected, our hero stood for some time
silent and lost in thought.  During this while, he reflected within
himself, whether his honour would permit him to purchase his liberty on
these terms: and it was indeed no little struggle which passed in his
breast on this occasion.  On the one side, Liberty, with all her charms,
presented herself, and wooed to be accepted, supported by Fear, who set
before his eyes all the horrors and cruelties of a severe slavery; on the
other side, dame Honour, with a majestic mein, forbade him, sounding
loudly in his ears how it would read in future story, that the ingenious
Mr. Carew had no contrivance left to regain his lost liberty, but meanly
to purchase it at his friends’ expense.  For some time did these passions
remain in equipoise; as thou hast often seen the scales of some honest
tradesman, before he weighs his commodity; but at length honour
preponderated, and liberty and fear flew up and kicked the beam; he
therefore told the captains he had the most grateful sense of this
instance of their love, but that he could never consent to purchase his
freedom at their expense: and therefore desired they would only do him
the favour to acquaint Captain Froade of his being there.  The captains
were quite amazed at this resolution, and used great entreaties to
persuade him to alter it, but all in vain; so that at last they were
obliged to comply with his earnest request, in writing to Captain Froade.

Captain Froade received with great pleasure the news of his being in
custody in New Town, and soon sent round his long-boat, paid all costs
and charges, and brought him once more on board his ship.  The captain
received him with a great deal of malicious satisfaction in his
countenance, telling him in a taunting manner, that, though he had
promised Sir William Courtney to be at home before him, he should find
himself damnably mistaken; and then with a tyrannic tone bade him strip,
calling the boatswain to bring up a cat-o’-nine-tails, and tie him fast
up to the main geers; accordingly our hero was obliged to undergo a cruel
and shameful punishment.  Here, gentle reader, if thou hast not a heart
made of something harder than adamant, thou canst not choose but melt at
the sufferings of our hero; he, who but just before, did what would have
immortalised the name of Cæsar or Alexander, is now rewarded for it with
cruel and ignominious stripes, far from his native country, wife,
children, or any friends, and still doomed to undergo severe hardships.
As soon as the captain had satisfied his revenge, he ordered Mr. Carew on
shore, taking him to a blacksmith, whom he desired to make a heavy iron
collar for him, which in Maryland they call a pot-hook, and is usually
put about the necks of runaway slaves.  When it was fastened on, the
captain jeeringly cried, Now run away if you can; I will make you help to
load this vessel, and then I’ll take care of you, and send you to the
ironworks of Susky Hadlam.

Captain Froade soon after left the vessel, and went up to a storehouse at
Tuckhoe, and the first mate to Kent island, whilst the second mate and
boatswain kept the ship; in the mean time our hero was employed in
loading the vessel, and doing all manner of drudgery.  Galled with a
heavy yoke and narrowly watched, he began to lose all hopes of escape;
his spirits now began to fail him, and he almost gave himself up to
despair, little thinking his deliverance so near at hand, as he found it
soon to be.

One day, as he was employed in his usual drudgery, reflecting within
himself upon his unhappy condition, he unexpectedly saw his good friends,
Captains Hervey and Hopkins, two of the Biddeford captains, who, as has
been before related, had offered to redeem him from the prison at New
Town; he was overjoyed at the sight of them, not that he expected any
deliverance from them, but only as they were friends he had been so much
obliged to.

The captains came up and inquired very kindly how it fared with him, and
how he bore the drudgery they saw him employed in; adding, that he had
better have accepted the offer they made him at New Town.  Our hero
gallantly replied, that however severe the hardships he underwent, and
were they still more so, he would rather choose to suffer them, than
purchase liberty at their cost.  The captains, charmed with his
magnanimity, were resolved to make one attempt more to get him his
liberty.  They soon after sounded the boatswain and mate; and finding
them not greatly averse to give him an opportunity to escape, they took
him aside, and thus addressed him:—Friend Carew, the offer we made you at
New Town may convince you of the regard we have for you; we therefore
cannot think of leaving the country before we have, by some means or
other, procured your liberty; we have already sounded the boatswain and
mate, and find we can bring them to wink at your escape; but the greatest
obstacle is, that there is forty pounds penalty and half a year’s
imprisonment, for any one that takes off your iron collar, so that you
must be obliged to travel with it, till you come among the friendly
Indians, many miles distant from hence, who will assist you to take it
off, for they are great friends with the English, and trade with us for
lattens, kettles, frying-pans, gunpowder and shot; giving us in exchange
buffalo and deer skins, with other sorts of furs.  But there are other
sorts of Indians, one of which are distinguished by a very flat forehead,
who use cross-bows in fighting; the other of a very small stature, who
are great enemies, and very cruel to the whites; these you must endeavour
by all means to avoid, for if you fall into their hands, they will
certainly murder you.

And here the reader will, we make no doubt, be pleased to see some
account of the Indians, among whom our hero was treated with so much
kindness and civility, as we shall relate in its proper place.

At the first settling of Maryland, there were several nations of them
governed by petty kings.  Mr. Calvert, Lord Baltimore’s brother having
been sent by him to make the first settlement in Maryland, landed at
Potowmac town; during the infancy of Werowance, Archibau, his uncle, who
governed his territories in his minority, received the English in a
friendly manner.  From Potowmac the governor proceeded to Piscataqua,
about 20 leagues higher, where he found many Indians assembled, and among
them an Englishman, Captain Henry Fleet, who had lived there several
years in great esteem with the natives.  Captain Fleet brought the prince
on board the governor’s pinnace to treat with him.  Mr. Calvert asked
him, whether he was agreeable that he and his people should settle in his
country.  The prince replied, I will not bid you go, neither will I bid
you stay, but you may use your own discretion.  The Indians, finding
their prince stay longer on board than they expected, crowded down to the
water-side to look after him, fearing the English had killed him, and
they were not satisfied till he showed himself to them, to please them.
The natives, who fled from St. Clement’s isle, when they saw the English
come as friends, returned to their habitations; and the governor, not
thinking it advisable to settle so high up the river in the infancy of
the colony, sent his pinnaces down the river, and went with Captain Fleet
to a river on the north side of the Potowmac, within four or five
leagues, in his long-boat, and came to the town of Yoamaco, from which
the Indians of that neighbourhood are called Yoamacoes.  The governor
landed, and treating with the prince there, acquainted him with the
occasion of his coming, to whom the Indian said little, but invited him
to his house, entertained him kindly, and gave him his own bed to lie on.
The next day he showed him the country, and the governor determining to
make the first settlement there, ordered all his ships and pinnaces to
come thither to him.

To make his entry the more safe and peaceable, he presented the Werowance
and Wilsos, and principal men of the place, with some English cloth,
axes, hoes and knives, which they accepted very kindly, and freely
consented that he and his company should dwell in one part of the town,
and reserving the other for themselves.  Those Indians who inhabited that
part which was assigned to the English, readily abandoned their houses to
them; and Mr. Calvert immediately set hands to work to plant corn.  The
natives agreed further to leave the whole town to the English as soon as
their harvest was in; which they did accordingly, and both English and
Indians promised to live friendly together.  If any injury was done on
either part, the nation offending was to make satisfaction.  Thus, on the
27th March, 1634, the governor took possession of the town, and named it
St. Mary’s.

There happened an event which much facilitated this with the Indians.
The Susquehanocks, a warlike people, dwelling between Chesapeak Bay and
Delaware Bay, were wont to make incursions on their neighbours, partly
for dominion and partly for booty, of which the women were most desired
by them.  The Yoamacoes, fearing these Susquehanocks, had a year before
the English arrived, resolved to desert their habitations, and remove
higher into the country; many of them were actually gone, and the rest
prepared to follow them.  The ships and pinnaces arriving at the town,
the Indians were amazed and terrified at the sight of them, especially at
hearing their cannon thunder, when they came to anchor.

The first thing that Mr. Calvert did was to fix a court of guard, and
erect a storehouse; and he had not been there many days before Sir John
Harvey, governor of Virginia, came there to visit him, as did several of
the Indian Werowances, and many other Indians, from several parts of the
continent; among others, came the king of Patuxent, and, being carried
aboard the ship, then at anchor in the river, was placed between the
governor of Virginia and the governor of Maryland, at an entertainment
made for him and others.  A Patuxent Indian coming aboard, and seeing his
king thus seated, started back; thinking he was surprised, he would have
fain leaped overboard, and could not be persuaded to enter the cabin,
till the Werowance came himself, and satisfied him he was in no danger.
This king had formerly been taken prisoner by the English of Virginia.
After the storehouse was finished and the ship unladen, Mr. Calvert
ordered the colours to be brought ashore, which was done with great
solemnity, the gentlemen and their servants attending in arms: several
volleys were fired on board and on shore, as also the cannon, at which
the natives were struck with admiration, such at least as had not heard
the firing of pieces of ordnance before, to whom it could not be
dreadful.

The kings of Patuxent and Yoamaco were present at this ceremony, with
many other Indians of Yoamaco; and the Werowance of Patuxent took that
occasion to advise the Indians of Yoamaco to be careful to keep the
league that had been made with the English.  He staid in town several
days, and was full of his Indian compliments; when he went away he made
this speech to the governor: “I love the English so well, that, should
they go about to kill me, if I had so much breath as to speak, I would
command my people not to revenge my death, for I know they would not do
such a thing, except it were through my own fault.”

This infant colony supplied themselves with Indian corn at Barbadoes,
which, at their first arrival, they began to use to save their French
store of flour and oatmeal.  The Indian women, perceiving that their
servants did not know how to dress it, made their bread for them, and
taught them to do it themselves.  There was Indian corn enough in the
country, and these new adventurers soon after shipped off 10,000 bushels
for New England, to purchase salt fish and other provisions.  While the
English and Indians lived at St. Mary’s together, the natives went every
day to hunt with the new comers for deer and turkeys, which, when they
had caught, they gave to the English, or sold for knives, beads, and such
like trifles.  They also brought them good store of fish, and behaved
themselves very kindly, suffering their women and children to come among
them, which was a certain sign of their confidence in them.

Most of the Indians still follow the religion and customs of their
ancestors; and are not become either more pious or more polite by the
company of the English.

As to their religion, they have all of them some dark notions about God;
but some of them have brighter ones, if a person may be believed who had
this confession from the mouth of an Indian: “That they believed God was
universally beneficent; that his dwelling was in heaven above, and the
influence of his goodness reached to the earth beneath; that he was
incomprehensible in his excellence, and enjoyed all possible felicity;
that his duration was eternal, his perfection boundless, and that he
possessed everlasting happiness.”  So far the savage talked as rationally
of the existence of a God as a Christian divine or philosopher could have
done; but when he came to justify their worshipping of the Devil, whom
they call Okee, his notions were very heterodox.  He said, “It is true
God is the giver of all good things, but they flow naturally and
promiscuously from him; that they are showered down upon all men without
distinction; that God does not trouble himself with the impertinent
affairs of men, nor is concerned at what they do, but leaves them to make
the most of their free will, and to secure as many as they can of the
good things that flow from him; that therefore it was to no purpose
either to fear or worship him; but, on the contrary, if they did not
pacify the evil spirit, he would ruin their health, peace, and plenty, he
being always visiting them in the air, thunders, storms, &c.”

As to the idol which they all worship, and is kept in a temple called
Quiocasan, he seemed to have a very different opinion of its divinity,
and cried out against the juggling of the priests.—This man did not talk
like a common savage, and therefore we may suppose he had studied the
matter more than his countrymen, who, for the generality, paid a great
deal of devotion to the idol, and worshipped him as their chief deity.

Their priests and conjurors are highly reverenced by them.  They are
given extremely to pawning or conjuring; and one of them very lately
conjured a shower of rain for a gentleman’s plantation, in a time of
drought, for two bottles of rum.  We are not apt to give credit to such
supernatural events; and, had we not found this in an author who was on
the spot, we should have rejected it as a fable.

Their priests promise fine women, eternal spring, and every pleasure in
perfection in the other world, which charmed them in this; and threaten
them with lakes of fire, and torments by a fairy in the shape of an old
woman.  They are often bloody in their sacrifices, and offer up young
children to the devil.  They have a superstitious ceremony among them,
which they call _Huskanawing_, and is performed thus: they shut up ten or
twelve young men, the most deserving among them, about twenty years of
age, in a strong inclosure, made on purpose, like a sugar loaf, and every
way open like a lattice, for the air to pass through; they are kept for
several months, and are allowed to have no sustenance but the infusion or
decoction of poisonous intoxicating roots, which turn their brains, and
they run stark mad.

By this it is pretended they lose the remembrance of all former things,
even of their parents, treasure, and language, as if they had drunk of
the water of oblivion, drawn out of the lake of Lethe.  When they have
been in this condition as long as their custom directs, they lessen this
intoxicating potion; and, by degrees, the young men recover the use of
their senses; but before they are quite well, they are shown in their
towns; and the youths who have been _huskanawed_ are afraid to discover
the least sign of their remembering any thing of their past lives; for,
in such a case, they must be huskanawed again, and they are disciplined
so severely the second time, that it generally kills them.

After the young men have passed this trial, they are Coucarouses, or men
of quality in their nations; and the Indians say they do it to take away
from youth all childish impressions, and that strong partiality to
persons and things which is contracted before reason takes place.

The Indian priests, to command the respect of the people, make themselves
look as ugly and as terrible as they can; the conjurors always share with
them in their deceit, and they gain by it; the Indians consult both of
them before they go on any enterprise.  There are no priestesses or
witches among them.  They erect altars on every remarkable occasion, and
have temples built like their common cabins, in which their idol stands,
and the corpses of their kings and rulers are preserved.

They have no sort of literature among them; and their way of
communicating things from one to another is by hieroglyphics.  They make
their accounts by units, tens, hundreds, &c., as the English do; but they
reckon their years by cohonks, or winters, and divide every year into
five seasons; the budding time, the earing of the corn, the summer, the
harvest, and the winter.

Their months they count by moons.  They divide the day into three parts,
the rise, power, and lowering, of the sun; and keep their accounts by
knots on a string, or notches on a stick, of which Captain Smith relates
a very pleasant story; that, when the princess Pocahonta went for
England, a Coucarouse, or lord of her own nation, attended her; his name
was Uttamaccomack: and king Powhatan, Pocahonta’s father, commanded him,
when he arrived in England, to count the people, and give him an account
of their number.  Uttamaccomock, when he came ashore, got a stick,
intending to count them by notches; but he soon found that his arithmetic
would be to no purpose, and threw away his stick.  At his return, the
king asked him how many people there were? and he replied, count the
stars of the sky, the leaves upon the trees, and the sand upon the
seashore, and you will know how many are the people in England.

They esteem the marriage-vow as the most sacred of all engagements, and
abhor divorces; adultery is the most unpardonable of all crimes amongst
them, and seldom occurs without exemplary punishment.

Their maidens are very chaste; and if any one of them happen to have a
child before marriage, her fortune is spoiled.  They are very sprightly
and good humoured, and the women generally handsome.  Their manner of
handling infants is very rough: as soon as the child is born, they plunge
it over head and ears in cold water, and they bind it naked to a board,
making a hole in the proper place for evacuation.  Between the child and
the board they put some cotton, wool, or fur, and let it lie in this
posture till the bones begin to harden, the joints to knit, and the limbs
to grow strong; they then loosen it from the board, and let it crawl
about where it pleases.  From this custom, it is said, the Indians derive
the neatness and exactness of their limbs, which are the most perfect in
the world.  Some of them are of a gigantic stature, live to a great age,
and are stronger than others; but there is not a crooked, bandy-legged,
or ill-shaped, Indian to be seen.  Some nations of them are very tall and
large limbed, but others are short and small; their complexion is a dark
brown and tawny.  They paint themselves with a pecone root, which stains
them a reddish colour.  They are clear when they are young, but greasing
and sunning make their skin turn hard and black.  Their hair, for the
most part, is coal black; so are their eyes; they wear their hair cut
after several whimsical modes, the persons of note always keep a long
lock behind; the women wearing it very long, hanging at their backs, or
twisted up with beads; and all the better sort adorn their heads with a
kind of coronet.  The men have no beards, and, to prevent their having
any, use certain devices, which they will not communicate to the English.

Their clothes are a mantle girt close in the middle, and underneath a
piece of cloth tied round their waist, and reaching down to the middle of
the thigh.  The common sort only tie a piece of cloth or skin round the
middle.  As for their food they boil, broil, or roast, all the meat they
eat; honomy is the standing dish, and consists of Indian corn soaked,
broken in a mortar, and then boiled in water over a gentle fire ten or
twelve hours together.  They draw and pluck their fowls, skin and paunch
their quadrupeds, but dress their fish with the scales on, and without
gutting; they leave the scales, entrails, and bones, till they eat the
fish, when they throw the offal away.  Their food is chiefly beeves,
turtle, several species of snakes, broth made of deer’s humbles, peas,
beans, &c.  They have no set meals: they eat when they are hungry, and
drink nothing but water.  Their bread is made of Indian corn, wild oats,
or the seed of the sun-flower; they eat it alone, and not with meat.

They travel always on foot with a gun or bow.  They live upon the game
they kill, and lie under a tree upon a little high grass.  The English
prohibit them to keep corn, sheep, or hogs, lest they should steal their
neighbour’s.

When they come to rivers, they presently patch up a canoe of birch bark,
cross over in it, and leave it on the river’s bank, if they think they
shall not want it; otherwise they carry it along with them.

Their way of receiving strangers is by the pipe, or calumet of peace.  Of
this Pere Henepin has given a long account in his voyage, and the pipe is
as follows: they fill a pipe of tobacco, larger and bigger than any
common pipe, light it, and then the chief of them takes a whiff, gives it
to the stranger, and if he smoke of it, it is peace; if not, war; if
peace, the pipe is handed all round the company.

The diseases of the Indians are very few, and easy to be cured: they for
the most part arise from excessive heats and colds, which they get rid of
by sweating.  As for aches, and settled pains in the joints or limbs,
they use caustics and scarifying.  The priests are their physicians, and
from their childhood are taught the nature and use of simples, in which
their knowledge is excellent; but they will not communicate it,
pretending it is a gift of God; and by this mystery they make it the more
valuable.

Their riches consist of furs, peak, roenocke, and pearl.  Their peak and
roenocke are made of shells; the peak is an English bugle, but the
roenocke is a piece of cockle, drilled through like a bead.  Before the
English came among them, the peak and the roenocke were all their
treasure; but now they set a value on their fur and pearl, and are greedy
of keeping quantities of them together.  The pearl is good, and formerly
was not so rare as it is at this time.

They had no iron tools till the English brought them over: their knives
were sharpened reeds or shells, their axes sharp stones.  They rubbed
fire, by turning the end of a hard piece of wood upon the side of one
that is soft and dry, which at last would burn.  They felled great trees
by burning them down at the root, having ways of keeping the fire from
ascending.  They hollowed them with a gentle fire, and scraped the trunk
clean, and this made their canoes, of which some were thirty feet long.
They are very good handicraft men, and what they do is generally neat and
convenient.

Their kingdoms descended to the next heir, male or female, and they were
exact in preserving the succession in the right line.  If, as it often
happened, one great prince subjected the other, those conquests commonly
were lost at his death, and the nation returned again to the obedience of
their natural princes.  They have no written laws, neither can they have
any, having no letters.

Their lands are in common, and their Werowances, or judges, are all
lord-chancellors, deciding causes and inflicting punishments according as
they think fit.  These Werowances and the Coucarouses are their terms to
distinguish the men of quality; the former are their war-captains, and
the latter such as have passed the trial of huskanawing.  Their priests
and conjurors have great authority among them.  They have servants whom
they call black boys, and are very exact in requiring the respect that is
due to their several qualities.

Most of the Indians live on the eastern shore, where they have two or
three little towns; some of them go over to the other side, in winter
time, to hunt for deer, being generally employed by the English.  They
take delight in nothing else, and it is very rare that any of them will
embrace the Christian way of living and worship.  There are about 500
fighting Indians in all the province; the cause of their diminution
proceeded not from wars with the English, for they have none with them
worth speaking of, but from the perpetual discords and wars among
themselves.  The female sex have always swept away a great many.

One thing is observed in them, though they are a people very timorous and
cowardly in fight, yet when taken prisoners and condemned, they will die
like heroes, braving the most exquisite tortures that can be invented,
and singing all the time they are upon the rack.

We find several of the Indians doing actions which would do honour to the
greatest heroes of antiquity: thus captain Smith, who was one of the
first adventurers in planting the colony of Virginia, being taken
prisoner, while he was making discoveries, by king Oppecamcanough, he not
only spared Mr. Smith’s life, but carried him to his town and feasted
him; and afterwards presented him to Powhaton, the chief king of the
savages, who would have beheaded him, had he not been saved by the
intercession and generosity of his daughter, Pocahonto, who, when Mr.
Smith’s head was on the block, and she could not prevail with her father
to give him his life, put her own head upon his, and ventured receiving
the blow to save him, though she was scarce then sixteen years of age.

Some time after, Sir Thomas Dale sent captain Argall to Patowmac to buy
corn, where he met with Pocahonta.  He invited her to come aboard his
ship, which with some difficulty she consented to, being betrayed by the
king of Postcany, brother to the king of Patowmac, with whom she then
resided.

Argall, having got her into his custody, detained her, and carried her to
James’s Town, intending to oblige her father, king Powhaton, to come to
what terms he pleased for the deliverance of his daughter.  Though the
king loved her tenderly, yet he would not do any thing for her sake which
he thought was not for his own and the nation’s interest; nor would he be
prevailed upon to conclude a firm treaty of peace till he heard his
daughter, who had turned a Christian, was christened Rebecca, and married
to Mr. John Rolfe, an English gentleman, her uncle giving her away in the
church.

Powhaton approved of the marriage, took it for a sincere token of
friendship, and was so pleased with it, that he concluded a league with
the English in the year 1613.

Some time after, Sir Thomas Dale going for England, took Mr. Rolfe and
his wife Pocahonta with him, and arrived at Plymouth.

Captain Smith, hearing the lady who had been so kind to him was arrived
in England, and being engaged at that time in a voyage to New England,
which hindered his waiting on her himself, petitioned queen Anne, consort
to king James, on her behalf, setting forth the civilities he had
received from her, and obligations she had laid upon the English, by the
service she had done them with her father.

The queen received this petition very graciously; and before Captain
Smith embarked for New England, Mr. Rolfe came with his wife from
Plymouth to London.  The smoke of the city offending her, he took
lodgings for her at Brentford, and thither Captain Smith went with
several friends to wait on her.

Pocahonta was told all along that Captain Smith was dead, to excuse his
not coming to Virginia again; from which he had been diverted by settling
a colony in New England.  Wherefore, when this lady saw him, thinking the
English had injured her in telling her a falsity, which she had ill
deserved from them, she was so angry that she would not deign to speak to
him: but at last, with much persuasion and attendance, was reconciled,
and talked freely to him: she then put him in mind of the obligations she
had laid upon him, and reproached him for forgetting her, with an air so
lively, and words so sensible, that one might have seen nature abhors
nothing more than ingratitude—a vice that even the very savages detest.

She was carried to court by the Lady Delaware, and entertained by ladies
of the first quality, towards whom she behaved herself with so much grace
and majesty, that she confirmed the bright character Captain Smith had
given of her.  The whole court was charmed with the decency and grandeur
of her deportment so much, that the poor gentleman, her husband, was
threatened to be called to an account for marrying a princess royal
without the king’s consent; though in that king James showed a very
notable piece of kingcraft, for there was no likelihood that Mr. Rolfe,
by marrying Pocahonta, could any way endanger the peace of his dominions;
or that his alliance with the king of Wicomaco could concern the king of
Great-Britain; indeed, we are told, that upon a fair and full
representation of the matter, the king was pleased to be satisfied.

The lady Pocahonta, having been entertained with all manner of respect in
England, was taken ill at Gravesend, where she lay in order to embark for
Virginia; she died there with all the signs of a sincere Christian and
true penitent.

She had one son by Mr. Rolfe, whose posterity are at this day in good
repute in Virginia, and inherit lands by descent from her.

The language of the Indians is lofty, but narrow; the accent and emphasis
of some of their words are great and sweet, as Okorocston, Rancoce,
Oriston, Shakameton, Poquiffin, all names of places, and as sonorous as
any in Attica; then for sweetness they have their _anna_, mother,
_issimus_, brother, _nelapsin_ and _usque oret_, very good, _pone_,
bread, _morridge walk_, a burying-place, _scaw_, a woman, _salop_, a man,
_pappoes_, a child.

The captains acquainted Mr. Carew, that the unfriendly Indians were not
the only enemies he had to fear, for he must expect to encounter with
great dangers and difficulties, as rattle-snakes, horn-snakes,
black-snakes, lions, leopards, bears, wolves, and wild cats.  However
this did not dishearten our hero, for he was resolved to attempt
regaining his liberty, let the consequence be what it would.  The
captains then gave him a pocket-compass to steer by, a steel and
tinder-box, a bag of cakes, a cheese, and some rum, telling him, he must
leave the three-notched road a little way off, and steer to his left
hand; (in Maryland they distinguish the roads by letters or notches cut
on the trees;) that he must travel by night, and lie concealed in the
day, for forty miles, and then he would come to a part of the country
quite uninhabited; from thence he would enter the Indian country.  They
likewise told him, that all the wild beasts were afraid of fire, so that
his best defence would be to strike a light and kindle some sticks
whenever he was apprehensive of being attacked by any of them.

Our hero having received these and some other necessary instructions, and
having returned his generous benefactors many thanks for their kindness,
bidding them farewell with tears, set out on his dangerous journey about
three o’clock in the afternoon.  He had not travelled far, before he
began to reflect on his melancholy condition, alone, unarmed,
unacquainted with the way, galled with the heavy yoke, exposed every
moment to the most imminent dangers, and dark tempestuous night
approaching with all its horrors, increased its terrors; his ears were
now assailed with the dismal yells and crying of wild beasts of different
sorts, but, remembering the instructions he had received from the
captains, he soon struck fire, and kindled some sticks, and was obliged
the whole night to swing a fireband round his head; the sight of which
kept the wild beasts from coming near, for, though they often came and
looked at him, yet they soon turned tail again, seeing the fire.

However it was with great joy he saw day-light appear, at first dawn of
which he was quite freed from those troublesome guests; he had nothing to
do but to seek the thickest tree he could find, and, climbing up into it,
he took some refreshment of sleep, which he had great need of, having
travelled hard all night.  He afterwards eat sparingly of his cheese and
biscuit, fearing they might not last till he could get a fresh supply,
and then took a very large dram of rum, with which, finding his spirits
much refreshed, and night coming on, he began his journey again,
travelling in the same manner as the preceding night, with a firebrand
whirling round his head.  In this manner travelling by night, and
concealing himself by day, he went on four days, when he reached the Blue
Mountains, where he thought himself out of all danger of pursuit, or
being stopped for want of a pass.  He now travelled by day, meeting with
great multitudes of buffaloes, black bears, deer, wolves, and wild
turkeys, the latter being so large as to weigh thirty or forty pounds;
none of these creatures offered to attack him; but walking one day on the
side of a small rivulet, almost lost in thought, he was suddenly alarmed
by something he heard plunging into the water, and turning his head to
the side from whence the noise came, he was struck with the sight of a
great white bear, which, being likewise disturbed, raised itself
immediately and made towards him.  Our hero now thought there was no way
to escape; however, with great presence of mind, he stepped aside to a
furze bush, and, striking a light with all the haste he could, set it on
fire; at the sight of which the bear, who was now within a very small
distance of him, turned about, and went away roaring hideously.

Some time after this he was comically alarmed by an inoffensive animal;
as he was walking along a deer-track, he chanced to spy a very fine
tortoise-shell box, as he imagined, though he could not conceive how it
could be dropped there; and, thinking he might make good advantage of it
among the Indians, claps it into his pocket; he had not gone far before
he heard a hissing noise, which seemed to be very near; he immediately
thought it to be some venomous snake, and endeavoured to avoid it by
going out of the path he was in; but still the noise seemed to pursue
him; at last looking down, he sees a little ugly black head peeping out
of his pocket, which he found came out of what he had picked up for a
box: he with much ado slips his fingers into his pocket, takes out his
supposed box, and flings it to the ground, when the creature, opening the
upper from the under shell, marched away; this was, as he afterwards
found, no other than a land-tortoise.

He found his journey very often obstructed by rivers and rivulets, which
he was obliged either to wade through or swim over.  At length, after
many days’ tiresome travel, being grievously galled by his yoke, or
collar, he discovered several tracks of the Indians.  Never did more
different passions agitate the breast of any man than did the breast of
our hero at this time; on the one side he was overjoyed at the sight of
the track of any human creature, thinking he should now get rid of his
heavy collar, as well as get some refreshment of provisions, his own
having been exhausted for almost two days past; but he had not pleased
himself long with this reflection before the idea of the barbarous and
unfriendly Indians struck into his mind, for he was quite uncertain
whether the footsteps he discovered might lead him to the good and
friendly Indians, or to those barbarous and inhuman wretches; he now
represented himself as set upon by these, against whom he had no arms to
defend himself, cruelly tormented, and at last slain as a victim in some
of their bloody sacrifices.

