Chapter V (5)

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.