"I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family,\nthough not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who\nsettled first at Hull: he got a good estate by merchandise, and leaving\noff his trade, lived afterwards at York, from whence he had married my\nmother, whose relations were named Robinson, a very good family in that\ncountry, and from whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but by the\nusual corruption of words in England, we are now called, nay we call\nourselves, and write our name Crusoe, and so my companions always\ncalled me.\n\nI had two elder brothers, one of which was lieutenant-colonel to an\nEnglish regiment of foot in Flanders, formerly commanded by the famous\nColonel Lockhart, and was killed at the battle near Dunkirk against the\nSpaniards. What became of my second brother I never knew, any more than\nmy father or mother did know what was become of me.\n\nBeing the third son of the family, and not bred to any trade, my head\nbegan to be filled very early with rambling thoughts: my father, who was\nvery ancient, had given me a competent share of learning, as far as\nhouse education and a country free-school generally go, and designed me\nfor the law; but I would be satisfied with nothing but going to sea; and\nmy inclination to this led me so strongly against the will, nay the\ncommands of my father, and against all the entreaties and persuasions of\nmy mother and other friends, that there seemed to be something fatal in\nthat propension of nature tending directly to the life of misery which\nwas to befal me.\n\nMy father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious and excellent counsel\nagainst what he foresaw was my design. He called me one morning into his\nchamber, where he was confined by the gout, and expostulated very warmly\nwith me upon this subject: he asked me what reasons more than a mere\nwandering inclination I had for leaving my father's house and my native\ncountry, where I might be well introduced, and had a prospect of raising\nmy fortune by application and industry, with a life of ease and\npleasure. He told me it was for men of desperate fortunes on one hand,\nor of aspiring superior fortunes on the other, who went abroad upon\nadventures, to rise by enterprise, and make themselves famous in\nundertakings of a nature out of the common road; that these things were\nall either too far above me, or too far below me; that mine was the\nmiddle state, or what might be called the upper station of _low life_,\nwhich he had found by long experience was the best state in the world,\nthe most suited to human happiness, not exposed to the miseries and\nhardships, the labour and sufferings of the mechanic part of mankind,\nand not embarrassed with the pride, luxury, ambition, and envy of the\nupper part of mankind, he told me, I might judge of the happiness of\nthis state by this one thing, viz. that this was the state of life which\nall other people envied; that kings have frequently lamented the\nmiserable consequences of being born to great things, and wish they had\nbeen placed in the middle of the two extremes, between the mean and the\ngreat; that the wise man gave his testimony to this as the just standard\nof true felicity, when he prayed to have neither poverty nor riches.\n\nHe bid me observe it, and I should always find, that the calamities of\nlife were shared among the upper and lower part of mankind; but that the\nmiddle station had the fewest disasters, and was not exposed to so many\nvicissitudes as the higher or lower part of mankind; nay, they were not\nsubjected to so many distempers and uneasinesses, either of body or\nmind, as those were, who by vicious living, luxury, and extravagances,\non one hand, or by hard labour, want of necessaries, and mean or\ninsufficient diet, on the other hand, bring distempers upon themselves\nby the natural consequences of their way of living; that the middle\nstation of life was calculated for all kind of virtues and all kind of\nenjoyments; that peace and plenty were the handmaids of a middle\nfortune; that temperance, moderation, quietness, health, society, all\nagreeable diversions, and all desirable pleasures, were the blessings\nattending the middle station of life; that this way men went silently\nand smoothly through the world, and comfortably out of it, not\nembarrassed with the labours of the hands or of the head, not sold to\nthe life of slavery for daily bread, or harassed with perplexed\ncircumstances, which rob the soul of peace, and the body of rest; not\nenraged with the passion of envy, or secret burning lust of ambition for\ngreat things; but in easy circumstances sliding gently through the\nworld, and sensibly tasting the sweets of living, without the bitter,\nfeeling that they are happy, and learning by every day's experience to\nknow it more sensibly.\n\nAfter this, he pressed me earnestly, and in the most affectionate\nmanner, not to play the young man, not to precipitate myself into\nmiseries which nature and the station of life I was born in seemed to\nhave provided against; that I was under no necessity of seeking my\nbread; that he would do well for me, and endeavour to enter me fairly\ninto the station of life which he had been just recommending to me; and\nthat if I was not very easy and happy in the world, it must be my mere\nfate or fault that must hinder it, and that he should have nothing to\nanswer for, having thus discharged his duty in warning me against\nmeasures which he knew would be to my hurt: in a word, that as he would\ndo very kind things for me if I would stay and settle at home as he\ndirected, so he would not have so much hand in my misfortunes, as to\ngive me any encouragement to go away: and to close all, he told me I had\nmy elder brother for an example, to whom he had used the same earnest\npersuasions to keep him from going into the Low Country wars, but could\nnot prevail, his young desires prompting him to run into the army, where\nhe was killed; and though he said he would not cease to pray for me, yet\nhe would venture to say to me, that if I did take this foolish step, God\nwould not bless me, and I would have leisure hereafter to reflect upon\nhaving neglected his counsel when there might be none to assist in\nmy recovery.\n\nI observed in this last part of his discourse, which was truly\nprophetic, though I suppose my father did not know it to be so himself;\nI say, I observed the tears run down his face very plentifully, and\nespecially when he spoke of my brother who was killed; and that when he\nspoke of my having leisure to repent, and none to assist me, he was so\nmoved, that he broke off the discourse, and told me, his heart was so\nfull he could say no more to me.\n\nI was sincerely affected with this discourse, as indeed who could be\notherwise? and I resolved not to think of going abroad any more, but to\nsettle at home according to my father's desire. But, alas! a few days\nwore it all off; and in short, to prevent any of my father's farther\nimportunities, in a few weeks after I resolved to run quite away from\nhim. However, I did not act so hastily neither as my first heat of\nresolution prompted, but I took my mother, at a time when I thought her\na little pleasanter than ordinary, and told her, that my thoughts were\nso entirely bent upon seeing the world, that I should never settle to\nany thing with resolution enough to go through with it, and my father\nhad better give me his consent than force me to go without it; that I\nwas now eighteen years old, which was too late to go apprentice to a\ntrade, or clerk to an attorney; that I was sure, if I did, I should\nnever serve out my time, and I should certainly run away from my master\nbefore my time was out, and go to sea; and if she would speak to my\nfather to let me go one voyage abroad, if I came home again, and did not\nlike it, I would go no more, and I would promise by a double diligence\nto recover that time I had lost.\n\nThis put my mother into a great passion: she told me, she knew it would\nbe to no purpose to speak to my father upon any such subject; that he\nknew too well what was my interest to give his consent to any such thing\nso much for my hurt; and that she wondered how I could think of any such\nthing after such a discourse as I had had with my father, and such kind\nand tender expressions as she knew my father had used to me; and that,\nin short, if I would ruin myself, there was no help for me; but I might\ndepend I should never have their consent to it: that for her part she\nwould not have so much hand in my destruction; and I should never have\nit to say, that my mother was willing when my father was not.\n\nThough my mother refused to move it to my father, yet, as I have heard\nafterwards, she reported all the discourse to him, and that my father,\nafter shewing a great concern at it, said to her with a sigh, \"That boy\nmight be happy if he would stay at home; but if he goes abroad, he will\nbe the most miserable wretch that was ever born; I can give no\nconsent to it.\"\n\nIt was not till almost a year after this that I broke loose, though, in\nthe meantime, I continued obstinately deaf to all proposals of settling\nto business, and frequently expostulating with my father and mother\nabout their being so positively determined against what they knew my\ninclinations prompted me to. But being one day at Hull, where I went\ncasually, and without any purpose of making an elopement that time; but\nI say, being there, and one of my companions being going by sea to\nLondon, in his father's ship, and prompting me to go with them, with the\ncommon allurement of seafaring men, viz. that it should cost me nothing\nfor my passage, I consulted neither father or mother any more, not so\nmuch as sent them word of it; but leaving them to hear of it as they\nmight, without asking God's blessing, or my father's, without any\nconsideration of circumstances or consequences, and in an ill hour, God\nknows, on the first of September, 1651, I went on board a ship bound for\nLondon. Never any young adventurer's misfortunes, I believe, began\nsooner, or continued longer than mine. The ship was no sooner gotten out\nof the Humber, but the wind began to blow, and the waves to rise in a\nmost frightful manner; and, as I had never been at sea before, I was\nmost inexpressibly sick in body, and terrified in mind. I began now\nseriously to reflect upon what I had done, and how justly I was\novertaken by the judgment of Heaven for my wicked leaving my father's\nhouse, and abandoning my duty; all the good counsel of my parents, my\nfather's tears and my mother's entreaties, came now fresh into my mind;\nand my conscience, which was not yet come to the pitch of hardness to\nwhich it has been since, reproached me with the contempt of advice, and\nthe breach of my duty to God and my father.\n\nAll this while the storm increased, and the sea, which I had never been\nupon before, went very high, though nothing like what I have seen many\ntimes since; no, nor like what I saw a few days after: but it was enough\nto affect me then, who was but a young sailor, and had never known any\nthing of the matter. I expected every wave would have swallowed us up,\nand that every time the ship fell down, as I thought, in the trough or\nhollow of the sea, we should never rise more; and in this agony of mind\nI made many vows and resolutions, that if it would please God here to\nspare my life this one voyage, if ever I got once my foot upon dry land\nagain I would go directly home to my father, and never set it into a\nship again while I lived; that I would take his advice, and never run\nmyself into such miseries as these any more. Now I saw plainly the\ngoodness of his observations about the middle station of life, how easy,\nhow comfortably he had lived all his days, and never had been exposed to\ntempests at sea, or troubles on shore; and I resolved that I would, like\na true repenting prodigal, go home to my father.\n\nThese wise and sober thoughts continued all the while the storm\ncontinued, and indeed some time after; but the next day the wind was\nabated, and the sea calmer, and I began to be a little inured to it:\nhowever, I was very grave for all that day, being also a little sea-sick\nstill; but towards night the weather cleared up, the wind was quite\nover, and a charming fine evening followed; the sun went down perfectly\nclear, and rose so the next morning; and having little or no wind, and a\nsmooth sea, the sun shining upon it, the sight was, as I thought, the\nmost delightful that ever I saw.\n\nI had slept well in the night, and was now no more sea-sick, but very\ncheerful, looking with wonder upon the sea that was so rough and\nterrible the day before, and could be so calm and so pleasant in so\nlittle time after. And now, lest my good resolutions should continue, my\ncompanion, who had indeed enticed me away, comes to me: \"Well, Bob,\"\nsays he, (clapping me upon the shoulder) \"how do you do after it? I\nwarrant you were frighted, wa'n't you, last night, when it blew but a\ncapful of wind?\"--\"A capful do you call it?\" said I; \"it was a terrible\nstorm.\"--\"A storm you fool you,\" replied he, \"do you call that a storm?\nwhy it was nothing at all; give us but a good ship and sea-room, and we\nthink nothing of such a squall of wind as that; but you're but a\nfresh-water sailor, Bob. Come, let us make a bowl of punch, and we'll\nforget all that; do you see what charming weather it is now?\" To make\nshort this sad part of my story, we went the old way of all sailors; the\npunch was made, and I was made drunk with it; and in that one night's\nwickedness I drowned all my repentance, all my reflections upon my past\nconduct, and all my resolutions for my future. In a word, as the sea was\nreturned to its smoothness of surface and settled calmness by the\nabatement of that storm, so the hurry of my thoughts being over, my\nfears and apprehensions of being swallowed up by the sea being\nforgotten, and the current of my former desires returned, I entirely\nforgot the vows and promises that I made in my distress. I found,\nindeed, some intervals of reflection, and the serious thoughts did, as\nit were, endeavour to return again sometimes; but I shook them off, and\nroused myself from them as it were from a distemper, and applying myself\nto drinking and company, soon mastered the return of those fits, for so\nI called them; and I had in five or six days got as complete a victory\nover conscience, as any young fellow that resolved not to be troubled\nwith it could desire: but I was to have another trial for it still; and\nProvidence, as in such cases generally it does, resolved to leave me\nentirely without excuse: for if I would not take this for a deliverance,\nthe next was to be such a one as the worst and most hardened wretch\namong us would confess both the danger and the mercy.\n\nThe sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads; the wind\nhaving been contrary, and the weather calm, we had made but little way\nsince the storm. Here we were obliged to come to anchor, and here we\nlay, the wind continuing contrary, viz. at south-west, for seven or\neight days, during which time a great many ships from Newcastle came\ninto the same roads, as the common harbour where the ships might wait\nfor a wind for the river.\n\nWe had not, however, rid here so long, but should have tided it up the\nriver, but that the wind blew too fresh; and after we had lain four or\nfive days, blew very hard. However, the roads being reckoned as good as\na harbour, the anchorage good, and our ground tackle very strong, our\nmen were unconcerned, and not in the least apprehensive of danger, but\nspent the time in rest and mirth, after the manner of the sea; but the\neighth day in the morning the wind increased, and we had all hands at\nwork to strike our topmasts, and make every thing snug and close, that\nthe ship might ride as easy as possible. By noon the sea went very high\nindeed, and our ship rid _forecastle in_, shipped several seas, and we\nthought once or twice our anchor had come home; upon which our master\nordered out the sheet anchor; so that we rode with two anchors ahead,\nand the cables veered out to the better end.\n\nBy this time it blew a terrible storm indeed; and now I began to see\nterror and amazement in the faces even of the seamen themselves. The\nmaster, though vigilant in the business of preserving the ship, yet as\nhe went in and out of his cabin by me, I could hear him softly to\nhimself say several times, \"Lord be merciful to us! we shall be all\nlost, we shall be all undone!\" and the like. During these first hurries\nI was stupid, lying still in my cabin, which was in the steerage, and\ncannot describe my temper: I could ill reassume the first penitence\nwhich I had so apparently trampled upon, and hardened myself against: I\nthought the bitterness of death had been past, and that this would be\nnothing like the first: but when the master himself came by me, as I\nsaid just now, and said we should be all lost, I was dreadfully\nfrighted: I got up out of my cabin, and looked out; but such a dismal\nsight I never saw; the sea went mountains high, and broke upon us every\nthree or four minutes: when I could look about, I could see nothing but\ndistress round us: two ships that rid near us, we found, had cut their\nmasts by the board, being deep loaden; and our men cried out, that a\nship which rid about a mile ahead of us was foundered. Two more ships\nbeing driven from their anchors, were run out of the roads to sea, at\nall adventures, and that with not a mast standing. The light ships fared\nthe best, as not so much labouring in the sea; but two or three of them\ndrove, and came close by us, running away with only their sprit-sail out\nbefore the wind.\n\nTowards evening the mate and boatswain begged the master of our ship to\nlet them cut away the fore-mast, which he was very unwilling to do: but\nthe boatswain protesting to him, that if he did not, the ship would\nfounder, he consented; and when they had cut away the fore-mast, the\nmain-mast stood so loose, and shook the ship so much, they were obliged\nto cut her away also, and make a clear deck.\n\nAny one may judge what a condition I must be in at all this, who was but\na young sailor, and who had been in such a fright before at but a\nlittle. But if I can express at this distance the thoughts I had about\nme at that time, I was in tenfold more horror of mind upon account of my\nformer convictions, and the having returned from them to the resolutions\nI had wickedly taken at first, than I was at death itself; and these,\nadded to the terror of the storm, put me in such a condition, that I can\nby no words describe it. But the worst was not come yet; the storm\ncontinued with such fury, that the seamen themselves acknowledged they\nhad never known a worse. We had a good ship, but she was deep loaden,\nand wallowed in the sea, that the seamen every now and then cried out,\nshe would founder. It was my advantage in one respect, that I did not\nknow what they meant by founder till I inquired. However, the storm was\nso violent, that I saw what is not often seen, the master, the\nboatswain, and some others more sensible than the rest, at their\nprayers, and expecting every moment when the ship would go to the\nbottom. In the middle of the night, and under all the rest of our\ndistresses, one of the men that had been down on purpose to see, cried\nout, we had sprang a leak; another said, there was four foot water in\nthe hold. Then all hands were called to the pump. At that very word my\nheart, as I thought, died within me, and I fell backwards upon the side\nof my bed where I sat, into the cabin. However, the men roused me, and\ntold me, that I that was able to do nothing before, was as well able to\npump as another; at which I stirred up, and went to the pump and worked\nvery heartily. While this was doing, the master seeing some light\ncolliers, who, not able to ride out the storm, were obliged to slip and\nrun away to sea, and would come near us, ordered to fire a gun as a\nsignal of distress. I, who knew nothing what that meant, was so\nsurprised, that I thought the ship had broke, or some dreadful thing\nhappened. In a word, I was so surprised, that I fell down in a swoon. As\nthis was a time when every body had his own life to think of, nobody\nminded me, or what was become of me; but another man stept up to the\npump, and thrusting me aside with his foot, let me lie, thinking I had\nbeen dead; and it was a great while before I came to myself.\n\nWe worked on; but the water increasing in the hold, it was apparent that\nthe ship would founder; and though the storm began to abate a little;\nyet as it was not possible she could swim till we might run into a port,\nso the master continued firing guns for help; and a light ship, who had\nrid it out just ahead of us, ventured a boat out to help us. It was with\nthe utmost hazard the boat came near us, but it was impossible for as to\nget on board, or for the boat to lie near the ship's side, till at last\nthe men rowing very heartily, and venturing their lives to save ours,\nour men cast them a rope over the stern with a buoy to it, and then\nveered it out a great length, which they after great labour and hazard\ntook hold of, and we hauled them close under our stern, and got all into\ntheir boat. It was to no purpose for them or us, after we were in the\nboat, to think of reaching to their own ship; so all agreed to let her\ndrive, and only to pull her in towards shore as much as we could; and\nour master promised them, that if the boat was staved upon shore he\nwould make it good to their master: so partly rowing and partly driving,\nour boat went away to the northward, sloping towards the shore almost as\nfar as Winterton-Ness.\n\nWe were not much more than a quarter of an hour out of our ship but we\nsaw her sink, and then I understood for the first time what was meant by\na ship foundering in the sea. I must acknowledge I had hardly eyes to\nlook up when the seamen told me she was sinking; for from that moment\nthey rather put me into the boat, than that I might be said to go in; my\nheart was, as it were, dead within me, partly with fright, partly with\nhorror of mind, and the thoughts of what was yet before me.\n\nWhile we were in this condition, the men yet labouring at the oar to\nbring the boat near the shore, we could see, when our boat mounting the\nwaves we were able to see the shore, a great many people running along\nthe shore to assist us when we should come near; but we made but slow\nway towards the shore, nor were we able to reach the shore, till being\npast the light-house at Winterton, the shore falls off to the westward\ntowards Cromer, and so the land broke off a little the violence of the\nwind. Here we got in, and, though not without much difficulty, got all\nsafe on shore, and walked afterwards on foot to Yarmouth, where, as\nunfortunate men, we were used with great humanity, as well by the\nmagistrates of the town, who assigned us good quarters, as by particular\nmerchants and owners of ships, and had money given us sufficient to\ncarry us either to London or back to Hull, as we thought fit.\n\nHad I now had the sense to have gone back to Hull, and have gone home, I\nhad been happy, and my father, an emblem of our blessed Saviour's\nparable, had even killed the fatted calf for me; for hearing the ship I\nwent away in was cast away in Yarmouth Roads, it was a great while\nbefore he had any assurance that I was not drowned.\n\nBut my ill fate pushed me on now with an obstinacy that nothing could\nresist; and though I had several times loud calls from my reason and my\nmore composed judgment to go home, yet I had no power to do it. I know\nnot what to call this, nor will I urge that it is a secret over-ruling\ndecree that hurries us on to be the instruments of our own destruction,\neven though it be before us, and that we push upon it with our eyes\nopen. Certainly nothing but some such decreed unavoidable misery\nattending, and which it was impossible for me to escape, could have\npushed me forward against the calm reasonings and persuasions of my most\nretired thoughts, and against two such visible instructions as I had met\nwith in my first attempt.\n\nMy comrade, who had helped to harden me before, and who was the master's\nson, was now less forward than I. The first time he spoke to me after we\nwere at Yarmouth, which was not till two or three days, for we were\nseparated in the town to several quarters; I say, the first time he saw\nme, it appeared his tone was altered, and looking very melancholy, and\nshaking his head, asked me how I did, and telling his father who I was,\nand how I had come this voyage only for a trial, in order to go farther\nabroad; his father turning to me with a very grave and concerned tone,\n\"Young man,\" says he, \"you ought never to go to sea any more; you ought\nto take this for a plain and visible token that you are not to be a\nseafaring man.\"--\"Why, Sir,\" said I, \"will you go to sea no more?\" \"That\nis another case,\" said he; \"it is my calling, and therefore my duty; but\nas you made this voyage for a trial, you see what a taste Heaven has\ngiven you of what you are to expect if you persist: perhaps this is all\nbefallen us on your account, like Jonah in the ship of Tarshish. Pray,\"\ncontinues he, \"what are you? and on what account did you go to sea?\"\nUpon that I told him some of my story; at the end of which he burst out\nwith a strange kind of passion; \"What had I done,\" says he, \"that such\nan unhappy wretch should come into my ship? I would not set my foot in\nthe same ship with thee again for a thousand pounds.\" This indeed was,\nas I said, an excursion of his spirits, which were yet agitated by the\nsense of his loss, and was farther than he could have authority to go.\nHowever, he afterwards talked very gravely to me, exhorted me to go back\nto my father, and not tempt Providence to my ruin; told me I might see a\nvisible hand of Heaven against me. \"And young man,\" said he, \"depend\nupon it, if you do not go back, wherever you go, you will meet with\nnothing but disasters and disappointments, till your father's words are\nfulfilled upon you.\"\n\nWe parted soon after; for I made him little answer, and I saw him no\nmore: which way he went, I know not. As for me, having some money in my\npocket, I travelled to London by land; and there, as well as on the\nroad, had many struggles with myself, what course of life I should take,\nand whether I should go home, or go to sea.\n\nAs to going home, shame opposed the best motions that offered to my\nthoughts; and it immediately occurred to me how I should be laughed at\namong the neighbours, and should be ashamed to see, not my father and\nmother only, but even every body else; from whence I have since often\nobserved, how incongruous and irrational the common temper of mankind\nis, especially of youth, to that reason which ought to guide them in\nsuch cases, viz. that they are not ashamed to sin, and yet are ashamed\nto repent; nor ashamed of the action for which they ought justly to be\nesteemed fools, but are ashamed of the returning, which only can make\nthem be esteemed wise men.\n\nIn this state of life however I remained some time, uncertain what\nmeasures to take, and what course of life to lead. An irresistible\nreluctance continued to going home; and as I stayed a while, the\nremembrance of the distress I had been in wore off; and as that abated,\nthe little motion I had in my desires to a return wore off with it, till\nat last I quite laid aside the thoughts of it, and looked out for\na voyage.\n\nThat evil influence which carried me first away from my father's house,\nthat hurried me into the wild and indigested notion of raising my\nfortune; and that impressed those conceits so forcibly upon me, as to\nmake me deaf to all good advice, and to the entreaties and even the\ncommand of my father: I say, the same influence, whatever it was,\npresented the most unfortunate of all enterprises to my view; and I went\non board a vessel bound to the coast of Africa; or, as our sailors\nvulgarly call it, a voyage to Guinea.\n\nIt was my great misfortune that in all these adventures I did not ship\nmyself as a sailor; whereby, though I might indeed have worked a little\nharder than ordinary, yet at the same time I had learnt the duty and\noffice of a foremastman; and in time might have qualified myself for a\nmate or lieutenant, if not for a master. But as it was always my fate to\nchoose for the worse, so I did here; for having money in my pocket, and\ngood clothes upon my back, I would always go on board in the habit of a\ngentleman; and so I neither had any business in the ship, or learnt\nto do any.\n\nIt was my lot first of all to fall into pretty good company in London,\nwhich does not always happen to such loose and unguided young fellows as\nI then was; the devil generally not omitting to lay some snare for them\nvery early: but it was not so with me. I first fell acquainted with the\nmaster of a ship who had been on the coast of Guinea; and who, having\nhad very good success there, was resolved to go again; and who taking a\nfancy to my conversation, which was not at all disagreeable at that\ntime, hearing me say I had a mind to see the world, told me if I would\ngo the voyage with him I should be at no expense; I should be his\nmessmate and his companion; and if I could carry any thing with me, I\nshould have all the advantage of it that the trade would admit; and\nperhaps I might meet with some encouragement.\n\nI embraced the offer; and entering into a strict friendship with this\ncaptain, who was an honest and plain-dealing man, I went the voyage with\nhim, and carried a small adventure with me, which, by the disinterested\nhonesty of my friend the captain, I increased very considerably; for I\ncarried about 40_l_. in such toys and trifles as the captain directed me\nto buy. This 40_l_. I had mustered together by the assistance of some of\nmy relations whom I corresponded with, and who, I believe, got my\nfather, or at least my mother, to contribute so much as that to my first\nadventure.\n\nThis was the only voyage which I may say was successful in all my\nadventures, and which I owe to the integrity and honesty of my friend\nthe captain, under whom also I got a competent knowledge of the\nmathematics and the rules of navigation, learnt how to keep an account\nof the ship's course, take an observation, and, in short, to understand\nsome things that were needful to be understood by a sailor: for, as he\ntook delight to instruct me, I took delight to learn; and, in a word,\nthis voyage made me both a sailor and a merchant: for I brought home\nfive pounds nine ounces of gold-dust for my adventure, which yielded me\nin London at my return almost 300_l_. and this filled me with those\naspiring thoughts which have so completed my ruin.\n\nYet even in this voyage I had my misfortunes too; particularly, that I\nwas continually sick, being thrown into a violent calenture by the\nexcessive heat of the climate; our principal trading being upon the\ncoast, from the latitude of 15 degrees north even to the line itself.\n\nI was now set up for a Guinea trader; and my friend, to my great\nmisfortune, dying soon after his arrival, I resolved to go the same\nvoyage again, and I embarked in the same vessel with one who was his\nmate in the former voyage, and had now got the command of the ship. This\nwas the unhappiest voyage that ever man made; for though I did not\ncarry quite 100_l_. of my new-gained wealth, so that I had 200_l_. left,\nand which I lodged with my friend's widow, who was very just to me, yet\nI fell into terrible misfortunes in this voyage; and the first was this,\nviz. our ship making her course towards the Canary Islands, or rather\nbetween those islands and the African shore, was surprised in the grey\nof the morning by a Turkish rover of Sallee, who gave chase to us with\nall the sail she could make. We crowded also as much canvass as our\nyards would spread, or our masts carry, to have got clear; but finding\nthe pirate gained upon us, and would certainly come up with us in a few\nhours, we prepared to fight; our ship having twelve guns, and the rogue\neighteen. About three in the afternoon he came up with us, and bringing\nto by mistake just athwart our quarter, instead of athwart our stern, as\nhe intended, we brought eight of our guns to bear on that side, and\npoured in a broadside upon him, which made him sheer off again, after\nreturning our fire, and pouring in also his small-shot from near 200 men\nwhich he had on board. However, we had not a man touched, all our men\nkeeping close. He prepared to attack us again, and we to defend\nourselves; but laying us on board the next time upon our other quarter,\nhe entered sixty men upon our decks, who immediately fell to cutting and\nhacking the decks and rigging. We plied them with small-shot,\nhalf-pikes, powder-cheats, and such like, and cleared our deck of them\ntwice. However, to cut short this melancholy part of our story, our ship\nbeing disabled, and three of our men killed and eight wounded, we were\nobliged to yield, and were carried all prisoners into Sallee, a port\nbelonging to the Moors.\n\nThe usage I had there was not so dreadful as at first I apprehended; nor\nwas I carried up the country to the emperor's court, as the rest of our\nmen were, but was kept by the captain of the rover as his proper prize,\nand made his slave, being young and nimble, and fit for his business. At\nthis surprising change of my circumstances, from a merchant to a\nmiserable slave, I was perfectly overwhelmed; and now I looked back upon\nmy father's prophetic discourse to me, that I should be miserable, and\nhave none to relieve me, which I thought was now so effectually brought\nto pass, that I could not be worse; that now the hand of Heaven had\novertaken me, and I was undone without redemption: but, alas! this was\nbut a taste of the misery I was to go through, as will appear in the\nsequel of this story.\n\nAs my new patron, or master, had taken me home to his house, so I was in\nhopes that he would take me with him when he went to sea again,\nbelieving that it would sometime or other be his fate to be taken by a\nSpanish or Portugal man of war, and that then I should be set at\nliberty. But this hope of mine was soon taken away; for when he went to\nsea, he left me on shore to look after his little garden, and do the\ncommon drudgery of slaves about his house; and when he came home again\nfrom his cruise, he ordered me to be in the cabin to look after\nthe ship.\n\nHere I meditated nothing but my escape, and what method I might take to\neffect it, but found no way that had the least probability in it:\nnothing presented to make the supposition of it rational; for I had\nnobody to communicate it to that would embark with me, no fellow slave,\nno Englishman, Irishman, or Scotsman there but myself; so that for two\nyears, though I often pleased myself with the imagination, yet I never\nhad the least encouraging prospect of putting it in practice.\n\nAfter about two years an odd circumstance presented itself, which put\nthe old thought of making some attempt for my liberty again in my head:\nmy patron lying at home longer than usual without fitting out his ship,\nwhich, as I heard, was for want of money, he used constantly, once or\ntwice a week, sometimes oftener, if the weather was fair, to take the\nship's pinnace, and go out into the road a-fishing; and as he always\ntook me and a young Maresco with him to row the boat, we made him very\nmerry, and I proved very dexterous in catching fish; insomuch that\nsometimes he would send me with a Moor, one of his kinsmen, and the\nyouth the Maresco, as they called him, to catch a dish of fish for him.\n\nIt happened one time, that going a-fishing in a stark calm morning, a\nfog rose so thick, that though we were not half a league from the shore\nwe lost sight of it; and rowing we knew not whither or which way, we\nlaboured all day, and all the next night, and when the morning came we\nfound we had pulled off to sea instead of pulling in for the shore; and\nthat we were at least two leagues from the shore: however, we got well\nin again, though with a great deal of labour and some danger; for the\nwind began to blow pretty fresh in the morning; but particularly we were\nall very hungry.\n\nBut our patron, warned by this disaster, resolved to take more care of\nhimself for the future; and having lying by him the long-boat of our\nEnglish ship he had taken, he resolved he would not go a-fishing any\nmore without a compass and some provision; so he ordered the carpenter\nof his ship, who also was an English slave, to build a little\nstate-room, or cabin, in the middle of the long-boat, like that of a\nbarge, with a place to stand behind it to steer and hale home the\nmain-sheet; and room before for a hand or two to stand and work the\nsails: she sailed with that we call a shoulder of mutton sail; and the\nboom gibed over the top of the cabin, which lay very snug and low, and\nhad in it room for him to lie, with a slave or two, and a table to eat\non, with some small lockers to put in some bottles of such liquor as he\nthought fit to drink; particularly his bread, rice, and coffee.\n\nWe went frequently out with this boat a-fishing, and as I was most\ndexterous to catch fish for him, he never went without me. It happened\nthat he had appointed to go out in this boat, either for pleasure or for\nfish, with two or three Moors of some distinction in that place, and for\nwhom he had provided extraordinarily, and had therefore sent on board\nthe boat over-night a larger store of provisions than ordinary; and had\nordered me to get ready three fuzees with powder and shot, which were on\nboard his ship; for that they designed some sport of fowling as well\nas fishing.\n\nI got all things ready as he had directed, and waited the next morning\nwith the boat washed clean, her ancient and pendants out, and every\nthing to accommodate his guests; when by and by my patron came on board\nalone, and told me his guests had put off going, upon some business that\nfell out, and ordered me with the man and boy, as usual, to go out with\nthe boat and catch them some fish, for that his friends were to sup at\nhis house; and commanded that as soon as I got some fish I should bring\nit home to his house; all which I prepared to do.\n\nThis moment my former notions of deliverance darted into my thoughts,\nfor now I found I was like to have a little ship at my command; and my\nmaster being gone, I prepared to furnish myself, not for fishing\nbusiness, but for a voyage; though I knew not, neither did I so much as\nconsider, whither I should steer; for any where to get out of that place\nwas my way.\n\nMy first contrivance was to make a pretence to speak to this Moor, to\nget something for our subsistence on board; for I told him we must not\npresume to eat of our patron's bread; he said, that was true: so he\nbrought a large basket of rusk or bisket of their kind, and three jars\nwith fresh water, into the boat. I knew where my patron's case of\nbottles stood, which it was evident, by the make, were taken out of some\nEnglish prize, and I conveyed them into the boat while the Moor was on\nshore, as if they had been there before for our master: I conveyed also\na great lump of bees-wax into the boat, which weighed above half a\nhundred weight, with a parcel of twine or thread, a hatchet, a saw, and\na hammer, all which were of great use to us afterwards, especially the\nwax to make candles. Another trick I tried upon him, which he innocently\ncame into also; his name was Ismael, whom they call Muly or Moley; so I\ncalled to him: \"Moley,\" said I, \"our patron's guns are on board the\nboat; can you not get a little powder and shot? It may be we may kill\nsome alcamies (a fowl like our curlews) for ourselves, for I know he\nkeeps the gunner's stores in the ship.\"--\"Yes,\" says he, \"I'll bring\nsome;\" and accordingly he brought a great leather pouch which held about\na pound and a half of powder, or rather more; and another with shot,\nthat had five or six pounds, with some bullets, and put all into the\nboat; at the same time I had found some powder of my master's in the\ngreat cabin, with which I filled one of the large bottles in the case,\nwhich was almost empty, pouring what was in it into another; and thus\nfurnished with every thing needful, we sailed out of the port to fish.\nThe castle, which is at the entrance of the port, knew who we were, and\ntook no notice of us: and we were not above a mile out of the port\nbefore we haled in our sail, and set us down to fish. The wind blew from\nthe N.N.E. which was contrary to my desire; for had it blown southerly,\nI had been sure to have made the coast of Spain, and at last reached to\nthe bay of Cadiz; but my resolutions were, blow which way it would, I\nwould be gone from that horrid place where I was, and leave the rest\nto fate.\n\nAfter we had fished some time and catched nothing, for when I had fish\non my hook I would not pull them up, that he might not see them, I said\nto the Moor, \"This will not do; our master will not be thus served; we\nmust stand farther off.\" He, thinking no harm, agreed, and being in the\nhead of the boat set the sails; and as I had the helm I ran the boat out\nnear a league farther, and then brought her to as if I would fish; when\ngiving the boy the helm, I stepped forward to where the Moor was, and\nmaking as if I stooped for something behind him, I took him by surprise\nwith my arm under his twist, and tossed him clear overboard into the\nsea; he rose immediately, for he swam like a cork, and called to me,\nbegged to be taken in, told me he would go all over the world with me.\nHe swam so strong after the boat, that he would have reached me very\nquickly, there being but little wind; upon which I stepped into the\ncabin, and fetching one of the fowling-pieces, I presented it at him,\nand told him, I had done him no hurt, and if he would be quiet I would\ndo him none: \"But,\" said I, \"you swim well enough to reach to the shore,\nand the sea is calm; make the best of your way to shore, and I will do\nyou no harm; but if you come near the boat I'll shoot you through the\nhead, for I am resolved to have my liberty:\" so he turned himself about,\nand swam for the shore, and I make no doubt but he reached it with ease,\nfor he was an excellent swimmer.\n\nI could have been content to have taken this Moor with me, and have\ndrowned the boy, but there was no venturing to trust him. When he was\ngone I turned to the boy, whom they called Xury, and said to him, \"Xury,\nif you will be faithful to me I'll make you a great man; but if you will\nnot stroke your face to be true to me,\" that is, swear by Mahomet and\nhis father's beard, \"I must throw you into the sea too.\" The boy smiled\nin my face, and spoke so innocently, that I could not mistrust him; and\nswore to be faithful to me, and go all over the world with me.\n\nWhile I was in view of the Moor that was swimming, I stood out directly\nto sea with the boat, rather stretching to windward, that they might\nthink me gone towards the Straits' mouth; (as indeed any one that had\nbeen in their wits must have been supposed to do) for who would have\nsupposed we were sailed on to the southward to the truly Barbarian\ncoast, where whole nations of Negroes were sure to surround us with the\ncanoes, and destroy us; where we could never once go on shore but we\nshould be devoured by savage beasts, or more merciless savages of\nhuman kind?\n\nBut as soon as it grew dusk in the evening, I changed my course, and\nsteered directly south and by east, bending my course a little toward\nthe east, that I might keep in with the shore; and having a fair, fresh\ngale of wind, and a smooth, quiet sea, I made such sail that I believe\nby the next day at three o'clock in the afternoon, when I first made the\nland, I could not be less than 150 miles south of Sallee; quite beyond\nthe Emperor of Morocco's dominions, or indeed of any other king\nthereabouts, for we saw no people.\n\nYet such was the fright I had taken at the Moors, and the dreadful\napprehensions I had of falling into their hands, that I would not stop,\nor go on shore, or come to an anchor; the wind continuing fair till I\nhad sailed in that manner five days, and then the wind shifting to the\nsouthward, I concluded also that if any of our vessels were in chase of\nme, they also would now give over; so I ventured to make to the coast,\nand come to an anchor in the mouth of a little river, I knew not what,\nor where; neither what latitude, what country, what nation, or what\nriver: I neither saw, or desired to see any people; the principal thing\nI wanted was fresh water. We came into this creek in the evening,\nresolving to swim on shore as soon as it was dark, and discover the\ncountry; but as soon as it was quite dark, we heard, such dreadful\nnoises of the barking, roaring, and howling of wild creatures, of we\nknew not what kinds that the poor boy was ready to die with fear, and\nbegged of me not to go on shore till day. \"Well, Xury,\" said I, \"then I\nwon't; but it may be we may see men by day, who will be as bad to us as\nthose lions.\"--\"Then we give them the shoot gun,\" says Xury, laughing,\n\"make them run wey.\" Such English Xury spoke by conversing among us\nslaves. However, I was glad to see the boy so cheerful, and I gave him a\ndram (out of our patron's case of bottles) to cheer him up. After all,\nXury's advice was good, and I took it; we dropped our little anchor, and\nlay still all night; I say still, for we slept none; for in two or three\nhours we saw vast great creatures (we knew not what to call them) of\nmany sorts, come down to the sea-shore and run into the water, wallowing\nand washing themselves for the pleasure of cooling themselves; and they\nmade such hideous howlings and yellings, that I never indeed heard\nthe like.\n\nXury was dreadfully frighted, and indeed so was I too; but we were both\nmore frighted when we heard one of these mighty creatures come swimming\ntowards our boat; we could not see him, but we might hear him by his\nblowing to be a monstrous huge and furious beast; Xury said it was a\nlion, and it might be so for aught I know; but poor Xury cried to me to\nweigh the anchor and row away: \"No,\" says I, \"Xury; we can slip our\ncable with the buoy to it, and go off to sea; they cannot follow us\nfar.\" I had no sooner said so, but I perceived the creature (whatever it\nwas) within two oars' length, which something surprised me; however, I\nimmediately stepped to the cabin-door, and taking up my gun fired at\nhim; upon which he immediately turned about, and swam towards the\nshore again.\n\nBut it is impossible to describe the horrible noises, and hideous cries\nand howlings, that were raised, as well upon the edge of the shore as\nhigher within the country, upon the noise or report of the gun, a thing\nI have some reason to believe those creatures had never heard before:\nthis convinced me that there was no going on shore for us in the night\nupon that coast, and how to venture on shore in the day was another\nquestion too; for to have fallen into the hands of any of the savages,\nhad been as bad as to have fallen into the hands of lions and tigers; at\nleast we were equally apprehensive of the danger of it.\n\nBe that as it would, we were obliged to go on shore somewhere or other\nfor water, for we had not a pint left in the boat; when or where to get\nit, was the point: Xury said, if I would let him go on shore with one of\nthe jars, he would find if there was any water, and bring some to me. I\nasked him why he would go? why I should not go, and he stay in the\nboat? The boy answered with so much affection, that made me love him\never after. Says he, \"If wild mans come, they eat me, you go\nwey.\"--\"Well, Xury,\" said I, \"we will both go, and if the wild mans\ncome, we will kill them, they shall eat neither of us.\" So I gave Xury a\npiece of rusk bread to eat, and a dram out of our patron's case of\nbottles which I mentioned before; and we haled the boat in as near the\nshore as we thought was proper, and waded on shore; carrying nothing but\nour arms, and two jars for water.\n\nI did not care to go out of sight of the boat, fearing the coming of\ncanoes with savages down the river; but the boy seeing a low place about\na mile up the country, rambled to it; and by and by I saw him come\nrunning towards me. I thought he was pursued by some savage, or frighted\nwith some wild beast, and I run forward towards him to help him; but\nwhen I came nearer to him, I saw something hanging over his shoulders,\nwhich was a creature that he had shot, like a hare, but different in\ncolour, and longer legs; however, we were very glad of it, and it was\nvery good meat; but the great joy that poor Xury came with, was to tell\nme that he had found good water, and seen no wild mans.\n\nBut we found afterwards that we need not take such pains for water, for\na little higher up the creek where we were, we found the water fresh\nwhen the tide was out, which flows but a little way up; so we filled our\njars, and feasted on the hare we had killed, and prepared to go on our\nway, having seen no footsteps of any human creature in that part of\nthe country.\n\nAs I had been one voyage to this coast before, I knew very well that the\nislands of the Canaries, and the Cape de Verd islands also, lay not far\noff from the coast. But as I had no instruments to take an observation\nto know what latitude we were in, and not exactly knowing, or at least\nremembering what latitude they were in, and knew not where to look for\nthem, or when to stand off to sea towards them; otherwise I might now\neasily have found some of these islands. But my hope was, that if I\nstood along this coast till I came to that part where the English\ntraded, I should find some of their vessels upon their usual design of\ntrade, that would relieve and take us in.\n\nBy the best of my calculation, that place where I now was, must be that\ncountry, which, lying between the emperor of Morocco's dominions and the\nNegroes, lies waste, and uninhabited, except by wild beasts; the Negroes\nhaving abandoned it, and gone farther south for fear of the Moors; and\nthe Moors not thinking it worth inhabiting, by reason of its barrenness;\nand indeed both forsaking it because of the prodigious numbers of\ntigers, lions, leopards, and other furious creatures which harbour\nthere; so that the Moors use it for their hunting only, where they go\nlike an army, two or three thousand men at a time; and indeed for near\nan hundred miles together upon this coast, we saw nothing but a waste\nuninhabited country by day, and heard nothing but howlings and roaring\nof wild beasts by night.\n\nOnce or twice in the daytime. I thought I saw the Pico of Teneriffe,\nbeing the high top of the Mountain Teneriffe in the Canaries; and had a\ngreat mind to venture out in hopes of reaching thither; but having tried\ntwice, I was forced in again by contrary winds, the sea also going too\nhigh for my little vessel; so I resolved to pursue my first design, and\nkeep along the shore.\n\nSeveral times I was obliged to land for fresh water, after we had left\nthis place; and once in particular, being early in the morning, we came\nto an anchor under a little point of land which was pretty high; and the\ntide beginning to flow, we lay still to go farther in. Xury, whose eyes\nwere more about him than it seems mine were, calls softly to me, and\ntells me that we had best go farther off the shore; \"for,\" says he,\n\"look yonder lies a dreadful monster on the side of that hillock fast\nasleep.\" I looked where he pointed, and saw a dreadful monster indeed,\nfor it was a terrible great lion that lay on the side of the shore,\nunder the shade of a piece of the hill that hung as it were a little\nover him. \"Xury,\" says I, \"you shall go on shore and kill him.\" Xury\nlooked frighted, and said, \"Me kill! he eat me at one mouth;\" one\nmouthful he meant: however, I said no more to the boy, but had him lie\nstill, and I took our biggest gun, which was almost musket-bore, and\nloaded it with a good charge of powder, and with two slugs, and laid it\ndown; then I loaded another gun with two bullets; and the third, for we\nhad three pieces, I loaded with five smaller bullets. I took the best\naim I could with the first piece, to have shot him into the head, but he\nlay so with his leg raised a little above his nose, that the slugs hit\nhis leg about the knee, and broke the bone. He started up growling at\nfirst, but finding his leg broke fell down again, and then got up upon\nthree legs, and gave the most hideous roar that ever I heard. I was a\nlittle surprised that I had not hit him on the head; however, I look up\nthe second piece immediately, and, though he began to move off, fired\nagain, and shot him into the head, and had the pleasure to see him drop,\nand make but little noise, but he struggling for life. Then Xury took\nHeart, and would have me let him go on shore: \"Well, go,\" said I; so the\nboy jumped into the water, and taking a little gun in one hand, swam to\nshore with the other hand, and coming close to the creature, put the\nmuzzle of the piece to his ear, and shot him into the head again, which\ndispatched him quite.\n\nThis was game indeed to us, but this was no food; and I was very sorry\nto lose three charges of powder and shot upon a creature that was good\nfor nothing to us. However, Xury said he would have some of him; so he\ncomes on board, and asked me to give him the hatchet. \"For what, Xury?\"\nsaid I, \"Me cut off his head,\" said he. However, Xury could not cut off\nhis head, but he cut off a foot, and brought it with him, and it was a\nmonstrous great one.\n\nI bethought myself however, that perhaps the skin of him might one way\nor other be of some value to us; and I resolved to take off his skin if\nI could. So Xury and I went to work with him; but Xury was much the\nbetter workman at it, for I knew very ill how to do it. Indeed it took\nus up both the whole day, but at last we got off the hide of him, and\nspreading it on the top of our cabin, the sun effectually dried it in\ntwo days time, and it afterwards served me to lie upon.\n\nAfter this stop, we made on to the southward continually for ten or\ntwelve days, living very sparing on our provisions, which began to abate\nvery much, and going no oftener into the shore than we were obliged to\nfor fresh water: my design in this was, to make the river Gambia or\nSenegal, that is to say, any where about the Cape de Verd, where I was\nin hopes to meet with some European ship; and if I did not, I knew not\nwhat course I had to take, but to seek for the islands, or perish there\namong the Negroes. I knew that all the ships from Europe, which sailed\neither to the coast of Guinea or Brasil, or to the East Indies, made\nthis Cape, or those islands; and in a word, I put the whole of my\nfortune upon this single point, either that I must meet with some ship,\nor must perish.\n\nWhen I had passed this resolution about ten days longer, as I have said,\nI began to see that the land was inhabited; and in two or three places,\nas we sailed by, we saw people stand upon the shore to look at us; we\ncould also perceive that they were quite black, and stark naked. I was\nonce inclined to have gone on shore to them; but Xury was my better\ncounsellor, and said to me, \"No go, no go.\" However, I hauled in nearer\nthe shore that I might talk to them, and I found they run along the\nshore by me a good way: I observed they had no weapons in their hands,\nexcept one, who had a long slender stick, which Xury said was a lance,\nand that they would throw, them a great way with good aim; so I kept at\na distance, but talked with them by signs as well as I could; and\nparticularly made signs for something to eat; they beckoned to me to\nstop my boat, and they would fetch me some meat. Upon this I lowered the\ntop of my sail, and lay by, and two of them ran up into the country, and\nin less than half an hour came back, and brought with them two pieces of\ndry flesh and some corn, such as is the produce of their country; but we\nneither knew what the one nor the other was: however, we were willing to\naccept it, but how to come at it was our next dispute, for I was not for\nventuring on shore to them, and they were as much afraid of us: but they\ntook a safe way for us all, for they brought it to the shore and laid it\ndown, and went and stood a great way off till we fetched it on board,\nand then came close to us again.\n\nWe made signs of thanks to them, for we had nothing to make them amends;\nbut an opportunity offered that very instant to oblige them wonderfully;\nfor while we were lying by the shore came two mighty creatures, one\npursuing the other (as we took it) with great fury from the mountains\ntowards the sea; whether it was the male pursuing the female, or whether\nthey were in sport or in rage, we could not tell, any more than we could\ntell whether it was usual or strange, but I believe it was the latter;\nbecause, in the first place, those ravenous creatures seldom appear but\nin the night; and in the second place, we found the people terribly\nfrighted, especially the women. The man that had the lance or dart did\nnot fly from them, but the rest did; however, as the two creatures ran\ndirectly into the water, they did not seem to offer to fall upon any of\nthe Negroes, but plunged themselves into the sea, and swam about as if\nthey had come for their diversion. At last one of them began to come\nnearer our boat than at first I expected; but I lay ready for him, for I\nhad loaded my gun with all possible expedition, and had Xury load both\nthe others: as soon as he came fairly within my reach I fired, and shot\nhim directly into the head; immediately he sunk down into the water, but\nrose instantly, and plunged up and down as if he was struggling for\nlife; and so indeed he was: he immediately made to the shore; but\nbetween the wound, which was his mortal hurt, and the strangling of the\nwater, he died just before he reached the shore.\n\nIt is impossible to express the astonishment of these poor creatures at\nthe noise and the fire of my gun; some of them were even ready to die\nfor fear, and fell down as dead with the very terror. But when they saw\nthe creature dead, and sunk in the water, and that I made signs to them\nto come to the shore, they took heart and came to the shore, and began\nto search for the creature. I found him by his blood staining the water,\nand by the help of a rope, which I slung round him, and gave the Negroes\nto hale, they dragged him on shore, and found that it was a most curious\nleopard, spotted and fine to an admirable degree, and the Negroes held\nup their hands with admiration to think what it was I had killed\nhim with.\n\nThe other creature, frighted with the flash of fire and the noise of the\ngun, swam on shore, and ran up directly to the mountains from whence\nthey came, nor could I at that distance know what it was. I found\nquickly the Negroes were for eating the flesh of this creature, so I was\nwilling to have them take it as a favour from me, which, when I made\nsigns to them that they might take him, they were very thankful for.\nImmediately they fell to work with him, and though they had no knife,\nyet with a sharpened piece of wood they took off his skin as readily,\nand much more readily, than we could have done with a knife. They\noffered me some of the flesh, which I declined, making as if I would\ngive it them, but made signs for the skin, which they gave me very\nfreely, and brought me a great deal more of their provision, which,\nthough I did not understand, yet I accepted; then I made signs to them\nfor some water, and held out one of my jars to them, turning it bottom\nupward, to shew that it was empty, and that I wanted to have it filled.\nThey called immediately to some of their friends, and there came two\nwomen, and brought a great vessel made of earth, and burnt, as I\nsuppose, in the sun; this they set down for me, as before, and I sent\nXury on shore with my jars, and filled them all three. The women were as\nstark naked as the men.\n\nI was now furnished with roots and corn, such as it was, and water; and,\nleaving my friendly Negroes, I made forward for about eleven days more,\nwithout offering to go near the shore, till I saw the land run out a\ngreat length into the sea, at about the distance of four or five leagues\nbefore me; and, the sea being very calm, I kept a large offing to make\nthis point: at length, doubling the point at about two leagues from the\nland, I saw plainly land on the other side to seaward; then I concluded,\nas it was most certain indeed, that this was the Cape de Verd, and those\nthe _islands_, called from thence Cape de Verd Islands. However, they\nwere at a great distance, and I could not well tell what I had best to\ndo, for if I should be taken with a fresh of wind I might neither reach\none nor the other.\n\nIn this dilemma, as I was very pensive, I stepped into the cabin and sat\nme down, Xury having the helm, when on a sudden the boy cried out,\n\"Master, Master, a ship with a sail!\" and the foolish boy was frighted\nout of his wits, thinking it must needs be some of his master's ships\nsent to pursue us, when I knew we were gotten far enough out of their\nreach. I jumped out of the cabin, and immediately saw not only the ship,\nbut what she was, viz. that it was a Portuguese ship, and, as I thought,\nwas bound to the coast of Guinea for Negroes. But when I observed the\ncourse she steered, I was soon convinced they were bound some other way,\nand did not design to come any nearer to the shore; upon which I\nstretched out to sea as much as I could, resolving to speak with them\nif possible.\n\nWith all the sail I could muster, I found I should not be able to\ncome in their way, but that they would be gone by before I could\nmake any signal to them; but after I had crowded to the utmost,\nand began to despair, they, it seems, saw me by the help of their\nperspective-glasses, and that it was some European boat, which, as they\nsupposed, must belong to some ship that was lost; so they shortened sail\nto let me come up. I was encouraged with this; and as I had my patron's\nancient on board, I made a waft of it to them for a signal of distress,\nand fired a gun, both which they saw, for they told me they saw the\nsmoke, though they did not hear the gun: upon these signals they very\nkindly brought to, and lay by for me, and in about three hours time I\ncame up with them.\n\nThey asked me what I was in Portuguese, and in Spanish, and in French;\nbut I understood none of them; but at last a Scots sailor, who was on\nboard, called to me, and I answered him, and told him I was an\nEnglishman, that I had made my escape out of slavery from the Moors at\nSallee. Then they had me come on board, and very kindly took me in, and\nall my goods.\n\nIt was an inexpressible joy to me, that any one would believe that I was\nthus delivered, as I esteemed it, from such a miserable and almost\nhopeless condition as I was in, and immediately offered all I had to the\ncaptain of the ship, as a return for my deliverance; but he generously\ntold me, he would take nothing from me, but that all I had should be\ndelivered safe to me when I came to the Brasils; \"For,\" says he, \"I have\nsaved your life on no other terms than I would be glad to be saved\nmyself; and it may one time or other be my lot to be taken up in the\nsame condition: Besides,\" said he, \"when I carry you to the Brasils, so\ngreat a way from your own country, if I should take from you what you\nhave, you will be starved there, and then I only take away that life I\nhave given. No, no, Seignor Inglese,\" says he, \"Mr. Englishman, I will\ncarry you thither in charity, and those things will help you to buy your\nsubsistence there, and your passage home again.\"\n\nAs he was charitable in his proposal, so he was just in the performance\nto a tittle; for he ordered the seamen, that none should offer to touch\nany thing I had: then he took every thing into his own possession, and\ngave me back an exact inventory of them, that I might have them; even so\nmuch as my three earthen jars.\n\nAs to my boat, it was a very good one, and that he saw, and told me he\nwould buy it of me for the ship's use, and asked me what I would have\nfor it? I told him, he had been so generous to me in everything, that I\ncould not offer to make any price of the boat, but left it entirely to\nhim; upon which he told me he would give me a note of his hand to pay me\neighty pieces of eight for it at Brasil; and when it came there, if any\none offered to give more, he would make it up: he offered me also sixty\npieces of eight more for my boy Xury, which I was loath to lake; not\nthat I was not willing to let the captain have him, but I was very loath\nto sell the poor boy's liberty, who had assisted me so faithfully in\nprocuring my own. However, when I let him know my reason, he owned it to\nbe just, and offered me this medium, that he would give the boy an\nobligation to set him free in ten years, if he turned Christian. Upon\nthis, and Xury saying he was willing to go to him, I let the\ncaptain have him.\n\nWe had a very good voyage to the Brasils, and arrived in the Bay de\nTodos los Santos, or All Saints' Bay, in about twenty-two days after.\nAnd now I was once more delivered from the most miserable of all\nconditions of life; and what to do next with myself I was now\nto consider.\n\nThe generous treatment the captain gave me, I can never enough remember;\nhe would take nothing of me for my passage, gave me twenty ducats for\nthe leopard's skin, and forty for the lion's skin which I had in my\nboat, and caused every thing I had in the ship to be punctually\ndelivered me; and what I was willing to sell he bought, such as the case\nof bottles, two of my guns, and a piece of the lump of bees-wax, for I\nhad made candles of the rest; in a word, I made about two hundred and\ntwenty pieces of eight of all my cargo; and with this stock I went on\nshore in the Brasils.\n\nI had not been long here, but being recommended to the house of a good\nhonest man like himself, who had an _ingeino_ as they call it; that is,\na plantation and a sugarhouse; I lived with him some time, and\nacquainted myself by that means with the manner of their planting and\nmaking of sugar; and seeing how well the planters lived, and how they\ngrew rich suddenly, I resolved, if I could get license to settle there,\nI would turn planter among them, resolving, in the mean time, to find\nout some way to get my money, which I had left in London, remitted to\nme. To this purpose, getting a kind of a letter of naturalization, I\npurchased as much land that was uncured as my money would reach, and\nformed a plan for my plantation and settlement, and such a one as might\nbe suitable to the stock which I proposed to myself to receive\nfrom England.\n\nI had a neighbour, a Portuguese of Lisbon, but born of English parents,\nwhose name was Wells, and in much such circumstances as I was. I call\nhim neighbour, because his plantation lay next to mine, and we went on\nvery sociable together. My stock was but low, as well as his: and we\nrather planted for food, than any thing else, for about two years.\nHowever, we began to increase, and our land began to come into order; so\nthat the third year we planted some tobacco, and made each of us a large\npiece of ground ready for planting canes in the year to come; but we\nboth wanted help; and now I found, more than before, I had done wrong in\nparting with my boy Xury.\n\nBut, alas! for me to do wrong, that never did right, was no great\nwonder: I had no remedy but to go on; I was gotten into an employment\nquite remote to my genius, and directly contrary to the life I delighted\nin, and for which I forsook my father's house, and broke through all his\ngood advice; nay, I was coming into the very middle station, or upper\ndegree of low life, which my father advised me to before; and which if I\nresolved to go on with, I might as well have staid at home, and never\nhave fatigued myself in the world as I had done; and I used often to say\nto myself, I could have done this as well in England among my friends,\nas have gone five thousand miles off to do it, among strangers and\nsavages in a wilderness, and at such distance, as never to hear from any\npart of the world that had the least knowledge of me.\n\nIn this manner I used to look upon my condition with the utmost regret.\nI had nobody to converse with, but now and then this neighbour; no work\nto be done, but by the labour of my hands; and I used to say, I lived\njust like a man cast away upon some desolate island, that had nobody\nthere but himself. But how just has it been, and how should all men\nreflect, that, when they compare their present conditions with others\nthat are worse, Heaven may oblige them to make the exchange, and be\nconvinced of their former felicity, by their experience; I say, how just\nhas it been, that the truly solitary life I reflected on in, an island\nof mere desolation should be my lot, who had so often unjustly compared\nit with the life which I then led, in which had I continued, I had in\nall probability been exceeding prosperous and rich.\n\nI was in some degree settled in my measures for carrying on the\nplantation, before my kind friend the captain of the ship, that took me\nup at sea, went back; for the ship remained there, in providing his\nloading, and preparing for his voyage, near three months; when, telling\nhim what little stock I had left behind me in London, he gave me this\nfriendly and sincere advice; \"Seignor Inglese,\" says he, for so he\nalways called me, \"if you will give me letters, and a procuration here\nin form to me, with orders to the person who has your money in London,\nto send your effects to Lisbon, to such persons as I shall direct, and\nin such goods as are proper for this country, I will bring you the\nproduce of them, God willing, at my return; but since human affairs are\nall subject to changes and disasters, I would have you give orders but\nfor one hundred pounds sterling, which you say is half your stock, and\nlet the hazard be run for the first; so that if it come safe, you may\norder the rest the same way; and if it miscarry, you may have the other\nhalf to have recourse to for your supply.\"\n\nThis was so wholesome advice, and looked so friendly, that I could not\nbut be convinced it was the best course I could take; so I accordingly\nprepared letters to the gentlewoman with whom I had left my money, and a\nprocuration to the Portuguese captain, as he desired.