It was about the evening when he discovered these footsteps, and he
passed the whole night in this tormenting suspense.  Very early in the
morning he discovered five Indians at a distance; his fears represented
them in the most frightful colours; they seemed of a gigantic stature,
that he thought he could perceive their faces to be very flat and broad,
which was the characteristic or mark of the unfriendly Indians.  This
struck him with unusual dread, and he now gave himself over for lost,
when he saw they had espied him, and were making towards him: they coming
nearer, he perceived them to be clothed in deer skins, their hair to be
exceeding long, hanging down a great way over their shoulders; and, to
his inexpressible joy, he distinguished they had guns in their hands,
which was a sure sign they were the friendly Indians.  This raised his
spirits, and he approached them in a suppliant manner, making signs that
he craved their assistance.  The Indians accosted him with clapping their
hands on their heads, and crying _hush me a top_, which in their language
signifies good-morrow; then taking hold of his collar, they repeated one
to another, in broken English, a runaway! a runaway!  Presently after
came up two more Indians, one of whom was a person of fine majestic
appearance, whose dress was by far more magnificent than any of the
others.  His habit being a most beautiful panther’s skin faced with fur:
his hair was adorned with a great variety of fine feathers, and his face
painted with a great many colours.  By these marks of distinction, Mr.
Carew supposed him to be their king or prince, and indeed such he was; he
spoke very good English, and accosted him as the others had done before.
He then brought him to the wigwam, which is a name they give their
houses, which are no more than stakes driven into the ground, covered
over with deer or other skins.  Here, observing that our hero was
grievously hurt by his collar, this good king immediately set himself
about freeing him from it; but, as he had no proper tool for that
purpose, he was at a great loss how to execute it; but at last, taking
the steel of Mr. Carew’s tinder-box, he jagged it into a kind of saw,
with which he cut off his collar, but not without much labour, his
majesty sweating heartily at the work.  He then carried him into his own
wigwam, which appeared very handsomely furnished.  Here he ordered some
Indian bread, and other refreshments, to be set before Mr. Carew, who ate
very heartily.  During this the prince acquainted him his name was George
Lillycraft; that his father was one of those kings who were in England in
the reign of Queen Anne; and then showed him some fine laced clothes,
which were made a present of to him by the late king George of England
(meaning his late majesty king George the First); he expressed a great
affection for his brother kings of England, as he called them, and for
the English nation in general.  Soon after came in the queen, dressed in
a short jacket, leading in her hand a young prince, who both repeated the
word runaway twice.

Next day the king presented him to the wisos, or chief men of the town,
who received him with a great deal of civility, and tokens of high
esteem.  He ate every day at the king’s table, and had a lodging assigned
to him in his wigwam, and grew every day more and more in esteem among
them, being consulted in all matters of difficulty.  Thus sudden are the
scenes of life shifted and changed; for a brave man will never despair
under whatsoever misfortunes; for our hero, who but a few weeks before
was treated like a beast of burden, heavily loaded, cruelly whipped,
coarsely fed, and all by the insolence and inhumanity of his own
countrymen, is now seated, in a strange country, with kings and princes,
and consulted by a whole nation.

King Lillycraft, who was a man of very good natural sense, used to
discourse with, and ask Mr. Carew many questions of the customs and
manners of his brother kings in England.  Being told one day that the
king of England never stirred abroad without being surrounded with a
great number of armed men, whom he paid for defending him, and fighting
for him, he very simply asked whom he was afraid of? or whether he was
constantly at war with any neighbouring king, who might fall upon him
unawares?  Being told to the contrary, he expressed very great surprise,
and could not conceive of what use these armed men were, when the king
had no enemy, adding, when I am at war, my people are my guard, and fight
for me without being paid for it, and would each of them lay down his
life to defend mine; and when I am at peace, I can fear no evil from my
own people, therefore I have no need of armed men about me.  Being told
another time that the king of England kept himself generally in his
wigwam, or palace, surrounded by certain officers, who permitted no one
to come near him but by their permission, which was the greatest
difficulty in the world to obtain, and that not a thousandth part of the
people, who lived in the town where the palace was, had ever seen him in
their lives, he turned away from Mr. Carew in a passion, telling him, He
was certain he deceived him, and belied his good brother of England: for
how, added he, can he be the king of a people whom he hath no knowledge
of? or how can he be beloved by his subjects who have never seen him? how
can he redress their grievances, or provide for their wants? how can he
lead his people against their enemies? or how know what his subjects
stand in need of, in the distant parts of the kingdom, if he so seldom
stirs out of his wigwam?  Being told that the king of England was
informed of, and transacted all this by means of the officers that were
about him, he replied, It might be so; but if he should ever chance to go
to England, he should talk with his good friend the king upon these
matters, as he could not clearly apprehend how they could be.  For my
part, added he, I know and am known by all my subjects.  I appear daily
among them, hear their complaints, redress their grievances, and am
acquainted with every place in my kingdom.  Being told the people of
England paid their king, yearly, vasts sums out of the profits of their
labour, he laughed, and cried, O poor king! adding, I have often given to
my subjects, but never received any thing from them.

Hunting being the principal employment and diversion of the Indians, at
which they are very expert, Mr. Carew had an opportunity of gratifying,
to the utmost, his taste for this diversion, there scarcely passing a day
but he was a party amongst them at some hunting match or other, and most
generally with the king himself.  He was now grown into such great
respect among them, that they offered him a wife out of the principal
families of the place, nearly related to the king; but our hero,
notwithstanding these honours, could not forget his native country, the
love of which glowed within his breast; he had therefore, for some time,
formed the design of leaving them, and, very soon after, found an
opportunity of doing so.

One day, being out a hunting, they chanced to fall in company with some
other Indians, near the river Delaware.  When the chase was over, they
sat down to be merry together, and having got some rum amongst them, they
drank pretty freely, and fell to singing and dancing after their country
fashion.

Mr. Carew took this opportunity of slipping away, and, going down to the
river side, seized one of the canoes.  Though he was entirely
unacquainted with the method of managing them, he boldly pushed from
shore, landing near Newcastle in Pennsylvania; the place he crossed over
being called Duck’s Creek, which communicates with the great Delaware.
Mr. Carew being now got, as it were, among his countrymen again, soon
transformed himself into a quaker: pulling off the button from his hat,
and flapping it on every side, he put on as demure and precise a look, as
if his whole family had been quakers, and he had never seen any other
sort of people.  Here, reader, it will be necessary to remark, that, as
our hero is no longer amongst simple honest Indians, neither polite,
lettered, nor deceitful, but among polished people, whose knowledge has
taught them to forget the ways of nature, and to act every thing in
disguise; whose hearts and tongues are as far distant asunder, as the
North from the South pole, and who daily over-reach one another in the
most common occurrences of life; we hope it will be no disgrace to our
hero if among such he appears polished as the best, and puts on a fresh
disguise as often as it suits his convenience.

The first house he went to was a barber’s, of whose assistance he had
indeed need enough, not having shaved his beard since he left the ship:
here he told a moving story, saying his name was John Elworth, of
Bristol; that he had been artfully kidnapped by one Samuel Ball, of the
same place, and gone through great hardships in making his escape.  The
good barber moved by his tale, willingly lent his assistance to take off
his beard; during the operation, he entered into a good deal of chat,
telling him his father was of Exeter; and, when he went away, gave him a
half-crown bill, and he recommended him to Mr. Wiggil, a quaker of the
same place.  Here he told his moving story again, and got a ten-shilling
bill from Mr. Wiggil, with recommendations to the rest of the quakers of
the place, among whom he got a great deal of money.  When he took his
leave, he was recommended by them to the quakers of a town called
Castile.  Here he found a great deal of favour, and made the best of his
way to Brandywine-Ferry, in which is room enough to lay up the whole
royal navy of England; and from thence to Chester, so called, because the
people who first settled there came for the most part from Cheshire.  It
contains above a hundred houses, and a very good road for shipping, the
Delaware, on which it stands, being about three miles over.  Here are a
court-house and a prison.  This place is also called Upland, and has a
church dedicated to St. Paul, with a numerous congregation of those whom,
exclusive of all other Christians, we call orthodox.  Mr. Carew came here
on Sunday, staid all the night, and the next morning he enquired out one
Mrs. Turner, a quaker, who formerly lived at Embercomb, by Minehead, in
Somersetshire; from her he got a bill, and a recommendation to some
quakers at Derby, about five miles further, where she told him he would
find Mr. Whitfield.  On hearing this, he set out for Derby; but, before
he reached there, was overtaken by hundreds of people going to hear Mr.
Whitfield preach.  Friend, says he to one of them, where are you going so
fast?  Hast thou not heard, friend, says the other, the second Christ is
come?  He then joined them, and they all proceeded to Derby, where he
found Mr. Whitfield preaching in an orchard, but could not get near
enough to hear his discourse, by reason of the great concourse of people;
however, he seemed to be affected with it, and strictly imitated the
quakers in all their sighs, groans, lifting up of the eyes, &c.  Leaving
them, he went to the sign of the ship, and enquiring where Mr. Whitfield
lodged that night, was told at the justice’s, who was a miller; he then
asked if he could have a bed there that night, and being told that he
might, he passed the evening very cheerfully.

In the morning he asked for pen, ink, and paper, soon drew up a moving
petition in the name of John Moore, the son of a clergyman, who had been
taken on board the Tiger, Captain Matthews, and carried into the
Havannah, from whence he had got his redemption by means of the governor
of Annapolis; that he was in the most deplorable circumstances, having
nothing to help himself with, and hoped he would commiserate his
condition.  Having finished his petition, away he went to the miller’s
house, where Mr. Whitfield lodged, and found a hundred people waiting at
the door to speak to that gentleman.  Looking narrowly around, he espied
a young lad, whom he found belonged to Mr. Whitfield, and going up to him
very civilly, he begged he would do an unfortunate man the kindness to
present that paper (giving him his petition) to Mr. Whitfield: and as
soon as they perceived him, the quakers pressed round him, one crying,
Pray thee, friend, come and pray by my dear wife; and another, Pray thee,
friend, come and see my dear brother.  Mr. Whitfield made his way through
them all, as well as he could, towards Mr. Carew, whom the young lad
pointed out to him.  When he came up to him, he kindly said that he was
heartily sorry for his misfortunes, but that we were all liable to them,
that they happened by the will of God, and therefore it was our duty to
submit to them with patience and resignation; then, pulling out his
pocket-book, he gave him three or four pounds of that county paper-money.
Mr. Carew returned him thanks with all the marks of the most lively
gratitude, and Mr. Whitfield wishing him well to England, went away
singing psalms with those that were about him; and we make no doubt but
Mr. Carew joined with them in the melody of the heart for the good
success he had had with Mr. Whitfield.

From hence Bampfylde was only seven miles to the city of Philadelphia,
which is one of the finest in all America, and one of the best laid out
cities in the world.  It is the capital of Pennsylvania, and, were it
full of houses and inhabitants, according to the proprietor’s plan, it
would be a capital fit for a great empire; yet it is a large city,
considering its late foundation, most commodiously situated between two
navigable rivers, the Delaware and Schuylkill.  He designed the town in
form of an oblong square, extending two miles in length from one river to
the other.  The long streets, eight in number, and two miles in length,
he cut in right angles by others of one mile in length, and sixteen in
number, all straight and spacious.  He left proper spaces for markets,
parades, quays, meeting-houses, schools, hospitals, and other public
buildings.  There are a great number of houses, and it increases every
day in buildings, which are all carried on regularly, according to the
first plan.  The city has two fronts on the water, one on the east side
facing to Schuylkill, and the other on the west, facing the Delaware,
which is near two miles broad, and navigable three hundred miles, at
least for small vessels.  The eastern part is the most populous, on
account of the Schuylkill, which is navigable eight hundred miles above
the falls.  We have observed, that each front of the street was to be two
miles from river to river, as it was at first laid out; but one cannot
suppose that it is finished in that manner.  The streets that run against
the Schuylkill are three quarters of a mile in length; the houses are
stately, the wharfs and warehouses numerous and convenient.  This city
flourished so much at first, that there were near a hundred houses, great
and small in it, in less than a year’s time; and it has made answerable
progress since that period; the number of houses, at this time, being
about two thousand, and, generally speaking, better edifices than in the
cities of England, a few excepted, and those only in a few streets.  All
the houses have large orchards and gardens belonging to them; the land on
which the city stands is high and firm, and the convenience of covered
docks and springs have very much contributed to the commerce of this
place, where many rich merchants now reside, some of whom are so wealthy
that they keep their coaches.  Ships may ride in six or seven fathoms
water, with a very good anchorage; the land about it is a dry wholesome
level.  All owners of one thousand acres and upwards have their houses in
the two fronts, facing the rivers, and in the High-street, running from
the middle of one front to the middle of the other.  Every owner of one
thousand acres has about an acre in front, and the smaller purchasers
about half an acre in the back streets, by which means the least has room
enough for a house-garden and small orchard.  High-street is a hundred
feet broad, so is Broad-street, which is in the middle of the city,
running from north to south.  In the centre is a square of ten acres, for
the state-house, market-house, and school-house, as before hinted.  The
names of the streets here denote the several sorts of timber that are
common in Pennsylvania, as Mulberry-street, Sassafras-street,
Chesnut-street, Walnut-street, Beech-street, Ash-street, Vine-street,
Cedar-street.  There are also King-street, Broad-street, High-street.
Their court-house is built of brick, and under it is a prison: several
houses on the quay are worth four or five thousand pounds; and thirteen
ships have been on the stocks at a time: some hundreds have been built
there.  The cellars and warehouses, on the quay, are made over the river
three stories high.  Here are two fairs in a year, and two markets in a
week.  It sends two members to the assembly.

The inhabitants were at first mostly quakers, and so they continue.  It
was some time before there was a church built after the manner of
England; but as soon as one was built, it was called Christchurch.  It
had, in a few years, a very numerous congregation, and King William
ordered an allowance of fifty-three pounds a-year to the minister; which,
with voluntary contributions, made a very handsome provision for him.
There are about twelve hundred of the inhabitants that are of this
congregation, who have for some years had the benefit of the organ; and
though it looked and sounded strange to the quakers at first, yet they
are now so far reconciled to it, as to bear with their neighbours having
it without grumbling.  There are, besides this, several meeting-houses;
viz., for the quakers, who are properly the church as by law established,
being the originals; the presbyterians, the baptists, and a Spanish
church.

According to the plan, there is in each quarter of the city a square of
eight acres, intended for the same uses as were Moorfields in
London—walks and exercises for the citizens.  The great dock is formed by
an inlet of the river Delaware, at the south corner of the front of the
wharfs, and has a bridge over it at the entrance: several creeks run into
the city out of the two rivers; and there is no city in Holland that is
so naturally accommodated with fine and commodious canals, as this might
very easily be.  The quay is beautiful, about two hundred feet square, to
which a ship of five hundred tons may lay her broadside; and, as these
surprising advantages have already rendered it one of the best trading
towns in the British empire out of Europe, so in all probability it will
continue to increase in commerce, riches, and buildings, till for number
and magnificence it will have no equal in America; where the French have
not, nor are likely to have, any thing like it.  Here are almost all
sorts of trades and mechanics, as well as merchants and planters.  Here
the assemblies and courts of judicature are held, and the business of the
province is chiefly managed, as in all capitals.  Here are
printing-houses, and several newspapers published.  In a word, here are
all things necessary for an Englishman’s profit and pleasure.

Mr. Carew, walking through the High-street, had a mind to refresh himself
with a nip of punch; the first public house he chanced to come to was
kept by an Irishman, and asking him if he sold punch, Yes, my dear honey,
replied the man.  Arrah, says Mr. Carew, are you my countryman, dear joy?
quite in the Irish brogue.  Yes, replied the man: What, do you belong to
one of our vessels?—No, but I belong to Captain Dubois, of Dublin, who
was taken off the Capes, and carried into the Havannah.—Arrah, dear joy,
I know Captain Dubois very well, replied the Irishman, come in.
Accordingly in went Mr. Carew: the Irishman was so well pleased with his
countryman, (for, giving a very particular account of many places in
Ireland, and counterfeiting the brogue extremely well, he did not suspect
him to be any other,) that he entertained him kindly, and they passed the
day merrily together.

The next morning his host takes him out to see the city: Mr. Carew did
not content himself with idly gazing, as most of our modern travellers
do; but diligently inquired the names of the principal merchants and
places, and informed himself of all those circumstances, which could be
of any service to him.  At length, seeing a very fine house, he inquired
whose it was; and being told Proprietor Penn’s, who was just come from
England with his brother-in-law, Captain Frame, he takes leave of his
host, telling him he had a little business to transact, and would be at
home presently, for he should be able to find his way back without his
staying for him.—Having thus got rid of the Irishman, he claps his right
hand into his coat, as if he had lost the use of it; and then, going up
to the proprietor’s, knocks at the door, which was opened to him by a
negro, with a silver collar round his neck: he inquired if the proprietor
lived there, and if he was at home: being told he was, Pray tell him,
says he, that a poor man desires the favour of speaking with him.  The
negro then bid him come into the court: soon after, out came the
proprietor, very plainly dressed, and his brother, Captain Frame, in his
regimentals.  The proprietor came up to him, inquiring who he was, and
what he wanted with him: he replied he was a poor unfortunate man, who
craved his honour’s charitable assistance: that his name was John
Dawkins, of the city of Exeter; and that he belonged to Captain Davis’s
ship of that place, who was taken near the Capes.  Captain Frame, seeing
him a lusty tall fellow, presently cries out, revenge! revenge! my brave
boy! you shall go along with me, and fight the dogs!  Mr. Carew replied
with a sigh, that he should be glad to do that, but that, it was his
misfortune, by the severities and hardships in prison, to have lost the
use of his right arm by the dead palsy.  This moved their compassion so
much, that each of them gave him a guinea; the proprietor telling him he
would take care to send him home with Captain Read, who would sail, very
soon; then asking him if he had been at the governor’s, and he replying
in the negative, the proprietor told him he should go there, for he was a
very good-natured man, and would assist him; then calling to the black,
he bid him show the poor man to the governor’s.  As they were going
along, he informed himself of the black what countryman the governor was;
and being told a Welshman, and his name Thomas, he took care to make his
advantage of it.  When he came to the governor’s and inquired for him, he
was told he was walking in the garden; while he was waiting for his
coming out, in came the proprietor and his brother; and, going into the
garden, they represented his case to the governor, who, coming in,
inquired where he was born, &c.; he told him, as he had before done the
proprietor, and added, that he had married Betty Larkey, parson Griffy’s
maid, of Wales, and that the parson had a son at Bishop’s Nympton, in
Devon: the governor replied he knew the parson very well, and likewise
Betty Larkey; and after he had asked him some questions about them, which
Mr. Carew answered very readily, he gave him two guineas.

In this manner did he apply to the most of the principal merchants of
Philadelphia, always suiting some circumstances of his story in
particular to the person he applied to; which he did, by diligently
inquiring what places they came from in England, who were their friends
and acquaintance, and the like, which he knew how to suit most to his
purpose.

Captain Read being now ready to sail, and Mr. Carew having a curiosity of
seeing more of the country, he thought proper to leave Philadelphia
without taking leave of any of his good friends there.  From this place
he went into Buckingham county, where he inquired for one George Boon, a
justice of the peace in that county, who formerly lived at Bradnich, in
Devon, his father being a weaver there.  Here he went by his own name,
telling him, he had been taken prisoner, and carried into the Havannah,
where he had lain many months.  The justice having known his father very
well, entertained him generously, showed him the country, and gave him
three guineas at his departure, to help to pay his passage.

From thence he went to Burlington, the first town in West New-Jersey,
which contains about two hundred and fifty families, and has an
answerable number of acres laid out for plantations.  The houses are well
built, and almost all of brick.  The market affords plenty of all sorts
of provisions, which are as good here as any where in America.

From thence to Perth Amboy, so called in honour of the Duke of Perth.  It
is at the mouth of the Rantan, which runs into Sandyhook bay, and is able
to contain five hundred ships.  The plan of this city was laid out very
regularly and spaciously.  The plot of ground was divided into one
hundred and fifty shares, for purchasers to build upon.  Four acres are
preserved for a market-place, and three for public wharfage—very useful
things, if there had been inhabitants, trade, and shipping.  The town
being thus skilfully and commodiously laid out, some Scots began
building, especially a house for the governor, which was then as little
wanted as a wharf or a market.  The whole plan of the city consists of
one thousand and seventy-nine acres, and there are two good roads from it
to Piscataqua and Woodbridge.  Ships in one tide can come up to the port,
and be at the merchants’ doors, though of three hundred tons burden; but
the Perth city has not above two or three hundred men, women, and
children.

From thence over a ferry, into a town called Trent-town, in
Staten-island; and from thence over Brunswick ferry to East Jersey, where
he found out a Mr. Matthews, a miller, who formerly lived at Whitechurch,
near Lime, in Dorset; and, making use of his old story of having been
taken, he was received by Mr. Matthews with great hospitality; he kept
him three days in his house, and would have entertained him still longer.
At his departure he gave him a guinea, with several letters of
recommendation, and remitted letters by him to his friends in England,
sending his servant with him as far as Elizabeth town, which is three
miles within a creek opposite to the west end of Staten-island.  Here the
first English settlement was made, and if any place in the Jerseys may be
said to have thriven, it is this; for, notwithstanding the endeavours of
the proprietors to make a capital of Perth, by calling it a city,
Elizabeth town has near six times the number of inhabitants, containing
above two hundred and fifty families, and forty thousand acres of land
laid out.  Here the proprietors have a plantation, which goes by the name
of their farm.  The government of the province is here managed, courts
are kept, assemblies held, and the greatest part of the trade of the
colony carried on.  Here he met with one Mr. Nicholas, a Cornish man, who
gave him a ten-shilling bill, and recommended him to one Mr. Anderson, in
Long-island, sometimes called Nassau-island, stretching from Fairfield
county, in a fine spot of ground, one hundred and fifty miles in length,
and twenty in breadth.  Here he changed his religion, and turned
Presbyterian, most of the inhabitants being of that denomination: he
travelled quite through the island, and then crossed over a ferry into
Block-island, from whence there are great quantities of timber
transported to the town of Boston.

Soon after, crossing another ferry, he came into New York, which is a
very fine city.  There are now about one thousand one hundred houses, and
near seven thousand inhabitants in it.  The houses are well built, the
meanest of them is said to be worth one hundred pounds, which cannot be
said of any city in England.  The great church here was built in the year
1695, and is a very handsome edifice.  Here are also a Dutch church, a
French church, and a Lutheran church.  The inhabitants of the Dutch
extraction make a very considerable part of the town; but, most of them
speaking English, one may suppose they went pretty much to the great
church, especially all those that are and hope to be in offices.  Here he
was surprised at the sight of a great number of gibbets, with blacks
hanging upon them; but, upon inquiring, he found the negroes had not long
before entered into a conspiracy for burning the whole city; however, the
plot being timely discovered, great numbers were executed and hung up to
terrify others.  His first care here was to inquire the names,
circumstances, families, and countries, of the principal inhabitants of
the city; amongst the rest he inquired out Captain Lush, who was formerly
of Carmouth, by Lime, in Dorsetshire, to whom he had recommendatory
letters from Mr. Matthews, of East Jersey.  He was received very
hospitably by Captain Lush, who likewise gave him two shirts, and
informed him, there was no ship ready to sail for England there, but that
he would find one at New London.  Having found there was one Mr. Lucas,
formerly of Taunton, in Somersetshire, in New York, and judging he was
brother to Mr. Lucas, of Brampton, in Devon, whom he knew very well, he
went boldly to his house, which was in the fish-shambles, and knocking at
the door, it was opened to him by a negro; he enquired if Mr. Lucas was
at home; and, before the negro could give him an answer, out came Mr.
Lucas with a little boy, and demanded what he wanted: he replied he was
an Englishman, born in Devonshire, who had the misfortune to be cast away
in a ship behind Long-island, and hearing his name was Lucas, he had made
bold to apply to him for his assistance, as he was very well acquainted
with his brother, Mr. Lucas, of Brampton.  Mr. Lucas asked him, if he
could tell him whom his brother married; he replied, Mrs. Mary Tristam.
Do you know Huntsham?  Yes, replied he, and Mr. Beer, who first courted
Mrs. Tristam.  And how many children has my brother?  To this likewise
Mr. Carew answered very exactly; and Mr. Lucas, being convinced by this
of his being no imposter, bid him come in, telling him, he expected his
youngest brother there in three weeks time.  He was entertained here very
generously, and at his departure Mr. Lucas gave him two guineas.

From thence he went through Seabrake and Seaford to New London, which is
situated on a river called the Thames.  The first branch of which river
goes by the name of Glass river, the next branch by that of Russel’s
Delight, and the third by that of Indian river.  There is a small river
which falls into the sea at Manchester.  The trade of ship building
flourishes here.  He now inquired if there were none of the name of Davy
in that city; and being asked why, he replied, they were near heirs to a
fine estate near Crediton in Devon, formerly belonging to Sir John Davy.
He was then shown to two ancient sisters of Sir John Davy, whose sons
were timbermen: they asked a great many questions about the family, and
he told them that Sir John Davy was dead, and his eldest son also, who
had left two sons; that the youngest brother, Humphrey Davy, was then
living at Creedy-house, and the little boys somewhere about Exeter.  Then
they gave him two letters to give to Mr. Humphrey Davy; after which, each
gave him a guinea, with recommendations to one Justice Miller and Captain
Rogers, who was bound for England.  Justice Miller received him very
kindly, with whom he agreed to take a run to England for ten gallons of
rum, ten pounds of sugar, ten pounds of tobacco, and ten pipes.

Captain Rogers having taken in his lading, which consisted of rice,
tobacco, and pipe staves, set sail with a fair wind from New London, and
run to Lundy in a month and three days.  Nothing happened material on
their voyage, and the sailors passed this time very joyfully, having so
favourable a gale; but our hero, who knew that fortune, like a common
jilt, often puts on the fairest smiles when she is about to discard you,
thought it prudent to provide against her slippery tricks as much as lay
in his power; he therefore pricked his arms and breast with a needle, and
then rubbed it with bay salt and gunpowder, which made it appear like the
small-pox coming out; in the night-time he groaned very dismally, till at
length the captain called to him to know the reason of his groaning so in
his sleep.  Alas!  Sir, replied he, I have been dreaming my poor wife was
dead, and that she died of the small-pox.  Be of good cheer, man, says
the captain, dreams are but fables; and, for your comfort, I believe we
shall quickly make land: however, they did not do this as soon as the
captain expected; for, towards the next evening, the wind springing up a
fresh gale, the captain ordered to stand out to sea again: during all the
day, Mr. Carew did not stir out of his hammock, pretending to be very
ill.  Towards the morning, the wind was somewhat laid, and they stood in
before it; but it being very hazy weather, the captain ordered a good
look-out, crying, my brave boys, take care we don’t run foul of some
ship, for we are now in the channel.  The men replied, all is well.

Now the cocks began to crow on board, and Sol took his last embrace of
Thetis, to begin his daily stage; for, indeed, already had his equipage
waited near an hour for him.  Reader, if thou art acquainted with the
inimitable history of Tom Jones, thou mayest perhaps know what is meant
by this; but, lest thou shouldest not, we think it not improper to inform
thee, that we mean no more than what we might have told thee in three
words, that it was broad day-light.  The captain called out, how goes the
glass, my brave boys?  Eight glasses are just run, replied the men; then
look out sharp for land.  Soon after, the cabin boy hallooing out, land,
land! the captain ran nimbly to see if it was so, saying, I am afraid we
are embayed.  No, replied the mate, I will be bound for it, it is
Lundy-island.  The captain ran up immediately to the main-topmast head,
to look out for other lands to the right and left, and found it to be
indeed Lundy-island; upon which several sailors ran up the rigging, and,
among the rest, Mr. Carew creeps out with nothing but a blanket upon his
shoulders, and makes an attempt to run up the rigging; which the captain
seeing, he hastily cries out, where is old John going? take care of the
old man, he is light-headed: upon which, some of the sailors took him
down, and carried him back to his hammock.  They then crowded all the
sail they could for Lundy.  When they came near, they perceived several
ships laying at anchor there, and made a signal for a pilot.  Soon after
comes up a pilot of Clovelly, who was then upon the island, waiting to
pilot ships up to Bristol.  The captain welcomed him on board, and agreed
for seven guineas to be pilotted up to Bristol: then the captain asked
him what news, and if any New-England men were gone up the channel?  He
replied, that none had passed, but that he could inform him of bad news
for his men, which was, the Ruby man-of-war, Captain Goodyre, lay then in
King-road, and pressed all the men he could lay hold of.  Mr. Carew,
hearing this, immediately comes upon deck, with his blanket upon his
shoulders, and pretended to vomit over the ship’s side.  The pilot,
observing him, asked what was the matter with the old man.  I believe,
replies the captain, he has got the small-pox; he dreamed the other night
that his wife was dead of them, which frightened him so much, that I
think the small-pox is come out upon him.  The pilot then stepped up and
asked him to let him look upon him, which he complying with, and showing
him his arms, the pilot swore he had got the small-pox heavily upon him,
and Mr. Carew kept on groaning very mournfully.  They then sailed by
Appledore, Biddeford, and Barnstaple, (where Mr. Carew, notwithstanding
his having the small-pox so heavily, wished himself on shore, drinking
some of their fat ale,) so to the Holmes, and into King-road early in the
morning.  He then thought it advisable to take a pretty large quantity of
warm water into his belly, and soon after, to their concern, they saw the
Ruby man-of-war lying in the road, with jack, ensign, and pendant
hoisted.

Now were all the sailors, who had been so jovial before, struck with a
dreadful panic; but our hero, secure of the favour and protection of the
goddess prudence, was quite easy at heart.—Soon they perceived the man of
war’s boat making towards them, upon which Mr. Carew grew sicker and
sicker: the captain ordered the ropes to be flung out for a man-of-war’s
boat, and the stanchions and red ropes to be got ready for the
lieutenant, as though they had been to receive some good visitor on
board; such are the polished arts of the world; for we think we may
venture to say, that both the captain and the crew, at the time they were
making these preparations to receive the lieutenant, had rather have seen
him gone to the bottom of the sea, than come on board their vessel.  At
length the man-of-war’s boat came along side of the ship, when Mr. Carew
went down into the steerage with his belly full of hot water, and the
lieutenant came on board.  Sir, you are welcome on board, says the
captain; or, rather, that little part of the captain called the tongue;
for the heart, mind, and every other particle, of the captain wished him
at the d---l at the same time.  The lieutenant inquired from whence they
came and what passage.  The captain replied, from Boston, in a month and
four days; and then asked him to walk aft, and take a drop of rum; but,
before he did so, the lieutenant asked how many hands there were on
board.  The captain answered, he had only fifteen, for men were very
scarce.  Of what burden is your ship?—Two hundred and fifty tons.  I must
have your hands, sir, said the lieutenant: come in, barge crew, and do
your duty.  No sooner were the words spoken, than the crew leaped upon
the deck, and the lieutenant ordered all the ship’s company aft, saying
he wanted to talk with them.  He then accosted them with an oratorial
harangue: “Gentlemen sailors,” said he, “I make no doubt but you are
willing to enter voluntarily, and not as pressed men; if you go like
brave men, freely, when you come round to Plymouth and Portsmouth, and
get on board your respective ships, you will have your bounty money, and
liberty to go on shore and kiss your landladies.”  Though this oration
was pronounced with as much self-applause as Cicero felt when, by the
force of his eloquence, he made Cæsar the master of the world to tremble;
or as the vehement Demosthenes, when used to thunder against king Philip;
yet we are not quite certain whether it was the power of eloquence alone
persuaded the men to enter voluntarily, or whether being seated between
the two rocks of Scylla and Charybdis, it was indifferent to them which
they dashed upon; however this was, all but one of them entered (though
with sad hearts) without being pressed, which we make no doubt the
lieutenant attributed to the eloquence of his oration.

The lieutenant observing a stout fellow, in a frock and trowsers, who did
not come aft with the other men, asked the captain who he was.  The
captain replied, he was an Indian, and a brave sailor, so called him by
his name.  Wat ye want wit mee, replies the Indian, mee wont come,
dammee.  Upon which the lieutenant sent some of the barge crew to bring
him forward which the brave Indian perceiving, he caught hold of a
handspike, and put himself in a posture of defence, crying out to the
barge crew who came up towards him, dammee, ye meddle wit mee, mee dash
your brains out.  The crew, finding him resolute, did not think proper to
attack him: upon which the lieutenant asked him, if he would serve king
George.  Dam king George, mee know no king George: mee be an Indian, mee
have a king in my own country, whom mee love and fightee for, because he
be de very good king: at which the lieutenant and captain fell a
laughing, and left him.

Are these all your men? says the lieutenant.  Yes, replied the captain,
except an old man, who dreamed the other night that his wife died of the
small-pox, and was so much frightened, that the small-pox is come out
upon him.  The captain then ordered the bills to be made for what was due
to the men, and asked the lieutenant in the mean while to walk down and
taste his rum.  Accordingly down comes the lieutenant, humming a tune.
Mr. Carew, hearing this, prepared himself, and, taking an opportunity of
putting his finger down his throat, discharges his stomach just under the
lieutenant’s feet, crying out in a most lamentable tone at the same time,
O, my head!  O my back!  What! cried the lieutenant very hastily, is this
the fellow who has the small-pox?  No, no, replied Carew; I have had the
small-pox many years ago, and have been with Sir Charles Wager and Sir
George Walton up the Baltic; and now, for God’s sake, take me on board
your ship, noble captain, for I want only to be blooded.  The lieutenant
whipped out his snuff box, and clapped it to his nose, swearing, he would
not take him on board for five hundred pounds, for he was enough to
infect a whole ship’s crew; that the devil should take him before he
would—hurrying at the same time as fast as he could into the great cabin.
When he came there, Mr. Carew heard him complaining how unfortunate it
was that he should come on board, as he had never had the small-pox
himself.  When the rest of the men had had their bills made out, the
captain, willing to get rid of Mr. Carew, said to him, come, old John, I
will have your bill made to; which was accordingly done, and it amounted
to seven pounds ten shillings, for which the captain gave him a draught
on merchant Tidiate of Bristol.  The captain then ordered the boat to put
him on shore; but he besought the captain to let him die on board.  No,
no, says the captain; by all means take him on shore.  Ay, ay, says the
lieutenant, take him on shore.  Then the captain called to some of the
sailors, to help the poor old man over the side of the ship, and out came
Mr. Carew, with the blanket wrapped about his shoulders, and so well did
he counterfeit, that he seemed a most deplorable object of compassion.
The boat having got a little distance from the ship, was called back
again, and the lieutenant tossed him half-a-guinea, charging him not to
go into the city of Bristol, as he was enough to infect the whole city.

Thus our hero, after seeing many cities and men, undergoing great
hardships, and encountering many dangers and difficulties, once more set
foot on his beloved country.  Notwithstanding the joy he felt at being
safe on shore, he did not lay aside his small-pox, but travelled on
towards Bristol as one very bad in that distemper.  Coming to Justice
Cann’s, near Derham Downs, he met with the gardener, whom he asked if the
justice lived there, and was at home?  Being told he was, he made a most
lamentable moan, and said, he was just come from New England, and had the
small-pox on him.  The gardener went into the house, and, soon returning,
told him the justice was not at home; but gave him half-a-crown.  He
still kept crying, I am a dying man, and I beseech you let me lie and die
in some hay-tallet, or any place of shelter.  The gardener, seeing him so
ill, went in again, and brought out a cordial dram, and a mug of warm
ale, which Mr. Carew made shift to swallow.  The gardener then left him,
being so much affrighted at his appearance and lamentable moans, that he
let both glass and mug fall to the ground, before he reached the house.
Mr. Carew then made a shift, notwithstanding his dying condition, to
reach the city of Bristol; and being now freed from his apprehensions of
being pressed, at the first barber’s he came to he got rid of his beard,
and bid adieu to the small-pox; he then made the best of his way to the
mendicants’ hall, on Mile-hill.  Just as he came there, the landlady and
an old croney, a tinker’s wife, were standing at the door; as soon as the
landlady espied him, she clapped her hands, and swore it was either Mr.
Carew or his ghost.  As soon as they were convinced he was flesh and
blood, great were the kisses, hugs, and embraces, of the three.  Our
hero’s first inquiry was, when they had seen his dear Polly, meaning his
wife: the landlady told him she had not seen her lately, but had heard
that she and his daughter were well; but that his wife never expected to
see him more.

Mr. Carew soon called for a room above stairs, ordered an elegant dinner
to be provided, and passed the afternoon very merrily.  The next morning
he waited on the merchant with his bill, and received the money for it;
then weighed anchor, and steered for Bridgewater, where he arrived at
night.  He immediately repaired to a mumper’s house, kept by a one-eyed
woman, named Laskey, from whence he went to the Swan, where several
gentlemen were passing the evening together, viz. Mr. More, Dr. Deptford,
Counsellor Bedford, and others, all of whom were particularly acquainted
with him; however, he pretended to be a West Indian who had been cast
away in a ship, coming from Antigua, which foundered behind Cape Clear;
that he was taken up by an Irishman, and afterwards put on board a
Bristol ship.  Having by this story raised a handsome contribution from
the gentlemen, he discovered himself, knowing them to be his good
friends; but the gentlemen could scarcely credit him, till he gave them
sufficient proofs of his being the real Bampfylde Moore Carew.

The next morning he went to Sir John Tynte, and made the same complaint
he had done the night before at the Swan in Bridgewater: the servant
telling him Sir John would come forth soon, he waited till he did so, and
then discovered himself; Sir John would not believe him, but at last made
him a present.  He afterwards visited Justice Grose, of Bromfylde, who
presently knew him, and made him very welcome; from whence, setting out
for Exeter, he visited on the road Mr. John Bampfylde, of Hesticomb, the
Rev. Mr. Boswell, and Dr. Hildyard, of Taunton, the Rev. Mr. Manifee,
Squire Bluet, of Melcombe Regis, the Rev. Mr. Newt, of Tiverton, Squire
Blundel, and Major Worth, in the neighbourhood of that place, who, being
all his particular friends, were very glad to see him return, and treated
him very handsomely.  Major Worth took a hunting with him: but he soon
found an opportunity of slipping away, and directed his steps to his own
parish of Bickley.  Here he happened to meet Lady Carew; but so great was
his respect for her, that he, who used to attempt every thing, had not
courage to accost this lady, and therefore turned off to a place called
Codbury, the seat of Mr. Fursdon.  As soon as he came there, he was known
to Mr. Fursdon’s sister, who told him he should not stir thence till her
brother came home; soon after Mr. Fursdon returned, and brought with him
one Mr. Land, of Silverton: he was very much surprised to see him, and
treated him very generously, making him a very handsome present, as did
also Mr. Land.  He abode there that night, went a hunting with Mr.
Fursdon the next day, and likewise to see Mr. Bampfylde Rode, at Stoke,
who would not believe Mr. Carew had been in America; he treated him
handsomely, and made him a present at his departure.  He came next into
Exeter, the place he had sailed from to Maryland, and going into St.
Peter’s church-yard, saw Sir Henry Northcote, Dr. Andrews, and two other
gentlemen, who were walking there; he accosted them with a God bless you,
Sir Harry, Dr. Andrews, and the rest of the company.  Sir Harry, staring
very wistfully at him, cried, are you flesh and blood? why you can never
have been in America?  Dr. Andrews then asked if it was Carew; and the
report being spread that he was in Exeter, it drew a number of spectators
to see him; and amongst the rest merchant Davy himself, who asked him, in
a very great hurry, if the ship was cast away.  No, no, said he, I have
been in America, have had the honour of seeing your factor, Mr. Mean, and
saw Griffiths sold for a thousand weight of tobacco: did I not tell you
that I would be at home before Captain Froade?  He then gave an account
of several particulars, which convinced the gentlemen he had really been
in America.  Mr. Davy asked him, if he had been sold before he ran away;
and he replying he had not, the merchant told him jeeringly, that he was
his servant still, that he should charge him five pounds for his passage,
and five pounds for costs and charges, besides Captain Froade’s bill.  He
next inquired where he had left Captain Froade.  Mr. Carew told him he
had left him in Miles’s river.  The gentlemen then gave him money, as did
likewise merchant Davy.

Two months after this came home Captain Froade, laden with tobacco.  As
soon as he came to an anchor, several gentlemen of Exeter went on board,
and inquired what passage, and where he left Mr. Carew?  Damn him,
replied the captain, you will never see him again: he ran away, was
taken, put into New Town gaol, brought back again, and whipped, had a
pot-hook put upon him, ran away with it on his neck, and has never been
heard of since; so that, without doubt, he must either be killed by some
wild beast, or drowned in some river.  At this the gentlemen fell a
laughing, telling the captain he had been at home two months before him.
Captain Froade swore it could never be; however, they confirmed it to him
that it was so.

Soon after this Mr. Carew went and paid his respects to Sir William
Courtenay, returning him many thanks for what he had furnished him with
when he sailed for Maryland; adding, he had been as good as his word, in
coming home before Captain Froade.  Sir William told him he thought he
had; and then called to his butler to give him something to drink.  In a
little time Sir William came to him again, with his brother, Mr. Henry
Courtenay, who conducted him to a noble parlour, where was a great
company of fine ladies sitting, whom our hero accosted with all that
respect which is ever due to beauty and merit.  Sir William then asked
him jocosely if he could find out which was his dove.  He replied, he
knew some of the ladies there; and that, unless his judgment deceived
him, such a lady, (singling out one of them) was the happy person.  You
are right, replied Sir William; this is indeed my dove, and turtle-dove.
Sir William then put a piece of money in his hat, as did Mr. Courtenay,
and bid him go round to the ladies, which he did, addressing them in a
very handsome manner; and, we need not add, gathered a plentiful harvest,
as the fair sex are, in general, so much inclined to humanity and
good-nature.  Sir William asked him if he would not drink to the ladies’
health? and filled him up a bumper of excellent wine; he then took his
leave of this truly noble and hospitable gentleman.—Here, reader, if my
pen were equal to the task, I would describe to you one whom, in this
degenerate age, thou mayest gaze at as a prodigy; one who, like the
phœnix rising from the ashes of his father, inherits all the virtues of
his glorious ancestors; I would describe to you magnificence without
extravagance, pomp without ostentation, plenty without luxury or riot,
and greatness undiminished by little pride; I would set before you
something more than a king, surrounded and imprisoned by worthless and
impervious favourites, fawning sycophants, and tasteless grandeur.  Such
are the scenes within thy walls, such thy master, happy Powderham!

From hence our hero went to Squire Bell’s, of Mamheap; in the way he met
with Mr. Jackson, his steward, who was lame with the gout; he presently
knew Mr. Carew, gave him half-a-crown, and told him, he would hop back on
his crutches to give him something to drink.  While they were drinking a
glass, the steward advised him to make application to the squire.
Presently after, he came out, and Mr. Carew soon began his attack upon
him.  Pray, who are you? said the justice.  I am a poor unfortunate West
Indian, replied he, who has been shipwrecked on the coast of Ireland, and
was taken up by a Bristol ship.  Ay, ay, you are one of Carew’s gang, I
suppose, said the justice, but he is transported.  Bless your honour,
returned he, I am no impostor; I have heard that he was a very great one,
and I think deserved more than transportation.  Well, well, there’s a
shilling for you, replied the justice, and go about your business.

From hence he steered towards Mr. Oxenham’s, at New-house: when he came
near the house, he pulled off his shirt, and gave it to an old man he
met, as though he had been amazed: then marched up to the house, and just
at the stable met Mrs. Oxenham and another lady, whom he immediately
accosted with a doleful complaint of being a poor shipwrecked mariner.
Mrs. Oxenham told him, she should have taken him for Bampfylde Moore
Carew, but she knew him to be transported.  He was not disconcerted at
this, but readily told her, with great composure, that his name was
Thomas Jones, belonging to Bridport, in Dorsetshire.  The ladies gave
each a shilling, and then bid him to go into the house, where he had
victuals set before him; before he went away the lady sent him a Holland
shirt.  Being thus equipped, he inquired out the churchwardens of the
parish, and by the same story got a crown of them.  From hence he went to
Lord Clifford’s, at Uggbroke, in the parish of Chudleigh: here he sent in
a petition to my Lord as an unfortunate Roman Catholic, and received a
guinea; he lay that night at Sandy-gate, and behaved as a Roman Catholic,
under the name of William Passmore.

The next day, at Moll Upton’s, in Newton Bushel, he met with one of the
sisters of that order of mendicants commonly called cousin Betties; and
he, having an inclination to pay a visit to Sir Thomas Carew, at Hackum,
soon made an agreement with the cousin Betty to exchange habits for that
day.  The barber was then called in to make his beard as smooth as his
art and razor could make it, and his hair was dressed up with ribbons;
thus metamorphosed, our hero set out, having a little dog under his arm.
Being come to Sir Thomas Carew’s, he rushed into the house without
ceremony, demanding his rent in an imperious tone.  None of the
men-servants being in the way, the women first ran one way and then
another; but he, taking notice of this confusion, continued to act the
mad woman, beating his head against the wall, kissing the dog, and
demanding his rent; at last, one of the women-servants came out, crying,
lady, you are welcome to the rent, and gave him a crown; but he was not
to be removed so easily, for now he fell a raving again, and demanded
some merry-go-down; they then brought him some ale, which having drunk,
he took his leave, thanking them with a very low courtesy.  From hence he
returned in his progress to parson Sandford’s, of Stoke, in Tinney,
where, having entered the house with as little ceremony as before, he not
only demanded his rent, as usual, but a gown for some of his cousins:
neither would he take his leave till he had got a shilling for rent, a
good gown, and some pinners.  He next called upon parson Richards, at
Coombe, in Tinney, where he got a shilling and a shift.  Having thus
succeeded in his new adventure, he returned to his quarters at mother
Upton’s, in Newton-Bushel, where he divided the profits of the day with
his good cousin Betty, and also passed the night very merrily with her.

The next day he restored his borrowed accoutrements to cousin Betty, and,
calling for a pen and ink, wrote a petition in the character of a poor
unfortunate soap-boiler, whose house was set on fire by the carelessness
of an apprentice, in the parish of Monksilver, not forgetting to sign it
with the names of several neighbouring gentlemen.  With this fictitious
petition he went to Justice Taylor’s, at Dembury, where he was handsomely
relieved: thence he went to Justice Neil’s, and finding upon inquiry the
justice himself was at home, he did not venture to deliver his petition,
but begged as an unfortunate man, and was relieved with a cup of cider,
and some bread and cheese.  At Darlington he assumed the character of a
rat-catcher, and sold a receipt to a gentleman’s steward for a crown: and
under this character he travelled forward to Plymouth.  Here, learning
that there was to be a great cock-match, he laid aside his rat-catcher’s
habit, and put on that of a gentleman, and not the habit only, as too
many do, but the manners and behaviour likewise.  At the cock-match, he
betted several wagers with Sir Coventry Carew, and his own brother Mr.
Henry Carew, the minister of Saltash, which he had the good fortune to
win, and left the cock-pit undiscovered by any one.  Thus great is the
power of dress, which transforms and metamorphoses the beggar into a
gentleman, and the cinder wench into a fine lady; therefore let not the
little great (I mean those who have nothing to recommend them but their
equipage) pride themselves as though they had something superior in them
to the poor wretch they spurn with so much contempt; for, let me tell
them, if we are apt to pay them respect, they are solely indebted for it
to the mercer and tailor; strip them of their gaudy plumes, and we shall
not be able to distinguish them from the lowest order of mumpers.  This
puts us in mind of a remarkable adventure of our hero’s life, which he
always told with a great deal of pleasure.

One day, as he was begging in the town of Maiden Bradley, from door to
door, as a poor shipwrecked seaman, he saw on the other side of the
street a mendicant brother-sailor, in a habit as forlorn as his own,
begging for God’s sake, just like himself.  Seeing Mr. Carew, he crossed
the way, came up to him, and in the cant language, asked where he lay
last night, what road he was going, and several other questions; then,
whether he would brush into a boozing-ken and be his thrums; to this he
consented, and away they went; where, in the course of their
conversation, they asked each other various questions concerning the
country, the charitable and uncharitable families, the moderate and
severe justices, the good and queer corporations.  This new acquaintance
of Mr. Carew’s asked him if he had been at Sir Edward Seymour’s?  He
answered, yes, and had received his alms: the stranger, therefore, not
having been there, left him at the alehouse, and went thither himself,
where, having received the same alms that his new companion had, he
returned to him again.

The next day they begged through the town, one on one side of the street,
and the other on the other, each on his own separate story and account:
they then proceeded to the houses of several gentlemen in the
neighbourhood, both in one story, which was that of the stranger.  Among
many others, they came to Lord Weymouth’s, where it was agreed that Mr.
Carew should be spokesman: upon their coming up to the house, the
servants bid them begone, unless they could give a good account of
themselves and the countries in which they pretended to have been, for,
should Lord Weymouth come and detect them in any falsehood, he would
horse-whip them without mercy, which was the treatment to all those whom
he found to be counterfeits met with from him, and he had detected great
numbers of them, having been abroad himself.  Our travellers were not the
least daunted, Mr. Carew being conscious in himself that he could give a
satisfactory account of Newfoundland, and the other affirming that he had
been at Rome, France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, &c. and could give as good
a description of those countries as his lordship himself.  Therefore up
they went to the kitchen door, and Mr. Carew broke ice, telling the
deplorable story of their misfortune in his usual lamentable tone.  The
housekeeper at first turned a deaf ear to their supplication and
entreaty; but Mr. Carew, at the instigation of his companion, redoubled
his importunity, kneeling on one knee, and making use of all the methods
of exciting charity, of which he was capable; so that at last the
housekeeper gave them the greatest part of a cold shoulder of mutton,
half a fine wheaten loaf, and a shilling, but did it with great haste and
fear, lest his lordship should see her, and be angry.  Of the butler they
got a copper of good ale, and then, both expressing their thankfulness,
departed.—Having reached some distance from the house there arose a
dispute who should carry the victuals, both being loath to incumber
themselves with it, as having neither wife nor child near to give it to.
Mr. Carew was for throwing it into the hedge, but the other urged that it
was both a sin and a shame to waste good victuals in that manner, so they
both agreed to go to the Green Man, about a mile from my lord’s, and
there exchange it for liquor.  At this alehouse they tarried for some
time, and snacked the argot; then, after a parting glass, each went his
way.

The reader cannot but be surprised when we assure him that this mendicant
companion of his was no less a person than my Lord Weymouth himself, who,
being desirous of sounding the tempers and dispositions of the gentlemen
and other inhabitants of the neighbourhood, put himself into a habit so
vastly beneath his birth and fortune, in order to obtain that discovery.
Nor was this the first time that this great nobleman had metamorphosed
himself into the despicable shape and character of a beggar, as several
of that neighbourhood can testify; but, when he went abroad into the
world in this disguise, he took especial care to conceal it even from his
own family, one servant only, in whose secrecy he greatly confided, being
entrusted therewith; and this was his valet-de-chambre, who used to
dress, shave, and perform other such offices about his lordship’s person.

Mr. Carew and his noble companion having thus parted from each other, he
took his way into the woodlands towards Frome; and the disguised lord, by
a private way through the park and gardens, returned to his own house,
and there, divesting himself of his rags, put on his embroidered apparel,
and re-assumed the dignity and state to which both his birth and fortune
entitled him.  I am informed, said his lordship, that two sailors have
been at my house; and, inquiring which way they went, he ordered two men
and horses to go after them, with a strict charge to bring them back to
his house, for he had heard they were impostors; and, if he found them
such, he would treat them accordingly.  The servants obeyed his commands
without the least suspicion of the intricacy of this affair, and soon
came up with Mr. Carew, whom they forcibly brought up to my lord.  His
lordship accosted him in a very rough stern manner, asking where the
other fellow was, and told him he should be made to find him.  Mr. Carew
in the mean time stood thunder-struck, expecting nothing less than a
commitment to prison, but, upon examination, made out his story as well
as he could.

After having thus terrified and threatened him for a considerable time,
his lordship went out, and, divesting himself of the habit and character
of a nobleman, again put on his rags, and was, by his trusty
valet-de-chambre, ushered into the room where his brother-beggar stood
sweating for fear, when they compared notes together, whispering to each
other what to say, in order that their accounts might agree when examined
apart, as in effect they were.  The steward took Mr. Carew aside into a
private chamber, and there pretending that the other fellow’s relation
contradicted his, and proved them both to be counterfeits, he said that a
prison must be the portion of both; and indeed nothing was omitted that
might strike Mr. Carew with the greatest terror and confusion.  By this
time my lord having thrown off his rags, and put on his fine apparel, Mr.
Carew was again brought into his presence to receive his final sentence;
when his lordship, having sufficiently diverted himself with the fear and
consternation of his brother mumper discovered himself to him.

We might have mentioned before, that, while my lord and Mr. Carew
travelled together, they asked each other whence they came, and what
their names were.  Mr. Carew ingeniously confessed his, but my lord
disguised both his name and country; so that having accidentally met with
a mendicant of the greatest note in England, his lordship thought fit to
treat him in the manner aforesaid, which he would not have done to every
common vagrant.—However, to satisfy himself that this was the famous and
true Bampfylde Moore Carew, for many impostors had usurped his name, he
sent for Captain Atkins, a gentleman of his acquaintance in the
neighbourhood, who went to school with Mr. Carew at Tiverton.  This
gentleman was very glad to see his old school-fellow, and assured his
lordship that it was really Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew, upon which his
lordship very nobly entertained him at his house for the space of three
days, and gave him an excellent suit of clothes and ten guineas; but,
remembering the trouble they had, and the loss they were at to dispose of
the shoulder of mutton and bread which the housekeeper had given them, as
likewise the resolution Mr. Carew had once taken to throw it away, he
called his housekeeper, and strictly charged her never to give away a
morsel of victuals more, but bestow the alms in money only, rightly
judging that to be more acceptable to beggars than the best of
provisions, the greatest part of which they either waste, give away, or
exchange for an inconsiderable quantity of drink, as my lord and Mr.
Carew had done.  His lordship took Mr. Carew to Warminster horserace, and
there recommended him to many honourable gentlemen, who were very liberal
to him.  He several times after made bold to call upon his lordship in
his rounds, and at every visit received a guinea, and a hearty welcome at
his house.  His lordship would frequently make himself merry with the
story, and jocosely say, that he was more expert in the science of
mumping than even Mr. Carew himself.

Not long after this, Mr. Carew came to Biddeford again, where he had been
some time before, and delivered the compass to Captain Haley’s wife, who
immediately burst into tears upon seeing it, supposing her husband was
dead: he then went to the Dolphin, where, as he was drinking, he saw some
gentlemen in the Butchers’ Row, and asked the landlord who they were.
Being told they were the Captains Harvey, Hopkins, and Burd,—Go, said he,
and give my duty, and tell them Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew is at your
house.  The landlord went accordingly, and soon returned with the
captains.  They were glad to see our hero, who returned them thanks for
the favours he had received from them in America.  The captains asked him
a great many questions respecting his travels through the Indians’
country, &c., and told him they never thought he could have gone through
that dangerous undertaking, but expected to have seen him return again.
He then gave them an account of every thing to their satisfaction,
telling them he had followed their directions in every point.  They
afterwards treated him very handsomely, and made a collection for him.
The captains then going out, and reporting that he was in town, a great
concourse of people assembled to see him, to the no little profit of the
landlord; for our hero ordered that no one should be admitted to see him,
till he had first drunk a quart of ale in the house.

Some time after this, he disguised himself like a poor miserable decrepid
old man, and took to selling of matches and gathering old rags.
Happening to meet a brother ragman at Wiveliscombe, they joined company,
and agreed to travel to Porlock together.  Just as they came to
Gutter-Hall, night coming on a-pace, they proposed taking up their
quarters there.  The landlord told them he had no lodging to spare, but
if they would go half-a-mile farther, and lie in a haunted house, they
should have their lodging free cost, and good bread, cheese, and cider,
with a rasher of bacon into the bargain.  The ragmen very readily
accepted this offer, and, accompanied by the landlord, repaired to Farmer
Liddon’s house.  When they came there the landlord told the farmer he had
brought two men who would lie in the haunted house.  The farmer received
them very gladly, and asked them if they were sure they had courage
enough to do it, adding he would give them twenty shillings if they could
lay the old woman.  Never fear, farmer, replied Mr. Carew; we have not
only courage to speak to, but learning enough to lay, the old woman, so
that you shall never hear of her more.  Things being thus agreed on, the
farmer’s son, a great stout fellow, willing to show his courage, in a
very bold manner offered to keep them company.  Having provided
themselves with firing, cider, bread, cheese, and bacon, they adjourned
to the haunted house, but not before Mr. Carew had taken an opportunity
of going into the yard, and filling his pockets with large stones.  When
they came to the haunted house, they made a good fire, and he and his
companion sat down, eating and drinking very merrily; but the farmer’s
son, beginning to have some terrors upon him, had little stomach to eat.
About the middle of the night, when every thing is most silent and
solemn, at that time when every whisper of the mind is apt to create
fear, Mr. Carew took an opportunity of throwing a stone unseen up the
stairs, which, coming rumbling down again with a frightful noise, might
have at that time struck a panic into the most courageous heart.  The
farmer’s son turned pale, and leaped from his chair in a great fright,
believing that the old woman was making her entrance; but nothing
appearing, the same awful silence and stillness as before took place,
only fear staid behind in the farmer’s breast, and Mr. Carew and his
companion kept mute, as though in expectation of what would follow; but
soon this solemn silence was disturbed by a loud thump at the door; again
the farmer leaped from his seat, crying out, O Lord! save and deliver us!
At the same time, unable to command those passages at which fear is apt
to issue out, he caused a smell almost as bad as Satan himself is said to
bring along with him.  Mr. Carew caught him in his arms, and, holding his
head close to his breast, cried, don’t be afraid, Mr. Liddon, for I will
make the old woman fly; at the same time, pretending to conjure her, he
repeated three times very solemnly, “Hight spirito diabolico rubro
oceano,” whilst his companion went a little aside, and answered in a
squeaking tone, like Joan Liddon, unless my will is fulfilled, I will
tear them in pieces.

Soon after cock-crowing, there was another huge blow at the door, and
then they bid the farmer look up, telling him the old woman was gone;
however, he would not let go his hold of Mr. Carew.  Just as day-light
appeared, his companion went forth, and picked up the stones from the
stairs, entry, &c.  He had scarce done this, before the old farmer came
down, to see if his son was alive, and if they had seen old Joan.  He
accosted them with, How do you do? how have you spent the night?  O
father, replied the son, most terribly indeed.  You can’t conceive what
rattlings and noises we heard; but this good man secured me in his arms.
But what smell is this? replied the father; sure old Joan stinks of
brimstone, or something worse, if she brought this along with her.  Ay,
father, father, said the son, I believe you would have raised as bad a
smell as I have done, if you had been here.  Well, well, said the father,
perhaps I might; but have you spoken to old Joan?  Yes, indeed, replied
Mr. Carew.  And what does the old woman say? she says, if her will is not
exactly fulfilled as she desired, she will never leave haunting you; but,
if it be, all shall be well and quiet.  They then went to the farmer’s
house, where they were made very welcome, and received the twenty
shillings, according to promise, the farmer requesting they would stay
the next night by themselves, for he believed his son would have no
stomach to go with them, and tell the old woman every thing should be
fulfilled according to her will, and they should be satisfied to their
content.  They accordingly passed the next night there very merrily, and
received another twenty shillings in the morning, which was well bestowed
too by the farmer; for ever after the house had the reputation of being
quiet.