\n\nI wrote the English captain's widow a full account of all my adventures,\nmy slavery, escape, and how I had met with the Portugal captain at sea,\nthe humanity of his behaviour, and what condition I was now in, with all\nother necessary directions for my supply; and when this honest captain\ncame to Lisbon, he found means, by some of the English merchants there,\nto send over, not the order only, but a full account of my story, to a\nmerchant at London, who represented it effectually to her; whereupon,\nshe not only delivered the money, but out of her own pocket sent the\nPortugal captain a very handsome present for his humanity and charity\nto me.\n\nThe merchant in London vesting this hundred pounds in English goods,\nsuch as the captain had writ for, sent them directly to him at Lisbon,\nand he brought them all safe to me to the Brasils; among which, without\nmy direction (for I was too young in my business to think of them) he\nhad taken care to have all sort of tools, iron work, and utensils\nnecessary for my plantation, and which were of great use to me.\n\nWhen this cargo arrived, I thought my fortune made, for I was surprised\nwith joy of it; and my good steward the captain had laid out the five\npounds which my friend had sent him for a present for himself, to\npurchase, and bring me over a servant under bond for six years service,\nand would not accept of any consideration, except a little tobacco,\nwhich I would have him accept, being of my own produce.\n\nNeither was this all; but my goods being all English manufactures, such\nas cloth, stuffs, baize, and things particularly valuable and desirable\nin the country, I found means to sell them to a very great advantage; so\nthat I may say, I had more than four times the value of my first cargo,\nand was now infinitely beyond my poor neighbour, I mean in the\nadvancement of my plantation; for the first thing I did, I bought me a\nNegro slave, and an European servant also; I mean another besides that\nwhich the captain brought me from Lisbon.\n\nBut as abused prosperity is oftentimes made the very means of our\ngreatest adversity, so was it with me. I went on the next year with\ngreat success in my plantation: I raised fifty great rolls of tobacco on\nmy own ground, more than I had disposed of for necessaries among my\nneighbours; and these fifty rolls, being each of above a hundred weight,\nwere well cured and laid by against the return of the fleet from Lisbon.\nAnd now, increasing in business and in wealth, my head began to be full\nof projects and undertakings beyond my reach; such as are indeed often\nthe ruin of the best heads in business.\n\nHad I continued in the station I was now in, I had room for all the\nhappy things to have yet befallen me, for which my father so earnestly\nrecommended a quiet retired life, and of which he had so sensibly\ndescribed the middle station of life to be full; but other things\nattended me, and I was still to be the wilful agent of all my own\nmiseries; and particularly to increase my fault, and double the\nreflections upon myself, which in my future sorrows I should have\nleisure to make; all these miscarriages were procured by my apparent\nobstinate adhering to my foolish inclination of wandering abroad, and\npursuing that inclination, in contradiction to the clearest views of\ndoing myself good in a fair and plain pursuit of those prospects and\nthose measures of life, which nature and Providence concurred to present\nme with, and to make my duty.\n\nAs I had done thus in my breaking away from my parents, so I could not\nbe content now, but I must go and leave the happy view I had of being a\nrich and thriving man in my new plantation, only to pursue a rash and\nimmoderate desire of rising faster than the nature of the thing\nadmitted; and thus I cast myself down again into the deepest gulf of\nhuman misery that ever man fell into, or perhaps could be consistent\nwith life and a state of health in the world.\n\nTo come then by just degrees to the particulars of this part of my\nstory; you may suppose, that having now lived almost four years in the\nBrasils, and beginning to thrive and prosper very well upon my\nplantation, I had not only learnt the language, but had contracted\nacquaintance and friendship among my fellow-planters, as well as among\nthe merchants at St. Salvadore, which was our port; and that in my\ndiscourse among them, I had frequently given them an account of my two\nvoyages to the coast of Guinea, the manner of trading with the Negroes\nthere, and how easy it was to purchase upon the coast, for trifles, such\nas beads, toys, knives, scissars, hatchets, bits of glass, and the like,\nnot only gold-dust, Guinea grains, elephants teeth, &c. but Negroes for\nthe service of the Brasils in great numbers.\n\nThey listened always very attentively to my discourses on these heads,\nbut especially to that part which related to the buying Negroes, which\nwas a trade at that time not only not far entered into, but, as far as\nit was, had been carried on by the Assientos for permission of the\nkings of Spain and Portugal, and engrossed in the public, so that few\nNegroes were brought, and those excessive dear.\n\nIt happened, being in company with some merchants and planters of my\nacquaintance, and talking of those things very earnestly, three of them\ncame to me the next morning, and told me they had been musing very much\nupon what I had discoursed with them of, the last night, and they came\nto make a secret proposal to me; and after enjoining me secrecy, they\ntold me, that they had a mind to fit out a ship to to Guinea; that they\nhad all plantations as well as I, and were straitened for nothing so\nmuch as servants; that as it was a trade could not be carried on,\nbecause they could not publicly sell the Negroes when they came home, so\nthey desired to make but one voyage, to bring the Negroes on shore\nprivately, and divide them among their own plantations; and in a word,\nthe question was, whether I would go their supercargo in the ship, to\nmanage the trading part upon the coast of Guinea? and they offered me\nthat I should have my equal share of the Negroes, without providing any\npart of the stock.\n\nThis was a fair proposal, it must be confessed, had it been made to any\none that had not had a settlement and plantation of his own to look\nafter, which was in a fair way of coming to be very considerable, and\nwith a good stock upon it. But for me, that was thus entered and\nestablished, and had nothing to do but go on as I had begun, for three\nor four years more, and to have sent for the other hundred pounds from\nEngland, and who in that time, and with that little addition, could\nscarce have failed of being worth three or four thousand pounds\nsterling, and that increasing too; for me to think of such a voyage, was\nthe most preposterous thing that ever man in such circumstances could be\nguilty of.\n\nBut I, that was born to be my own destroyer, could no more resist the\noffer, than I could restrain my first rambling designs, when my father's\ngood counsel was lost upon me. In a word, I told them I would go with\nall my heart, if they would undertake to look alter my plantation in my\nabsence, and would dispose of it to such as I should direct if I\nmiscarried. This they all engaged to do, and entered into writings or\ncovenants to do so; and I made a formal will, disposing of my plantation\nand effects, in case of my death, making the captain of the ship that\nhad saved my life as before, my universal heir, but obliging him to\ndispose of my effects as I had directed in my will, one half of the\nproduce being to himself, and the other to be shipped to England.\n\nIn short, I took all possible caution to preserve my effects, and keep\nup my plantation: had I used half as much prudence to have looked into\nmy own interest, and have made a judgment of what I ought to have done,\nand not to have done, I had certainly never gone away from so prosperous\nan undertaking, leaving all the probable views of a thriving\ncircumstance, and gone upon a voyage to sea, attended with all its\ncommon hazards; to say nothing of the reasons I had to expect particular\nmisfortunes to myself.\n\nBut I was hurried on, and obeyed blindly the dictates of my fancy rather\nthan my reason: and accordingly the ship being fitted out, and the cargo\nfurnished, and all things done as by agreement, by my partners in the\nvoyage, I went on board in an evil hour, the 1st of September, 1650,\nbeing the same day eight years that I went from my father and mother at\nHull, in order to act the rebel to their authority, and the fool to my\nown interest.\n\nOur ship was about one hundred and twenty ton burden, carrying six guns,\nand fourteen men, besides the master, his boy, and myself; we had on\nboard no large cargo of goods, except of such toys as were fit for our\ntrade with the Negroes, such as beads, bits of glass, shells, and odd\ntrifles, especially little looking-glasses, knives, scissars, hatchets,\nand the like.\n\nThe same day I went on board we set sail, standing away to the northward\nupon our own coast, with design to stretch over for the African coast;\nwhen they came about 10 or 12 degrees of northern latitude, which it\nseems was the manner of their course in those days. We had very good\nweather, only excessive hot, all the way upon our own coast, till we\nmade the height of Cape St. Augustino, from whence keeping farther off\nat sea we lost sight of land, and steered as if we were bound for the\nisle Fernand de Noronha, holding our course N.E. by N. and leaving those\nisles on the east. In this course we passed the line in about twelve\ndays time, and were by our last observation in 7 degrees 22 min.\nnorthern latitude, when a violent tornado or hurricane took us quite out\nof our knowledge; it began from the south-east, came about to the\nnorth-west, and then settled into the north-east, from whence it blew in\nsuch a terrible manner, that for twelve days together we could do\nnothing but drive; and scudding away before it, let it carry us whither\never fate and the fury of the winds directed; and during these twelve\ndays, I need not say that I expected every day to be swallowed up, nor\nindeed did any in the ship expect to save their lives.\n\nIn this distress, we had, besides the terror of the storm, one of our\nmen die of the calenture, and one man and the boy washed overboard;\nabout the twelfth day the weather abating a little, the master made an\nobservation as well as he could, and found that he was in about 11\ndegrees north latitude, but that he was 22 degrees of longitude\ndifference west from Cape St. Augustino; so that he found he was gotten\nupon the coast of Guinea, or the north part of Brasil, beyond the river\nAmazones, toward that of the river Oronoque, commonly called the Great\nRiver, and began to consult with me what course he should take, for the\nship was leaky and very much disabled, and he was going directly back to\nthe coast of Brasil.\n\nI was positively against that, and looking over the charts of the sea\ncoasts of America with him we concluded there was no inhabited country\nfor us to have recourse to, till we came within the circle of the\nCaribbee islands, and therefore resolved to stand away for Barbadoes,\nwhich by keeping off at sea, to avoid the indraft of the bay or gulf of\nMexico, we might easily perform, as we hoped, in about fifteen days\nsail; whereas we could not possibly make our voyage to the coast of\nAfrica without some assistance, both to our ship and to ourselves.\n\nWith this design we changed our course, and steered away N.W. by W. in\norder to reach some of our English islands, where I hoped for relief;\nbut our voyage was otherwise determined; for being in the latitude of 12\ndeg. 18 min. a second storm came upon us, which carried us away with the\nsame impetuosity westward, and drove us so out of the very way of all\nhuman commerce, that had all our lives been saved, as to the sea, we\nwere rather in danger of being devoured by savages than ever returning\nto our own country.\n\nIn this distress, the wind still blowing very hard, one of our men early\nin the morning cried out, _Land!_ and we had no sooner run out of the\ncabin to look out in hopes of seeing whereabouts in the world we were,\nbut the ship struck upon a sand, and in a moment, her motion being so\nstopped, the sea broke over her in such a manner, that we expected we\nshould all have perished immediately; and we were immediately driven\ninto our close quarters to shelter us from the very foam and spray\nof the sea.\n\nIt is not easy for any one, who has not been in the like condition, to\ndescribe or conceive the consternation of men in such circumstances; we\nknew nothing where we were, or upon what land it was we were driven,\nwhether an island or the main, whether inhabited or not inhabited; and\nas the rage of the wind was still great, though rather less than at\nfirst, we could not so much as hope to have the ship hold many minutes\nwithout breaking in pieces, unless the winds by a kind of miracle should\nturn immediately about. In a word, we sat looking one upon another, and\nexpecting death every moment, and every man acting accordingly, as\npreparing for another world, for there was little or nothing more for us\nto do in this; that which was our present comfort, and all the comfort\nwe had, was, that, contrary to our expectation, the ship did not break\nyet, and that the master said the wind began to abate.\n\nNow though we thought that the wind did a little abate, yet the ship\nhaving thus struck upon the sand, and sticking too fast for us to expect\nher getting off, we were in a dreadful condition indeed, and had nothing\nto do but to think of saving our lives as well as we could. We had a\nboat at our stern, just before the storm; but she was first staved by\ndashing against the ship's rudder, and in the next place she broke away,\nand either sunk or was driven off to sea; so there was no hope from her.\nWe had another boat on board, but how to get her off into the sea was a\ndoubtful thing; however, there was no room to debate, for we fancied the\nship would break in pieces every minute, and some told us she was\nactually broken already.\n\nIn this distress, the mate of our vessel lays hold of the boat, and with\nthe help of the rest of the men they got her slung over the ship's side,\nand getting all into her, let go, and committed ourselves, being eleven\nin number, to God's mercy and the wild sea; for though the storm was\nabated considerably, yet the sea went dreadful high upon the shore, and\nmight well be called _den wild zee_, as the Dutch call the sea in\na storm.\n\nAnd now our case was very dismal indeed; for we all saw plainly, that\nthe sea went so high, that the boat could not live, and that we should\nbe inevitably drowned. As to making sail, we had none, nor, if we had,\ncould we have done any thing with it; so we worked at the oar towards\nthe land, though with heavy hearts, like men going to execution; for we\nall knew, that when the boat came nearer the shore, she would be dashed\ninto a thousand pieces by the breach of the sea. However, we committed\nour souls to God in the most earnest manner; and the wind driving us\ntowards the shore, we hastened our destruction with our own hands,\npulling as well as we could towards land.\n\nWhat the shore was, whether rock or sand, whether steep or shoal, we\nknew not; the only hope that could rationally give us the least shadow\nof expectation, was, if we might happen into some bay or gulf, or the\nmouth of some river, where, by great chance, we might have run our boat\nin, or got under the lee of the land, and perhaps made smooth water. But\nthere was nothing of this appeared; but as we made nearer and nearer the\nshore, the land looked more frightful than the sea.\n\nAfter we had rowed, or rather driven about a league and a half, as we\nreckoned it, a raging wave, mountain-like, came rolling astern of us,\nand plainly had us expect the _coup-de-grace_. In a word, it took us\nwith such a fury, that it overset the boat at once; and separating us as\nwell from the boat, as from one another, gave us not time hardly to say\nO God! for we were all swallowed up in a moment.\n\nNothing can describe the confusion of thought which I felt when I sunk\ninto the water; for though I swam very well, yet I could not deliver\nmyself from the waves so as to draw breath, till that wave having driven\nme, or rather carried me a vast way on towards the shore, and having\nspent itself, went back, and left me upon the land almost dry, but half\ndead with the water I took in. I had so much presence of mind as well as\nbreath left, that, seeing myself nearer the main land than I expected, I\ngot upon my feet, and endeavoured to make on towards the land as fast as\nI could, before another wave should return, and take me up again. But I\nsoon found it was impossible to avoid it; for I saw the sea come after\nme as high as a great hill, and as furious as an enemy which I had no\nmeans or strength to contend with; my business was to hold my breath,\nand raise myself upon the water, if I could; and so by swimming to\npreserve my breathing, and pilot myself towards the shore, if possible;\nmy greatest concern now being, that the sea, as it would carry me a\ngreat way towards the shore when it came on, might not carry me back\nagain with it when it gave back towards the sea.\n\nThe wave that came upon me again, buried me at once twenty or thirty\nfoot deep in its own body; and I could feel myself carried with a mighty\nforce and swiftness towards the shore a very great way; but I held my\nbreath, and assisted myself to swim still forward with all my might. I\nwas ready to burst with holding my breath, when, as I felt myself rising\nup, so, to my immediate relief, I found my head and hands shoot out\nabove the surface of the water; and though it was not two seconds of\ntime that I could keep myself so, yet it relieved me greatly, gave me\nbreath and new courage. I was covered again with water a good while, but\nnot so long but I held it out; and finding the water had spent itself,\nand began to return, I struck forward against the return of the waves,\nand felt ground again with my feet. I stood still a few moments to\nrecover breath, and till the water went from me, and then took to my\nheels, and ran with what strength I had farther towards the shore. But\nneither would this deliver me from the fury of the sea, which came\npouring in after me again; and twice more I was lifted up by the waves\nand carried forwards as before, the shore being very flat.\n\nThe last time of these two had well near been fatal to me; for the sea\nhaving hurried me along as before, landed me, or rather dashed me\nagainst a piece of a rock, and that with such force, as it left me\nsenseless, and indeed helpless, as to my own deliverance; for the blow\ntaking my side and breast, beat the breath as it were quite out of my\nbody; and had it returned again immediately, I must have been strangled\nin the water; but I recovered a little before the return of the waves,\nand seeing I should be covered again with the water, I resolved to hold\nfast by a piece of the rock, and so to hold my breath, if possible, till\nthe wave went back. Now as the waves were not so high as at first,\nbeing near land, I held my hold till the wave abated, and then fetched\nanother run, which brought me so near the shore, that the next wave,\nthough it went over me, yet did not so swallow me up as to carry me\naway; and the next run I took I got to the main land, where, to my great\ncomfort, I clambered up the clifts of the shore, and sat me down upon\nthe grass, free from danger, and quite out of the reach of the water.\n\nI was now landed, and safe on shore, and began to look up and thank God\nthat my life was saved in a case wherein there was some minutes before\nscarce any room to hope. I believe it is impossible to express to the\nlife what the ecstasies and transports of the soul are, when it is so\nsaved, as I may say, out of the very grave; and I do not wonder now at\nthat custom, viz. that when a malefactor, who has the halter about his\nneck, is tied up, and just going to be turned off, and has a reprieve\nbrought to him: I say, I do not wonder that they bring a surgeon with\nit, to let him blood that very moment they tell him of it, that the\nsurprise may not drive the animal spirits from the heart, and\noverwhelm him:\n\n     For sudden joys, like griefs, confound at first.\n\nI walked about on the shore, lifting up my hands and my whole being, as\nI may say, wrapt up in the contemplation of my deliverance, making a\nthousand gestures and motions which I cannot describe; reflecting upon\nall my comrades that were drowned, and that there should not be one soul\nsaved but myself; for, as for them, I never saw them afterwards, or any\nsign of them, except three of their hats, one cap, and two shoes that\nwere not fellows.\n\nI cast my eyes to the stranded vessel, when the breach and troth of the\nsea being so big, I could hardly see it, it lay so far off, and\nconsidered, Lord! how was it possible I could get on shore!\n\nAfter I had solaced my mind with the comfortable part of my condition,\nI began to look round me, to see what kind of place I was in, and what\nwas next to be done; and I soon found my comforts abate, and that in a\nword I had a dreadful deliverance; for I was wet, had no clothes to\nshift me, nor any thing either to eat or drink to comfort me; neither\ndid I see any prospect before me, but that of perishing with hunger, or\nbeing devoured by wild beasts; and that which was particularly\nafflicting to me, was, that I had no weapon either to hunt and kill any\ncreature for my sustenance, or to defend myself against any other\ncreature that might desire to kill me for theirs; in a word, I had\nnothing about me but a knife, a tobacco pipe, and a little tobacco in a\nbox; this was all my provision, and this threw me into terrible agonies\nof mind, that for a while I ran about like a madman. Night coming upon\nme, I began with a heavy heart to consider what would be my lot if there\nwere any ravenous beasts in that country, seeing at night they always\ncome abroad for their prey.\n\nAll the remedy that offered to my thoughts at that time, was, to get up\ninto a thick bushy tree like a fir, but thorny, which grew near me, and\nwhere I resolved to sit all night, and consider the next day what death\nI should die, for as yet I saw no prospect of life. I walked about a\nfurlong from the shore, to see if I could find any fresh water to drink,\nwhich I did, to my great joy; and having drank, and put a little tobacco\nin my mouth to prevent hunger, I went to the tree, and getting up into\nit, endeavoured to place myself so, as that if I should sleep I might\nnot fall; and having cut me a short stick, like a truncheon, for my\ndefence, I took up my lodging, and having been excessively fatigued, I\nfell fast asleep, and slept as comfortably as, I believe, few could have\ndone in my condition, and found myself the most refreshed with it that I\nthink I ever was on such an occasion.\n\nWhen I waked it was broad day, the weather clear, and the storm abated,\nso that the sea did not rage and swell as before; but that which\nsurprised me most was, that the ship was lifted off in the night from\nthe sand where she lay, by the swelling of the tide, and was driven up\nalmost as far as the rock which I first mentioned, where I had been so\nbruised by the dashing me against it; this being within about a mile\nfrom the shore where I was, and the ship seeming to stand upright still,\nI wished myself on board, that, at least, I might save some necessary\nthings for my use.\n\nWhen I came down from my apartment in the tree, I looked about me again,\nand the first thing I found was the boat, which lay as the wind and the\nsea had tossed her up upon the land, about two miles on my right hand. I\nwalked as far as I could upon the shore to have got to her, but found a\nneck or inlet of water between me and the boat, which was about half a\nmile broad; so I came back for the present, being more intent upon\ngetting at the ship, where I hoped to find something for my present\nsubsistence.\n\nA little after noon I found the sea very calm, and the tide ebbed so far\nout, that I could come within a quarter of a mile of the ship; and here\nI found a fresh renewing of my grief: for I saw evidently, that if we\nhad kept on board, we had been all safe, that is to say, we had all got\nsafe on shore, and I had not been so miserable as to be left entirely\ndestitute of all comfort and company, as I now was. This forced tears\nfrom my eyes again; but as there was little relief in that, I resolved,\nif possible, to get to the ship; so I pulled off my clothes, for the\nweather was hot to extremity, and took the water; but when I came to the\nship, my difficulty was still greater to know how to get on board; for\nas she lay aground, and high out of the water, there was nothing within\nmy reach to lay hold of. I swam round her twice, and the second time I\nspied a small piece of a rope, which I wondered I did not see at first,\nhang down by the fore-chains so low as that with great difficulty I got\nhold of it, and by the help of that rope got up into the forecastle of\nthe ship. Here I found that the ship was bulged, and had a great deal of\nwater in her hold, but that she lay so on the side of a bank of hard\nsand, or rather earth, and her stern lay lifted up upon the bank, and\nher head low almost to the water: by this means all her quarter was\nfree, and all that was in that part was dry; for you may be sure my\nfirst work was to search and to see what was spoiled and what was free;\nand first I found that all the ship's provisions were dry and untouched\nby the water; and being very well disposed to eat, I went to the\nbread-room and filled my pockets with bisket, and ate it as I went about\nother things, for I had no time to lose. I also found some rum in the\ngreat cabin, of which I took a large drain, and which I had indeed need\nenough of to spirit me for what was before me. Now I wanted nothing but\na boat to furnish myself with many things which I foresaw would be very\nnecessary to me.\n\nIt was in vain to sit still and wish for what was not to be had; and\nthis extremity roused my application. We had several spare yards, and\ntwo or three large spars of wood, and a spare topmast or two in the\nship; I resolved to fall to work with these, and flung as many of them\noverboard as I could manage of their weight, tying every one with a\nrope, that they might not drive away. When this was done I went down the\nship's side, and pulling them to me, I tied four of them fast together\nat both ends as well as I could, in the form of a raft, and laying two\nor three short pieces of plank upon them crossways, I found I could walk\nupon it very well, but that it was not able to bear any great weight,\nthe pieces being too light; so I went to work, and with the carpenter's\nsaw I cut a spare topmast into three lengths, and added them to my raft,\nwith a great deal of labour and pains; but hope of furnishing myself\nwith necessaries encouraged me to go beyond what I should have been able\nto have done upon another occasion.\n\nMy raft was now strong enough to bear any reasonable weight; my next\ncare was what to load it with, and how to preserve what I laid upon it\nfrom the surf of the sea; but I was not long considering this: I first\nlaid all the planks or boards upon it that I could get, and having\nconsidered well what I most wanted, I first got three of the seamen's\nchests, which I had broken open and emptied, and lowered them down upon\nmy raft. The first of these I filled with provisions, viz. bread, rice,\nthree Dutch cheeses, five pieces of dried goat's flesh, which we lived\nmuch upon, and a little remainder of European corn which had been laid\nby for some fowls which we brought to sea with us, but the fowls were\nkilled. There had been some barley and wheat together, but, to my great\ndisappointment, I found afterwards that the rats had eaten or spoiled it\nall. As for liquors, I found several cases of bottles belonging to our\nskipper, in which were some cordial waters, and in all above five or six\ngallons of rack: these I stowed by themselves, there being no need to\nput them into the chest, nor no room for them. While I was doing this, I\nfound the tide began to flow, though very calm, and I had the\nmortification to see my coat, shirt, and waistcoat, which I had left on\nshore upon the sand, swim away; as for my breeches, which were only\nlinen, and open-kneed, I swam on board in them and my stockings:\nhowever, this put me upon rummaging for clothes, of which I found\nenough, but took no more than I wanted for present use, for I had other\nthings which my eye was more upon; as, first, tools to work with on\nshore; and it was after long searching that I found out the carpenter's\nchest, which was indeed a very useful prize to me, and much more\nvaluable than a ship-loading of gold would have been at that time: I got\nit down to my raft, even whole as it was, without losing time to look\ninto it, for I knew in general what it contained.\n\nMy next care was for some ammunition and arms. There were two very good\nfowling-pieces in the great cabin, and two pistols: these I secured\nfirst, with some powder horns, and a small bag of shot, and two old\nrusty swords. I knew there were three barrels of powder in the ship,\nbut knew not where our gunner had stowed them; but with much search I\nfound them, two of them dry and good, the third had taken water; those\ntwo I got to my raft, with the arms. And now I thought myself pretty\nwell freighted, and began to think how I should get to shore with them,\nhaving neither sail, oar, or rudder, and the least capful of wind would\nhave overset all my navigation.\n\nI had three encouragements: 1. A smooth, calm sea; 2. The tide rising\nand setting in to the shore; 3. What little wind there was blew me\ntowards the land: and thus, having found two or three broken oars\nbelonging to the boat, and besides the tools which were in the chest, I\nfound two saws, an axe, and a hammer; and with this cargo I put to sea:\nfor a mile, or thereabouts, my raft went very well, only that I found it\ndrive a little distant from the place where I had landed before, by\nwhich I perceived that there was some indraft of the water, and\nconsequently I hoped to find some creek or river there, which I might\nmake use of as a port to get to land with my cargo.\n\nAs I imagined, so it was: there appeared before me a little opening of\nthe land, and I found a strong current of the tide set into it, so I\nguided my raft as well as I could to keep in the middle of the stream;\nbut here I had like to have suffered a second shipwreck, which, if I\nhad, I think verily would have broke my heart; for knowing nothing of\nthe coast, my raft run aground at one end of it upon a shoal, and not\nbeing aground at the other end, it wanted but a little that all my cargo\nhad slipped off towards that end that was afloat, and so fallen into the\nwater. I did my utmost, by setting my back against the chests, to keep\nthem in their places, but could not thrust off the raft with all my\nstrength; neither durst I stir from the posture I was in, but holding up\nthe chests with all my might, stood in that manner near half an hour, in\nwhich time the rising of the water brought me a little more upon a\nlevel; and a little after, the water still rising, my raft floated\nagain, and I thrust her off with the oar I had into the channel; and\nthen driving up higher, I at length found myself in the mouth of a\nlittle river, with land on both sides, and a strong current or tide\nrunning up. I looked on both sides for a proper place to get to shore;\nfor I was not willing to be driven too high up the river, hoping in time\nto see some ship at sea, and therefore resolved to place myself as near\nthe coast as I could.\n\nAt length I spied a little cove on the right shore of the creek, to\nwhich, with great pain and difficulty, I guided my raft, and at last got\nso near, as that, reaching ground with my oar, I could thrust her\ndirectly in; but here I had like to have dipped all my cargo in the sea\nagain; for that shore lying pretty steep, that is to say sloping, there\nwas no place to land, but where one end of the float, if it run on\nshore, would lie so high, and the other sink lower as before, that it\nwould endanger my cargo again: all that I could do, was to wait till the\ntide was at the highest, keeping the raft with my oar like an anchor to\nhold the side of it fast to the shore, near a flat piece of ground,\nwhich I expected the water would flow over; and so it did. As soon as I\nfound water enough, for my raft drew about a foot of water, I thrust her\non upon that flat piece of ground, and there fastened or moored her by\nsticking my two broken oars into the ground; one on one side near one\nend, and one on the other side near the other end; and thus I lay till\nthe water ebbed away, and left my raft and all my cargo safe on shore.\n\nMy next work was to view the country, and seek a proper place for my\nhabitation, and where to stow my goods, to secure them from whatever\nmight happen. Where I was I yet knew not; whether on the continent or on\nan island, whether inhabited or not inhabited, whether in danger of wild\nbeasts or not. There was a hill not above a mile from me, which rose up\nvery steep and high, and which seemed to overtop some other hills which,\nlay as in a ridge from it northward: I took out one of the\nfowling-pieces, and one of the pistols, and an horn of powder, and thus\narmed I travelled for discovery up to the top of that hill, where, after\nI had with great labour and difficulty got to the top, I saw my fates to\nmy great affliction, viz. that I was in an island environed every way\nwith the sea, no land to be seen, except some rocks which lay a great\nway off, and two small islands less than this, which lay about three\nleagues to the west.\n\nI found also that the island I was in was barren, and, as I saw good\nreason to believe, uninhabited, except by wild beasts, of whom, however,\nI saw none; yet I saw abundance of fowls, but knew not their kinds;\nneither when I killed them could I tell what was fit for food, and what\nnot. At my coming back I shot at a great bird, which I saw sitting upon\na tree on the side of a great wood--I believe it was the first gun that\nhad been fired there since the creation of the world. I had no sooner\nfired, but from all parts of the wood there arose an innumerable number\nof fowls of many sorts, making a confused screaming, and crying every\none according to his usual note; but not one of them of any kind that I\nknew. As for the creature I killed, I took it to be a kind of a hawk,\nits colour and beak resembling it, but had no talons or claws more than\ncommon; its flesh was carrion, and fit for nothing.\n\nContented with this discovery, I came back to my raft, and fell to work\nto bring my cargo on shore, which took me up the rest of that day; and\nwhat to do with myself at night I knew not, nor indeed where to rest;\nfor I was afraid to lie down on the ground, not knowing but some wild\nbeast might devour me; though, as I afterwards found, there was really\nno need for those fears.\n\nHowever, as well as I could, I barricadoed myself round with the chests\nand boards that I had brought on shore, and made a kind of a hut for\nthat night's lodging. As for food, I yet saw not which way to supply\nmyself, except that I had seen two or three creatures like hares run\nout of the wood where I shot the fowl.\n\nI now began to consider, that I might yet get a great many things out of\nthe ship, which would be useful to me, and particularly some of the\nrigging and sails, and such other things as might come to land, and I\nresolved to make another voyage on board the vessel, if possible; and as\nI knew that the first storm that blew must necessarily break her all in\npieces, I resolved to set all other things apart, till I got every thing\nout of the ship that I could get. Then I called a council, that is to\nsay, in my thoughts, whether I should take back the raft; but this\nappeared impracticable; so I resolved to go as before, when the tide was\ndown, and I did so, only that I stripped before I went from my hut,\nhaving nothing on but a checked shirt and a pair of linen trowsers, and\na pair of pumps on my feet.\n\nI got on board the ship, as before, and prepared a second raft; and\nhaving had experience of the first, I neither made this so unwieldy, nor\nloaded it so hard, but yet I brought away several things very useful to\nme; as first, in the carpenter's stores I found two or three bags full\nof nails and spikes, a great screw-jack, a dozen or two of hatchets,\nand, above all, that most useful thing called a grindstone; all these I\nsecured, together with several things belonging to the gunner,\nparticularly two or three iron crows, and two barrels of musket-bullets,\nseven muskets, and another fowling-piece, with some small quantity of\npowder more; a large bag full of small shot, and a great roll of sheet\nlead; but this last was so heavy I could not hoist it up to get it over\nthe ship's side.\n\nBesides these things, I took all the men's clothes that I could find,\nand a spare fore-topsail, hammock, and some bedding; and with this I\nloaded my second raft, and brought them all safe on shore, to my very\ngreat comfort.\n\nI was under some apprehensions during my absence from the land, that at\nleast my provisions might be devoured on shore; but when I came back, I\nfound no sign of any visitor, only there sat a creature like a wild cat\nupon one of the chests, which, when I came towards it, ran away a little\ndistance, and then stood still; she sat very composed and unconcerned,\nand looked full in my face, as if she had a mind to be acquainted with\nme; I presented my gun at her, but as she did not understand it, she was\nperfectly unconcerned at it, nor did she offer to stir away; upon which\nI tossed her a bit of biscuit, though by the way I was not very free of\nit, for my store was not great: however, I spared her a bit, I say, and\nshe went to it, smelled of it, and ate it, and looked, as pleased, for\nmore; but I thanked her, and could spare no more; so she marched off.\n\nHaving got my second cargo on shore, though I was fain to open the\nbarrels of powder, and bring them by parcels, for they were too heavy,\nbeing large casks, I went to work to make me a little tent with the sail\nand some poles which I cut for that purpose; and into this tent I\nbrought every thing that I knew would spoil, either with rain or sun;\nand I piled all the empty chests and casks up in a circle round the\ntent, to fortify it from any sudden attempt, either from man or beast.\n\nWhen I had done this, I blocked up the door of the tent with some boards\nwithin; and an empty chest set up an end without, and spreading one of\nthe beds upon the ground, laying my two pistols just at my head, and my\ngun at length by me, I went to bed for the first time, and slept very\nquietly all night, for I was very weary and heavy, as the night before I\nhad slept little, and had laboured very hard all day, as well to fetch\nall those things from the ship as to get them on shore.\n\nI had the biggest magazine of all kinds now that ever were laid up, I\nbelieve, for one man; but I was not satisfied still; for while the ship\nsat upright in that posture, I thought I ought to get every thing out of\nher that I could; so every day at low water I went on board, and\nbrought away something or other; but particularly the third time I went,\nI brought away as much of the rigging as I could, as also all the small\nropes and rope-twine I could get, with a piece of spare canvass, which\nwas to mend the sails upon occasion, and the barrel of wet gunpowder; in\na word, I brought away all the sails first and last, only that I was\nfain to cut them in pieces, and bring as much at a time as I could; for\nthey were no more useful to be sails, but as mere canvass only.\n\nBut that which comforted me more still, was, that at last of all, after\nI had made five or six such voyages as these, and thought I had nothing\nmore to expect from the ship that was worth my meddling with; I say,\nafter all this, I found a great hogshead of bread, and three large\nrunlets of rum or spirits, and a box of sugar, and a barrel of fine\nflower; this was surprising to me, because I had given over expecting\nany more provisions, except what was spoiled by the water: I soon\nemptied the hogshead of that bread, and wrapped it up, parcel by parcel,\nin pieces of the sails, which I cut out; and in a word, I got all this\nsafe on shore also.\n\nThe next day I made another voyage; and now, having plundered the ship\nof what was portable and fit to hand out, I began with the cables; and\ncutting the great cable into pieces, such as I could move, I got two\ncables and a hawser on shore, with all the iron-work I could get; and\nhaving cut down the spritsail-yard, and the mizen-yard, and every thing\nI could to make a large raft, I loaded it with all those heavy goods,\nand came away: but my good luck began now to leave me; for this raft was\nso unwieldy and so overladen, that after I had entered the little cove\nwhere I had landed the rest of my goods, not being able to guide it so\nhandily as I did the other, it overset, and threw me and all my cargo\ninto the water. As for myself, it was no great harm, for I was near the\nshore; but as to my cargo, it was great part of it lost, especially the\niron, which I expected would have been of great use to me: however,\nwhen the tide was out, I got most of the pieces of cable ashore, and\nsome of the iron, though with infinite labour; for I was fain to dip for\nit into the water, a work which fatigued me very much. After this, I\nwent every day on board, and brought away what I could get.\n\nI had been now thirteen days on shore, and had been eleven times on\nboard the ship; in which time I had brought away all that one pair of\nhands could well be supposed capable to bring, though I believe, verily,\nhad the calm weather held, I should have brought away the whole ship,\npiece by piece; but preparing the twelfth time to go on board, I found\nthe wind began to rise; however, at low water I went on board, and\nthough I thought I had rummaged the cabin so effectually, as that\nnothing more could be found, yet I discovered a locker with drawers in\nit, in one of which I found two or three razors, and one pair of large\nscissars, with some ten or a dozen of good knives and forks; in another\nI found about thirty-six pounds value in money, some European coin, some\nBrasil, some pieces of eight, some gold, some silver.\n\nI smiled to myself at the sight of this money. \"O drug!\" said I, aloud,\n\"what art thou good for? thou art not worth to me, no not the taking off\nof the ground; one of those knives is worth all this heap; I have no\nmanner of use for thee; even remain where thou art, and go to the bottom\nas a creature whose life is not worth saving.\" However, upon second\nthoughts, I took it away, and wrapping all this in a piece of canvass, I\nbegan to think of making another raft; but while I was preparing this, I\nfound the sky overcast, and the wind began to rise, and in a quarter of\nan hour it blew a fresh gale from the shore. It presently occurred to\nme, that it was in vain to pretend to make a raft with the wind off\nshore, and that it was my business to be gone before the tide of flood\nbegan, otherwise I might not be able to reach the shore at all;\naccordingly I let myself down into the water, and swam cross the\nchannel which lay between the ship and the sands, and even that with\ndifficulty enough, partly with the weight of things I had about me, and\npartly the roughness of the water, for the wind rose very hastily, and\nbefore it was quite high water it blew a storm.\n\nBut I was gotten home to my little tent, where I lay with all my wealth\nabout me very secure. It blew very hard all that night, and in the\nmorning when I looked out, behold no more ship was to be seen. I was a\nlittle surprised, but recovered myself with this satisfactory\nreflection, viz. that I had lost no time, nor abated no diligence to get\nevery thing out of her that could be useful to me, and that indeed there\nwas little left in her that I was able to bring away, if I had had\nmore time.\n\nI now gave over any more thoughts of the ship, or of any thing out of\nher, except what might drive on shore from her wreck, as indeed divers\npieces of her afterwards did; but those things were of small use to me.\n\nMy thoughts were now wholly employed about securing myself against\neither savages, if any should appear, or wild beasts, if any were in the\nisland; and I had many thoughts of the method how to do this, and what\nkind of dwelling to make; whether I should make me a cave in the earth,\nor a tent upon the earth: and, in short, I resolved upon both, the\nmanner and description of which it may not be improper to give an\naccount of.\n\nI soon found the place I was in was not for my settlement, particularly\nbecause it was upon a low moorish ground near the sea, and I believed\nwould not be wholesome, and more particularly because there was no fresh\nwater near it; so I resolved to find a more healthy and more convenient\nspot of ground.\n\nI consulted several things in my situation which I found would be proper\nfor me: 1st, Health, and fresh water, I just now mentioned, 2dly,\nShelter from the heat of the sun. 3dly, Security from ravenous\ncreatures, whether man or beast. 4thly, A view to the sea, that, if God\nsent any ship in sight, I might not lose any advantage for my\ndeliverance, of which I was not willing to banish all my\nexpectation yet.\n\nIn search of a place proper for this, I found a little plain on the side\nof a rising hill, whose front towards this little plain was steep as a\nhouse-side, so that nothing could come down upon me from the top: on the\nside of this rock there was a hollow place worn a little way in like the\nentrance or door of a cave, but there was not really any cave or way\ninto the rock at all.\n\nOn the flat of the green, just before this hollow place, I resolved to\npitch my tent: this plain was not above an hundred yards broad, and\nabout twice as long, and lay like a green before my door, and at the end\nof it descended irregularly every way down into the low grounds by the\nsea-side. It was on the N.N.W. side of the hill, so that I was sheltered\nfrom the heat every day, till it came to a W. and by S. sun, or\nthereabouts, which in those countries is near the setting.\n\nBefore I set up my tent, I drew a half-circle before the hollow place,\nwhich took in about ten yards in its semi-diameter from the rock, and\ntwenty yards in its diameter, from its beginning and ending.\n\nIn this half circle I pitched two rows of strong stakes, driving them\ninto the ground till they stood very firm, like piles, the biggest end\nbeing out of the ground about five foot and a half, and sharpened on the\ntop; the two rows did not stand above six inches from one another.\n\nThen I took the pieces of cable which I had cut in the ship, and laid\nthem in rows one upon another, within the circle between these two rows\nof stakes, up to the top, placing other stakes in the inside, leaning\nagainst them, about two foot and a half high, like a spur to a post; and\nthis fence was so strong, that neither man or beast could get into it or\nover it: this cost me a great deal of time and labour, especially to cut\nthe piles in the woods, bring them to the place, and drive them into\nthe earth.\n\nThe entrance into this place I made to be not by a door, but by a short\nladder, to go over the top: which ladder, when I was in, I lifted over\nafter me: and so I was completely fenced in, and fortified, as I\nthought, from all the world, and consequently slept secure in the night,\nwhich otherwise I could not have done, though, as it appeared afterward,\nthere was no need of all this caution from the enemies that I\napprehended danger from.\n\nInto this fence or fortress, with infinite labour, I carried all my\nriches, all my provisions, ammunition, and stores, of which you have the\naccount above; and I made me a large tent, which, to preserve me from\nthe rains, that in one part of the year are very violent there, I made\ndouble, viz. one smaller tent within, and one larger tent above it, and\ncovered the uppermost with a large tarpaulin which I had saved among\nthe sails.\n\nAnd now I lay no more for awhile in the bed which I had brought on\nshore, but in a hammock, which was indeed a very good one, and belonged\nto the mate of the ship.\n\nInto this tent I brought all my provisions, and every thing that would\nspoil by the wet; and having thus enclosed all my goods, I made up the\nentrance, which till now I had left open, and so passed and repassed, as\nI said, by a short ladder.\n\nWhen I had done this, I began to work my way into the rock, and bringing\nall the earth and stones that I dug down, out through my tent, I laid\nthem up within my fence in the nature of a terrace, that so it raised\nthe ground within about a foot and a half; and thus I made me a cave\njust behind my tent, which served me like a cellar to my house.\n\nIt cost me much labour, and many days, before all these things were\nbrought to perfection, and therefore I must go back to some other things\nwhich took up some of my thoughts. At the same time it happened, after\nI had laid my scheme for the setting up my tent, and making the cave,\nthat a storm of rain falling from a thick dark cloud, a sudden flash of\nlightning happened, and after that a great clap of thunder, as is\nnaturally the effect of it. I was not so much surprised with the\nlightning, as I was with a thought which darted into my mind as swift as\nthe lightning itself; O my powder! my very heart sunk within me, when I\nthought, that at one blast all my powder might be destroyed; on which,\nnot my defence only, but the providing me food, as I thought, entirely\ndepended; I was nothing near so anxious about my own danger; though, had\nthe powder took fire, I had never known who had hurt me.\n\nSuch impression did this make upon me, that, after the storm was over, I\nlaid aside all my works, my building, and fortifying, and applied myself\nto make bags and boxes to separate the powder, and to keep it a little\nand a little in a parcel, in hope, that, whatever might come, it might\nnot all take fire at once, and to keep it so apart, that it should not\nbe possible to make one part fire another. I finished this work in about\na fortnight; and I think my powder, which in all was about two hundred\nand forty pounds weight, was divided in not less than a hundred parcels.\nAs to the barrel that had been wet, I did not apprehend any danger from\nthat, so I placed it in my new cave, which in my fancy I called my\nkitchen; and the rest I hid up and down in holes among the rocks, so\nthat no wet might come to it, marking very carefully where I laid it.\n\nIn the interval of time while this was doing, I went out once at least\nevery day with my gun, as well to divert myself, as to see if I could\nkill any thing fit for food, and as near as I could to acquaint myself\nwith what the island produced. The first time I went out I presently\ndiscovered that there were goats in the island, which was a great\nsatisfaction to me; but then it was attended with this misfortune to me,\nviz. that they were so shy, so subtle, and so swift of foot, that it\nwas the most difficult thing in the world to come at them. But I was not\ndiscouraged at this, not doubting but I might now and then shoot one, as\nit soon happened; for after I had found their haunts a little, I laid\nwait in this manner for them: I observed, if they saw me in the vallies,\nthough they were upon the rocks, they would run away as in a terrible\nfright; but if they were feeding in the vallies, and I was upon the\nrocks, they took no notice of me; from whence I concluded, that by the\nposition of their optics, their sight was so directed downward, that\nthey did not readily see objects that were above them; so afterward I\ntook this method; I always climbed the rocks first, to get above them,\nand then had frequently a fair mark. The first shot I made among these\ncreatures killed a she-goat, which had a little kid by her which she\ngave suck to, which grieved me heartily; but when the old one fell, the\nkid stood stock still by her till I came and took her up; and not only\nso; but when I carried the old one with me upon my shoulders, the kid\nfollowed me quite to my enclosure; upon which I laid down the dam, and\ntook the kid in my arms, and carried it over my pale, in hopes to have\nbred it up tame; but it would not eat; so I was forced to kill it, and\neat it myself. These two supplied me with flesh a great while, for I ate\nsparingly, and saved my provisions (my bread especially) as much as\npossibly I could.\n\nHaving now fixed my habitation, I found it absolutely necessary to\nprovide a place to make a fire in, and fuel to burn; and what I did for\nthat, as also how I enlarged my cave, and what conveniencies I made, I\nshall give a full account of in its place; but I must first give some\nlittle account of myself, and of my thoughts about living, which it may\nwell be supposed were not a few.\n\nI had a dismal prospect of my condition; for as I was not cast away upon\nthat island without being driven, as is said, by a violent storm quite\nout of the course of our intended voyage, and a great way, viz. some\nhundreds of leagues out of the ordinary course of the trade of mankind,\nI had great reason to consider it as a determination of Heaven, that in\nthis desolate place, and in this desolate manner, I should end my life.\nThe tears would run plentifully down my face when I made these\nreflections; and sometimes I would expostulate with myself, why\nProvidence should thus completely ruin his creatures, and render them so\nabsolutely miserable, so without help abandoned, so entirely depressed,\nthat it could hardly be rational to be thankful for such a life.\n\nBut something always returned swift upon me to check these thoughts, and\nto reprove me; and particularly one day, walking with my gun in my hand\nby the sea-side, I was very pensive upon the subject of my present\ncondition, when reason, as it were, expostulating with the t'other way,\nthus: \"Well, you are in a desolate condition, 'tis true, but pray\nremember, where are the rest of you? Did not you come eleven of you into\nthe boat? Where are the ten? Why were they not saved and you lost? Why\nwere you singled out? Is it better to be here or there?\" And then I\npointed to the sea. All evils are to be considered with the good that is\nin them, and with what worse attended them.\n\nThen it occurred to me again, how well I was furnished for my\nsubsistence, and what would have been my ease if it had not happened,\nwhich was an hundred thousand to one, that the ship floated from the\nplace where she first struck, and was driven so near the shore that I\nhad time to get all these things out of her. What would have been my\ncase, if I had been to have lived in the condition in which I at first\ncame on shore, without necessaries of life, or necessaries to supply and\nprocure them? \"particularly,\" said I, loud (though to myself), \"what\nshould I have done without a gun, without ammunition, without any tools\nto make any thing, or to work with; without clothes, bedding, a tent, or\nany manner of covering?\" and that now I had all these to a sufficient\nquantity, and was in a fair way to provide myself in such a manner, as\nto live without my gun when my ammunition was spent; so that I had a\ntolerable view of subsisting, without any want, as long as I lived; for\nI considered from the beginning how I should provide for the accidents\nthat might happen, and for the time that was to come, even not only\nafter my ammunition should be spent, but even after my health or\nstrength should decay.\n\nI confess I had not entertained any notion of my ammunition being\ndestroyed at one blast, I mean my powder being blown up by lightning;\nand this made the thoughts of it so surprising to me when it lightned\nand thundered, as I observed just now.\n\nAnd now, being about to enter into a melancholy relation of a scene of\nsilent life, such perhaps as was never heard of in the world before, I\nshall take it from its beginning, and continue it in its order. It was,\nby my account, the 30th of September, when, in the manner as above said,\nI first set foot upon this horrid island, when the sun being, to us, in\nits autumnal equinox, was almost just over my head, for I reckoned\nmyself, by observation, to be in the latitude of 9 degrees 22 minutes\nnorth of the line.\n\nAfter I had been there about ten or twelve days, it came into my\nthoughts, that I should lose my reckoning of time for want of books, and\npen and ink, and should even forget the sabbath days from the working\ndays; but to prevent this, I cut it with my knife upon a large post, in\ncapital letters, and making it into a great cross, I set it up on the\nshore where I first landed, viz. \"I came on shore here on the 30th of\nSeptember 1659.\" Upon the sides of this square post, I cut every day a\nnotch with my knife, and every seventh notch was as long again as the\nrest, and every first day of the month as long again as that long one;\nand thus I kept my calendar, or weekly, monthly, and yearly reckoning\nof time.\n\nIn the next place we are to observe, that among the many things which I\nbrought out of the ship in the several voyages, which, as above\nmentioned, I made to it, I got several things of less value, but not all\nless useful to me, which I omitted setting down before; as in\nparticular, pens, ink, and paper, several parcels in the captain's,\nmate's, gunner's, and carpenter's keeping, three or four compasses, some\nmathematical instruments, dials, perspectives, charts, and books of\nnavigation; all which I huddled together, whether I might want them or\nno. Also I found three very good Bibles, which came to me in my cargo\nfrom England, and which I had packed up among my things; some Portuguese\nbooks also, and among them two or three popish prayer-books, and several\nother books; all which I carefully secured. And I must not forget, that\nwe had in the ship a dog and two cats, of whose eminent history I may\nhave occasion to say something in it's place; for I carried both the\ncats with me; and as for the dog, he jumped out of the ship of himself,\nand swam on shore to me the day after I went on shore with my first\ncargo, and was a trusty servant to me many years; I wanted nothing that\nhe could fetch me, nor any company that he could make up to me; I only\nwanted to have him talk to me, but that he could not do. As I observed\nbefore, I found pen, ink, and paper, and I husbanded them to the utmost;\nand I shall shew, that while my ink lasted, I kept things very exact;\nbut after that was gone I could not, for I could not make any ink by any\nmeans that I could devise.\n\nAnd this put me in mind that I wanted many things, notwithstanding all\nthat I had amassed together; and of these, this of ink was one, as also\nspade, pickaxe, and shovel, to dig or remove the earth; needles, pins,\nand thread. As for linen, I soon learnt to want that without much\ndifficulty.\n\nThis want of tools made every work I did go on heavily, and it was near\na whole year before I had entirely finished my little pale or surrounded\nhabitation: the piles or stakes, which were as heavy as I could well\nlift, were a long time in cutting and preparing in the woods, and more\nby far in bringing home; so that I spent sometimes two days in cutting\nand bringing home one of those posts, and a third day in driving it into\nthe ground; for which purpose I got a heavy piece of wood at first, but\nat last bethought myself of one of the iron crows, which however, though\nI found it, yet it made driving those posts or piles very laborious and\ntedious work.\n\nBut what need I have been concerned at the tediousness of any thing I\nhad to do, seeing I had time enough to do it in? Nor had I any other\nemployment if that had been over, at least that I could foresee, except\nthe ranging the island to seek for food, which I did more or less\nevery day.\n\nI now began to consider seriously my condition, and the circumstance I\nwas reduced to, and I drew up the state of my affairs in writing, not so\nmuch to leave them to any that were to come after me, for I was like to\nhave but few heirs, as to deliver my thoughts from daily poring upon\nthem, and afflicting my mind; and as my reason began now to master my\ndespondency, I began to comfort myself as well as I could, and to set\nthe good against the evil, that I might have something to distinguish my\ncase from worse; and I stated it very impartially, like debtor and\ncreditor, the comforts I enjoyed against the miseries I suffered, thus:\n\n     _Evil_.                      _Good_.\n\n     I am cast upon a horrible    But I am alive, and\n     desolate island, void        not drowned, as all my\n     of all hope of recovery.     ship's company was.\n\n     I am singled out and         But I am singled out\n     separated, as it were,       too from all the ship's\n     from all the world to be     crew to be spared from\n     miserable.                   death; and He that\n                                  miraculously saved me from\n                                  death, can deliver me\n                                  from this condition.\n\n     I am divided from            But I am not starved\n     mankind, a solitaire, one    and perishing on a barren\n     banished from human society. place, affording no sustenance.\n\n     I have not clothes to        But I am in a hot climate,\n     cover me.                    where if I had\n                                  clothes I could hardly wear\n                                  them.\n\n     I am without any defence     But I am cast on an\n     or means to resist           island, where I see no\n     any violence of man or       wild beasts to hurt me,\n     beast.                       as I saw on the coast of\n                                  Africa: and what if I\n                                  had been shipwrecked\n                                  there?\n\n     I have no soul to speak      But God wonderfully\n     to, or relieve me.           sent the ship in near\n                                  enough to the shore, that\n                                  I have gotten out so many\n                                  necessary things as will\n                                  either supply my wants,\n                                  or enable me to supply\n                                  myself even as long as I\n                                  live.\n\nUpon the whole, here was an undoubted testimony, that there was scarce\nany condition in the world so miserable, but there was something\n_negative_ or something _positive_ to be thankful for in it; and let\nthis stand as a direction from the experience of the most miserable of\nall conditions in this world, that we may always find in it something to\ncomfort ourselves from, and to set, in the description of good and evil,\non the credit side of the account.\n\nHaving now brought my mind a little to relish my condition, and given\nover looking out to sea, to see if I could spy a ship; I say, giving\nover these things, I began to apply myself to accommodate my way of\nliving, and to make things as easy to me as I could.\n\nI have already described my habitation, which was a tent under the side\nof a rock, surrounded with a strong pale of posts and cables; but I\nmight now rather call it a wall, for I raised a kind of wall up against\nit of turfs, about two foot thick on the outside; and after some time, I\nthink it was a year and half, I raised rafters from it, leaning to the\nrock, and thatched or covered it with boughs of trees, and such things\nas I could get to keep out the rain, which I found at some times of the\nyear very violent.\n\nI have already observed how I brought all my goods into this pale, and\ninto the cave which I had made behind me: but I must observe too that at\nfirst this was a confused heap of goods, which as they lay in no order,\nso they took up all my place: I had no room to turn myself; so I set\nmyself to enlarge my cave, and work farther into the earth; for it was a\nloose sandy rock, which yielded easily to the labour I bestowed on it:\nand so when I found I was pretty safe as to beasts of prey, I worked\nsideways to the right hand into the rock; and then, turning to the right\nagain, worked quite out, and made me a door to come out, on the outside\nof my pale or fortification.\n\nThis gave me not only egress and regress, as it were a back-way to my\ntent and to my storehouse, but gave me room to stow my goods.\n\nAnd now I began to apply myself to make such necessary things as I found\nI most wanted, particularly a chair and a table; for without these I was\nnot able to enjoy the few comforts I had in the world; I could not write\nor eat, or do several things with so much pleasure without a table.\n\nSo I went to work; and here I must needs observe, that as reason is the\nsubstance and original of the mathematics, so by stating and squaring\nevery thing by reason, and by making the most rational judgment of\nthings, every man may be in time master of every mechanic art. I had\nnever handled a tool in my life, and yet in time, by labour,\napplication, and contrivance, I found at last that I wanted nothing but\nI could have made it, especially if I had had tools; however, I made\nabundance of things, even without tools, and some with no more tools\nthan an adze and a hatchet, which perhaps were never made that way\nbefore, and that with infinite labour: for example, if I wanted a board,\nI had no other way but to cut down a tree, set it on an edge before me,\nand hew it flat on either side with my axe, till I had brought it to be\nas thin as a plank, and then dub it smooth with my adze. It is true, by\nthis method I could make but one board out of a whole tree; but this I\nhad no remedy for but patience, any more than I had for the prodigious\ndeal of time and labour which it took me up to make a plank or board:\nbut my time or labour was little worth, and so it was as well employed\none way as another.\n\nHowever, I made me a table and a chair, as I observed above, in the\nfirst place; and this I did out of the short pieces of boards that I\nbrought on my raft from the ship: but when I had wrought out some\nboards, as above, I made large shelves of the breadth of a foot and a\nhalf one over another, all along one side of my cave, to lay all my\ntools, nails, and iron-work, and in a word, to separate every thing at\nlarge in their places, that I might come easily at them. I knocked\npieces into the wall of the rock to hang my guns and all things that\nwould hang up.\n\nSo that, had my cave been to be seen, it looked like a general magazine\nof all necessary things; and I had every thing so ready at my hand, that\nit was a great pleasure to me to see all my goods in such order, and\nespecially to find my stock of all necessaries so great.\n\nAnd now it was that I began to keep a journal of every day's employment;\nfor indeed at first I was in too much a hurry; and not only hurry as to\nlabour, but in too much discomposure of mind, and my journal would have\nbeen full of many dull things. For example, I must have said thus: Sept.\nthe 30th, after I got to shore, and had escaped drowning, instead of\nbeing thankful to God for my deliverance, having first vomited with the\ngreat quantity of salt water which was gotten into my stomach, and\nrecovering myself a little, I ran about the shore, wringing my hands,\nand beating my head and face, exclaiming at my misery, and crying out, I\nwas undone, undone; till tired and faint I was forced to lie down on the\nground to repose, but durst not sleep for fear of being devoured.\n\nSome days after this, and after I had been on board the ship, and got\nall that I could out of her, yet I could not forbear getting up to the\ntop of a little mountain, and looking out to sea in hopes of seeing a\nship; then fancy at a vast distance I spied a sail; please myself with\nthe hopes of it; and then after looking steadily till I was almost\nblind, lose it quite, and sit down and weep like a child, and thus\nincrease my misery by my folly.\n\nBut having gotten over these things in some measure, and having settled\nmy household-stuff and habitation, made me a table and a chair, and all\nas handsome about me as I could, I began to keep my journal, of which I\nshall here give you the copy (though in it will be told all those\nparticulars over again) as long as it lasted; for having no more ink, I\nwas forced to leave it off.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE JOURNAL.\n\n_September 30, 1659_.\n\nI poor miserable Robinson Crusoe, being shipwrecked, during a dreadful\nstorm in the offing, came on shore on this dismal unfortunate island,\nwhich I called the Island of Despair; all the rest of the ship's company\nbeing drowned, and myself almost dead.\n\nAll the rest of that day I spent in afflicting myself at the dismal\ncircumstances I was brought to, viz. I had neither food, house,\nclothes, weapon, or place to fly to, and in despair of any relief, saw\nnothing but death before me, either that I should be devoured by wild\nbeasts, murdered by savages, or starved to death for want of food. At\nthe approach of night I slept in a tree, for fear of wild creatures, but\nslept soundly, though it rained all night.\n\nOctober 1. In the morning I saw, to my great surprise, the ship had\nfloated with the high tide, and was driven on shore again much nearer\nthe island; which as it was some comfort on one hand, for seeing her sit\nupright, and not broken to pieces, I hoped, if the wind abated, I might\nget on board, and get some food and necessaries out of her for my\nrelief; so on the other hand, it renewed my grief at the loss of my\ncomrades, who I imagined, if we had all staid on board, might have saved\nthe ship, or at least that they would not have been all drowned, as they\nwere; and that, had the men been saved, we might perhaps have built us a\nboat out of the ruins of the ship, to have carried us to some other part\nof the world. I spent great part of this day in perplexing myself on\nthese things; but at length, seeing the ship almost dry, I went upon the\nsand as near as I could, and then swam on board. This day also it\ncontinued raining, though with no wind at all.\n\nFrom the 1st of October to the 24th. All these days entirely spent in\nmany several voyages to get all I could out of the ship, which I brought\non shore, every tide of flood, upon rafts. Much rain also in these days,\nthough with some intervals of fair weather: but, it seems, this was the\nrainy season.