Mr. Carew and his companion then set forward for Porlock, where they
parted company; and Mr. Carew coming into Porlock, met Dr. Tanner, a
relation of old Joan Liddon’s, and his brother, Parson Tanner, who was
with him.  After the usual salutations, he very composedly asked if they
had heard the news of the conjuring old Joan?  The doctor replied they
had heard something of it, and that he was resolved either to send or
take a ride over himself, to inquire into the truth of it.  He confirmed
it to them, which occasioned a great deal of discourse about it, and who
these two conjurers could be.

We should, perhaps, have passed over in silence this adventure of our
hero’s, but that an author of the first rate has taken a great deal of
pains to frighten a poor soldier, and entertain his readers by dressing
up his hero in a white coloured coat, covered with streams of blood;
though we cannot well conceive how those streams of blood, which ran down
the coat in the morning, should appear so very visible twenty hours
after, in the middle of the night, and at a distance by the light of a
single candle; notwithstanding this great author has very judicously
acquainted us with a light-coloured coat; but however this may be, we are
of opinion that the farmer’s son in the above adventure is a more
entertaining character than the soldier in the renowned history we are
speaking of; and that our hero, whenever it was needful, could make a
much more tremendous figure than Mr. Jones in his white-coloured coat
covered with streams of blood.  The following is a sufficient instance.

Mr. Carew being in the town of Southmolton, in Devon, and having been ill
used by a great officer, vulgarly called the bellman, was resolved to
take comical revenge.  It was about that time reported and generally
believed, that a gentleman of the town, lately buried, walked by night in
the church-yard; and, as the bellman was obliged by his nightly duty to
go through it just at the hour of one, that well-known accustomed time of
spectres issuing from their graves, Mr. Carew repaired there a little
before the time, and, stripping to his shirt, lay down upon the
gentleman’s grave.  Soon after, hearing the bellman approach, he raised
himself up with a solemn slowness; which the bellman beholding, by the
glimmering light of the moon through some thick clouds, he was harrowed
up (as Shakspeare expresses it) with fear and wonder, and an universal
palsy seized every limb; but, as nature most commonly dictates flight in
all such cases, he retreated with as much haste as his shaking limbs
would allow; yet, as fear naturally inclines us to look back upon the
object we are flying from, he several times cast his eyes behind him, and
beheld the ghost follow him with a solemn march.  This added fresh vigour
to his flight, so that he tumbled over graves and stones, not without
many bruises, and at length dropped his bell, which the ghost seized upon
as trophy, and forbore any farther pursuit.  The bellman, however, did
not stop till he reached home, where he obstinately affirmed he had seen
the gentleman’s ghost, who had taken away his bell, which greatly alarmed
the whole town; and there were not wanting many who afterwards frequently
heard the ghost ringing the bell in the church-yard.

It was some time before the bellman had the courage to resume his usual
nightly rounds through the church-yard; but after a while, his fear
abating, he ventured upon it again, and met with no interruption.  Mr.
Carew happening about a year afterwards to be in Southmolton again, was
afresh insulted by the bellman, which made him resolve to give him a
second meeting in the church-yard; taking therefore the opportunity of a
very dark night, he dressed himself in a black gown, put a great fur cap
upon his head, and at the usual time of the bellman coming, repaired to
the church-yard, holding in his mouth, by the middle, a stick lighted at
both ends, at the same time rattling a heavy iron chain.  If the
bellman’s terror before was great, it was now much greater; and indeed
the appearance, joined to the rattling of the chain, was so hideous, that
the boldest soldier might have been terrified by it, without any
imputation of cowardice.  The bellman fled away with all the wings of
fear, the spectre following him at a distance, rattling the chain with a
most hideous noise; hence the bellman concluded himself to be haunted by
the devil, and declined ever after his nocturnal employment.

About this time Mr. Carew met with one Mr. Philips, a celebrated limner
in Porlock, who showed him a great many pictures of different likenesses,
and asked him if he knew any of them.  He pointed out his old
school-fellow, Edward Dyke, Esq., and Sir Thomas Carew.  Mr. Philips then
asked him if he would sit for his picture, as he had been desired to draw
it for Mr. Copplestone Bampfylde; which our hero agreeing to, he went the
next day, and the following, to sit for the picture, undisguised.  When
it was finished, Mr. Philips desired him to come again another time in
his mumping dress, which he accordingly promised to do.

After this he went to Minehead, and called on several of his old
acquaintance, viz. Dr. Bell, Parson Beer, and the Collector, who all
treated him very kindly.  Having raised contributions from these
gentlemen, he repaired to his quarters, and desired them to lend him a
pair of trowsers.  Having a mind to try some of the neighbouring country
parishes, he pretended to be a cast-away seaman, 3500 miles from home,
and picked up a great deal of money, and seven or eight pounds of bacon,
which he brought to his quarters, and gave as a recompense for the loan
of the trowsers.

Some days after he met with an old female acquaintance, who had a young
child with her, at a place called Embercomb, with whom joining company,
they came into Dunster, and lay at private lodgings.  The next day, being
willing to indulge his companion, he borrowed her child, a gown, and one
of her petticoats.  Thus accoutred, with the child in his arms, he
returned to Minehead among the gentlemen he had so lately received
contributions from; and pretending to be an unfortunate woman, whose
house had been burnt at Chadleigh, and giving a good account of that
place and its inhabitants to those who questioned him, coughing very
violently, and making the child cry, he got a great deal of money,
clothes for the child, and victuals.  On his return to Dunster, he gave
the mother of the child the clothes, and the greatest part of the money
he had obtained in his trip; neither was this method new to him, for he
had long before this taught his own daughter, a little infant, to say,
“drowned in a boat,” as often as he or any other person asked her what
was become of her mother, or mammy.  Having made her perfect in this
lesson, he set out with her upon his back, and pretended to have been a
sailor on board a vessel that had been lately lost on the coast of Wales,
when most of the ship’s crew and passengers were drowned, among whom, he
said, was the mother of the tender infant at his back, and that he had
saved himself and the infant by swimming.  By this story he pocketed a
great deal of money every where, especially, as by way of confirmation,
when he was telling of it, he would turn and ask the babe, where is your
poor mammy, my dear, my jewel?  To which the babe would reply, drowned in
the boat; which so affected all that heard it, that it not only drew
their purse but their tears also.

From Dunster he went through the country to Ilfracombe, where he inquired
for a passage to Ireland.  He was told there was no vessel going to
Ireland, but that he might have a passage for Wales, which he soon
resolved upon, and, after waiting upon the collector and some other
friends in Ilfracombe, set sail for Swansea.  He had no sooner landed
there, than he repaired to the Rev. Mr. Griffy of that place, in the
character of a cast-away seaman, a native of Devonshire; and, as he gave
a particular account of Mr. Griffy’s son, the minister of Bishop’s
Nympton, he was made very welcome, and handsomely relieved, and by his
recommendations obtained a great deal of money in the town.

From thence he went in the same character to Lord Mansell’s, at
Cowbridge, and other places, and returned to Swansea.  Thence he set out
again, travelling through the country to Tenby, where, hearing of one
Captain Lott, he waited upon him with the same story, but with the
addition of his name being John Lott, whereby he soon got half-a-crown
and a good welcome.  He next set out for Carmarthen, and raised a great
deal of money from the Welsh gentry, pretending now to be an unfortunate
sailor belonging to Ireland, who had been cast away near Portland Race,
coming from Bilboa.  He proceeded upon the same story to Aberystwyth and
Port Ely, where he chanced to meet with a brother of the mendicant order,
to whom he was well known; they inquired of each other’s success, and
many other particulars, and agreed to join company for some time.  Mr.
Carew now got a cere-cloth of pitch, which he laid to his arms, with a
raw beef-steak at the top, covered over with white bread and tar, which
has the exact appearance of a green wound.  They still continued in the
same story of being cast away, but, added to it, that he had fallen off
the rigging, and wounded his arm in that manner.  They travelled together
with good success as far as Shadwell, where they parted company.

Our hero made the best of his way to Holyhead, and begging a passage on
board the packet to Dublin, after a fine trip landed at King’s End, near
that city.  His first inquiry here was for an old acquaintance, and in
particular for one Mr. Crab, and Lord Annesly, who had been schoolfellows
with him at Tiverton.  He found my Lord Annesly lived a mile from the
town, but did not see him the first day, being gone to Blessington, as
the servants told him.  Accordingly he set out for that town the next
day, where he found my lord at a tavern with several officers; he went
in, and told the tavern-keeper he wanted to speak with his lordship; but,
as his appearance was none of the best, the tavern-keeper did not like to
deliver this message to my lord, but asked what his business was.  Tell
him, said he, that I am an old school-fellow of his, and want to see him.
My lord, being told this, came out with two gentlemen, and inquired who
he was; which our hero told him.  Ha! Mr. Carew, said his lordship, is it
you, mon? walk in, walk in.  What, said one of the captains, is this old
Carew? the very same, replied my lord.  After he had sat down for some
time, and talked over several old affairs with my lord, one of the
captains asked him if he could get him a good pointer.  Ay, ay, that he
can, replied his lordship; for, by my saul, mon, he and I have stolen
many a dog, and lain in many a hay tallet, in our youthful days.  Then
turning to Mr. Carew, he told his fame was spread as much in Ireland as
in England.  Indeed it is so, replied one of the captains.  His lordship
then asked him how he found him out there.  He replied, he had been
directed there by their old school-fellow, Crab.  Well, said my lord, you
shall go home along with me.  He desired to be excused, as he designed to
go and see lord St. Leger, who was another of his school-fellows; but my
lord swore by his saul he should go home along with him, and visit Lord
St. Leger another time; accordingly a good horse was provided for him,
and they all set out for Dublin.

The next day my Lord Annesly took him to his own house.  During his abode
here, which was about a fortnight, our hero received great civilities
from the Irish gentry; Lord Annesly introducing him to all the chief
company in the city, as the man they had heard so much talk of.  One day
Mr. O’Brien, a gentleman of great fortune, being in company, asked Mr.
Carew if he had ever been on board the Yarmouth man-of-war; he replied,
that he had been in her up the Baltic.  The gentleman asked if he
remembered a young gentleman about fourteen years of age, very fat, and
who had a livery-servant to wait on him.  He replied, that he remembered
him very well, and that he was blest with as beautiful a face as any
youth he ever saw.  The gentleman then asked him if he recollected what
became of him; which he answered, by saying he died at Gosport a day or
two after they landed; and that Mr. Price, of Pool, composed a Latin
epitaph for him; at which the gentleman could not refrain letting fall
some tears, it being his own brother he was speaking of.  He then asked
what men-of-war were with them at that time; all which he gave a very
good account of, saying, Sir Charles Wager and Rear-Admiral Walton
commanded; Sir Charles carrying a red flag at the fore-topmast head of
the Torbay, and the latter a blue at the mizen of the Cumberland, both
eighty-gun ships.  The gentleman replied, he was satisfied, for he had
given a very faithful account of every thing; he then made Mr. Carew a
present to drink his health when he came to England, as Lord Annesly said
he would supply him while he was in Ireland.  A great hunting-match being
proposed, Lord Annesly told them that Mr. Carew could make one with the
best of them at the diversion, upon which he was desired to make one of
the party.  Accordingly, they set out very early next morning, and had
fine sport, he exerting all his abilities, though he was afraid of riding
into some bogs, of which the country is full.  When the chase was ended,
they all went to Lord Annesly’s to dinner, and the company allowed him to
be an excellent sportsman.

Lord Annesly afterwards took him to Newry and many other places,
introducing him to much company.  At length he desired liberty to go and
see his old school-fellow, Lord St. Leger, at Donnerail, which Lord
Annesly would not consent to, unless he promised to call upon him again
on his return; which agreeing to do, he sent his servant with him as far
as Blessington.  Parting with the servant here, he travelled to Kilkenny;
thence to Cashel, (where is a fine seat belonging to Lord Mark Ker,)
Clonmel, and Cahir, where our hero was taken dangerously ill.  It would
be unpardonable not to mention the hospitality he was treated with here.
His good landlady, finding him so ill, sent for the minister of the place
to come and pray by him, which he accordingly did, and at going away
clapped half-a-crown into his hand, and soon after sent an apothecary to
him, who administered what medicines were proper for him, which had so
good an effect as to enable him to get upon his legs: however, they would
not let him proceed forward for several days, lest he should relapse; and
before he set out, the minister of the parish sent his clerk round the
place to make a collection for the stranger.  At length, being perfectly
recovered, he set out for Lord St. Leger’s.  When he came there, and was
introduced, my lord presently recollected him, and cried, Why sure, and
doubly sure, it is Carew!  He then asked how long he had been in Ireland;
adding, he hoped he would stay with him for some time.  His lordship made
him very welcome, and they talked over some of the merry pranks they had
played together.  Mr. Carew inquired if Sir Matthew Day, another of their
old schoolfellows, was alive.  His lordship told him he was dead; but
that there was a young gentleman would be glad to see any old friend of
his father’s.  He abode with Lord St. Leger about a fortnight, being
entertained in the kindest manner possible; at his departure, my lord
made him a handsome present, and gave him a good suit of clothes, with a
recommendatory letter to young Mr. Day.

Here he was received with great civility, as well upon account of Lord
St. Leger’s letter, as being an old school-fellow of Mr. Day’s father.
The conversation happening to turn upon dogs, Mr. Day told him he had
heard he was very famous for enticing dogs away, and that Sir William
Courtenay’s steward had told him there was not a dog could resist his
allurements; however, he believed he had one that would; he then ordered
a surly morose dog to be brought out, and offered to lay a wager he could
not entice him away, which he readily accepted, and began to whistle to
the dog, but found him very surly; upon which he took out a little
bottle, and dropping a few drops upon a bit of paper, held it unseen to
the dog, and then told Mr. Day the dog would follow him to England.  Away
then he went, and the dog after him.  Mr. Day and his servants all
followed, calling Roger, Roger, which was the name of the dog; but Roger
turning a deaf ear to all they could say, not thinking proper to turn
about once.  Mr. Carew having diverted himself sufficiently, by leading
Mr. Day and his servants above half-a-mile, turned back again, with the
dog still following him.  Having abode here some days, he took his leave,
receiving a handsome present from Mr. Day; he then returned back to Lord
Annesly, and thence to Kinsale, where he took the first opportunity of a
vessel, and landed at Padstow, in Cornwall, after a short and pleasant
passage.

From this place he went to Camelford; thence to Great Torrington, where
he met with his wife, and then proceeded to Biddeford: and on the next
day, being Sunday, he strolled down to one Holmes, who kept a
public-house between Biddeford and Appledore, where he passed great part
of the day drinking pretty freely; and money being at a low ebb with him,
he desired landlord Holmes to lend him a good suit of clothes, which he
accordingly did.  Being thus gallantly equipped, he went and planted
himself at the church-door in Biddeford, and pretending to be the
supercargo of a vessel which had been a few days before cast away near
the Lizard, he got a very handsome contribution.  From thence he
travelled to Barnstaple, where he had great success, none suspecting him
in his dress, as it was certainly known such a ship had been really cast
away near the Lizard a few days before.  Returning back, he called upon
Squire Ackland, at Tremington, where he got half-a-crown of the lady upon
the same story; then, steering to Appledore, he met with landlord Holmes,
who had been in no little fear about his clothes; however, he would not
disrobe till he got to Appledore, where also he added to his store, and
then returning to Holmes, he restored him his clothes, and gave him some
small part of the profit of the excursion.

It was about this time Mr. Carew became acquainted with the Hon. Sir
William Wyndham in the following manner.—Being at Watchet, in
Somersetshire, near the seat of this gentleman, he was resolved to pay
him a visit; putting on, therefore, a jacket and a pair of trowsers, he
made the best of his way to Orchard Wyndham, Sir William’s seat; and
luckily met with him, Lord Bolingbroke, and several other gentlemen and
clergy, with some commanders of vessels, walking in the park.  Mr. Carew
approached Sir William with a great deal of seeming fearfulness and
respect; and with much modesty acquainted him he was a Silverton man,
(which parish chiefly belonged to Sir William,) and that he was the son
of one of his tenants, named Moore; that he had been at Newfoundland, and
in his passage homeward, the vessel was run down by a French ship in a
fog, and only he and two more saved; and, being put on board an Irish
vessel, he was carried into Ireland, and from thence landed at Watchet.
Sir William, hearing this, asked him a great many questions concerning
the inhabitants of Silverton, who were most of them his own tenants, and
of the principal gentlemen in the neighbourhood, all of whom Mr. Carew
was perfectly well acquainted with, and therefore gave satisfactory
answers.  Sir William at last asked him if he knew Bickley, (which is but
a small distance from Silverton,) and if he knew the parson there.  Mr.
Carew replied he knew him very well, and indeed so he might, as it was no
other than his own father.  Sir William then inquired what family he had,
and whether he had not a son called Bampfylde, and what was become of
him.  Your honour, replied he, means the mumper and dog-stealer: I don’t
know what has become of him, but it is a wonder he is not hanged by this
time.  No, I hope not, replied Sir William; I should be very glad, for
his family’s sake, to see him at my house.  Having satisfactorily
answered many other questions, Sir William, generously relieved him with
a guinea, and Lord Bolingbroke followed his example; the other gentlemen
and clergy contributed according to their different ranks, which they
were the more inclined to do, as the captains found he could give a very
exact account of all the settlements, harbours, and most noted
inhabitants of Newfoundland.  Sir William then ordered him to go to his
house, and tell the butler to see him well entertained, which he
accordingly did; and he set himself down with great content and
satisfaction; but our enjoyments are often so suddenly dashed, that it
has become a proverb, “that many things happen between the cup and the
lip,” and Mr. Carew found it so; for, while he was in the midst of his
regale, he saw enter, not the ghost of bloody Banquo to take his seat
from him, nor yet the much more tremendous figure of Mr. Tom Jones, in a
light-coloured coat covered with streams of blood; no, but the foot-post
from Silverton, with letters to Sir William.  This proved to be little
less than a very sharp sword hanging by a hair over Mr. Carew’s head,
for, as he thought it natural Sir William would ask him some questions
about Mr. Moore, and as he did not choose, though he had passed Sir
William’s strict examination, to undergo a fresh one, he made great haste
to rise from table, and set out without using much ceremony.  A few miles
distant from hence he met Dr. Poole going from Dulverton to Sir
William’s, who, knowing Mr. Carew, stopped his horse to talk to him.
Amongst other conversation at Sir William’s, the Dr. happened to mention
whom he had met that day (not knowing that he had been lately there); it
was soon known by the description he gave of his person and habit, to be
no other than the unfortunate Silverton man, to whom Sir William and his
friends had been so generous, which occasioned a great deal of mirth.
About two months after, Mr. Carew again ventured to pay his honour a
second visit, in the habit and character of an unfortunate grazier; he
met the worthy baronet and his lady taking the air in a chaise, in a
meadow where some haymakers were then at work; he approached them with a
great deal of modest simplicity, and began a very moving tale of the
misfortunes he had met with in life.  In the midst of his oration, Sir
William called to the haymakers to secure him; which struck his eloquence
dumb, or at least changed it from the pathetic to the tragic style, for
he could not conceive what might be the end of this; however, the baronet
soon gave him a choice of either a true confession of his name and
profession, or a commitment to prison; he made choice of the former, and
confessed himself to be Bampfylde Moore Carew, sovereign of the whole
community of mendicants.  Sir William, with a great deal of good-nature,
treated him with all that respect which is due to royalty; entertained
him generously at his house, and made him a very handsome present at his
departure, desiring him to call upon him as he came that way; and he was
ever a constant friend and benefactor to him.

Soon after this he planned a new design, which he put into execution with
great success.  Dressing himself up in a chequered shirt, jacket, and
trowsers, he went upon Exeter quay, and, with the rough but artless air
and behaviour of a sailor, inquired for some of the king’s officers, whom
he informed that he belonged to a vessel lately come from France, which
had landed a large quantity of run goods, but the captain was a rascal,
and had used him ill, and damn his blood if he would not ---.  He was
about to proceed, but the officers, who with greedy ears swallowed all he
said, interrupted him by taking him into the custom-house, and filling
him a bumper of cherry brandy, which when he had drunk, they forced
another upon him, persuading him to wet the other eye, rightly judging
that the old proverb, ‘In wine there is truth,’ might with equal
propriety be applied to brandy, and that they should have the fuller
discovery, the more the honest sailor’s heart was cheered; but, that no
provocation should be wanting to engage him to speak the truth, they
asked him if he wanted any money.  He with much art answered very
indifferently, no; adding, he scorned to make such a discovery out of a
mercenary view, but that he was resolved to be revenged of his captain.
They then ordered him to the sign of the Boot, in St. Thomas’s, Exeter,
whither they soon followed him, having first sent to Mr. Eastwood, an
exciseman, to ask what he would have for dinner, and what liquor he would
have to drink.  A fire was lighted up stairs in a private room, a couple
of ducks roasted, and full glasses of wine and punch went cheerfully
round; they then thrust four guineas into his hand, which at first he
seemed unwilling to accept of, which made them the more pressing.  He now
began to open his mind with great freedom, gave a particular account of
the vessel, where they had taken in their cargo at France, and what it
consisted of; the day they sailed, and the time they were on their
passage; and at last concluded with acquainting them they had landed and
concealed part of their valuable cargo in the out-houses of Squire
Mallock, of Cockington, and the remainder in those of Squire Cary, of
Tor-abbey, both which houses, upon account of their situation on the
sea-side, were very noted for such concealments.  The officers, having
now got on the scent, were like sagacious hounds for pursuing it
forthwith, and also thought proper the sailor should accompany them; and,
to prevent all suspicion, resolved he should now change his habit; they
therefore dressed him in a ruffled shirt, a fine suit of broad cloth
belonging to the collector, and put a gold-laced hat on his head; then,
mounting him on a fine black mare, away they rode together, being in all
seven or eight of them; they that night reached Newton-Bushel, and slept
at the Bull; nothing was wanting to make the night jovial; the greatest
delicacies the town afforded were served up at their table, the best
liquors were broached for them, and music, with its enlivening charms,
crowned the banquet; the officers’ hearts were quite open and cheerful,
as they already enjoyed, in imagination, all the booty they were to seize
on the morrow.  Thinking they could not do enough for the honest sailor,
they inquired if he knew any thing of accounts; promising, if he did, to
get him a place in the customs.  In the morning, after a good hearty
breakfast, they set forward for Tor-abbey; and, being arrived in
Tor-town, they demanded the constables’ assistance, who was with the
utmost reluctance prevailed on to accompany them in making this search;
Squire Gary being a gentleman so universally beloved by the whole parish,
(to which he always behaved as a father,) that every one was very
backward in doing any thing to give him the least uneasiness.  Did
gentlemen of large estates in the country but once taste the exalted
pleasure of making the whole neighbourhood happy, and consider how much
honest industry they might support, how much misery they might alleviate,
and how many daily blessings they might have poured forth upon their
heads from hearts overflowing with love, respect and gratitude, almost to
adoration, we should not so often see them leave their noble country
mansions to repair to noise and folly; nor exchange the heart-enlivening
pleasure of making numbers happy, for the beguiling smiles and unmeaning
professions of a prime minister.

Being come to the house, they all dismounted, and the collector desired
the sailor to hold his horse, but he replied he would rather go round the
garden, and meet them on the other side of the house, to prevent any
thing from being conveyed away, and that it would be proper he should be
present to show the particular place where every thing was deposited.
This appeared quite right to the collector; he therefore contented
himself with fastening his horse to the garden rails, and proceeded with
the rest of the officers, in great form, to search the dog-kennel,
coal-house, dove-house, stables, and all other suspicious places,
expecting every minute to see the informing sailor, who by this time had
nearly got back to Newton-Bushel, having turned his horse’s head that way
as soon as he was out of sight of the collector.  He stopped at the Bull,
where they had been the preceding night, and drank a bottle of wine;
then, ordering a handsome dinner to be got ready for his company, whom he
said he had left behind, because his business called him with urgent
haste to Exeter, he clapped his spurs to his horse, and did not stop till
he reached that city, where he put up at the Oxford inn, then kept by Mr.
Buckstone, to whom both himself and friends were well known; he
acquainted Mr. Buckstone that he was now reformed, and lived at home with
his friends, and spent the night very jovially, calling for the best of
every thing.  In the morning he desired Mr. Buckstone to do him the
favour of lending him a couple of guineas, till he could receive some of
a merchant in the city upon whom he had a bill, for the merchant was gone
out of town.  As Mr. Buckstone had a mare in his custody worth ten or
twelve pounds, he made no scruple of doing it; and soon after Mr. Carew
thought proper to change his quarters, without bidding the landlord
good-bye.  Leaving the mare to discharge the reckoning and the loan he
had borrowed, he repaired immediately to a house of usual resort for his
community, where he pulls off the fine clothes the collector had lent
him, and rigged himself again in a jacket and trowsers; then setting out
for Topsham, about three miles from the city of Exeter, he there executed
the same stratagem upon Mr. Carter and the other officers there;
informing them also of some great concealments at Sir Coppleston
Bampfylde’s house, at Poltimore, for which they rewarded him with a good
treat and a couple of guineas.

The Exeter officers (whom, as we have before said, he left without the
least ceremony at Squire Gary’s) having searched all the out-houses, and
even in the dwelling-house, very narrowly, without finding any prohibited
goods, began to suspect the sailor had outwitted them; therefore they
returned in a great hurry to Newton-Bushel, all their mirth being turned
into vexation, and their great expectations vanished into smoke.  Soon
after they had dismounted from their horses, the landlord brought in the
dinner, which he said their companion had ordered to be got ready for
them; but though it was a very elegant one, yet they found abundance of
faults with every thing; however, as it was too late to reach Exeter that
night, they were obliged to take up their quarters there; but, instead of
the jollity and good humour that reigned among them the night before,
there now succeeded a sullen silence, interrupted now and then by some
exclamations of revenge, and expressions of dislike of every thing that
was brought them: when they came into Exeter the next day, they had
intelligence brought them of the mare, which was safe enough at the
Oxford inn; but they were obliged to disburse the money Mr. Carew had
made her surety for.

From Topsham Mr. Carew proceeded to Exmouth, where he also succeeded, and
from thence to Squire Stucky’s, a justice of peace at Brandscombe, about
four miles from Sidmouth; and, being introduced, acquainted his worship
with several discoveries he could make; the justice thereupon immediately
dispatched a messenger for Mr. Duke, an officer in Sidmouth; in the mean
time he entertained him very handsomely, and pressed him to accept of two
guineas, as a small token of kindness, often shaking him by the hand, and
saying, he thought himself very much obliged to him for making this
discovery: and that, as a reward for his loyalty to the king, he would
engage to get him a place, having many friends at London.  About two
o’clock the next morning, Mr. Duke, the sailor, and servant of the
squire’s, set forward towards Honiton, it being at Squire Blagdon’s, near
the town, where they were to find the hidden treasure.  Mr. Carew was
mounted on a good horse of Justice Stucky’s, and, while the officer and
servant were very busy in searching the out-houses and stables, Mr. Carew
gave them the slip, and posted away to Honiton, and took some refreshment
at the Three Lions; then leaving the justice’s horse to answer for it,
hasted away to Lime, in Dorsetshire; where he applied to Mr. Jordan, the
collector of the place, whom he sent upon the same errand some miles off,
to Colonel Brown’s, at Frampton; but the collector, not judging it proper
for him to accompany him, for fear of creating suspicion, left him at his
own house till his return, giving his servant orders to let him want for
nothing; at the same time making him a handsome present, as an earnest of
a greater reward when he returned.  Mr. Carew enjoyed himself very
contentedly at the collector’s house for several hours, both eating and
drinking of the best, as he knew Frampton was at too great a distance for
him to return presently; but he prudently weighed his anchor when he
thought the collector might be on his return, and steered his course
towards Weymouth, where he made his application to the collector, and
after being handsomely treated, and a present given to him, sent the
officers to Squire Groves’s, near White-street, and Squire Barber’s, on
the Chase, both in Wiltshire.  And as soon as they were gone, he set out
for Poole; and sent the collector and officers of that place to Sir
Edward Boobey’s, who lived in the road between Salisbury and Hendon; they
gave him two guineas in hand, and a promise of more upon their return
with the booty; in the mean time they recommended him to an inn, and gave
orders that he should have any thing the house afforded, and they would
make satisfaction for it; but this adventure had like not to have ended
so well for him as the former; for, being laid down upon a bed to nap,
having drunk too freely, he heard some people drinking and talking in the
next room of the great confusion there was in all the sea-ports in the
west of England, occasioned by a trick put on the king’s officers by one
Bampfylde Carew, and that this news was brought to Poole by a Devonshire
gentleman, who accidently came that way.  Mr. Carew hearing this, rightly
judged Poole was no proper place to make a longer stay in; he therefore
instantly arose, and, by the help of a back door, got into a garden, and
with much difficulty climbed over the wall belonging thereto, and made
the best of his way to Christchurch, in Hampshire; here he assumed the
character of a shipwrecked seaman, and raised considerable contributions.
Coming to Ringwood, he inquired of the health of Sir Thomas Hobbes, a
gentleman in that neighbourhood, who was a person of great hospitality;
he was told that some of the mendicant order, having abused his
benevolence, in taking away a pair of boots, after he had received a
handsome present from him, it had so far prejudiced Sir Thomas, that he
did not exercise the same hospitality as formerly.  This greatly
surprised and concerned Mr. Carew, that any of his subjects should be
guilty of so ungrateful an action: he was resolved therefore to inquire
strictly into it, that, if he could find out the offender, he might
inflict a deserved punishment upon him; and therefore resolved to pay a
visit to Sir Thomas the next morning, hoping he should get some light
into the affair.  When he came to the house, it was pretty early in the
day, and Sir Thomas had not come out of his chamber; however, he sent up
his pass, as a shipwrecked seaman, by one of the servants, who presently
returned with half-a-crown.  As he had been always wont to receive a
large present from Sir Thomas, whenever he had applied to him, he thought
there was some unfair practice at the bottom; he therefore asked the
footman for a copper of ale to drink the family’s health, hoping Sir
Thomas might come down by that time; the servant pretended to be in so
great a hurry, that he could not attend to draw any, but he was of too
humane a nature to permit the poor sailor to suffer by his hurry, so gave
him a shilling out of his own pocket to drink at the next public-house.
This extraordinary generosity of the footman increased Mr. Carew’s
suspicion; he therefore kept loitering about the door, and often looking
up at the window, in hopes of seeing Sir Thomas, which accordingly
happened, for at length he flung up the sash, and accosted him in a free
familiar manner, called him Brother Tar, and told him he was very sorry
for his misfortunes, and that he had sent him a piece of money to assist
him in his journey towards Bristol.  Heaven bless your honour, replied
he, for the half-crown your honour sent me; upon which Sir Thomas ran
down in his morning gown, and with great passion seized the footman by
the throat, and asked him what he had given the sailor.  The fellow was
struck dumb with this, and indeed there was no need for his tongue on the
present occasion, as his looks, and the trembling of his limbs,
sufficiently declared his guilt; however he at last owned it with his
tongue; and excused himself by saying, he knew there was an ill use made
of the large bounties his honour gave.  Sir Thomas, enraged at the
insolence of his servant, bestowed upon him the discipline of the
horse-whip, for his great care and integrity in not seeing his bounty
abused; adding, he now saw by whose villany he had lost his boots.  He
then made the footman return the whole guinea to the sailor, and
discharged him from any further service in his family; upon which Mr.
Carew took his leave with great thankfulness, and went his way, highly
pleased with his good success in this adventure.—Here we cannot forbear
wishing that there was no higher character in life than Sir Thomas’s
footman, to whose hands gold is apt to cling in passing through them;
that there was no steward who kept back part of his master’s rent,
because he thinks he has more than he knows what to do with; no managers
of charities, who retain part of the donors’ benefactions in their own
hands, because it is too much for the poor; nor officers of the public,
who think they may squander the public treasure without account, because
what is everybody’s is nobody’s.

Mr. Carew having laid aside his sailor’s habit, put on a long loose vest,
placed a turban on his head, dignified his chin with a venerable long
beard, and was now no other than a poor unfortunate Grecian, whose
misfortunes had overtaken him in a strange country.  He could not utter
his sorrowful tale, being unacquainted with the language of the country;
but his mute silence, his dejected countenance, a sudden tear that now
and then flowed down his cheek, accompanied with a noble air of distress,
all pleaded for him in more persuasive eloquence than perhaps the softest
language could have done, and raised him considerable gains; and indeed
benevolence can never be better exerted than towards unfortunate
strangers, for no distress can be so forlorn as that of a man in
necessity in a foreign country; he has no friends to apply to, no laws to
shelter him under, no means to provide for his subsistence, and therefore
can have no resource but in those benevolent minds who look upon the
whole world as their own brethren.

We have already mentioned Mr. Carew’s being on board the Yarmouth
man-of-war up the Baltic; it will not, therefore, be improper here to
relate the occasion of that voyage, which was as follows:—He and his
friend, Coleman, being at Plymouth, and appearing to be able-bodied men,
some officers seeing them there, thought them extremely fit to serve his
majesty, therefore obliged them to go on board the Dunkirk man-of-war:
but they not liking this, Coleman pricked himself upon the wrists,
between his fingers, and other joints, and inflamed it so with gunpowder,
that every one thought it to be the itch; he was therefore carried
ashore, and put into the hospital, from whence he soon made his escape.
Mr. Carew tried the stragem, but too late; for the Lively and Success
men-of-war now arriving from Ireland with impressed men, they were all of
them carried immediately (together with the impressed men lying at
Plymouth) to the grand fleet, then lying at Spithead; they were first put
on board the Bredau, Admiral Hosier, to choose whom he liked of them: and
their names being called over, the Irishmen were all refused; which Mr.
Carew seeing declared himself, in a true Irish brogue, to be a poor Irish
weaver, and disabled in one arm, whereupon he was also refused: the
Irish, among whom he was now ranked, were carried from ship to ship, and
none would accept of them, which made them all expect to be discharged;
but they were disappointed in their hopes, for they were put on board the
Yarmouth, Captain O’Brien, being one of the squadron destined for the
Baltic.  Mr. Carew finding Captain O’Brien refused no Irishmen, when he
came to be examined changed his note, and declared himself to be an
Englishman, but crippled in one arm: however, the captain accepted of
him, and putting a sword in his hand, made him stand sentry at the bitts,
which easy post he liked very well; and during all the time he was on
board, every one supposed him really disabled in his arm.

The fleet, sailing from Spithead with a fair wind, anchored safely at
Copenhagen, and then the king of Denmark came on board Sir Charles Wager:
the moment he set his foot on board, both the flag-ships were covered
with an infinite number of colours of every hue, which, waving in the
wind, made a most gallant sight: upon his departure, the colours were all
taken down in an instant, and every ship fired eighteen or twenty guns.
Sailing from Copenhagen, they anchored next in Elson Cape, in Sweden;
from hence they sailed to Revel, in a line of battle, in form of a
rainbow, and anchored there: the sick men were carried ashore to Aragan
island, which Mr. Carew observing, and burning with love to revisit his
native country, counterfeited sickness, and was accordingly carried
ashore to this island, which lies near Revel, belonging to the
Muscovites, from whence boats came every day to fetch wood.  He prevailed
upon an Englishman, who was a boatswain to one of the Czarina’s
men-of-war, to give him a passage in his boat from that island to Revel
town; when he came there, the boatswain used great endeavours to persuade
him to enter her majesty’s service, but it was all in vain, being
resolved to return to his beloved country; the boatswain, therefore,
having entertained him a day and a night at his house, gave him, at his
departure, a piece of money, and engaged several Englishmen of his
acquaintance to do the same; he likewise furnished him with a bag of
provisions, a bottle of excellent brandy, a tinder-box, and a few lines
wrote in that country language, which he was to show to those he met, to
inform him of the road he was to go; and then conducted him out of the
town.  That night he took up his lodgings in the woods, and, by the help
of his tinder-box, made a large fire all round him, to secure himself
from any visits from the wild beasts, then broiled a piece of flesh,
drank a dram, and rested very quietly till morning, it being the middle
of summer.

The whole country here is wild, full of large woods and uninhabited
deserts, the towns and villages lying very thin.  In the morning, finding
his way out of the woods, he espied a lonely hut, to which he made up,
and making signs of hunger and thirst, they gave him some rusk bread and
cabereta, or goat’s flesh, to eat, and some goat’s milk to drink, which
is the usual fare amongst those people, who are most of them Lutherans by
religion, and lead very sober lives; of some of them he got small bits of
money, which they call campekes, and are of silver, something larger than
a barley-corn, being of a penny value; he likewise frequently got drams
of excellent brandy amongst them, and his shoes being worn-out by
travelling, they gave him a pair of good wooden ones, which sat very
awkwardly on his English feet.

After six or seven days’ travel through this wild country he came to
Riga, a large town and famous sea-port: here he met with many English
merchants and commanders of vessels, who were very kind to him; he
tarried two days in Riga, to rest and refresh himself: during which the
English merchants and commanders provided lodgings and other
accommodations for him, collecting upwards of fifty shillings for him.
Having expressed his utmost gratitude towards his good benefactors, he
again pursued his journey, subsisting himself sometimes on the charity of
the inhabitants of the country, and at other times milking the cows upon
the mountains or in the woods.  The next place of note he arrived at was
the city of Dantzic, in the kingdom of Poland: here he found a great
number of English merchants who traded to Exeter, and Bristol, and had
many correspondents living in those places, several of whom Mr. Carew
being acquainted with, he gave a particular account of.

Having been entertained here very hospitably for several days, he set out
again, having first received some handsome presents from the English
merchants.  From Dantzic he got a passage on board an English brigantine
bound for Copenhagen, but through stress of weather was obliged to put
into Elson Cape, where he went on shore, and travelled by land to
Stockholm, the capital of Sweden, but in his road thither he lost his way
in this wild and desert country, and for the space of three days and
nights saw neither house, hut, nor human creature, the weather being very
thick and foggy.  Nothing could be more melancholy and dreadful than
these three days’ travel; his provisions were exhausted, and every step
he took he was uncertain whether it might lead him farther into the
woods, as he could make no observation how the country lay, the fog
intercepting the light of every thing.  Sometimes fancy would paint to
him a hut through the fog at a little distance, to which he would direct
his steps with eager haste, but when he came nearer, found it nothing but
an illusion of sight, which almost drove him to despair.  The fourth day
he was exceedingly hungry, when, to his great joy, he espied two
she-goats fastened together with ropes of straw: he ran to them with
great eagerness, and drunk very heartily of their milk; after this he
began to consider that there must be some hut at least hard by, as the
goats could not have strayed in that manner any great distance; he
therefore resolved to stay upon the spot for some time; and soon after
the fog clearing up, he espied a hut just before him, to which he
directly repaired, and there got a belly-full of their homely fare, and
directions to find his way to Stockholm.

The religion of this country being chiefly Lutheran, he passed for the
son of a presbyterian parson, and his name Slowly, pretending to have
been cast away in a vessel bound for Revel.  The Lutherans at Stockholm
were exceedingly kind to him and raised a handsome contribution for him.
He likewise chanced there to meet with a relation of Dr. Bredaw, a Swiss
gentleman, that resided at Dartmouth, in Devonshire, who asked several
questions about him; and as Mr. Carew was well acquainted with him, he
gave very satisfactory answers, upon which account that gentleman gave
him a guinea, a great fur cap, a coat, and a fine dog, with a letter to
carry to his relation at Dartmouth.

From Stockholm he went to Charles-town, and after a short stay there
continued his journey to Copenhagen, the metropolis of Denmark; here he
met with one Captain Thomas Giles, of Minehead in Somersetshire, who knew
him, and was surprised to see him in that part of the world, and not only
liberally relieved him himself, but recommended him to several English
commanders there, and also to several inhabitants of the city.  From
Copenhagen he went to Elsinburgh, thence to Elsinore, where he got a
passage for England, and once more arrived in his native country.
Landing at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, he visited his wife’s relations, and then
set forward for Devonshire, travelling all the way in the character of a
shipwrecked seaman.  Meeting at Exeter with his beloved wife, and
likewise with his friend Coleman and his wife, they travelled together
for some time, during which Coleman’s wife was delivered of a daughter;
but as they found so helpless an infant a great hindrance to their
travelling, Mr. Carew contrived a stratagem to get rid of it, and at the
same time advanced the fortune of the child.

There was in the town, where they then were, a gay bachelor, who lived
with his mother and sisters, and was a great admirer of that order of
female travellers called Cousin Betties.  Coleman’s wife had been with
him some months before in that character, was very well entertained, and,
amongst other favours, received a present of a silk handkerchief.  They
therefore dressed up the babe very neatly, wrapped it up exceeding warm,
and put it in a hand-basket, taking care to put in the handkerchief
Coleman’s wife had received from this gay bachelor; then getting a large
boar cat, in the dusk of the evening they tied it to the knocker of the
door, setting down before it the basket with the helpless infant.  The
cat, not liking the treatment, made a hideous squalling, and with his
struggling, rap, rap, rap, went the knocker of the door; out ran the
gentleman, with his mother, sisters, and servants, and the neighbourhood
gathered about the door to see what this noise could mean.  Mr. Carew and
Coleman mingled among them to learn what would be the event of their
stratagem.  The cat, by long struggling, got free of the knocker, and ran
away, only leaving part of the tail behind.  The basket alone now engaged
the attention of every one, and being delivered to the gentleman to open,
the feeble cries of an infant soon reached their ears.  The mother and
sisters, alarmed at this unexpected salutation, snatched the basket from
him, and upon the child’s breast found a note in these words:

    “Remember, sir, where you last met me, you have not been so kind as
    you often promised and swore you would: however, it justly belongs to
    you.  I have made bold to send you the fruits of our meeting, and
    this handkerchief which you made me as a token.  Be kind to our
    infant daughter; and the unfortunate mother on her part, will forgive
    you.

                                                             “Your’s, &c.”

The horrid squalling of the cat did not grate so disagreeably upon the
gentleman’s ears, as the reading of these words; so that his hat and wig
were flung off, and he ran about stamping and swearing that the child was
none of his, neither did he know any thing of the mother.  On the other
hand, his mother and sisters flew into a violent rage, assailing his ears
on every side with reproaches; so that he would at that time have thought
deafness preferable to any one of the senses.  “Dost thou deny the child
to be thine?” cried the mother: “has it not thy very eyes, nose, and
mouth? and is this not thy very handkerchief? this thou canst not deny,
for I can safely swear it was thine.”  The poor gentleman, thus beset on
all sides, was obliged to quit the field; the child was taken into the
house, and brought up and educated there, and is at this day a very
accomplished fine lady.

Some time after this adventure, Mr. Carew took passage at Folkstone, in
Kent, for Boulogne in France, where he arrived safe, and proceeded to
Paris and other cities in that kingdom.  His habit was now tolerably
good, his countenance grave, his behaviour sober and decent, pretending
to be a Roman-catholic, who left England, his native country, out of an
ardent zeal of spending his days in the bosom of the catholic church.
This story readily gained belief; his zeal was universally applauded, and
handsome contributions made for him; but at the same time he was so
zealous a Roman-catholic, with a little change of habit, he used to
address those English he heard of in any place as a protestant
shipwrecked seaman.  He had the good fortune, in this character, to meet
an English physician at Paris, to whom he told his deplorable tale, who
was so much affected by it, that he not only relieved him very
handsomely, but, what was more, recommended him to that noble pattern of
unexhausted benevolence, Mrs. Horner, who was on her travels, from whom
he received ten guineas, and from some other company with her, five more.

Here, reader, if thou hast a good heart, we cannot entertain thee better,
than by drawing a true though faint picture of this generous lady; for,
were benevolence and generosity real beings, we are persuaded they would
act just like her; with such an unsparing hand would they bestow their
bounties, and with such magnificence reward desert; with such godlike
compassion cheer the afflicted, and just so make happy all around them:
but thou canst form no adequate idea, unless thou hast been in the
neighbourhood of that noble mansion, the seat of Mrs. Horner, at
Mulberry, Dorsetshire, where benevolence has fixed her seat.  Permit me,
therefore, to transport thee thither, to bless thy sight with the
delightful scene.  See, already, the parish church, rebuilt at her
expense, strikes the eye; it is she that has erected it to the honour of
her God.  Thou art surprised, I see, to behold an eminent physician, who
is allowed a constant salary by her to visit the poor sick in her
neighbourhood, coming out of his chariot to enter the wretched huts of
poverty; but know, she has already paid his fees: see here another
compounding the choicest drugs and medicines for a whole neighbourhood;
it is her bounty that has supplied them.  Cast your eye the other way,
and behold that company of aged and decrepid poor; they are going to
receive their daily bread at her table.  But let us enter the poor
cottage; see, here are the holy Scriptures and other books of pious
instruction; and, hark! the lisping child is reading distinctly in one of
them; her munificence has bestowed these useful gifts, and instilled
instruction into that tender mind.  Behold, with how dejected a look and
grief-swollen heart, with what a load of care, yon person enters the
mansion: but see, he returns—how changed his aspect! joy sparkles in his
eye, and thankfulness swells his exulting heart; content sits cheerful
upon his brow, and he no longer bends under his care: what wonderful
magic has wrought this sudden change?—the opening only of her beneficent
hand has done it.

What we are now going to relate will raise an honest indignation in the
breast of every true lover of liberty; for all such know that the
beauteous flower of liberty sickens to the very root (like the sensitive
plant) at the lightest touch of the iron hand of power upon any one of
its most distant branches.

Mr. Carew being in the city of Exeter with his wife, and, having visited
his old friends there, he walked to Topsham, about three miles distant,
leaving his wife in Exeter.  Alas! little did he think this walk would
end in a long and cruel separation from his friends and country; little
did he imagine, that, in the land of freedom and justice, he should be
seized upon by the cruel grasp of lawless power: though poor, he thought
himself under the protection of the laws, and, as such, liable to no
punishment till they inflicted it.  How far he thought right in this, let
the sequel tell.  Going down to Topsham, and walking upon the quay there,
enjoying the beauties of a fine evening, meditating no harm, and
suspecting no danger, he was accosted by merchant D---y, accompanied with
several captains of vessels, in some such words as these: Ha! Mr. Carew,
you are come in a right time!  As you came home for your own pleasure you
shall go over for mine.  They then laid hands on him, who found it in
vain to resist, as he was overpowered by numbers; he therefore desired to
be carried before some magistrate, but this was not hearkened to, for
they forced him on board a boat, without the presence or authority of any
officer of justice, not so much as suffering him to take leave of his
wife, or acquaint her with his misfortune, though he begged the favour
almost with tears.  The boat carried him on board the Phillory, Captain
Simmonds, bound for America with convicts, which then lay at
Powderham-castle waiting for a fair wind.  Here, had my pen gall enough,
I would put a blot of eternal infamy on that citizen of liberty, who
usurped so much power over a fellow-citizen, and those who suffered a
brother of liberty, however undeserving, to be dragged to slavery by the
lawless hand of power, without the mandate of sovereign justice.  Foolish
wretch! dost thou not know that thou oughtest to be more careful of
keeping all usurping power within its bounds, than thou wouldst the
raging sea ready to overflow and overwhelm them all; for thou who hast
consented to see power oppress a fellow-heir of glorious liberty, how
canst thou complain, if its all-grasping iron hand should seize upon
thyself, or whatever thou holdest most dear? then wouldst thou, too late,
bewail that thou hadst ever suffered power wantonly to set foot on the
neck of liberty.

But to return: Mr. Carew was no sooner put on board, than he was strictly
searched, and then taken between decks, where he was ironed down with the
convicts.  There was at the same time a violent fever raging among them,
and Mr. Carew, by being chained with them night and day, was soon
infected, and taken very ill; however, he had not the liberty of sending
to his wife, nor any of his friends, though they lay three weeks in the
roads for a fair wind.  In the mean time, his wife, not hearing any thing
from him, and uncertain what was become of him, or whether he was alive
or dead, abandoned herself to an excess of grief, for he had always been
a kind and affectionate husband to her; she therefore sought him up and
down, at all the houses of his usual resort, but in vain, for no news
could she gain of her beloved husband.

The wind coming fair, they hoisted sail, and soon bid adieu to the
English coasts.  We need not describe what passed in Mr. Carew’s breast
at this time; anger and grief prevailed by turns, sometimes resentment,
for being thus treated, fired his bosom, and he vowed revenge: at other
times the thoughts of his being thus unexpectedly separated from his
country and friends, and doomed to an ignominious slavery, filled him
with sad and melancholy reflections; however, he had the pleasure, before
it was long, of knowing he was not entirely deserted; for Captain
Simmonds, the commander of the Phillory, a humane compassionate man, came
down to him between decks, soon after they were under sail, and bid him
be of good cheer, for he should want for nothing; and though he had
strict orders from merchant D---y never to let him return, yet he would
be a friend to him, and provide for him in the best manner he could.  Mr.
Carew returned thanks to his generous and unexpected benefactor in as
handsome a manner as he was able.

Soon after this, he had liberty allowed him of coming upon deck, where
the captain entered into conversation with him, and jocosely asked if he
thought he could be at home before him.  He generously replied he thought
he could, at least he would endeavour to be so; which the captain took
all in good part.

Thus did Mr. Carew spend his time, in as agreeable a manner as could be
expected under his present circumstances: but, alas! all our happiness is
too fleeting, and we scarcely taste the pleasure before it is ravished
from us: and thus it happened to our hero; for they had scarcely been
under sail five weeks before the good Captain Simmonds was taken ill,
which increased every day with too many fatal symptoms; till at last
death, who regards alike the good and virtuous, and the bad and vicious,
struck the fatal blow: but the approaches of the grisly tyrant were not
so dreadful to this man, as the distress it would occasion to his wife
and family, whom he cried out for during his whole illness.  Mr. Carew
bewailed the loss of this generous benefactor with more than outward
sorrow.  Every thing in the vessel was now in confusion by the death of
the captain; at length the mate, one Harrison of Newcastle, took charge
of the vessel and the captain’s effects; but had not enjoyed his new
honours before he was taken dangerously ill, so that the vessel was
obliged to be left to the care of the common sailors, and was several
times in great danger of being lost.  At last, after sixteen weeks
passage, in the grey of the morning, they made Cape Charles, and then
bore away to Cape Henry: at Hampton they took in a pilot.  The vessel
having several times run upon the sand, and was not got off again without
great difficulty; the pilot soon after brought them to Kent-island, where
they fired a gun, and Harrison, who was now recovered, went on shore,
near Annapolis, and made a bargain with one Mr. Delany of that place, for
Mr. Carew, as an expert gardener.  He was then sent on shore, and Mr.
Delany asked him if he understood gardening.  Being willing to get out of
Harrison’s hands, he replied in the affirmative; but Mr. Delany asking
him if he could mow, he replied in the negative.  Then you are no
gardener, replied Mr. Delany, and so refused to buy him.  Then one
Hilldrop, who had been transported about three years before from Exeter,
for horse stealing, and had married a currier’s widow in Annapolis, had a
mind to purchase him, but they could not agree about the price, whereupon
he was put on board again, and they sailed from Miles-river.

Here they fired a gun, and the captain went on shore; in the mean time
the men prisoners were ordered to be close shaved, and the women to have
clean caps on: this was scarcely done, before an overseer belonging to
Mr. Bennet, in Way-river, and several planters, came up to buy.  The
prisoners were all ordered upon deck, and Mr. Carew among them: some of
the planters knew him again, and cried out, “Is not this the man Captain
Froade brought over, and put a pot-hook upon?”  Yes, replies Mr.
Harrison, the very same: at which they were much surprised, having an
account he had been either killed by the wild beasts or drowned in some
river.  Ay, ay, replied Harrison with a great oath, I’ll take care he
shall not be at home before me.  By this time several of the prisoners
were sold, the bowl went merrily round, and many of the planters gave Mr.
Carew a glass, but none of them chose to buy him.

During this, Mr. Carew, observing a great many canoes and small boats
lying along-side the vessel, thought it not impossible to make himself
master of one them, and by that means reach the shore, where he supposed
he might conceal himself till he found an opportunity of getting off;
though this was a very hazardous attempt, and, if unsuccessful, would
expose him to a great deal of hard usage, and probably put it out of his
power of ever regaining his liberty, yet he was resolved to venture.  He
now recollected the common maxim, that ‘fortune favours the bold,’ and
therefore took an opportunity, just as it grew dark, of slipping nimbly
down the ship’s side into one of the canoes, which he paddled with as
much silence and expedition as possible towards the shore: but he had not
gone far before the noise he made gave the alarm, that one of the
prisoners had escaped.  Harrison immediately called out to inquire which
of them, and where Carew was; and, being told that he was gone off, swore
that he would much rather have lost half of the prisoners than him.

All hands were then called upon to pursue; the captain and planters left
their bowl; the river was soon covered with canoes, and every thing was
in confusion.  Mr. Carew was within hearing of this, but, by plying his
canoe well, had the good fortune to get on shore before any of them; he
immediately took himself to the woods as soon as he landed, and climbed
up into a great tree, where he had not been many minutes before he heard
the captain, sailors, and planters, all in pursuit of him; the captain
fretted and stormed, the sailors d---d their blood, and the planters
endeavoured to pacify every thing, by telling the captain not to fear his
getting off.  He heard all this, though not unmoved, yet without taking
notice of it: at last, finding their search fruitless, the captain,
sailors, and planters returned; the planters still assuring the captain
they would have him in the morning.

As soon as they were gone he began to reflect upon his present situation,
which, indeed, was melancholy enough, for he had no provisions, was beset
on every side, quite incapable of judging what to undertake, or what
course to steer: however, he at last resolved to steer farther into the
woods, which he accordingly did, and got up into another tree: here he
sat all the succeeding day, without a morsel of food; but was diverted
with a great multitude of squirrels he saw skipping from tree to tree;
and had he had a gun, he could have shot hundreds of pigeons, there was
so great a plenty of them.  The next day, towards night, hunger became
too powerful, and he was almost spent for want of food; in this necessity
he knew not what to do; at last, happening to spy a planter’s house at a
distance, he was resolved to venture down in the night, thinking he might
chance to find food of some sort or other, in or about the house:
agreeable to this resolution, he came down the tree in the middle of the
night, and, going into the planter’s yard, to his great joy he found
there a parcel of milk cows penned in, which he soon milked in the crown
of his hat, making a most delicious feast, and then retired to the woods
again, climbing up into a tree, where he passed the day much more easy
than he had the preceding one.

Having found out this method of subsisting, he proceeded forwards in the
same manner, concealing himself in a tree in the day-time, and travelling
all the night, milking the cows as often as he had an opportunity; and
steering his course as near as he could guess towards Duck’s Creek.

On the fifth night he heard the voices of several people near him in the
woods, upon which he stepped on one side, and concealed himself behind a
tree, till they had passed by.  When he came near enough to distinguish
their words, he heard them say, we will make the best of our way to
Duck’s Creek, and there we shall certainly have him.  He now judged that
these were some men in pursuit of him, therefore thought himself very
happy in having so narrowly escaped them.

On the eighth day, being upon a tree, he discovered a lone house, near
the skirts of the woods, and saw all the family (as he supposed) going
out to hoe tobacco, and the dog following them; this was a joyful sight
to him, for he had not, the two preceding nights, met with any cows, and
consequently had been without food.  As soon, therefore, as the family
were out of sight, he came down from the tree, and ventured in the house,
where he found not only enough to satisfy his hunger, but what might be
deemed luxury in his present condition: for there was a jolly cake,
powell, a sort of Indian corn bread, and good omani, which is
kidney-beans ground with Indian corn, sifted, then put into a pot to
boil, and eat with molasses.  Seeing so many dainties, he did not
hesitate long, but, hunger pressing, sat down and ate the omani with as
much composure as if he had been invited thereto by the owner of it: and
knowing that hunger and necessity are bound by no laws of honour, he took
the liberty of borrowing the jolly cake, powell, and a leg of fine pork,
then hastened back to the tree with his booty.  What the people thought
when they returned at night with good appetites, and found their dainty
omani, their jolly cake, and their pork, all vanished, we know not, but
suppose they were not a little surprised.

Being thus stocked with provisions, he made the best of his way to
Ogle-town that night, and so to Old-town.  In the dawn of the morning of
the eleventh day, he came in sight of Duck’s Creek; but being afraid he
might fall into the hands of his pursuers, he struck a great way into the
woods towards Tuck Hoe; where staying all the day in a tree, he came
again in the middle of the night to Duck’s Creek.  As soon as he came
here, he ran to the water side to seek for a canoe, but found them all
chained; he immediately set himself about breaking the chain, but found
it too strong, and all endeavours to break it were in vain.  Never was
man more thunder-struck than he was now, just at the time when he
expected to be out of danger, to meet with so unforeseen and
insurmountable an obstacle.  He knew there was no way of escaping, but by
passing the river Delaware, and could not think of a method of effecting
it.  Several hours did he pass in this agitation of mind: sometimes he
had a mind to try his strength in swimming, but the river being so wide,
he thought he could not reach the opposite shore; at last, reflecting
what one of his ancestors had done in swimming a horse over Teignmouth
bar, and seeing some horses grazing thereabout, he resolved to attempt
passing the Delaware in that manner; for, let the worst happen, he
thought death preferable to slavery.  Being thus resolved, he soon caught
one of the horses, and, making a sort of bridle with his handkerchief,
brought the horse to the water side; he walked for some time on the
banks, looking for a proper place to enter the horse: at last, espying a
little stream, which ran into the great river Deleware, he stripped
himself, and, tying his frock and trowsers about his shoulders, mounted
the horse, and putting him forward a little, the horse soon lost his
footing, and the water came up to Mr. Carew’s middle, who kept his legs
as near as possible to the horse, and in this manner launched into the
great river Delaware.

The horse snorted and neighed to his companions, but made for the
opposite shore with all the strength he could.  Mr. Carew did not imagine
the horse would be able to reach it, but proposed to save himself by
swimming when the horse failed, for the river was three miles over:
however the horse reached the shore, but finding no place to land, it
being a sandy mud, he was obliged to swim him along the shore, till he
came to a little creek, which the horse swimming into, soon got sure
footing, to the great joy of Mr. Carew, who, dismounting, kissed the
horse, telling him he must now turn quaker as well as himself, and so let
him go into the woods.

His clothes were not very wet; however, he staid on the banks some time
to dry them with the morning sun, then went up into the country.  The
first house he came to was a miller’s, whose wife came out and asked him
from whence he came?  He told her he had been a prisoner some time in the
Havannah, from whence he had been released by an exchange of prisoners,
and was now going home.