\n\nOct. 20. I overset my raft, and all the goods I had got up upon it; but\nbeing in shoal water, and the things being chiefly heavy, I recovered\nmany of them when the tide was out.\n\nOct. 25. It rained all night and all day, with some gusts of wind;\nduring which time the ship broke in pieces, the wind blowing a little\nharder than before, and was no more to be seen, except the wreck of her,\nand that only at low water. I spent this day in covering and securing\nthe goods which I had saved, that rain might not spoil them.\n\nOct. 26. I walked about the shore almost all day, to find out a place to\nfix my habitation, greatly concerned to secure myself from any attack in\nthe night, either from wild beasts or men. Towards night I fixed upon a\nproper place under a rock, and marked out a semicircle for my\nencampment, which I resolved to strengthen with a work, wall, or\nfortification made of double piles, lined within with cable, and without\nwith turf.\n\nFrom the 26th to the 30th I worked very hard in carrying all my goods to\nmy new habitation, though some part of the time it rained\nexceeding hard.\n\nThe 31st in the morning I went out into the island with my gun, to see\nfor some food, and discover the country; when I killed a she goat, and\nher kid followed me home, which I afterwards killed also, because it\nwould not feed.\n\nNovember 1. I set up my tent under a rock, and lay there for the first\nnight, making it as large as I could with stakes driven in to swing my\nhammock upon.\n\nNov. 2. I set up all my chests and boards, and the pieces of timber\nwhich made my rafts, and with them formed a fence round me, a little\nwithin the place I had marked out for my fortification.\n\nNov. 3. I went out with my gun, and killed two fowls like ducks, which\nwere very good food. In the afternoon went to work to make me a table.\n\nNov. 4. This morning I began to order my times of work, of going out\nwith my gun, time of sleep, and time of diversion; viz. every morning I\nwalked out with my gun for two or three hours, if it did not rain, then\nemployed myself to work till about eleven o'clock, then ate what I had\nto live on, and from twelve to two I lay down to sleep, the weather\nbeing excessive hot, and then in the evening to work again: the working\npart of this day and of the next were wholly employed in making my\ntable, for I was yet but a very sorry workman, though time and necessity\nmake me a complete natural mechanic soon after, as I believe it would do\nany one else.\n\nNov. 5. This day went abroad with my gun and my dog, and killed a wild\ncat, her skin pretty soft, but her flesh good for nothing: every\ncreature I killed I took off the skins and preserved them. Coming back\nby the sea-shore I saw many sorts of sea-fowls, which I did not\nunderstand; but was surprised and almost frighted with two or three\nseals, which, while I was gazing at, not well knowing what they were,\ngot into the sea, and escaped me for that time.\n\nNov. 6. After my morning walk I went to work with my table again, and\nfinished it, though not to my liking, nor was it long before I learnt\nto mend it.\n\nNov. 7. Now it began to be settled fair weather. The 7th, 8th, 9th,\n10th, and part of the 12th (for the 11th was Sunday), I took wholly up\nto make me a chair, and with much ado brought it to a tolerable shape,\nbut never to please me; and even in the making I pulled it in pieces\nseveral times. _Note_, I soon neglected my keeping Sundays, for omitting\nmy mark for them on my post, I forgot which was which.\n\nNov. 13. This day it rained, which refreshed me exceedingly, and cooled\nthe earth, but it was accompanied with terrible thunder and lightning,\nwhich frighted me dreadfully for fear of my powder: as soon as it was\nover I resolved to separate my stock of powder into as many little\nparcels as possible, that it might not be in danger.\n\nNov. 14, 15, 16. These three days I spent in making little square chests\nor boxes, which might hold a pound, or two pound, at most, of powder;\nand so putting the powder in, I stowed it in places as secure and remote\nfrom one another as possible. On one of these three days I killed a\nlarge bird that was good to eat, but I knew not what to call it.\n\nNov. 17. This day I began to dig behind my tent into the rock, to make\nroom for my farther conveniency. _Note_, Three things I wanted\nexceedingly for this work, viz. a pickaxe, a shovel, and a wheel-barrow\nor basket; so I desisted from my work, and began to consider how to\nsupply that want, and make me some tools: as for a pickaxe, I made use\nof the iron crows, which were proper enough, though heavy; but the next\nthing was a shovel or spade; this was so absolutely necessary, that\nindeed I could do nothing effectually without it; but what kind of one\nto make I knew not.\n\nNov. 18. The next day in searching the woods I found a tree of that\nwood, or like it, which in the Brasils they call the iron tree, for its\nexceeding hardness: of this, with great labour and almost spoiling my\naxe, I cut a piece, and brought it home too with difficulty enough, for\nit was exceeding heavy.\n\nThe excessive hardness of the wood, and having no other way, made me a\nlong while upon this machine; for I worked it effectually by little and\nlittle into the form of a shovel or spade, the handle exactly shaped\nlike ours in England, only that the broad part having no iron shod upon\nit at bottom, it would not last me so long; however, it served well\nenough for the uses which I had occasion to put it to; but never was a\nshovel, I believe, made after that fashion, or so long a making.\n\nI was still deficient, for I wanted a basket or a wheel-barrow; a basket\nI could not make by any means, having no such things as twigs that would\nbend to make wicker-ware, at least none yet found out; and as to a\nwheel-barrow, I fancied I could make; all but the wheel, but that I had\nno notion of, neither did I know how to go about it; besides, I had no\npossible way to make the iron gudgeons for the spindle or axis of the\nwheel to run in, so I gave it over; and so for carrying away the earth\nwhich I dug out of the cave, I made me a thing like a hod which the\nlabourers carry mortar in, when they serve the bricklayers.\n\nThis was not so difficult to me as the making the shovel; and yet this,\nand the shovel, and the attempt which I made in vain to make a\nwheel-barrow, took me up no less than four days, I mean always excepting\nmy morning walk with my gun, which I seldom failed; and very seldom\nfailed also bringing home something to eat.\n\nNov. 23. My other work having now stood still, because of my making\nthese tools, when they were finished I went on, and working every day,\nas my strength and time allowed, I spent eighteen days entirely in\nwidening and deepening my cave, that it might hold my goods\ncommodiously.\n\n_Note_, During all this time, I worked to make this room or cave\nspacious enough to accommodate me as a warehouse or magazine, a kitchen,\na dining-room, and a cellar: as for my lodging, I kept to the tent,\nexcept that sometimes in the wet season of the year, it rained so hard\nthat I could not keep myself dry, which caused me afterwards to cover\nall my place within my pale with long poles in the form of rafters,\nleaning against the rock, and load them with flags and large leaves of\ntrees like a thatch.\n\nDec. 10. I began now to think my cave or vault finished, when on a\nsudden (it seems I had made it too large) a great quantity of earth fell\ndown from the top and one side, so much that in short it frighted me,\nand not without reason too; for if I had been under it I had never\nwanted a gravedigger. Upon this disaster I had a great deal of work to\ndo over again; for I had the loose earth to carry out, and, which was of\nmore importance, I had the ceiling to prop up, so that I might be sure\nno more would come down.\n\nDec. 11. This day I went to work with it accordingly, and got two shores\nor posts pitched upright to the top, with two pieces of boards across\nover each post; this I finished the next day; and setting more posts up\nwith boards, in about a week more I had the roof secured; and the posts,\nstanding in rows, served me for partitions to part off my house.\n\nDec. 17. From this day to the twentieth I placed shelves, and knocked\nup nails on the posts to hang every thing up that could be hung up: and\nnow I began to be in some order within doors.\n\nDec. 20. Now I carried every thing into the cave, and began to furnish\nmy house, and set up some pieces of boards like a dresser, to order my\nvictuals upon; but boards began to be very scarce with me: also I made\nme another table.\n\nDec. 24. Much rain all night and all day; no stirring out.\n\nDec. 25. Rain all day.\n\nDec. 26. No rain, and the earth much cooler than before and pleasanter.\n\nDec. 27. Killed a young goat, and lamed another, so that I caught it,\nand led it home in a string; when I had it home, I bound and splintered\nup its leg which was broke. N.B. I took such care of it that it lived,\nand the leg grew well and as strong as ever; but by nursing it so long\nit grew tame, and fed upon the little green at my door, and would not go\naway. This was the first time that I entertained a thought of breeding\nup some tame creatures, that I might have food when my powder and shot\nwas all spent.\n\nDec. 28, 29, 30. Great heats and no breeze; so that there was no\nstirring abroad, except in the evening for food. This time I spent in\nputting all my things in order within doors.\n\nJanuary 1. Very hot still, but I went abroad early and late with my gun,\nand lay still in the middle of the day. This evening, going farther into\nthe vallies which lay towards the centre of the island, I found there\nwas plenty of goats, though exceeding shy and hard to come at; however,\nI resolved to try if I could not bring my dog to hunt them down.\n\nJan. 2. Accordingly, the next day I went out with my dog, and set him\nupon the goats; but I was mistaken, for they all faced about upon the\ndog; and he knew his danger too well, for he would, not come near them.\n\nJan. 3. I began my fence or wall; which, being still jealous of my\nbeing attacked by somebody, I resolved to make very thick and strong.\n\n     N.B. This wall being described before, I purposely omit what\n     was said, in the Journal; it is sufficient to observe, that I\n     was no less time than from the 3d of January to the 14th of\n     April, working, finishing, and perfecting this wall, though\n     it was no more than about twenty-four yards in length, being\n     a half-circle from one place in the rock to another place\n     about eight yards from it, the door of the cave being in the\n     centre behind it.\n\nAll this time I worked very hard, the rains hindering me many days, nay,\nsometimes weeks together; But I thought I should never be perfectly\nsecure until this wall was finished; and it is scarce credible what\ninexpressible labour every thing was done with, especially the bringing\npiles out of the woods, and driving them into the ground, for I made\nthem much bigger than I need to have done.\n\nWhen this wall was finished, and the outside double fenced with a turf\nwall raised up close to it, I persuaded myself that if any people were\nto come on shore there, they would not perceive any thing like a\nhabitation; and it was very well I did so, as may be observed hereafter\nupon a very remarkable occasion.\n\nDuring this time I made my rounds in the woods for game every day, when\nthe rain admitted me, and made frequent discoveries in these walks of\nsomething or other to my advantage; particularly I found a kind of wild\npigeons, who built not as wood pigeons in a tree, but rather as house\npigeons, in the holes of the rocks; and taking some young ones, I\nendeavoured to breed them up tame, and did so; but when they grew older\nthey flew away, which perhaps was at first for want of feeding them, for\nI had nothing to give them; however, I frequently found their nests, and\ngot their young ones, which were very good meat.\n\nAnd now, in the managing my household affairs, I found myself wanting in\nmany things, which I thought at first it was impossible for me to make,\nas indeed as to some of them it was; for instance, I could never make a\ncask to be hooped; I had a small runlet or two, as I observed before,\nbut I could never arrive to the capacity of making one by them, though I\nspent many weeks about it; I could neither put in the heads, or joint\nthe staves so true to one another as to make them hold water: so I gave\nthat also over.\n\nIn the next place, I was at a great loss for candle; so that as soon as\never it was dark, which was generally by seven o'clock, I was obliged to\ngo to bed: I remembered the lump of bees-wax with which I made candles\nin my African adventure, but I had none of that now; the only remedy I\nhad, was, that when I had killed a goat I saved the tallow, and with a\nlittle dish made of clay, which I baked in the sun, to which I added a\nwick of some oakum, I made me a lamp; and this gave me light, though not\na clear steady light like a candle. In the middle of all my labours it\nhappened, that, rummaging my things, I found a little bag, which, as I\nhinted before, had been filled with corn for the feeding of poultry; not\nfor this voyage, but before, as I suppose, when the ship came from\nLisbon; what little remainder of corn had been in the bag, was all\ndevoured with the rats, and I saw nothing in the bag but husks and dust;\nand being willing to have the bag for some other use, I think it was to\nput powder in, when I divided it for fear of the lightning, or some such\nuse, I shook the husks of corn out of it on one side of my fortification\nunder the rock.\n\nIt was a little before the great rains, just now mentioned, that I threw\nthis stuff away, taking no notice of any thing, and not so much as\nremembering that I had thrown any thing there; when about a month after,\nor thereabout, I saw some few stalks of something green shooting out of\nthe ground, which I fancied might be some plant I had not seen; but I\nwas surprised and perfectly astonished, when after a little longer time\nI saw about ten or twelve ears come out, which were perfect green barley\nof the same kind as our European, nay, as our English barley.\n\nIt is impossible to express the astonishment and confusion of my\nthoughts on this occasion; I had hitherto acted upon no religious\nfoundation at all; indeed I had very few notions of religion in my head,\nor had entertained any sense of any thing that had befallen me,\notherwise than as a chance, or, as we lightly say, what pleases God;\nwithout so much as inquiring into the end of Providence in these things,\nor his order in governing events in the world: but after I saw barley\ngrow there, in a climate which I knew was not proper for corn, and\nespecially that I knew not how it came there, it startled me strangely,\nand I began to suggest, that God had miraculously caused this grain to\ngrow without any help of seed sown, and that it was so directed purely\nfor my sustenance on that wild miserable place.\n\nThis touched my heart a little, and brought tears out of my eyes, and I\nbegan to bless myself, that such a prodigy of nature should happen upon\nmy account; and this was the more strange to me, because I saw near it\nstill, all along by the side of the rock, some other straggling stalks,\nwhich proved to be stalks of rice, and which I knew, because I had seen\nit grow in Africa, when I was ashore there.\n\nI not only thought these the pure productions of Providence for my\nsupport, but not doubting but that there was more in the place, I went\nall over that part of the island, where I had been before, peeping in\nevery corner and under every rock to see for more of it, but I could not\nfind any; at last it occurred to my thought, that I had shook a bag of\nchicken's meat out in that place, and then the wonder began to cease;\nand I must confess, my religious thankfulness to God's providence began\nto abate too upon discovering that all this was nothing but what was\ncommon; though I ought to have been as thankful for so strange and\nunforeseen a providence as if it had been miraculous; for it was really\nthe work of Providence as to me, that should order or appoint ten or\ntwelve grains of corn to remain unspoiled, when the rats had destroyed\nall the rest, as if it had been dropped from heaven: as also, that I\nshould throw it out in that particular place, where, it being in the\nshade of a high rock, it sprang up immediately; whereas if I had thrown\nit any were else at that time, it had been burnt up and destroyed.\n\nI carefully saved the ears of corn, you may be sure, in their season,\nwhich was about the end of June, and laying up every corn, I resolved to\nsow them all again, hoping in time to have some quantity sufficient to\nsupply me with bread; but it was not till the fourth year that I could\nallow myself the least grain of this corn to eat, and even then but\nsparingly, as I shall say afterwards in its order; for I lost all that I\nsowed the first season, by not observing the proper time; for I sowed it\njust before the dry season, so that it never came up at all, at least\nnot as it would have done: of which in its place.\n\nBesides this barley there were, as above, twenty or thirty stalks of\nrice, which I preserved with the same care, and whose use was of the\nsame kind or to the same purpose, viz. to make me bread, or rather food;\nfor I found ways to cook it up without baking, though I did that also\nafter some time. But to return to my journal.\n\nI worked excessive hard these three or four months to get my wall done;\nand the 14th of April I closed it up, contriving to go into it, not by a\ndoor, but over the wall by a ladder, that there might be no sign in the\noutside of my habitation.\n\nApril 16. I finished the ladder; so I went up with the ladder to the\ntop, and then pulled it up after me, and let it down on the inside: this\nwas a complete enclosure to me; for within I had room enough, and\nnothing could come at me from without, unless it could first mount\nmy wall.\n\nThe very next day after this wall was finished, I had almost had all my\nlabour overthrown at once, and myself killed; the case was thus: As I\nwas busy in the inside of it behind my tent, just in the entrance into\nmy cave, I was terribly frighted with a most dreadful surprising thing\nindeed; for on a sudden I found the earth come crumbling down from the\nroof of my cave, and from the edge of the hill, over my head, and two of\nthe posts I had set up in the cave cracked in a frightful manner: I was\nheartily scared, but thought nothing of what was really the cause, only\nthinking that the top of my cave was falling in, as some of it had done\nbefore; and for fear I should be buried in it, I ran forward to my\nladder, and not thinking myself safe there neither, I got over my wall\nfor fear of the pieces of the hill which I expected might roll down upon\nme. I was no sooner stept down upon the firm ground, but I plainly saw\nit was a terrible earthquake, for the ground I stood on shook three\ntimes at about eight minutes distance, with three such shocks, as would\nhave overturned the strongest building that could be supposed to have\nstood on the earth; and a great piece of the top of a rock, which stood\nabout half a mile from me next the sea, fell down with such a terrible\nnoise as I never heard in all my life: I perceived also the very sea was\nput into violent motion by it; and I believe the shocks were stronger\nunder the water than on the island.\n\nI was so amazed with the thing itself, having never felt the like, or\ndiscoursed with any one that had, that I was like one dead or stupified;\nand the motion of the earth made my stomach sick, like one that was\ntossed at sea; but the noise of the falling of the rock awaked me, as it\nwere, and rousing me from the stupified condition I was in, filled me\nwith horror, and I thought of nothing then but the hill falling upon my\ntent and all my household goods, and burying all at once; and this sunk\nmy very soul within me a second time.\n\nAfter the third shock was over, and I felt no more for some time, I\nbegan to take courage, and yet I had not heart enough to get over my\nwall again, for fear of being buried alive, but sat still upon the\nground, greatly cast down and disconsolate, not knowing what to do. All\nthis while I had not the least serious religious thought, nothing but\nthe common \"Lord have mercy upon me!\" and when it was over, that\nwent away too.\n\nWhile I sat thus, I found the air overcast, and grow cloudy, as if it\nwould rain; soon after that the wind rose by little and little, so that\nin less than half an hour it blew a most dreadful hurricane: the sea was\nall on a sudden covered over with foam and froth, the shore was covered\nwith the breach of the water, the trees were torn up by the roots, and a\nterrible storm it was; and this held about three hours, and then began\nto abate, and in two hours more it was stark calm, and began to rain\nvery hard.\n\nAll this while I sat upon the ground, very much terrified and dejected,\nwhen on a sudden it came into my thoughts, that these winds and rain\nbeing the consequence of the earthquake, the earthquake itself was spent\nand over, and I might venture into my cave again: with this thought my\nspirits began to revive, and the rain also helping to persuade me, I\nwent in and sat down in my tent; but the rain was so violent, that my\ntent was ready to be beaten down with it; and I was forced to go into my\ncave, though very much afraid and uneasy, for fear it should fall on\nmy head.\n\nThis violent rain forced me to a new work, viz. to cut a hole through my\nnew fortification like a sink, to let water go out, which would else\nhave drowned my cave. After I had been in my cave some time, and found\nstill no more shocks of the earthquake follow, I began to be more\ncomposed; and now, to support my spirits, which indeed wanted it very\nmuch, I went to my little store, and took a small sup of rum, which\nhowever I did then and always very sparingly, knowing I could have no\nmore when that was gone.\n\nIt continued raining all that night, and great part of the next day, so\nthat I could not stir abroad; but my mind being more composed, I began\nto think of what I had best do, concluding, that if the island was\nsubject to these earthquakes, there would be no living for me in a cave,\nbut I must consider of building me some little hut in an open place,\nwhich I might surround with a wall as I had done here, and so make\nmyself secure from wild beasts or men: but concluded, if I staid where I\nwas, I should certainly, one time or other, be buried alive.\n\nWith these thoughts I resolved to remove my tent from the place where it\nstood, which was just under the hanging precipice of the hill, and\nwhich, if it should be shaken again, would certainly fall upon my tent.\nAnd I spent the two next days, being the 19th and 20th of April, in\ncontriving where and how to remove my habitation.\n\nThe fear of being swallowed up alive, made me that I never slept in\nquiet, and yet the apprehension of lying abroad without any fence was\nalmost equal to it; but still, when I looked about and saw how every\nthing was put in order, how pleasantly concealed I was, and how safe\nfrom danger, it made me very loth to remove.\n\nIn the meantime it occurred to me that it would require a vast deal of\ntime for me to do this, and that I must be contented to run the venture\nwhere I was, till I had formed a camp for myself, and had secured it so\nas to remove to it. So with this resolution I composed myself for a\ntime, and resolved that I would go to work with all speed to build me a\nwall with piles and cables, &c. in a circle as before; and set my tent\nup in it when it was finished, but that I would venture to stay where I\nwas till it was finished and fit to remove to. This was the 21st.\n\nApril 22. The next morning I began to consider of means to put this\nresolve in execution, but I was at a great loss about my tools. I had\nthree large axes and abundance of hatchets (for we carried the hatchets\nfor traffic with the Indians); but with much chopping and cutting\nknotty hard wood, they were all full of notches and dull; and though I\nhad a grindstone, I could not turn it and grind my tools too: this cost\nme as much thought as a statesman would have bestowed upon a grand point\nof politics, or a judge upon the life and death of a man. At length I\ncontrived a wheel with a string, to turn it with my foot, that I might\nhave both my hands at liberty. _Note_, I had never seen any such thing\nin England, or at least not to take notice how it was done, though since\nI have observed it is very common there; besides that, my grindstone was\nvery large and heavy. This machine cost me a full week's work to bring\nit to perfection.\n\nApril 28, 29. These two whole days I took up in grinding my tools, my\nmachine for turning my grindstone performing very well.\n\nApril 30. Having perceived my bread had been low a great while, now I\ntook a survey of it, and reduced myself to one biscuit-cake a day, which\nmade my heart very heavy.\n\nMay 1. In the morning, looking towards the sea-side, the tide being low,\nI saw something lie on the shore bigger than ordinary; and it looked\nlike a cask; when I came to it, I found a small barrel, and two or three\npieces of the wreck of the ship, which were driven on shore by the late\nhurricane; and looking towards the wreck itself, I thought it seemed to\nlie higher out of the water than it used to do. I examined the barrel\nwhich was driven on shore, and soon found it was a barrel of gunpowder,\nbut it had taken water, and the powder was caked as hard as a stone;\nhowever, I rolled it farther on shore for the present, and went on upon\nthe sands as near as I could to the wreck of the ship, to look for more.\n\nWhen I came down to the ship, I found it strangely removed; the\nforecastle, which lay before buried in sand, was heaved up at least six\nfoot; and the stern, which was broke to pieces, and parted from the rest\nby the force of the sea, soon after I had left rummaging her, was\ntossed, as it were, up, and cast on one side, and the sand was thrown so\nhigh on that side next her stern, that whereas there was a great place\nof water before, so that I could not come within a quarter of a mile of\nthe wreck without swimming, I could now walk quite up to her when the\ntide was out. I was surprised with this at first, but soon concluded it\nmust be done by the earthquake: and as by this violence the ship was\nmore broken open than formerly, so many things came daily on shore,\nwhich the sea had loosened, and which the winds and water rolled by\ndegrees to the land.\n\nThis wholly diverted my thoughts from the design of removing my\nhabitation; and I busied myself mightily, that day especially, in\nsearching whether I could make any way into the ship; but I found\nnothing was to be expected of that kind, for that all the inside of the\nship was choked up with sand: however, as I had learnt not to despair of\nany thing, I resolved to pull every thing to pieces that I could of the\nship, concluding, that every thing I could get from her would be of some\nuse or other to me.\n\nMay 3. I began with my saw, and cut a piece of a beam through, which I\nthought held some of the upper part or quarter-deck together, and when I\nhad cut it through, I cleared away the sand as well as I could from the\nside which lay highest; but the tide coming in, I was obliged to give\nover for that time.\n\nWay 4. I went a-fishing, but caught not one fish that I durst eat of,\ntill I was weary of my sport; when just going to leave off, I caught a\nyoung dolphin. I had made me a long line of some rope yarn, but I had no\nhooks, yet I frequently caught fish enough, as much as I cared to eat;\nall which I dried in the sun, and ate them dry.\n\nMay 5. Worked on the wreck, cut another beam asunder, and brought three\ngreat fir planks off from the decks, which I tied together, and made\nswim on shore when the tide of flood came on.\n\nMay 6. Worked on the wreck, got several iron bolts out of her, and\nother pieces of iron-work; worked very hard, and came home very much\ntired, and had thoughts of giving it over.\n\nMay 7. Went to the wreck again, but with an intent not to work, but\nfound the weight of the wreck had broke itself down, the beams being\ncut, that several pieces of the ship seemed to lie loose, and the inside\nof the hold lay so open, that I could see into it, but almost full of\nwater and sand.\n\nMay 8. Went to the wreck, and carried an iron crow to wrench up the\ndeck, which lay now quite clear of the water or sand; I wrenched open\ntwo planks, and brought them on shore also with the tide: I left the\niron crow in the wreck for next day.\n\nMay 9. Went to the wreck, and with the crow made way into the body of\nthe wreck, and felt several casks, and loosened them with the crow, but\ncould not break them up: I felt also the roll of English lead, and could\nstir it, but it was too heavy to remove.\n\nMay 10, 11, 12, 13, 14. Went every day to the wreck, and got a great\nmany pieces of timber, and boards, or plank, and two or three hundred\nweight of iron.\n\nMay 15. I carried two hatchets, to try if I could not cut a piece off\nthe roll of lead, by placing the edge of one hatchet, and driving it\nwith the other; but as it lay about a foot and a half in the water, I\ncould not make any blow to drive the hatchet.\n\nMay 16. It had blown hard in the night, and the wreck appeared more\nbroken by the force of the water; but I staid so long in the woods to\nget pigeons for food, that the tide prevented me going to the wreck\nthat day.\n\nMay 17. I saw some pieces of the wreck blown on shore, at a great\ndistance, near two miles off me, but resolved to see what they were, and\nfound it was a piece of the head, but too heavy for me to bring away.\n\nMay 24. Every day to this day I worked on the wreck, and with hard\nlabour I loosened some things so much with the crow, that the first\nflowing tide several casks floated out, and two of the seamen's chests;\nbut the wind blowing from the shore, nothing came to land that day but\npieces of timber, and a hogshead, which had some Brasil pork in it, but\nthe salt water and the sand had spoiled it.\n\nI continued this work every day to the 15th of June, except the time\nnecessary to get food, which I always appointed, during this part of my\nemployment, to be when the tide was up, that I might be ready when it\nwas ebbed out; and by this time I had gotten timber, and plank, and\niron-work enough to have built a good boat, if I had known how; and also\nI got at several times, and in several pieces, near one hundred weight\nof the sheet-lead.\n\nJune 16. Going down to the sea-side, I found a large tortoise or turtle:\nthis was the first I had seen, which it seems was only my misfortune,\nnot any defect of the place, or scarcity; for had I happened to be on\nthe other side of the island, I might have had hundreds of them every\nday, as I found afterwards; but perhaps had paid dear enough for them.\n\nJune 17. I spent in cooking the turtle; I found in her threescore eggs;\nand her flesh was to me at that time the most savory and pleasant that\never I tasted in my life, having had no flesh, but of goats and fowls,\nsince I landed in this horrid place.\n\nJune 18. Rained all day, and I stayed within. I thought at this time the\nrain felt cold, and I was something chilly, which I knew was not usual\nin that latitude.\n\nJune 19. Very ill, and shivering, as if the weather had been cold.\n\nJune 20. No rest all night, violent pains in my head, and feverish.\n\nJune 21. Very ill, frighted almost to death with the apprehensions of my\nsad condition, to be sick, and no help. Prayed to God for the first time\nsince the storm off Hull, but scarce knew what I said, or why; my\nthoughts being all confused.\n\nJune 22. A little better, but under dreadful apprehensions of sickness.\n\nJune 23. Very bad again, cold and shivering, and then a violent headach.\n\nJune 24. Much better.\n\nJune 25. An ague very violent; the fit held me seven hours, cold fit and\nhot, with faint sweats after it.\n\nJune 26. Better; and having no victuals to eat, took my gun, but found\nmyself very weak; however, I killed a she-goat, and with much difficulty\ngot it home, and broiled some of it, and ate; I would fain have stewed\nit, and made some broth, but had no pot.\n\nJune 27. The ague again so violent, that I lay abed all day, and neither\nate or drank. I was ready to perish for thirst, but so weak I had not\nstrength to stand up, or to get myself any water to drink. Prayed to God\nagain, but was light-headed; and when I was not I was so ignorant, that\nI knew not what to say; only I lay and cried, \"Lord look upon me! Lord\npity me! Lord have mercy upon me!\" I suppose I did nothing else for two\nor three hours, till the fit wearing off, I fell asleep, and did not\nwake till far in the night; when I waked, I found myself much refreshed,\nbut weak, and exceeding thirsty: however, as I had no water in my whole\nhabitation, I was forced to lie till morning, and went to sleep again.\nIn this second sleep I had this terrible dream.\n\nI thought that I was sitting on the ground on the outside of my wall,\nwhere I sat when the storm blew after the earthquake, and that I saw a\nman descend from a great black cloud, in a bright flame of fire, and\nlight upon the ground. He was all over as bright as a flame, so that I\ncould but just bear to look towards him; his countenance was most\ninexpressibly dreadful, impossible for words to describe; when he\nstepped upon the ground with his feet I thought the earth trembled, just\nas it had done before in the earthquake, and all the air looked to my\napprehension as if it had been filled with flashes of fire.\n\nHe was no sooner landed upon the earth, but he moved forward towards\nme, with a long spear or weapon in his hand to kill me; and when he came\nto a rising ground, at some distance, he spoke to me, or I heard a voice\nso terrible, that it is impossible to express the terror of it; all that\nI can say I understood was this, \"Seeing all these things have not\nbrought thee to repentance, now thou shall die:\" at which words I\nthought he lifted up the spear that was in his hand to kill me.\n\nNo one, that shall ever read this account, will expect that I should be\nable to describe the horrors of my soul at this terrible vision; I mean,\nthat even while it was a dream, I even dreamed of those horrors; nor is\nit any more possible to describe the impression that remained upon my\nmind, when I awaked, and found it was but a dream.\n\nI had, alas! no divine knowledge; what I had received by the good\ninstruction of my father was then worn out by an uninterrupted series,\nfor eight years, of seafaring wickedness, and a constant conversation\nwith nothing but such as were, like myself, wicked and profane to the\nlast degree. I do not remember that I had in all that time one thought\nthat so much as tended either to looking upwards toward God, or inwards\ntowards a reflection upon my own ways. But a certain stupidity of soul,\nwithout desire of good, or conscience of evil, had entirely overwhelmed\nme, and I was all that the most hardened, unthinking, wicked creature\namong our common sailors can be supposed to be, not having the least\nsense, either of the fear of God in danger, or of thankfulness to God in\ndeliverances.\n\nIn the relating what is already past of my story, this will be the more\neasily believed, when I shall add, that through all the variety of\nmiseries that had to this day befallen me, I never had so much as one\nthought of it being the hand of God, or that it was a just punishment\nfor my sin, my rebellious behaviour against my father, or my present\nsins, which were great; or so much as a punishment for the general\ncourse of my wicked life. When I was on the desperate expedition on the\ndesert shores of Africa, I never had so much as one thought of what\nwould become of me; or one wish to God to direct me whither I should go,\nor to keep me from the danger which apparently surrounded me, as well\nfrom voracious creatures as cruel savages: but I was merely thoughtless\nof a God, or a Providence, acted like a mere brute from the principles\nof nature, and by the dictates of common sense only, and indeed\nhardly that.\n\nWhen I was delivered, and taken up at sea by the Portugal captain, well\nused, and dealt justly and honourably with, as well as charitably, I had\nnot the least thankfulness on my thoughts. When again I was shipwrecked,\nruined, and in danger of drowning on this island, I was as far from\nremorse, or looking on it as a judgment; I only said to myself often,\nthat I was _an unfortunate dog_, and born to be always miserable.\n\nIt is true, when I got on shore first here, and found all my ship's crew\ndrowned, and myself spared, I was surprised with a kind of ecstasy, and\nsome transports of soul, which, had the grace of God assisted, might\nhave come up to true thankfulness; but it ended where it begun, in a\nmere common flight of joy, or, as I may say, _being glad I was alive_,\nwithout the least reflection upon the distinguishing goodness of the\nHand which had preserved me, and had singled me out to be preserved,\nwhen all the rest were destroyed; or an inquiry why Providence had been\nthus merciful to me; even just the same common sort of joy which seamen\ngenerally have, after they have got safe on shore from a shipwreck,\nwhich they drown all in the next bowl of punch, and forget almost as\nsoon as it is over; and all the rest of my life was like it.\n\nEven when I was afterwards, on due consideration, made sensible of my\ncondition, how I was cast on this dreadful place, out of the reach of\nhuman kind, out of all hope of relief, or prospect of redemption, as\nsoon as I saw but a prospect of living, and that I should not starve\nand perish for hunger, all the sense of my affliction wore off, and I\nbegan to be very easy, applied myself to the works proper for my\npreservation and supply, and was far enough from being afflicted at my\ncondition, as a judgment from Heaven, or as the hand of God against me:\nthese were thoughts which very seldom entered into my head.\n\nThe growing up of the corn, as is hinted in my Journal, had at first\nsome little influence upon me, and began to affect me with seriousness,\nas long as I thought it had something miraculous in it; but as soon as\never that part of thought was removed, all the impression which was\nraised from it wore off also, as I have noted already.\n\nEven the earthquake, though nothing could be more terrible in its\nnature, or more immediately directing to the invisible Power which alone\ndirects such things; yet no sooner was the first fright over, but the\nimpression it had made went off also. I had no more sense of God, or his\njudgments, much less of the present affliction of my circumstances being\nfrom his hand, than if I had been in the most prosperous condition\nof life.\n\nBut now, when I began to be sick, and a leisurely view of the miseries\nof death came to place itself before me; when my spirits began to sink\nunder the burden of a strong distemper, and nature was exhausted with\nthe violence of the fever; conscience, that had slept so long, began to\nawake, and I began to reproach myself with my past life, in which I had\nso evidently, by uncommon wickedness, provoked the justice of God to lay\nme under uncommon strokes, and to deal with me in so vindictive\na manner.\n\nThese reflections oppressed me from the second or third day of my\ndistemper, and in the violence, as well of the fever as of the dreadful\nreproaches of my conscience, extorted some words from me, like praying\nto God, though I cannot say they were either a prayer attended with\ndesires, or with hopes; it was rather the voice of mere fright and\ndistress; my thoughts were confused, the convictions great upon my mind,\nand the horror of dying in such a miserable condition, raised vapours\ninto my head with the mere apprehensions; and, in these hurries of my\nsoul, I knew not what my tongue might express: but it was rather\nexclamation, such as, \"Lord! what a miserable creature am I! If I should\nbe sick, I shall certainly die for want of help, and what will become of\nme!\" Then the tears burst out of my eyes, and I could say no more for a\ngood while.\n\nIn this interval, the good advice of my father came to my mind; and\npresently his prediction, which I mentioned in the beginning of this\nstory, viz. that if I did take this foolish step, God would not bless\nme, and I would have leisure hereafter to reflect upon having neglected\nhis counsel, when there might be none to assist in my recovery. \"Now,\"\nsaid I aloud, \"my dear father's words are come to pass: God's justice\nhas overtaken me, and I have none to help or hear me: I rejected the\nvoice of Providence, which had mercifully put me in a posture or station\nof life wherein I might have been happy and easy; but I would neither\nsee it myself, nor learn to know the blessing of it from my parents; I\nleft them to mourn over my folly, and now I am left to mourn under the\nconsequences of it: I refused their help and assistance, who would have\nlifted me into the world, and would have made every thing easy to me;\nand now I have difficulties to struggle with, too great for even nature\nitself to support, and no assistance, no help, no comfort, no advice.\"\nThen I cried out, \"Lord be my help, for I am in great distress!\"\n\nThis was the first prayer, if I might call it so, that I had made for\nmany years. But I return to my journal.\n\nJune 28. Having been somewhat refreshed with the sleep I had had, and\nthe fit being entirely off, I got up: and though the fright and terror\nof my dream was very great, yet I considered, that the fit of the ague\nwould return again the next day, and now was my time to get something to\nrefresh and support myself when I should be ill; and the first thing I\ndid, I filled a large square case-bottle with water, and set it upon my\ntable, in reach of my bed; and to take off the chill or aguish\ndisposition of the water, I put about a quarter of a pint of rum into\nit, and mixed them together; then I got me a piece of the goat's flesh,\nand broiled it on the coals, but could eat very little. I walked about,\nbut was very weak, and withal very sad and heavy-hearted under a sense\nof my miserable condition, dreading the return of my distemper the next\nday. At night I made my supper of three of the turtle's eggs, which I\nroasted in the ashes, and ate, as we call it, in the shell; and this was\nthe first bit of meat I had ever asked God's blessing to, even, as I\ncould remember, in my whole life.\n\nAfter I had eaten I tried to walk; but found myself so weak, that I\ncould hardly carry the gun (for I never went out without that): so I\nwent but a little way, and sat down upon the ground, looking out upon\nthe sea, which was just before me, and very calm and smooth. As I sat\nhere, some such thoughts as these occurred to me:\n\nWhat is the earth and sea, of which I have seen so much? Whence is it\nproduced? And what am I, and all the other creatures, wild and tame,\nhuman and brutal? whence are we?\n\nSure we are all made by some secret Power, who formed the earth and sea,\nthe air and sky; and who is that?\n\nThen it followed, most naturally: it is God that has made it all: well,\nbut then it came on strangely; if God has made all these things, he\nguides and governs them all, and all things that concern them; for the\nBeing that could make all things, must certainly have power to guide and\ndirect them.\n\nIf so, nothing can happen in the great circuit of his works, either\nwithout his knowledge or appointment.\n\nAnd if nothing happens without his knowledge, he knows that I am here,\nand am in a dreadful condition; and if nothing happens without his\nappointment, he has appointed all this to befal me.\n\nNothing occurred to my thoughts to contradict any of these conclusions;\nand therefore it rested upon me with the greater force, that it must\nneeds be, that God had appointed all this to befal me; that I was\nbrought to this miserable circumstance by his direction, he having the\nsole power, not of me only, but of every thing that happened in the\nworld. Immediately it followed,\n\nWhy has God done this to me? What have I done to be thus used?\n\nMy conscience presently checked me in that inquiry, as if I had\nblasphemed; and methought it spoke to me, like a voice; \"Wretch! dost\nthou ask what thou hast done? look back upon a dreadful mispent life,\nand ask thyself what thou hast not done? ask, why is it that thou wert\nnot long ago destroyed? why wert thou not drowned in Yarmouth Roads?\nkilled in the fight when the ship was taken by the Sallee man of war?\ndevoured by the wild beasts on the coast of Africa? or, drowned here,\nwhen all the crew perished but thyself? Dost thou ask, What have\nI done?\"\n\nI was struck with these reflections as one astonished, and had not a\nword to say, no, not to answer to myself: but rose up pensive and sad,\nwalked back to my retreat, and went up over my wall, as if I had been\ngoing to bed; but my thoughts were sadly disturbed, and I had no\ninclination to sleep; so I sat down in my chair, and lighted my lamp,\nfor it began to be dark. Now, as the apprehensions of the return of my\ndistemper terrified me very much, it occurred to my thought, that the\nBrasilians take no physic but their tobacco, for almost all distempers;\nand I had a piece of a roll of tobacco in one of the chests, which was\nquite cured, and some also that was green, and not quite cured.\n\nI went, directed by Heaven, no doubt; for in this chest I found a cure\nboth for soul and body. I opened the chest, and found what I looked\nfor, viz. the tobacco; and as the few books I had saved lay there too, I\ntook out one of the Bibles which I mentioned before, and which, to this\ntime, I had not found leisure, or so much as inclination, to look into;\nI say I took it out, and brought both that and the tobacco with me to\nthe table.\n\nWhat use to make of the tobacco I knew not, as to my distemper, or\nwhether it was good for it or no; but I tried several experiments with\nit, as if I was resolved it should hit one way or other: I first took a\npiece of a leaf, and chewed it in my mouth, which indeed at first almost\nstupified my brain, the tobacco being green and strong, and that I had\nnot been much used to it; then I took some, and steeped it an hour or\ntwo in some rum, and resolved to take a dose of it when I lay down; and\nlastly, I burnt some upon a pan of coals, and held my nose close over\nthe smoke of it, as long as I could bear it, as well for the heat as the\nvirtue of it, and I held almost to suffocation.\n\nIn the interval of this operation I took up the Bible, and began to\nread; but my head was too much disturbed with the tobacco to bear\nreading, at least at that time; only having opened the book casually,\nthe first words that occurred to me were these: \"Call on me in the day\nof trouble, and I will deliver, and thou shalt glorify me.\"\n\nThe words were very apt to my case, and made some impression upon my\nthoughts at the time of reading them, though not so much as they did\nafterwards; for as for being delivered, the word had no sound, as I may\nsay, to me; the thing was so remote, so impossible in my apprehension of\nthings, that I began to say as the children of Israel did, when they\nwere promised flesh to eat, \"Can God spread a table in the wilderness?\"\nSo I began to say, Can God himself deliver me from this place? And as it\nwas not for many years that any hope appeared, this prevailed very often\nupon my thoughts: but, however, the words made a very great impression\nupon me, and I mused upon them very often. It grew now late, and the\ntobacco had, as I said, dozed my head so much, that I inclined to sleep;\nso that I left my lamp burning in the cave, lest I should want any thing\nin the night, and went to bed; but before I lay down, I did what I never\nhad done in all my life: I kneeled down, and prayed to God to fulfil the\npromise to me, that if I called upon him in the day of trouble, he would\ndeliver me. After my broken and imperfect prayer was over, I drank the\nrum in which I had steeped the tobacco, which was so strong and rank of\nthe tobacco, that indeed I could scarce get it down. Immediately upon\nthis I went to bed, and I found presently it flew up into my head\nviolently; but I fell into a sound sleep, and waked no more, till by the\nsun it must necessarily be near three o'clock in the afternoon the next\nday; nay, to this hour I am partly of the opinion, that I slept all the\nnext day and night, and till almost three the day after; for otherwise I\nknew not how I should lose a day out of my reckoning in the days of the\nweek, as it appeared some years after I had done; for if I had lost it\nby crossing and recrossing the line, I should have lost more than a day;\nbut in my account it was lost, and I never knew which way.\n\nBe that however one way or other; when I awaked, I found myself\nexceedingly refreshed, and my spirits lively and cheerful; when I got\nup, I was stronger than I was the day before, and my stomach better; for\nI was hungry; and, in short, I had no fit the next day, but continued\nmuch altered for the better: this was the 29th.\n\nThe 30th was my well day of course, and I went abroad with my gun, but\ndid not care to travel too far: I killed a sea-fowl or two, something\nlike a brand goose, and brought them home, but was not very forward to\neat them: so I ate some more of the turtle's eggs, which were very good.\nThis evening I renewed the medicine which I had supposed did me good the\nday before, viz. the tobacco steeped in rum; only I did not take so\nmuch as before, nor did I chew any of the leaf, or hold my head over the\nsmoke; however, I was not so well the next day, which was the 1st of\nJuly, as I hoped I should have been; for I had a little spice of the\ncold fit, but it was not much.\n\nJuly 2. I renewed the medicine all the three ways, and dozed myself with\nit at first, and doubled the quantity which I drank.\n\nJuly 3. I missed the fit for good and all, though I did not recover my\nfull strength for some weeks after. While I was thus gathering strength,\nmy thoughts ran exceedingly upon this scripture, \"I will deliver thee;\"\nand the impossibility of my deliverance lay much upon my mind, in bar of\nmy ever expecting it: but as I was discouraging myself with such\nthoughts, it occurred to my mind, that I pored so much upon my\ndeliverance from the main affliction, that I disregarded the deliverance\nI had received; and I was, as it were, made to ask myself such questions\nas these; viz. Have I not been delivered, and wonderfully too, from\nsickness? from the most distressed condition that could be, and that was\nso frightful to me? and what notice had I taken of it? had I done my\npart? _God had delivered me;_ but _I had not glorified him_: that is to\nsay, I had not owned and been thankful for that as a deliverance; and\nhow could I expect greater deliverance?\n\nThis touched my heart very much, and immediately I kneeled down, and\ngave God thanks aloud, for my recovery from my sickness.\n\nJuly 4. In the morning I took the Bible; and, beginning at the New\nTestament, I began seriously to read it, and imposed upon myself to read\na while every morning and every night, not tying myself to the number of\nchapters, but as long as my thoughts should engage me. It was not long\nafter I set seriously to this work, but I found my heart more deeply and\nsincerely affected with the wickedness of my past life; the impression\nof my dream revived, and the words, \"All these things have not brought\nthee to repentance,\" ran seriously in my thoughts: I was earnestly\nbegging of God to give me repentance, when it happened providentially\nthe very day, that, reading the Scripture, I came to these words, \"He is\nexalted a Prince, and a Saviour, to give repentance, and to give\nremission.\" I threw down the book, and with my heart as well as my hand\nlifted up to heaven, in a kind of ecstasy of joy, I cried out aloud,\n\"Jesus, thou Son of David, Jesus, thou exalted Prince and Saviour, give\nme repentance!\"\n\nThis was the first time that I could say, in the true sense of the\nwords, that I prayed in all my life; for now I prayed with a sense of my\ncondition, and with a true Scripture view of hope, founded on the\nencouragement of the word of God; and from this time, I may say, I began\nto have hope that God would hear me.\n\nNow I began to construe the words mentioned above, \"Call on me, and I\nwill deliver thee,\" in a different sense from what I had ever done\nbefore; for then I had no notion of any thing being called deliverance,\nbut my being delivered from the captivity I was in; for though I was\nindeed at large in the place, yet the island was certainly a prison to\nme, and that in the worst sense in the world; but now I learnt to take\nit in another sense. Now I looked back upon my past life with such\nhorror, and my sins appeared so dreadful, that my soul sought nothing of\nGod, but deliverance from the load of guilt that bore down all my\ncomfort. As for my solitary life, it was nothing; I did not so much as\npray to be delivered from it, or think of it; it was all of no\nconsideration in comparison of this; and I added this part here, to hint\nto whoever shall read it, that whenever they come to a true sense of\nthings, they will find deliverance from sin a much greater blessing than\ndeliverance from affliction.\n\nBut, leaving this part, I return to my journal. My condition began now\nto be, though not less miserable as to my way of living, yet much easier\nto my mind; and my thoughts being directed, by a constant reading the\nScripture, and praying to God, to things of a higher nature, I had a\ngreat deal of comfort within, which till now I knew nothing of; also as\nmy health and strength returned, I bestirred myself to furnish myself\nwith every thing that I wanted, and make my way of living as regular\nas I could.\n\nFrom the 4th of July to the 14th, I was chiefly employed in walking\nabout with my gun in my hand a little and a little at a time, as a man\nthat was gathering up his strength after a fit of sickness; for it is\nhardly to be imagined how low I was, and to what weakness I was reduced.\nThe application which I made use of was perfectly new, and perhaps what\nhad never cured an ague before; neither can I recommend it to any one to\npractise by this experiment; and though it did carry off the fit, yet it\nrather contributed to weaken me; for I had frequent convulsions in my\nnerves and limbs for some time.\n\nI learnt from it also this in particular, that being abroad in the rainy\nseason was the most pernicious thing to my health that could be,\nespecially in those rains which came attended with storms and hurricanes\nof wind; for as the rain which came in a dry season was always most\naccompanied with such storms, so I found this rain was much more\ndangerous than the rain which fell in September and October.\n\nI had been now in this unhappy island above ten months; all possibility\nof deliverance from this condition seemed to be entirely taken from me;\nand I firmly believed that no human shape had ever set foot upon that\nplace. Having now secured my habitation, as I thought, fully to my mind,\nI had a great desire to make a more perfect discovery of the island, and\nto see what other productions I might find, which yet I knew nothing of.\n\nIt was the 15th of July that I began to take a more particular survey of\nthe island itself. I went up the creek first, where, as I hinted, I\nbrought my rafts on shore. I found, after I came about two miles up,\nthat the tide did not flow any higher, and that it was no more than a\nlittle brook of running water, and very fresh and good: but this being\nthe dry season, there was hardly any water in some parts of it, at least\nnot enough to run into any stream, so as it could be perceived.\n\nOn the bank of this brook I found many pleasant savannas or meadows,\nplain, smooth, and covered with grass; and on the rising parts of them\nnext to the higher grounds, where the water, as it might be supposed,\nnever overflowed, I found a great deal of tobacco, green, and growing to\na great and very strong stalk: there were divers other plants which I\nhad no notion of, or understanding about; and might perhaps have virtues\nof their own, which I could not find out.\n\nI searched for the cassave root, which the Indians in all that climate\nmake their bread of, but I could find none. I saw large plants of aloes,\nbut did not then understand them: I saw several sugar-canes, but wild,\nand, for want of cultivation, imperfect. I contented myself with these\ndiscoveries for this time, and came back, musing with myself what course\nI might take to know the virtue and goodness of any of the fruits or\nplants which I should discover, but could bring it to no conclusion;\nfor, in short, I had made so little observation while I was in the\nBrasils, that I knew little of the plants of the field, at least very\nlittle that might serve me to any purpose now in my distress.\n\nThe next day, the 16th, I went up the same way again; and, after going\nsomething farther than I had done the day before, I found the brook and\nthe savannas began to cease, and the country became more woody than\nbefore. In this part I found different fruits, and particularly I found\nmelons upon the ground in great abundance, and grapes upon the trees;\nthe vines had spread indeed over the trees, and the clusters of grapes\nwere just now in their prime, very ripe and rich. This was a surprising\ndiscovery, and I was exceeding glad of them; but I was warned by my\nexperience to eat sparingly of them, remembering, that when I was\nashore in Barbary, the eating of grapes killed several of our Englishmen\nwho were slaves there, by throwing them into fluxes and fevers: but I\nfound an excellent use for these grapes, and that was to cure or dry\nthem in the sun, and keep them as dried grapes or raisins are kept,\nwhich I thought would be, as indeed they were, as wholesome, and as\nagreeable to eat, when no grapes might be had.\n\nI spent all that evening there, and went not back to my habitation,\nwhich by the way was the first night, as I might say, I had lain from\nhome. In the night I took my first contrivance, and got up into a tree,\nwhere I slept well, and the next morning proceeded upon my discovery,\ntravelling near four miles, as I might judge by the length of the\nvalley, keeping still due north, with a ridge of hills on the south and\nnorth side of me.\n\nAt the end of this march I came to an opening, where the country seemed\nto descend to the west; and a little spring of fresh water, which issued\nout of the side of the hill by me, ran the other way, that is, due east;\nand the country appeared so fresh, so green, so flourishing, every thing\nbeing in a constant verdure or flourish of spring, that it looked like a\nplanted garden.\n\nI descended a little on the side of that delicious valley, surveying it\nwith a secret kind of pleasure (though mixed with other afflicting\nthoughts) to think that this was all my own, that I was king and lord of\nall this country indefeasibly, and had a right of possession; and if I\ncould convey it, I might have it in inheritance, as completely as any\nlord of a manor in England. I saw here abundance of cocoa-trees, orange\nand lemon, and citron-trees, but all wild, and few bearing any fruit; at\nleast, not then: however, the green limes that I gathered were not only\npleasant to eat, but very wholesome; and I mixed their juice afterwards\nwith water, which made it very wholesome, and very cool and refreshing.\n\nI found now I had business enough to gather and carry home; and resolved\nto lay up a store, as well of grapes as limes and lemons, to furnish\nmyself for the wet season, which I knew was approaching.\n\nIn order to do this I gathered a great heap of grapes in one place, and\na lesser heap in another place, and a great parcel of limes and lemons\nin another place; and taking a few of each with me, I travelled\nhomeward, and resolved to come again, and bring a bag or sack, or what I\ncould make, to carry the rest home.\n\nAccordingly, having spent three days in this journey, I came home (so I\nmust now call my tent, and my cave;) but before I got thither, the\ngrapes were spoiled; the richness of the fruit, and the weight of the\njuice, having broken them, and bruised them, they were good for little\nor nothing: as to the limes, they were good, but I could bring but\na few.\n\nThe next day, being the 19th, I went back, having made me two small bags\nto bring home my harvest. But I was surprised, when coming to my heap of\ngrapes, which were so rich and fine when I gathered them, I found them\nall spread abroad, trod to pieces, and dragged about, some here, some\nthere, and abundance eaten and devoured. By this I concluded there were\nsome wild creatures thereabouts, which had done this; but what they were\nI knew not.\n\nHowever, as I found there was no laying them up on heaps, and no\ncarrying them away in a sack, but that one way they would be destroyed,\nand the other way they would be crushed with their own weight, I took\nanother course; for I gathered a large quantity of the grapes, and hung\nthem upon the out branches of the trees, that they might cure and dry in\nthe sun; and as for the limes and lemons, I carried as many back as I\ncould well stand under.\n\nWhen I came home from this journey, I contemplated with great pleasure\non the fruitfulness of that valley, and the pleasantness of the\nsituation, the security from storms on that side of the water, and the\nwood; and concluded that I had pitched upon a place to fix my abode,\nwhich was by far the worst part of the country. Upon the whole, I began\nto consider of removing my habitation, and to look out for a place\nequally safe as where I now was situated, if possible, in that pleasant\nfruitful part of the island.\n\nThis thought ran long in my head, and I was exceeding fond of it for\nsome time, the pleasantness of the place tempting me; but when I came to\na nearer view of it, and to consider that I was now by the sea-side,\nwhere it was at least possible that something might happen to my\nadvantage, and that the same ill fate that brought me hither might bring\nsome other unhappy wretches to the same place; and though it was scarce\nprobable that any such thing should ever happen, yet to enclose myself\namong the hills and woods, in the centre of the island, was to\nanticipate my bondage, and to render such an affair not only improbable,\nbut impossible; and that therefore I ought not by any means to remove.\n\nHowever, I was so enamoured with this place, that I spent much of my\ntime there for the whole remaining part of the month of July; and\nthough, upon second thoughts, I resolved as above, not to remove, yet I\nbuilt me a little kind of a bower, and surrounded it at a distance with\na strong fence, being a double hedge, as high as I could reach, well\nstaked and filled between with brushwood; and here I lay very secure,\nsometimes two or three nights together, always going over it with a\nladder, as before; so that I fancied now I had my country house, and my\nsea-coast house: and this work took me up the beginning of August.\n\nI had but newly finished my fence, and began to enjoy my labour, but the\nrains came on, and made me stick close to my first habitation; for\nthough I had made me a tent like the other, with a piece of a sail, and\nspread it very well, yet I had not the shelter of a hill to keep me from\nstorms, nor a cave behind me to retreat into when the rains were\nextraordinary.\n\nAbout the beginning of August, as I said, I had finished my bower, and\nbegan to enjoy myself. The 3d of August I found the grapes I had hung up\nwere perfectly dried, and indeed were excellent good raisins of the\nsun; so I began to take them down from the trees, and it was very happy\nthat I did so; for the rains which followed would have spoiled them, and\nI had lost the best part of my winter food; for I had above two hundred\nlarge bunches of them. No sooner had I taken them all down, and carried\nmost of them home to my cave, but it began to rain; and from thence,\nwhich was the 14th of August, it rained more or less every day, till the\nmiddle of October; and sometimes so violently, that I could not stir out\nof my cave for several days.\n\nIn this season I was much surprised with the increase of my family: I\nhad been concerned for the loss of one of my cats, who ran away from me,\nor, as I thought, had been dead; and I heard no more tale or tidings of\nher, till to my astonishment she came home about the end of August, with\nthree kittens. This was the more strange to me, because though I had\nkilled a wild cat, as I called it, with my gun, yet I thought it was a\nquite different kind from our European cats; yet the young cats were the\nsame kind of house breed like the old one; and both my cats being\nfemales, I thought it very strange: but from these three cats I\nafterwards came to be so pestered with cats, that I was forced to kill\nthem like vermin, or wild beasts, and to drive them from my house as\nmuch as possible.\n\nFrom the 14th of August to the 26th, incessant rain, so that I could not\nstir, and was now very careful not to be much wet. In this confinement I\nbegan to be straitened for food; but venturing out twice, I one day\nkilled a goat: and the last day, which was the 26th, found a very large\ntortoise, which was a treat to me, and my food was regulated thus: I ate\na bunch of raisins for my breakfast, a piece of the goat's flesh, or of\nthe turtle, for my dinner, broiled (for, to my great misfortune, I had\nno vessel to boil or stew any thing;) and two or three of the turtle's\neggs for supper. During this confinement in my cover by the rain, I\nworked daily two or three hours at enlarging my cave; and, by degrees,\nworked it on towards one side, till I came to the outside of the hill,\nand made a door or way out, which came beyond my fence or wall; and so I\ncame in and out this way: but I was not perfectly easy at lying so open;\nfor as I had managed myself before, I was in a perfect enclosure,\nwhereas now I thought I lay exposed; and yet I could not perceive that\nthere was any living thing to fear, the biggest creature that I had seen\nupon the island being a goat.\n\nSeptember the 30th. I was now come to the unhappy anniversary of my\nlanding: I cast up the notches on my post, and found I had been on shore\nthree hundred and sixty-five days. I kept this day as a solemn fast,\nsetting it apart to a religious exercise, prostrating myself to the\nground with the most serious humiliation, confessing myself to God,\nacknowledging his righteous judgment upon me, and praying to him to have\nmercy on me, through Jesus Christ; and having not tasted the least\nrefreshment for twelve hours, even till the going down of the sun, I\nthen ate a biscuit-cake and a bunch of grapes, and went to bed,\nfinishing the day as I began it.\n\nI had all this time observed no sabbath-day; for as at first I had no\nsense of religion upon my mind, I had after some time omitted to\ndistinguish the weeks, by making a longer notch than ordinary for the\nsabbath-day, and so did not really know what any of the days were; but\nnow, having cast up the days as before, I found I had been there a year;\nso I divided it into weeks, and set apart every seventh day for a\nsabbath; though I found at the end of my account I had lost a day or two\nof my reckoning.\n\nA little after this my ink began to fail me, and so I contented myself\nto use it more sparingly, and to write down only the most remarkable\nevents of my life, without continuing a daily memorandum of\nother things.\n\nThe rainy season, and the dry season, began now to appear regular to\nme, and I learnt to divide them so as to provide for them accordingly.\nBut I bought all my experience before I had it; and this I am going to\nrelate, was one of the most discouraging experiments that I made at all.\nI have mentioned, that I had saved the few ears of barley and rice which\nI had so surprisingly found spring up, as I thought, of themselves, and\nbelieve there were about thirty stalks of rice, and about twenty of\nbarley: and now I thought it a proper time to sow it after the rains,\nthe sun being in its southern position going from me.\n\nAccordingly I dug up a piece of ground, as well as I could, with my\nwooden spade, and dividing it into two parts, I sowed my grain; but as I\nwas sowing, it casually occurred to my thought, that I would not sow it\nall at first, because I did not know when was the proper time for it; so\nI sowed about two thirds of the seeds, leaving about a handful of each.\n\nIt was a great comfort to me afterwards that I did so; for not one grain\nof that I sowed this time came to any thing; for the dry months\nfollowing, the earth having had no rain after the seed was sown, it had\nno moisture to assist its growth, and never came up at all, till the wet\nseason had come again, and then it grew as if it had been newly sown.\n\nFinding my first seed did not grow, which I easily imagined was by the\ndrought, I sought for a moister piece of ground to make another trial\nin; and I dug up a piece of ground near my new bower, and sowed the rest\nof my seed in February, a little before the vernal equinox; and this,\nhaving the rainy months of March and April to water it, sprung up very\npleasantly, and yielded a very good crop; but having part of the seed\nleft only, and not daring to sow all that I had yet, I had but a small\nquantity at last, my whole crop not amounting to above half a peck of\neach kind.\n\nBut by this experience I was made master of my business, and knew\nexactly when the proper season was to sow; and that I might expect two\nseed-times, and two harvests, every year.\n\nWhile this corn was growing, I made a little discovery, which was of use\nto me afterwards. As soon as the rains were over, and the weather began\nto settle, which was about the month of November, I made a visit up the\ncountry to my bower, where though I had not been some months, yet I\nfound all things just as I left them. The circle or double hedge that I\nhad made, was not only firm and entire, but the stakes which I had cut\noff of some trees that grew thereabouts, were all shot out, and grown\nwith long branches, as much as a willow tree usually shoots the first\nyear after lopping its head. I could not tell what tree to call it that\nthese stakes were cut from. I was surprised, and yet very well pleased,\nto see the young trees grow; and I pruned them, and led them up to grow\nas much alike as I could; and it is scarce credible, how beautiful a\nfigure they grew into in three years; so that though the hedge made a\ncircle of about twenty-five yards in diameter, yet the trees, for such I\nmight now call them, soon covered it; and it was a, complete shade,\nsufficient to lodge under all the dry season.