The good woman pitied him much, and told him he looked very melancholy;
but her husband coming in, said, he believed he was an Irishman.  This he
denied, averring he was of the West of England; so they gave him a piece
of that country money, and a mug of rum, which he drinking greedily,
being very thirsty, it threw him into such a violent fever, that he was
obliged to stop at a neighbouring house, where he lay sick for three or
four days.  From hence he went to Newcastle, where he raised
contributions from several gentlemen, as he had done before, but not
under the former name, from hence to Castle, Brandywine Ferry, Chester,
and Derby, where he got relief from the same miller that Mr. Whitfield
was with when he was there before, and lodged at the same house, but took
care to disguise himself so as not to be known: he there got a pass from
the justice as a sick man bound to Boston.  From hence he proceeded to
Brunswick, where he got relief from Mr. Matthews, the miller, who treated
him so hospitably the first time he was there, but did not know him again
now.

From hence he proceeded to New London, where he chanced to see the
captain who had taken him home before, but he avoided him.  From New
London he proceeded to Groten, where he got a twenty-shilling bill from
one Mr. Goyf, and several half-crown bills from other people.  He then
inquired of his landlord his way to Rhode-island, who accompanied him
about two miles of the way, when they chanced to fall into the company of
some drovers, who were driving a number of bullocks, for the use of some
privateers that lay at Rhode-island; he therefore joined them, and, after
about nine or ten miles travelling, they came to a ferry, where they
stopped at a public-house for some time, till the bullocks were taken
over; but neither the tavern-man nor drovers would suffer him to pay any
thing, they pitying his unfortunate condition: and passing over this
ferry, they came to Rhode-island.

Rhode-island, by the natives called Aquetnet, near the Narraganset Bay,
is fourteen or fifteen miles long, and four or five miles abroad.  It was
first inhabited by the English in the year 1639.  Those that withdrew to
this island were such as espoused the covenant of grace, and were under
great persecution from them that sided with the covenant of works.  There
is a very considerable trade from Rhode-island to the sugar colonies for
butter and cheese, a sure sign of the fruitfulness and beauty of the
place, for horses, sheep, beef, pork, tallow, and timber, from which the
traders have been enriched.  It is deservedly called the Paradise of New
England, for the great fruitfulness of the soil, and the temperature of
the climate, which, though it be not above fifty-five miles from Boston,
is a coat warmer in winter, and, being surrounded by the ocean, is not so
much affected in summer with the hot land-breezes as the towns on the
continent.  They live in great amity with their neighbours, and, though
every man does what he thinks right in his own eyes, it is rare that any
notorious crimes are committed by them, which may be attributed in some
measure to their great veneration for the Holy Scriptures, which they all
read, from the least to the greatest, though they have neither ministers
nor magistrates to recommend it to them.

Here Mr. Carew found many of his old acquaintance, particularly one Mr.
Perkins, a stay-maker, and Mr. Gidley and his mother, who kept several
negroes for distilling rum, and Mr. Southeon Lingworthy, a pewterer, all
natives of Exeter, and one Mr. Martin, of Honiton, in Devon, they were
all very glad to see him; he telling them, that he was taken by the
Spaniards, and had escaped from prison, they treated him with very great
kindness, and gave him letters to carry to their friends in England.

From hence he went through Piscataqua and Marblehead to Boston, the
capital of New England, and the largest city in America, except two or
three on the Spanish continent.  It is pleasantly situated on a
peninsula, about four miles in compass, at the bottom of a fine bay, (the
Massachusets,) guarded from the roughness of the ocean by several rocks
appearing above water, and by above a dozen islands, many of which are
inhabited.  One of these, called Nettle’s island, within these few years,
was esteemed worth two or three hundred pounds a year to the owner,
Colonel Shrimpton.  There is but one common and safe passage into the
bay, and that not very broad, there being hardly room for three ships to
come in abreast; but, being once in, there is room for the anchorage of
five hundred sail.

The most remarkable of these islands is called Castle-island, from the
castle there built.  It stands about a league from the town, upon the
main channel leading to it, and is so conveniently situated, that no ship
of burden can approach the town, without the hazard of being torn in
pieces by its cannon.  It was now called Fort William, being mounted with
one hundred pieces of ordnance: two hundred more which were given to the
province of Queen Anne, are placed on a platform near high water mark, so
as to rake a ship fore and aft, before she can bring her broadsides to
bear against the castle.  Some of these cannon are forty-two pounders.
Five hundred able men are exempt from all military duty in time of war,
to be ready to attend the service of the castle at an hour’s warning,
upon any signal of the approach of an enemy, of which there seems to be
no great danger at Boston; where in twenty-four hours’ time, ten thousand
effective men, well armed, might be ready for their defence.  To prevent
all possible surprise, there is a light-house built on the rock appearing
above water, about a long league from the town, which in time of war
makes a signal to the castle, and the castle to the town, by hoisting and
lowering the union flag, so many times as there are ships approaching,
which, if they exceed a certain number, the castle fires three guns, to
alarm the town of Boston; and the governor, if need be, orders a beacon
to be fired, which alarms all the adjacent country; so that unless an
enemy can be supposed to sail by so many islands and rocks in a fog, the
town of Boston must have six or more hours to prepare for their
reception; but, supposing they might pass the castle, there are two
batteries at the north and south end of the town that command the whole
bay, and make it impossible for an enemy’s ship of any burden to ride
there in safety, while the merchant-men and small craft may retire up
into Charles-river, out of the reach of cannon.

It is equally impossible for any ship to be run away with out of this
harbour by a pirate; for the castle suffers no ships outward-bound to
pass, without a permit from the governor, which is never granted without
a clearing from the custom-house, and the usual notice of sailing, by
loosening the fore-top sail.

The bay of Boston is spacious enough to contain, in a manner, the whole
navy of England.  The masts of ships here, at the proper season of the
year, make a kind of a wood of trees, like that which we see upon the
river Thames about Wapping and Limehouse, which may be easily imagined,
when we consider, that, by the computation given in by the collectors of
his majesty’s light-house, it appeared that there were twenty-four
thousand tons of shipping cleared annually.

There is a larger pier at the bottom of the bay, one thousand eight
hundred, or two thousand feet in length, with a row of warehouses on the
north side.  The pier runs so far into the bay, that ships of the
greatest burden may unload without the help of boats and lighters.  The
chief streets of the town come down to the head of the pier.  At the
upper end of it is the town-house, or exchange, a fine building,
containing, besides the walk for merchants, the council-chambers, the
house of commons, and a spacious room for the courts of justice.  The
exchange is surrounded with booksellers’ shops, who have a good trade.
There are several printing-houses, where the presses are generally full
of work, which is in a great measure, owing to the colleges and schools
for useful learning in New England.

The town of Boston lies in the form of a half-moon round the harbour,
consisting of between three and four thousand houses, and makes an
agreeable prospect; the surrounding shore being high, the streets long,
and the buildings beautiful.  The goodness of the pavement may compare
with most in London; to gallop a horse on it is three shillings and
fourpence forfeit.

It is computed the number of inhabitants is not less than twenty-four
thousand, which is one-third more than the computation of the city of
Exeter, and consequently Boston is one-third bigger than that city, which
is pretty near the matter.

There are ten churches in Boston, viz. Old Church, North Church, South
Church, New Church, New North Church, New South Church, the Church of
England Church, the Baptist Meeting, and the Quakers’ Meeting.

The conversation in this town is as polite as in most of the cities and
towns in England; many of their merchants having traded in Europe, and
those that stay at home having the advantage of society with travellers;
so that a gentleman from London would think himself at home in Boston,
when he observes the number of people, their furniture, their tables,
their dress, and conversation, which perhaps is as splendid and showy as
that of the most considerable tradesmen in London.  Upon the whole,
Boston is the most flourishing town for trade and commerce in all
America.  Near six hundred sail of ships have been laden here in a year
for Europe and the British plantations.  Here the governor commonly
resides, the general court and assembly meet, the courts of judicature
sit, and the affairs of the whole province are transacted.

The streets are broad and regular; some of the richest merchants have
very stately, well built, convenient houses.  The ground on which the
town stands is wonderfully high; and very good water is found all over
it.  There are several wharfs built, which jet into the harbour, one of
which is eight hundred feet in length, where large ships with great ease
may load and unload.  On one side are warehouses almost the whole length
of the wharf, where the merchants stow their goods; and more than fifty
ships may load and unload there at the same time.

Coming into the city, Mr. Carew was surprised at the grandeur of it; and
seeing a green hill at the end of the great street, much like Glastonbury
Tower, he went up to it, and had a most beautiful prospect of the city
from the top of it, where was placed the mast of a ship, with pullies to
draw up a lighted barrel of tar to alarm the country in case of an
invasion.  Going down the hill again he met two drummers, a sergeant, and
several soldiers and marines, who were, by the beat of drum, proclaiming,
that the taverns and shopkeepers might safely credit the soldiers and
marines to a certain value.  Some of the soldiers presently knew him,
and, accosting him, persuaded him to go along them to one Mother
Passmore’s, a house of rendezvous, where they were very merry together.
While they were drinking, in came Captain Sharp, who commanded them, and
who was an old acquaintance of our hero’s.  What, Mr. Carew! cried the
captain in a surprise, who could think of seeing you here?  When did you
see my brother?  I saw him, replied he, about six months ago, but his
lady is dead.  Is she so? said the captain, I have heard nothing of it.
The captain having asked him several other questions, treated him very
handsomely, and kept him some time at his own charge: but his heart
glowing to see his native country, he once more resolved to ship himself
for old England.  He accordingly agreed to take the run with Captain
Ball, of the Mary, for fifteen pounds, fifteen gallons of rum, ten pounds
of sugar and tobacco, and ten pipes.  They were two months on their
voyage before they made Lundy, nothing material happening on their
passage worthy of being recorded in this true history.  The captain would
not stop at Lundy for a pilot, but made for Combe, and there took one in,
who brought the ship safe to King Road, and the next tide up to the quay
at Bristol; and having moored the vessel, the crew spent the night on
shore with their jolly landladies.

The next morning early they all got on board, and soon after the captain
came with some Bristol merchants.  The captain gave Mr. Carew a bill on
his brother who lived at Topsham, and having received payment thereof, he
soon turned his back on Bristol.

Mr. Carew, having left Bristol, made the best of his way to Bridgewater,
and from thence unto Taunton, and so to Exeter, supporting his travelling
expenses by his ingenuity as a mendicant.  As soon as he arrived at
Exeter, he made the best of his way to the house of an old acquaintance,
where he expected to hear some news of his beloved wife; but going
through East-gate, he was met by two gentlemen, who immediately cried
out, Here’s our old friend Carew!  They then laid hold of him, and took
him back to the Oxford Inn, where they inquired where he had been this
long time.  He acquainted them in what manner he had been seized, on
Topsham quay, and carried to Maryland; he likewise informed of Captain
Simmonds’s death, (which they were sorry to hear of,) and that the vessel
had been carried into port by Harrison, the mate, who was afterwards
drowned, in company with some planters, in Talbot river.

Fame having soon sounded the arrival of our hero through every street in
Exeter, several gentlemen flocked to the Oxford Inn to visit him, and
amongst the rest merchant Davy.  What! have you found your way home
again? said the merchant.  Yes, yes, replied he; as you sent me over for
your pleasure, I am come back for my own; which made the gentlemen laugh
very heartily.  The merchant then asked him several questions about
Captain Simmonds and Harrison, where he left the vessel, and if he had
been sold.  No, no, replied he, I took care to be out of the way before
they had struck a bargain for me; and, as to the vessel, I left her in
Miles river.  The gentlemen could not help being surprised at his
ingenuity and expedition, in thus getting home twice before the vessel
which carried him out.  Merchant Davy then proposed making a collection
for him, and began it himself with half-a-crown; having therefore
received a handsome contribution, he returned the gentlemen thanks, and
took his leave, being impatient to hear some news about his wife.  He
went directly to his usual quarters, at Kitty Finnimore’s, Castle-lane,
where he occasioned no little terror to his landlady, she believing it to
be his ghost, as she heard he was certainly dead; however, our hero soon
convinced her he was real flesh and blood.  He then inquired when she
heard from his wife, who informed him, to his great joy, that both his
wife and daughter were there a few days before, and were going towards
Newton-Bushel; but they had given over all thoughts of seeing him any
more, as they thought him dead.

He now set forward immediately for Newton-Bushel.  Calling at Lord
Clifford’s in his way, he was told by Mrs. Ratcliffe, the housekeeper,
and Mr. Kilshaw, the steward, (who were quite surprised to see him,) that
his wife had been there just before, supposing him to be dead; and that
he would find her at Newton-Bushel.  Though it was then night, our hero,
impatient of seeing his wife and daughter, set forward for Newton-Bushel,
where he arrived late in the night.  Going directly to his usual
quarters, he found them all in bed, and calling out to the woman of the
house, his wife, hearing his voice, immediately leaped out of bed,
crying, it was her poor Bampfylde.  A light was then struck with as much
expedition as possible, and his wife, daughter, and landlady, all came
down to open the door to him.

Here, how shall I find words to express the transports of our hero, the
tender embraces of his wife, the endearing words of his daughter, and
hearty congratulations of the landlady!  Unable for the task, most gentle
reader, I must imitate that celebrated painter who painted Agamemnon with
a covering over his face, at the sacrifice of his daughter, and draw a
veil over this scene of tenderness; let it suffice to say, that their joy
was too full to be contained, and, not finding any other passage, gushed
out in tears.

The next morning, accompanied by his wife and daughter, he went and paid
his respects to Sir Thomas Carew, at Hackum, where they were received
with great kindness; and Sir Thomas told him, if he would forsake the
mendicant order, he would take care to provide for him and his family.
He returned Sir Thomas a great many thanks, but declared, that, as he had
entered himself into the mendicant order, he was resolved to continue
therein as long as he lived; but hoped if any accident happened to him,
he would extend his goodness to his dear wife and daughter.

It was about this time, that one of the greatest personages in the
kingdom being at Bath, Mr. Carew was drawn thither with the rest of the
world to see her, but to more advantage indeed to himself than most
others reaped from it; for making himself as much an Hanoverian as he
could in his dress, &c., he presented a petition to her as an unfortunate
person of that country; and as every one is inclined to be kind to their
own countryfolks, he had from her a very princely benefaction.

Some time after this, Squire Morrice, who succeeded to the fine seat and
estate of Sir William Morrice, near Launceston, in Cornwall, coming to
reside there, and hearing much talk of Mr. Carew, was very desirous of
seeing him; and he happening to come soon after into that neighbourhood,
some of the servants, who knew their master’s inclinations, chancing to
see him, soon conducted him to the house, and showed him immediately into
the parlour, where Mr. Morrice was with a good deal of company.  Mr.
Carew was made very welcome, and the company had a great deal of
conversation with him, during which Mr. Morrice very nicely examined
every feature in his countenance, and at last declared, that he would lay
any wager that he should know him again, come in what shape he would, so
as not to be imposed upon by him.  One of the company took Mr. Morrice
up, and a wager was laid that Mr. Carew should do it within such a
limited time; this being agreed upon, Mr. Carew took his leave.  He soon
began to meditate in what shape he should be able to deceive the
circumspection of Mr. Morrice; and in a few days came to the house, and
endeavoured in two or three different shapes, and with as many different
tales, to obtain charity from Mr. Morrice, but he, remembering his wager,
would hearken to none.  At last, understanding that Mr. Morrice was to go
out a hunting one morning with several of the company who were present
when the wager was laid, he dressed himself like a neat old woman, and
walking in the road where they were riding along, all of a sudden he fell
down, and so well counterfeited all the distortion of the most violent
fits in such a terrible manner, that Mr. Morrice was greatly affected
with the poor creature’s condition, ordering his servants to get down and
assist her, staying himself till she was brought a little to herself,
then gave her a piece of money, and ordered one of his servants to show
her his house, that she might have some refreshment there; but Mr. Carew,
having obtained what he desired, flung off the old woman, and discovered
himself to Mr. Morrice and the rest of the company, wishing them all a
good-morrow: upon which he owned that he had fairly lost the wager.

Mr. Carew, some time after this, steered his course for Oxford, where he
visited Messrs. Treby, Stanford, Cooke, and other collegians, his
particular friends, of whom he got a trencher-cap.—Having staid at Oxford
as long as was agreeable to his inclinations, he set out for Abington,
and from thence to Marlborough, having put on a pair of white stockings,
a grey waistcoat, and the trencher-cap.  Thus equipped, he pretended to
be disordered in his mind; and, as his knowledge of the Latin tongue
enabled him to intermix a few Latin phrases in his discourse, which he
made very incoherent, he was in no fear of being discovered.  Under this
character he, therefore, went to the minister of Marlborough, who, seeing
his dress, and finding he could talk Latin, made no doubt but he was an
Oxford scholar, whose brain was turned, either by too much study or some
misfortune; he therefore talked to him a good deal, endeavouring to find
out the cause; telling him, that, though he was unfortunate now, things
might go better with him hereafter; but he could get nothing but
incoherent answers from him: however, he gave him half-a-crown.  From
hence he went to Market-Lavington, where he likewise deceived the
minister; and going forward to Warminster, he met with Dr. Squire, and
his brother, the Archdeacon of Bath, who both took him for an Oxford
scholar whose brain was turned, and relieved him as such.

The next morning he went in the same dress to Mrs. Groves, at Wincanton,
and from thence to the Rev. Mr. Birt’s, at Sutton, at both of which
places he was much pitied, and handsomely relieved.  He then steered for
Somerton, and visited the Rev. Mr. Dickenson; but this mask would not
avail him here, for the parson discovered him through it; but he desired
him to keep it secret till he was gone out of town, which he accordingly
did: he therefore went boldly to the Rev. Mr. Keat, and pretended to be a
scholar of Baliol College, which Mr. Keat believing, and pitying his
condition, he gave him a crown.

Next day he went to Bridgewater in the same habit, and from thence to Sir
Charles Tynte’s, at Haswell: going into the court, he was met by the Rev.
Mr. Standford, who immediately knew him, and accosted him with, How do
you do, friend Carew!  Soon after that came Sir Charles, who accosted him
also in the same manner.  Mr. Standford and he made themselves very merry
at the character he had assumed.  Well, said Sir Charles, we will make
you drink, but unless you can deceive my Bess, (so he was pleased to call
his lady,) you shall have nothing of me; but whatever she gives, I’ll
double.  He was then ordered into the hall, and exchanged his cap for a
hat with one of the servants; after waiting some time lady Tynte came
down.  It will here be proper to observe, that this lady, though of a
very charitable disposition to her poor neighbours, having been often
deceived by mendicants, and finding few of them deserving of her charity,
had resolved to relieve no unknown objects, however plausible their tale;
but our hero, depending upon his art, was not afraid to accept of Sir
Charles’s challenge.  From the servants’ hall he watched a proper
opportunity of accosting the lady, and she passed and repassed several
times before he could speak to her.  At last, seeing her standing in the
hall talking with Sir Charles, he came behind her, and accosted her
with—God bless you, most gracious lady.  The lady turned about and asked
him pretty hastily from whence he came?  I am a poor unfortunate man,
replied he, who was taken by two French privateers coming from Boston,
and carried into Boulogne, where we were teased day and night to enter
into the French service, but refused to do it.  And how got you from
thence? asked the lady.  We took an opportunity of breaking out of the
prison, and seized upon a fishing-boat in the harbour, with which we got
safe to Lymington, being in all twenty-five of us, where we sold our
boat.  What do you beg for then? if you sold your boat, you must have
money.  Several of us were sick, replied he, which was very expensive.
But what countryman are you?  I am an Old England man, please you, my
lady, but I have my wife in Wales.  From what part? says the lady, who
was a native of Wales herself.  I married, replied he, one Betty Larkey,
who lived with Sir John Morgan, and afterwards with parson Griffy, at
Swansea.  Ay, did you marry Betty Larkey?—how many children have you by
her?  Only one daughter, replied he.  In the mean time Sir Charles and
the parson were ready to burst with containing their laughter, to see how
he managed my lady to bring her to; for his assertion of having married
Betty Larkey, who was a country-woman of my lady’s, and formerly known to
her, was a loadstone which presently drew my lady’s hand to her purse;
then turning to Sir Charles, she asked him if he had any small money
about him?  I have none, replied Sir Charles, pretty bluntly, being
scarce able to contain himself from bursting out into laughter; so she
went up stairs, and soon returning, gave him five shillings, and asked
him to eat and drink, going out herself to call the butler.  In the mean
time Sir Charles stepped nimbly into the servant’s hall, and fetched the
Oxford cap, which he put on Mr. Carew’s head.  The lady and butler came
in immediately after, and she, seeing the cap upon his head, cried out,
God bless me! what, did you bring that from France?  It is just like one
of our Oxford scholar’s caps.  Ay, so it is indeed, my lady, replied Sir
Charles; why don’t you know who it is?  It is Bampfylde Moore Carew.  Ay,
ay, this is your doings, Sir Charles, said the lady; and went away
somewhat disgusted at the trick that had been put upon her.  Sir Charles,
however, was as good as his word, in doubling the money his lady gave,
and parson Standford gave him half-a-crown.

Some time after this, he called upon the Miss Hawkers, of Thorn, near
Yeovil, who treated him very hospitably, and inquired what news he had
heard, it being in the late rebellion.  Whilst he was talking with them,
he observed a new house almost opposite, and inquired who lived there.
They told him one parson Marks, a dissenting clergyman; upon which,
taking leave of the ladies, he stept over the way, and knocked boldly at
the door, which was opened by the parson himself.  Sir, said Mr. Carew,
pulling off his hat, and accosting him with a demure countenance, I have
come three miles out of my road on purpose to call upon you.  I believe,
Sir, you are acquainted with my brother, Mr. John Pike, of Tiverton,
teacher of a dissenting congregation of that place; and you have
undoubtedly heard something of his brother Roger Pike, which unfortunate
man I am, having been taken prisoner coming from Boston in New England,
by two French privateers, and carried into Boulogne, where we were
cruelly treated.  Alack, alack! said the parson; pray come in, good Mr.
Roger.  I am indeed very well acquainted with that worthy servant of God,
your brother, Mr. John Pike, and a gracious man he is; I have likewise
heard him mention his brother Roger.  He then ordered some victuals and
drink to be instantly brought out for good Roger Pike.  While he was
eating, he inquired how he got away from Boulogne.  He replied, that
twenty-five of them had broken out of prison, and seized upon a vessel,
in the harbour, by which they had got safe to the English coast.  Well,
said the parson, what news did you hear in France?  It is reported there,
replied he, that the rebels are very powerful in Scotland, and that great
numbers are gone over to them safe from France.  Stop a little, Roger,
cried the parson; and running up stairs, soon after came down with a
letter in his hand, which he read to him, wherein it was said that the
rebels were very powerful; then shaking his head very sorrowfully, cried,
indeed, Mr. Pike, I cannot be at ease, for they say they will make us
examples, on account of the 30th of January.  Never fear them, Sir, said
Mr. Carew; we shall be a match for them in Devonshire and Cornwall.  I am
afraid not, cries the parson, shaking his head again; I have had no rest
for thinking of them these several nights past.  After some farther
discourse, he fetched Mr. Pike a good Holland shirt, and clapped a
half-guinea into his hand, entreating him to take a bed with him that
night, for that he should be heartily welcome; but he desired to be
excused, and took his leave with many thanks, and returned to Miss
Hawker’s again.  Well, Mr. Carew, cried the ladies, you have had a very
long conference with the parson.  Ay, ay, replied he, and to good purpose
too, for this shirt and a half-guinea are the fruits of it; and then told
them in what manner he had deceived the parson, which made them laugh
very heartily; they then gave him five shillings, and promised to keep
Mr. Pike’s secret for a day or two.

A few days after, the parson going over to see the ladies, they asked him
if a poor seaman had been at his house.  Yes, replied the parson, it was
one Roger Pike, whose brother had a congregation in Tiverton, and whom I
am very well acquainted with.  And did you give him any assistance?  Yes,
I gave him a shirt and a half-guinea: and we gave him five shillings,
said the ladies, not as being Roger Pike, but as Mr. Bampfylde Moore
Carew; at which the parson was in a very great hurry, and would scarce be
convinced but that it was old Roger Pike.  Thus had Mr. Carew the happy
art of suiting his eloquence to every temper and every circumstance; for
his being the brother of good Mr. Pike, of Tiverton, was as powerful a
loadstone to attract the parson, as his marrying of Betty Larkey had been
to Lady Tynte.

From hence he went to parson White’s, at Cocker, where he found Justice
Proctor: here he passed for an unfortunate sailor, who had been cast away
coming from the Baltic, and was now travelling to his native place,
Tintagel, in Cornwall.  Parson White asked who was minister there, he
replied, that one Atkins was curate, and that there was no other there at
that time.  The justice asked but few questions, and told him he ought to
have a pass, and asked where he landed.  He replied, at Dover.  Had you a
pass, then, from the mayor there?  We had one, said he, very readily; but
some of our company being sick, and myself in good health, I left them
the pass, and came forward by myself, they not being able to travel so
fast.  Why then, says the justice, you are liable to be taken up as a
vagrant, for begging without a pass: however, we will relieve you; and if
you call upon gentlemen only, they will scarcely molest you.  He returned
them a great many thanks for this civility, and then went to a tanner’s
hard by, where he changed his story, and passed for a bankrupt tanner.
Here he was likewise relieved, as he touched upon the right string; for
had he passed here for an unfortunate sailor, probably his eloquence
would have had no effect.

From hence he went to the parson of East Chinock, and told him that he
belonged to a man-of-war, in which his brother was lieutenant.  Being
then about dinner time, the parson asked if he could eat sea provisions,
such as pork and peas, which he readily accepting of, they sat down
together, and had a great deal of discourse about the lieutenant.  Next
he went to Madam Philips, of Montacute, where happened to be Parson
Bower, of Martock, who asked him if he knew Bampfylde Moore Carew?  Sir,
replied he, I am of Tintagel, in Cornwall, and know the Carews there very
well, and have heard of the wanderer you speak of, who, I’m told, is a
great dog stealer, but know not what has become of him; for some say he
is hanged.  God forbid he is hanged, cried the parson, upon account of
his family; and after some other questions, he was relieved with
sixpence.  Leaving Montacute, he went forward to Yeovil, having appointed
to meet his wife and daughter at the sign of the Boot, Sherborne, and
from Yeovil to Squire Hellier’s, at Leweston, who treated him very
handsomely, and would have had him stay there all night, but he excused
himself, being impatient to see his wife and daughter.

As soon as he came to Sherborne, he went to his usual quarters, the sign
of the Boot, where he inquired for his wife and daughter; but how was he
thunder-struck, when he was told they were in hold, at Webb’s the
bailiff!  He inquired for what reason, and was informed, that four
officers had been walking all through the town to take up all strangers,
such as chimney-sweepers, tinkers, pedlars, and the like.  What could our
hero do? he revolved it over and over in his mind, and at last determined
to go to Webb’s, resolving either to free his wife and daughter, or else
to share their fate.  When he came there, he asked to see the prisoners,
and demanded upon what account they had apprehended his wife, as she had
neither stolen nor begged in the town: this occasioned high words, and at
last ended in blows.  Long did our hero maintain an unequal fight with
great valour.  At length, being overpowered with numbers, he fell, but
not till his assailants had felt the force of his arms.  He was kept in
safe custody that night, and the next morning taken, with the rest of the
prisoners, before Thomas Medlycott, Esq., at Milbourn Port, where they
were all examined, and all maintained their professions to be extremely
useful.  The chimney-sweeper alleged, he preserved houses from taking
fire, whereby he saved whole towns, and consequently was a useful member
to his country.  The tinker harangued on the usefulness of kettles, brass
pans, frying-pans, &c., and of consequence, what use he was of to the
public: and our hero declared he was the famous Bampfylde Moore Carew,
and had served his king and country both by sea and land.

The justice thought proper to send these useful men to their respective
parishes, at the public expense: accordingly Mr. Carew, with his wife and
daughter, were ordered to Bickley, in Devonshire.  The Sherborne people
waited upon them to Yeovil, where they were delivered to the care of the
chief magistrate.  The next day, horses being provided, they set out for
Thomas Proctor’s, Esq., at Cocker: but, he refusing to sign the pass,
they proceeded to Axminster, where the magistrate refused to receive
them, on account of the pass not being signed; upon which they would have
left Mr. Carew, but he insisted upon being accomodated to the end of his
journey, they therefore adjourned to Mr. Tucker’s, about two miles from
Axminster, who asked him if he had a mind to have his attendants
dismissed, or chose to have their company to Bickley; and he replying
that he did not choose to have them dismissed, Mr. Tucker signed the
warrant, and our hero, with his wife and daughter, rode all the way very
triumphantly into Bickley, where, as soon as they arrived, the bells were
set a ringing, and the greatest joy spread through all the place.

Mr. Carew remained some time at Bickley, but fresh news arriving every
day of the progress of the rebels, that insatiable curiosity which had
always actuated his breast, prompted him to go and see the army of the
rebels: he therefore, taking his leave of his wife and daughter, though
they entreated him with tears not to go to the North, made the best of
his way towards Edinburgh.

After some days travel, Mr. Carew arrived at the city of Edinburgh, which
lies in a sort of a valley, between two hills, one of which is called
Salisbury Crags, the other marks the foundation of the castle.  It was
strongly walled, and is adorned with public and private buildings.  At
the extremity of the east end of the city stands the palace of Holyrood
house; leaving which, a little to the left, you come through a populous
suburb to the entrance, called the Water-port.  From hence, turning west,
the street goes on in a straight line through the whole city to the
castle, which is above a mile in length, and is said by the Scots to be
the largest and finest street for buildings and number of inhabitants in
Europe.  From the palace door, which stands on a level with the lowest of
the plain country, this street begins to ascend very gradually, being no
where steep; but this ascent being continued for so long a way, it is
easy to understand that the furthest part must be necessarily very high;
for the castle, which stands as it were at the extremity, west, as the
palace does east, makes on all sides (that only excepted which joins it
to the city) a frightful and inaccessible precipice.  The castle is
situated on a high rock, and strongly fortified with a great number of
towers, so that it is looked upon as impregnable.  In the great church
they have a set of bells, which are not rung out as in England, (for that
way of ringing is not now known in this country,) but are played on by
the hand with keys, like a harpsichord, the person playing having great
leather covers for his fists, which enables him to strike with the more
force; and for the larger bells there are treddles, which he strikes with
his feet.

They play all manner of tunes very musically; and the town gives a man a
yearly salary for playing upon them, from half-an-hour after eleven till
half-an-hour after twelve every day, Sundays and holidays excepted.  On
the south side of this church is a square of very fine buildings, called
the Parliament Close, the west and south side of which are mostly taken
up with the Parliament house, the several courts of justice, the council
chamber, the exchequer, the public registers, the lawyers’ library, the
post-office, &c.  The great church makes up the north side of the square,
and the east, and part of the south side, is built into private
dwellings, very stately, lofty, and strong, being seven stories high to
the front of the square, and the hill that they stand on having a very
deep descent; some of them are no less than fourteen stories high
backwards.  Holyrood house is a very handsome building, rather convenient
than large; it was formerly a royal palace and an abbey, founded by King
David I. for the canons regular of St. Austin, who named it
Holyrood-house, or the house of the Holy Cross, which was destroyed by
Oliver Cromwell, but nobly re-edificed by King Charles the second, and of
which his grace the Duke of Hamilton is hereditary keeper; it is now
almost entirely neglected.

The entrance from the great outer court is adorned with pillars of hewn
stone, under a cupola, in form of an imperial crown, balustrated on each
side at the top.  The fore part has two wings, on each side of which are
two turrets; that towards the north was built by King James V. whose name
it bears in letters of gold; and that towards the south (as well as the
rest) by Charles II, whereof Sir William Bruce was the architect.  The
inner court is very stately, all of free-stone, well hewn, with a
colonade round it, from whence are entries into the several apartments;
but above all, the long gallery is very remarkable, being adorned with
the pictures of all the Scotch kings, from Fergus the first, done by
masterly hands.  Here Mr. Carew met the rebels, but having no mind to
join them, he pretended to be very sick and lame; however, he accosted
them with, God bless you, noble gentlemen! and the rebels moving on to
Carlisle, he hopped after them, and from thence to Manchester, and there
had a sight of the Pretender’s son, and other commanders.  He afterwards
accompanied them to Derby, where a report was spread, that the Duke of
Cumberland was coming to fight them; upon which, their courage failing,
though the Pretender’s son was for fighting, they retreated back to
Carlisle; upon which he thought it time to leave them, and hopped
homewards on his crutches, taking care to change his note to “God bless
King George, and the brave Duke William!”  Coming into Bristol, he met
with one Mr. P---, an apothecary, who had formerly known him at St. Mary
Ottery, in Devon.  Mr. P--- was very glad to see him, and took him to a
tavern, where he treated him very handsomely, and then sent for his wife,
sister, and other friends, to come and see him.  They were all highly
pleased to see a man they had heard so much talk of, and, after spending
some hours very merrily with him, they would have him to try his fortune
in that city, but to take care of the mint.  Accordingly he went to a
place of rendezvous of the brothers of the mendicant order in
Temple-street, equipped himself in a very good suit of clothes, and then
went upon the Exchange, as the supercargo of a ship called the Dragon,
which had been burnt by lightning off the Lizard point.  By this story he
raised a very handsome contribution on the merchants and captains of
vessels, it being well known that such a ship had been burnt in the
manner he described.  He then returned to his friend Mr. P---, the
apothecary, and, knocking at the door, asked if he was at home; upon
which Mr. P---, came forth, and, not knowing him again in his
supercargo’s dress, made him a very low bow, and desired him to walk in.
Mr. Carew asked him if he had any fine salve, as he had met with an
accident, and burnt his elbow; upon which Mr. P--- ran behind his
counter, and reached down a pot of salve, desiring, with a great deal of
complaisance, the favour of looking at his elbow; he then discovered
himself, which occasioned no little diversion to Mr. P--- and his family,
who made him very welcome.

Going back to his quarters, he laid aside his finery, and dressed himself
more meanly, like to a labouring mechanic; he then went into the street,
and acted like a madman, talking in a raving manner about Messrs.
Whitfield and Wesley, as though he was disordered in his mind by their
preaching; calling in a furious manner at every step upon the Virgin
Mary, Pontius Pilate, and Mary Magdalen, and acting the part of a man
religiously mad.  Sometimes he walked with his eyes fixed upon the
ground, and then, of a sudden, he would break out into some passionate
expressions about religion.  This behaviour greatly excited the curiosity
and compassion of the people, some of whom talked to him, but he answered
every thing they said in a wild and incoherent manner; and, as compassion
is generally the forerunner of charity, he was relieved by the most of
them.

The next morning he appeared in a morning-gown, still acting the madman,
and carried it so far now, as to address himself to all the posts in the
streets, as if they were saints, lifting up his hands and eyes in a
fervent though distracted manner to heaven, and making use of so many
extravagant gestures, that he astonished the whole city.  Going through
Castle-street, he met the Rev. Mr. B---c, a minister of that place, whom
he accosted with his arms thrown round him; and insisted, in a raving
manner, he should tell him who was the father of the morning star; which
frightened the parson so much, that he took to his heels and ran for it,
he running after him, till he took shelter in a house.

Having well recruited his pockets by this stratagem, he left the city
next day, and travelled towards Bath, acting the madman all the way till
he came to Bath.  As soon as he came there, he inquired for Dr. Cooney’s,
and being directed to his house, found two brother mendicants at the
door; after they had waited some time, the servant brought each of them a
halfpenny, for which his brother mendicants were very thankful; but Mr.
Carew gave his halfpenny to one of them; then knocking at the door, and
the maid coming out again, Tell your master, said he, I am not a
halfpenny man, but that my name is Bampfylde Moore Carew, king of the
mendicants, which being told, the Dr. came out with one of his daughters,
and gave him sixpence and a mug of drink, for which he returned thanks.

The next day he went to Mr. Allen’s seat, near Bath, and sent in a
petition as from a poor lunatic, by which he got half-a-crown.  From
thence he made the best of his way to Shepton Mallet, when, calling at
Mr. Hooper’s, and telling the servant who he was, the mistress ordered
him in, and inquired if he was really the famous Bampfylde Carew; she
then gave him five shillings, and ordered him to be well entertained.  At
Shepton Mallet our hero had the pleasure of meeting with his beloved
wife, to their mutual joy and satisfaction; and finding several brethren
of the order there, they passed some days together with much mirth and
harmony.

Going near Rye, in Sussex, (where, upon account of their extraordinary
merit, the two brothers L---d are perpetually mayors,) he met two of his
mendicant subjects, who acquainted him there was no entering the town,
but with extreme hazard to his person, upon account of the severity which
the mayor exercised towards all of their community.  Mr. Carew’s wife
hearing this, entreated him in the most tender manner not to venture into
the town; but as his great heart always swelled when any thing hazardous
presented, and as he was willing to show his subjects, by example, that
nothing was too difficult for industry and ingenuity to overcome, he was
resolved to enter Rye; which he did with a very slow, feeble, and
tottering pace, stopping every minute by the most violent fits of
coughing, whilst every limb shook with an universal palsy, his
countenance appearing rather to be the property of some one among the
dead than to belong to any living body: in this manner he crept along to
the mayor’s house, and in a most lamentable moan begged some relief.  The
mayor, seeing so deplorable a figure, said he was indeed a real object of
pity; and therefore gave him a shilling, and liberty to go through the
town; which he did with no little profit, and with great applause from
the mendicants, when they heard of his success.

Steering from thence to Dungeness, he found a vessel ready to sail for
Boulogne, on board of which he embarked, and landed safe there; and found
it so thronged with English soldiers, (it being soon after the reducing
of the army,) that had he not known the contrary, he should have thought
himself in some town in England.  Some of the soldiers knowing him, cried
out, Here’s Bampfylde Moore Carew! upon which they took him along with
them to their quarters, and they passed the day very merrily: the
soldiers expressed great discontent at their being discharged, swearing
they would never come over to England any more, saying, if they had not
come over then, they should have been either starved or hanged.  He then
inquired how they lived in France?  They replied, never better in their
lives.  From Boulogne he set off for Calais; where he likewise found a
great multitude of English soldiers, and more were daily coming in.
Whilst he was here, the Duke of Richmond arrived, in his way to Paris;
who, seeing many English soldiers, asked some of them why they came
there? to which they replied, they should have been either starved or
hanged if they had staid in England.  Mr. Carew intended to have paid his
respects to his grace, but had not an opportunity; and soon after, being
taken very ill, was obliged to desist from his intended design of making
a tour through France, Germany, &c.

He therefore took a passage in the packet-boat from Calais, and landed at
Dover; from hence he went to Folkstone, where he got a pass and relief
from the mayor, under the name of John Moore, a native of St. Ives, in
Cornwall, who had been cast away on the coast of France, in a vessel
coming from Ireland.  Having borne this character as long as suited his
inclination, he metamorphosed himself again, and appeared in quite a
different shape.  He now wore a full handsome tie-wig, but a little
changed by age; a good beaver hat, somewhat duffy; a fine broad-cloth
coat, but not of the newest fashion, and not a little faded in its
colour.  He was now a gentleman of an ancient family and good estate, but
reduced by a train of uncommon misfortunes.  His venerable looks, his
dejected countenance, the visible struggles between the shame of asking
and the necessity which forced him to it, all operated to move the pity
of those he applied to, which was generally shown by handsome
contributions, for few could think of offering mites to a gentleman of so
ancient a family, and who had formerly lived so well; and indeed how much
soever we may envy the great in their prosperity, we are as ready to
relieve them in their misfortunes.

Mr. Carew happening to be in the city of Wells, in Somersetshire, on a
Sunday, was told that the bishop was to preach that morning: upon which
he slips on a black waistcoat and morning-gown, and went out to meet the
bishop as he was walking in procession, and addressed himself to his
lordship as a poor unhappy man, whose misfortunes had turned his brain;
which the bishop hearing, gave him five shillings.  From Wells he steered
to Bridgewater, but did not appear in the day-time, and went only in the
evenings upon his crutches, as a poor lame man, not being known by any
one till he discovered himself.

Having heard that young Lord Clifford, his first cousin, (who had just
returned from his travels abroad,) was at his seat at Callington, about
four miles from Bridgewater, he resolved to pay him a visit.  In his way
thither resided Parson C---, who being one whom nature had made up in a
hurry without a heart, Mr. Carew had never been able to obtain any thing
of him, even under the most moving appearance of distress, but a cup of
small drink.  Stopping now in his way, he found the parson was gone to
Lord Clifford’s, but being saluted at the door by a fine black spaniel,
with almost as much crustiness as he would have been, had his master been
at home, he thought himself under no stronger obligation of observing the
strict laws of honour, than the parson did of hospitality; and therefore
soon charmed the crossness of the spaniel, and made him follow him to
Bridgewater; for it is very remarkable “that the art has been found of
taming the most savage and ill-natured brutes, which is generally
attended with success; but it requires a much higher skill, and is but
seldom successful, to soften the ill-nature and inhumanity of man:
whether it is that the brutes are more capable of receiving instruction,
or whether the ill-nature of man exceeds that of the brutes, we cannot
well determine.”

Having secured the spaniel, and passed the night merrily in Bridgewater,
he set out the next morning for Lord Clifford’s, and in his way called
upon the parson again, who very crustily told him he had lost his dog,
and supposed some of his gang had stolen him: to which Mr. Carew very
calmly replied, What was he to his dog, or what was his dog to him? if he
would make him drink it was well, for he was very dry: at last, with the
use of much rhetoric, he got a cup of small drink; then, taking leave of
him, he went to the Red Lion, in the same parish, where he staid some
time.  In the mean time down ran the parson to my Lord Clifford’s, to
acquaint him that Mr. Carew was in the parish, and to advise him to take
care of his dogs; so that Mr. Carew, coming down immediately after, found
a servant with one dog in his arms, and another with another: here one
stood whistling and another calling, and both my lord and his brother
were running about to seek after their favourites.

Mr. Carew asked my lord what was the meaning of this hurry, and if his
dogs were cripples, because he saw several carried in the servants’ arms:
adding, he hoped his lordship did not imagine he was come to steal any of
them.  Upon which his lordship told him, that parson C--- had advised him
to be careful, as he had lost his spaniel but the day before.  It may be
so, replied he: the parson knows but little of me, or the laws of our
community, if he is ignorant that with us ingratitude is unknown, and the
property of our friends always sacred.  His lordship, hearing this,
entertained him very handsomely, and both himself and his brother made
him a present.

There being about this time a great fair at Bridgewater, in the county of
Somerset, our hero appeared there upon crutches as a poor miserable
cripple, in company with many of his subjects that were full as
unfortunate as himself, some blind, some deaf, some dumb, &c., among whom
were his old friends and school-fellows Martin, Escott, and Coleman.  The
mayor of that corporation, a bitter enemy to their community, jocosely
said, that he would make the blind see, the deaf hear, and the lame walk;
and by way of preparation or beginning to this intended cure, he had them
all apprehended and confined in a dark hole, which greatly terrified them
with the apprehension of severe punishment.  After one night’s repose in
limbo, he sent a physician or surgeon of most profound skill and judgment
to them, who brought the keys of their melancholy apartments, and
pretending greatly to befriend them, advised them, if there were any of
them counterfeits, to make haste out of the town, or otherwise they must
expect no mercy from the mayor, unknown to whom he had privately stolen
the keys; then, unlocking the door, forth issued the disabled and infirm
prisoners; the lame threw aside their crutches and artificial legs, and
made an exceeding good use of their natural ones: the blind made shift to
see the way out of town; and the deaf themselves, with great attention,
hearkened to this their friend, and followed his advice with all possible
speed.  The mayor, with the aldermen and several gentlemen, planted
themselves opposite to the prison, and were spectators to this diverting
scene, calling out to stop them, not with an intention to do them any
prejudice, but only of adding a spur to their speed: however there were
some who were ready enough to lay hold on them, and our hero, in a
struggle of this nature, left a skirt of his garment behind him, which
might be done without much violence, as we may reasonably conclude it to
have been none of the soundest; and Coleman was so closely pursued, that
he plunged into the river, and swam to the opposite shore: in short, so
well did these cripples ply their limbs, that none of them could be
taken, excepting a real object, a lame man, who, in spite of the fear and
consternation he was in, could not mend his decrepid pace: he therefore
was brought before the mayor, who, after slightly rebuking him for his
vagrant course of life, ordered him to be relieved in a very plentiful
and generous manner, and the whole corporation was exceeding kind to him.

One method of gaining his ends our hero had peculiar to himself.  He used
with great intent to read the inscriptions on tombs and monuments in
church-yards, and when the deceased person had a character for piety and
charity, he would with the greatest importunity apply to his or her
surviving relations: and, if they refused an alms, he would, in the most
moving terms imaginable, implore their charity for the sake of their
deceased relation, praying they would follow the laudable and virtuous
example of their dead husband, wife, father, mother, or the like; hoping
there was the same God, the same spirit of piety, religion, and charity,
still dwelling in the house as before the death of the person deceased.
These and the like expressions, uttered in a most suppliant and pathetic
voice, used to extort not only very handsome contributions, but tears
from the person to whom he applied.

Some time after this, he engaged, at Burton, in Somersetshire, in the
habit and character of a seaman, cast away in coming from Newfoundland,
with a captain, who, by his great severity, had rendered himself the
terror of all the mendicant order; but he, relying upon his perfect
acquaintance with the country, ventured up to him, had the best
entertainment his house afforded, and was honourably dismissed with a
considerable piece of money.  Captains H---h and N---n, with both of whom
our hero had sailed, were intimate acquaintances of this captain, of whom
he asked many questions, and also about Newfoundland, which country trade
he had used the most part of the time; to all which questions he gave
very satisfactory answers.  This captain had detected so many impostors,
that he concluded they were all so; but, not being able to find Mr. Carew
in any one error, he was very proud of it, pitied and relieved him in an
extraordinary manner, went with him himself to the principal people of
the town, wrote him letters of recommendation to his distant relations
and friends, that lay in his road, and acted with such extraordinary
kindness, as if he thought he could never do enough; it is to be
remarked, that he passed rather for a passenger than a seaman.

In the same town lived Lord B---y, who had a son, who was captain of the
Antelope man-of-war, stationed in the West Indies, and who died on the
passage; Mr. Carew informed himself of every circumstance relating
thereto, and made it his business to meet his lordship as he came out of
church.  After his first application, he gave his lordship to understand,
that he was a spectator of the burial of his son on board the Antelope;
at the same time came up this critical captain, who gave him the
character of a man of great veracity, so that his lordship gave him a
guinea, his eldest son five shillings, and also good entertainment from
the house.  This happened to be a fair day; he thereupon, going into the
town, was accosted by an apothecary, who whispered him in the ear,
saying, that he knew him to be the famous Bampfylde Moore Carew, and had
most grossly imposed upon the captain and the town, but at the same time
assured him that he would not injure him, but faithfully keep the secret.
In the mean time there was an Irish quack-doctor in view, who had
gathered the whole market around him, and who, with more strength of
lungs than sense of argument, most loudly harangued, entertaining them in
a very florid manner with the sovereign virtues of his pills, plasters,
and self; and so far did he impose upon them, as to vend his packets
pretty plentifully, which the apothecary could not forbear beholding with
an envious eye, and jocularly asked Mr. Carew if he could not help him to
some revenge upon this dangerous rival and antagonist of his; which he
promised him to do effectually.

Accordingly he got a little phial, and filled it up with spirits of
turpentine; he then mixed in with the gaping auditory of this Irish
itinerant physician, who was in the midst of them, mounted on his steed
adorned with a pompous curb-bridle, with a large parcel of all-curing
medicines in his bags behind him, and was with a great deal of confidence
and success, Æsculapius like, distributing health around him: we must
observe, that our physician had taken his stand among the stalls of
orange and gingerbread merchants, shoemakers, glovers, and other such
retailers.

Mr. Carew therefore approached him, and planted himself close by the
horse, and, wetting his fingers with the spirits, rested his hand upon
the steed, as an unconcerned person might have done; at the same time
putting aside the hair, he rubbed the turpentine upon the bare flesh,
which immediately beginning to burn and smart, the afflicted quadruped
began to express his sense of pain, by flinging his hinder legs, gently
shaking himself, and other restless motions, which made the poor
mountebank wonder what had befallen his horse; but the pain increasing,
the disorderly behaviour of the steed increased proportionably, who now
began to kick, prance, stand on end, neigh, immoderately shake himself,
utterly disregarding both his bridle and rider, and running a tilt
against the stalls of oranges, gingerbread, gloves, breeches, shoes, &c.,
which he overthrew and trampled under foot; this occasioned a scramble
among the boys for the eatables, and there were some who were but too
unmerciful to the scattered goods of the poor shoemakers and glovers,
who, enraged by their several losses, began to curse the doctor and his
Rosinante, who was all this while capering, roaring, and dancing among
their oranges, panniers of eggs, &c., to the entire ruin of the
hucksters, who now began to deal very heavy blows, both on the
unfortunate horse and his distressed master.  This odd spectacle and
adventure attracted the eyes and attention of the whole fair, which was
all in an uproar, some laughing, some crying, (particularly the poor
suffering pedlars,) some fighting, and others most unmercifully cursing
and swearing; to make short of the story, the doctor rode about the fair,
without either hat or wig, at the pleasure and discretion of his horse,
among the ruined and overturned stalls and the dissipated mob, who
concluded both the quack and the steed to be either mad or bewitched, and
enjoyed their frolicsome situation.

The doctor, being no longer able to keep his seat, fell headlong into the
miry street; the horse ran into a river, and rolled himself over several
times, to the entire confusion and ruin of the inestimable pills and
plasters; the doctor employed a good farrier, and after some time the
horse came to himself again.  The reader may very easily judge what
glorious diversion this was for the apothecary and Mr. Carew, who were
spectators of the whole scene.  He was treated handsomely upon this
account, not only by the apothecary, but all others of the same
profession in the town, and several other gentlemen.

Upon Mr. Carew’s departure from Burton, the generous captain befriended
him with many recommendatory letters to friends and acquaintance, that
lay in his road, as he pretended: nay, indeed, he was never out of it;
thence he proceeded to Bristol, and other places where the letters were
directed to, and received considerable sums of money from many, on
account of these letters, which were mostly to captains of vessels, and
gentlemen that had been at sea, with whom he several times passed muster
very well; it being by desire of the captain, as was mentioned in the
letters, that they examined him.

Sometimes he and his wife, in conjunction with Coleman and his wife,
being all dressed genteelly, passed for gipseys of extraordinary
knowledge and reputation: many a poor credulous unsuspecting person
became their prey, and many a good booty they got in almost every town of
the counties of Cornwall and Devon.  Once in particular, himself and
Coleman, with both their spouses, being in Buckford-sleigh, near Exeter,
one Mr. Collard, a wealthy but simple shoemaker, came to their quarters,
to consult them on a very intricate and important affair; he told them,
“that it was the opinion of every body in the country, that his
grandmother had somewhere concealed very large sums of money before her
death, and that himself, by several dreams, was confirmed in the same
opinion, and that he thought proper to advise with them upon the affair;
not doubting but they, by the help of their profound learning and
knowledge, for which they were so famous through the west, were capable
of informing him in what particular place he might find this particular
treasure, which if they would discover to him, he would give them thirty
guineas.”

Our magicians, after long deliberation and consultation with their books,
told him, “that if he would that night take a walk with one of them, he
would see the spirit of his grandmother; that he must not be afraid of
the apparition, but follow it till it vanished away, and in that
individual spot of ground from which the ghost vanished, there he would
find the hidden treasure.”

In order for the execution of this scheme, Coleman put a woman’s cap on
his head, washed his face, and sprinkled meal on it while wet, stuck the
broken pieces of a tobacco-pipe between his teeth, and wrapping his body
in a white sheet, planted himself in the road that Collard and Mr. Carew
were to come; the moon at this time shone very bright, which gave an
additional horror to the pretended spectre.  Our hero, by virtue of his
supposed profound learning and most mysterious science, spoke to it in an
unknown language, to the following effect:—“High, wort, bush rumley to
the toggy cull, and ogle him in the muns;” at which command the terrific
hobgoblin fiercely advanced up to poor Collard, and with a most ghastly
look stared him in the face; the shoemaker was greatly terrified thereat,
and shook and trembled as if a fit of the ague had been upon him, and,
creeping close to Mr. Carew, laid fast hold of his clothes, imagining he
had sufficient power to protect him from the threatening appearance of
this insolent apparition; whereupon he bid the ghost, “hike to the vile;”
and would have persuaded the frightened Collard to have followed his
departing grandmother, in order to observe the particular place from
which she vanished; but no persuasions of his could induce him to move
from his side.

They then returned to the alehouse they had left, and Mr. Carew (this
method of conjuration miscarrying through the shoemaker’s fear,) cast a
figure, and informed Crispin, that, if he took up two or three planks of
the floor of his little parlour, he would there find the concealed
treasure, at the depth of about three or four feet: upon his hearing this
joyful news, the shoemaker instantly disbursed the thirty guineas, highly
extolling them as people of the profoundest skill that he had ever heard
of or conversed with: but whether he was of the same opinion when he came
to dig for the treasure, we will not take upon us to say—but we may
suppose the contrary.

Happening, a short time after this, to be in Brakeness, near Lymington,
in the character of a cast-away seaman, he went to the house of Mr.
Joseph Haze, an eminent and wealthy presbyterian parson, of whom he
begged relief, in the most earnest manner he was able, for God’s sake,
with uplifted eyes and hands, and upon his bended knee; but could not
with all his importunity and eloquence obtain a crust of bread, or a
draught of small beer.  Mr. Carew, not accustomed to be unsuccessful in
his applications, could by no means brook this churlishness of the
parson, and thought it highly necessary, for the benefit of his
community, that it should not go unpunished.  He was a great sportsman,
and had two fine greyhounds, the one named Hector, the other Fly; and two
excellent spaniels, Cupid and Dido, and an admirable setting dog, called
Sancho.  Our hero, therefore, about twelve o’clock on the same night,
paid a second visit to the parson’s house, and brought away all these
fine dogs with him.  And afterwards he sent a letter to the parson, to
this purpose:—

    “REV. SIR,

    “You err, if you suspect yourself to have been wronged of your dogs
    by any of your neighbours; the cast-away seaman, who begged so
    earnestly, for the love of God, to whom you would not vouchsafe a
    crust of bread, or a draught of small beer, took them away, to teach
    you another time to behave to unfortunate strangers more as becomes
    your profession, and your plentiful circumstances.”

The mayor of Weymouth, in Dorsetshire, fared little better at his hands.
This gentleman was an implacable enemy to all Mr. Carew’s subjects.  He
therefore, happening to be in that town, and overhearing the mayor
talking to a gentleman in the street, and saying that he was going to
dine with Captain Colloway, of Upton, he thought this a proper
opportunity for taking some revenge of the mayor, for the many
indignities he had put on his subjects.  Having soon got intelligence
what suits of clothes the mayor had, and understanding he had a good
snuff-coloured suit, he went to his house, and informed the lady mayoress
that he was a seaman under misfortunes, had met with the mayor, as he was
going to dinner at Captain Colloway’s, of Upton, and his honour had sent
him to her, giving him orders to receive his snuff-coloured suit of
clothes from her; which the good natured gentlewoman hearing, without the
least scruple, quickly brought him the coat, waistcoat, and breeches.
Thus our hero, by turning his natural ingenuity to account, procured a
handsome suit of clothes, while, at the same time, he was revenging
himself upon his enemy; fulfilling the old proverb of killing two dogs
with one stone.  It is unnecessary to say, that our hero departed from
Weymouth forthwith.

Mr. Carew being in Bristol, at a time when there was a hot press, wherein
they not only impressed seamen, but able-bodied landmen they could any
where meet with, which made some fly one way, and some another, putting
the city into a great rout and consternation, he, among the rest, knowing
himself to have a body of rather a dangerous bigness, he was willing to
secure himself as effectually as he possibly could, greatly preferring
his own ease to the interest and honour of his king.  He therefore set
his wife and landlady to work, who with all speed, and proper attention
to cleanliness, made a great number of small mutton-pies, plum-puddings,
cheesecakes, and custards, which our hero, in the ordinary attire of a
female vender of these commodities, hawked about the city, crying,
Plum-pudding, plum-pudding, plum-pudding; hot plum-pudding; piping hot,
smoking hot, hot plum-pudding.  Plum-pudding echoed in every street and
corner, even in the midst of the eager press-gang, some of whom spent
their penny with this masculine pie-woman, and seldom failed to serenade
her with many a complimentary title, such as bitch and whore.

Arriving at Squire Rhodes’s seat, near King’s-bridge in Devonshire, and
knowing the squire had married a Dorsetshire lady, he thought proper also
to become a Dorsetshire man, and of Lyme, which was the place of the
lady’s nativity, and applied himself to the squire and his lady, whom he
met both together, giving them to understand that he was lost in a vessel
belonging to Lyme.  The squire and his lady gave him five shillings each,
for country’s sake, and entertained him very well at their own house.
This was early in the forenoon, and he wished to put off his time a
little, before proceeding upon another adventure.

Going from hence, he went to a public-house, called Malston-cross, about
a quarter of a mile from the squire’s; he there fell into company with
Squire Reynolds, Squire Ford, Dr. Rhodes, brother to the squire, and
several other gentlemen, who were met there to make happy after a
hunting-match, in which they had been uncommonly successful, and were
much inclined to be jovial.  In the afternoon there was a terrific storm
of rain, thunder, and lightning, that continued with great violence for
several hours: in the midst of this tempestuous weather, he (having a
great mind to clear his afternoon’s expenses) stripped off all his
apparel, except his nightcap, shoes, and breeches, and went to Squire
Rhodes’s.  Nothing could possibly look with a more deplorable appearance
than this naked and wretched spectacle, in such dreadful weather: the
landlord with pity regarding his destitute appearance, fetched him a
shirt, as he thought, to cover his nakedness; but upon his endeavouring
to put it on, it proved to be a smock belonging to the good woman of the
house, which afforded a great deal of diversion to the good squire and
his benevolent lady, who happened to be looking from their window
enjoying the mistake; when, calling to him, and inquiring from whence he
came, he pretended to have been cast away at Bigbury-bay, during the late
violent tempest, in a vessel belonging to Poole, and he was the only
person on board that had escaped.  Squire Rhodes ordered a fine Holland
shirt, and a suit of good clothes to be given to him, as also a hearty
refreshing dram; and then, kindly giving him five shillings, dismissed
him with every mark of commiseration for his unfortunate condition, not
in the least suspecting him to be the poor Lyme man, whom both his lady
and himself had been so generous in relieving his wants in the morning.
Having succeeded so much to his satisfaction in levying two
contributions, in one day, on the benevolent Squire Rhodes and his lady,
he quickly determined on making another trial upon their good-nature: for
which purpose he retired to the nearest house which was frequented by the
members of his community, where he dressed himself as a farmer, and
speedily returned to the squire’s, to whose presence he was admitted.  He
stated that he had been a tenant on the estate of Squire H---, (a
gentleman between whom and Squire Rhodes he knew there was a disagreement
of long standing,) for many years, where he had reared a numerous and
happy family in respectability: that about three years ago the squire had
seduced his eldest daughter, a handsome girl of eighteen years, who died
in giving birth to a still-born son: that his wife had died shortly after
of a broken heart, and he was left to struggle through the world with a
helpless family of young children: that, through bad crops and bad debts,
he had fallen in arrears of his rent; and his cruel landlord had seized
upon his whole stock, and turned him out of his favourite home, to become
a destitute wanderer—destitute of food, shelter or clothing for himself
and family.  The benevolent Squire Rhodes whose ear was ever open to the
tale of pity—whose heart was ever ready to relieve the unfortunate, after
venting many imprecations on the hard-hearted squire, bestowed a guinea
on the poor farmer.