\n\nThis made me resolve to cut some more stakes, and make me an hedge like\nthis in a semicircle round my wall, I mean that of my first dwelling,\nwhich I did; and placing the trees or stakes in a double row, at above\neight yards distance from my first fence, they grew presently, and were\nat first a fine cover to my habitation, and afterwards served for a\ndefence also, as I shall observe in its order.\n\nI found now, that the seasons of the year might generally be divided,\nnot into summer and winter, as in Europe, but into the rainy seasons and\nthe dry seasons, which were generally thus:\n\n     Half February,} Rainy, the sun being then on, or near,\n          March,   }        the equinox.\n     Half April,   }\n\n     Half April,}\n               May,} Dry, the sun being then to the north\n              June,} of the line.\n              July,}\n     Half August,}\n         September,} Rain, the sun being then come back.\n     Half October,}\n     Half October,}\n          November,} Dry, the sun being then to the south\n          December,} of the line.\n           January,}\n     Half February,}\n\nThe rainy season sometimes held longer or shorter, as the winds happened\nto blow; but this was the general observation I made. After I had found,\nby experience, the ill consequence of being abroad in the rain, I took\ncare to furnish myself with provision beforehand, that I might not be\nobliged to go out; and I sat within doors as much as possible during the\nwet months.\n\nIn this time I found much employment, (and very suitable also to the\ntime) for I found great occasion of many things which I had no way to\nfurnish myself with, but by hard labour and constant application;\nparticularly, I tried many ways to make myself a basket; but all the\ntwigs I could get for the purpose proved so brittle, that they would do\nnothing. It proved of excellent advantage to me now, that when I was a\nboy I used to take great delight in standing at a basket-maker's in the\ntown where my father lived, to see them make their wicker-ware; and\nbeing, as boys usually are, very officious to help, and a great observer\nof the manner how they worked those things, and sometimes lent an hand,\nI had by this means so full knowledge of the methods of it, that I\nwanted nothing but the materials; when it came into my mind, that the\ntwigs of that tree from whence I cut my stakes that grew, might possibly\nbe as tough as the sallows, and willows, and osiers, in England; and I\nresolved to try.\n\nAccordingly the next day I went to my country-house, as I called it, and\ncutting some of the smaller twigs, I found them to my purpose as much as\nI could desire; whereupon I came the next time prepared with an hatchet\nto cut down a quantity, which I soon found, for there was a great plenty\nof them: these I set up to dry within my circle or hedges; and when they\nwere fit for use, I carried them to my cave; and here during the next\nseason I employed myself in making (as well as I could) a great many\nbaskets, both to carry earth, or to carry or lay up any thing, as I had\noccasion; and though I did not finish them very handsomely, yet I made\nthem sufficiently serviceable for my purpose; and thus afterwards I took\ncare never to be without them; and as my wicker-ware decayed I made\nmore; especially I made strong deep baskets to place my corn in, instead\nof sacks, when I should come to have any quantity of it.\n\nHaving mastered this difficulty, and employed a world of time about it,\nI bestirred myself to see, if possible, how to supply two wants. I had\nno vessels to hold any thing that was liquid, except two rundlets, which\nwere almost full of rum, and some glass bottles, some of the common\nsize, and others which were case-bottles square, for the holding of\nwaters, spirits, &c. I had not so much as a pot to boil any thing in,\nexcept a great kettle which I saved out of the ship, and which was too\nbig for such uses as I desired it for, viz. to make broth, and stew a\nbit of meat by itself. The second thing I would fain have had, was a\ntobacco-pipe, but it was impossible for me to make one; however, I found\na contrivance for that too at last.\n\nI employed myself in planting my second rows of stakes of piles, and in\nthis wicker-work, all the summer, or dry season; when another business\ntook me up more time than it could be imagined I could spare.\n\nI mentioned before, that I had a great mind to see the whole island,\nand that I had travelled up the brook, and so on to where I built my\nbower, and where I had an opening quite to the sea, on the other side of\nthe island. I now resolved to travel quite across to the sea shore on\nthat side. So taking my gun and hatchet, and my dog, and a larger\nquantity of powder and shot than usual, with two biscuit-cakes and a\ngreat bunch of raisins in my pouch, for my store, I began my journey.\nWhen I had passed the vale where my bower stood, as above, I came within\nview of the sea, to the west; and it being a very clear day, I fairly\ndescried land, whether an island or continent I could not tell; but it\nlay very high, extending from the west to the W.S.W. at a very great\ndistance; by my guess it could not be less than fifteen or twenty\nleagues off.\n\nI could not tell what part of the world this might be, otherwise than\nthat I knew it must be part of America; and, as I concluded by all my\nobservations, must be near the Spanish dominions, and perhaps was all\ninhabited by savages, where if I should have landed, I had been in a\nworse condition than I was now; and therefore I acquiesced in the\ndispositions of Providence, which I began now to own, and to believe,\nordered every thing for the best; I say, I quieted my mind with this,\nand left afflicting myself with fruitless wishes of being there.\n\nBesides, after some pause upon this affair, I considered, that if this\nland was the Spanish coast, I should certainly, one time or other, see\nsome vessels pass or repass one way or other; but if not, then it was\nthe savage coast between the Spanish country and Brasil, which were\nindeed the worst of savages; for they are cannibals, or men-eaters, and\nfail not to murder and devour all the human bodies that fall into their\nhands. With these considerations I walked very leisurely forward. I\nfound that side of the island where I now was, much pleasanter than\nmine, the open or savanna fields sweet, adorned with flowers and grass,\nand full of very fine woods. I saw abundance of parrots, and fain would\nI have caught one, if possible, to have kept it to be tame, and taught\nit to speak to me. I did, after some painstaking, catch a young parrot;\nfor I knocked it down with a stick, and having recovered it, I brought\nit home, but it was some years before I could make him speak. However,\nat last I taught him to call me by my name very familiarly: but the\naccident that followed, though it be a trifle, will be very diverting in\nits place.\n\nI was exceedingly diverted with this journey: I found in the low\ngrounds, hares, as I thought them to be, and foxes, but they differed\ngreatly from all the other kinds I had met with; nor could I satisfy\nmyself to eat them, though I killed several: but I had no need to be\nventurous; for I had no want of food, and of that which was very good\ntoo; especially these three sorts, viz. goats, pigeons, and turtle or\ntortoise; which added to my grapes. Leadenhall-market could not have\nfurnished a better table than I, in proportion to the company: and\nthough my case was deplorable enough, yet I had great cause for\nthankfulness, that I was not driven to any extremities for food; but\nrather plenty, even to dainties.\n\nI never travelled in this journey above two miles outright in a day, or\nthereabouts; but I look so many turns and returns, to see what\ndiscoveries I could make, that I came weary enough to the place where I\nresolved to sit down for all night; and then either reposed myself in a\ntree, or surrounded myself with a row of stakes set upright in the\nground, either from one tree to another, or so as no wild creature could\ncome at me without waking me.\n\nAs soon as I came to the sea-shore, I was surprised to see that I had\ntaken up my lot on the worst side of the island; for here indeed the\nshore was covered with innumerable turtles, whereas on the other side I\nhad found but three in a year and an half. Here was also an infinite\nnumber of fowls of many kinds, some of which I had not seen before, and\nmany of them very good meat; but such as I knew not the names of except\nthose called penguins.\n\nI could have shot as many as I pleased, but was very sparing of my\npowder and shot: and therefore had more mind to kill a she-goat, if I\ncould, which I could better feed on: and though there were many goats\nhere more than on the other side of the island, yet it was with much\nmore difficulty that I could come near them; the country being flat and\neven, and they saw me much sooner than when I was on the hills.\n\nI confess this side of the country was much pleasanter than mine, but\nyet I had not the least inclination to remove; for as I was fixed in my\nhabitation, it became natural to me, and I seemed all the while I was\nhere to be, as it were, upon a journey, and from home: however, I\ntravelled along the shore of the sea towards the east, I suppose, about\ntwelve miles; and then setting up a great pole upon the shore for a\nmark, I concluded I would go home again; and the next journey I took\nshould be on the other side of the island, east from my dwelling, and so\nround, till I came to my post again: of which in its place.\n\nI took another way to come back than that I went, thinking I could\neasily keep all the island so much in my view, that I could not miss\nfinding my first dwelling by viewing the country; but I found myself\nmistaken; for being come about two or three miles, I found myself\ndescended into a very large valley; but so surrounded with hills, and\nthose hills covered with woods, that I could not see which was my way by\nany direction but that of the sun; nor even then, unless I knew very\nwell the position of the sun at that time of the day.\n\nIt happened, to my farther misfortune, that the weather proved hazy for\nthree or four days, while I was in this valley; and not being able to\nsee the sun, I wandered about very uncomfortably, and at last was\nobliged to find out the sea-side, look for my post, and come back the\nsame way I went; and then by easy journies I turned homeward, the\nweather being exceeding hot; and my gun, ammunition, hatchet, and other\nthings, very heavy.\n\nIn this journey my dog surprised a young kid, and seized upon it; and I\nrunning in to take hold of it, caught it, and saved it alive from the\ndog. I had a great mind to bring it home, if I could; for I had often\nbeen musing whether it might not be possible to get a kid or two, and so\nraise a breed of tame goats, which might supply me when my powder and\nshot should be spent.\n\nI made a collar for this little creature, and with a string which I made\nof some rope-yarn, which I always carried about me, I led him along,\nthough with some difficulty, till I came to my bower, and there I\nenclosed him, and left him; for I was very impatient to be at home, from\nwhence I had been absent above a month.\n\nI cannot express what a satisfaction it was to me to come into my old\nhutch, and lie down in my hammock-bed: this little wandering journey,\nwithout a settled place of abode, had been so unpleasant to me that my\nown house, as I called it to myself, was a perfect settlement to me,\ncompared to that; and it rendered every thing about me so comfortable,\nthat I resolved I would never go a great way from it again, while it\nshould be my lot to stay on the island.\n\nI reposed myself here a week, to rest and regale myself after my long\njourney; during which, most of the time was taken up in the weighty\naffair of making a cage for my Pol, who began now to be a mere domestic,\nand to be mighty well acquainted with me. Then I began to think of the\npoor kid, which I had pent in within my little circle, and resolved to\ngo and fetch it home, and give it some food; accordingly I went, and\nfound it where I left it; for indeed it could not get out, but was\nalmost starved for want of food; I went and cut boughs of trees and\nbranches of such shrubs as I could find, and threw it over, and having\nfed it, I tied it as I did before to lead it away; but it was so tame\nwith being hungry, that I had no need to have tied it; for it followed\nme like a dog; and as I continually fed it, the creature became so\nloving, so gentle, and so fond, that it became from that time one of my\ndomestics also, and would never leave me afterwards.\n\nThe rainy season of the autumnal equinox was now come, and I kept the\n30th of September in the same solemn manner as before, being the\nanniversary of my landing on the island, having now been there two\nyears, and no more prospect of being delivered than the first day I came\nthere. I spent the whole day in humble and thankful acknowledgments of\nthe many wonderful mercies which my solitary condition was attended\nwith, and without which it might have been infinitely more miserable. I\ngave humble and hearty thanks, that God had been pleased to discover to\nme even that it was possible I might be more happy in this solitary\ncondition than I should have been in a liberty of society, and in all\nthe pleasures of the world: that he could fully make up to me the\ndeficiencies of my solitary state, and the want of human society, by his\npresence, and the communication of his grace to my soul, supporting,\ncomforting, and encouraging me to depend upon his providence here, and\nhope for his eternal presence hereafter.\n\nIt was now that I began sensibly to feel how much more happy the life I\nnow led was, with all its miserable circumstances, than the wicked,\ncursed, abominable life I led all the past part of my days; and now,\nhaving changed both my sorrows and my joys, my very desires altered, my\naffections changed their gust, and my delights were perfectly new from\nwhat they were at first coming, or indeed for the two years past.\n\nBefore, as I walked about, either on my hunting, or for viewing the\ncountry, the anguish of my soul at my condition would break out upon me\non a sudden, and my very heart would die within me, to think of the\nwoods, the mountains, the deserts I was in; and how I was a prisoner,\nlocked up with the eternal bars and bolts of the ocean, in an\nuninhabited wilderness, without redemption. In the midst of the greatest\ncomposures of my mind, this would break out upon me like a storm, and\nmade me wring my hands, and weep like a child. Sometimes it would take\nme in the middle of my work, and I would immediately sit down and sigh,\nand look upon the ground for an hour or two together, and this was still\nworse to me; for if I could burst out into tears, or vent myself by\nwords, it would go off; and the grief, having exhausted itself,\nwould abate.\n\nBut now I began to exercise myself with new thoughts; I daily read the\nword of God, and applied all the comforts of it to my present state. One\nmorning being very sad, I opened the Bible upon these words, \"I will\nnever, never leave thee, nor forsake thee!\" Immediately it occurred,\nthat these words were to me, why else should they be directed in such a\nmanner, just at the moment when I was mourning over my condition, as one\nforsaken of God and man? \"Well then,\" said I, \"if God does not forsake\nme, of what ill consequence can it be, or what matters it, though the\nworld should all forsake me; seeing, on the other hand, if I had all the\nworld, and should lose the favour and blessing of God, there would be no\ncomparison in the loss?\"\n\nFrom this moment I began to conclude in my mind, that it was possible\nfor me to be more happy in this forsaken, solitary condition, than it\nwas probable I should have ever been in any other particular state in\nthe world; and with this thought I was going to give thanks to God for\nbringing me to this place.\n\nI know not what it was, but something shocked my mind at that thought,\nand I durst not speak the words, \"How canst thou be such an hypocrite,\"\nsaid I, even audibly, \"to pretend to be thankful for a condition, which,\nhowever thou mayst endeavour to be contented with, thou wouldst rather\npray heartily to be delivered from?\" So I stopped there; but though I\ncould not say I thanked God for being there, yet I sincerely gave\nthanks to God for opening my eyes, by whatever afflicting providences,\nto see the former condition, of my life, and to mourn for my wickedness,\nand repent. I never opened the Bible, or shut it, but my very soul\nwithin me blessed God for directing my friend in England, without any\norder of mine, to pack it up among my goods; and for assisting me\nafterwards to save it out of the wreck of the ship.\n\nThus, and in this disposition of mind, I began my third year; and though\nI have not given the reader the trouble of so particular an account of\nmy works this year as at the first, yet in general it may be observed,\nthat I was very seldom idle; having regularly divided my time, according\nto the several daily employments that were before me; such as, first, my\nduty to God, and reading the Scriptures, which I constantly set apart\nsome time for, thrice, every day: secondly, the going abroad with my gun\nfor food, which generally took me up three hours every morning when it\ndid not rain: thirdly, the ordering, curing, preserving, and cooking\nwhat I had killed or catched for my supply; these took up great part of\nthe day: also it is to be considered, that in the middle of the day,\nwhen the sun was in the zenith, the violence of the heat was too great\nto stir out; so that about four hours in the evening was all the time I\ncould be supposed to work in; with this exception, that sometimes I\nchanged my hours of hunting and working, and went to work in the\nmorning, and abroad with my gun in the afternoon.\n\nTo this short time allowed for labour, I desire may be added the\nexceeding laboriousness of my work; the many hours, which for want of\ntools, want of help, and want of skill, every thing that I did, took up\nout of my time: for example, I was full two-and-forty days making me a\nboard for a long shelf, which I wanted in my cave; whereas two sawyers,\nwith their tools and saw-pit, would have cut six of them out of the same\ntree in half a day.\n\nMy case was this: it was to be a large tree which was to be cut down,\nbecause my board was to be a broad one. The tree I was three days a\ncutting down, and two more cutting off the boughs, and reducing it to a\nlog, or piece of timber. With inexpressible hacking and hewing I reduced\nboth the sides of it into chips, till it began to be light enough to\nmove; then I turned it, and made one side of it smooth and flat, as a\nboard, from end to end: then turning that side downward, cut the other\nside till I brought the plank to be about three inches thick, and smooth\non both sides. Any one may judge the labour of my hands in such a piece\nof work; but labour and patience carried me through that and many other\nthings; I only observe this in particular, to shew the reason why so\nmuch of my time went away with so little work, viz. that what might be a\nlittle to be done with help and tools, was a vast labour, and required a\nprodigious time to do alone, and by hand.\n\nBut notwithstanding this, with patience and labour, I went through many\nthings, and indeed ever thing that my circumstances made necessary for\nme to do, as will appear by what follows.\n\nI was now in the months of November and December, expecting my crop of\nbarley and rice. The ground I had manured or dug up for them was not\ngreat; for, as I observed, my seed of each, was not above the quantity\nof half a peck; for I had lost one whole crop by sowing in the dry\nseason; but now my crop promised very well, when on a sudden I found I\nwas in danger of losing it all again by enemies of several sorts, which\nit was scarce possible to keep from it; as first, the goats, and wild\ncreatures which I called hares, which, tasting the sweetness of the\nblade, lay in it night and day, as soon as it came up, and ate it so\nclose, that it could get no time to shoot up into stalks.\n\nThis I saw no remedy for, but by making an enclosure about it with a\nhedge, which I did with a great deal of toil; and the more, because it\nrequired a great deal of speed; the creatures daily spoiling my corn.\nHowever, as my arable land was but small, suited to my crop, I got it\ntotally well fenced in about three weeks time, and shooting some of the\ncreatures in the day-time, I set my dog to guard it in the night, tying\nhim up to a stake at the gate, where he would stand and bark all night\nlong; so in a little time the enemies forsook the place, and the corn\ngrew very strong and well, and began to ripen apace.\n\nBut as the beasts ruined me before, while my corn was in the blade, so\nthe birds were as likely to ruin me now, when it was in the ear; for\ngoing along by the place to see how it throve, I saw my little crop\nsurrounded with fowls of I know not how many sorts, which stood as it\nwere watching till I should be gone. I immediately let fly among them\n(for I always had my gun with me.) I had no sooner shot, but there arose\nup a little cloud of fowls, which I had not seen at all, from among the\ncorn itself.\n\nThis touched me sensibly; for I foresaw, that in a few days they would\ndevour all my hopes; that I should be starved, and never be able to\nraise a crop at all; and what to do I could not tell: however, I\nresolved not to lose my corn, if possible, though I should watch it\nnight and day. In the first place, I went among it to see what damage\nwas already done, and found they had spoiled a good deal of it; but\nthat, as it was yet too green for them, the loss was not so great, but\nthe remainder was like to be a good crop, if it could be saved.\n\nI stayed by it to load my gun, and then coming away, I could easily see\nthe thieves sitting upon all the trees about me, as if they only waited\ntill I was gone away, and the event proved it to be so; for as I walked\noff as if I was gone, I was no sooner out of their sight, but they\ndropped down one by one into the corn again. I was so provoked, that I\ncould not have patience to stay till more came on, knowing that every\ngrain that they ate now was, as it might be said, a peck loaf to me in\nthe consequence; but coming up to the hedge, I fired again, and killed\nthree of them. This was what I wished for; so I took them up, and served\nthem as we serve notorious thieves in England, viz. hanged them in\nchains for a terror to others. It is impossible to imagine almost, that\nthis should have such an effect as it had; for the fowls would not only\nnot come at the corn, but in short they forsook all that part of the\nisland, and I could never see a bird near the place as long as my\nscarecrows hung there.\n\nThis I was very glad of, you may be sure; and about the latter end of\nDecember, which was our second harvest of the year, I reaped my corn.\n\nI was sadly put to it for a scythe or a sickle to cut it down, and all I\ncould do was to make one as well as I could out of one of the\nbroad-swords, or cutlasses, which I saved among the arms out of the\nship. However, as my crop was but small, I had no great difficulty to\ncut it down: in short, I reaped it my way, for I cut nothing off but the\nears, and carried it away in a great basket which I had made, and so\nrubbed it out with my hands: and at the end of all my harvesting I\nfound, that out of my half-peck of seed I had near two bushels of rice,\nand above two bushels and a half of barley, that is to say, by my guess,\nfor I had no measure at that time.\n\nHowever, this was a great encouragement to me; and I foresaw, that in\ntime it would please God to supply me with bread: and yet here I was\nperplexed again; for I neither knew how to grind or make meal of my\ncorn, or indeed how to clean it and part it; nor, if made into meal, how\nto make bread of it; and if how to make it, yet. I knew not how to bake\nit. These things being added to my desire of having a good quantity for\nstore, and to secure a constant supply, I resolved not to taste any of\nthis crop, but to preserve it all for seed against the next season, and\nin the meantime to employ all my study and hours of working to\naccomplish this great work of providing myself with corn and bread.\n\nIt might be truly said, that I now worked for my bread. It is a little\nwonderful, and what I believe few people have thought much upon; viz.\nthe strange multitude of little things necessary in the providing,\nproducing, curing, dressing, making, and finishing this one article\nof bread.\n\nI, that was reduced to a mere state of nature, found this to be my daily\ndiscouragement, and was made more and more sensible of it every hour,\neven after I got the first handful of seed corn, which, as I have said,\ncame up unexpectedly, and indeed to a surprise. First, I had no plough\nto turn the earth, no spade or shovel to dig it. Well, this I conquered\nby making a wooden spade, as I observed before; but this did my work but\nin a wooden manner; and though it cost me a great many days to make it,\nyet, for want of iron, it not only wore out the sooner, but made my work\nthe harder, and made it be performed much worse.\n\nHowever, this I bore with too, and was content to work it out with\npatience, and bear with the badness of the performance. When the corn\nwas sowed, I had no harrow, but was forced to go over it myself, and\ndrag a great heavy bough of a tree over it, to scratch the earth, as it\nmay be called, rather than rake or harrow it.\n\nWhen it was growing or grown, I have observed already how many things I\nwanted, to fence it, secure it, mow or reap it, cure or carry it home,\nthresh, part it from the chaff, and save it. Then I wanted a mill to\ngrind it, sieves to dress it, yeast and salt to make it into bread, and\nan oven to bake it in; and all these things I did without, as shall be\nobserved; and yet the corn was an inestimable comfort and advantage to\nme too; but all this, as I said, made every thing laborious and tedious\nto me, but that there was no help for; neither was my time so much loss\nto me, because I had divided it; a certain part of it was every day\nappointed to these works; and as I resolved to use none of the corn for\nbread till I had a greater quantity by me, I had the next six months to\napply myself wholly by labour and invention, to furnish myself with\nutensils proper for the performing all the operations necessary for the\nmaking the corn, when I had it, fit for my use.\n\nBut first I was to prepare more land, for I had now seed enough to sow\nabove an acre of ground. Before I did this, I had a week's work at least\nto make me a spade, which, when it was done, was a very sorry one\nindeed, and very heavy, and required double labour to work with it;\nhowever, I went through that, and sowed my seeds in two large flat\npieces of ground, as near my house as I could find them to my mind, and\nfenced them in with a good hedge, the stakes of which were all cut off\nthat wood which I had set before, which I knew would grow; so that in\none year's time I knew I should have a quick or living hedge, that would\nwant but little repair. This work was not so little as to take me up\nless than three months; because great part of that time was in the wet\nseason, when I could not go abroad.\n\nWithin-door, that is, when it rained, and I could not go out, I found\nemployment on the following occasion, always observing, that all the\nwhile I was at work, I diverted myself with talking to my parrot, and\nteaching him to speak; and I quickly learnt him to know his own name; at\nlast, to speak it out pretty loud, Pol; which was the first word I ever\nheard spoken in the island by any mouth but my own. This therefore was\nnot my work, but an assistant to my work; for now, as I said, I had a\ngreat employment upon my hands, as follows: viz. I had long studied, by\nsome means or other, to make myself some earthen vessels, which indeed I\nwanted sorely, but knew not where to come at them: however, considering\nthe heat of the climate, I did not doubt but, if I could find out any\nsuch clay, I might botch up some such pot as might, being dried by the\nsun, be hard enough and strong enough to bear handling, and to hold any\nthing that was dry, and required to be kept so; and as this was\nnecessary in preparing corn, meal, &c. which was the thing I was upon, I\nresolved to make some as large as I could, and fit only to stand like\njars to hold what should be put into them.\n\nIt would make the reader pity me, or rather laugh at me, to tell how\nmany awkward ways I look to raise this paste, what odd misshapen ugly\nthings I made, how many of them fell in, and how many fell out, the clay\nnot being stiff enough to bear its own weight; how many cracked by the\nover-violent heat of the sun, being set out too hastily; and how many\nfell to pieces with only removing, as well before as after they were\ndried; and, in a word, how, after having laboured hard to find the clay,\nto dig it, to temper it, to bring it home, and work it, I could not make\nabove two large earthen ugly things, I cannot call them jars, in about\ntwo months labour.\n\nHowever, as the sun baked these two very dry and hard, I lifted them\nvery gently up and set them down again in two great wicker-baskets,\nwhich I had made on purpose for them that they might not break; and, as\nbetween the pot and the basket there was a little room to spare, I\nstuffed it full of the rice and barley-straw; and these two pots being\nto stand always dry, I thought would hold my dry corn, and perhaps the\nmeal when the corn was bruised.\n\nThough I miscarried so much in my design for large pots, yet I made\nseveral smaller things with better success; such as little round pots,\nflat dishes, pitchers, and pipkins, and any thing my hand turned to; and\nthe heat of the sun baked them strangely hard.\n\nBut all this would not answer my end, which was to get an earthen pot to\nhold what was liquid, and bear the fire, which none of these could do.\nIt happened after some time, making a pretty large fire for cooking my\nmeat, when I went to put it out, after I had done with it, I found a\nbroken piece of one of my earthenware vessels in the fire, burnt as hard\nas a stone, and red as a tile. I was agreeably surprised to see it, and\nsaid to myself, that certainly they might be made to burn whole, if they\nwould burn broken.\n\nThis set me to study how to order my fire, so as to make it burn me some\npots. I had no notion of a kiln such as the potters burn in, or of\nglazing them with lead, though I had some lead to do it with; but I\nplaced three large pipkins, and two or three pots, in a pile one upon\nanother, and placed my fire-wood all round it with a great heap of\nembers under them: I piled the fire with fresh fuel round the outside,\nand upon the top, till I saw the pots in the inside red-hot quite\nthrough, and observed that they did not crack at all: when I saw them\nclear red, I let them stand in that heat about five or six hours, till I\nfound one of them, though it did not crack, did melt or run; for the\nsand which was mixed with the clay melted by the violence of the heat,\nand would have run into glass, if I had gone on; so I slacked my fire\ngradually, till the pots began to abate of the red colour; and watching\nthem all night that I might not let the fire abate too fast, in the\nmorning I had three very good, I will not say handsome pipkins, and two\nother earthen pots, as hard burnt as could be desired; and one of them\nperfectly glazed with the running of the sand.\n\nAfter this experiment I need not say that I wanted no sort of\nearthenware for my use; but I must needs say, as to the shapes of them,\nthey were very indifferent, as any one may suppose, when I had no way of\nmaking them, but as the children make dirt-pies, or as a woman would\nmake pies that never learnt to raise paste.\n\nNo joy at a thing of so mean a nature was ever equal to mine, when I\nfound I had made an earthen pot that would bear the fire; and I had\nhardly patience to stay till they were cold, before I set one upon the\nfire again with some water in it, to boil me some meat, which I did\nadmirably well; and with a piece of a kid I made some very good broth,\nthough I wanted oatmeal, and several other ingredients requisite to\nmake it so good as I would have had it.\n\nMy next concern was to get me a stone mortar to stamp or beat some corn\nin; for as to the mill, there was no thought of arriving to that\nperfection of art with one pair of hands. To supply this want, I was at\na great loss; for of all trades in the world I was as perfectly\nunqualified for a stone-cutter, as for any whatever; neither had I any\ntools to go about it with. I spent many a day to find out a great stone\nbig enough to cut hollow, and make fit for a mortar, and could find none\nat all except what was in the solid rock, and which I had no way to dig\nor cut out; nor indeed were the rocks in the island of hardness\nsufficient, but were all of a sandy crumbling stone, which would neither\nbear the weight of an heavy pestle, nor would break the corn without\nfilling it with sand; so, after a great deal of time lost in searching\nfor a stone, I gave it over, and resolved to look out a great block of\nhard wood, which I found indeed much easier; and getting one as big as I\nhad strength to stir, I rounded it, and formed it on the outside with my\naxe and hatchet; and then with the help of fire and infinite labour,\nmade an hollow place in it, as the Indians in Brasil make their canoes.\nAfter this, I made a great heavy pestle or beater of the wood called the\niron-wood, and this I prepared and laid by against I had my next crop of\ncorn, when I proposed to myself to grind, or rather pound, my corn or\nmeal to make my bread.\n\nMy next difficulty was to make a sieve or searce, to dress my meal, and\npart it from the bran and the husk, without which I did not see it\npossible I could have any bread. This was a most difficult thing, so\nmuch as but to think on; for to be sure I had nothing like the necessary\nthings to make it with; I mean fine thin canvass, or stuff, to searce\nthe meal through. And here I was at a full stop for many months; nor did\nI really know what to do: linen I had none left but what was mere rags;\nI had goat's hair, but neither knew I how to weave or spin it; and had\nI known how, here were no tools to work it with. All the remedy that I\nfound for this, was, that at last I did remember I had among the\nseamen's clothes which were saved out of the ship, some neckcloths of\ncalico or muslin; and with some pieces of these I made three small\nsieves, but proper enough for the work; and thus I made shift for some\nyears; how I did afterwards, I shall shew in its place.\n\nThe baking part was the next thing to be considered, and how I should\nmake bread when I came to have corn; for, first, I had no yeast: as to\nthat part, there was no supplying the want, so I did not concern myself\nmuch about it. But for an oven, I was indeed in great pain. At length I\nfound out an experiment for that also, which was this; I made some\nearthen vessels very broad, but not deep; that is to say, about two feet\ndiameter, and not above nine inches deep; these I burnt in the fire, as\nI had done the other, and laid them by; and when I wanted to bake, I\nmade a great fire upon the hearth, which I had paved with some square\ntiles of my own making and burning also; but I should not call\nthem square.\n\nWhen the fire-wood was burnt pretty much into embers, or live coals, I\ndrew them forward upon this hearth, so as to cover it all over; and\nthere I let them lie, till the hearth was very hot; then sweeping away\nall the embers, I set down my loaf, or loaves; and whelming down the\nearthen pot upon them, drew the embers all round the outside of the pot,\nto keep in, and add to the heat; and thus, as well as in the best oven\nin the world, I baked my barley-loaves, and became in a little time a\nmere pastry-cook into the bargain; for I made myself several cakes of\nthe rice, and puddings; indeed I made no pies, neither had I any thing\nto put into them, supposing I had, except the flesh either of fowls\nor goats.\n\nIt need not be wondered at, if all these things took me up most part of\nthe third year of my abode here; for it is to be observed, that in the\nintervals of these things I had my new harvest and husbandry to manage:\nfor I reaped my corn in its season, and carried it home as well as I\ncould, and laid it up in the ear, in my large baskets, till I had time\nto rub it out; for I had no floor to thresh it on, or instrument to\nthresh it with.\n\nAnd now indeed my stock of corn increasing, I really wanted to build my\nbarns bigger: I wanted a place to lay it up in; for the increase of the\ncorn now yielded me so much, that I had of the barley about twenty\nbushels, and of the rice as much, or more; insomuch that I now resolved\nto begin to use it freely, for my bread had been quite gone a great\nwhile; also I resolved to see what quantity would be sufficient for me a\nwhole year, and to sow but once a year.\n\nUpon the whole, I found that the forty bushels of barley and rice were\nmuch more than I could consume in a year: so I resolved to sow just the\nsame quantity every year that I sowed the last, in hopes that such a\nquantity would fully provide me with bread, &c.\n\nAll the while these things were doing, you may be sure my thoughts ran\nmany times upon the prospect of land which I had seen from the other\nside of the island; and I was not without secret wishes, that I was on\nshore there, fancying that seeing the main land, and an inhabited\ncountry, I might find some way or other to convey myself farther, and\nperhaps at last find some means of escape.\n\nBut all this while I made no allowance for the dangers of such a\ncondition, and how I might fall into the hands of savages, and perhaps\nsuch as I might have reason to think far worse than the lions and tigers\nof Africa: that if I once came into their power, I should run an hazard\nmore than a thousand to one of being killed, and perhaps of being eaten;\nfor I had heard that the people of the Caribean coasts were cannibals,\nor men-eaters; and I knew by the latitude that I could not be far off\nfrom that shore: that, suppose they were not cannibals, yet they might\nkill me, as many Europeans who had fallen into their hands had been\nserved, even when they had been ten or twenty together; much more I that\nwas but one, and could make little or no defence. All these things, I\nsay, which I ought to have considered well of, and I did cast up in my\nthoughts afterwards, yet took none of my apprehensions at first; and my\nhead ran mightily upon the thoughts of getting over to that shore.\n\nNow I wished for my boy Xury, and the long-boat, with the shoulder of\nmutton sail, with which I sailed above a thousand miles on the coast of\nAfrica; but this was in vain. Then I thought I would go and look on our\nship's boat, which, as I have said, was blown up upon the shore a great\nway in the storm, when we were first cast away. She lay almost where she\ndid at first, but not quite; and was turned by the force of the waves\nand the winds almost bottom upwards, against the high ridge of a beachy\nrough sand, but no water about her as before.\n\nIf I had had hands to have refitted her, and have launched her into the\nwater, the boat would have done well enough, and I might have gone back\ninto the Brasils with her easy enough; but I might have easily foreseen,\nthat I could no more turn her, and set her upright upon her bottom, than\nI could remove the island. However, I went to the wood, and cut levers\nand rollers, and brought them to the boat, resolving to try what I could\ndo; suggesting to myself, that if I could but turn her down, I might\neasily repair the damage she had received, and she would be a very good\nboat, and I might go to sea in her very easily.\n\nI spared no pains indeed in this piece of fruitless toil, and spent, I\nthink, three or four weeks about it; at last finding it impossible to\nheave it up with my little strength, I fell to digging away the sand to\nundermine it; and so to make it fall down, setting pieces of wood to\nthrust and guide it right in the fall.\n\nBut when I had done this, I was unable to stir it up again, or to get\nunder it, much less to move it forwards towards the water; so I was\nforced to give it over: and yet, though I gave over the hopes of the\nboat, my desire to venture over for the main increased, rather than\ndecreased, as the means for it seemed impossible.\n\nThis at length set me upon thinking whether it was not possible to make\nmyself a canoe or periagua, such as the natives of those climates make,\neven without tools, or, as I might say, without hands, viz. of the trunk\nof a great tree. This I not only thought possible, but easy: and pleased\nmyself extremely with my thoughts of making it, and with my having much\nmore convenience for it than any of the Negroes or Indians; but not at\nall considering the particular inconveniences which I lay under more\nthan the Indians did, viz. want of hands to move it into the water, when\nit was made; a difficulty much harder for me to surmount than all the\nconsequences of want of tools could be to them: for what was it to me,\nthat when I had chosen a vast tree in the woods, I might with great\ntrouble cut it down, if after I might be able with my tools to hew and\ndub the outside into a proper shape of a boat, and burn or cut out the\ninside to make it hollow, so to make a boat of it, if, after all this, I\nmust leave it just there where I found it, and was not able to launch it\ninto the water?\n\nOne would have thought I could not have had the least reflection upon my\nmind of this circumstance, while I was making this boat, but I should\nhave immediately thought how I should get it into the sea; but my\nthoughts were so intent upon my voyage over the sea in it, that I never\nonce considered how I should get it off the land; and it was really in\nits own nature more easy for me to guide it over forty-five miles of\nsea, than about forty-five fathoms of land, where it lay, to set it\nafloat in the water.\n\nI went to work upon this boat the most like a fool that ever man did,\nwho had any of his senses awake. I pleased myself with the design,\nwithout determining whether I was ever able to undertake it; not but\nthat the difficulty of launching my boat came often into my head; but I\nput a stop to my own inquiries into it by this foolish answer, which I\ngave myself; Let me first make it, I'll warrant I'll find some way or\nother to get it along, when it is done.\n\nThis was a most preposterous method; but the eagerness of my fancy\nprevailed, and to work I went, and felled a cedar-tree: I question much\nwhether Solomon ever had such an one for the building the temple at\nJerusalem; it was five feet ten inches diameter at the lower part next\nthe stump, and four feet eleven inches diameter at the end of twenty-two\nfeet, after which it lessened for a while, and then parted into\nbranches. It was not without infinite labour that I felled this tree: I\nwas twenty days hacking and hewing at it at the bottom; I was fourteen\nmore getting the branches and limbs, and the vast spreading head of it,\ncut off, which I hacked and hewed through with my axe and hatchet, with\ninexpressible labour: after this it cost me a month to shape it, and dub\nit to a proportion, and to something like the bottom of a boat, that it\nmight swim upright as it ought to do. It cost me near three months more\nto clear the inside, and work it out so as to make an exact boat of it:\nthis I did indeed without fire, by mere mallet and chissel, and by the\ndint of hard labour; till I had brought it to be a very handsome\nperiagua, and big enough to have carried six-and-twenty men, and\nconsequently big enough to have carried me and all my cargo.\n\nWhen I had gone through this work, I was extremely delighted with it:\nthe boat was really much bigger than I ever saw a canoe or periagua,\nthat was made of one tree, in my life; many a weary stroke it had cost,\nyou may be sure, for there remained nothing but to get it into the\nwater; and had I gotten it into the water, I make no question but I\nshould have begun the maddest voyage, and the most unlikely to be\nperformed, that ever was undertaken.\n\nBut all my devices to get it into the water failed me, though they cost\ninfinite labour too; it lay about one hundred yards from the water, and\nnot more; but the first inconvenience was, it was up hill towards the\ncreek. Well, to take away this discouragement, I resolved to dig into\nthe surface of the earth, and so make a declivity; this I began, and it\ncost me a prodigious deal of pains: but who grudge pains, that have\ntheir deliverance in view? but when this was worked through, and this\ndifficulty managed, it was still much at one; for I could no more stir\nthe canoe, than I could the other boat.\n\nThen I measured the distance of ground, and resolved to cut a dock, or\ncanal, to bring the water up to the canoe, seeing I could not bring the\ncanoe down to the water: well, I began this work, and when I began to\nenter into it, and calculated how deep it was to be dug, how broad, how\nthe stuff to be thrown out, I found, that by the number of hands I had,\nbeing none but my own, it must have been ten or twelve years before I\nshould have gone through with it; for the shore lay high, so that at the\nupper end it must have been at least twenty feet deep: so at length,\nthough with great reluctancy, I gave this attempt over also.\n\nThis grieved me heartily; and now I saw, though too late, the folly of\nbeginning a work before we count the cost, and before we judge lightly\nof our own strength to go through with it.\n\nIn the middle of this work I finished my fourth year in this place, and\nkept my anniversary with the same devotion, and with as much comfort, as\never before; for by a constant study, and serious application of the\nword of God, and by the assistance of his grace, I gained a different\nknowledge from what I had before; I entertained different notions of\nthings; I looked now upon the world as a thing remote; which I had\nnothing to do with, no expectation from, and indeed no desires about: in\na word, I had nothing indeed to do with it, nor was ever like to have;\nso I thought it looked as we may perhaps look upon it hereafter; viz. as\na place I had lived in, but was come out of it; and well I might say,\nas father Abraham to Dives, \"Between me and thee there is a great\ngulf fixed.\"\n\nIn the first place, I was removed from all the wickedness of the world\nhere: I had neither the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, or the\npride of life: I had nothing to covet, for I had all I was now capable\nof enjoying; I was lord of the whole manor, or, if I pleased, I might\ncall myself king or emperor over the whole country which I had\npossession of: there were no rivals: I had no competitor, none to\ndispute sovereignty or command with me; I might have raised\nship-loadings of corn, but I had no use for it; so I let as little grow\nas I thought enough for my occasion: I had tortoises or turtles enough;\nbut now and then one was as much as I could put to any use: I had timber\nenough to have built a fleet of ships; I had grapes enough to have made\nwine, or to have cured into raisins, to have loaded that fleet when they\nhad been built.\n\nBut all I could make use of, was all that was valuable: I had enough to\neat, and to supply my wants, and what was all the rest to me? If I\nkilled more flesh than I could eat, the dog must eat it, or the vermin;\nif I sowed more corn than I could eat, it must be spoiled. The trees\nthat I cut down were lying to rot on the ground, I could make no more\nuse of them, than for fuel; and that I had no occasion for, but to\ndress my food.\n\nIn a word, the nature and experience of things dictated to me upon just\nreflection, that all the good things of this world are no farther good\nto us, than as they are for our use: and that whatever we may heap up\nindeed to give to others, we enjoy as much as we can use, and no more.\nThe most covetous griping miser in the world would have been cured of\nthe vice of covetousness, if he had been in my case; for I possessed\ninfinitely more than I knew what to do with. I had no room for desire,\nexcept it was of things which I had not, and they were but trifles,\nthough indeed of great use to me. I had, as I hinted before, a parcel\nof money, as well gold as silver, about thirty-six pounds sterling;\nalas! there the nasty, sorry, useless stuff lay; I had no manner of\nbusiness for it; and I often thought with myself, that I would have\ngiven an handful of it for a gross of tobacco-pipes, or for an hand-mill\nto grind my corn; nay, I would have given it all for six-penny-worth of\nturnip and carrot seed out of England, or for an handful of peas and\nbeans, and a bottle of ink: as it was, I had not the least advantage by\nit, or benefit from it; but there it lay in a drawer, and grew mouldy\nwith the damp of the cave, in the wet season; and if I had had the\ndrawer full of diamonds, it had been the same case; and they had been of\nno manner of value to me, because of no use.\n\nI had now brought my state of life to be much easier in itself than it\nwas at first, and much easier to my mind, as well as to my body. I\nfrequently sat down to my meat with thankfulness, and admired the hand\nof God's providence, which had thus spread my table in the wilderness: I\nlearnt to look more upon the bright side of my condition, and less upon\nthe dark side; and to consider what I enjoyed, rather than what I\nwanted; and this gave me sometimes such secret comforts, that I cannot\nexpress them; and which I take notice of here, to put those discontented\npeople in mind of it, who cannot enjoy comfortably what God hath given\nthem, because they see and covet something that he has not given them:\nall our discontents about what we want, appeared to me to spring from\nthe want of thankfulness for what we have.\n\nAnother reflection was of great use to me, and doubtless would be so to\nany one that should fall into such distress as mine was; and this was,\nto compare my present condition with what I at first expected it should\nbe; nay, with what it would certainly have been, if the good providence\nof God had not wonderfully ordered the ship to be cast up near to the\nshore, where I not only could come at her, but could bring what I got\nout of her to the shore for my relief and comfort; without which I had\nwanted tools to work, weapons for defence, or gunpowder and shot for\ngetting my food.\n\nI spent whole hours, I may say whole days, in representing to myself in\nthe most lively colours, how I must have acted, if I had got nothing out\nof the ship; how I could not have so much as got any food, except fish\nand turtles; and that, as it was long before I found any of them, I must\nhave perished first: that I should have lived, if I had not perished,\nlike a mere savage: that if I had killed a goat or a fowl by any\ncontrivance, I had no way to flay or open them, or part the flesh from\nthe skin and the bowels, or to cut it up; but must gnaw it with my\nteeth, and pull it with my claws, like a beast.\n\nThese reflections made me very sensible of the goodness of Providence to\nme, and very thankful for my present condition, with all its hardships\nand misfortunes: and this part also I cannot but recommend to the\nreflection of those who are apt in their misery to say, Is any\naffliction like mine? Let them consider, how much worse the cases of\nsome people are, and what their case might have been, if Providence had\nthought fit.\n\nI had another reflection which assisted me also to comfort my mind with\nhopes; and this was, comparing my present condition with what I had\ndeserved, and had therefore reason to expect from the hand of\nProvidence. I had lived a dreadful life, perfectly destitute of the\nknowledge and fear of God: I had been well instructed by father and\nmother; neither had they been wanting to me in their early endeavours to\ninfuse a religious awe of God into my mind, a sense of my duty, and of\nwhat the nature and end of my being required of me. But, alas! falling\nearly into the seafaring life, which of all the lives is the most\ndestitute of the fear of God, though his terrors are always before them;\nI say, falling early into the seafaring life, and into seafaring\ncompany, all that little sense of religion which I had entertained, was\nlaughed out of me by my messmates; by an hardened despising of dangers,\nand the views of death, which grew habitual to me; by my long absence\nfrom all manner of opportunities to converse with any thing but what was\nlike myself, or to hear any thing of what was good, or tended\ntowards it.\n\nSo void was I of every thing that was good, or of the least sense of\nwhat I was, or was to be, that in the greatest deliverance I enjoyed,\nsuch as my escape from Sallee, my being taken up by the Portuguese\nmaster of the ship, my being planted so well in Brasil, my receiving the\ncargo from England, and the like, I never once had the words, Thank God,\nso much as on my mind, or in my mouth; nor in the greatest distress had\nI so much thought as to pray to him; nor so much as to say, Lord, have\nmercy upon me! no, not to mention the name of God, unless it was to\nswear by, and blaspheme it.\n\nI had terrible reflections upon my mind for many months, as I have\nalready observed, on the account of my wicked and hardened life past;\nand when I looked about me, and considered what particular providences\nhad attended me, since my coming into this place, and how God had dealt\nbountifully with me; had not only punished me less than my iniquity\ndeserved, but had so plentifully provided for me; this gave me great\nhopes that my repentance was accepted, and that God had yet mercies in\nstore for me.\n\nWith these reflections I worked my mind up, not only to resignation to\nthe will of God in the present disposition of my circumstances, but even\nto a sincere thankfulness of my condition; and that I, who was yet a\nliving man, ought not to complain, seeing I had not the due punishment\nof my sins; that I enjoyed so many mercies, which I had no reason to\nhave expected in that place, that I ought never more to repine at my\ncondition, but to rejoice, and to give daily thanks, for that daily\nbread, which nothing but a cloud of wonders could have brought: that I\nought to consider I had been fed even by a miracle, even as great as\nthat of feeding Elijah by ravens; nay, by a long series of miracles; and\nthat I could hardly have named a place in the uninhabited part of the\nworld, where I could have been cast more to my advantage: a place, where\nas I had no society, which was my affliction on one hand, so I found no\nravenous beasts, no furious wolves or tigers, to threaten my life; no\nvenomous creatures, or poisonous, which I might have fed on to my hurt;\nno savages to murder and devour me.\n\nIn a word, as my life was a life of sorrow one way, so it was a life of\nmercy another; and I wanted nothing to make it a life of comfort, but to\nbe able to make my sense of God's goodness to me, and care over me in\nthis condition, be my daily consolation; and after I made a just\nimprovement of these things, I went away, and was no more sad.\n\nI had now been here so long, that many things which I brought on shore\nfor my help, were either quite gone, or very much wasted, and\nnear spent.\n\nMy ink, as I observed, had been gone for some time, all but a very\nlittle, which I eked out with water a little and a little, till it was\nso pale it scarce left any appearance of black upon the paper: as long\nas it lasted, I made use of it to minute down the days of the month on\nwhich any remarkable thing happened to me; and first, by casting up\ntimes past, I remember that there was a strange concurrence of days, in\nthe various providences which befel me, and which, if I had been\nsuperstitiously inclined to observe days as fatal or fortunate, I might\nhave had reason to have looked upon with a great deal of curiosity.\n\nFirst, I had observed, that the same day that I broke away from my\nfather and my friends, and ran away to Hull in order to go to sea, the\nsame day afterwards I was taken by the Sallee man of war, and made\na slave.\n\nThe same day of the year that I escaped out of the wreck of the ship in\nYarmouth Roads, that same day of the year afterwards I made my escape\nfrom Sallee in the boat.\n\nThe same day of the year I was born on, viz. the 20th of September, the\nsame day I had my life so miraculously saved twenty-six years after,\nwhen I was cast on shore in this island; so that my wicked life, and\nsolitary life, both began on a day.\n\nThe next thing to my ink's being wasted, was that of my bread, I mean\nthe biscuit which I brought out of the ship. This I had husbanded to the\nlast degree, allowing myself but one cake of bread a day, for above a\nyear: and yet I was quite without bread for a year before I got any corn\nof my own: and great reason I had to be thankful that I had any at all,\nthe getting it being, as has been already observed, next to miraculous.\n\nMy clothes too began to decay mightily: as to linen, I had none a good\nwhile, except some chequered shirts which I found in the chests of the\nother seamen, and which I carefully preserved, because many times I\ncould bear no other clothes on but a shirt; and it was a very great help\nto me, that I had among all the men's clothes of the ship almost three\ndozen of shirts. There were also several thick watch-coats of the\nseamen, which were left behind, but they were too hot to wear; and\nthough it is true, that the weather was so violent hot, that there was\nno need of clothes, yet I could not go quite naked; no, though I had\nbeen inclined to it, which I was not; nor could I abide the thought of\nit, though I was all alone.\n\nOne reason why I could not go quite naked, was, I could not bear the\nheat of the sun so well when quite naked as with some clothes on; nay,\nthe very heat frequently blistered my skin; whereas, with a shirt on,\nthe air itself made some motion, and whistling under the shirt, was\ntwofold cooler than without it: no more could I ever bring myself to go\nout in the heat of the sun without a cap or a hat; the heat of the sun\nbeating with such violence as it does in that place, would give me the\nheadach presently, by darting so directly on my head, without a cap or\nhat on, so that I could not bear it; whereas, if I put on my hat, it\nwould presently go away.\n\nUpon these views I began to consider about putting the few rags I had,\nwhich I called clothes, into some order; I had worn out all the\nwaistcoats I had, and my business was now to try if I could not make\njackets out of the great watch-coats which I had by me, and with such\nother materials as I had; so I set to work a-tailoring, or rather indeed\na-botching; for I made most piteous work of it. However, I made shift to\nmake two or three waistcoats, which I hoped would serve me a great\nwhile; as for breeches or drawers, I made but very sorry shift indeed,\ntill afterwards.\n\nI have mentioned that I saved the skins of all the creatures that I\nkilled, I mean four-footed ones; and I had hung them up stretched out\nwith sticks in the sun; by which means some of them were so dry and\nhard, that they were fit for little; but others, it seems, were very\nuseful. The first thing I made of these was a great cap for my head,\nwith the hair on the outside to shoot off the rain; and this I performed\nso well, that after this I made a suit of clothes wholly of those skins;\nthat is to say, a waistcoat and breeches open at the knees, and both\nloose; for they were rather wanted to keep me cool, than to keep me\nwarm. I must not omit to acknowledge, that they were wretchedly made;\nfor if I was a bad carpenter, I was a worse tailor; however, they were\nsuch as I made a very good shift with; and when I was abroad, if it\nhappened to rain, the hair of the waistcoat and cap being outmost, I was\nkept very dry.\n\nAfter this I spent a deal of time and pains to make me an umbrella: I\nwas indeed in great want of one, and had a great mind to make one: I had\nseen them made in the Brasils, where they are very useful in the great\nheats which are there; and I felt the heats every jot as great here, and\ngreater too, being nearer the equinox; besides, as I was obliged to be\nmuch abroad, it was a most useful thing to me, as well for the rains as\nthe heats. I took a world of pains at it, and was a great while before I\ncould make any thing likely to hold; nay, after I thought I had hit the\nway, I spoiled two or three before I made one to my mind; but at last I\nmade one that answered indifferently well. The main difficulty I found\nwas to make it to let down: I could make it to spread; but if it did not\nlet down too, and draw in, it would not be portable for me any way, but\njust over my head, which would not do. However, at last, as I said, I\nmade one to answer; I covered it with skins, the hair upwards, so that\nit cast off the rain like a penthouse, and kept off the sun so\neffectually, that I could walk out in the hottest of the weather, with\ngreater advantage than I could before in the coolest; and when I had no\nneed of it, I could close it, and carry it under my arm.\n\nThus I lived mighty comfortably, my mind being entirely composed by\nresigning to the will of God, and throwing myself wholly upon the\ndisposal of his providence: this made my life better than sociable; for\nwhen I began to regret the want of conversation, I would ask myself,\nwhether thus conversing mutually with my own thoughts, and, as I hope I\nmay say, with even my Maker, by ejaculations and petitions, was not\nbetter than the utmost enjoyment of human society in the world?\n\nI cannot say, that after this, for five years, any extraordinary thing\nhappened to me; but I lived on in the same course, in the same posture\nand place, just as before. The chief thing I was employed in, besides my\nyearly labour of planting my barley and rice, and curing my raisins, of\nboth which I always kept up just enough to have sufficient stock of the\nyear's provisions beforehand; I say, besides this yearly labour, and my\ndaily labour of going out with my gun, I had one labour to make me a\ncanoe, which at last I finished: so that by digging a canal to it, six\nfeet wide, and four feet deep, I brought it into the creek, almost half\na mile. As for the first, that was so vastly big, as I made it without\nconsidering beforehand, as I ought to do, how I should be able to launch\nit; so never being able to bring it to the water, or bring the water to\nit, I was obliged to let it lie where it was, as a memorandum to teach\nme to be wiser next time. Indeed the next time, though I could not get a\ntree proper for it, and was in a place where I could not get the water\nto it, at any less distance than, as I have said, of near half a mile;\nyet as I saw it was practicable at last, I never gave it over; and\nthough I was near two years about it, yet I never grudged my labour, in\nhopes of having a boat to go off to sea at last.\n\nHowever, though my little periagua was finished, yet the size of it was\nnot at all answerable to the design which I had in view, when I made the\nfirst; I mean of venturing over to the Terra Firma, where it was above\nforty miles broad; accordingly, the smallness of my boat assisted to put\nan end to that design, and now I thought no more of it. But as I had a\nboat, my next design was to make a tour round the island: for as I had\nbeen on the other side, in one place, crossing, as I have already\ndescribed it, over the land, so the discoveries I made in that journey\nmade me very eager to see the other parts of the coast; and now I had a\nboat, I thought of nothing but sailing round the island.\n\nFor this purpose, and that I might do every thing with discretion and\nconsideration, I fitted up a little mast to my boat, and made a sail to\nit out of some of the pieces of the ship's sails, which lay in store,\nand of which I had a great store by me.\n\nHaving fitted my mast and sail, and tried the boat, I found she would\nsail very well. Then I made little lockers and boxes at each end of my\nboat, to put provisions, necessaries, and ammunition, &c. into, to be\nkept dry, either from rain, or the spray of the sea; and a little long\nhollow place I cut in the inside of the boat, where I could lay my gun,\nmaking a flap to hang down over it to keep it dry.\n\nI fixed my umbrella also in a step at the stern, like a mast, to stand\nover my head, and keep the heat of the sun off me, like an awning; and\nthus I every now and then took a little voyage upon the sea, but never\nwent far out, nor far from the little creek; but at last, being eager to\nview the circumference of my little kingdom, I resolved upon my tour,\nand accordingly I victualled my ship for the voyage; putting in two\ndozen of my loaves (cakes I should rather call them) of barley-bread; an\nearthen pot full of parched rice, a food I ate a great deal of, a little\nbottle of rum, half a goat, and powder with shot for killing more, and\ntwo large watch-coats, of those which, as I mentioned before, I had\nsaved out of the seamen's chests; these I took, one to lie upon, and the\nother to cover me in the night.\n\nIt was the 6th of November, in the sixth year of my reign, or my\ncaptivity, which you please, that I set out on this voyage, and I found\nit much longer than I expected; for though the island itself was not\nvery large, yet when I came to the east side of it, I found a great\nledge of rocks lie out about two leagues into the sea, some above water,\nsome under it; and beyond this a shoal of sand, lying dry half a league\nmore; so that I was obliged to go a great way out to sea to double\nthat point.\n\nWhen I first discovered them, I was going to give over my enterprise,\nand come back again, not knowing how far it might oblige me to go out to\nsea, and above all, doubting how I should get back again; so I came to\nan anchor, for I had made me a kind of an anchor with a piece of broken\ngrappling which I got out of the ship.\n\nHaving secured my boat, I took my gun, and went on shore, climbing up an\nhill, which seemed to over-look that point, where I saw the full extent\nof it, and resolved to venture.\n\nIn my viewing the sea from that hill where I stood, I perceived a\nstrong, and indeed a most furious current, which ran to the east, even\ncame close to the point; and I took the more notice of it, because I\nsaw there might be some danger, that when I came into it, I might be\ncarried out to sea by the strength of it, and not be able to make the\nisland again. And indeed, had I not gotten first upon this hill, I\nbelieve it would have been so; for there was the same current on the\nother side of the island, only that it set off at a farther distance;\nand I saw there was a strong eddy under the shore; so I had nothing to\ndo but to get out of the first current, and I should presently be in\nan eddy.\n\nI lay here, however, two days; because the wind blowing pretty fresh (at\nE.S.E. and that being just contrary to the said current) made a great\nbreach of the sea upon the point; so that it was not safe for me to keep\ntoo close to the shore for the breach, nor to go too far off because of\nthe stream.\n\nThe third day in the morning, the wind having abated over-night, the sea\nwas calm, and I ventured; but I am a warning-piece again to all rash and\nignorant pilots; for no sooner was I come to the point, when I was not\nmy boat's length from the shore, but I found myself in a great depth of\nwater, and a current like a sluice of a mill. It carried my boat along\nwith it with such violence, that all I could do could not keep her so\nmuch as on the edge of it: but I found it hurried me farther and farther\nout from the eddy, which was on the left hand. There was no wind\nstirring to help me, and all that I could do with my paddles signified\nnothing; and now I began to give myself over for lost; for, as the\ncurrent was on both sides the island, I knew in a few leagues distance\nthey must join again, and then I was irrecoverably gone; nor did I see\nany possibility of avoiding it; so that I had no prospect before me but\nof perishing; not by the sea, for that was calm enough, but of starving\nfor hunger. I had indeed found a tortoise on the shore, as big almost as\nI could lift, and had tossed it into the boat; and I had a great jar of\nfresh water, that is to say, one of my earthen pots; but what was all\nthis to being driven into the vast ocean, where, to be sure, there was\nno shore, no main land or island, for a thousand leagues at least?\n\nAnd now I saw how easy it was for the providence of God to make the most\nmiserable condition that mankind could be in, worse. Now I looked back\nupon my desolate solitary island, as the most pleasant place in the\nworld, and all the happiness my heart could wish for, was to be there\nagain: I stretched out my hands to it with eager wishes; \"O happy\ndesert!\" said I, \"I shall never see thee more! O miserable creature!\"\nsaid I, \"whither am I going!\" Then I reproached myself with my\nunthankful temper, and how I had repined at my solitary condition; and\nnow what would I give to be on shore there again? Thus we never see the\ntrue state of our condition, till it is illustrated to us by its\ncontraries; nor know how to value what we enjoy, but by the want of it.\nIt is scarce possible to imagine the consternation I was now in, being\ndriven from my beloved island (for so it appeared to me now to be) into\nthe wide ocean, almost two leagues, and in the utmost despair of ever\nrecovering it again: however, I worked hard, till indeed my strength was\nalmost exhausted; and kept my boat as much to the northward, that is,\ntowards the side of the current which the eddy lay on, as possibly I\ncould; when about noon, as the sun passed the meridian, I thought I felt\na little breeze of wind in my face, springing up from the S.S.E. This\ncheered my heart a little, and especially when in about half an hour\nmore it blew a pretty small gentle gale. By this time I was gotten at a\nfrightful distance from the island; and, had the least cloud or hazy\nweather intervened, I had been undone another way too; for I had no\ncompass on board, and should never have known how to have steered\ntowards the island, if I had but once lost sight of it; but the weather\ncontinuing clear, I applied myself to get up my mast again, and spread\nmy sail, standing away to the north as much as possible, to get out of\nthe current.\n\nJust as I had set my mast and sail, and the boat began to stretch away,\nI saw even by the clearness of the water, some alteration of the current\nwas near; where the current was so strong, the water was foul; but\nperceiving the water clear, I found the current abate, and presently I\nfound to the east, at about half a mile, a breach of the sea upon some\nrocks: these rocks I found caused the current to part again; and as the\nmain stress of it ran away more southerly, leaving the rocks to the\nnorth-east, so the other returned by the repulse of the rock, and made a\nstrong eddy, which ran back again to the north-west with a very\nsharp stream.\n\nThey who know what it is to have a reprieve brought to them upon the\nladder, or to be rescued from thieves just going to murder them, or who\nhave been in such like extremities, may guess what my present surprise\nof joy was, and how gladly I put my boat into the stream of this eddy;\nand the wind also freshening, how gladly I spread my sail to it, running\ncheerfully before the wind, and with a strong tide or eddy under foot.\n\nThis eddy carried me about a league in my way back again directly\ntowards the island, but about two leagues more towards the northward\nthan the current lay, which carried me away at first; so that when I\ncame near the island, I found myself open to the northern shore of it,\nthat is to say, the other end of the island, opposite to that which I\nwent out from.\n\nWhen I had made something more than a league of way by the help of this\ncurrent or eddy, I found it was spent, and served me no farther. However\nI found, that being between the two great currents, viz. that on the\nsouth side which had hurried me away, and that on the north which lay\nabout two leagues on the other side; I say, between these two, in the\nwest of the island, I found the water at least still, and running no\nway; and having still a breeze of wind fair for me, I kept on steering\ndirectly for the island, though not making such fresh way as I\ndid before.\n\nAbout four o'clock in the evening, being then within about a league of\nthe island, I found the point of the rocks which occasioned this\ndistance stretching out as is described before, to the southward, and\ncasting off the current more southwardly, had of course made another\neddy to the north; and this I found very strong, but directly setting\nthe way my course lay, which was due west, but almost full north.\nHowever, having a fresh gale, I stretched across this eddy slanting\nnorth-west, and in about an hour came within about a mile of the shore,\nwhere, it being smooth water, I soon got to land.\n\nWhen I was on shore, I fell on my knees, and gave God thanks for my\ndeliverance, resolving to lay aside all thoughts of my deliverance by my\nboat; and refreshing myself with such things as I had, I brought my boat\nclose to the shore, in a little cove that I had espied under some trees,\nand laid me down to sleep, being quite spent with the labour and fatigue\nof the voyage.\n\nI was now at a great loss which way to get home with my boat; I had run\nso much hazard, and knew too much the case to think of attempting it by\nthe way I went out; and what might be at the other side (I mean the west\nside) I knew not, nor had I any mind to run any more ventures; so I only\nresolved in the morning to make my way westward along the shore, and to\nsee if there was no creek where I might lay up my frigate in safety, so\nas to have her again if I wanted her. In about three miles, or\nthereabouts, coasting the shore, I came to a very good inlet, or bay,\nabout a mile over, which narrowed till it came to a very little rivulet,\nor brook, where I found a convenient harbour for my boat, and where she\nlay as if she had been in a little dock made on purpose for her: here I\nput in, and having stowed my boat very safe, I went on shore to look\nabout me, and see where I was.\n\nI soon found I had but a little passed by the place where I had been\nbefore when I travelled on foot to that shore; so taking nothing out of\nmy boat but my gun and my umbrella, for it was exceeding hot, I began my\nmarch: the way was comfortable enough after such a voyage as I had been\nupon, and I reached my old bower in the evening, where I found every\nthing standing as I left it; for I always kept it in good order, being,\nas I said before, my country-house.\n\nI got over the fence, and laid me down in the shade to rest my limbs,\nfor I was very weary, and fell asleep: but judge you if you can, that\nread my story, what a surprise I must be in when I was awaked out of my\nsleep by a voice calling me by my name several times, \"Robin, Robin,\nRobin Crusoe, poor Robin Crusoe! Where are you, Robin Crusoe? Where are\nyou? Where have you been?\"\n\nI was so dead asleep at first, being fatigued with rowing, or paddling,\nas it is called, the first part of the day, and walking the latter part,\nthat I did not awake thoroughly; and dozing between sleeping and waking,\nthought I dreamed that somebody spoke to me: but as the voice continued\nto repeat Robin Crusoe, Robin Crusoe; at last I began to awake more\nperfectly, and was at first dreadfully frighted, and started up in the\nutmost consternation: but no sooner were my eyes open, but I saw my Pol\nsitting on the top of the hedge, and immediately knew that this was he\nthat spoke to me; for just in such bemoaning language I had used to talk\nto him, and teach him; and he had learnt it so perfectly, that he would\nsit upon my finger, and lay his bill close to my face, and cry, \"Poor\nRobin Crusoe, where are you? Where have you been? How came you here?\"\nand such things as I had taught him.\n\nHowever, even though I knew it was the parrot, and that indeed it could\nbe nobody else, it was a good while before I could compose myself.\nFirst, I was amazed how the creature got thither, and then how he should\njust keep about the place, and no where else: but as I was well\nsatisfied it could be nobody but honest Poll, I got it over; and\nholding out my Hand, and calling him by his Name Poll, the sociable\nCreature came to me, and sat upon my Thumb, as he used to do, and\ncontinued talking to me, Poor Robin Crusoe, and how did I come here? and\nwhere had I been? just as if he had been overjoyed to see me again; and\nso I carried him Home along with me.\n\nI had now had enough of rambling to sea for some time, and had enough to\ndo for many days to sit still, and reflect upon the danger I had been\nin: I would have been very glad to have had my boat again on my side of\nthe island; but I knew not how it was practicable to get it about as to\nthe east side of the island, which I had gone round; I knew well enough\nthere was no venturing that way; my very heart would shrink, and my very\nblood run chill but to think of it: and as to the other side of the\nisland, I did not know how it might be there; but supposing the current\nran with the same force against the shore at the east as it passed by it\non the other, I might run the same risk of being driven down the stream,\nand carried by the island, as I had been before, of being carried away\nfrom it; so with these thoughts I contented my self to be without any\nboat, though it had been the product of so many months labour to make\nit, and of so many more to get it unto the sea.\n\nIn this government of my temper, I remained near a year, lived a very\nsedate retired life, as you may well suppose; and my thoughts being very\nmuch composed as to my condition, and fully comforted in resigning my\nself to the dispositions of Providence, I thought I lived really very\nhappily in all things, except that of society.\n\nI improved my self in this time in all the mechanic exercises which my\nnecessities put me upon applying my self to, and I believe could, upon\noccasion, make a very good carpenter, especially considering how few\ntools I had.\n\nBesides this, I arrived at an unexpected perfection in my earthen ware,\nand contrived well enough to make them with a wheel, which I found\ninfinitely easier and better; because I made things round and shapeable,\nwhich before were filthy things indeed to look on. But I think I was\nnever more vain of my own performance, or more joyful for any thing I\nfound out, than for my being able to make a tobacco-pipe. And tho it was\na very ugly clumsy thing, when it was done, and only burnt red like\nother earthen ware, yet as it was hard and firm, and would draw the\nsmoke, I was exceedingly comforted with it, for I had been always used\nto smoke, and there were pipes in the ship, but I forgot them at first,\nnot knowing that there was tobacco in the island; and afterwards, when I\nsearched the ship again, I could not come at any pipes at all.\n\nIn my wicker ware also I improved much, and made abundance of necessary\nbaskets, as well as my invention shewed me, tho not very handsome, yet\nthey were such as were very handy and convenient for my laying things up\nin, or fetching things home in. For example, if I killed a goat abroad,\nI could hang it up in a tree, flea it, and dress it, and cut it in\npieces, and bring it home in a basket, and the like by a turtle, I could\ncut it up, take out the eggs, and a piece or two of the flesh, which was\nenough for me, and bring them home in a basket, and leave the rest\nbehind me. Also large deep baskets were my receivers for my corn, which\nI always rubbed out as soon as it was dry, and cured, and kept it in\ngreat baskets.\n\nI began now to perceive my powder abated considerably, and this was a\nwant which it was impossible for me to supply, and I began seriously to\nconsider what I must do when I should have no more powder; that is to\nsay, how I should do to kill any goat. I had, as is observed in the\nthird year of my being here, kept a young kid, and bred her up tame, and\nI was in hope of getting a he-goat, but I could not by any means bring\nit to pass, 'till my kid grew an old goat; and I could never find in my\nheart to kill her, till she dyed at last of mere age.\n\nBut being now in the eleventh year of my residence, and, as I have\nsaid, my ammunition growing low, I set myself to study some art to trap\nand snare the goats, to see whether I could not catch some of them\nalive; and particularly I wanted a she-goat great with young.\n\nTo this purpose I made snares to hamper them; and believe they were more\nthan once taken in them; but my tackle was not good, for I had no wire,\nand always found them broken, and my bait devoured.\n\nAt length I resolved to try a pitfall; so I dug several large pits in\nthe earth, in places where I had observed the goats used to feed, and\nover these pits I placed hurdles of my own making too, with a great\nweight upon them; and several times I put ears of barley, and dry rice,\nwithout setting the trap; and I could easily perceive, that the goats\nhad gone in, and eaten up the corn, that I could see the mark of their\nfeet: at length, I set three traps in one night, and going the next\nmorning, I found them all standing, and yet the bait eaten and gone.\nThis was very discouraging; however, I altered my trap; and, not to\ntrouble you with particulars, going one morning to see my traps, I found\nin one of them a large old he-goat; and, in one of the other, three\nkids, a male and two females.\n\nAs to the old one, I knew not what to do with him; he was so fierce I\ndurst not go into the pit to him; that is to say, to go about to bring\nhim away alive, which was what I wanted; I could have killed him, but\nthat was not my business, nor would it answer my end; so I e'en let him\nout, and he ran away as if he had been frightened out of his wits; but I\ndid not then know what I afterwards learnt, that hunger would tame a\nlion: if I had let him stay there three or four days without food, and\nthen have carried him some water to drink, and then a little corn, he\nwould have been as tame as one of the kids; for they are mighty\nsagacious tractable creatures, where they are well used.\n\nHowever, for the present I let him go, knowing no better at that time;\nthen I went to the three kids; and, taking them one by one, I tied them\nwith strings together; and with some difficulty brought them all home.\n\nIt was a good while before they would feed; but throwing them some sweet\ncorn, it tempted them, and they began to be tame: and now I found, that\nif I expected to supply myself with goat's flesh, when I had no powder\nor shot left, breeding some up tame was my only way, when perhaps I\nmight have them about my house like a flock of sheep.\n\nBut then it presently occurred to me, that I must keep the tame from the\nwild, or else they would always run wild when they grew up; and the only\nway for this was to have some enclosed piece of ground, well fenced\neither with hedge or pale, to keep them up so effectually, that those\nwithin might not break out, or those without break in.\n\nThis was a great undertaking for one pair of hands; yet as I saw there\nwas an absolute necessity of doing it, my first piece of work was to\nfind out a proper piece of ground; viz. where there was likely to be\nherbage for them to eat, water for them to drink, and cover to keep them\nfrom the sun.\n\nThose who understand such enclosures, will think I had very little\ncontrivance, when I pitched upon a place very proper for all these,\nbeing a plain open piece of meadow-land or savanna (as our people call\nit in the western colonies) which had two or three little drills of\nfresh water in it, and at one end was very woody; I say they will smile\nat my forecast, when I shall tell them I began my enclosing of this\npiece of ground in such a manner, that my hedge or pale must have been\nat least two miles about; nor was the madness of it so great as to the\ncompass; for if it was ten miles about, I was like to have time enough\nto do it in; but I did not consider; that my goats would be as wild in\nso much compass, as if they had had the whole island; and I should have\nso much room to chase them in, that I should never catch them.\n\nMy hedge was begun and carried on, I believe, about fifty yards, when\nthis thought occurred to me; so I presently stopped short, and for the\nfirst beginning I resolved to enclose a piece of about one hundred and\nfifty yards in length, and one hundred yards in breadth, which as it\nwould maintain as many as I should have in any reasonable time, so, as\nmy flock increased, I could add more ground to my enclosure.\n\nThis was acting with some prudence, and I went to work with courage. I\nwas about three months hedging in the first piece; and, till I had done\nit, I tethered the three kids in the best part of it, and used them to\nfeed as near me as possible, to make them familiar; and very often I\nwould go and carry them some ears of barley, or a handful of rice, and\nfeed them out of my hand; so that after my enclosure was finished, and I\nlet them loose, they would follow me up and down, bleating after me for\na handful of corn.\n\nThis answered my end, and in about a year and a half I had a flock of\nabout twelve goats, kids and all; and in two years more I had\nthree-and-forty, besides several that I took and killed for my food; and\nafter that I enclosed five several pieces of ground to feed them in,\nwith little pens to drive them into, to take them as I wanted them; and\ngates out of one piece of ground into another.\n\nBut this was not all; for now I not only had goat's flesh to feed on\nwhen I pleased, but milk too, a thing which indeed in my beginning I did\nnot so much as think of, and which, when it came into my thoughts, was\nreally an agreeable surprise; for now I set up my dairy, and had\nsometimes a gallon or two of milk in a day. And as nature, who gives\nsupplies of food to every creature, dictates even naturally how to make\nuse of it; so I, that never milked a cow, much less a goat, or saw\nbutter or cheese made, very readily and handily, though after a great\nmany essays and miscarriages, made me both butter and cheese at last,\nand never wanted it afterwards.\n\nHow mercifully can our great Creator treat his creatures, even in those\nconditions in which they seemed to be overwhelmed in destruction! How\ncan he sweeten the bitterest providences, and give us cause to praise\nhim for dungeons and prisons! What a table was here spread for me in a\nwilderness, where I saw nothing at first but to perish for hunger!\n\nIt would have made a stoic smile, to have seen me and my little family\nsit down to dinner: there was my majesty, the prince and lord of the\nwhole island; I had the lives of all my subjects at absolute command; I\ncould hang, draw, give life and liberty, and take it away, and no rebels\namong all my subjects.\n\nThen to see how like a king I dined too, all alone, attended by my\nservants! Pol, as if he had been my favourite, as the only person\npermitted to talk to me; my dog, which was now grown very old and crazy,\nand found no species to multiply his kind upon, sat always at my right\nhand; and two cats, one on one side the table, and one on the other,\nexpecting now and then a bit from my hand, as a mark of special favour.\n\nBut these were not the two cats which I brought on shore at first; for\nthey were both of them dead, and had been interred near my habitation by\nmy own hands; but one of them having multiplied by I know not what kind\nof creature, these were two which I preserved tame, whereas the rest ran\nwild into the woods, and became indeed troublesome to me at last; for\nthey would often come into my house, and plunder me too, till at last I\nwas obliged to shoot them, and did kill a great many: at length they\nleft me. With this attendance, and in this plentiful manner, I lived;\nneither could I be said to want any thing but society, and of that, in\nsome time after this, I was like to have too much.\n\nI was something impatient, as I had observed, to have the use of my\nboat, though very loath to run any more hazard; and therefore sometimes\nI sat contriving ways to get her about the island, and at other times I\nsat myself down contented enough without her. But I had a strange\nuneasiness in my mind to go down to the point of the island, where, as I\nhave said in my last ramble, I went up the hill to see how the shore\nlay, and how the current set, that I might see what I had to do. This\ninclination increased upon me every day, and at length I resolved to\ntravel thither by land, and following the edge of the shore, I did so;\nbut had any one in England been to meet such a man as I was, it must\neither have frighted them, or raised a great deal of laughter; and as I\nfrequently stood still to look at myself, I could not but smile at the\nnotion of my travelling through Yorkshire with such an equipage, and in\nsuch a dress. Be pleased to take a sketch of my figure as follows:\n\nI had a great high shapeless cap, made of goat's skin, with a flap\nhanging down behind, as well to keep the sun from me, as to shoot the\nrain off from running into my neck; nothing being so hurtful in these\nclimates, as the rain upon the flesh under the clothes.\n\nI had a short jacket of goat's skin, the skirts coming down to about the\nmiddle of my thighs; and a pair of open-kneed breeches of the same; the\nbreeches were made of a skin of an old he-goat, whose hair hung down\nsuch a length on either side, that, like pantaloons, it reached to the\nmiddle of my legs. Stockings and shoes I had none; but I had made me a\npair of something, I scarce knew what to call them, like buskins, to\nflap over my legs, and lace on either side like spatterdashes; but of a\nmost barbarous shape, as indeed were all the rest of my clothes.\n\nI had on a broad belt of goat's skin dried, which I drew together with\ntwo thongs of the same, instead of buckles; and in a kind of a frog on\neither side of this, instead of a sword and dagger, hung a little saw\nand a hatchet; one on one side, one on the other: I had another belt not\nso broad, and fastened in the same manner, which hung over my shoulder;\nand at the end of it, under my left arm, hung two pouches, both made of\ngoat's skin too; in one of which hung my powder, in the other my shot:\nat my back I carried my basket, on my shoulder my gun, and over my head\na great clumsy ugly goat's skin umbrella; but which, after all, was the\nmost necessary thing I had about me, next to my gun. As for my face, the\ncolour of it was really not so Mulatto-like as one might expect from a\nman not at all careful of it, and living within nine or ten degrees of\nthe equinox. My beard I had once suffered to grow till it was about a\nquarter of a yard long; but as I had both scissars and razors\nsufficient, I had cut it pretty short, except what grew on my upper lip,\nwhich I had trimmed into a large pair of Mahometan whiskers, such as I\nhad seen worn by some Turks whom I saw at Sallee; for the Moors did not\nwear such, though the Turks did: of these mustachios, or whiskers, I\nwill not say they were long enough to hang my hat upon them; but they\nwere of length and shape monstrous enough, and such as in England would\nhave passed for frightful.\n\nBut all this is by the by; for as to my figure, I had so few to observe\nme, that it was of no manner of consequence; so I say no more to that\npart. In this kind of figure I went my new journey, and was out five or\nsix days. I travelled first along the sea shore, directly to the place\nwhere I first brought my boat to an anchor, to get up upon the rocks;\nand, having no boat now to take care of, I went over the land a nearer\nway, to the same height that I was upon before; when looking forward to\nthe point of the rock which lay out, and which I was to double with my\nboat, as I said above, I was surprised to see the sea all smooth and\nquiet; no rippling, no motion, no current, any more there than in\nother places.\n\nI was at a strange loss to understand this, and resolved to spend some\ntime in the observing of it, to see if nothing from the sets of the tide\nhad occasioned it: but I was presently convinced how it was; viz. that\nthe tide of ebb setting from the west, and joining with the current of\nwaters from some great river on the shore, must be the occasion of this\ncurrent, and that according as the wind blew more forcible from the\nwest, or from the north, this current came near, or went farther from\nthe shore; for, waiting thereabouts till evening, I went up to the rock\nagain, and then the tide of the ebb being made, I plainly saw the\ncurrent again as before, only that it ran farther off, being near half a\nleague from the shore; whereas, in my case, it set close upon the shore,\nand hurried me in my canoe along with it, which at another time it would\nnot have done.\n\nThis observation convinced me, that I had nothing to do but to observe\nthe ebbing and the flowing of the tide, and I might very easily bring my\nboat about the island again: but when I began to think of putting it in\npractice, I had such a terror upon my spirits at the remembrance of the\ndanger I had been in, that I could not think of it again with any\npatience; but on the contrary, I took up another resolution, which was\nmore safe, though more laborious; and this was, that I would build, or\nrather make me another periagua, or canoe; and so have one for one side\nof the island, and one for the other.\n\nYou are to understand, that now I had, as I may call it, two plantations\nin the island; one my little fortification or tent, with the wall about\nit under the rock, with the cave behind me, which by this time I had\nenlarged into several apartments or caves, one within another. One of\nthese, which was the driest and largest, and had a door out beyond my\nwall or fortification, that is to say, beyond where my wall joined to\nthe rock, was all filled up with large earthen pots, of which I have\ngiven an account, and with fourteen or fifteen great baskets, which\nwould hold five or six bushels each, where I laid up my stores of\nprovision, especially my corn, some in the ear cut off short from the\nstraw, and the other rubbed out with my hands.\n\nAs for my wall, made as before, with long stakes or piles, those piles\ngrew all like trees, and were by this time grown so big, and spread so\nvery much, that there was not the least appearance, to any one's view,\nof any habitation behind them.\n\nNear this dwelling of mine, but a little farther within the land, and\nupon lower ground, lay my two pieces of corn-ground; which I kept duly\ncultivated and sowed, and which duly yielded me their harvest in its\nseason: and whenever I had occasion for more corn, I had more land\nadjoining as fit as that.\n\nBesides this I had my country-seat, and I had now a tolerable plantation\nthere also; for first, I had my little bower, as I called it, which I\nkept in repair; that is to say, I kept the hedge which circled it in\nconstantly fitted up to its usual height, the ladder standing always in\nthe inside; I kept the trees, which at first were no more than my\nstakes, but were now grown very firm and tall; I kept them always so\ncut, that they might spread and grow thick and wild, and make the more\nagreeable shade, which they did effectually to my mind. In the middle of\nthis I had my tent always standing, being a piece of a sail spread over\npoles set up for that purpose, and which never wanted any repair or\nrenewing; and under this I had made me a squab or couch, with the skins\nof the creatures I had killed, and with other soft things, and a blanket\nlaid on them, such as belonged to our sea-bedding, which I had saved,\nand a great watch-coat to cover me; and here, whenever I had occasion to\nbe absent from my chief seat, I took up my country habitation.\n\nAdjoining to this I had my enclosures for my cattle, that is to say, my\ngoats: and as I had taken an inconceivable deal of pains to fence and\nenclose this ground, I was so uneasy to see it kept entire, lest the\ngoats should break through, that I never left off, till with infinite\nlabour I had stuck the outside of the hedge so full of small stakes, and\nso near to one another, that it was rather a pale than a hedge, and\nthere was scarce room to put a hand through between them, which\nafterwards, when those stakes grew, as they all did in the next rainy\nseason, made the enclosure strong, like a wall, indeed stronger than\nany wall.\n\nThis will testify for me that I was not idle, and that I spared no pains\nto bring to pass whatever appeared necessary for my comfortable support;\nfor I considered the keeping up a breed of tame creatures thus at my\nhand, would be a living magazine of flesh, milk, butter, and cheese, for\nme as long as I lived in the place, if it were to be forty years; and\nthat keeping them in my reach, depended entirely upon my perfecting my\nenclosures to such a degree, that I might be sure of keeping them\ntogether; which by this method indeed I so effectually secured, that\nwhen these little stakes began to grow, I had planted them so very\nthick, I was forced to pull some of them up again.\n\nIn this place also I had my grapes growing, which I principally depended\non for my winter store of raisins, and which I never failed to preserve\nvery carefully, as the best and most agreeable dainty of my whole diet;\nand indeed they were not agreeable only, but physical, wholesome,\nnourishing, and refreshing to the last degree.\n\nAs this was also about half way between my other habitation and the\nplace where I had laid up my boat, I generally staid and lay here in my\nway thither; for I used frequently to visit my boat, and I kept all\nthings about or belonging to her in very good order: sometimes I went\nout in her to divert myself, but no more hazardous voyages would I go,\nnor scarce ever above a stone's cast or two from the shore, I was so\napprehensive of being hurried out of my knowledge again by the currents,\nor winds, or any other accident. But now I come to a new scene of\nmy life.\n\nIt happened one day about noon, going towards my boat, I was exceedingly\nsurprised with the print of a man's naked foot on the shore, which was\nvery plain to be seen in the sand: I stood like one thunder-struck, or\nas if I had seen an apparition; I listened, I looked round me, I could\nhear nothing, nor see any thing; I went up to a rising ground to look\nfarther: I went up the shore, and down the shore, but it was all one, I\ncould see no other impression but that one; I went to it again to see if\nthere were any more, and to observe if it might not be my fancy; but\nthere was no room for that, for there was exactly the very print of a\nfoot, toes, heel, and every part of a foot; how it came thither I knew\nnot, nor could in the least imagine. But after innumerable fluttering\nthoughts, like a man perfectly confused, and out of myself, I came home\nto my mortification, not feeling, as we say, the ground I went on, but\nterrified to the last degree, looking behind me at every two or three\nsteps, mistaking every bush and tree, and fancying every stump at a\ndistance to be a man; nor is it possible to describe how many various\nshapes an affrighted imagination represented things to me in; how many\nwild ideas were formed every moment in my fancy, and what strange\nunaccountable whimsies came into my thoughts by the way.\n\nWhen I came to my castle, for so I think I called it ever after this, I\nfled into it like one pursued; whether I went over by the ladder, as\nfirst contrived, or went in at the hole in the rock, which I called a\ndoor, I cannot remember; for never frighted hare fled to cover, or fox\nto earth, with more terror of mind than I to this retreat.\n\nI had no sleep that night: the farther I was from the occasion of my\nfright, the greater my apprehensions were; which is something contrary\nto the nature of such things, and especially to the usual practice of\nall creatures in fear. But I was so embarrassed with my own frightful\nideas of the thing, that I formed nothing but dismal imaginations to\nmyself, even though I was now a great way off it. Sometimes I fancied it\nmust be the devil; and reason joined in with me upon this supposition.\nFor how should any other thing in human shape come into the place? Where\nwas the vessel that brought them? What marks were there of any other\nfootsteps? And how was it possible a man should come there? But then to\nthink that Satan should take human shape upon him in such a place where\nthere could be no manner of occasion for it, but to leave the print of\nhis foot behind him, and that even for no purpose too (for he could not\nbe sure I should see it:) this was an amazement the other way: I\nconsidered that the devil might have found out abundance of other ways\nto have terrified me, than this of the single print of a foot; that as I\nlived quite on the other side of the island, he would never have been so\nsimple to leave a mark in a place where it was ten thousand to one\nwhether I should ever see it or not, and in the sand too, which the\nfirst surge of the sea upon an high wind would have defaced entirely.\nAll this seemed inconsistent with the thing itself, and with all notions\nwe usually entertain of the subtlety of the devil.\n\nAbundance of such things as these assisted to argue me out of all\napprehensions of its being the devil. And I presently concluded that it\nmust be some more dangerous creature; viz. that it must be some of the\nsavages of the main land over-against me, who had wandered out to sea in\ntheir canoes, and, either driven by the currents, or by contrary winds,\nhad made the island, and had been on shore, but were gone away again to\nsea, being as loath, perhaps, to have staid in this desolate island, as\nI would have been to have had them.\n\nWhile these reflections were rolling upon my mind, I was very thankful\nin my thought, that I was so happy as not to be thereabouts at that\ntime, or that they did not see my boat, by which they would have\nconcluded, that some inhabitants had been in the place, and perhaps have\nsearched farther for me. Then terrible thoughts racked my imaginations\nabout their having found my boat, and that there were people here; and\nthat if so, I should certainly have them come again in greater numbers,\nand devour me; that if it should happen so that they should not find me,\nyet they would find my enclosure, destroy all my corn, carry away all\nmy flock of tame goats, and I should perish at last for mere want.\n\nThus my fear banished all my religious hope; all that former confidence\nin God, which was founded upon such wonderful experience as I had had of\nhis goodness, now vanished; as if he that had fed me by miracle\nhitherto, could not preserve by his power the provision which he had\nmade for me by his goodness. I reproached myself with my uneasiness,\nthat I would not sow any more corn one year, than would just serve me\ntill the next season, as if no accident could intervene, to prevent my\nenjoying the crop that was upon the ground. And this I thought so just a\nreproof, that I resolved for the future to have two or three years corn\nbeforehand, so that, whatever might come, I might not perish for want\nof bread.\n\nHow strange a chequer-work of Providence is the life of man! And by what\nsecret differing springs are the affections hurried about, as differing\ncircumstances present! To-day we love what to-morrow we hate; to-day we\nseek what to-morrow we shun; to-day we desire what to-morrow we fear;\nnay, even tremble at the apprehensions of. This was exemplified in me at\nthis time in the most lively manner imaginable; for I, whose only\naffliction was, that I seemed banished from human society, that I was\nalone, circumscribed by the boundless ocean, cut off from mankind, and\ncondemned to what I call a silent life; that I was as one whom Heaven\nthought not worthy to be numbered among the living, or to appear among\nthe rest of his creatures; that to have seen one of my own species,\nwould have seemed to me a raising me from death to life, and the\ngreatest blessing that Heaven itself, next to the supreme blessing of\nsalvation, could bestow; I say, that I should now tremble at the very\napprehensions of seeing a man, and was ready to sink into the ground, at\nbut the shadow, or silent appearance of a man's having set his foot on\nthe island.\n\nSuch is the uneven state of human life; and it afforded me a great many\ncurious speculations afterwards, when I had a little recovered my first\nsurprise: I considered that this was the station of life the infinitely\nwise and good providence of God had determined for me; that as I could\nnot foresee what the ends of divine wisdom might be in all this, so I\nwas not to dispute his sovereignty, who, as I was his creature, had an\nundoubted right by creation to govern and dispose of me absolutely as he\nthought fit; and who, as I was a creature who had offended him, had\nlikewise a judicial right to condemn me to what punishment he thought\nfit; and that it was my part to submit to bear his indignation, because\nI had sinned against him.\n\nI then reflected, that God, who was not only righteous, but omnipotent,\nas he had thought fit thus to punish and afflict me, so he was able to\ndeliver me; that if he did not think fit to do it, it was my\nunquestioned duty to resign myself absolutely and entirely to his will;\nand, on the other hand, it was my duty also to hope in him, pray to him,\nand quietly to attend the dictates and directions of his daily\nprovidence.\n\nThese thoughts took me up many hours, days, nay, I may say, weeks and\nmonths; and one particular effect of my cogitations on this occasion I\ncannot omit; viz. one morning early, lying in my bed, and filled with\nthoughts about my danger from the appearance of savages, I found it\ndiscomposed me very much; upon which those words of the Scripture came\ninto my thoughts, \"Call upon me in the day of trouble, and I will\ndeliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.\"\n\nUpon this, rising cheerfully out of my bed, my heart was not only\ncomforted, but I was guided and encouraged to pray earnestly to God for\ndeliverance. When I had done praying, I took up my Bible, and opening it\nto read, the first words that presented to me were, \"Wait on the Lord,\nand be of good cheer, and he shall strengthen thy heart: Wait, I say, on\nthe Lord.\" It is impossible to express the comfort this gave me; and in\nreturn, I thankfully laid down the book, and was no more sad, at least,\nnot on that occasion.\n\nIn the middle of these cogitations, apprehensions, and reflections, it\ncame into my thoughts one day, that all this might be a mere chimera of\nmy own, and that this foot might be the print of my own foot, when I\ncame on shore from my boat. This cheered me up a little too, and I began\nto persuade myself it was all a delusion; that it was nothing else but\nmy own foot; and why might not I come that way from the boat, as well as\nI was going that way to the boat? Again, I considered also, that I could\nby no means tell for certain where I had trod, and where I had not; and\nthat if at last this was only the print of my own foot, I had played the\npart of those fools, who strive to make stories of spectres and\napparitions, and then are themselves frighted at them more than any\nbody else.\n\nNow I began to take courage, and to peep abroad again; for I had not\nstirred out of my castle for three days and nights, so that I began to\nstarve for provision; for I had little or nothing within doors, but some\nbarley-cakes and water. Then I knew that my goats wanted to be milked\ntoo, which usually was my evening diversion; and the poor creatures were\nin great pain and inconvenience for want of it; and indeed it almost\nspoiled some of them, and almost dried up their milk.\n\nHeartening myself therefore with the belief, that this was nothing but\nthe print of one of my own feet (and so I might be truly said to start\nat my own shadow), I began to go abroad again, and went to my\ncountry-house to milk my flock: but to see with what fear I went\nforward, how often I looked behind me, how I was ready, every now and\nthen, to lay down my basket, and run for my life; it would have made any\none have thought I was haunted with an evil conscience, or that I had\nbeen lately most terribly frighted; and so indeed I had.\n\nHowever, as I went down thus two or three days, and having seen nothing,\nI began to be a little bolder, and to think there was really nothing in\nit but my own imagination; but I could not persuade myself fully of\nthis, till I should go down to the shore again, and see this print of a\nfoot, and measure it by my own, and see if there was any similitude or\nfitness, that I might be assured it was my own foot. But when I came to\nthe place first, it appeared evidently to me, that when I laid up my\nboat, I could not possibly be on shore any where thereabouts. Secondly,\nwhen I came to measure the mark with my own foot, I found my foot not so\nlarge by a great deal. Both these things filled my head with new\nimaginations, and gave me the vapours again to the highest degree; so\nthat I shook with cold, like one in an ague, and I went home again,\nfilled with the belief, that some man or men had been on shore there;\nor, in short, that the island was inhabited, and I might be surprised\nbefore I was aware; and what course to take for my security, I knew not.\n\nO what ridiculous resolutions men take, when possessed with fear! It\ndeprives them of the use of those means which reason offers for their\nrelief. The first thing I proposed to myself was, to throw down my\nenclosures, and turn all my tame cattle wild into the woods, that the\nenemy might not find them, and then frequent the island in prospect of\nthe same, or the like booty; then to the simple thing of digging up my\ntwo corn fields, that they might not find such a grain there, and still\nto be prompted to frequent the island; then to demolish my bower and\ntent, that they might not see any vestiges of my habitation, and be\nprompted to look farther, in order to find out the persons inhabiting.\n\nThese were the subjects of the first night's cogitation, after I was\ncome home again, while the apprehensions which had so over-run my mind\nwere fresh upon me, and my head was full of vapours, as above. Thus fear\nof danger is ten thousand times more terrifying than danger itself, when\napparent to the eyes; and, we find the burden of anxiety greater by\nmuch than the evil which we are anxious about; but, which was worse than\nall this, I had not that relief in this trouble from the resignation I\nused to practise, that I hoped to have. I looked, I thought, like Saul,\nwho complained not only that the Philistines were upon him, but that God\nhad forsaken him; for I did not now take due ways to compose my mind, by\ncrying to God in my distress, and resting upon his providence, as I had\ndone before, for my defence and deliverance; which if I had done, I had,\nat least, been more cheerfully supported under this new surprise, and\nperhaps carried through it with more resolution.\n\nThis confusion of my thoughts kept me waking all night; but in the\nmorning I fell asleep, and having by the amusement of my mind been, as\nit were, tired, and my spirits exhausted, I slept very soundly, and I\nawaked much better composed than I had ever been before. And now I began\nto think sedately; and, upon the utmost debate with myself, I concluded,\nthat this island, which was so exceeding pleasant, fruitful, and no\nfarther from the main land than as I had seen, was not so entirely\nabandoned as I might imagine: that although there were no stated\ninhabitants who lived on the spot; yet that there might sometimes come\nboats off from the shore, who either with design, or perhaps never but\nwhen they were driven by cross winds, might come to this place.\n\nThat I had lived here fifteen years now, and had not met with the\nleast-shadow or figure of any people before; and that if at any time\nthey should be driven here, it was probable they went away again as soon\nas ever they could, seeing they had never thought fit to fix there upon\nany occasion, to this time.\n\nThat the most I could suggest any danger from, was, from any such casual\naccidental landing of straggling people from the main, who, as it was\nlikely, if they were driven hither, were here against their wills; so\nthey made no stay here, but went off again with all possible speed,\nseldom staying one night on shore, lest they should not have the help of\nthe tides and daylight back again; and that therefore I had nothing to\ndo but to consider of some safe retreat, in case I should see any\nsavages land upon the spot.\n\nNow I began sorely to repent that I had dug my cave so large, as to\nbring a door through again, which door, as I said, came out beyond where\nmy fortification joined to the rock. Upon maturely considering this,\ntherefore, I resolved to draw me a second fortification, in the manner\nof a semicircle, at a distance from my wall, just where I had planted a\ndouble row of trees about twelve years before, of which I made mention:\nthese trees having been planted so thick before, there wanted but a few\npiles to be driven between them, that they should be thicker and\nstronger, and my wall would be soon finished.\n\nSo that I had now a double wall, and my outer wall was thickened with\npieces of timber, old cables, and every thing I could think of to make\nit strong; having in it seven little holes, about as big as I might put\nmy arm out at. In the inside of this I thickened my wall to about ten\nfeet thick, continually bringing earth out of my cave, and laying it at\nthe foot of the wall, and walking upon it; and through the seven holes I\ncontrived to plant the muskets, of which I took notice that I got seven\non shore out of the ship; these, I say, I planted like my cannon, and\nfitted them into frames that held them like a carriage, that so I could\nfire all the seven guns in two minutes time. This wall I was many a\nweary month in finishing, and yet never thought myself safe till it\nwas done.\n\nWhen this was done, I stuck all the ground without my wall, for a great\nway every way, as full with stakes or sticks of the osier-like wood,\nwhich I found so apt to grow, as they could well stand; insomuch that I\nbelieve I might set in near twenty thousand of them, leaving a pretty\nlarge space between them and my wall, that I might have room to see an\nenemy, and they might have no shelter from the young trees, if they\nattempted to approach my outer wall.\n\nThus in two years time I had a thick grove; and in five or six years\ntime I had a wood before my dwelling, grown so monstrous thick and\nstrong, that it was indeed perfectly impassable; and no man of what kind\nsoever would ever imagine that there was any thing beyond it, much less\nan habitation: as for the way I proposed myself to go in and out (for I\nleft no avenue), it was by setting two ladders; one to a part of the\nrock which was low, and then broke in, and left room to place another\nladder upon that; so when the two ladders were taken down, no man living\ncould come down to me without mischiefing himself; and if they had come\ndown, they were still on the outside of my outer wall.\n\nThus I took all the measures human prudence could suggest for my own\npreservation; and it will be seen at length, that they were not\naltogether without just reason; though I foresaw nothing at that time\nmore than my mere fear suggested.\n\nWhile this was doing, I was not altogether careless of my other affairs;\nfor I had a great concern upon me for my little herd of goats; they were\nnot only a present supply to me upon every occasion, and began to be\nsufficient for me, without the expense of powder and shot, but also\nabated the fatigue of my hunting after the wild ones; and I was loath to\nlose the advantage of them, and to have them all to nurse up over again.\n\nTo this purpose, after long consideration, I could think but of two ways\nto preserve them: one was to find another convenient place to dig a cave\nunder ground, and to drive them into it every night; and the other was\nto enclose two or three little bits of land, remote from one another,\nand as much concealed as I could, where I might keep about half a dozen\nyoung goats in each place; so that if any disaster happened to the flock\nin general, I might be able to raise them again with little trouble and\ntime: and this, though it would require a great deal of time and labour,\nI thought was the most rational design.\n\nAccordingly I spent some time, to find out the most retired parts of the\nisland; and I pitched upon one, which was as private indeed as my heart\ncould wish; for it was a little damp piece of ground in the middle of\nthe hollow and thick woods, where, as is observed, I almost lost myself\nonce before, endeavouring to come back that way from the eastern part of\nthe island: here I found a clear piece of land near three acres, so\nsurrounded with woods, that it was almost an enclosure by nature; at\nleast it did not want near so much labour to make it so, as the other\npieces of ground I had worked so hard at.\n\nI immediately went to work with this piece of ground, and in less than a\nmonth's time I had so fenced it round, that my flock or herd, call it\nwhich you please, which were not so wild now as at first they might be\nsupposed to be, were well enough secured in it. So without any farther\ndelay, I removed ten she-goats and two he-goats to this piece; and when\nthere, I continued to perfect the fence, till I had made it as secure as\nthe other, which, however, I did at more leisure, and it took me up more\ntime by a great deal.\n\nAll this labour I was at the expense of, purely from my apprehensions on\nthe account of the print of a man's foot which I had seen; for as yet, I\nnever saw any human creature come near the island, and I had now lived\ntwo years under these uneasinesses, which indeed made my life much less\ncomfortable than it was before; as may well be imagined, by any who know\nwhat it is to live in the constant snare of the fear of man; and this I\nmust observe with grief too, that the discomposure of my mind had too\ngreat impressions also upon the religious part of my thoughts; for the\ndread and terror of falling into the hands of savages and cannibals lay\nso upon my spirits, that I seldom found myself in a due temper for\napplication to my Maker; at least, not with the sedate calmness and\nresignation of soul which I was wont to do. I rather prayed to God as\nunder great affliction and pressure of mind, surrounded with danger, and\nin expectation every night of being murdered and devoured before the\nmorning; and I must testify from my experience, that a temper of peace,\nthankfulness, love, and affection, is much more the proper frame for\nprayer than that of terror and discomposure; and that under the dread of\nmischief impending, a man is no more fit for a comforting performance of\nthe duty of praying to God, than he is for repentance on a sick bed; for\nthese discomposures affect the mind as the others do the body; and the\ndiscomposure of the mind must necessarily be as great a disability as\nthat of the body, and much greater; praying to God being properly an act\nof the mind, not of the body.\n\nBut to go on: after I had thus secured one part of my little living\nstock, I went about the whole island, searching for another private\nplace, to make such another deposit; when wandering more to the west\npoint of the island than I had ever done yet, and looking out to sea, I\nthought I saw a boat upon the sea at a great distance; I had found a\nperspective glass or two in one of the seamen's chests, which I saved\nout of our ship; but I had it not about me, and this was so remote, that\nI could not tell what to make of it, though I looked at it till my eyes\nwere not able to look any longer: whether it was a boat, or not, I do\nnot know; but as I descended from the hill, I could see no more of it,\nso I gave it over; only I resolved to go no more without a perspective\nglass in my pocket.\n\nWhen I was come down the hill, to the end of the island, where indeed I\nhad never been before, I was presently convinced, that the seeing the\nprint of a man's foot, was not such a strange thing in the island as I\nimagined; and, but that it was a special providence that I was cast upon\nthe side of the island where the savages never came, I should easily\nhave known, that nothing was more frequent than for the canoes from the\nmain, when, they happened to be a little too far out at sea, to shoot\nover to that side of the island for harbour; likewise, as they often\nmet, and fought in their canoes, the victors, having taken any\nprisoners, would bring them over to this shore, where, according to\ntheir dreadful customs, being all cannibals, they would kill and eat\nthem: of which hereafter.\n\nWhen I was come down the hill to the shore, as I said above, being the\nS.W. point of the island, I was perfectly confounded and amazed; nor is\nit possible for me to express the horror of my mind, at seeing the shore\nspread with skulls, hands, feet, and other bones of human bodies; and\nparticularly I observed a place where there had been a fire made, and a\ncircle dug in the earth, like a cock-pit, where it is supposed the\nsavage wretches had sat down to their inhuman feastings upon the bodies\nof their fellow-creatures.\n\nI was so astonished with the sight of these things, that I entertained\nno notions of any danger to myself from it, for a long while; all my\napprehensions were buried in the thoughts of such a pitch of inhuman,\nhellish brutality, and the horror of the degeneracy of human nature;\nwhich, though I had heard of often, yet I never had so near a view of\nbefore: in short, I turned away my face from the horrid spectacle; my\nstomach grew sick, and I was just at the point of fainting, when nature\ndischarged the disorder from my stomach, and, having vomited with an\nuncommon violence, I was a little relieved, but could not bear to stay\nin the place a moment; so I got me up the hill again with all the speed\nI could, and walked on towards my own habitation.\n\nWhen I came a little out of that part of the island, I stood still a\nwhile as amazed; and then recovering myself, I looked up with the utmost\naffection of my soul, and, with a flood of tears in my eyes, gave God\nthanks, that had cast my first lot in a part of the world where I was\ndistinguished from such dreadful creatures as these; and that though I\nhad esteemed my present condition very miserable, had yet given me so\nmany comforts in it, that I had still more to give thanks for than to\ncomplain of; and this above all, that I had, even in this miserable\ncondition, been comforted with the knowledge of himself, and the hope of\nhis blessing, which was a felicity more than sufficiently equivalent to\nall the misery which I had suffered, or could suffer.\n\nIn this frame of thankfulness I went home to my castle, and began to be\nmuch easier now, as to the safety of my circumstances, than ever I was\nbefore; for I observed, that these wretches never came to this island in\nsearch of what they could get; perhaps not seeking, not wanting, or not\nexpecting, any thing here, and having often, no doubt, been up in the\ncovered woody part of it, without finding any thing to their purpose. I\nknew I had been here now almost eighteen years, and never saw the least\nfootsteps of a human creature there before; and might be here eighteen\nmore as entirely concealed as I was now, if I did not discover myself to\nthem, which I had no manner of occasion to do, it being my only business\nto keep myself entirely concealed where I was, unless I found a better\nsort of creatures than cannibals to make myself known to.\n\nYet I entertained such an abhorrence of the savage wretches that I have\nbeen speaking of, and of the wretched inhuman custom of their devouring\nand eating one another up, that I continued pensive and sad, and kept\nclose within my own circle for almost two years after this: when I say\nmy own circle, I mean by it my three plantations, viz. my castle, my\ncountry-seat, which I called my bower, and my enclosure in the woods;\nnor did I look after this for any other use than as an enclosure for my\ngoats; for the aversion which nature gave me to these hellish wretches\nwas such, that I was as fearful of seeing them as of seeing, the devil\nhimself; nor did I so much as go to look after my boat in all this time,\nbut began rather to think of making me another; for I could not think\nof ever making any more attempts to bring the other boat round the\nisland to me, lest I should meet with some of those creatures at sea, in\nwhich, if I had happened to have fallen into their hands, I knew what\nwould have been my lot.\n\nTime, however, and the satisfaction I had, that I was in no danger of\nbeing discovered by these people, began to wear off my uneasiness about\nthem; and I began to live just in the same composed manner as before;\nonly with this difference, that I used more caution, and kept my eyes\nmore about me than I did before, lest I should happen to be seen by any\nof them; and particularly, I was more cautious of firing my gun, lest\nany of them on the island should happen to hear it; and it was therefore\na very good providence to me, that I had furnished myself with a tame\nbreed of goats, that I had no need to hunt any more about the woods, or\nshoot at them; and if I did catch any more of them after this, it was by\ntraps and snares, as I had done before; so that for two years after\nthis, I believe I never fired my gun once off, though I never went out\nwithout it; and, which was more, as I had saved three pistols out of the\nship, I always carried them out with me, or at least two of them,\nsticking them in my goat-skin belt: I likewise furbished up one of the\ngreat cutlasses that I had out of the ship, and made me a belt to put it\nin also; so that I was now a most formidable fellow to look at when I\nwent abroad, if you add to the former description of myself, the\nparticular of two pistols, and a great broad-sword, hanging at my side\nin a belt, but without a scabbard.\n\nThings going on thus, as I have said, for some time, I seemed, excepting\nthese cautions, to be reduced to my former calm sedate way of living.\nAll these things tended to shew me more and more how far my condition\nwas from being miserable, compared to some others; nay, to many other\nparticulars of life, which it might have pleased God to have made my\nlot. It put me upon reflecting, how little repining there would be\namong mankind, at any condition of life, if people would rather compare\ntheir condition with those that are worse, in order to be thankful, than\nbe always comparing them with those which are better, to assist their\nmurmurings and complainings.\n\nAs in my present condition there were not really many things which I\nwanted, so indeed I thought that the frights I had been in about these\nsavage wretches, and the concern I had been in for my own preservation,\nhad taken off the edge of my invention for my own conveniences, and I\nhad dropped a good design, which I had once bent my thoughts upon; and\nthat was, to try if I could not make some of my barley into malt, and\nthen try to brew myself some beer: this was really a whimsical thought,\nand I reproved myself often for the simplicity of it; for I presently\nsaw there would be the want of several things necessary to the making my\nbeer, that it would be impossible for me to supply; as, first, casks to\npreserve it in, which was a thing that, as I have observed already, I\ncould never compass; no, though I spent not many days, but weeks, nay\nmonths, in attempting it, but to no purpose. In the next place, I had no\nhops to make it keep, no yeast to make it work, no copper or kettle to\nmake it boil; and yet, had not all these things intervened, I mean the\nfrights and terrors I was in about the savages, I had undertaken it, and\nperhaps brought it to pass too; for I seldom gave any thing over without\naccomplishing it, when I once had it in my head enough to begin it.\n\nBut my invention now ran quite another way; for night and day I could\nthink of nothing, but how I might destroy some of these monsters in\ntheir cruel bloody entertainment, and, if possible, save the victim they\nshould bring hither to destroy. It would take up a larger volume than\nthis whole work is intended to be, to set down all the contrivances I\nhatched, or rather brooded upon in my thoughts, for the destroying these\ncreatures, or at least frightening them, so as to prevent their coming\nhither any more; but all was abortive; nothing could be possible to take\neffect, unless I was to be there to do it myself; and what could one man\ndo among them, when perhaps there might be twenty or thirty of them\ntogether, with their darts, or their bows and arrows, with which they\ncould shoot as true to a mark as I could with my gun?\n\nSometimes I contrived to dig a hole under the place where they made\ntheir fire, and put in five or six pounds of gunpowder, which, when they\nkindled their fire, would consequently take fire, and blow up all that\nwas near it; but, as in the first place I should be very loath to waste\nso much powder upon them, my store being now within the quantity of a\nbarrel, so neither could I be sure of its going off at any certain time,\nwhen it might surprise them; and, at best, that it would do little more\nthan just blow the fire about their ears, and fright them, but not\nsufficient to make them forsake the place; so I laid it aside, and then\nproposed, that I would place myself in ambush in some convenient place,\nwith my three guns all double-loaded, and in the middle of their bloody\nceremony let fly at them, when I should be sure to kill or wound perhaps\ntwo or three at every shoot; and then falling in upon them with my three\npistols, and my sword, I made no doubt but that, if there were twenty, I\nshould kill them all: this fancy pleased my thoughts for some weeks, and\nI was so full of it that I often dreamed of it; and sometimes, that I\nwas just going to let fly at them in my sleep.\n\nI went so far with it in my indignation, that I employed myself several\ndays to find out proper places to put myself in ambuscade, as I said, to\nwatch for them; and I went frequently to the place itself, which was now\ngrown more familiar to me; and especially while my mind was thus filled\nwith thoughts of revenge, and of a bloody putting twenty or thirty of\nthem to the sword, as I may call it; but the horror I had at the place,\nand at the signals of the barbarous wretches devouring one another,\nabated my malice.\n\nWell, at length I found a place in the side of the hill, where I was\nsatisfied I might securely wait till I saw any of the boats coming, and\nmight then, even before they would be ready to come on shore, convey\nmyself unseen into thickets of trees, in one of which there was an\nhollow large enough to conceal me entirely; and where I might sit, and\nobserve all their bloody doings, and take my full aim at their heads,\nwhen they were so close together, as that it would be next to impossible\nthat I should miss my shoot, or that I could fail wounding three or four\nof them at the first shoot.\n\nIn this place then I resolved to fix my design; and accordingly I\nprepared two muskets and my ordinary fowling-piece. The two muskets I\nloaded with a brace of slugs each, and four or five smaller bullets,\nabout the size of pistol-bullets, and the fowling-piece I loaded with\nnear an handful of swan-shot, of the largest size; I also loaded my\npistols with about four bullets each: and in this posture, well provided\nwith ammunition for a second and third charge, I prepared myself for my\nexpedition.\n\nAfter I had thus laid the scheme for my design, and in my imagination\nput it in practice, I continually made my tour every morning up to the\ntop of the hill, which was from my castle, as I called it, about three\nmiles or more, to see if I could observe any boats upon the sea, coming\nnear the island, or standing over towards it; but I began to tire of\nthis hard duty, after I had for two or three months constantly kept my\nwatch; but came always back without any discovery, there having not in\nall that time been the least appearance, not only on or near the shore,\nbut not on the whole ocean, so far as my eyes or glasses could reach\nevery way.\n\nAs long as I kept up my daily tour to the hill to look out, so long also\nI kept up the vigour of my design, and my spirits seemed to be all the\nwhile in a suitable frame for so outrageous an execution, as the killing\ntwenty or thirty naked savages for an offence, which I had not at all\nentered into a discussion of in my thoughts, any further than my\npassions were at first fired by the horror I conceived at the unnatural\ncustom of the people of that country, who, it seems, had been suffered\nby Providence, in his wise disposition of the world, to have no other\nguide than that of their own abominable and vitiated passions; and\nconsequently were left, and perhaps had been for some ages, to act such\nhorrid things, and receive such dreadful customs, as nothing but nature,\nentirely abandoned of Heaven, and actuated by some hellish degeneracy,\ncould have run them into; but now, when, as I have said, I began to be\nweary of the fruitless excursion which I had made so long, and so far,\nevery morning in vain; so my opinion of the action itself began to\nalter, and I began, with cooler and calmer thoughts, to consider what it\nwas I was going to engage in; what authority or call I had to pretend to\nbe judge and executioner upon these men as criminals, whom Heaven had\nthought fit for so many ages to suffer, unpunished, to go on, and to be,\nas it were, the executioners of his judgments upon one another; also,\nhow far these people were offenders against me, and what right I had to\nengage in the quarrel of that blood, which they shed promiscuously one\nupon another. I debated this very often with myself thus: How do I know\nwhat God himself judges in this particular case? It is certain these\npeople do not commit this as a crime; it is not against their own\nconsciences reproving, or their light reproaching them. They do not know\nit to be an offence, and then commit it in defiance of divine justice,\nas we do in almost all the sins we commit. They think it no more a crime\nto kill a captive taken in war, than we do to kill an ox; nor to eat\nhuman flesh, than we do to eat mutton.\n\nWhen I had considered this a little, it followed necessarily, that I was\ncertainly in the wrong in it; that these people were not murderers in\nthe sense that I had before condemned them in my thoughts, any more than\nthose Christians were murderers, who often put to death the prisoners\ntaken in battle; or more frequently, upon many occasions, put whole\ntroops of men to the sword, without giving quarter, though they threw\ndown their arms and submitted.\n\nIn the next place, it occurred to me, that albeit the usage they gave\none another was thus brutish and inhuman, yet it was really nothing to\nme: these people had done me no injury: that if they attempted me, or I\nsaw it necessary for my immediate preservation to fall upon them,\nsomething might be said for it; but that I was yet out of their power,\nand they had really no knowledge of me, and consequently no design upon\nme; and therefore it could not be just for me to fall upon them: that\nthis would justify the conduct of the Spaniards, in all their\nbarbarities practised in America, where they destroyed millions of these\npeople, who, however they were idolaters and barbarians, and had several\nbloody and barbarous rites in these customs, such as sacrificing human\nbodies to their idols, were yet, as to the Spaniards, very innocent\npeople; and that the rooting them out of the country is spoken of with\nthe utmost abhorrence and detestation, even by the Spaniards themselves,\nat this time, and by all other Christian nations of Europe, as a mere\nbutchery, a bloody and unnatural piece of cruelty, unjustifiable either\nto God or man; and such, as for which the very name of a Spaniard is\nreckoned to be frightful and terrible to all people of humanity, or of\nChristian compassion: as if the kingdom of Spain were particularly\neminent for the product of a race of men, who were without principles of\ntenderness, or the common bowels of pity to the miserable, which is\nreckoned to be a mark of a generous temper in the mind.\n\nThese considerations really put me to a pause, and to a kind of a full\nstop; and I began by little and little to be off of my design, and to\nconclude I had taken a wrong measure in my resolutions to attack the\nsavages; that it was not my business to meddle with them, unless they\nfirst attacked me, and this it was my business, if possible, to prevent;\nbut that, if I were discovered and attacked, then I knew my duty.\n\nOn the other hand, I argued with myself that this really was the way not\nto deliver myself, but entirely to ruin and destroy myself; for unless I\nwas sure to kill every one that not only should be on shore at that\ntime, but that should ever come on shore afterwards, if but one of them\nescaped to tell their country-people what had happened, they would come\nover again by thousands to revenge the death of their fellows; and I\nshould only bring upon myself a certain destruction, which at present I\nhad no manner of occasion for.\n\nUpon the whole, I concluded, that neither in principles nor in policy, I\nought one way or other to concern myself in this affair: that my\nbusiness was, by all possible means to conceal myself from them, and not\nto leave the least signal to them to guess by, that there were any\nliving creatures upon the island, I mean of human shape.\n\nReligion joined in with this prudential, and I was convinced now many\nways that I was perfectly out of my duty, when I was laying all my\nbloody schemes for the destruction of innocent creatures, I mean\ninnocent as to me; as to the crimes they were guilty of towards one\nanother, I had nothing to do with them; they were national punishments\nto make a just retribution for national offences; and to bring public\njudgments upon those who offend in a public manner, by such ways as best\nplease God.\n\nThis appeared so clear to me now, that nothing was a greater\nsatisfaction to me, than that I had not been suffered to do a thing\nwhich I now saw so much reason to believe would have been no less a sin\nthan that of wilful murder, if I had committed it; and I gave most\nhumble thanks on my knees to God, that had thus delivered me from\nblood-guiltiness; beseeching him to grant me the protection of his\nProvidence, that I might not fall into the hands of barbarians; or that\nI might not lay my hands upon them, unless I had a more clear call from\nHeaven to do it, in defence of my own life.\n\nIn this disposition I continued for near a year after this: and so far\nwas I from desiring an occasion for falling upon these wretches, that in\nall that time I never once went up the hill to see whether there were\nany of them in sight, or to know whether any of them had been on shore\nthere, or not; that I might not be tempted to renew any of my\ncontrivances against them, or be provoked, by any advantage which might\npresent itself, to fall upon them; only this I did, I went and removed\nmy boat, which I had on the other side of the island, and carried it\ndown to the east end of the whole island, where I ran it into a little\ncove which I found under some high rocks, and where I knew, by reason of\nthe currents, the savages durst not, at least would not, come with their\nboats upon any account whatsoever.\n\nWith my boat I carried away every thing that I had left there belonging\nto her, though not necessary for the bare going thither; viz. a mast and\nsail, which I had made for her, and a thing like an anchor, but indeed\nwhich could not be called either anchor or grappling; however, it was\nthe best I could make of its kind. All these I removed, that there might\nnot be the least shadow of any discovery, or any appearance of any boat,\nor of any habitation upon the island.\n\nBesides this, I kept myself, as I said, more retired than ever, and\nseldom went from my cell, other than upon my constant employment, viz.