Having obtained this third contribution from the unsuspecting squire, he
returned to the public-house, where the gentlemen waited for him (for
they were the principal occasion of this last adventure); and being
informed how he had fared, diverted themselves exceedingly with the
stratagem; and shortly after, meeting with Squire Rhodes, they discovered
the various impositions that had been practised upon him, and very
heartily bantered him thereupon.

Some time after this, Mr. Carew, exercising his profession at Modbury
(where squire Rhodes’s father lived), among other houses made his
application to Legassick’s, where he by chance was visiting.  Mr. Carew
knocked at the kitchen door, which being opened, he saw his old friend
the squire, who was then alone, and in a careless manner swinging his
cane about.  As soon as he began to tell his lamentable tale, Mr. Rhodes
said, “I was three times in one day imposed on by that rogue, Bampfylde
Moore Carew, to whose gang you may very likely belong; furthermore, I do
not live here, but am a stranger.”  Mean time in comes Mr. Legassick,
with a bottle of wine in his hand, giving Mr. Carew a private wink, to
let him understand that he knew him, and then very gravely inquired into
the circumstances of his misfortune, as also of the affairs and
inhabitants of Dartmouth, from whence he pretended to have sailed several
times; of all which he gave a full and particular account; upon which Mr.
Legassick gave him five shillings, and recommended him as a real object
to Mr. Rhodes, who also made the same present; upon which Mr. Legassick
burst out laughing; and, being asked the reason thereof, he could not
forbear telling him, even in Mr. Carew’s presence; when Mr. Rhodes,
finding himself a fourth time imposed upon by the same person, with a
great deal of good nature made himself very merry therewith.

Mr. Carew being now advanced in years, and his strength beginning to
fail, he was seized with a violent fever, which confined him to his bed
for several weeks; on recovering he reflected how idly he had spent his
life, and came to the resolution of resigning the Egyptian sceptre.  The
assembly finding him determined, reluctantly complied, and he departed
amidst the applause, as well as the regrets of his subjects, who
despaired of ever again having such a king.

Our hero returned home to the place of his nativity, but finding the air
of the town not rightly to agree with him, and the death of some of his
relations rendering his circumstances quite easy, he retired to the west
country, where he purchased a neat cottage, which he embellished in a
handsome style, and lived in a manner becoming a good old English
gentleman, respected by his neighbours, and beloved by the poor, to whom
his doors were ever open.  Here he died, full of years and honours,
regretted by all.

Having left his daughter a handsome fortune, she was married to a
neighbouring gentleman of good family, by whom she had a numerous family
of promising children.

We shall now conclude our true history, by observing, that we consider
Mr. Carew to have as good a claim to fame and immortality as any of the
heroes of the present age.  We acknowledge he had his faults, but every
body knows a perfect character is quite out of fashion, and that the
authors of the present age hold it as an absurdity to draw even a
fictitious hero without an abundance of faults.



A DICTIONARY OF THE CANT LANGUAGE.


As the Language of the Community of Gipseys is very expressive, and
different from all others, we think we shall gratify the curious by
publishing a specimen of it.

                                * * * * *

_ABRAM_, naked, without clothes, or scarce enough to cover the nakedness.

_Ambi-dexter_, one that goes snacks in gaming with both parties; also a
lawyer that takes fees of a plaintiff and defendant at once.

_Alel-Wackets_, blows given on the palm of the hand with a twisted
handkerchief, instead of a ferula; a jocular punishment among seamen, who
sometimes play at cards for wackets, the loser suffering as many strokes
as he has lost games.

_Abram Cove_, among thieves signifies a naked or poor man; also a lusty
strong rogue.

_Adam_, _Tiler_, a pickpocket’s associate, who receives the stolen goods.

_Air_ and _Exercise_.  He has had air and exercise, i.e., has been
whipped at the cart’s tail; or, as it is generally expressed, at the
cart’s arse.

_Alls_, the Five Alls is a country sign, representing five human figures,
each having a motto under him.  The first is a king in his regalia; his
motto, I govern all: the second a bishop in his pontificals; motto, I
pray for all: third, a lawyer in his gown; motto, I plead for all:
fourth, a soldier in his regimentals, fully accoutred; with the motto, I
fight for all: and the fifth, a poor countryman with his scythe and rake;
motto, I pay for all.

_Amen Curler_, a parish clerk.

_Anodyne Necklace_, a halter.

_Arch Rogue_, or _Dimber Damber Upright Man_, the chief of a gang of
gipseys.

_Arch Doxy_, signifies the same in rank among the female canters or
gipseys.

_Ard_, hot.

_Autumn Mort_, a married woman; also a female beggar with several
children, hired to excite charity.

_Autumn_, a church; also married.

_Autumn bawler_, a preacher.

_Autumn cacklers_ or _prick-ears_, dissenters of whatever denomination.

_Autumn divers_, church pickpockets; but often used for churchwardens,
overseers of the poor, sidesmen, and others, who manage the poor’s money.

_Autumn jet_, a parson.

_Babes in the Wood_, criminals in the stocks.

_Back’d_, dead.

_Badge Coves_, parish pensioners.

_Balsam_, money.

_Bam_, a jocular imposition, the same as humbug.

_Bandog_, a bailiff, or his followers; a sergeant, or his yeomen; also a
fierce mastiff.

_Bandero_, a widow’s mourning peak; also a musical instrument.

_Baptised_, rum, brandy, or any other spirits that have been lowered with
water.

_Barker_, a salesman’s servant that walks before the shop, and cries,
coats, gowns, &c., what d’ye buy?

_Barking irons_, pistols, from their explosion resembling the barking of
a dog.

_Barnacles_, a good job, or a snack easily got; also, the irons worn by
felons in gaols.

_Barrel Fever_, he died of the barrel fever; he killed himself by
drinking.

_Battner_, an ox.

_Bawbee_, a halfpenny.

_Baudrons_, a cat.

_Beak_, a justice of peace, or magistrate.

_Beard splitter_, a whoremaster, or a beadle.

_Beater cases_, boots.

_Bellows_, the lungs.

_Belly cheat_, an apron.

_Bill of sale_, a widow’s weeds.

_Bing_, to go, bing avast; get you gone.  Binged avast in a darkmans;
stole away in the night.  Bing we to Rumvilck; shall we go to London.

_Bingo_, brandy, or other spirituous liquor.

_Bingo boy_, a dram drinker.

_Bingo mort_, a female dram drinker.

_Bingowaste_, get you hence.

_Black fly_, the greatest drawback on the farmer is the black fly, i.e.
the parson.

_Bleating rig_, sheep-stealing.

_Blind harpers_, beggars counterfeiting blindness, playing on fiddles,
&c.

_Black box_, a lawyer.

_Black Indies_, Newcastle, from whence the coals are brought.

_Black spy_, the devil.

_Blind cheek_, the breech.

_Blowen_, a whore.

_Bluffer_, an innkeeper, or victualler.

_Boarding school_, Bridewell, Newgate, or any other prison, or house of
correction.

_Bob_, a shoplifter’s assistant, or one that receives and carries off
stolen goods.

_Bob ken_, or _a Brownmanken_, a well furnished house.

_Bone_, to apprehend, seize, or arrest.

_Bone box_, the mouth.

_Bone Darkmans_, a good night.

_Bone setter_, a hard-trotting horse.

_Booby hutch_, a one-horse chaise, noddy, buggy, or leathern bottle.

_Borde_, a shilling.

_Bouncing cheat_, a bottle.

_Bracket face_, ugly, ill-favoured.

_Brown George_, an ammunition loaf.

_Buck’s face_, a cuckold.

_Bufe_, a dog.

_Butt’s eye_, a crown, or five shilling piece.

_Bung_, a purse, pocket, or fob.

_Bur_, a hanger-on, a dependant.

_Bum bailiff_, a sheriff’s officer who arrests debtors; so called perhaps
from following his prey, and being at their bums, or as the vulgar phrase
is, hard at their a---s.  Blackstone says it is a corruption of bound
bailiff, from their being obliged to give bond for their good behaviour.

_Bum brusher_, a schoolmaster.

_Bus-napper_, a constable.

_Bus-napper’s kenchin_, a watchman.

_Bye-blow_, a bastard.

_Calle_, a cloak or gown.

_Cank_, dumb.

_Canniken_, the plague.

_Cap_, to swear.

_Captain Queernabs_, a fellow in poor clothes.

_Caravan_, a good round sum of money about a man.

_Case_, a house, shop, or warehouse.

_Cassun_, cheese.

_Caster_, a cloak.

_Calfskin fiddle_, a drum.  To smack calfskin; to kiss the book in taking
the oath.  It is held by the St. Giles’s casuists, that by kissing one’s
own thumb instead of smacking calfskin, the guilt of taking a false oath
is avoided.

_Canticle_, a parish clerk.

_Canting_, preaching with a whining affected tone, perhaps a corruption
of chaunting; some derive it from Andrew Cant, a famous Scotch preacher,
who used that whining manner of expression.  Also, a kind of gibberish
used by thieves and gipseys, called, likewise, pedlar’s French.

_Catamaran_, an old scraggy woman; from a kind of float, made of spars
and yards lashed together, for saving shipwrecked persons.

_Catch Club_, a member of the catch club; a bum bailiff.

_Chanticleer_, a cock.

_Charactered_, or _Lettered_, burnt in the hand.  They have palmed the
character upon him, they have burned him in the hand.

_Charm_, a picklock.

_Chates_, the gallows.

_Chats_, lice.

_Chanter culls_, grub-street writers, who compose songs and carrols for
ballad singers.

_Cherubims_, peevish children, because cherubim and seraphim continually
do cry.

_Cheat-the-devil_, a dicky.

_Chife_, a knife, file, or saw.

_Chosen Pells_, highwaymen who rob in pairs, in the streets and squares
of London; to prevent being followed by the sound of their horses’ shoes
on the stones, they shoe them with leather.

_Chuck farthing_, a parish clerk.

_Clank napper_, a silver tankard.

_Clickman Toad_, a watch; also, an appellation for a west-countryman,
said to have arisen from the following—a westcountryman, who had never
seen a watch, found one on a heath near Pool, which, by the motion of the
hand, and the noise of the wheels, he concluded to be a living creature
of the toad kind; and, from its clicking, he named it a clickman toad.

_Clowes_, rogues.

_Cloy_, thief, robber, &c.

_Cloyes_, thieves, robbers, &c.

_Cly_, money; also, a pocket.  He has filed a cly; he has picked a
pocket.

_Cold burning_, a punishment inflicted by private soldiers, on their
comrades, for any trifling offences of their mess laws; it is
administered in the following manner—the prisoner is set against the
wall, with the arm which is to be burned tied as high above his head as
possible; the executioner then ascends a stool, and having a bottle of
cold water, pours it slowly down the sleeve of the delinquent, patting
him, and leading the water gently down his body, till it runs out at the
bottom of his trowsers—this is repeated to the other arm, if he is
sentenced to be burned in both.

_Cloak_, a silver tankard.

_Coach wheel_, or _a fore coach wheel_, half-a-crown; _a hind coach
wheel_, a crown.

_Cobblecotter_, a turnkey.

_Collar day_, execution day.

_Colquarron_, a man’s neck.

_Comefa_, a shirt, or shift.

_Commission_, a shirt.

_Comfortable impudence_, a wife.

_Cooler_, a woman.

_Costard_, the head.

_Court card_, a gay fluttering coxcomb.

_Cow’s baby_, a calf.

_Cow-handed_, awkward, not dextrous.

_Crab shells_, shoes.

_Cramp word_, sentence of death passed on a criminal by a judge:—he has
just undergone the cramp word; sentence has just been passed upon him.

_Crew_, a knot or gang: the canting crew are thus divided into
twenty-three orders:—

MEN.

1.  Rufflers.

2.  Upright Men.

3.  Hookers, or Anglers.

4.  Rogues.

5.  Wild Rogues.

6.  Priggers, or Prancers.

7.  Pailliards.

8.  Fraters.

9.  Jarkmen, or Patricoes.

10.  Fresh Water Mariner’s or Whip Jackets.

11.  Drummerers.

12.  Drunken Tinkers.

13.  Swaddlers, or Pedlars.

14.  Abrams.

WOMEN.

1.  Demanders for Glimmer or Fire.

2.  Bawdy Baskets.

3.  Morts.

4.  Autumn Morts.

5.  Walking Morts.

6.  Doxies.

7.  Delles.

8.  Kinchin Morts.

9.  Kinchin Coves.

_Crookmans_, hedges.

_Coxy_, a stupid fellow.

_Crook_, sixpence.

_Croker_, a groat, or fourpence.

_Croppen_, the tail of any thing.

_Cucumbers_, tailors.

_Cuffin cove_, a drunken fellow.

_Cull_, a fellow.

_Cut his stick_, run away.

_Culp_, a kick, or blow.

_Cup hot_, drunk.

_Cursitors_, pettyfogging attornies.

_Cussin_, a man.

_Darby_, ready money.

_Dace_, twopence;—tip me a dace; lend me twopence.

_Dag_, a gun.

_Damber_, or _Dimber_, a rascal.

_Dancers_, stairs.

_Darkmans_, night.

_Dash_, a tavern drawer.

_Dawbe_, a bribe or reward for secret service.

_Decus_, a crown.

_Degen_, a sword.

_Diddle_, gin.

_Diggers_, spurs.

_Dimber Damber_, a top-man among the canting crew; also the chief rogue
of the gang, or the greatest cheat.

_Dimbermort_, a pretty wench.

_Doash_, a cloak.

_Dobin rig_, stealing ribbons from haberdashers early in the morning, or
late at night, generally practised by women in the disguise of
maid-servants,

_Doctor_, milk and water, with a little rum and some nutmeg; also the
name of a composition used by distillers, to make spirits appear stronger
than they really are.

_Doctors_, loaded dice that will run but two or three chances—they put
the doctors upon him; they cheated him with loaded dice.

_Dodsey_, a woman; perhaps a corruption of Doxey.

_Downy cove_, a smart fellow.

_Drumbelow_, a dull fellow.

_Dunnikin_, a necessary, or little-house.

_Dunaker_, a stealer of cows and calves.

_Eriffs_, rogues just initiated, and beginning to practise.

_Eternity box_, a coffin.

_Facer_, a bumper without lip room.

_Families_, rings.

_Famms_, hands.

_Fastener_, a warrant.

_Fawney_, a ring.

_Feeder_, a spoon:—to nab the feeder; to steal a spoon.

_Fermerdy beggars_, all those who have not the sham sores or clymes.

_Ferret_, a pawnbroker or tradesman, that sells goods to young
spendthrifts upon trust, at excessive rates, and then hunts them without
mercy, and often throws them into jail, where they perish for their debt.

_Fidlam Ben_, general thieves; called also St. Peter’s sons, having every
finger a fish-hook.

_Flag_, a groat.

_Flash_, a periwig.

_Flaybottomist_, a bum-thrasher, or schoolmaster.

_Flick_, old-fashioned, or sly.

_Flicker_, a drinking-glass.

_Flicking_, to cut, cutting; as flick me some panea and cassan, cut me
some bread and cheese.

_Flute_, the recorder of London, or any other town.

_Flyers_, shoes or boots.

_Fogus_, tobacco: tip me a gage of fogus; give me a pipe of tobacco.

_Froglanders_, Dutchmen.

_Frummagemmed_, choked, strangled, or hanged.

_Furmen_, aldermen.

_Gaberlunzie_, a beggar.

_Gan_, a mouth.

_Gans_, the lips.

_Gage_, a liquor pot, or a tobacco pipe.

_George_, a half-crown piece.

_Gem_, a fire.

_Gentry cove_, a gentleman.

_Gibberish_, the cant language of thieves and gipseys, called pedlars’s
French, St. Giles’s Greek, and the Flash tongue: also the mystic language
of Geber, used by chemists.  Gibberish likewise means a sort of disguised
language, formed by inserting any consonant between each syllable of an
English word; in which case it is called the gibberish of the letter
inserted; if _f_, it is the _f_ gibberish; if _g_, the _g_ gibberish; as
in the sentence, How do you do?  Howg dog youg dog?

_Gigg_, a nose: snitchell his gigg; fillip his nose: grunter’s gigg; a
hog’s snout.  Gigg is also a high one-horse chaise.

_Gipseys_, a set of wandering vagrants found in the country.  When a
fresh recruit is admitted into this fraternity, he is to take the
following oath, administered by the principal maunder, after going
through the annexed forms:—

First, a new name is given him, by which he is ever after to be called;
then standing up in the middle of the assembly, and directing his face to
the dimber damber, or principal man of the gang, he repeats the following
oath, which is dictated to him by some experienced member of the
fraternity:

I, Crank Cuffin, do swear to be a true brother, and that I will in all
things obey the commands of the great tawney prince, and keep his
council, and not divulge the secrets of my brethren.

I will never leave nor forsake the company, but observe and keep all the
times of appointment, either by day or night in every place whatever.

I will not teach any one to cant, nor will I disclose any of our
mysteries to them.

I will take my prince’s part against all that shall oppose him, or any of
us, according to the utmost of my ability: nor will I suffer him, or any
one belonging to us, to be abused by any strange abrams, rufflers,
hookers, pailliards, swaddlers, Irish toyles, swigmen, whip jacks,
jarkmen, bawdy baskets, domerars, clapper dogeons, patricoes, or
curtails; but will defend him or them, as much as I can, against all
other outliers whatever.  I will not conceal aught I win out of libkins,
or from the ruffmans, but I will preserve it for the use of the company.
Lastly, I will cleave to my doxy-wap stiffly, and will bring her duds,
margery praters, goblers, grunting cheats, or tibs of the buttery, or any
thing else I can come at, as winnings for her wappings.

_Gigger_, a door.

_Globe_, pewter.

_Glue-pot_, a parson; from joining men and women together in matrimony.

_Glaziers_, eyes.

_Glim_, a dark lantern.

_Glimfenders_, hand-irons.

_Glim_, a candle.

_Glimstick_, a candlestick.

_Gaoler’s coach_, a hurdle.

_Goose Riding_: a goose, whose neck is greased, being suspended by the
legs to a cord tied to two trees or high posts, a number of men on
horseback, riding full speed, attempt to pull off the head; which if they
effect, the goose is their prize.  This has been practised in Derbyshire
within the memory of persons now living.

_Grannan gold_, old hoarded coin.

_Green bag_, a lawyer.

_Grig_, a farthing.

_Gropers_, blind men.

_Gutter-lane_, the throat.

_Hammer_, a great lie, a rapper.

_Halberhead_, a silly foolish fellow.

_Half nab_, at a venture, unsight, unseen, hit or miss.

_Half-borde_ sixpence.

_Hams_, breeches.

_Hamlet_, a high constable.

_Hand-me-downs_, second-hand clothes.

_Hanktel_, a silly fellow, a mere cod’s-head.

_Hansan kelder_, a jack in the box, the child in the womb, or a health to
it.

_Harman_, a constable.

_Harmanbeck_, a beadle.

_Hawk_, a sharper.

_Hazel gold_, to beat any one with a stick.

_Hearingcheats_, ears.

_Heaver_, the breast.

_Hell_, the place where the tailors lay up their cabbage or remnants,
which are sometimes very large.

_Hempen widow_, one whose husband was hanged.

_Henfright_, those commanders and officers who are absolutely swayed by
their wives.

_High tide_, when the pocket is full of money.

_Hocus_, disguised in liquor, drunk.

_Hodmendods_, snails in their shells.

_Hoggrubber_, a close-fisted, narrow-minded, sneaking fellow.

_Hop-merchant_, a dancing-master.

_Hum-box_, a pulpit.

_Humpty-dumpty_, ale boiled with brandy.

_Hums_, persons at church.

_Huskylour_, a job, a guinea.

_Iron doublet_, a parson.

_Itchland_, Ireland.

_Jackrum_, a licence.

_Jack Adams_, a fool.

_Jack-a-dandy_, a little insignificant fellow.

_Jack-in-a-box_, a sharper or cheat.

_Jack-at-a-pinch_, a poor hackney parson.

_Jacobites_, sham or collar shirts.

_Jack_, a seal.

_Jet_, a lawyer

_Ken_, a house.

_Kicks_, breeches.

_Kill devil_, row.

_Kinchin_, a little child.

_King’s pictures_, money of any description.

_Laced mutton_, a woman.

_Lag_, last; lagging behind, to be hindmost.

_Lage_, water.

_Lage duds_, a buck of clothes.

_Lambskin men_, the judges of several courts.

_Lansprisado_, he that comes into company with only two-pence in his
pocket.

_Lantern_.  _A dark lantern_, the servant or agent that receives the
bribe at court.

_Libben_, a private dwelling-house.

_Libbege_, a bed.

_Lifter_, a crutch.

_Lightmans_, the day, or day-break.

_Line of the old author_, a dram of brandy.

_Little Barbary_, Wapping.

_Lop’d_, run away; he lop’d up the dancers, he whipped up the dancers.

_Loge_, a watch.

_Louse-trap_, a comb.

_Low tide_, when there’s no money in a man’s pocket.

_Lushy cove_, a drunken man.

_Maik_, a halfpenny.

_Mannikin_, a dwarf or diminutive fellow.

_Maunders_, beggars.

_Maundering breath_, scolding.

_Meggs_, guineas.

_Meet_, to spend money.

_Millclapper_, a woman’s tongue.

_Mist_, a contraction of commission, signifying a shirt, smock or sheet.

_Mishtopper_, a coat or petticoat.

_Moabites_, sergeants, bailiffs, and their crew.

_Moon-curser_, a link-boy.

_Mower_, a cow.

_Muck_, money, wealth.

_Muttonmonger_, a lover of women.

_Mutton in long coats_, women; a leg of mutton in a silk stocking, a
woman’s leg.

_Nab_, a hat, cap, or head; also a coxcomb.

_Ne’er a face but his own_, not a penny in his pocket.

_Nim gimmer_, a doctor, a surgeon, an apothecary.

_Nubbing cheat_, the gallows.

_Nut-crackers_, a pillory.

_Oak_, a rich man of good substance and credit.

_Ogles_, eyes.

_Old flick_ a knowing fellow.

_One in ten_, a parson.

_Pad-the-hoof_, journeying on foot.

_Panum_, bread.

_Panter_, a heart.

_Pantler_, a butler.

_Peaches_, discovers, informs.

_Peeper_, a looking-glass.

_Peter_, a portmanteau, or cloak-bag.

_Peg tandrums_, as, gone to peg tandrums, dead.

_Penance boards_, a pillory.

_Penthouse nab_, a very broad-brimmed hat.

_Periwinkle_, a peruke or wig.

_Philistines_, sergeants, bailiffs, and their crew.

_Porker_, a sword.

_Property_, a mere tool or implement to serve a turn; a cat’s foot.

_Prig_, a thief.

_Quail pipe_, a woman’s tongue.

_Queer cuffin_, a justice of peace, also, a churl.

_Rabbit suckers_, young spendthrifts, taking goods on tick of pawnbrokers
or tallymen, at excessive rates.

_Rattling_ cove, a coachman.

_Red rag_, a tongue; _your red rag will never lie still_, your tongue
will never be quiet.

_Regraters_, forestallers in markets.

_Ribben_, money.

_Rotan_, a coach, or wagon, or any thing that runs upon wheels, but
principally a cart.

_Royster_, a rude roaring fellow.

_Ruffin_, the devil.

_Ruffmans_, the woods or bushes.

_Rumbeck_, a justice of peace.

_Rumbo_, a prison.

_Rumboozling welts_, bunches of grapes.

_Rumboyled_, sought after with a warrant.

_Rum clank_, a large silver tankard.

_Rum degen_, a silver-hilted or inlaid sword.

_Rumdropper_, a vintner.

_Rum ogle’s_, fine, bright, clear, piercing eyes.

_Rum-strum_, a long wig.

_Rum-swag_, full of riches.

_Scab_, a sixpence.

_School butter_, a whipping.

_Sconce_, to run in debt, to cheat.

_Seeds_, poor, moneyless, exhausted.

_Setters_, or _setting-dogs_, they that draw in bubbles for old gamesters
to rook; also a sergeant’s yeoman, or bailiff’s follower; also an
excise-officer.

_Sharper_, a swindler, a cheat.

_Sharper’s tools_, false dice.

_Shot_, clapped or poxed.

_Shove the tumbler_, whipped at the cart’s tail.

_Skin-flint_, a griping, sharping, close clown; also, the same as flat.

_Smearer_, a painter, or plasterer.

_Smeller_, a nose.

_Smelling cheat_, a nosegay; also an orchard, a garden.

_Smiter_, an arm.

_Smug_, a blacksmith, also neat and spruce.

_Smite_, to wipe or slap.

_Snitch_, to eye or see any body; the cub snitches, the man eyes or sees
you.

_Snout_, a hogshead.

_Sack_, a pocket.

_Shanks’s naigs_, the feet.

_Snacks_, full share.

_Son of prattlement_, a lawyer.

_Soul driver_, a parson.

_South-sea mountain_, Geneva.

_Sow’s baby_, a pig.

_Spanish money_, fair words and compliments.

_Spanks_, money, gold or silver.

_Specked wiper_, a coloured handkerchief.

_Spiritual flesh-broker_, a parson.

_Split fig_, a grocer.

_Splitter of causes_, a lawyer.

_Spoil pudding_, a parson who makes his morning sermon too long.

_Squeel_, an informer.

_Squirrish_, foolish.

_Stamps_, legs.

_Stampers_, shoes, or carriers.

_Stick flams_, a pair of gloves.

_Stoter_, a heavy blow.

_Strapper_, a handsome woman.

_Strommel_, straw.

_Strum_, a periwig.

_Stubble it_, hold your tongue.

_Suit and cloak_, good store of brandy, or agreeable liquor.

_Supouch_, a hostess or landlady.

_Swag_, a shop.

_Swell cove_, a man with plenty of money.

_Tagmans_, a gown or cloak.

_Tanner_, a sixpence.

_Tears of the tankard_, drops of good liquor that falls aside.

_Thrums_, threepence.

_Tickler_, a knowing fellow.

_Tile_, a hat.

_Tip of the buttery_, a goose.

_Tip_, to give or lend.

_Tip’s your flipper_, give us a shake of your hand.

_Toggery_, clothes.

_Top diver_, a lover of women.

_Topping cheat_, the gallows.

_Topping cove_, the hangman.

_Topt_, to go out sharp, to be upon one’s guard.

_To twig_, to disengage, to sunder, to break off.

_To twig the darbies_, to knock of the irons.

_Track_, to go.

_Trees_, wins threepence.

_Trib_, a prison.

_Trine_, to hang, also Tyburn.

_Troch_, a drunkard.

_Trooper_, a half-crown.

_Trundles_, pease.

_Tumbler_, a cart.

_Turkey merchant_, driver of turkeys.

_Vampers_, stockings.

_Velvet_, a tongue.

_To tip the velvet_, to tongue a woman.

_Vinegar_, a cloak.

_Wattles_, ears.

_Whack_, a share.

_Whids_, words.

_Whipshire_, Yorkshire.

_Whoball_, a milkmaid.

_Whisker_, a great lie.

_White wool_, silver money.

_Whibble_, sad drink.

_Whiddle_, to tell or discover: he whiddles, he peaches: he whiddles the
whole scrap, he discovers all he knows: the cull whiddled because they
would not tip him a snack, the fellow peached because they would not give
him a share: they whiddle beef and we must brush, they cry out thieves
and we must make off.

_Whinyard_, a sword.

_Whip off_, to run away, to drink off greedily, to snatch: he whipped
away from home, went to the alehouse, where he whipped off a full
tankard, and coming back whipped off a fellow’s hat from his head.

_White swelling_, a woman big with child is said to have a white
swelling.

_Witcher_, a silver bowl.

_Wing_, a penny.

_Womblety cropt_, the indisposition of a drunkard after a debauch in wine
or other liquors.

_Wooden Ruff_, a pillory; he wore the wooden ruff, he stood in the
pillory.

_Word-pecker_, one that plays with words, a punster.

_Yam_, to eat heartily, to stuff lustily.

_Yarmouth-capon_, a red herring.

_Yarum_, milk, or food made of milk.

_Yellow George_, a guinea.

_Yelper_, a town-crier; also one subject to complain or make a pitiful
lamentation.

_Znees_, frost, or frozen.

_Zneesy weather_, frosty weather.



Footnotes


{12}  As it has been long a dispute among the learned and travellers,
whether or no there are cannibals or man-eaters existing, it may seem
something strange that we should assert there is, beyond all doubt, one
of that species often seen lurking near St. Paul’s, in the city of
London, and other parts of that city, seeking whom he may devour.

{58a}  Hats or caps.

{58b} Pointing to the new made king.

{58c}  Constables.

{58d}  Justices of the Peace, or churls,

{58e}  A Beggar.

                    PRINTED BY WILLIAM WALKER, OTLEY.





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