\nto milk my she-goats, and manage my little flock in the wood, which, as\nit was quite on the other part of the island, was quite out of danger:\nfor certain it is, that these savage people, who sometimes haunted this\nisland, never came with any thoughts of finding any thing here, and\nconsequently never wandered off from the coast; and I doubt not but they\nmight have been several times on shore, after my apprehensions of them\nhad made me cautious, as well as before; and indeed I looked back with\nsome horror upon the thoughts of what my condition would have been, if I\nhad chopped upon them, and been discovered before that, when naked and\nunarmed, except with one gun, and that loaded often only with small\nshot. I walked every where, peeping and peering about the island, to see\nwhat I could get: what a surprise should I have been in, if, when I\ndiscovered the print of a man's foot, I had instead of that seen fifteen\nor twenty savages, and found them pursuing me, and, by the swiftness of\ntheir running, no possibility of my escaping them!\n\nThe thoughts of this sometimes sunk my very soul within me, and\ndistressed my mind so much, that I could not soon recover it; to think\nwhat I should have done, and how I not only should not have been able to\nresist them, but even should not have had presence of mind enough to do\nwhat I might have done; much less what now, after so much consideration\nand preparation, I might be able to do. Indeed, after serious thinking\nof these things, I would be very melancholy, and sometimes it would last\na great while; but I resolved it at last all into thankfulness to that\nProvidence which had delivered me from so many unseen dangers, and had\nkept me from those mischiefs, which I could no way have been the agent\nin delivering myself from; because I had not the least notion of any\nsuch thing depending, or the least supposition of its being possible.\n\nThis renewed a contemplation, which often had come to my thoughts in\nformer time, when first I began to see the merciful dispositions of\nHeaven, in the dangers we run through in this life; how wonderfully we\nare delivered when we know nothing of it: how, when we are in a\nquandary, (as we call it) a doubt or hesitation, whether to go this way,\nor that way, a secret hint shall direct us this way, when we intended to\ngo another way; nay, when sense, our own inclination, and perhaps\nbusiness, has called to go the other way, yet a strange impression upon\nthe mind, from we know not what springs, and by we know not what power,\nshall over-rule us to go this way; and it shall afterwards appear, that\nhad we gone that way which we would have gone, and even to our\nimagination ought to have gone, we should have been ruined and lost;\nupon these, and many like reflections, I afterwards made it a certain\nrule with me, that whenever I found those secret hints, or pressings of\nmy mind, to doing or not doing any thing that presented, or to going\nthis way or that way, I never failed to obey the secret dictate; though\nI new no other reason for it, than that such a pressure, or such an\nhint, hung upon my mind: I could give many examples of the success of\nthis conduct in the course of my life; but more especially in the latter\npart of my inhabiting this unhappy island; besides many occasions which\nit is very likely I might have taken notice of, if I had seen with the\nsame eyes then that I saw with now: but 'tis never too late to be wise;\nand I cannot but advise all considering men, whose lives are attended\nwith such extraordinary incidents as mine, or even though not so\nextraordinary, not to slight such secret intimations of Providence, let\nthem come from what invisible intelligence they will; that I shall not\ndiscuss, and perhaps cannot account for; but certainly they are a proof\nof the converse of spirits, and the secret communication between those\nembodied, and those unembodied; and such a proof as can never be\nwithstood: of which I shall have occasion to give some very remarkable\ninstances, in the remainder of my solitary residence in this\ndismal place.\n\nI believe the reader of this will not think it strange, if I confess\nthat these anxieties, these constant dangers I lived in, and the concern\nthat was now upon me, put an end to all invention, and to all the\ncontrivances that I had laid for my future accommodations and\nconveniences. I had the care of my safety more now upon my hands than\nthat of my food. I cared not to drive a nail, or chop a stick of wood\nnow, for fear the noise I should make should be heard; much less would I\nfire a gun, for the same reason; and, above all, I was very uneasy at\nmaking any fire, lest the smoke, which is visible at a great distance in\nthe day, should betray me; and for this reason I removed that part of my\nbusiness which required fire, such as burning of pots and pipes, &c.\ninto my new apartment in the wood; where, after I had been some time, I\nfound, to my unspeakable consolation, a mere natural cave in the earth,\nwhich went in a vast way, and where, I dare say, no savage, had he been\nat the mouth of it, would be so hardy as to venture in, nor indeed would\nany man else, but one who, like me, wanted nothing so much as a\nsafe retreat.\n\nThe mouth of this hollow was at the bottom of a great rock, where, by\nmere accident, (I would say, if I did not see an abundant reason to\nascribe all such things now to Providence,) I was cutting down some\nthick branches of trees to make charcoal; and before I go on, I must\nobserve the reason of my making this charcoal, which was thus:\n\nI was afraid of making a smoke about my habitation, as I said before;\nand yet I could not live there without baking my bread, cooking my meat,\n&c.; so I contrived to burn some wood here, as I had seen done in\nEngland under turf, till it became chark, or dry coal; and then putting\nthe fire out, I preserved the coal to carry home, and perform the other\nservices, which fire was wanting for at home, without danger or smoke.\n\nBut this by the by: while I was cutting down some wood here, I perceived\nthat behind a very thick branch of low brushwood, or underwood, there\nwas a kind of hollow place: I was curious to look into it, and getting\nwith difficulty into the mouth of it, I found it was pretty large, that\nis to say, sufficient for me to stand upright in it, and perhaps another\nwith me; but I must confess to you, I made more haste out than I did in,\nwhen, looking further into the place, which was perfectly dark, I saw\ntwo broad shining eyes of some creature, whether devil or man I knew\nnot, which twinkled like two stars, the dim light from the cave's mouth\nshining directly in and making the reflection.\n\nHowever, after some pause, I recovered myself, and began to call myself\na thousand fools, and tell myself, that he that was afraid to see the\ndevil, was not fit to live twenty years in an island all alone, and that\nI durst to believe there was nothing in this cave that was more\nfrightful than myself: upon this, plucking up my courage, I took up a\nlarge firebrand, and in I rushed again, with the stick flaming in my\nhand: I had not gone three steps in, but I was almost as much frightened\nas I was before; for I heard a very loud sigh, like that of a man in\nsome pain; and it was followed by a broken noise, as if of words\nhalf-expressed, and then a deep sigh again: I stepped back, and was\nindeed struck with such a surprise, that it put me into a cold sweat;\nand if I had had an hat on my head, I will not answer for it that my\nhair might not have lifted it off. But still plucking up my spirits as\nwell as I could, and encouraging myself a little, with considering that\nthe power and presence of God was every where, and was able to protect\nme; upon this I stepped forward again, and by the light of the\nfirebrand, holding it up a little over my head, I saw lying on the\nground a most monstrous frightful old he-goat, just making his will, as\nwe say, gasping for life, and dying indeed of a mere old age.\n\nI stirred him a little to see if I could get him out, and he essayed to\nget up, but was not able to raise himself; and I thought with myself, he\nmight even lie there; for if he had frightened me so, he would certainly\nfright, any of the savages, if any of them should be so hardy as to come\nin there, while he had any life in him.\n\nI was now recovered from my surprise, and began to look round me, when I\nfound the cave was but very small; that is to say, it might be about\ntwelve feet over, but in no manner of shape, either round or square, no\nhands having ever been employed in making it but those of mere nature: I\nobserved also, that there was a place at the farther side of it that\nwent in farther, but so low, that it required me to creep upon my hands\nand knees to get into it, and whither it went I knew not; so having no\ncandle, I gave it over for some time, but resolved to come again the\nnext day, provided with candles and a tinder-box, which I had made of\nthe lock of one of the muskets, with some wildfire in the pan.\n\nAccordingly, the next day, I came provided with six large candles of my\nown making, for I made very good candles now of goats tallow; and going\ninto this low place, I was obliged to creep upon all fours, as I have\nsaid, almost ten yards; which, by the way, I thought was a venture bold\nenough, considering that I knew not how far it might go, or what was\nbeyond it. When I was got through the streight, I found the roof rose\nhigher up, I believe near twenty feet; but never was such a glorious\nsight seen in the island, I dare say, as it was, to look round the sides\nand roof of this vault or cave. The walls reflected an hundred thousand\nlights to me from my two candles; what it was in the rock, whether\ndiamonds, or any other precious stones, or gold, which I rather supposed\nit to be, I knew not.\n\nThe place I was in was a most delightful cavity, or grotto, of its kind,\nas could be expected, though perfectly dark; the floor was dry and\nlevel, and had a sort of small loose gravel upon it; so that there was\nno nauseous creature to be seen; neither was there any damp or wet on\nthe sides of the roof: the only difficulty in it was the entrance,\nwhich, however, as it was a place of security, and such a retreat as I\nwanted, I thought that was a convenience; so that I was really rejoiced\nat the discovery, and resolved, without any delay, to bring some of\nthose things which I was most anxious about to this place; particularly,\nI resolved to bring hither my magazine of powder, and all my spare arms,\nviz. two fowling-pieces (for I had three in all) and three muskets; (for\nof them I had eight in all) so I kept at my castle only five, which\nstood ready mounted, like pieces of cannon, on my utmost fence, and\nwere ready also to take out upon any expedition.\n\nUpon this occasion of removing my ammunition, I was obliged to open the\nbarrel of powder which I took up out of the sea, and which had been wet;\nand I found, that the water had penetrated about three or four inches\ninto the powder on every side, which, caking and growing hard, had\npreserved the inside like a kernel in a shell; so that I had near sixty\npounds of very good powder in the centre of the cask; and this was an\nagreeable discovery to me at that time; so I carried all away thither,\nnever keeping above two or three pounds of powder with me in my castle,\nfor fear of a surprise of any kind; I also carried thither all the lead\nI had left for bullets.\n\nI fancied myself now like one of the ancient giants, which were said to\nlive in caves and holes in the rocks, where none could come at them; for\nI persuaded myself while I was here, if five hundred savages were to\nhunt me, they could never find me out; or if they did, they would not\nventure to attack me here.\n\nThe old goat, which I found expiring, died in the mouth of the cave the\nnext day after I made this discovery; and I found it much easier to dig\na great hole there, and throw him in, and cover him with earth, than to\ndrag him out: so I interred him there, to prevent offence to my nose.\n\nI was now in my twenty-third year of residence in this island, and was\nso naturalized to the place, and to the manner of living, that could I\nhave but enjoyed the certainty that no savages would come to the place\nto disturb me, I could have been content to have capitulated for\nspending the rest of my time there, even to the last moment, till I had\nlaid me down and died, like the old goat, in the cave: I had also\narrived to some little diversions and amusements, which made the time\npass more pleasantly with me a great deal than it did before; as, first,\nI had taught my Pol, as I noted before, to speak; and he did it so\nfamiliarly, and talked so articulately and plain, that it was very\npleasant to me; and he lived with me no less than six-and-twenty years:\nhow long he might live afterwards I knew not; though I know they have a\nnotion in the Brasils, that they live an hundred years; perhaps some of\nmy Polls may be alive there still, calling after poor Robin Crusoe to\nthis day; I wish no Englishman the ill luck to come there and hear them;\nbut if he did, he would certainly believe it was the devil. My dog was a\nvery pleasant and loving companion to me for no less than sixteen years\nof my time, and then died of mere old age; as for my cats, they\nmultiplied, as I have observed, to that degree, that I was obliged to\nshoot several of them at first, to keep them from devouring me, and all\nI had; but at length, when the two old ones I brought with me were gone,\nand after some time continually driving them from me, and letting them\nhave no provision with me, they all ran wild into the woods, except two\nor three favourites, which I kept tame, and whose young, when they had\nany, I always drowned, and these were part of my family: besides these,\nI always kept two or three household kids about me, which I taught to\nfeed out of my hand; and I had also more parrots which talked pretty\nwell, and would all call Robin Crusoe, but none like my first; nor,\nindeed, did I take the pains with any of them that I had done with him:\nI had also several tame sea-fowls, whose names I know not, which I\ncaught upon the shore, and cut their wings; and the little stakes, which\nI had planted before my castle wall, being now grown up to a good thick\ngrove, these fowls all lived among these low trees, and bred there,\nwhich was very agreeable to me; so that, as I said above, I began to be\nvery well contented with the life I led, if it might but have been\nsecured from the dread of savages.\n\nBut it was otherwise directed; and it might not be amiss for all people\nwho shall meet with my story to make this just observation from it, viz.\nHow frequently, in the course of our lives, the evil, which in itself\nwe seek most to shun, and which, when we are fallen into, is the most\ndreadful to us, is oftentimes the very means or door of our deliverance,\nby which alone we can be raised again from the affliction we are fallen\ninto. I could give many examples of this in the course of my\nunaccountable life; but in nothing was it more particularly remarkable,\nthan in the circumstances of my last years of solitary residence in\nthis island.\n\nIt was now the month of December, as I said above, in my twenty-third\nyear; and this being the southern solstice, for winter I cannot call it,\nwas the particular time of my harvest, and required my being pretty much\nabroad in the fields; when going out pretty early in the morning, even\nbefore it was thorough daylight, I was surprised with seeing a light of\nsome fire upon the shore, at a distance from me of about two miles,\ntowards the end of the island, where I had observed some savages had\nbeen, as before; but not on the other side; but, to my great affliction,\nit was on my side of the island.\n\nI was indeed terribly surprised at the sight, and stopped short within\nmy grove, not daring to go out, lest I might be surprised; and yet I had\nno more peace within, from the apprehensions I had, that if these\nsavages, in rambling over the island, should find my corn standing, or\ncut, or any of my works and improvements, they would immediately\nconclude that there were people in the place, and would then never give\nover till they found me out. In this extremity I went back directly to\nmy castle, pulled up the ladder after me, having made all things without\nlook as wild and natural as I could.\n\nThen I prepared myself within, putting myself in a posture of defence; I\nloaded all my cannon, as I called them, that is to say, my muskets,\nwhich were mounted upon my new fortification, and all my pistols, and\nresolved to defend myself to the last gasp; not forgetting seriously to\nrecommend myself to the divine protection, and earnestly to pray to God\nto deliver me out of the hands of the barbarians; and in this posture I\ncontinued about two hours, but began to be mighty impatient for\nintelligence abroad, for I had no spies to send out.\n\nAfter sitting awhile longer, and musing what I should do in this case, I\nwas not able to bear sitting in ignorance longer; so setting up my\nladder to the side of the hill, where there was a flat place, as I\nobserved before, and then pulling the ladder up after me, I set it up\nagain, and mounted to the top of the hill; and pulling out my\nperspective glass, which I had taken on purpose, I laid me down flat on\nmy belly on the ground, and began to look for the place. I presently\nfound there were no less than nine naked savages sitting round a small\nfire they had made; not to warm them, for they had no need of that, the\nweather being extreme hot; but, as I supposed, to dress some of their\nbarbarous diet of human flesh which they had brought with them, whether\nalive or dead I could not know.\n\nThey had two canoes with them, which they had haled up upon the shore;\nand as it was then tide of ebb, they seemed to me to wait the return of\nthe flood to go away again. It is not easy to imagine what confusion\nthis sight put me into, especially seeing them come on my side the\nisland, and so near me too; but when I observed their coming must be\nalways with the current of the ebb, I began afterwards to be more sedate\nin my mind, being satisfied that I might go abroad with safety all the\ntime of tide of flood, if they were not on shore before; and having made\nthis observation, I went abroad about my harvest work with the more\ncomposure.\n\nAs I expected, so it proved; for as soon as the tide made to the\nwestward, I saw them all take boat, and row (or paddle, as we call it)\nall away: I should have observed, that for an hour and more before they\nwent off, they went to dancing, and I could easily discern their\npostures and gestures by my glasses; I could only perceive, by my nicest\nobservation, that they were stark naked, and had not the least covering\nupon them; but whether they were men or women, that I could not\ndistinguish.\n\nAs soon as I saw them shipped and gone, I took two guns upon my\nshoulders, and two pistols at my girdle, and my great sword by my side,\nwithout a scabbard; and with all the speed I was able to make, I went\naway to the hill, where I had discovered the first appearance of all. As\nsoon as I got thither, which was not less than two hours, (for I could\nnot go apace, being so loaded with arms as I was,) I perceived there had\nbeen three canoes more of savages on that place; and looking out\nfurther, I saw they were all at sea together, making over for the main.\n\nThis was a dreadful sight to me, especially when, going down to the\nshore, I could see the marks of horror which the dismal work they had\nbeen about had left behind it, viz. the blood, the bones, and part of\nthe flesh of human bodies, eaten and devoured by those wretches with\nmerriment and sport. I was so filled with indignation at the sight, that\nI began now to premeditate the destruction of the next that I saw there,\nlet them be who or how many soever.\n\nIt seemed evident to me, that the visits which they thus made to this\nisland were not very frequent; for it was above fifteen months before\nany more of them came on shore there again; that is to say, I never saw\nthem, or any footsteps or signals of them, in all that time; for as to\nthe rainy seasons, then they are sure not to come abroad, at least not\nso far; yet all this while I lived uncomfortably, by reason of the\nconstant apprehensions I was in of their coming upon me by surprise;\nfrom whence I observe, that the expectation of evil is more bitter than\nthe suffering, especially if there is no room to shake off that\nexpectation or those apprehensions.\n\nDuring all this time, I was in the murdering humour; and took up most of\nmy hours, which should have been better employed, in contriving how to\ncircumvent and fall upon them the very next time I should see them;\nespecially if they should be divided, as they were the last time, into\ntwo parties; nor did I consider at all, that if I killed one party,\nsuppose ten or a dozen, I was still the next day, or week, or mouth, to\nkill another, and so another, even _ad infinitum_, till I should be at\nlength no less a murderer than they were in being men-eaters, and\nperhaps much more so.\n\nI spent my days now in great perplexity and anxiety of mind, expecting\nthat I should one day or other fall into the hands of those merciless\ncreatures; if I did at any time venture abroad, it was not without\nlooking round me with the greatest care and caution imaginable; and now\nI found, to my great comfort, how happy it was that I had provided a\ntame flock or herd of goats; for I durst not, upon any account, fire my\ngun especially near that side of the island, where they usually came,\nlest I should alarm the savages; and if they had fled from me now, I was\nsure to have them come back again, with perhaps two or three hundred\ncanoes with them in a few days, and then I knew what to expect.\n\nHowever, I wore out a year and three months more before I ever saw any\nmore of the savages, and then I found them again, as I shall soon\nobserve. It is true, they might have been there once or twice, but\neither they made no stay, or, at least, I did not hear them; but in the\nmonth of May, as near as I could calculate, and in my four-and-twentieth\nyear, I had a very strange encounter with them, of which in its place.\n\nThe perturbation of my mind, during this fifteen or sixteen months\ninterval, was very great; I slept unquiet, dreamed always frightful\ndreams, and often started out of my sleep in the night; in the day great\ntroubles overwhelmed my mind; in the night I dreamed often of killing\nthe savages, and the reasons why I might justify the doing of it. But to\nwave all this for awhile, it was in the middle of May, on the sixteenth\nday, I think, as well as my poor wooden calendar would reckon, for I\nmarked all upon, the post still; I say, it was on the sixteenth of May\nthat it blew a great storm of wind all day, with a great deal of\nlightning and thunder, and a very foul night was after it: I know not\nwhat was the particular occasion of it; but as I was reading in the\nBible, and taken up with serious thoughts about my present condition, I\nwas surprised with the noise of a gun, as I thought, fired at sea.\n\nThis was, to be sure, a surprise of a quite different nature from any I\nhad met with before; for the notions this put into my thoughts were\nquite of another kind: I started up in the greatest haste imaginable;\nand in a trice clapped up my ladder to the middle place of the rock, and\npulled it after me, and mounting it the second time, got to the top of\nthe hill; that very moment a flash of fire bade me listen for a second\ngun, which accordingly in about half a moment I heard, and by the sound\nknew that it was from that part of the sea where I was driven out with\nthe current in my boat.\n\nI immediately considered that this must be some ship in distress, and\nthat they had some comrade, or some other ship in company, and fired\nthese guns for signals of distress, and to obtain help. I had this\npresence of mind at that minute as to think, that though I could not\nhelp them, it may be they might help me; so I brought together all the\ndry wood I could get at hand, and making a good handsome pile, I set it\non fire upon the hill; the wood was dry, and blazed freely, and though\nthe wind blew very hard, yet it burnt fairly out, so that I was certain,\nif there was any such thing as a ship, they must need see it, and no\ndoubt they did; for as soon as ever my fire blazed up, I heard another\ngun, and after that several others, all from the same quarter. I plied\nmy fire all night long, till day broke; and when it was broad day, and\nthe air cleared up, I saw something at a great distance at sea, full\neast of the island, whether a sail, or an hull, I could not distinguish,\nno not with my glasses, the distance was so great, and the weather\nstill something hazy also; at least it was so out at sea.\n\nI looked frequently at it all that day, and soon perceived that it did\nnot move; so I presently concluded that it was a ship at anchor; and\nbeing eager, you may be sure, to be satisfied, I took my gun in my hand,\nand ran towards the south-east side of the island, to the rocks, where I\nhad been formerly carried away with the current; and getting up there,\nthe weather by this time being perfectly clear, I could plainly see, to\nmy great sorrow, the wreck of a ship cast away in the night upon those\nconcealed rocks which I found when I was out in my boat; and which\nrocks, as they checked the violence of the stream, and made a kind of\ncounter-stream, or eddy, were the occasion of my recovering then from\nthe most desperate hopeless condition that ever I had been in all\nmy life.\n\nThus, what is one man's safety is another man's destruction; for it\nseems these men, whoever they were, being out of their knowledge, and\nthe rocks being wholly under water, had been driven upon them in the\nnight, the wind blowing hard at E. and E.N.E. Had they seen the island,\nas I must necessarily suppose they did not, they must, as I thought,\nhave endeavoured to have saved themselves on shore by the help of their\nboat; but the firing of their guns for help, especially when they saw,\nas I imagined, my fire, filled me with many thoughts: first, I imagined,\nthat, upon seeing my light, they might have put themselves into their\nboat, and have endeavoured to make the shore; but that the sea going\nvery high, they might have been cast away; other times I imagined, that\nthey might have lost their boat before, as might be the case many ways;\nas particularly, by the breaking of the sea upon their ship, which many\ntimes obliges men to stave, or take in pieces their boat; and sometimes\nto throw it overboard with their own hands; other times I imagined, they\nhad some other ship or ships in company, who, upon the signals of\ndistress they had made, had taken them up, and carried them off: other\nwhiles I fancied they were all gone off to sea in their boat, and being\nhurried away by the current that I had been formerly in, were carried\nout into the great ocean, where there was nothing but misery and\nperishing; and that perhaps they might by this time think of starving,\nand of being in a condition to eat one another.\n\nAll these were but conjectures at best, so, in the condition I was in, I\ncould do no more than look upon the misery of the poor men, and pity\nthem; which had still this good effect on my side, that it gave me more\nand more cause to give thanks to God, who had so happily and comfortably\nprovided for me in my desolate condition; and that of two ships'\ncompanies, who were now cast away upon this part of the world, not one\nlife should be spared but mine. I learnt here again to observe, that it\nis very rare that the providence of God casts us into any condition of\nlife so low, or any misery so great, but we may see something or other\nto be thankful for, and may see others in worse circumstances than\nour own.\n\nSuch certainly was the case of these men, of whom I could not so much as\nsee room to suppose any of them were saved; nothing could make it\nrational, so much as to wish or expect that they did not all perish\nthere, except the possibility only of their being taken up by another\nship in company: and this was but mere possibility indeed; for I saw not\nthe least signal or appearance of any such thing.\n\nI cannot explain, by any possible energy of words, what a strange\nlonging, or hankering of desire, I felt in my soul upon this sight;\nbreaking out sometimes thus: \"O that there had been but one or two, nay,\nbut one soul saved out of the ship, to have escaped to me, that I might\nbut have had one companion, one fellow-creature to have spoken to me,\nand to have conversed with!\" In all the time of my solitary life, I\nnever felt so earnest, so strong a desire after the society of my\nfellow-creatures, or so deep a regret at want of it.\n\nThere are some secret moving springs in the affections, which, when\nthey are set a going by some object in view, or be it some object though\nnot in view, yet rendered present to the mind by the power of\nimagination, that motion carries out the soul by its impetuosity to such\nviolent eager embracings of the object, that the absence of it is\ninsupportable.\n\nSuch were these earnest wishings, \"That but one man had been saved! O\nthat it had been but one!\" I believe I repeated the words, \"O that it\nhad been but one!\" a thousand times; and my desires were so moved by it,\nthat when I spoke the words, my hands would clinch together, and my\nfingers press the palms of my hands, that if I had had any soft thing in\nmy hand, it would have crushed it involuntarily; and my teeth in my head\nwould strike together, and set against one another so strong, that for\nsome time I could not part them again.\n\nLet the naturalists explain these things, and the reason and manner of\nthem: all I can say of them is, to describe the fact, which was ever\nsurprising to me when I found it, though I knew not from what it should\nproceed; it was doubtless the effect of ardent wishes, and of strong\nideas formed in my mind, realizing the comfort which the conversation of\none of my fellow-christians would have been to me.\n\nBut it was not to be; either their fate, or mine, or both, forbad it;\nfor till the last year of my being on this island, I never knew whether\nany were saved out of that ship, or no; and had only the affliction some\ndays after to see the corpse of a drowned boy come on shore, at the end\nof the island which was next the shipwreck: he had on no clothes but a\nseaman's waistcoat, a pair of open kneed linen drawers, and a blue linen\nshirt; but nothing to direct me so much as to guess what nation he was\nof: he had nothing in his pocket but two pieces of eight, and a\ntobacco-pipe; the last was to me of ten times more value than the first.\n\nIt was now calm, and I had a great mind to venture out in my boat to\nthis wreck, not doubting but I might find something on board that might\nbe useful to me; but that did not altogether press me so much, as the\npossibility that there might be yet some living creature on board, whose\nlife I might not only save, but might, by saving that life, comfort my\nown to the last degree: and this thought clung so to my heart, that I\ncould not be quiet night nor day, but I must venture out in my boat on\nboard this wreck; and committing the rest to God's providence, I thought\nthe impression was so strong upon my mind, that it could not be\nresisted, that it must come from some invisible direction, and that I\nshould be wanting to myself if I did not go.\n\nUnder the power of this impression, I hastened back to my castle,\nprepared every thing for my voyage, took a quantity of bread, a great\npot for fresh water, a compass to steer by, a bottle of rum, (for I had\nstill a great deal of that left) a basket full of raisins: and thus\nloading myself with every thing necessary, I went down to my boat, got\nthe water out of her, and got her afloat, loaded all my cargo in her,\nand then went home again for more: my second cargo was a great bag full\nof rice, the umbrella to set up over my head for shade, another large\npot full of lush water, and about two dozen of my small loaves, or\nbarley-cakes, more than before, with a bottle of goat's milk, and a\ncheese: all which, with great labour and sweat, I brought to my boat;\nand praying to God to direct my voyage, I put out, and rowing or\npaddling the canoe along the shore, I came at last to the utmost point\nof the island, on that side, viz. N.E. And now I was to launch out into\nthe ocean, and either to venture, or not to venture; I looked on the\nrapid currents which ran constantly on both sides of the island, at a\ndistance, and which were very terrible to me, from the remembrance of\nthe hazard I had been in before, and my heart began to fail me; for I\nforesaw, that if I was driven into either of those currents, I should\nbe carried a vast way out to sea and perhaps out of my reach, or sight\nof the island again; and that then, as my boat was but small, if any\nlittle gale of wind should rise, I should be inevitably lost.\n\nThese thoughts so oppressed my mind, that I began to give over my\nenterprise, and having haled my boat into a little creek on the shore, I\nstepped out, and sat me down upon a little spot of rising ground, very\npensive and anxious, between fear and desire, about my voyage; when, as\nI was musing, I could perceive that the tide was turned, and the flood\ncame on, upon which my going was for so many hours impracticable: upon\nthis it presently occurred to me, that I should go up to the highest\npiece of ground I could find, and observe, if I could, how the sets of\nthe tide or currents lay, when the flood came in, that I might judge\nwhether, if I was driven one way out, I might not expect to be driven\nanother way home, with the same rapidness of the currents. This thought\nwas no sooner in my head, but I cast my eye upon a little hill which\nsufficiently overlooked the sea both ways, and from whence I had a clear\nview of the currents, or sets of the tide, and which way I was to guide\nmyself in my return: here I found, that as the current of the ebb set\nout close by the south point of the island, so the current of the flood\nset in close by the shore of the north side; and that I had nothing to\ndo but to keep to the north of the island in my return, and I should do\nwell enough.\n\nEncouraged with this observation, I resolved the next morning to set out\nwith the first of the tide; and reposing myself for that night in the\ncanoe, under the great watch-coat I mentioned, I launched out. I made\nfirst a little out to sea full north, till I began to feel the benefit\nof the current, which sat eastward, and which carried me at a great\nrate, and yet did not so hurry me as the southern side current had done\nbefore, and so as to take from me all government of the boat; but having\na strong steerage with my paddle, I went, I say, at a great rate,\ndirectly for the wreck, and in less than two hours I came up to it.\n\nIt was a dismal sight to took at: the ship, which by its building was\nSpanish, stuck fast, jambed in between two rocks; all the stern and\nquarter of her was beaten to pieces with the sea; and as her forecastle,\nwhich stuck in the rocks, had run on with great violence, her main-mast\nand fore-mast were brought by the board, that is to say, broken short\noff, but her boltsprit was sound, and the head and bow appeared firm.\nWhen I came close to her, a dog appeared upon her, which, seeing me\ncoming, yelped and cried, and as soon as I called him, jumped into the\nsea to come to me: and I took him into the boat, but found him almost\ndead for hunger and thirst: I gave him a cake of my bread, and he ate\nlike a ravenous wolf that had been starving a fortnight in the snow: I\nthen gave the poor creature some fresh water, with which, if I would\nhave let him, he would have burst himself.\n\nAfter this I went on board. The first sight I met with was two men\ndrowned in the cook-room, or forecastle of the ship, with their arms\nfast about one another. I concluded, as is indeed probable, that when\nthe ship struck, it being in a storm, the sea broke so high, and so\ncontinually over her, that the men were not able to bear it, and were\nstrangled with the constant rushing in of the water, as much as if they\nhad been under water. Besides the dog, there was nothing left in the\nship that had life, nor any goods that I could see, but what were\nspoiled by the water: there were some casks of liquor, whether wine or\nbrandy I knew not, which lay lower in the hold, and which, the water\nbeing ebbed out, I could see; but they were too big to meddle with: I\nsaw several chests, which I believed belonged to some of the seamen, and\nI got two of them into the boat without examining what was in them.\n\nHad the stern of the ship been fixed, and the fore part broken off, I am\npersuaded I might have made a good voyage; for by what I found in these\ntwo chests, I had room to suppose the ship had a great deal of wealth\non board; and if I may guess by the course she steered, she must have\nbeen bound from the Buenos Ayres, or the Rio de la Plata, in the south\npart of America, beyond the Brasils, to the Havanna, in the Gulf of\nMexico, and so perhaps to Spain: she had, no doubt, a great treasure in\nher, but of no use at that time to any body; and what became of the rest\nof her people I then knew not.\n\nI found, besides these chests, a little cask full of liquor, of about\ntwenty gallons, which I got into my boat with much difficulty. There\nwere several muskets in a cabin, and a great powder-horn, with about\nfour pounds of powder in it: as for the muskets, I had no occasion for\nthem, so I left them, but took the powder-horn. I took a fire-shovel and\ntongs, which I wanted extremely; as also two little brass kettles, a\ncopper pot to make chocolate, and a gridiron; and with this cargo, and\nthe dog, I came away, the tide beginning to make home again; and the\nsame evening, about an hour within night, I reached the island again,\nweary and fatigued to the last degree.\n\nI reposed that night in the boat, and in the morning I resolved to\nharbour what I had gotten in my new cave, not to carry it home to my\ncastle. After refreshing myself, I got all my cargo on shore, and began\nto examine the particulars: the cask of liquor I found to be a kind of\nrum, but not such as we had at the Brasils; and, in a word, not at all\ngood; but when I came to open the chests, I found several things which I\nwanted: for example, I found in one a fine case of bottles, of an\nextraordinary kind, and filled with cordial waters, fine, and very good;\nthe bottles held about three pints each, and were tipped with silver: I\nfound two pots of very good succades, or sweetmeats, so fastened also on\nthe top, that the salt water had not hurt them; and two more of the\nsame, which the water had spoiled: I found some very good shirts, which\nwere very welcome to me, and about a dozen and a half of white linen\nhandkerchiefs and coloured neckcloths; the former were also very\nwelcome, being exceeding refreshing to wipe my face in a hot day.\nBesides this, when I came to the till in the chests, I found there three\ngreat bags of pieces of eight, which held about eleven hundred pieces in\nall; and in one of them, wrapt up in a paper, six doubloons of gold, and\nsome small bars or wedges of gold; I suppose they might all weigh near\na pound.\n\nThe other chest I found had some clothes in it, but of little value; but\nby the circumstances, it must have belonged to the gunner's mate, as\nthere was no powder in it, but about two pounds of glazed powder in the\nthree flasks, kept, I suppose, for charging their fowling-pieces on\noccasion. Upon the whole, I got very little by this voyage that was of\nmuch use to me; for, as to the money, I had no manner of occasion for\nit; it was to me as the dirt under my feet; and I would have given it\nall for three or four pair of English shoes and stockings, which were\nthings I greatly wanted, but had not had on my feet now for many years:\nI had, indeed, got two pair of shoes now, which I took off the feet of\nthe two drowned men whom I saw in the wreck; and I found two pair more\nin one of the chests, which were very welcome to me; but they were not\nlike our English shoes, either for case or service, being rather what we\ncall pumps than shoes. I found in the seaman's chest about fifty pieces\nof eight in royals, but no gold: I suppose this belonged to a poorer man\nthan the other, which seemed to belong to some officer.\n\nWell, however, I lugged the money home to my cave, and laid it up, as I\nhad done that before, which I brought from our own ship; but it was\ngreat pity, as I said, that the other part of the ship had not come to\nmy share, for I am satisfied I might have loaded my canoe several times\nover with money, which, if I had ever escaped to England, would have\nlain here safe enough till I might have come again and fetched it.\n\nHaving now brought all my things on shore, and secured them, I went back\nto my boat, and rowed or paddled her along the shore to her old\nharbour, where I laid her up, and made the best of my way to my old\nhabitation, where I found every thing safe and quiet; so I began to\nrepose myself, live after my old fashion, and take care of my family\naffairs; and for awhile I lived easy enough; only that I was more\nvigilant than I used to be, looked out oftener, and did not go abroad so\nmuch; and if at any time I did stir with any freedom, it was always to\nthe east part of the island, where I was pretty well satisfied the\nsavages never came, and where I could go without so many precautions,\nand such a load of arms and ammunition as I always carried with me, if I\nwent the other way.\n\nI lived in this condition near two years more; but my unlucky head, that\nwas always to let me know it was born to make my body miserable, was all\nthese two years filled with projects and designs, how, if it were\npossible, I might get away from this island; for sometimes I was for\nmaking another voyage to the wreck, though my reason told me, that there\nwas nothing left there worth the hazard of my voyage; sometimes for a\nramble one way, sometimes another; and I believe verity, if I had had\nthe boat that I went from Sallee in, I should have ventured to sea,\nbound any where, I knew not whither.\n\nI have been, in all my circumstances, a memento to those who are touched\nwith that general plague of mankind, whence, for aught I know, one half\nof their miseries flow; I mean, that of not being satisfied with the\nstation wherein God and nature hath placed them; for, not to look back\nupon my primitive condition, and the excellent advice of my father, the\nopposition to which was, as I may call it, my original sin, my\nsubsequent mistakes of the same kind have been the means of my coming\ninto this miserable condition; for had that Providence, which so happily\nhad seated me at the Brasils as a planter, blessed me with confined\ndesires, and could I have been contented to have gone on gradually, I\nmight have been by this time, I mean in the time of my being on this\nisland, one of the most considerable planters in the Brasils; nay, I am\npersuaded, that by the improvements I had made in that little time I\nlived there, and the increase I should probably have made if I had\nstayed, I might have been worth a hundred thousand moidores; and what\nbusiness had I to leave a settled fortune, well-stocked plantation,\nimproving and increasing, to turn supercargo to Guinea, to fetch\nNegroes, when patience and time would have so increased our stock at\nhome, that we could have bought them at our own doors, from those whose\nbusiness it was to fetch them? And though it had cost us something more,\nyet the difference of that price was by no means worth saving at so\ngreat a hazard.\n\nBut as this is ordinarily the fate of young heads, so reflection upon\nthe folly of it is as ordinarily the exercise of more years, or of the\ndear-bought experience of time; and so it was with me now; and yet, so\ndeep had the mistake taken root in my temper, that I could not satisfy\nmyself in my station, but was continually poring upon the means and\npossibility of my escape from this place; and that I may, with the\ngreater pleasure to the reader, bring on the remaining part of my story,\nit may not be improper to give some account of my first conceptions on\nthe subject of this foolish scheme for my escape; and how, and upon what\nfoundation, I acted.\n\nI am now to be supposed to be retired into my castle, after my late\nvoyage to the wreck, my frigate laid up, and secured under water as\nusual, and my condition restored to what it was before: I had more\nwealth, indeed, than I had before, but was not at all the richer; for I\nhad no more use for it than the Indians of Peru had before the Spaniards\ncame thither.\n\nIt was one of the nights in the rainy season in March, the\nfour-and-twentieth year of my first setting foot in this island of\nsolitariness, I was lying in my bed or hammock, awake, and very well in\nhealth, had no pain, no distemper, no uneasiness of body, no, nor any\nuneasiness of mind more than ordinary, but could by no means close my\neyes, that is, so as to sleep; no, not a wink all night long, otherwise\nthan as follows:\n\nIt is as impossible as needless to set down the innumerable crowd of\nthoughts that whirled through that great thoroughfare of the brain, the\nmemory, in this night's time: I ran over the whole history of my life in\nminiature, or by abridgment, as I may call it, to my coming to this\nisland; and also of that part of my life since I came to this island; in\nmy reflections upon the state of my case, since I came on shore on this\nisland; I was comparing the happy posture of my affairs, in the first\nyears of my habitation here, to that course of anxiety, fear, and care,\nwhich I had lived in ever since I had seen the print of a foot in the\nsand; not that I did not believe the savages had frequented the island\neven all the while, and might have been several hundreds of them at\ntimes on the shore there; but as I had never known it, and was incapable\nof any apprehensions about it, my satisfaction was perfect, though my\ndanger was the same; and I was as happy in not knowing my danger, as if\nI had never really been exposed to it; this furnished my thoughts with\nmany very profitable reflections, and particularly this one: How\ninfinitely good that Providence is, which has settled in its government\nof mankind such narrow bounds to his sight and knowledge of things; and\nthough he walks in the midst of so many thousand dangers, the sight of\nwhich, if discovered to him, would distract his mind and sink his\nspirits, he is kept serene and calm, by having the events of things hid\nfrom his eyes, and knowing nothing of the dangers which surround him.\n\nAfter these thoughts had for some time entertained me, I came to reflect\nseriously upon the real danger I had been in for so many years in this\nvery island; and how I had walked about in the greatest security, and\nwith all possible tranquillity, even perhaps when nothing but a brow on\na hill, a great tree, or the casual approach of night, had been between\nme and the worst kind of destruction, viz. that of falling into the\nhands of cannibals, and savages, who would have seized on me with the\nsame view, as I did of a goat, or a turtle; and have thought it no more\na crime to kill and devour me, than I did of a pigeon, or a curlieu: I\nwould unjustly slander my self, if I should say I was not sincerely\nthankful to my great Preserver, to whose singular protection I\nacknowledged, with great humility, that all these unknown deliverances\nwere due; and without which, I must inevitably have fallen into their\nmerciless hands.\n\nWhen these thoughts were over, my head was for some time taken up in\nconsidering the nature of these wretched creatures; I mean, the savages;\nand how it came to pass in the world, that the wise governour of all\nthings should give up any of his creatures to such inhumanity; nay, to\nsomething so much below, even brutality it self, as to devour its own\nkind; but as this ended in some (at that time fruitless) speculations,\nit occurred to me to enquire, what part of the world these wretches\nlived in; how far off the coast was from whence they came; what they\nventured over so far from home for; what kind of boats they had; and why\nI might not order my self, and my business so, that I might be as able\nto go over thither, as they were to come to me.\n\nI never so much as troubled my self to consider what I should do with my\nself, when I came thither; what would become of me, if I fell into the\nhands of the savages; or how I should escape from them, if they\nattempted me; no, nor so much as how it was possible for me to reach the\ncoast, and not be attempted by some or other of them, without any\npossibility of delivering my self; and if I should not fall into their\nhands, what I should do for provision, or whither I should bend my\ncourse; none of these thoughts, I say, so much as came in my way; but my\nmind was wholly bent upon the notion of my passing over in my boat, to\nthe main land: I looked back upon my present condition as the most\nmiserable that could possibly be; that I was not able to throw myself\ninto any thing but death that could be called worse; that if I reached\nthe shore of the main, I might, perhaps, meet with relief; or I might\ncoast along, as I did on the shore of Africa, till I came to some\ninhabited country, and where I might find some relief; and after all,\nperhaps, I might fall in with some Christian ship that might take me in:\nand if the worst came to the worst, I could but die, which would put an\nend to all these miseries at once. Pray, note all this was the fruit of\na disturbed mind, an impatient temper, made, as it were, desperate by\nthe long continuance of my troubles, and the disappointments I had met\nin the wreck I had been on board of, and where I had been so near the\nobtaining of what I so earnestly longed for, viz. somebody to speak to,\nand to learn some knowledge from of the place where I was, and of the\nprobable means of my deliverance; I say, I was agitated wholly by these\nthoughts. All my calm of mind in my resignation to Providence, and\nwaiting the issue of the dispositions of Heaven, seemed to be suspended;\nand I had, as it were, no power to turn my thoughts to any thing but the\nproject of a voyage to the main; which came upon me with such force, and\nsuch an impetuosity of desire, that it was not to be resisted.\n\nWhen this had agitated my thoughts for two hours or more, with such\nviolence that it set my very blood into a ferment, and my pulse beat as\nhigh as if I had been in a fever, merely with the extraordinary fervour\nof my mind about it; nature, as if I had been fatigued and exhausted\nwith the very thought of it, threw me into a sound sleep: one would have\nthought I should have dreamed of it; but I did not, nor of any thing\nrelating to it; but I dreamed, that as I was going out in the morning,\nas usual, from my castle, I saw upon the shore two canoes and eleven\nsavages coming to land, and that they brought with them another savage,\nwhom they were going to kill, in order to eat him; when on a sudden, the\nsavage that they were going to kill jumped away, and ran for his life:\nthen I thought in my sleep, that he came running into my little thick\ngrove, before my fortification, to hide himself; and that I seeing him\nalone, and not perceiving that the others sought him that way, shewed\nmyself to him, and, smiling upon him, encouraged him: that he kneeled\ndown to me, seeming to pray me to assist him; upon which I shewed my\nladder, made him go up it, and carried him into my cave, and he became\nmy servant; and that as soon as I had got this man, I said to myself,\n\"Now I may certainly venture to the main land; for this fellow will\nserve me as a pilot, and will tell me what to do, and whither to go for\nprovisions, and whither not to go for fear of being devoured; what\nplaces to venture into, and what to escape.\" I waked with this thought,\nand was under such inexpressible impressions of joy at the prospect of\nmy escape in my dream, that the disappointments which I felt upon coming\nto myself, and finding it was no more than a dream, were equally\nextravagant the other way, and threw me into a very great dejection\nof spirit.\n\nUpon this, however, I made this conclusion, that my only way to go about\nan attempt for an escape, was, if possible, to get a savage in my\npossession; and, if possible, it should be one of their prisoners whom\nthey had condemned to be eaten, and should bring hither to kill: but\nthese thoughts still were attended with this difficulty, that it was\nimpossible to effect this, without attacking a whole caravan of them,\nand killing them all; and this was not only a very desperate attempt,\nand might miscarry; but, on the other hand, I had greatly scrupled the\nlawfulness of it to me, and my heart trembled at the thoughts of\nshedding so much blood, though it was for my deliverance: I need not\nrepeat the arguments which occurred to me against this, they being the\nsame mentioned before: but though I had other reasons to offer now, viz.\nthat those men were enemies to my life, and would devour me, if they\ncould; that it was self-preservation, in the highest degree, to deliver\nmyself from this death of a life, and was acting in my own defence, as\nmuch as if they were actually assaulting me, and the like; I say, though\nthese things argued for it, yet the thoughts of shedding human blood for\nmy deliverance were very terrible to me, and such as I could by no means\nreconcile myself to a great while.\n\nHowever, at last, after many secret disputes with myself, and after\ngreat perplexities about it, (for all these arguments, one way and\nanother, struggled in my head a long time,) the eager prevailing desire\nof deliverance at length mastered all the rest, and I resolved, if\npossible, to get one of these savages into my hands, cost what it would:\nthe next thing then was to contrive how to do it; and this indeed was\nvery difficult to resolve on: but as I could pitch upon no probable\nmeans for it, so I resolved to put myself upon the watch to see them\nwhen they came on shore, and leave the rest to the event, taking such\nmeasures as the opportunity should present, let it be what it would.\n\nWith these resolutions in my thoughts, I set myself upon the scout as\noften as possible, and indeed so often, till I was heartily tired of it;\nfor it was above a year and a half that I waited, and for a great part\nof that time went out to the west end, and to the south-west corner of\nthe island, almost every day, to see the canoes, but none appeared. This\nwas very discouraging, and began to trouble me much; though I can't say\nthat it did in this case, as it had done some time before that, viz.\nwear off the edge of my desire to the thing; but the longer it seemed to\nbe delayed, the more eager I was for it: in a word, I was not at first\nmore careful to shun the sight of these savages, and avoid being seen by\nthem, than I was now eager to be upon them.\n\nBesides, I fancied myself able to manage one, nay, two or three savages,\nif I had them, so as to make them entirely slaves to me, to do whatever\nI should direct them, and to prevent their being able, at any time, to\ndo me any hurt. It was a great while that I pleased myself with this\naffair, but nothing still presented; all my fancies and schemes came to\nnothing, for no savages came near me for a great while.\n\nAbout a year and a half after I had entertained these notions, and, by\nlong musing, had, as it were, resolved them all into nothing, for want\nof an occasion to put them in execution, I was surprised one morning\nearly, with seeing no less than five canoes all on shore together, on my\nside the island, and the people who belonged to them all landed, and out\nof my sight: the number of them broke all my measures; for seeing so\nmany, and knowing that they always came four, or six, or sometimes more,\nin a boat, I could not tell what to think of it, or how to take my\nmeasures, to attack twenty or thirty men single-handed; so I lay still\nin my castle, perplexed and discomforted; however, I put myself into all\nthe same postures for an attack that I had formerly provided, and was\njust ready for action, if any thing had presented. Having waited a good\nwhile, listening to hear if they made any noise; at length being very\nimpatient, I set my guns at the foot of my ladder, and clambered up to\nthe top of the hill by my two stages, as usual, standing so, however,\nthat my head did not appear above the hill, so that they could not\nperceive me by any means. Here I observed, by the help of my perspective\nglass, that they were no less than thirty in number; that they had a\nfire kindled, and that they had had meat dressed; how they cooked it,\nthat I knew not, or what it was; but they were all dancing in I know not\nhow many barbarous gestures and figures, their own way, round the fire.\n\nWhen I was thus looking on them, I perceived by my perspective two\nmiserable wretches dragged from the boats, where, it seems, they were\nlaid by, and were now brought out for the slaughter: I perceived one of\nthem immediately fall, being knocked down, I suppose, with a club or\nwooden sword, for that was their way; and two or three others were at\nwork immediately, cutting him open for their cookery, while the other\nvictim was left standing by himself, till they should be ready for him.\nIn that very moment this poor wretch, seeing himself a little at\nliberty, nature inspired him with hopes of life, and he started away\nfrom them, and ran with incredible swiftness along the sands, directly\ntowards me, I mean towards that part of the coast where my\nhabitation was.\n\nI was dreadfully frighted (that I must acknowledge) when I perceived him\nto run my way; and especially when, as I thought, I saw him pursued by\nthe whole body; and now I expected that part of my dream was coming to\npass, and that he would certainly take shelter in my grove; but I could\nnot depend, by any means, upon my dream for the rest of it, viz. that\nthe other savages would not pursue him thither, and find him there.\nHowever, I kept my station, and my spirits began to recover, when I\nfound that there were not above three men that followed him; and still\nmore was I encouraged, when I found that he out-stript them exceedingly\nin running, and gained ground of them, so that if he could but hold it\nfor half an hour, I saw easily he would fairly get away from them all.\n\nThere was between them and my castle the creek, which I mentioned often\nat the first part of my story, when I landed my cargoes out of the ship;\nand this I knew he must necessarily swim over, or the poor wretch would\nbe taken there: but when the savage escaping came thither, he made\nnothing of it, though the tide was then up; but plunging in, swam\nthrough in about thirty strokes, or thereabouts, landed, and ran on with\nexceeding strength and swiftness. When the three pursuers came to the\ncreek, I found that two of them could swim, but the third could not, and\nthat he, standing on the other side, looked at the other, but went no\nfarther; and soon after went softly back again, which, as it happened,\nwas very well for him in the main.\n\nI observed, that the two who swam were yet more than twice as long\nswimming over the creek than the fellow was that fled from them. It\ncame now very warmly upon my thoughts, and indeed irresistibly, that now\nwas my time to get a servant, and perhaps a companion, or assistant, and\nthat I was called plainly by Providence to save this poor creature's\nlife. I immediately got down the ladders with all possible expedition,\nfetched my two guns, for they were both at the foot of the ladder, as I\nobserved above; and getting up again with the same haste to the top of\nthe hill, I crossed towards the sea; and having a very short cut, and\nall down hill, clapped myself in the way between the pursuers and the\npursued, hallooing aloud to him that fled, who, looking back, was at\nfirst perhaps as much frighted at me as at them; but I beckoned with my\nhand to him to come back; and in the meantime I slowly advanced towards\nthe two that followed; then rushing at once upon the foremost, I knocked\nhim down with the stock of my piece; I was loath to fire, because I\nwould not have the rest hear, though at that distance it would not have\nbeen easily heard; and being out of sight of the smoke too, they would\nnot have easily known what to make of it. I having knocked this fellow\ndown, the other who pursued him stopped, as if he had been frightened,\nand I advanced apace towards him; but as I came nearer, I perceived\npresently he had a bow and arrow, and was fitting it to shoot at me; so\nI was then necessitated to shoot at him first; which I did, and killed\nhim at the first shot. The poor savage who fled, but had stopped, though\nhe saw both his enemies fallen, and killed, (as he thought) yet was so\nfrighted with the fire and noise of my piece, that he stood stock-still,\nand neither came forward, nor went backward, though he seemed rather\ninclined to fly still, than to come on. I hallooed again to him, and\nmade signs to come forward, which he easily understood, and came a\nlittle way, then stopped again, and then a little farther, and stopped\nagain; and I could then perceive that he stood trembling, as if he had\nbeen taken prisoner, and had just been to be killed, as his two enemies\nwere. I beckoned him again to come to me, and gave him all the signs of\nencouragement that I could think of; and he came nearer and nearer,\nkneeling down every ten or twelve steps, in token of acknowledgment for\nsaving his life. I smiled at him, and looked pleasantly, and beckoned to\nhim to come still nearer. At length he came close to me, and then he\nkneeled down again, kissed the ground, and laid his head upon the\nground, and taking me by the foot, set my foot upon his head. This, it\nseems, was in token of swearing to be my slave for ever. I took him up,\nand made much of him, and encouraged him all I could. But there was more\nwork to do yet; for I perceived the savage, whom I knocked down, was not\nkilled, but stunned with the blow, and began to come to himself: so I\npointed to him, and showed him the savage, that he was not dead: upon\nthis he spoke some words to me; and though I could not understand them,\nyet I thought they were pleasant to hear, for they were the first sound\nof a man's voice that I had heard, my own excepted, for above\nfive-and-twenty years. But there was no time for such reflections now:\nthe savage, who was knocked down, recovered himself so far as to sit up\nupon the ground; and I perceived that my savage began to be afraid; but\nwhen I saw that, I presented my other piece at the man, as if I would\nshoot him: upon this my savage, for so I call him now, made a motion to\nme to lend him my sword, which hung naked in a belt by my side: so I\ndid: he no sooner had it, but he runs to his enemy, and at one blow cut\noff his head so cleverly, no executioner in Germany could have done it\nsooner or better; which I thought very strange for one, who, I had\nreason to believe, never saw a sword in his life before, except their\nown wooden swords: however, it seems, as I learnt afterwards, they make\ntheir wooden swords so sharp, so heavy, and the wood is so hard, that\nthey will cut off heads even with them, nay, and arms, and that at one\nblow too. When he had done this, he comes laughing to me in sign of\ntriumph, and brought me the sword again, and, with abundance of\ngestures, which I did not understand, laid it down, with the head of the\nsavage that he had killed, just before me.\n\nBut that which astonished him most was, to know how I had killed the\nother Indian so far off; so pointing to him, he made signs to me to let\nhim go to him: so I bade him go, as well as I could. When he came to\nhim, he stood like one amazed, looking at him; turned him first on one\nside, then on t'other; looked at the wound the bullet had made, which it\nseems was just in his breast, where it had made a hole, and no great\nquantity of blood had followed; but he had bled inwardly, for he was\nquite dead. Then he took up his bow and arrows, and came back; so I\nturned to go away, and beckoned him to follow me, making signs to him\nthat more might come after them.\n\nUpon this he signed to me, that he should bury them with sand, that they\nmight not be seen by the rest, if they followed; and so I made signs\nagain to him to do so. He fell to work, and in an instant he had scraped\na hole in the sand with his hands, big enough to bury the first in, and\nthen dragged him into it, and covered him, and did so also by the other;\nI believe he had buried them both in a quarter of an hour: then calling\nhim away, I carried him not to my castle, but quite away to my cave, on\nthe farther part of the island; so I did not let my dream come to pass\nin that part; viz. that he came into my grove for shelter.\n\nHere I gave him bread and a bunch of raisins to eat, and a draught of\nwater, which I found he was indeed in great distress for, by his\nrunning; and having refreshed him, I made signs for him to go lie down\nand sleep, pointing to a place where I had laid a great parcel of\nrice-straw, and a blanket upon it, which I used to sleep upon myself\nsometimes; so the poor creature lay down, and went to sleep.\n\nHe was a comely handsome fellow, perfectly well made, with straight long\nlimbs, not too large, tall, and well-shaped, and, as I reckon, about\ntwenty-six years of age. He had a very good countenance, not a fierce\nand surly aspect, but seemed to have something very manly in his face,\nand yet he had all the sweetness and softness of an European in his\ncountenance too, especially when he smiled: his hair was long and black,\nnot curled like wool; his forehead very high and large, and a great\nvivacity and sparkling sharpness in his eyes. The colour of his skin was\nnot quite black, but very tawny, and yet not of an ugly yellow nauseous\ntawny, as the Brasilians and Virginians, and other natives of America\nare, but of a bright kind of a dun olive colour, that had in it\nsomething very agreeable, though not very easy to describe. His face was\nround and plump, his nose small, not flat like the Negroe's, a very good\nmouth, thin lips, and his teeth fine, well-set, and white as ivory.\nAfter he had slumbered, rather than slept, about half an hour, he waked\nagain, and comes out of the cave to me, for I had been milking my goats,\nwhich I had in the enclosure just by: when he espied me, he came running\nto me, laying himself down again upon the ground, with all the possible\nsigns of an humble thankful disposition, making many, antic gestures to\nshew it. At last he lays his head flat upon the ground, close to my\nfoot, and sets my other foot upon his head, as he had done before; and\nafter this, made all the signs to me of subjection, servitude, and\nsubmission imaginable, to let me know how much he would serve me as long\nas he lived. I understood him in many things, and let him know I was\nvery well pleased with him. In a little time I began to speak to him,\nand teach him to speak to me; and first, I made him know his name should\nbe Friday, which was the day I saved his life; and I called him so for\nthe memory of the time; I likewise taught him to say Master, and then\nlet him know that was to be my name; I likewise taught him to say Yes\nand No, and to know the meaning of them. I gave him some milk in an\nearthen pot, and let him see me drink it before him, and sop my bread in\nit; and I gave him a cake of bread to do the like, which he quickly\ncomplied with, and made signs that it was very good for him.\n\nI kept there with him all that night; but as soon as it was day, I\nbeckoned him to come with me, and let him know I would give him some\nclothes; at which he seemed very glad, for he was stark-naked. As we\nwent by the place where he had buried the two men, he pointed exactly to\nthe spot, and shewed me the marks that he had made to find them again,\nmaking signs to me that we should dig them up again, and eat them: at\nthis I appeared very angry, expressed my abhorrence of it, made as if I\nwould vomit at the thoughts of it, and beckoned with my hand to him to\ncome away, which he did immediately, with great submission. I then led\nhim up to the top of the hill, to see if his enemies were gone, and\npulling out my glass, I looked, and saw plainly the place where they had\nbeen, but no appearance of them, or of their canoes; so that it was\nplain that they were gone, and had left their two comrades behind them,\nwithout, any search after them.\n\nBut I was not content with this discovery; but having now more courage,\nand consequently more curiosity, I took my man Friday with me, giving\nhim the sword in his hand, with the bow and arrows at his back, which I\nfound he could use very dexterously, making him carry one gun for me,\nand I two for myself, and away we marched to the place where these\ncreatures had been; for I had a mind now to get some further\nintelligence of them. When I came to the place, my very blood ran chill\nin my veins, and my heart sunk within me at the horror of the spectacle:\nindeed it was a dreadful sight, at least it was so to me, though Friday\nmade nothing of it: the place was covered with human bones, the ground\ndyed with the blood, great pieces of flesh left here and there,\nhalf-eaten, mangled, and scorched; and, in short, all the tokens of the\ntriumphant feast they had been making there, after a victory over their\nenemies. I saw three skulls, five hands, and the bones of three or four\nlegs and feet, and abundance of other parts of the bodies; and Friday,\nby his signs, made me understand that they brought over four prisoners\nto feast upon; that three of them were eaten up, and that he, pointing\nto himself, was the fourth; that there had been a great battle between\nthem and their next king, whose subjects, it seems, he had been one of;\nand that they had taken a great number of prisoners, all which were\ncarried to several places by those that had taken them in the flight, in\norder to feast upon them, as was done here by these wretches upon those\nthey brought hither.\n\nI caused Friday to gather all the skulls, bones, flesh, and whatever\nremained, and lay them together on an heap, and make a great fire upon\nit, and burn them all to ashes. I found Friday had still a hankering\nstomach after some of the flesh, and was still a cannibal in his nature;\nbut I discovered so much abhorrence at the very thoughts of it, and at\nthe least appearance of it, that he durst not discover it; for I had, by\nsome means, let him know that I would kill him if he offered it.\n\nWhen we had done this, we came back to our castle, and there I fell to\nwork for my man Friday; and first of all, I gave him a pair of linen\ndrawers, which I had out of the poor gunner's chest I mentioned, and\nwhich I found in the wreck; and which, with a little alteration, fitted\nhim very well; then I made him a jerkin of goat's skin as well as my\nskill would allow, and I was now grown a tolerable good tailor; and I\ngave him a cap, which I had made of a hare-skin, very convenient, and\nfashionable enough: and thus he was dressed, for the present, tolerably\nwell, and mighty well was he pleased to see himself almost as well\nclothed as his master. It is true, he went awkwardly in these things at\nfirst; wearing the drawers was very awkward to him, and the sleeves of\nthe waistcoat galled his shoulders and the inside of his arms; but a\nlittle easing them, where he complained they hurt him, and using himself\nto them, at length he took to them very well.\n\nThe next day after I came home to my hutch with him, I began to\nconsider where I should lodge him; and that I might do well for him, and\nyet be perfectly easy myself, I made a little tent for him in the vacant\nplace between my two fortifications, in the inside of the last, and in\nthe outside of the first: and as there was a door or entrance there into\nmy cave, I made a formal framed door-case, and a door to it of boards,\nand set it up in the passage, a little within the entrance: and causing\nthe door to open on the inside, I barred it up in the night, taking in\nmy ladders too; so that Friday could no way come at me in the inside of\nmy innermost wall, without making so much noise in getting over, that it\nmust needs awaken me; for my first wall had now a complete roof over it\nof long poles, covering all my tent, and leaning up to the side of the\nhill, which was again laid cross with small sticks instead of laths, and\nthen thatched over a great thickness with the rice straw, which was\nstrong like reeds; and at the hole or place which was left to go in or\nout by the ladder, I had placed a kind of trapdoor, which if it had been\nattempted on the outside, would not have opened at all, but would have\nfallen down, and made a great noise; and as to weapons, I took them all\nin to my side every night.\n\nBut I needed none of all this precaution; for never man had a more\nfaithful, loving, sincere servant than Friday was to me; without\npassions, sullenness, or designs; perfectly obliging and engaging; his\nvery affections were tied to me, like those of a child to a father; and\nI dare say, he would have sacrificed his life for the saving mine, upon\nany occasion whatsoever: the many testimonies he gave me of this put it\nout of doubt; and soon convinced me, that I needed to use no precautions\nas to my safety on his account.\n\nThis frequently gave me occasion to observe, and that with wonder, that,\nhowever it had pleased God in his providence, and in the government of\nthe works of his hands, to take from so great a part of the world of his\ncreatures the best uses to which their faculties, and the powers of\ntheir souls, are adapted; yet that he has bestowed upon them the same\npowers, the same reason, the same affections, the same sentiments of\nkindness and obligation, the same passions and resentments of wrongs,\nthe same sense of gratitude, sincerity, fidelity, and all the capacities\nof doing good, and receiving good, that he has given to us; and that\nwhen he pleases to offer them occasions of exerting these, they are as\nready, nay more ready, to apply them to the right uses for which they\nwere bestowed, than we are. And this made me very melancholy sometimes,\nin reflecting, as the several occasions presented, how mean a use we\nmake of all these, even though we have these powers enlightened by the\ngreat lamp of instruction, the Spirit of God, and by the knowledge of\nhis word, added to our understanding; and why it has pleased God to hide\nthe life saving knowledge from so many millions of souls, who, if I\nmight judge by this poor savage, would make a much better use of it\nthan we did.\n\nFrom hence I sometimes was led too far to invade the sovereignty of\nProvidence; and, as it were, arraign the justice of so arbitrary a\ndisposition of things, that should hide that light from some, and reveal\nit to others, and yet expect a like duty from both: but I shut it up,\nand checked my thoughts with this conclusion: first, that we do not know\nby what light and law these should be condemned; but that as God was\nnecessarily, and by the nature of his being, infinitely holy and just,\nso it could not be, but that if these creatures were all sentenced to\nabsence from himself, it was on account of sinning against that light,\nwhich, as the Scripture says, was a law to themselves, and by such rules\nas their consciences would acknowledge to be just, though the foundation\nwas not discovered to us: and, secondly, that still, as we are all clay\nin the hand of the potter, no vessel could say to him, \"Why hast thou\nformed me thus?\"\n\nBut to return to my new companion: I was greatly delighted with him, and\nmade it my business to teach him every thing that was proper to make\nhim useful, handy, and helpful; but especially to make him speak, and\nunderstand me when I spake: and he was the aptest scholar that ever was;\nand particularly was so merry, so constantly diligent, and so pleased\nwhen he could but understand me, or make me understand him, that it was\nvery pleasant to me to talk to him. And now my life began to be so easy,\nthat I began to say to myself, that could I but have been safe from more\nsavages, I cared not if I was never to remove from the place while\nI lived.\n\nAfter I had been two or three days returned to my castle, I thought,\nthat, in order to bring Friday off from his horrid way of feeding, and\nfrom the relish of a cannibal's stomach, I ought to let him taste other\nflesh; so I took him out with me one morning to the woods: I went,\nindeed, intending to kill a kid out of my own flock, and bring it home\nand dress it: but as I was going, I saw a she goat lying down in the\nshade, and two young kids sitting by her. I catched hold of Friday:\n\"Hold,\" said I, \"stand still;\" and made signs to him not to stir.\nImmediately I presented my piece, shot and killed one of the kids. The\npoor creature, who had, at a distance indeed, seen me kill the savage\nhis enemy, but did not know, or could imagine how it was done, was\nsensibly surprised, trembled and shook, and looked so amazed, that I\nthought he would have sunk down: he did not see the kid I had shot at,\nor perceive I had killed it, but ripped up his waistcoat to feel if he\nwas not wounded; and, as I found, presently thought I was resolved to\nkill him: for he came and kneeled down to me, and, embracing my knees,\nsaid a great many things I did not understand but I could easily see\nthat his meaning was to pray me not to kill him.\n\nI soon found a way to convince him, that I would do him no harm; and\ntaking him up by the hand, laughed at him, and pointing to the kid which\nI had killed, beckoned to him to run and fetch it, which he did: and\nwhile he was wondering and looking to see how the creature was killed,\nI loaded my gun again, and by and by I saw a great fowl, like a hawk,\nsit upon a tree within shot; so, to let Friday understand a little what\nI would do, I called him to me again, pointing at the fowl, which was\nindeed a parrot, though I thought it had been a hawk: I say, pointing to\nthe parrot, and to my gun, and to the ground under the parrot, to let\nhim see I would make him fall, I made him understand that I would shoot\nand kill that bird; accordingly I fired, and bid him look, and\nimmediately he saw the parrot fall; he stood like one frighted again,\nnotwithstanding all that I had said to him; and I found he was the more\namazed, because he did not see me put any thing into the gun; but\nthought there must be some wonderful fund of death and destruction in\nthat thing, able to kill man, beast, bird, or any thing near or far off;\nfor the astonishment this created in him was such, as could not wear off\nfor a long time; and I believe, if I would have let him, he would have\nworshipped me and my gun; as for the gun itself, he would not so much as\ntouch it for several days over; but would speak to it, and talk to it,\nas if it had answered him, when he was by himself; which, as I\nafterwards learnt of him, was to desire it not to kill him.\n\nWell; after his astonishment was a little over at this, I pointed to him\nto run and fetch the bird I had shot, which he did, but staid some time;\nfor the parrot, not being quite dead, had fluttered a good way off from\nthe place where she fell; however, he found her, took her up, and\nbrought her to me; and, as I had perceived his ignorance about the gun\nbefore, I took this advantage to charge the gun again, and not let him\nsee me do it, that I might be ready for any other mark that might\npresent; but nothing more offered at that time; so I brought home the\nkid; and the same evening I took the skin off, and cut it out as well as\nI could, and having a pot for that purpose, I boiled or stewed some of\nthe flesh, and made some very good broth; after I had begun to eat some,\nI gave some to my man, who seemed very glad of it, and liked it very\nwell; but that which was strangest to him, was, to see me eat salt with\nit. He made a sign to me that the salt was not good to eat; and putting\na little into his own month, he seemed to nauseate it, and would spit\nand sputter at it, washing his mouth with fresh water after it. On the\nother hand, I took some meat in my mouth without salt, and I pretended\nto spit and sputter for want of salt, as fast as he had done at the\nsalt; but it would not do, he would never care for salt with meat, or in\nhis broth; at least, not a great while, and then but a very little.\n\nHaving thus fed him with boiled meat and broth, I was resolved to feast\nhim the next day with roasting a piece of the kid: this I did by hanging\nit before the fire in a string, as I had seen many people do in England,\nsetting two poles up, one on each side the fire, and one cross on the\ntop, and tying the string to the cross stick, letting the meat turn\ncontinually: this Friday admired very much; but when he came to taste\nthe flesh, he took so many ways to tell me how well he liked it, that I\ncould not but understand him; and at last he told me he would never eat\nman's flesh any more, which I was very glad to hear.\n\nThe next day I set him to work to beating some corn out, and sifting it\nin the manner I used to do, as I observed before; and he soon understood\nhow to do it as well as I, especially after he had seen what the meaning\nof it was, and that it was to make bread of; for after that I let him\nsee me make my bread, and bake it too; and in a little time Friday was\nable to do all the work for me, as well as I could do it myself.\n\nI began now to consider, that, having two mouths to feed instead of one,\nI must provide more ground for my harvest, and plant a larger quantity\nof corn, than I used to do; so I marked out a larger piece of land, and\nbegan the fence in the same manner as before, in which Friday not only\nworked very willingly and very hard, but did it very cheerfully; and I\ntold him what it was for, that it was for corn to make more bread,\nbecause he was now with me, and that I might have enough for him and\nmyself too: he appeared very sensible of that part, and let me know,\nthat he thought I had much more labour upon me on his account, than I\nhad for myself, and that he would work the harder for me, if I would\ntell him what to do.\n\nThis was the pleasantest year of all the life I led in this place.\nFriday began to talk pretty well, and understand the names of almost\nevery thing I had occasion to call for, and of every place I had to send\nhim to, and talk a great deal to me; so that, in short, I began now to\nhave some use for my tongue again, which indeed I had very little\noccasion for before; that is to say, about speech. Besides the pleasure\nof talking to him, I had a singular satisfaction in the fellow himself;\nhis simple unfeigned honesty appeared to me more and more every day, and\nI began really to love the creature; and on his side, I believe, he\nloved me more than it was possible for him ever to love any\nthing before.\n\nI had a mind once to try if he had any hankering inclination to his own\ncountry again; and having learnt him English so well, that he could\nanswer me almost any questions, I asked him, whether the nation that he\nbelonged to never conquered in battle? At which he smiled, and said,\n\"Yes, yes, we always fight the better;\" that is, he meant, always get\nthe better in fight; and so we began the following discourse. \"You\nalways fight the better!\" said I: \"how came you to be taken prisoner\nthen, Friday?\"\n\n_Friday._ My nation beat much for all that.\n\n_Master_. How beat? if your nation beat them, how came you to be taken?\n\n_Friday_. They more than my nation in the place where me was; they take\none, two, three, and me: my nation over-beat them in the yonder place,\nwhere me no was; there my nation take one two great thousand.\n\n_Master_. But why did not your side recover you from the hands of your\nenemies then?\n\n_Friday_. They run one, two, three, and me, and make go in the canoe; my\nnation have no canoe that time.\n\n_Master_. Well, Friday, and what does your nation do with the men they\ntake? Do they carry them away, and eat them as these did?\n\n_Friday._ Yes, my nation eat mans too, eat all up.\n\n_Master_. Where do they carry them?\n\n_Friday_. Go to other place where they think.\n\n_Master_. Do they come hither?\n\n_Friday_. Yes, yes, they come hither; come other else place.\n\n_Master_. Have you been here with them?\n\n_Friday_. Yes, I been here [points to the N.W. side of the island,\nwhich, it seems, was their side.]\n\nBy this I understood, that my man Friday had formerly been among the\nsavages, who used to come on shore on the farther part of the island, on\nthe said man eating occasions that he was now brought for; and some time\nafter, when I took the courage to carry him to that side, being the same\nI formerly mentioned, he presently knew the place, and told me, he was\nthere once when they ate up twenty men, two women, and one child: he\ncould not tell twenty in English, but he numbered them by laying so many\nstones in a row, and pointing to me to tell them over.\n\nI have told this passage, because it introduces what follows; that after\nI had had this discourse with him, I asked him, how far it was from our\nisland to the shore, and whether the canoes were not often lost? He told\nme there was no danger, no canoes ever lost; but that after a little way\nout to sea, there was a current, and a wind always one way in the\nmorning, the other in the afternoon.\n\nThis I understand to be no more than the sets of the tide, as going out,\nor coming in; but I afterwards understood it was occasioned by the great\ndraught and reflux of the mighty river Oroonoque; in the mouth of which\nriver, as I thought afterwards, our island lay; and that this land,\nwhich I perceived to the W. and N.W. was the great island Trinidad, on\nthe north point of the mouth of the river. I asked Friday a thousand\nquestions about the country, the inhabitants, the sea, the coast, and\nwhat nations were near: he told me all he knew with the greatest\nopenness imaginable. I asked him the names of the several nations of his\nsort of people, but could get no other name than Caribs; from whence I\neasily understood, that these were the Caribees, which our maps place on\nthat part of America which reaches from the mouth of the river Oroonoque\nto Guinea, and onwards to St. Martha. He told me, that up a great way\nbeyond the moon, that was, beyond the setting of the moon, which must be\nW. from their country, there dwelt white-bearded men, like me, and\npointed to my great whiskers, which I mentioned before; and that they\nhad killed much mans, that was his word: by which I understood he meant\nthe Spaniards, whose cruelties in America had been spread over the whole\ncountries, and were remembered by all the nations from father to son.\n\nI inquired if he could tell me how I might come from this island, and\nget among those white men; he told me, Yes, yes, I might go in two\ncanoe; I could not understand what he meant by two canoe; till at last,\nwith great difficulty, I found he meant, that it must be in a large\ngreat boat as big as two canoes.\n\nThis part of Friday's discourse began to relish with me very well; and\nfrom this time I entertained some hopes, that one time or other I might\nfind an opportunity to make my escape from this place, and that this\npoor savage might be a means to help me to do it.\n\nDuring the long time that Friday had now been with me, and that he began\nto speak to me, and understand me, I was not wanting to lay a foundation\nof religious knowledge in his mind; particularly I asked him one time,\nWho made him? The poor creature did not understand me at all, but\nthought I had asked who was his father: but I took it by another handle,\nand asked him, Who made the sea, the ground he walked on, and the hills\nand woods? He told me, it was one old Benamuckee that lived beyond all:\nhe could describe nothing of this great person, but that he was very\nold; much older, he said, than the sea or the land, than the moon or the\nstars. I asked him then, if this old person had made all things, why did\nnot all things worship him? He looked very grave, and with a perfect\nlook of innocence said, All things said O! to him. I asked him, if the\npeople who die in his country, went away any where? He said, Yes, they\nall went to Benamuckee. Then I asked him, whether those they ate up,\nwent thither too? he said, Yes.\n\nFrom these things I began to instruct him in the knowledge of the true\nGod. I told him, that the great Maker of all things lived there,\npointing up towards heaven; that he governs the world by the same power\nand providence by which he made it; that he was omnipotent, could do\nevery thing for us, give every thing to us, take every thing from us:\nand thus, by degrees, I opened his eyes. He listened with great\nattention, and received with pleasure the notion of Jesus Christ being\nsent to redeem us, and of the manner of making our prayers to God, and\nhis being able to hear us, even into heaven: he told me one day, that if\nour God could hear us up beyond the sun, he must needs be a greater God\nthan their Benamuckee, who lived but a little way off, and yet could not\nhear, till they went up to the great mountains, where he dwelt, to speak\nto him. I asked him, if ever he went thither to speak to him? He said,\nNo, they never went that were young men; none went thither but the old\nmen; whom he called their Oowookakee, that is, as I made him explain it\nto me, their religious, or clergy; and that they went to say O! (so he\ncalled saying prayers,) and then came back, and told them what\nBenamuckee said. By this I observed, that there is priestcraft even\namongst the most blinded ignorant Pagans in the world; and the policy of\nmaking a secret religion, in order to preserve the veneration of the\npeople to the clergy, is not only to be found in the Roman, but perhaps\namong all religious in the world, even among the most brutish and\nbarbarous savages.\n\nI endeavoured to clear up this fraud to my man Friday; and told him,\nthat the pretence of their old men going up to the mountains to say O!\nto their god Benamuckee, was a cheat; and their bringing word from\nthence what he said, was much more so; that if they met with any answer,\nor spoke with any one there, it must be with an evil spirit: and then I\nentered into a long discourse with him about the devil, the original of\nhim, his rebellion against God, his enmity to man, the reason of it, his\nsetting himself up in the dark parts of the world to be worshipped\ninstead of God, and as God, and the many stratagems he made use of, to\ndelude mankind to their ruin; how he had a secret access to our passions\nand to our affections, to adapt his snares so to our inclinations, as to\ncause us even to be our own tempters, and to run upon our own\ndestruction by our own choice.\n\nI found it was not so easy to imprint right notions in his mind about\nthe devil, as it was about the being of a God: nature assisted all my\narguments to evidence to him even the necessity of a great First Cause,\nand over-ruling governing Power, a secret directing Providence, and of\nthe equity and justice of paying homage to Him that made us, and the\nlike: but there appeared nothing of all this in the notion of an evil\nspirit, of his original, his being, his nature, and, above all, of his\ninclination to do evil, and to draw us in to do so too: and the poor\ncreature puzzled me once in such a manner, by a question merely natural\nand innocent, that I scarce knew what to say to him. I had been talking\na great deal to him of the power of God, his omnipotence, his dreadful\naversion to sin, his being a consuming fire to the workers of iniquity;\nhow, as he had made as all, he could destroy us, and all the world, in\na moment; and he listened with great seriousness to me all the while.\n\nAfter this, I had been telling; him how the devil was God's enemy in the\nhearts of men, and used all his malice and skill to defeat the good\ndesigns of Providence, and to ruin the kingdom of Christ in the world,\nand the like: \"Well,\" says Friday, \"but you say God is so strong, so\ngreat, is he not much strong, much might, as the devil?\"--\"Yes, yes,\"\nsaid I, Friday, \"God is stronger than the devil, God is above the devil,\nand therefore we pray to God to tread him under our feet, and enable us\nto resist his temptations, and quench his fiery darts.\"--\"But,\" says he\nagain, \"if God much strong, much might, as the devil, why God not kill\nthe devil, so make him no more wicked?\"\n\nI was strangely surprised at his question; and after all, though I was\nnow an old man, yet I was but a young doctor, and ill enough qualified\nfor a casuist, or a solver of difficulties: and, at first, I could not\ntell what to say; so I pretended not to hear him, and asked him what he\nsaid; but he was too earnest for an answer to forget his question; so\nthat he repeated it in the very same broken words, as above. By this\ntime I had recovered myself a little, and I said, \"God will at last\npunish him severely; he is reserved for the judgment, and is to be cast\ninto the bottomless pit, to dwell with everlasting fire.\" This did not\nsatisfy Friday; but he returns upon me, repeating my words, \"Reserve at\nlast! me no understand: but why not kill the devil now, not kill great\nago?\"--\"You may as well ask me,\" said I, \"why God does not kill you and\nme, when we do wicked things here that offend him: we are preserved to\nrepent and be pardoned.\" He muses awhile at this; \"Well, well,\" says he,\nmighty affectionately, \"that well; so you I, devil, all wicked, all\npreserve, repent, God pardon all.\" Here I was run down again by him to\nthe last degree, and it was a testimony to me, how the mere notions of\nnature, though they will guide reasonable creatures to the knowledge of\na God, and of a worship or homage due to the supreme being of God, as\nthe consequence of our nature; yet nothing but divine revelation can\nform the knowledge of Jesus Christ, and of a redemption purchased for\nus; of a Mediator; of a new covenant; and of an Intercessor at the\nfootstool of God's throne; I say, nothing but a revelation from Heaven\ncan form these in the soul; and that therefore the Gospel of our Lord\nand Saviour Jesus Christ, I mean the word of God, and the Spirit of God,\npromised for the guide and sanctifier of his people, are the absolutely\nnecessary instructors of the souls of men in the saving knowledge of\nGod, and the means of salvation.\n\nI therefore diverted the present discourse between me and my man, rising\nup hastily, as upon some sudden occasion of going out; then sending him\nfor some thing a great way off, I seriously prayed to God, that he would\nenable me to instruct savingly this poor savage, assisting, by his\nSpirit, the heart of the poor ignorant creature to receive the light of\nthe knowledge of God in Christ, reconciling him to himself, and would\nguide me to speak so to him from the word of God, as his conscience\nmight be convinced, his eyes opened, and his soul saved. When he came\nagain to me, I entered into a long discourse with him upon the subject\nof the redemption of man by the Saviour of the world, and of the\ndoctrine of the Gospel preached from Heaven, viz. of the repentance\ntowards God, and faith in our blessed Lord Jesus: I then explained to\nhim, as well as I could, why our blessed Redeemer took not on him the\nnature of angels, but the seed of Abraham, and how, for that reason, the\nfallen angels had no share in the redemption; that he came only to the\nlost sheep of the house of Israel, and the like.\n\nI had, God knows, more sincerity than knowledge, in all the methods I\ntook for this poor creature's instruction; and must acknowledge, what I\nbelieve all that act upon the same principle will find, that in laying\nthings open to him, I really informed and instructed myself in many\nthings that either I did not know, or had not fully considered before;\nbut which occurred naturally to my mind, upon my searching into them for\nthe information of this poor savage; and I had more affection in my\ninquiry after things upon this occasion, than ever I felt before; so\nthat whether this poor wild wretch was the better for me or no, I had\ngreat reason to be thankful that ever he came to me: my grief sat\nlighter upon me, my habitation grew comfortable to me beyond measure;\nand when I reflected, that in this solitary life, which I had been\nconfined to, I had not only been moved myself to look up to Heaven, and\nto seek to the Hand that brought me thither, but was now to be made an\ninstrument, under Providence, to save the life, and for aught I knew the\nsoul, of a poor savage, and bring him to the true knowledge of religion,\nand of the Christian doctrine, that he might know Christ Jesus, to know\nwhom is life eternal; I say, when I reflected upon all these things, a\nsecret joy ran through every part of my soul, and I frequently rejoiced\nthat ever I was brought to this place, which I had often thought the\nmost dreadful of all afflictions that could possibly have befallen me.\n\nIn this thankful frame I continued all the remainder of my time; and the\nconversation which employed the hours between Friday and me was such, as\nmade the three years which we lived there together perfectly and\ncompletely happy, if any such thing as complete happiness can be found\nin a sublunary state. The savage was now a good Christian, a much better\nthan I; though I have reason to hope, and bless God for it, that we were\nequally penitent, and comforted restored penitents: we had here the Word\nof God to read, and no farther off from his Spirit to instruct than if\nwe had been in England.\n\nI always applied myself to reading the Scripture, and to let him know as\nwell as I could the meaning of what I read; and he again, by his serious\ninquiries and questions, made me, as I said before, a much better\nscholar in the Scripture knowledge, than I should ever have been by my\nown private reading. Another thing I cannot refrain from observing here,\nalso from experience, in this retired part of my life; viz. how infinite\nand inexpressible a blessing it is, that the knowledge of God, and of\nthe doctrine of salvation by Christ Jesus, is so plainly laid down in\nthe Word of God, so easy to be received and understood, that as the bare\nreading the Scripture made me capable of understanding enough of my duty\nto carry me directly on to the great work of sincere repentance for my\nsins, and laying hold of a Saviour for life and salvation, to a stated\nreformation in practice, and obedience to all God's commands, and this\nwithout any teacher or instructor (I mean, human;) so the plain\ninstruction sufficiently served to the enlightening this savage\ncreature, and bringing him to be such a Christian, as I have known few\nequal to him in my life.\n\nAs to the disputes, wranglings, strife, and contention, which has\nhappened in the world about religion, whether niceties in doctrines, or\nschemes of church-government, they were all perfectly useless to us, as,\nfor aught I can yet see, they have been to all the rest in the world: we\nhad the sure guide to heaven, viz. the Word of God; and we had, blessed\nbe God! comfortable views of the Spirit of God, teaching and instructing\nus by his Word, leading us into all truth, and making us both willing\nand obedient to His instruction of his Word; and I cannot see the least\nuse that the greatest knowledge of the disputed points in religion,\nwhich have made such confusions in the world, would have been to us, if\nwe could have obtained it. But I must go on with the historical part of\nthings, and take every part in its order.\n\nAfter Friday and I became more intimately acquainted, and that he could\nunderstand almost all I said to him, and speak fluently, though in\nbroken English, to me, I acquainted him with my own story, or at least\nso much of it as related to my coming into the place, how I had lived\nthere, and how long: I let him into the mystery (for such it was to him)\nof gunpowder and bullets, and taught him how to shoot: I gave him a\nknife, which he was wonderfully delighted with; and I made him a belt\nwith a frog hanging to it, such as in England we wear hangers in; and in\nthe frog, instead of a hanger, I gave him a hatchet, which was not only\nas good a weapon in some cases, but much more useful upon many\noccasions.\n\nI described to him the countries of Europe, and particularly England,\nwhich I came from; how we lived, how we worshipped God, how we behaved\nto one another, and how we traded in ships to all the parts of the\nworld. I gave him an account of the wreck which I had been on board of,\nand shewed him as near as I could, the place where she lay; but she was\nall beaten in pieces long before, and quite gone.\n\nI shewed him the ruins of our boat, which we lost when we escaped, and\nwhich I could not stir with my whole strength then, but was now fallen\nalmost all to pieces. Upon seeing this boat, Friday stood musing a great\nwhile, and said nothing; I asked him what it was he studied upon? At\nlast, says he, \"Me see such boat like come to place at my nation.\"\n\nI did not understand him a good while; but at last, when I had examined\nfurther into it, I understood by him, that a boat, such as that had\nbeen, came on shore upon the country where he lived; that is, as he\nexplained it, was driven thither by stress of weather. I presently\nimagined, that some European ship must have been cast away upon their\ncoast, and the boat might get loose, and drive ashore; but was so dull,\nthat I never once thought of men making escape from a wreck thither,\nmuch less whence they might come; so I only inquired after a description\nof the boat.\n\nFriday described the boat to me well enough; but brought me better to\nunderstand him, when he added, with some warmth, \"We save the white mans\nfrom drown.\" Then I presently asked him, if there, were white mans, as\nhe called them, in the boat? \"Yes,\" he said, \"the boat full of while\nmans.\" I asked him, how many! he told upon his fingers seventeen. I\nasked him then, what became of them? he told me, \"They live, they dwell\nat my nation.\"\n\nThis put new thoughts into my head again; for I presently imagined, that\nthese might be the men belonging to the ship that was cast away in sight\nof my island, as I now call it; and who, after the ship was struck on\nthe rock, and they saw her inevitably lost, had saved themselves in\ntheir boat, and were landed upon that wild shore among the savages.\n\nUpon this I inquired of him more critically, what was become of them? He\nassured me they lived still there, that they had been there about four\nyears, that the savages let them alone, and gave them victuals to live.\nI asked him, how it came to pass they did not kill them, and eat them?\nHe said, \"No, they make brother with them:\" that is, as I understood\nhim, a truce: and then he added, \"They eat no mans but when make the war\nfight:\" that is to say, they never eat any men, but such as come to\nfight with them, and are taken in battle.\n\nIt was after this, some considerable time, that being on the top of the\nhill, at the east side of the island, from whence, as I have said, I had\nin a clear day discovered the main or continent of America; Friday, the\nweather being very serene, looks very earnestly towards the main land,\nand in a kind of surprise falls a-jumping and dancing, and calls out to\nme, for I was at some distance from him: I asked him what was the\nmatter? \"O joy!\" says he, \"O glad! there see my country, there\nmy nation!\"\n\nI observed an extraordinary sense of pleasure appeared in his face, and\nhis eyes sparkled, and his countenance discovered a strange eagerness,\nas if he had a mind to be in his own country again; and this observation\nof mine put a great many thoughts into me; which made me at first not so\neasy about my new man Friday as I was before; and I made no doubt, but\nthat if Friday could get back to his own nation again, he would not\nonly forget all his religion, but all his obligations to me; and would\nbe forward enough to give his countrymen an account of me, and come\nback, perhaps, with an hundred or two of them, and make a feast upon me,\nat which he might be as merry as he used to be with those of his\nenemies, when they were taken in war.\n\nBut I wronged the poor honest creature very much, for which I was very\nsorry afterwards: however, as my jealousy increased, and held me some\nweeks, I was a little more circumspect, and not so familiar and kind to\nhim as before; in which I was certainly in the wrong too, the honest\ngrateful creature having no thought about it, but what consisted of the\nbest principles, both as a religious Christian and as a grateful friend,\nas appeared afterwards to my full satisfaction.\n\nWhilst my jealousy of him lasted, you may be sure I was every day\npumping him, to see if he would discover any of the new thoughts which I\nsuspected were in him; but I found every thing he said was so honest and\nso innocent, that I could find nothing to nourish my suspicion; and, in\nspite of all my uneasiness, he made me at last entirely his own again;\nnor did he in the least perceive that I was uneasy; and therefore I\ncould not suspect him of deceit.\n\nOne day, walking up the same hill, but the weather being hazy at sea, so\nthat we could not see the continent, I called to him, and said, \"Friday,\ndo not you wish yourself in your own country, your own nation\"--\"Yes,\"\nhe said, \"I be much O glad to be at my own nation.\"--\"What would you do\nthere?\" said I: \"would you turn wild again, eat men's flesh again, and\nbe a savage as you were before?\" He looked full of concern, and shaking\nhis head, said, \"No, no, Friday tell them to live good; tell them to\npray God; tell them to eat corn-bread, cattle-flesh, milk, no eat man\nagain.\"--\"Why, then,\" said I to him, \"they will kill you.\" He looked\ngrave at that, and then said, \"No, they no kill me, they willing love\nlearn:\" he meant by this, they would be willing to learn. He added,\nthey learnt much of the bearded mans that came in the boat. Then I asked\nhim, if he would go back to them? He smiled at that, and told me he\ncould not swim so far. I told him I would make a canoe for him. He told\nme he would go, if I would so with him. \"I go!\" said I, \"why, they will\neat me if I come there.\"--\"No, no,\" says he, \"me make them no eat you,\nme make they much love you:\" he meant he would tell them how I had\nkilled his enemies and saved his life, and so he would make them love\nme. Then he told me, as well as he could, how kind they were to\nseventeen white men, or bearded men, as he called them, who came on\nshore in distress.\n\nFrom this time, I confess, I had a mind to venture over, and see if I\ncould possibly join with these bearded men, who, I made no doubt, were\nSpaniards or Portuguese; not doubting but, if I could, we might find\nsome method to escape from thence, being upon the continent, and a good\ncompany together, better than I could from an island forty miles off the\nshore, and alone without help. So, after some days, I took Friday to\nwork again, by way of discourse; and told him, I would give him a boat\nto go back to his own nation; and accordingly I carried him to my\nfrigate, which lay on the other side of the island; and having cleared\nit of water (for I always kept it sunk in the water), I brought it out,\nshewed it him, and we both went into it.\n\nI found he was a most dexterous fellow at managing it, would make it go\nalmost as swift and fast again as I could; so when he was in, I said to\nhim, \"Well, now, Friday, shall we go to your nation?\" He looked very\ndull at my saying so, which, it seems, was because he thought the boat\ntoo small to go so far. I told him then I had a bigger; so the next day\nI went to the place where the first boat lay which I had made, but which\nI could not get into the water; he said that was big enough; but then,\nas I had taken no care of it, and it had lain two or three and twenty\nyears there, the sun had split and dried it, that it was in a manner\nrotten. Friday told me, such a boat would do very well, and would carry\n\"much enough vittle, drink, bread:\" that was his way of talking.\n\nUpon the whole, I was by this time so fixed upon my design of going over\nwith him to the continent, that I told him we would go and make one as\nbig as that, and he should go home in it. He answered not one word, but\nlooked very, grave and sad. I asked him, what was the matter with him?\nHe asked me again thus, \"Why you angry mad with Friday? what me done?\" I\nasked him, what he meant? I told him I was not angry with him at all:\n\"No angry! no angry!\" says he, repeating the words several times, \"why\nsend Friday home away to my nation?\"--\"Why,\" said I, \"Friday, did you\nnot say you wished you were there?\"--\"Yes, yes,\" says he, \"wish be both\nthere; no wish Friday there, no master there.\" In a word, he would not\nthink of going there without me. \"I go there, Friday!\" said I; \"what\nshould I do there?\" He turned very quick upon me at this; \"You do great\ndeal much good,\" says he; \"you teach wild mans be good, sober, tame\nmans; you tell them know God, pray God, and live new life.\"--\"Alas,\nFriday,\" said I, \"thou knowest not what thou sayest; I am but an\nignorant man myself.\"--\"Yes, yes,\" says he, \"you teechee me good, you\nteechee them good.\"--\"No, no, Friday,\" said I, \"you shall go without me;\nleave me here to live by myself, as I did before.\" He looked confused\nagain at that word, and running to one of the hatchets which he used to\nwear, he takes it up hastily, and gives it me. \"What must I do with\nthis?\" said I to him. \"You take kill Friday,\" says he. \"What must I kill\nyou for?\" said I again, He returns very quick, \"What you send Friday\naway for? Take kill Friday, no send Friday away.\" This he spoke so\nearnestly, that I saw tears stand in his eyes. In a word, I so plainly\ndiscovered the utmost affection in him to me, and a firm resolution in\nhim, that I told him then, and often after, that I would never send him\naway from me, if he was willing to stay with me.\n\nUpon the whole, as I found by all his discourse a settled affection to\nme, and that nothing should part him from me, so I found all the\nfoundation of his desire to go to his own country was laid in his ardent\naffection to the people, and his hopes of my doing them good; a thing,\nwhich as I had no notion of myself, so I had not the least thought, or\nintention, or desire of undertaking it. But still I found a strong\ninclination to my attempting an escape, as above, founded on the\nsupposition gathered from the former discourse; viz. that there were\nseventeen bearded men there; and therefore, without any delay, I went to\nwork with Friday, to find out a great tree proper to fell, and make a\nlarge periagua or canoe, to under take the voyage: there were trees\nenough in the island to have built a little fleet, not of periaguas and\ncanoes only, but even of good large vessels: but the main thing I looked\nat, was to get one so near the water, that we might launch it when it\nwas made, to avoid the mistake I committed at first.\n\nAt last Friday pitched upon a tree; for I found he knew much better than\nI what kind of wood was fittest for it; nor can I tell to this day what\nwood to call the tree we cut down, except that it was very like the tree\nwe call tustick, or between that and the Nicaragua wood, for it was much\nof the same colour and smell. Friday was for burning the hollow or\ncavity of this tree out, to make it into a boat: but I shewed him how\nrather to cut it out with tools, which after I shewed him how to use, he\ndid very handily; and in about a month's hard labour we finished it, and\nmade it very handsome, especially, when, with our axes, which I shewed\nhim how to handle, we cut and hewed the outside into the true shape of a\nboat; after this, however, it cost us near a fortnight's time to get her\nalong, as it were inch by inch, upon great rollers, into the water: but\nwhen she was in, she would have carried twenty men with great ease.\n\nWhen she was in the water, and though she was so big, it amazed me to\nsee with what dexterity and how swift my man Friday could manage her,\nturn her, and paddle her along; so I asked him if he would, and if we\nmight venture over in her? \"Yes,\" he said, \"he venture over in her very\nwell, though great blow wind.\" However, I had a farther design that he\nknew nothing of, and that was, to make a mast and sail, and to fit her\nwith an anchor and cable. As to a mast, that was easy enough to get; so\nI pitched upon a straight young cedar-tree, which I found near the\nplace, and which there was a great plenty of in the island; and I set\nFriday to work to cut it down, and gave him directions how to shape and\norder it: but as to the sail, that was my particular care; I knew I had\nold sails, or rather pieces of old sails enough; but as I had had them\nnow twenty-six years by me, and had not been very careful to preserve\nthem, not imagining that I should ever have this kind of use for them, I\ndid not doubt but they were all rotten; and indeed most of them were so;\nhowever, I found two pieces which appeared pretty good, and with these I\nwent to work, and with a great deal of pains, and awkward tedious\nstitching (you may be sure) for want of needles, I at length made a\nthree-cornered ugly thing, like what we call in England a\nshoulder-of-mutton sail, to go with a boom at bottom, and a little short\nsprit at the top, such as usually our ships' long-boats sail with, and\nsuch as I best knew how to manage; because it was such a one as I used\nin the boat in which I made my escape from Barbary, as related in the\nfirst part of my story.\n\nI was near two months performing this last work, viz. rigging and\nfitting my mast and sails; for I finished them very complete, making a\nsmall stay, and a sail or foresail to it, to assist, if we should turn\nto windward; and, which was more than all, I fixed a rudder to the stern\nof her, to steer with; and though I was but a bungling shipwright, yet\nas I knew the usefulness, and even necessity of such a thing, I applied\nmyself with so much pains to do it, that at last I brought it to pass,\nthough, considering the many dull contrivances I had for it that failed,\nI think it cost me almost as much labour as making the boat.\n\nAfter all this was done, I had my man Friday to teach as to what\nbelonged to the navigation of my boat; for though he knew very well how\nto paddle the canoe, he knew nothing what belonged to a sail and a\nrudder, and was the more amazed when he saw me work the boat to and\nagain in the sea by the rudder, and how the sail gibed, and filled this\nway or that way, as the course we sailed changed; I say, when he saw\nthis, he stood like one astonished and amazed: however, with a little\nuse, I made all these things familiar to him, and he became an expert\nsailor, except that as to the compass I could make him understand very\nlittle of that: on the other hand, as there was very little cloudy\nweather, and seldom or never any fogs in those parts, there was the less\noccasion for a compass, seeing the stars were always to be seen by\nnight, and the shore by day, except in the rainy seasons; and then\nnobody cared to stir abroad, either by land or sea.\n\nI was now entered on the seven-and-twentieth year of my captivity in\nthis place; though the three last years that I had this creature with\nme, ought rather to be left out of the account, my habitation being\nquite of another kind than in all the rest of my time. I kept the\nanniversary of my landing here with the same thankfulness to God for his\nmercies as at first; and if I had such cause of acknowledgment at first,\nI had much more so now, having such additional testimonies of the care\nof Providence over me, and the great hopes I had of being effectually\nand speedily delivered; for I had an invincible impression upon my\nthoughts, that my deliverance was at hand, and that I should not be\nanother year in this place. However, I went on with my husbandry,\ndigging, planting, and fencing, as usual; I gathered and cured my\ngrapes, and did every necessary thing, as before.\n\nThe rainy season was in the mean time upon me, when I kept more within\ndoors than at other times; so I had stowed our now vessel as secure as\nwe could, bringing her up into the creek, where, as I said in the\nbeginning, I landed my rafts from the ship; and haling her up to the\nshore, at high water mark, I made my man Friday dig a little dock, just\nbig enough for her to float in; and then, when the tide was out, we made\na strong dam cross the end of it, to keep the water out; and so she lay\ndry, as to the tide, from the sea; and to keep the rain off, we laid a\ngreat many boughs of trees so thick, that she was as well thatched as a\nhouse; and thus we waited for the months of November and December, in\nwhich I designed to make my adventure.\n\nWhen the settled season began to come in, as the thought of my design\nreturned with the fair weather, I was preparing daily for the voyage;\nand the first thing I did was to lay up a certain quantity of provision,\nbeing the store for the voyage; and intended, in a week or a fortnight's\ntime, to open the dock, and launch out our boat. I was busy one morning\nupon something of this kind, when I called to Friday, and bid him go to\nthe sea-shore, and see if he could find a turtle or tortoise, a thing\nwhich we generally got once a week, for the sake of the eggs, as well as\nthe flesh. Friday had not been long gone, when he came running back, and\nflew over my outward wall, or fence, like one that felt not the ground,\nor the steps he set his feet on; and before I had time to speak to him,\nhe cried out to me, \"O master! O master! O sorrow! O bad!\"--\"What's the\nmatter, Friday?\" said I. \"O yonder there,\" says he, \"one, two, three,\ncanoe! one, two, three!\" By this way of speaking I concluded there were\nsix; but on inquiry I found there were but three. \"Well, Friday,\" said\nI, \"do not be frighted;\" so I heartened him up as well as I could.\nHowever, I saw the poor fellow most terribly scared; for nothing ran in\nhis head, but that they were come to look for him, and would cut him in\npieces, and eat him; the poor fellow trembled so, that I scarce knew\nwhat to do with him; I comforted him as well as I could, and told him I\nwas in as much danger as he, and that they would eat me as well as him.\n\"But,\" said I, \"Friday, we must resolve to fight them: can you fight,\nFriday?\" \"Me shoot,\" says he, \"but there come many great number.\" \"No\nmatter for that,\" said I again; \"our guns will fright them that we do\nnot kill.\" So I asked him, whether, if I resolved to defend him, he\nwould defend me, and stand by me, and do just as I bade him? He said,\n\"Me die, when you bid die, master;\" so I went and fetched a good dram of\nrum, and gave him; for I had been so good a husband of my rum, that I\nhad a great deal left. When he had drank it, I made him take the two\nfowling-pieces which we always carried, and load them with large\nswan-shot as big as small pistol bullets; then I took four muskets, and\nloaded them with two slugs and five small bullets each; and my two\npistols I loaded with a brace of bullets each: I hung my great sword, as\nusual, naked by my side, and gave Friday his hatchet.\n\nWhen I had thus prepared myself, I took my perspective-glass, and went\nup to the side of the hill, to see what I could discover; and I found\nquickly, by my glass, that there were one and twenty savages, three\nprisoners, and three canoes; and that their whole business seemed to be\nthe triumphant banquet upon these three human bodies; a barbarous feast\nindeed, but nothing more than as I had observed was usual with them.\n\nI observed also, that they were landed, not where they had done when\nFriday made his escape, but nearer to my creek, where the shore was low,\nand where a thick wood came close almost down to the sea: this, with the\nabhorrence of the inhuman errand these wretches came about, so filled me\nwith indignation, that I came down again to Friday, and told him, I was\nresolved to go down to them, and kill them all; and asked him if he\nwould stand by me. He was now gotten over his fright, and his spirits\nbeing a little raised with the dram I had given him, he was very\ncheerful; and told me, as before, he would die when I bid die.\n\nIn this fit of fury, I took first and divided the arms which I had\ncharged, as before, between us: I gave Friday one pistol to stick in his\ngirdle, and three guns upon his shoulder; and I took one pistol, and the\nother three, myself; and in this posture we marched out. I took a small\nbottle of rum in my pocket, and gave Friday a large bag with more powder\nand bullet; and as to orders, I charged him to keep close behind me, and\nnot to stir, shoot, or do any thing till I bid him; and in the mean\ntime, not to speak a word. In this posture I fetched a compass to my\nright hand of near a mile, as well to get over the creek as to get into\nthe wood; so that I might come within shot of them before I could be\ndiscovered, which I had seen by my glass it was easy to do.\n\nWhile I was making this march, my former thoughts returning, I began to\nabate my resolution; I do not mean, that I entertained any fear of their\nnumber; for as they were naked, unarmed wretches, it is certain I was\nsuperior to them; nay, though I had been alone: but it occurred to my\nthoughts, what call, what occasion, much less what necessity, I was in\nto go and dip my hands in blood, to attack people who had neither done\nor intended me any wrong, who, as to me, were innocent, and whose\nbarbarous customs were their own disaster, being in them a token indeed\nof God's having left them, with the other nations of that part of the\nworld, to such stupidity and to such inhuman courses; but did not call\nme to take upon me to be a judge of their actions, much less an\nexecutioner of his justice; that whenever he thought fit, he would take\nthe cause into his own hands, and by national vengeance punish them for\nnational crimes; but that in the mean time, it was none of my business;\nthat it was true, Friday might justify it, because he was a declared\nenemy, and in a state of war with those very particular people, and it\nwas lawful for him to attack them; but I could not say the same with\nrespect to me. These things were so warmly pressed upon my thoughts all\nthe way as I went, that I resolved I would only go place myself near\nthem, that I might observe their barbarous feast, and that I would act\nthen as God should direct; but that unless something offered that was\nmore a call to me than yet I knew of, I would not meddle with them.\n\nWith this resolution I entered the wood, and with all possible wariness\nand silence (Friday following close at my heels) I marched till I came\nto the skirt of the wood, on the side which was next to them; only that\none corner of the wood lay between me and them: here I called softly to\nFriday, and shewing him a great tree, which was just at the corner of\nthe wood, I bade him go to the tree, and bring me word if he could see\nthere plainly what they were doing: he did so, and came immediately back\nto me, and told me they might be plainly viewed there; that they were\nall about the fire, eating the flesh of one of their prisoners; and that\nanother lay bound upon the sand, a little from them, whom he said they\nwould kill next, and which fired the very soul within me. He told me, it\nwas not one of their nation, but one of the bearded men whom he had told\nme of, who came to their country in the boat. I was filled with horror\nat the very naming the white-bearded man, and, going to the tree, I saw\nplainly, by my glass, a white man, who lay upon the beach of the sea,\nwith his hands and his feet tied with flags, or things like rushes; and\nthat he was an European, and had clothes on.\n\nThere was another tree, and a little thicket beyond it, about fifty\nyards nearer to them than the place where I was, which, by going a\nlittle way about, I saw I might come at undiscovered, and that then I\nshould be within half-shot of them; so I withheld my passion, though I\nwas indeed enraged to the highest degree; and going back about twenty\npaces, I got behind some bushes, which held all the way till I came to\nthe other tree, and then I came to a little rising ground, which gave me\na full view of them, at the distance of about eighty yards.\n\nI had now not a moment to lose; for nineteen of the dreadful wretches\nsat upon the ground all close huddled together, and had just sent the\nother two to butcher the poor Christian, and bring him, perhaps limb by\nlimb, to their fire; and they were stooped down to untie the bands at\nhis feet. I turned to Friday; \"Now, Friday,\" said I, \"do as I bid thee.\"\nFriday said, he would. \"Then, Friday,\" said I, \"do exactly as you see me\ndo; fail in nothing.\" So I set down one of the muskets and the\nfowling-piece upon the ground, and Friday did the like by his; and with\nthe other musket I took my aim at the savages, bidding him do the like.\nThen asking him if he was ready, he said, \"Yes.\" \"Then fire at them,\"\nsaid I; and the same moment I fired also.\n\nFriday took his aim so much better than I, that on the side that he\nshot, he killed two of them, and wounded three more; and on my side, I\nkilled one, and wounded two. They were, you may be sure, in a dreadful\nconsternation; and all of them, who were not hurt, jumped up upon their\nfeet immediately, but did not know which way to run, or which way to\nlook; for they knew not from whence their destruction came. Friday kept\nhis eyes close upon me, that, as I had bid him, he might observe what I\ndid; so as soon as the first shot was made, I threw down the piece, and\ntook up the fowling-piece, and Friday did the like; he sees me cock, and\npresent; he did the same again. \"Are you ready, Friday?\" said I. \"Yes,\"\nsays he. \"Let fly then,\" said I, \"in the name of God;\" and with that I\nfired again among the amazed wretches, and so did Friday; and as our\npieces were now loaden with what I call swan shot, or small\npistol-bullets, we found only two drop; but so many were wounded, that\nthey ran about yelling and screaming like mad creatures, all bloody, and\nmiserably wounded most of them; whereof three more fell quickly after,\nthough not quite dead.\n\n\"Now, Friday,\" said I, laying down the discharged pieces, and taking up\nthe musket, which was yet loaden, \"follow me,\" said I; which he did,\nwith a deal of courage; upon which I rushed, out of the wood, and shewed\nmyself, and Friday close at my foot: as soon as I perceived they saw me,\nI shouted as loud as I could, and bade Friday do so too; and running as\nfast as I could, which by the way was not very fast, being loaded with\narms as I was, I made directly towards the poor victim, who was, as I\nsaid, lying upon the beach, or shore, between the place where they sat\nand the sea; the two butchers, who were just going to work with him, had\nleft him, at the surprise of our first fire, and fled in a terrible\nfright to the sea-side, and had jumped into a canoe, and three more of\nthe rest made the same way: I turned to Friday, and bade him step\nforwards, and fire at them; he understood me immediately, and running\nabout forty yards to be near them, he shot at them, and I thought he had\nkilled them all; for I saw them all fall on an heap into the boat;\nthough I saw two of them up again quickly: however, he killed two of\nthem, and wounded the third, so that he lay down in the bottom of the\nboat, as if he had been dead.\n\nWhile my man Friday fired at them, I pulled out my knife, and cut the\nflags that bound the poor victim; and loosing his hands and feet I\nlifted him up, and asked him in the Portuguese tongue, what he was? He\nanswered in Latin, _Christianus;_ but was so weak and faint, that he\ncould scarce stand, or speak; I took my bottle out of my pocket, and\ngave it him, making signs that he should drink, which he did; and I gave\nhim a piece of bread, which he ate; then I asked him, what countryman he\nwas? and he said, _Espagnole_; and, being a little recovered, let me\nknow, by all the signs he could possibly make, how much he was in my\ndebt for his deliverance. \"Seignior,\" said I, with as much Spanish as I\ncould make up, \"we will talk afterwards, but we must fight now: if you\nhave any strength left, take this pistol and sword, and lay about you.\"\nHe took them very thankfully, and no sooner had he the arms in his\nhands, but as if they had put new vigour into him, he flew upon his\nmurderers like a fury, and had cut two of them in pieces in an instant;\nfor the truth is, as the whole was a surprise to them, so the poor\ncreatures were so much frighted with the noise of our pieces, that they\nfell down for mere amazement and fear, and had no more power to attempt\ntheir own escape, than their flesh had to resist our shot; and that was\nthe case of those five that Friday shot in the boat; for as three of\nthem fell with the hurt they received, so the other two fell with\nthe fright.\n\nI kept my piece in my hand still, without firing, being willing to keep\nmy charge ready, because I had given the Spaniard my pistol and sword;\nso I called to Friday, and bade him run up to the tree from whence we\nfirst fired, and fetch the arms which lay there, that had been\ndischarged, which he did with great swiftness; and then giving him my\nmusket, I sat down myself to load all the rest again, and bade them come\nto me when they wanted. While I was loading these pieces, there happened\na fierce engagement between the Spaniard and one of the savages, who\nmade at him with one of their great wooden swords, the same weapon that\nwas to have killed him before, if I had not prevented it: the Spaniard,\nwho was as bold and as brave as could be imagined, though weak, had\nfought this Indian a good while, and had cut him two great wounds on his\nhead; but the savage, being a stout lusty fellow, closing in with him,\nhad thrown him down, (being faint) and was wringing my sword out of his\nhand, when the Spaniard, though undermost, wisely quitting his sword,\ndrew the pistol from his girdle, shot the savage through the body, and\nkilled him upon the spot, before I, who was running to help, could\ncome near him.\n\nFriday, being now left at his liberty, pursued the flying wretches with\nno weapon in his hand but his hatchet; and with that he dispatched those\nthree, who, as I said before, were wounded at first, and fallen, and all\nthe rest he could come up with; and the Spaniard coming to me for a gun,\nI gave him one of the fowling-pieces, with which he pursued two of the\nsavages, and wounded them both; but as he was not able to run, they both\ngot from him into the wood, where Friday pursued them, and killed one of\nthem; but the other was too nimble for him; and though he was wounded,\nyet he plunged into the sea, and swam with all his might off to those\nwho were left in the canoe; which three in the canoe, with one wounded,\nwho we know not whether he died or no, were all that escaped our hands\nof one-and-twenty. The account of the rest is as follows:\n\n     3 Killed at our shot from the tree.\n     2 Killed at the next shot.\n     2 Killed by Friday in the boat.\n     2 Killed by ditto, of those at first wounded.\n     1 Killed by ditto, in the wood.\n     3 Killed by the Spaniard.\n     4 Killed, being found dropt here and there of their\n         wounds, or killed by Friday in his chase of\n         them.\n     4 Escaped in the boat, whereof one wounded, if\n         not dead.\n\n    ------\n\n     21 in all.\n\nThose that were in the canoe worked hard to get out of gun-shot; and\nthough Friday made two or three shot at them, I did not find that he hit\nany of them: Friday would fain have had me take one of their canoes, and\npursue them; and indeed I was very anxious about their escape, lest,\ncarrying the news home to their people, they should come back, perhaps,\nwith two or three hundred of their canoes, and devour us by mere\nmultitudes; so I consented to pursue them by sea; and running to one of\ntheir canoes, I jumped in, and bade Friday follow me; but when I was in\nthe canoe, I was surprised to find another poor creature lie there\nalive, bound hand and foot, as the Spaniard was, for the slaughter, and\nalmost dead with fear, not knowing what the matter was; for he had not\nbeen able to look up over the side of the boat, he was tied so hard,\nneck and heels, and had been tied so long, that he had really little\nlife in him.\n\nI immediately cut the twisted flags, or rushes, which they had bound him\nwith, and would have helped him up; but he could not stand, or speak,\nbut groaned most piteously, believing, it seems still, that he was only\nunbound in order to be killed.\n\nWhen Friday came to him, I bade him speak to him, and tell him of his\ndeliverance; and pulling out my bottle, made him give the poor wretch a\ndram, which, with the news of his being delivered, revived him, and he\nsat up in the boat; but when Friday came to hear him speak, and looked\nin his face, it would have moved any one to tears, to have seen how\nFriday kissed him, embraced him, hugged him, cried, laughed, hallooed,\njumped about, danced, sung, then cried again, wrung his hands, beat his\nown face and head, and then sung and jumped about again like a\ndistracted creature. It was a good while before I could make him speak\nto me, or tell me what was the matter; but when he came a little to\nhimself, he told me that it was his father.\n\nIt was not easy for me to express how it moved me, to see what ecstasy\nand filial affection had worked in this poor savage, at the sight of his\nfather, and of his being delivered from death; nor indeed can I describe\nhalf the extravagances of his affection after this; for he went into the\nboat and out of the boat a great many times: when he went in to him, he\nwould sit down by him, open his breast, and hold his father's head\nclose to his bosom, half an hour together, to nourish it: then he took\nhis arms and ankles, which were numbed and stiff with the binding, and\nchafed and rubbed them with his hands; and I, perceiving what the case\nwas, gave him some rum out of my bottle to rub them with, which did them\na great deal of good.\n\nThis action put an end to our pursuit of the canoe with the other\nsavages, who were now gotten almost out of sight; and it was happy for\nus that we did not; for it blew so hard within two hours after, and\nbefore they could be gotten a quarter of their way, and continued\nblowing so hard all night, and that from the north-west, which was\nagainst them, that I could not suppose their boat could live, or that\nthey ever reached to their own coast.\n\nBut to return to Friday: he was so busy about his father, that I could\nnot find in my heart to take him off for some time: but after I thought\nhe could leave him a little, I called him to me, and he came jumping and\nlaughing, and pleased to the highest extreme. Then I asked him, if he\nhad given his father any bread? He shook his head, and said, \"None: ugly\ndog eat all up self.\" So I gave him a cake of bread out of a little\npouch I carried on purpose; I also gave him a dram for himself, but he\nwould not taste it, but carried it to his father: I had in my pocket\nalso two or three bunches of my raisins, so I gave him a handful of them\nfor his father. He had no sooner given his father these raisins, but I\nsaw him come out of the boat, and run away as if he had been bewitched.\nHe ran at such a rate (for he was the swiftest fellow of his feet that\never I saw)--I say, he ran at such a rate, that he was out of sight, as\nit were, in an instant; and though I called and hallooed too after him,\nit was all one; away he went, and in a quarter of an hour I saw him come\nback again, though not so fast as he went; and as he came nearer, I\nfound his pace was slacker, because he had something in his hand.\n\nWhen he came up to me, I found he had been quite home for an earthen\njug, or pot, to bring his father some fresh water; and that he had get\ntwo more cakes or loaves of bread. The bread he gave me, but the water\nhe carried to his father: however, as I was very thirsty too, I took a\nlittle sip of it: this water revived his father more than all the rum or\nspirits I had given him; for he was just fainting with thirst.\n\nWhen his father had drank, I called him, to know if there was any water\nleft? he said, \"Yes;\" and I bade him give it to the poor Spaniard, who\nwas in as much want of it as his father; and I sent one of the cakes,\nthat Friday brought, to the Spaniard too, who was indeed very weak, and\nwas reposing himself upon a green place, under the shade of a tree, and\nwhose limbs were also very stiff, and very much swelled with the rude\nbandage he had been tied with: when I saw that, upon Friday's coming to\nhim with the water, he sat up and drank, and took the bread, and began\nto eat, I went to him, and gave him a handful of raisins: he looked up\nin my face with all the tokens of gratitude and thankfulness that could\nappear in any countenance; but was so weak, notwithstanding he had so\nexerted himself in the fight, that he could not stand upon his feet; he\ntried to do it two or three times, but was really not able, his ankles\nwere so swelled and so painful to him; so I bade him sit still, and\ncaused Friday to rub his ankles, and bathe them with rum, as he had done\nhis father's.\n\nI observed the poor affectionate creature every two minutes, or perhaps\nless, all the while he was here, turned his head about, to see if his\nfather was in the same place and posture as he left him sitting; and at\nlast he found he was not to be seen; at which he started up, and,\nwithout speaking a word, flew with that swiftness to him, that one could\nscarce perceive his feet to touch the ground as he went: but when he\ncame, he only found he had laid himself down to ease his limbs: so\nFriday came back to me presently, and I then spoke to the Spaniard to\nlet Friday help him up, if he could, and load him to the boat, and then\nhe should carry him to our dwelling, where I would take care of him: but\nFriday, a lusty young fellow, took the Spaniard quite up upon his back,\nand carried him away to the boat, and set him down softly upon the side\nor gunnel of the canoe, with his feet in the inside of it, and then\nlifted them quite in, and set him close to his father, and presently\nstepping out again, launched the boat off, and paddled it along the\nshore faster than I could walk, though the wind blew pretty hard too; so\nhe brought them both safe into our creek; and leaving them in the boat,\nruns away to fetch the other canoe. As he passed me, I spoke to him, and\nasked him whither he went? He told me, \"Go fetch more boat;\" so away he\nwent, like the wind; for sure never man or horse ran like him, and he\nhad the other canoe in the creek almost as soon as I got to it by land;\nso he wafted me over, and then went to help our new guests out of the\nboat, which he did; but they were neither of them able to walk; so that\npoor Friday knew not what to do.\n\nTo remedy this, I went to work in my thought, and calling to Friday to\nbid them sit down on the bank while he came to me, I soon made a kind of\nhand-barrow to lay them on, and Friday and I carried them up both\ntogether upon it between us; but when we got them to the outside of our\nwall or fortification, we were at a worse loss than before; for it was\nimpossible to get them over; and I was resolved not to break it down: so\nI set to work again; and Friday and I, in about two hours time, made a\nvery handsome tent, covered with old sails, and above that with boughs\nof trees, being in the space without our outward fence, and between that\nand the grove of young wood which I had planted: and here we made two\nbeds of such things as I had; viz. of good rice-straw, with blankets\nlaid upon it to lie on, and another to cover them on each bed.\n\nMy island was now peopled, and I thought myself very rich in subjects;\nand it was a merry reflection which I frequently made, how like a king\nI looked: first of all, the whole country was my own mere property; so\nthat I had an undoubted right of dominion: 2dly, My people were\nperfectly subjected: I was absolute lord and lawgiver; they all owed\ntheir lives to me, and were ready to lay down their lives, if there had\nbeen occasion for it, for me: it was remarkable too, I had but three\nsubjects, and they were of three different religions. My man Friday was\na Protestant, his father a Pagan and a cannibal; and the Spaniard was a\nPapist: however, I allowed liberty of conscience throughout my\ndominions: but this by the way.\n\nAs soon as I had secured my two weak rescued prisoners, and given them\nshelter, and a place to rest them upon, I began to think of making some\nprovision for them; and the first thing I did, I ordered Friday to take\na yearling goat, betwixt a kid and a goat, out of my particular flock,\nto be killed: then I cut off the hind quarter, and, chopping it into\nsmall pieces, I set Friday to work to boiling and stewing, and made them\na very good dish, I assure you, of flesh and broth; having put some\nbarley and rice also into the broth; and as I cooked it without doors,\n(for I made no fire within my inner wall) so I carried it all into the\nnew tent; and having set a table there for them, I sat down and ate my\ndinner also with them; and, as well as I could, cheered them and\nencouraged them, Friday being my interpreter, especially to his father,\nand indeed to the Spaniard too; for the Spaniard spoke the language of\nthe savages pretty well.\n\nAfter we had dined, or rather supped, I ordered Friday to take one of\nthe canoes, and go and fetch our muskets and other fire-arms, which, for\nwant of time, we had left upon the place of battle; and the next day I\nordered him to go and bury the dead bodies of the savages, which lay\nopen to the sun, and, would presently be offensive; and I also ordered\nhim to bury the horrid remains of their barbarous feast, which I knew\nwere pretty much, and which I could not think of doing myself; nay, I\ncould not, bear to see them, if I went that way: all which he\npunctually performed, and defaced the very appearance of the savages\nbeing there; so that when I went again, I could scarce know where it\nwas, otherwise than by the corner of the wood pointing to the place.\n\nI then began to enter into a little conversation with my two new\nsubjects; and first I set Friday to inquire of his father, what he\nthought of the escape of the savages in that canoe? and whether he might\nexpect a return of them with a power too great for us to resist? His\nfirst opinion was, that the savages in the boat never could live out the\nstorm which blew that night they went off, but must of necessity be\ndrowned or driven south to those other shores, where they were as sure\nto be devoured, as they were to be drowned if they were cast away; but\nas to what they would do if they came safe on shore, he said, he knew\nnot; but it was his opinion, that they were so dreadfully frighted with\nthe manner of being attacked, the noise, and the fire, that he believed\nthey would tell their people they were all killed by thunder and\nlightning, and not by the hand of man; and that the two which appeared\n(viz. Friday and I) were two heavenly spirits or furies come down to\ndestroy them, and not men with weapons. This, he said, he knew, because\nhe heard them all cry out so in their language to one another; for it\nwas impossible for them to conceive that a man should dart fire, and\nspeak thunder, and kill at a distance, without lifting up the hand, as\nwas done now. And this old savage was in the right; for, as I understood\nsince by other hands, the savages of that part never attempted to go\nover to the island afterwards. They were so terrified with the accounts\ngiven by these four men, (for it seems they did escape the sea) that\nthey believed, whoever went to that enchanted island, would be destroyed\nwith fire from the gods.\n\nThis, however, I knew not, and therefore was under continual\napprehensions for a good while, and kept always upon my guard, I and all\nmy army; for as there were now four of us, I would have ventured a\nhundred of them fairly in the open field at any time.\n\nIn a little time, however, no more canoes appearing, the fear of their\ncoming wore off, and I began to take my former thoughts of a voyage to\nthe main into consideration, being likewise assured by Friday's father,\nthat I might depend upon good usage from their nation on his account, if\nI would go.\n\nBut my thoughts were a little suspended, when I had a serious discourse\nwith the Spaniard, and when I understood, that there were sixteen more\nof his countrymen and Portuguese, who having been cast away, and made\ntheir escape to that side, lived there at peace indeed with the savages,\nbut were very sore put to it for necessaries, and indeed for life: I\nasked him all the particulars of their voyage; and found they were a\nSpanish ship, bound from the Rio de la Plata to the Havanna, being\ndirected to leave their loading there, which was chiefly hides and\nsilver, and to bring back what European goods they could meet with\nthere; that they had five Portuguese seamen on board, whom they took out\nof another wreck; that five of their own men were drowned when first the\nship was lost; and that these escaped through infinite dangers and\nhazards, and arrived almost starved on the cannibal coast, where they\nexpected to have been devoured every moment.\n\nHe told me, they had some arms with them, but they were perfectly\nuseless, for that they had neither powder nor ball, the washing of the\nsea having spoiled all their powder, but a little which they used at\ntheir first landing to provide themselves some food.\n\nI asked him what he thought would become of them there; and if they had\nformed no design of making any escape? He said, they had many\nconsultations about it, but that having neither vessel, nor tools to\nbuild one, or provisions of any kind, their counsels always ended in\ntears and despair.\n\nI asked him, how he thought they would receive a proposal from me,\nwhich might tend towards an escape; and whether, if they were all here,\nit might not be done? I told him with freedom, I feared mostly their\ntreachery and ill usage of me, if I put my life in their hands; for that\ngratitude was no inherent virtue in the nature of man; nor did men\nalways square their dealings by the obligations they had received, so\nmuch as they did by the advantages they expected: I told him, it would\nbe very hard, that I should be the instrument of their deliverance, and\nthat they should afterwards make me their prisoner in New Spain, where\nan Englishman was certain to be made a sacrifice, what necessity, or\nwhat accident soever, brought him thither; and that I had rather be\ndelivered up to the savages, and be devoured alive, than fall into the\nmerciless claws of the priests, and be carried into the Inquisition. I\nadded, that otherwise I was persuaded, if they were all here, we might,\nwith so many hands, build a bark large enough to carry us all away\neither to the Brasils southward, or to the islands or Spanish coast\nnorthward: but that if in requital they should, when I had put weapons\ninto their hands, carry me by force among their own people, I might be\nill used for my kindness to them, and make my case worse than it\nwas before.\n\nHe answered, with a great deal of candour and ingenuity, that their\ncondition was so miserable, and they were so sensible of it, that he\nbelieved they would abhor the thought of using any man unkindly that\nshould contribute to their deliverance; and that, if I pleased, he would\ngo to them with the old man, and discourse with them about it, and\nreturn again, and bring me their answer: that he would make conditions\nwith them upon their solemn oath, that they would be absolutely under my\nleading, as their commander and captain; and that they should swear upon\nthe holy Sacraments and Gospel, to be true to me, and go to such\nChristian country as I should agree to, and no other; and to be directed\nwholly and absolutely by my orders, till they were landed safely in\nsuch country as I intended; and that he would bring a contract from\nthem under their hands for that purpose.\n\nThen he told me, he would first swear to me himself, that he would never\nstir from me as long as he lived, till I gave him order; and that he\nwould take my side to the last drop of blood, if there should happen the\nleast breach of faith among his countrymen.\n\nHe told me, they were all of them very civil honest men, and they were\nunder the greatest distress imaginable, having neither weapons or\nclothes, nor any food, but at the mercy and discretion of the savages;\nout of all hopes of ever returning to their own country: and that he was\nsure, if I would undertake their relief, they would live and die by me.\n\nUpon these assurances, I resolved to venture to relieve them, if\npossible, and to send the old savage and the Spaniard over to them to\ntreat: but when he had gotten all things in readiness to go, the\nSpaniard himself started an objection, which had so much prudence in it\non one hand, and so much sincerity on the other hand, that I could not\nbut be very well satisfied in it; and, by his advice, put off the\ndeliverance of his comrades for at least half a year. The case was thus:\n\nHe had been with us now about a month; during which time I had let him\nsee in what manner I had provided, with the assistance of Providence,\nfor my support; and he saw evidently what stock of corn and rice I had\nlaid up; which, as it was more, than sufficient for myself, so it was\nnot sufficient, at least without good husbandry, for my family, now it\nwas increased to number four: but much less would it be sufficient, if\nhis countrymen, who were, as he said, fourteen still alive, should come\nover; and least of all would it be sufficient to victual our vessel, if\nwe should build one, for a voyage to any of the Christian colonies of\nAmerica. So he told me, he thought it would be more adviseable, to let\nhim and the other two dig and cultivate some more land, as much as I\ncould spare seed to sow; and that we should wait another harvest, that\nwe might have a supply of corn for his countrymen when they should come;\nfor want might be a temptation to them to disagree, or not to think\nthemselves delivered, otherwise than out of one difficulty into another:\n\"You know,\" says he, \"The children of Israel, though they rejoiced at\nfirst at their being delivered out of Egypt, yet rebelled even against\nGod himself, that delivered them, when they came to want bread in the\nwilderness.\"\n\nHis caution was so seasonable, and his advice so good, that I could not\nbut be very well pleased with his proposal, as well as I was satisfied\nwith his fidelity. So we fell to digging, all four of us, as well as the\nwooden tools we were furnished with permitted; and in about a month's\ntime, by the end of which it was seed time, we had gotten as much land\ncured and trimmed up as we sowed twenty-two bushels of barley on, and\nsixteen jars of rice, which was, in short, all the seed we had to spare;\nnor indeed did we leave ourselves barley sufficient for our own food for\nthe six months that we had to expect our crop, that is to say, reckoning\nfrom the time we set our seed aside for sowing; for it is not to be\nsupposed it is six months in the ground in that country.\n\nHaving now society enough, and our number being sufficient to put us out\nof fear of the savages, if they had come, unless their number had been\nvery great, we went freely all over the island, wherever we found\noccasion; and as here we had our escape or deliverance upon our\nthoughts, it was impossible, at least for me, to have the means of it\nout of mine; to this purpose, I marked out several trees, which I\nthought fit for our work, and I set Friday and his father to cutting\nthem down; and then I caused the Spaniard, to whom I imparted my\nthoughts on that affair, to oversee and direct their work: I showed them\nwith what indefatigable pains I had hewed a large tree into single\nplanks, and I caused them to do the like, till they had about a dozen\nlarge planks of good oak, near two feet broad, thirty-five feet long,\nand from two inches to four inches thick: what prodigious labour it took\nup, any one may imagine.\n\nAt the same time I contrived to increase my little flock of tame goats\nas much as I could; and to this purpose I made Friday and the Spaniard\nto go out one day, and myself with Friday, the next day, for we took our\nturns: and by this means we got about twenty young kids to breed up with\nthe rest; for whenever we shot the dam, we saved the kids, and added\nthem to our flock: but above all, the season for curing the grapes\ncoming on, I caused such a prodigious quantity to be hung up in the sun,\nthat I believe, had we been at Alicant, where the raisins of the sun are\ncured, we should have filled sixty or eighty barrels; and these, with\nour bread, was a great part of our food, and very good living too, I\nassure you; for it is an exceeding nourishing food.\n\nIt was now harvest, and our crop in good order; it was not the most\nplentiful increase I had seen in the island, but, however, it was enough\nto answer our end; for from twenty two bushels of barley, we brought in\nand threshed out above two hundred and twenty bushels, and the like in\nproportion of the rice, which was store enough for our food to the next\nharvest, though all the sixteen Spaniards had been on shore with me; or,\nif we had been ready for a voyage, it would very plentifully have\nvictualled our ship, to have carried us to any part of the world, that\nis to say, of America. When we had thus housed and secured our magazine\nof corn, we fell to work to make more wicker-work; viz., great baskets,\nin which we kept it; and the Spaniard was very handy and dexterous at\nthis part, and often blamed me, that I did not make some things for\ndefence of this kind of work; but I saw no need of it. And now having a\nfull supply of food for all the guests expected, I gave the Spaniard\nleave to go over to the main, to see what he could do with those he left\nbehind him there: I gave him a strict charge in writing not to bring any\nman with him, who would not first swear, in the presence of himself and\nof the old savage, that he would no way injure, fight with, or attack\nthe person he should find in the island, who was so kind to send for\nthem in order to their deliverance; but that they would stand by and\ndefend him against all such attempts; and wherever they went, would be\nentirely under, and subjected to his command; and that this should be\nput in writing, and signed with their hands: how we were to have this\ndone, when I knew they had neither pen or ink, that indeed was a\nquestion which we never asked.\n\nUnder these instructions, the Spaniard, and the old savage, (the father\nof Friday) went away in one of the canoes, which they might be said to\ncome in, or rather were brought in, when they came as prisoners to be\ndevoured by the savages.\n\nI gave each of them a musket with a firelock on it, and about eight\ncharges of powder and ball, charging them to be very good husbands of\nboth, and not to use either of them but upon urgent occasions.\n\nThis was a cheerful work, being the first measures used by me in view of\nmy deliverance for now twenty-seven years and some days. I gave them\nprovisions of bread, and of dried grapes, sufficient for themselves for\nmany days, and sufficient for their countrymen for about eight days\ntime; and wishing them a good voyage, I let them go, agreeing with them\nabout a signal they should hang out at their return, by which I should\nknow them again, when they came back, at a distance, before they came\non shore.\n\nThey went away with a fair gale on the day that the moon was at the\nfull; by my account in the month of October; but as for the exact\nreckoning of days, after I had once lost it, I could never recover it\nagain; nor had I kept even the number of years so punctually, as to be\nsure that I was right, though, as it proved when I afterwards examined\nmy account, I found I had kept a true reckoning of years.\n\nIt was no less than eight days I waited for them, when a strange and\nunforeseen accident intervened, of which the like has not, perhaps, been\nheard of in history. I was fast asleep in my hutch one morning, when my\nman Friday came running in to me, and called aloud, \"Master, master,\nthey are come, they are come.\"\n\nI jumped up, and, regardless of danger, I went out as soon as I could\nget my clothes on, through my little grove, which (by the way) was by\nthis time grown to be a very thick wood; I say, regardless of danger, I\nwent without my arms, which was not my custom to do; but I was\nsurprised, when, turning my eyes to the sea, I presently saw a boat at\nabout a league and a half's distance, standing in for the shore, with a\nshoulder of mutton sail, as they call it, and the wind blowing pretty\nfair to bring them in. Also I observed presently, that they did not come\nfrom that side which the shore lay on, but from the southernmost end of\nthe island. Upon this I called Friday in, and bid him be close, for\nthese were not the people we looked for, and that we did not know yet\nwhether they were friends or enemies.\n\nIn the next place, I went in to fetch my perspective glass, to see what\nI could make of them; and having taken the ladder out, I climbed up to\nthe top of the hill, as I used to do when I was apprehensive of any\nthing, and to take my view the plainer without being discovered.\n\nI had scarce set my foot on the hill, when my eye plainly discovered a\nship lying at an anchor, at about two leagues and a half's distance from\nme, S.S.E. but not above a league and a half from the shore. By my\nobservation it appeared plainly to be an English ship, and the boat\nappeared to be an English long-boat.\n\nI cannot express the confusion I was in, though the joy of seeing a\nship, and one whom I had reason to believe was manned by my own\ncountrymen, and consequently friends, was such as I cannot describe; but\nyet I had some secret doubts hung about me, I cannot tell from whence\nthey came, bidding me keep upon my guard. In the first place, it\noccurred to me to consider what business an English ship could have in\nthat part of the world; since it was not the way to or from any part of\nthe world where the English had any traffic; and I knew there had been\nno storms to drive them in there, as in distress; and that if they were\nEnglish really, it was most probable that they were here upon no good\ndesign; and that I had better continue as I was, than fall into the\nhands of thieves and murderers.\n\nLet no man despise the secret hints and notices of danger, which\nsometimes are given him when he may think there is no possibility of its\nbeing real. That such hints and notices are given us, I believe few that\nhave made any observation of things can deny; that they are certain\ndiscoveries of an invisible world, and a converse of spirits, we cannot\ndoubt; and if the tendency of them seems to be to warn us of danger, why\nshould we not suppose they are from some friendly agent, (whether\nsupreme, or inferior and subordinate, is not the question,) and that\nthey are given for our good?\n\nThe present question abundantly confirms me in the justice of this\nreasoning; for had I not been made cautious by this secret admonition,\ncome from whence it will, I had been undone inevitably, and in a far\nworse condition than before, as you will see presently.\n\nI had not kept myself long in this posture, but I saw the boat draw near\nthe shore, as if they looked for a creek to thrust in at for the\nconvenience of landing; however, as they did not come quite far enough,\nthey did not see the little inlet where I formerly landed my rafts, but\nrun their boat on shore upon the beach, at about half a mile from me,\nwhich was very happy for me; for otherwise they would have landed just,\nas I may say, at my door, and would have soon beaten me out of my\ncastle, and, perhaps, have plundered me of all I had.\n\nWhen they were on shore, I was fully satisfied they were Englishmen, at\nleast most of them; one or two I thought were Dutch, but it did not\nprove so. There were in all eleven men, whereof three of them I found\nwere unarmed, and (as I thought) bound; and when the first four or five\nof them were jumped on shore, they took those three out of the boat as\nprisoners: one of the three I could perceive using the most passionate\ngestures of entreaty, affliction, and despair, even to a kind of\nextravagance; the other two, I could perceive, lifted up their hands\nsometimes, and appeared concerned indeed, but not to such a degree as\nthe first.\n\nI was perfectly confounded at the sight, and knew not what the meaning\nof it should be; Friday called out to me in English, as well as he\ncould, \"O master! you see English mans eat prisoners as well as savage\nmans.\"--\"Why,\" said I, \"Friday, do you think they are going to eat them\nthen\"--\"Yes,\" says Friday, \"they will eat them.\"--\"No, no,\" said I,\n\"Friday; I am afraid they will murder them indeed; but you may be sure\nthey will not eat them.\"\n\nAll this while I had no thought of what the matter really was, but stood\ntrembling with the horror of the sight, expecting every moment when the\nthree prisoners should be killed; nay, once I saw one of the villains\nlift up his arm with a great cutlass (as the seamen call it) or sword,\nto strike one of the poor men; and I expected to see him fall every\nmoment, at which all the blood in my body seemed to run chill in\nmy veins.\n\nI wished heartily now for our Spaniard, and the savage that was gone\nwith him; or that I had any way to have come undiscovered within shot of\nthem, that I might have rescued the three men; for I saw no fire-arms\nthey had among them; but it fell out to my mind another way.\n\nAfter I had observed the outrageous usage of the three men by the\ninsolent seamen, I observed the fellows ran scattering about the land,\nas if they wanted to see the country. I observed also, that the three\nother men had liberty to go where they pleased; but they sat down all\nthree upon the ground very pensive, and looked like men in despair.\n\nThis put me in mind of the finest time when I came on shore, and began\nto look about me; how I gave myself over for lost, how wildly I looked\nround me, what dreadful apprehensions I had, and how I lodged in the\ntree all night for fear of being devoured by wild beasts.\n\nAs I knew nothing that night of the supply I was to receive by the\nprovidential driving of the ship nearer the land, by the storms and\ntides, by which I have since been so long nourished and supported; so\nthese three poor desolate men knew nothing how certain of deliverance\nand supply they were, how near it was to them, and how effectually and\nreally they were in a condition of safety, at the same time they thought\nthemselves lost, and their case desperate.\n\nSo little do we see before us in the world, and so much reason have we\nto depend cheerfully upon the great Maker of the world, that he does not\nleave his creatures so absolutely destitute, but that in the worst\ncircumstances they have always something to be thankful for, and\nsometimes are nearer their deliverance than they imagine; nay, are even\nbrought to their deliverance by the means by which they seem to be\nbrought to their destruction.\n\nIt was just at the top of high water when these people came on shore,\nand while, partly they stood parleying with the prisoners they brought,\nand partly while they rambled about to see what kind of place they were\nin, they had carelessly staid till the tide was spent, and the water was\nebbed considerably away, leaving their boat aground.\n\nThey had left two men in the boat, who, as I found afterwards, having\ndrank a little too much brandy, fell asleep; however, one of them waking\nsooner than the other, and finding the boat too fast aground for him to\nstir it, hallooed for the rest who were straggling about, upon which\nthey all soon came to the boat but it was past all their strength to\nlaunch her, the boat being very heavy, and the shore on that side being\na soft oozy sand, almost like a quicksand.\n\nIn this condition, like true seamen, who are, perhaps, the least of all\nmankind given to fore-thought, they gave it over, and away they strolled\nabout the country again; and I heard one of them say aloud to another,\n(calling them off from the boat) \"Why, let her alone, Jack, can't ye?\nshe'll float next tide.\" By which I was fully confirmed in the main\ninquiry, of what countrymen they were.\n\nAll this while I kept myself close, not once daring to stir out of my\ncastle, any further than to my place of observation, near the top of the\nhill; and very glad I was, to think how well it was fortified. I know it\nwas no less then ten hours before the boat could be on float again, and\nby that time it would be dark and I might be more at liberty to see\ntheir motions, and to hear their discourse, if they had any.\n\nIn the meantime I fitted myself up for a battle, as before, though with\nmore caution, knowing I had to do with another kind of enemy than I had\nat first: I ordered Friday also, whom I had made an excellent marksman\nwith his gun, to load himself with arms: I took myself two\nfowling-pieces, and I gave him three muskets. My figure, indeed, was\nvery fierce; I had my formidable goat-skin coat on, with the great cap I\nmentioned, a naked sword, two pistols in my belt, and a gun upon\neach shoulder.\n\nIt was my design, as I said above, not to have made any attempt till it\nwas dark; but about two o'clock, being the heat of the day, I found that\nin short they were all gone straggling into the woods, and, as I\nthought, were all laid down to sleep. The three poor distressed men, too\nanxious for their condition to get any sleep, were however set down\nunder the shelter of a great tree, at about a quarter of a mile from me,\nand, as I thought, out of sight of any of the rest.\n\nUpon this I resolved to discover myself to them, and learn something of\ntheir condition. Immediately I marched in the figure above, my man\nFriday at a good distance behind me, as formidable for his arms as I,\nbut not making quite so staring a spectre-like figure as I did.\n\nI came as near them undiscovered as I could, and then before any of them\nsaw me, I called aloud to them in Spanish, \"What are ye gentlemen?\"\n\nThey started up at the noise, but were ten times more confounded when\nthey saw me, and the uncouth figure that I made. They made no answer at\nall, but I thought I perceived them just going to fly from me, when I\nspoke to them in English, \"Gentlemen,\" said I, \"do not be surprized at me;\nperhaps you may have a friend near you when you did not expect it.\"--\"He\nmust be sent directly from Heaven then,\" said one of them very gravely to\nme, and pulling off his hat at the same time to me, \"for our condition is\npast the help of man.\"--\"All help is from Heaven, Sir,\" said I: \"but can\nyou put a stranger in the way how to help you, for you seem to me to be\nin some great distress: I saw you when you landed, and when you seemed\nto make applications to the brutes that came with you, I saw one of them\nlift up his sword to kill you.\"\n\nThe poor man with tears running down his face, and trembling, looking\nlike one astonished, returned, \"Am I talking to God, or man! Is it a real\nman, or an angel?\"--\"Be in no fear about that, Sir,\" said I: \"if God had\nsent an angel to relieve you, he would have come better cloathed, and\narmed after another manner than you see me in; pray lay aside your fears,\nI am a man, an Englishman, and disposed to assist you, you see; I have\none servant only; we have arms and ammunition; tell us freely, can we\nserve you?--What is your case?\"\n\n\"Our case,\" said he, \"Sir, is too long to tell you, while our murtherers\nare so near; but in short, sir, I was commander of that ship, my men\nhave mutinied against me; they have been hardly prevailed on not to\nmurther me, and at last have set me on shore in this desolate place,\nwith these two men with me; one my mate, the other a passenger, where we\nexpected to perish, believing the place to be uninhabited, and know not\nyet what to think of it.\"\n\n\"Where are those brutes, your enemies,\" said I; \"do you know where they are\ngone?\"--\"There they are, Sir,\" said he, pointing to a thicket of trees; \"my\nheart trembles, for fear they have seen us, and heard you speak, if they\nhave, they will certainly murder us all.\"\n\n\"Have they any fire-arms?\" said I. He answered, \"They had only two pieces,\nand one which they left in the boat.\"--\"Well then,\" said I, \"leave the rest\nto me; I see they are all asleep, it is an easy thing to kill them all;\nbut shall we rather take them prisoners?\" He told me there were two\ndesperate villains among them, that it was scarce safe to shew any mercy\nto; but if they were secured, he believed all the rest would return to\ntheir duty. I asked him, which they were? He told me he could not at\nthat distance describe them; but he would obey my orders in any thing I\nwould direct. \"Well,\" says I, \"let us retreat out of their view or hearing,\nleast they awake, and we will resolve further;\" so they willingly went\nback with me, till the woods covered us from them.\n\n\"Look you, Sir,\" said I, \"if I venture upon your deliverance, are you\nwilling to make two conditions with me?\" He anticipated my proposals, by\ntelling me, that both he and the ship, if recovered, should be wholly\ndirected and commanded by me in every thing; and if the ship was not\nrecovered, he would live and dye with me in what part of the world\nsoever I would send him; and the two other men said the same.\n\n\"Well,\" says I, \"my conditions are but two. 1. That while you stay on this\nisland with me, you will not pretend to any authority here; and if I put\narms into your hands, you will upon all occasions give them up to me,\nand do no prejudice to me or mine, upon this island, and in the mean\ntime be governed by my orders.\n\n\"2. That if the ship is or may be recovered, you will carry me and my\nman to England, passage free.\"\n\nHe gave me all the assurance that the invention and faith of a man could\ndevise, that he would comply with these most reasonable demands, and\nbesides would owe his life to me, and acknowledge it upon all occasions\nas long as he lived.\n\n\"Well then,\" said I, \"here are three muskets for you, with powder and\nball; tell me next what you think is proper to be done.\" He shewed all\nthe testimony of his gratitude that he was able; but offered to be\nwholly guided by me: I told him, I thought it was hard venturing any\nthing, but the best method I could think of, was to fire upon them at\nonce, as they lay; and if any were not killed at the first volley, and\noffered to submit, we might save them, and so put it wholly upon God's\nprovidence to direct the shot.\n\nHe said, very modestly, that he was loath to kill them, if he could help\nit; but that those two were incorrigible villains, and had been the\nauthors of all the mutiny in the ship; and if they escaped, we should be\nundone still; for they would go on board, and bring the whole ship's\ncompany, and destroy us all. \"Well then,\" said I, \"necessity legitimates\nmy advice; for it is the only way to save our lives.\" However, seeing\nhim still cautious of shedding blood, I told him, they should go\nthemselves, and manage as they found convenient.\n\nIn the middle of this discourse we heard some of them awake, and soon\nafter we saw two of them on their feet. I asked him, if either of them\nwere the men who he had said were the heads of the mutiny? He said, No.\n\"Well then,\" said I, \"you may let them escape, and Providence seems to\nhave wakened them on purpose to save themselves.\"--\"Now,\" said I, \"if\nthe rest escape you, it is your fault.\"\n\nAnimated with this, he took the musket I had given him in his hand, and\npistol in his belt, and his two comrades with him, with each man a piece\nin his hand: the two men, who were with him, going first, made some\nnoise, at which one of the seamen, who was awake, turned about, and\nseeing them coming, cried out to the rest; but it was too late then; for\nthe moment he cried out, they fired, I mean the two men, the captain\nwisely reserving his own piece: they had so well aimed their shot at the\nmen they knew, that one of them was killed on the spot, and the other\nvery much wounded; but not being dead he started up on his feet, and\ncalled eagerly for help to the other; but the captain, stepping to him,\ntold him it was too late to cry for help; he should call upon God to\nforgive his villany; and with that word knocked him down with the stock\nof his musket, so that he never spoke more: there were three more in the\ncompany, and one of them was also slightly wounded. By this time I was\ncome; and when they saw their danger, and that it was in vain to resist,\nthey begged for mercy. The captain told them, he would spare their\nlives, if they would give him any assurance of their abhorrence of the\ntreachery they had been guilty of, and would swear to be faithful to him\nin recovering the ship, and afterwards in carrying her back to Jamaica,\nfrom whence they came. They gave him all the protestations of their\nsincerity that could be desired, and he was willing to believe them, and\nspare their lives, which I was not against; only I obliged him to keep\nthem bound hand and foot while they were upon the island.\n\nWhile this was doing, I sent Friday with the captain's mate to the boat,\nwith orders to secure her, and bring away the oars and sail, which they\ndid; and by and by, three straggling men, that were (happily for them)\nparted from the rest, came back upon hearing the guns fired; and seeing\ntheir captain, who before was their prisoner, now their conqueror, they\nsubmitted to be bound also; and so our victory was complete.\n\nIt now remained, that the captain and I should inquire into one\nanother's circumstances: I began first, and told him my whole history,\nwhich he heard with an attention even to amazement, and particularly at\nthe wonderful manner of my being furnished with provisions and\nammunition; and indeed, as my story is a whole collection of wonders, it\naffected him deeply; but when he reflected from thence upon himself, and\nhow I seemed to have been preserved there on purpose to save his life,\nthe tears ran down his face, and he could not speak a word more.\n\nAfter this communication was at an end, I carried him and his two men\ninto my apartments, leading them in just where I came out, viz. at the\ntop of the house; where I refreshed them with such provisions as I had,\nand shewed them all the contrivances I had made during my long, long\ninhabiting that place.\n\nAll I shewed them, all I said to them, was perfectly amazing; but, above\nall, the captain admired my fortification; and how perfectly I had\nconcealed my retreat with a grove of trees, which, having now been\nplanted near twenty years, and the trees growing much faster than in\nEngland, was become a little wood, and so thick, that it was impassable\nin any part of it, but at that one side where I had reserved my little\nwinding passage into it: this I told him was my castle, and my\nresidence; but that I had a seat in the country, as most princes have,\nwhither I could retreat upon occasion, and I would shew him that too\nanother time; but at present our business was to consider how to recover\nthe ship. He agreed with me as to that; but told me, he was perfectly at\na loss what measure to take; for that there were still six-and-twenty\nhands on board, who having entered into a cursed conspiracy, by which\nthey had all forfeited their lives to the law, would be hardened in it\nnow by desperation; and would carry it on, knowing that, if they were\nreduced, they should be brought to the gallows as soon as they came to\nEngland, or to any of the English colonies; and that therefore there\nwould be no attacking them with so small a number as we were.\n\nI mused for some time upon what he had said, and found it was a very\nrational conclusion, and that therefore something was to be resolved on\nvery speedily, as well to draw the men on board into some snare for\ntheir surprise, as to prevent their landing upon us, and destroying us.\nUpon this it presently occurred to me, that in a little while the ship's\ncrew, wondering what was become of their comrades, and of the boat,\nwould certainly come on shore in their other boat to see for them; and\nthat then perhaps they might come armed, and be too strong for us: this\nhe allowed was rational.\n\nUpon this I told him, the first thing we had to do was to stave the\nboat, which lay upon the beach, so that they might not carry her off;\nand taking every thing out of her, leaving her so far useless as not to\nbe fit to swim; accordingly we went on board, took the arms which were\nleft on board out of her, and whatever else we found there, which was a\nbottle of brandy, and another of rum, a few biscuit cakes, an horn of\npowder, and a great lump of sugar in a piece of canvas; the sugar was\nfive or six pounds; all which was very welcome to me, especially the\nbrandy and sugar, of which I had had none left for many years.\n\nWhen we had carried all these things on shore, (the oars, mast, sail,\nand rudder of the boat were carried before as above,) we knocked a great\nhole in her bottom, that if they had come strong enough to master us,\nyet they could not carry off the boat.\n\nIndeed it was not much in my thoughts, that we could be capable to\nrecover the ship; but my view was, that if they went away without the\nboat, I did not much question to make her fit again to carry us away to\nthe Leeward Islands, and call upon our friends the Spaniards in my way,\nfor I had them still in my thoughts.\n\nWhile we were thus preparing our designs, and had first by main strength\nheaved the boat up upon the beach, so high that the tide would not float\nher off at high water mark; and, besides, had broken a hole in her\nbottom too big to be quickly stopped, and were sat down musing what we\nshould do; we heard the ship fire a gun, and saw her make a waft with\nher ancient, as a signal for the boat to come on board; but no boat\nstirred; and they fired several times, making other signals for\nthe boat.\n\nAt last, when all their signals and firings proved fruitless, and they\nfound the boat did not stir, we saw them (by the help of our glasses)\nhoist another boat out, and row towards the shore; and we found, as they\napproached, that there were no less than ten men in her, and that they\nhad fire-arms with them.\n\nAs the ship lay almost two leagues from the shore, we had a full view of\nthem as they came, and a plain sight of the men, even of their faces;\nbecause the tide having set them a little to the east of the other boat,\nthey rowed up under shore, to come to the same place where the other had\nlanded, and where the boat lay.\n\nBy this means, I say, we had a full view of them, and the captain knew\nthe persons and characters of all the men in the boat; of whom he said\nthat there were three very honest fellows, who he was sure were led into\nthis conspiracy by the rest, being overpowered and frighted: but that\nfor the boatswain, who, it seems, was the chief officer among them, and\nall the rest, they were as outrageous as any of the ship's crew; and\nwere, no doubt, made desperate in their new enterprise; and terribly\napprehensive he was, that they would be too powerful for us.\n\nI smiled at him, and told him, that men in our circumstances were past\nthe operations of fear: that seeing almost every condition that could be\nwas better than that we were supposed to be in, we ought to expect that\nthe consequence, whether death or life, would be sure to be a\ndeliverance: I asked him, what he thought of the circumstances of my\nlife, and whether a deliverance were not worth venturing for? \"And\nwhere, Sir,\" said I, \"is your belief of my being preserved here on\npurpose to save your life, which elevated you a little while ago? For my\npart,\" said I, \"there seems to be but one thing amiss in all the\nprospect of it.\"--\"What's that?\" says he. \"Why,\" said I, \"'tis that as\nyou say, there are three or four honest fellows among them, which should\nbe spared; had they been all of the wicked part of the crew, I should\nhave thought God's providence had singled them out to deliver them into\nyour hands; for, depend upon it, every man of them that comes ashore,\nare our own, and shall die or live as they behave to us.\"\n\nAs I spoke this with a raised voice and cheerful countenance, I found it\ngreatly encouraged him; so we set vigorously to our business. We had,\nupon the first appearance of the boat's coming from the ship, considered\nof separating our prisoners, and had indeed secured them effectually.\n\nTwo of them, of whom the captain was less assured than ordinary, I sent\nwith Friday, and one of the three (delivered men) to my cave, where they\nwere remote enough, and out of danger of being heard or discovered, or\nof finding their way out of the woods, if they could have delivered\nthemselves; here they left them bound, but gave them provisions, and\npromised them, if they continued there quietly, to give them their\nliberty in a day or two; but that if they attempted their escape, they\nshould be put to death without mercy. They promised faithfully to bear\ntheir confinement with patience, and were very thankful that they had\nsuch good usage as to have provisions and a light left them; for Friday\ngave them candles (such as we made ourselves) for their comfort; and\nthey did not know but that he stood centinel over them at the entrance.\n\nThe other prisoners had better usage; two of them were kept pinioned\nindeed, because the captain was not free to trust them; but the other\ntwo were taken into my service upon their captain's recommendation, and\nupon their solemnly engaging to live and die with us; so, with them and\nthe three honest men, we were seven men well armed; and I made no doubt\nwe should be able to deal well enough with the ten that were a-coming,\nconsidering that the captain had said, there were three or four honest\nmen among them also.\n\nAs soon as they got to the place where their other boat lay, they ran\ntheir boat into the beach, and came all on shore, hauling the boat up\nafter them, which I was glad to see; for I was afraid they would rather\nhave left the boat at an anchor, some distance from the shore, with some\nhands in her to guard her; and so we should not be able to seize\nthe boat.\n\nBeing on shore, the first thing they did, they ran all to the other\nboat; and it was easy to see they were under a great surprise to find\nher stripped as above, of all that was in her, and a great hole in\nher bottom.\n\nAfter they had mused awhile upon this, they set up two or three great\nshouts, hallooing with all their might, to try if they could make their\ncompanions hear; but all was to no purpose: then they came all close in\na ring, and fired a volley of their small arms, which indeed we heard,\nand the echoes made the woods ring; but it was all one: those in the\ncave, we were sure, could not hear; and those in our keeping, though\nthey heard it well enough, yet durst give no answer to them.\n\nThey were so astonished at the surprise of this, that, as they told us\nafterwards, they resolved to go all on board again to their ship, and\nlet them know there, that the men were all murdered, and the long-boat\nstaved; accordingly, they immediately launched the boat again, and got\nall of them on board.\n\nThe captain was terribly amazed, and even confounded at this, believing\nthey would go on board the ship again and set sail, giving their\ncomrades up for lost, and so he should still lose the ship, which he was\nin hopes we should have recovered; but he was quickly as much frighted\nthe other way.\n\nThey had not been long put off with the boat, but we perceived them all\ncoming on shore again; but with this new measure in their conduct, which\nit seems they consulted together upon; viz. to leave three men in the\nboat, and the rest to go on shore, and go up into the country to look\nfor their fellows.\n\nThis was a great disappointment to us; for now we were at a loss what to\ndo; for our seizing those seven men on shore would be no advantage to us\nif we let the boat escape, because they would then row away to the ship;\nand then the rest of them would be sure to weigh, and set sail, and so\nour recovering the ship would be lost.\n\nHowever, we had no remedy but to wait and see what the issue of things\nmight present. The seven men came on shore, and the three who remained\nin the boat put her off to a good distance from the shore, and came to\nan anchor to wait for them; so that it was impossible for us to come at\nthem in the boat.\n\nThose that came on shore kept close together, marching towards the top\nof the little hill, under which my habitation lay; and we could see them\nplainly, though they could not perceive us; we could have been very glad\nthey would have come nearer to us, so that we might have fired at them;\nor that they would have gone farther off, that we might have\ncome abroad.\n\nBut when they were come to the brow of the hill, where they could see a\ngreat way in the valley and woods, which lay towards the north-east\npart, and where the island lay lowest, they shouted and hallooed till\nthey were weary; and not caring, it seems, to venture far from the\nshore, nor far from one another, they sat down together under a tree, to\nconsider of it: had they thought fit to have gone to sleep there, as the\nother party of them had done, they had done the job for us; but they\nwere too full of apprehensions of danger, to venture to go to sleep,\nthough they could not tell what the danger was they had to fear neither.\n\nThe captain made a very just proposal to me upon this consultation of\ntheirs; viz. that perhaps they would all fire a volley again, to\nendeavour to make their fellows hear, and that we should all sally upon\nthem, just at the juncture when their pieces were all discharged, and\nthey would certainly yield, and we should have them without bloodshed: I\nliked the proposal, provided it was done while we heard, when they were\npresently stopped by the creek, where the water being up, they could not\nget over, and called for the boat to come up, and set them over, as\nindeed I expected.\n\nWhen they had set themselves over, I observed, that the boat being gone\nup a good way into the creek, and as it were, in a harbour within the\nland, they took one of the three men out of her to go along with them,\nand left only two in the boat, having fastened her to the stump of a\nlittle tree on the shore.\n\nThis was what I wished for, and immediately leaving Friday and the\ncaptain's mate to their business, I took the rest with me, and crossing\nthe creek out of their sight, we surprized the two men before they were\naware; one of them lying on shore, and the other being in the boat; the\nfellow on shore, was between sleeping and waking, and going to start up,\nthe captain who was foremost, ran in upon him, and knocked him down, and\nthen called out to him in the boat, to yield, or he was a dead man.\n\nThere needed very few arguments to persuade a single man to yield, when\nhe saw five men upon him, and his comrade knocked down; besides, this\nwas it seems one of the three who were not so hearty in the mutiny as\nthe rest of the crew, and therefore was easily persuaded, not only to\nyield, but afterwards to join very sincere with us.\n\nIn the mean time, Friday and the captain's mate so well managed their\nbusiness with the rest, that they drew them by hollooing and answering,\nfrom one hill to another, and from one wood to another, till they not\nonly heartily tired them but left them, where they were very sure they\ncould not reach back to the boat, before it was dark; and indeed they\nwere heartily tired themselves also by the time they came back to us.\n\nWe had nothing now to do, but to watch for them, in the dark, and to\nfall upon them, so as to make sure work with them.\n\nIt was several hours after Friday came back to me before they came back\nto their boat; and we could hear the foremost of them, long before they\ncame quite up, calling to those behind to come along; and could also\nhear them answer, and complain how lame and tired they were, and not\nbeing able to come any faster, which was very welcome news to us.\n\nAt length they came up to the boat; but it is impossible to express\ntheir confusion, when they found the boat fast aground in the creek, the\ntide ebbed out, and their two men gone: we could hear them call to one\nanother in a most lamentable manner, telling one another they were\ngotten into an enchanted island; that either there were inhabitants in\nit, and they should all be murdered; or else there were devils or\nspirits in it, and they should be all carried away and devoured.\n\nThey hallooed again, and called their two comrades by their names a\ngreat many times, but no answer: after some time, we could see them, by\nthe little light there was, run about wringing their hands, like men in\ndespair; and that sometimes they would go and sit down in the boat to\nrest themselves, then come ashore, and walk about again, and so the same\nthing over again.\n\nMy men would fain have had me given them leave to fall upon them at once\nin the dark; but I was willing to take them at some advantage, so to\nspare them, and kill as few of them as I could; and especially I was\nunwilling to hazard the killing any of our men, knowing the other men\nwere very well armed: I resolved to wait to see if they did not\nseparate; and therefore, to make sure of them, I drew my ambuscade\nnearer; and ordered Friday and the captain to creep upon their hands and\nfeet as close to the ground as they could, that they might not be\ndiscovered, and get as near them as they could possibly, before they\noffered to fire.\n\nThey had not been long in that posture, till the boatswain, who was the\nprincipal ringleader of the mutiny, and had now shewn himself the most\ndejected and dispirited of all the rest, came walking towards them with\ntwo more of the crew; the captain was so eager, at having the principal\nrogue so much in his power, that he could hardly have patience to let\nhim come so near as to be sure of him; for they only heard his tongue\nbefore: but when they came nearer, the captain and Friday, starting up\non their feet, let fly at them.\n\nThe boatswain was killed upon the spot; the next man was shot in the\nbody, and fell just by him, though he did not die till an hour or two\nafter; and the third ran for it.\n\nAt the noise of the fire, I immediately advanced with my whole army,\nwhich was now eight men; viz. myself generalissimo; Friday my\nlieutenant-general; the captain and his two men, and the three prisoners\nof war, whom he had trusted with arms.\n\nWe came upon them indeed in the dark, so that they could not see our\nnumber; and I made the man they had left in the boat, who was now one of\nus, to call them by name, to try if I could bring them to a parley, and\nso might perhaps reduce them to terms; which fell out just as we\ndesired: for indeed it was easy to think, as their condition then was,\nthey would be very-willing to capitulate; so he calls out, as loud as he\ncould, to one of them, \"Tom Smith, Tom Smith.\" Tom Smith answered\nimmediately, \"Who's that? Robinson?\" For it seems he knew his voice. The\nother answered, \"Ay, ay; for God's sake, Tom Smith, throw down your\narms, and yield, or you are all dead men this moment.\"\n\n\"Who must we yield to? where are they?\" says Smith again. \"Here they\nare,\" says he; \"here is our captain and fifty men with him, have been\nhunting you this two hours; the boatswain is killed, Will Frye is\nwounded, and I am a prisoner; and if you do not yield, your are\nall lost.\"\n\n\"Will they give us quarter then?\" says Tom Smith, \"and we will\nyield.\"--\"I'll go and ask, if you promise to yield,\" says Robinson. So\nhe asked the captain, and the captain himself then calls out, \"You\nSmith, you know my voice, if you lay down your arms immediately, and\nsubmit, you shall have your lives, all but Will Atkins.\"\n\nUpon this Will Atkins cried out, \"For God's sake, captain, give me\nquarter: what have I done? they have been all as bad us I,\" (which by\nthe way was not true, either; for it seems this Will Atkins was the\nfirst man that laid hold of the captain when they first mutinied, and\nused him barbarously, in tying his hands, and giving him injurious\nlanguage:) however, the captain told him he must lay down his arms at\ndiscretion, and trust to the governor's mercy, by which he meant me; for\nthey all called me governor.\n\nIn a word, they all laid down their arms, and begged their lives; and I\nsent the man that had parleyed with them, and two more, who bound them\nall; and then my great army of fifty men, which, particularly with those\nthree, were all but eight, came up and seized upon them all, and upon\ntheir boat, only that I kept myself and one more out of sight, for\nreasons of state.\n\nOur next work was to repair the boat, and to think of seizing the ship;\nand as for the captain, now he had leisure to parley with them, he\nexpostulated with them upon the villany of their practices with him, and\nat length, upon the farther wickedness of their design; and how\ncertainly it must bring them to misery and distress in the end, and\nperhaps to the gallows.\n\nThey all appeared very penitent, and begged hard for their lives: as for\nthat, he told them they were none of his prisoners, but the commander's\nof the island; that they thought they had set him on shore in a barren\nuninhabited island; but it had pleased God so to direct them, that the\nisland was inhabited, and that the governor was an Englishman: that he\nmight hang them all there, if he pleased; but as he had given them all\nquarter, he supposed he would send them to England, to be dealt with\nthere as justice required, except Atkins, whom he was commanded by the\ngovernor to advise to prepare for death; for that he would be hanged in\nthe morning.\n\nThough this was all a fiction of his own, yet it had its desired effect.\nAtkins fell upon his knees to beg the captain to intercede with the\ngovernor for his life; and all the rest begged of him for God's sake,\nthat they might not be sent to England.\n\nIt now occurred to me, that the time of our deliverance was come, and\nthat it would be a most easy thing to bring these fellows in to be\nhearty in getting possession of the ship; so I retired in the dark from\nthem, that they might not see what kind of a governor they had, and\ncalled the captain to me: when I called, as at a good distance, one of\nthe men was ordered to speak again, and say to the captain, \"Captain,\nthe commander calls for you;\" and presently the captain replied, \"Tell\nhis excellency I am just a-coming.\" This more perfectly amused them; and\nthey all believed that the commander was just by with his fifty men.\n\nUpon the captain's coming to me, I told him my project for seizing the\nship, which he liked wonderfully well, and resolved to put it in\nexecution the next morning.\n\nBut, in order to execute it with more art, and to be secure of success,\nI told him we must divide the prisoners, and that he should go and take\nAtkins, and two more of the worst of them, and send them pinioned to the\ncave where the others lay: this was committed to Friday, and the two men\nwho came on shore with the captain.\n\nThey conveyed them to the cave, as to a prison; and it was indeed a\ndismal place, especially to men in their condition.\n\nThe others I ordered to my bower, as I called it, of which I have given\na full description; and as it was fenced in, and they pinioned, the\nplace was secure enough, considering they were upon their behaviour.\n\nTo these in the morning I sent the captain, who was to enter into a\nparley with them; in a word, to try them, and tell me, whether he\nthought they might be trusted or no, to go on board, and surprise the\nship. He talked to them of the injury done him, of the condition they\nwere brought to; and that though the governor had given them quarter for\ntheir lives, as to the present action, yet that if they were sent to\nEngland, they would all be hanged in chains, to be sure; but that if\nthey would join in such an attempt as to recover the ship, he would have\nthe governor's engagement for their pardon.\n\nAny one may guess how readily such a proposal would be accepted by men\nin their condition: they fell down on their knees to the captain, and\npromised with the deepest imprecations, that they would be faithful to\nhim to the last drop, and that they should owe their lives to him, and\nwould go with him all over the world; that they would own him for a\nfather to them as long as they lived.\n\n\"Well,\" says the captain, \"I must go and tell the governor what you say,\nand see what I can do to bring him to consent to it.\" So he brought me\nan account of the temper he found them in; and that he verily believed\nthey would be faithful.\n\nHowever, that we might be very secure, I told him he should go back\nagain, and choose out five of them, and tell them, that they should see\nthat they did not want men; but he would take out those five to be his\nassistants, and that the governor would keep the other two, and the\nthree that were sent prisoners to the castle, (my cave) as hostages for\nthe fidelity of those five; and that if they proved unfaithful in the\nexecution, the five hostages should be hanged in chains alive upon\nthe shore.\n\nThis looked severe, and convinced them that the governor was in earnest;\nhowever, they had no way left them but to accept it; and it was now the\nbusiness of the prisoners, as much as of the captain, to persuade the\nother five to do their duty.\n\nOur strength was now thus ordered for the expedition: 1. The captain,\nhis mate, and passenger. 2. Then the two prisoners of the first gang, to\nwhom, having their characters from the captain, I had given their\nliberty, and trusted them with arms. 3. The other two whom I kept till\nnow in my bower pinioned; but, upon the captain's motion, had now\nreleased. 4. These five released at last; so that they were twelve in\nall, besides five we kept prisoners in the cave for hostages.\n\nI asked the captain if he was willing to venture with these hands on\nboard the ship: for, as for me, and my man Friday, I did not think it\nwas proper for us to stir, having seven men left behind; and it was\nemployment enough for us to keep them asunder, and supply them\nwith victuals.\n\nAs to the five in the cave, I resolved to keep them fast; but Friday\nwent twice a day to them, to supply them with necessaries; and I made\nthe other two carry provisions to a certain distance, where Friday was\nto take it.\n\nWhen I shewed myself to the two hostages, it was with the captain, who\ntold them, I was the person the governor had ordered to look after them,\nand that it was the governor's pleasure that they should not stir any\nwhere but by my direction; that if they did, they should be fetched into\nthe castle, and be laid in irons; so that as we never suffered them to\nsee me as governor, so I now appeared as another person, and spoke of\nthe governor, the garrison, the castle, and the like, upon all\noccasions.\n\nThe captain now had no difficulty before him, but to furnish his two\nboats, stop the breach of one, and man them: he made his passenger\ncaptain of one, with four other men; and himself, and his mate, and five\nmore, went in the other: and they contrived their business very well;\nfor they came up to the ship about midnight. As soon as they came\nwithin call of the ship, he made Robinson hail them, and tell them he\nhad brought off the men and the boat, but that it was a long time before\nthey had found them, and the like; holding them in a chat, till they\ncame to the ship's side; when the captain and the mate, entering first\nwith their arms, immediately knocked down the second mate and carpenter\nwith the but end of their muskets; being very faithfully seconded by\ntheir men, they seemed all the rest that were upon the main and quarter\ndecks, and began to fasten the hatches to keep them down who were below;\nwhen the other boat and their men, entering at the fore chains, secured\nthe forecastle of the ship, and the skuttle which went down into the\ncook-room, making three men they found there prisoners.\n\nWhen this was done, and all safe upon the deck, the captain ordered the\nmate with three men to break into the round-house, where the new rebel\ncaptain lay, and, having taken the alarm, was gotten up, and with two\nmen and a boy had gotten fire arms in their hands; and when the mate\nwith a crow split upon the door, the new captain and his men fired\nboldly among them, and wounded the mate with a musket-ball, which broke\nhis arm, and wounded two more of the men, but killed nobody.\n\nThe mate, calling for help, rushed, however, into the round-house,\nwounded as he was, and with his pistol shot the new captain through the\nhead, the bullets entering at his mouth, and came out again behind one\nof his ears; so that he never spoke a word; upon which the rest yielded,\nand the ship was taken effectually without any more lives being lost.\n\nAs soon as the ship was thus secured, the captain ordered seven guns to\nbe fired, which was the signal agreed upon with me, to give me notice of\nhis success; which you may be sure I was very glad to hear, having sat\nwatching upon the shore for it, till near two of the clock in\nthe morning.\n\nHaving thus heard the signal plainly, I laid me down; and it having\nbeen a day of great fatigue to me, I slept very sound, till I was\nsomething surprised with the noise of a gun; and presently starting up,\nI heard a man call me by the name of governor, governor; and presently I\nknew the captain's voice; when climbing up to the top of the hill, there\nhe stood, and pointing to the ship, he embraced me in his arms: \"My dear\nfriend and deliverer,\" says he, \"there's your ship, for she is all\nyours, and so are we, and all that belong to her.\" I cast my eyes to the\nship, and there she rode within a little more than half a mile of the\nshore; for they had weighed her anchor as soon as they were masters of\nher; and the weather being fair, had brought her to an anchor just\nagainst the mouth of a little creek; and the tide being up, the captain\nhad brought the pinnace in near the place where I first landed my rafts,\nand so landed just at my door.\n\nI was, at first, ready to sink down with the surprise; for I saw my\ndeliverance indeed visibly put into my hands, all things easy, and a\nlarge ship just ready to carry me away whither I pleased to go; at\nfirst, for some time, I was not able to answer one word; but as he had\ntaken me in his arms, I held fast by him, or I should have fallen to\nthe ground.\n\nHe perceived the surprise, and immediately pulled a bottle out of his\npocket, and gave me a dram of cordial, which he had brought on purpose\nfor me: after I drank it, I sat down upon the ground, and though it\nbrought me to myself, yet it was a good while before I could speak a\nword to him.\n\nAll this while the poor man was in as great an ecstasy as I, only not\nunder any surprise, as I was; and he said a thousand kind tender things\nto me, to compose and bring me to myself; but such was the flood of joy\nin my breast, that it put all my spirits into confusion; at last it\nbroke into tears, and in a little while after I recovered my speech.\n\nThen I took my turn, and embraced him as my deliverer; and we rejoiced\ntogether; I told him, I looked upon him as a man sent from Heaven to\ndeliver me, and that the whole transaction seemed to be a chain of\nwonders; that such things as these were the testimonies we had of a\nsecret hand of Providence governing the world, and an evidence, that the\neyes of an infinite Power could search into the remotest corner of the\nworld, and send help to the miserable whenever he pleased.\n\nI forgot not to lift up my heart in thankfulness to Heaven; and what\nheart could forbear to bless Him, who had not only in a miraculous\nmanner provided for one in such a wilderness, and in such a desolate\ncondition, but from whom every deliverance must always be acknowledged\nto proceed?\n\nWhen we had talked awhile, the captain told me, he had brought me some\nlittle refreshments, such as the ship afforded, and such as the wretches\nwho had been so long his masters, had not plundered him of. Upon this he\ncalled aloud to the boat, and bids his men bring the things ashore that\nwere for the governor; and indeed it was a present, as if I had been\none, not that I was to be carried along with them, but as if I had been\nto dwell upon the island still, and they were to go without me.\n\nFirst, he had brought me a case of bottles full of excellent cordial\nwaters; six large bottles of Madeira wine, the bottles held two quarts\napiece; two pounds of excellent good tobacco, twelve good pieces of the\nship's beef, and six pieces of pork, with a bag of peas, and about a\nhundred weight of biscuit.\n\nHe brought me also a box of sugar, a box of flour, a bag full of lemons,\nand two bottles of lime-juice, and abundance of other things: but\nbesides these, and what was a thousand times more useful to me, he\nbrought me six clean new shirts, six very good neckcloths, two pair of\ngloves, one pair of shoes, a hat, and one pair of stockings, and a very\ngood suit of clothes of his own, which had been worn but very little. In\na word, he clothed me from head to foot.\n\nIt was a very kind and agreeable present, as any one may imagine, to\none in my circumstances; but never was any thing in the world of that\nkind so unpleasant, awkward, and uneasy, as it was to me to wear such\nclothes at their first putting on.\n\nAfter these ceremonies passed, and after all his things were brought\ninto my little apartment, we began to consult what was to be done with\nthe prisoners we had; for it was worth considering whether we might\nventure to take them away with us or no, especially two of them, whom we\nknew to be incorrigible and refractory to the last degree; and the\ncaptain said, he knew they were such rogues, that there was no obliging\nthem; and if he did carry them away, it must be in irons, as\nmalefactors, to be delivered over to justice at the first English colony\nhe could come at; and I found that the captain himself was very\nanxious about it.\n\nUpon this, I told him, that, if he desired it, I durst undertake to\nbring the two men he spoke of to make their own request that he should\nleave them upon the island; \"I should be very glad of that,\" says the\ncaptain, \"with all my heart.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"I will send for them, and talk with them for you:\" so I\ncaused Friday and the two hostages, for they were now discharged, their\ncomrades having performed their promise; I say, I caused them to go to\nthe cave, and bring up the five men, pinioned as they were, to the\nbower, and keep them there till I came.\n\nAfter some time, I came thither dressed in my new habit, and now I was\ncalled governor again. Being all met, and the captain with me, I caused\nthe men to be brought before me, and I told them, I had had a full\naccount of their villanous behaviour to the captain, and how they had\nrun away with the ship, and were preparing to commit farther robberies;\nbut that Providence, had ensnared them in their own ways, and that they\nwere fallen into the pit which they had digged for others.\n\nI let them know, that by my direction the ship had been seized, that\nshe lay now in the road, and they might see by and by, that their new\ncaptain had received the reward of his villany; for that they might see\nhim hanging at the yard-arm: that as to them, I wanted to know what they\nhad to say, why I should not execute them as pirates taken in the fact,\nas by my commission they could not doubt I had authority to do.\n\nOne of them answered in the name of the rest, that they had nothing to\nsay but this, that when they were taken, the captain promised them their\nlives, and they humbly implored my mercy: but I told them I knew not\nwhat mercy to shew them; for, as for myself, I had resolved to quit the\nisland with all my men, and had taken passage with the captain to go for\nEngland: and as for the captain, he could not carry them to England,\nother than as prisoners in irons to be tried for mutiny, and running\naway with the ship; the consequence of which they must needs know, would\nbe the gallows; so that I could not tell which was best for them, unless\nthey had a mind to take their fate in the island; if they desired that,\nI did not care, as I had liberty to leave it; I had some inclination to\ngive them their lives, if they thought they could shift on shore. They\nseemed very thankful for it; said they would much rather venture to stay\nthere, than to be carried to England to be hanged; so I left it on\nthat issue.\n\nHowever, the captain seemed to make some difficulty of it, as if he\ndurst not leave them there: upon this I seemed to be a little angry with\nthe captain, and told him, that they were my prisoners, not his; and\nthat seeing I had offered them so much favour, I would be as good as my\nword; and that if he did not think fit to consent to it, I would set\nthem at liberty as I found them; and if he did not like that, he might\ntake them again if he could catch them.\n\nUpon this they appeared very thankful, and I accordingly set them at\nliberty, and bade them retire into the woods, to the place whence they\ncame, and I would leave them some fire-arms, some ammunition, and some\ndirections how they should live very well, if they thought fit.\n\nUpon this, I prepared to go on board the ship; but told the captain,\nthat I would stay that night to prepare my things; and desired him to go\non board in the meantime, and keep all right in the ship, and send the\nboat on shore the next day for me; ordering him in the meantime to cause\nthe new captain who was killed, to be hanged at the yard-arm, that these\nmen might see him.\n\nWhen the captain was gone, I sent for the men up to me to my apartment,\nand entered seriously into discourse with them of their circumstances: I\ntold them, I thought they had made a right choice; that if the captain\ncarried them away, they would certainly be hanged: I shewed them their\ncaptain hanging at the yard-arm of the ship, and told them they had\nnothing less to expect.\n\nWhen they had all declared their willingness to stay, I then told them,\nI would let them into the story of my living there, and put them into\nthe way of making it easy to them: accordingly I gave them the whole\nhistory of the place, and of my coming to it: shewed them my\nfortifications, the way I made my bread, planted my corn, cured my\ngrapes; and, in a word, all that was necessary to make them easy. I told\nthem the story of the sixteen Spaniards that were to be expected; for\nwhom I left a letter, and made them promise to treat them in common with\nthemselves.\n\nI left them my fire-arms; viz. five muskets, three fowling-pieces, and\nthree swords: I had about a barrel of powder left; for after the first\nyear or two I used but little, and wasted none. I gave them a\ndescription of the way I managed the goats, and directions to milk and\nfatten them, to make both butter and cheese.\n\nIn a word, I gave them every part of my own story; and I told them, I\nwould prevail with the captain to leave them two barrels of gunpowder\nmore, and some garden-seed, which I told them I would have been very\nglad of; also I gave them the bag of peas which the captain had brought\nme to eat, and bade them be sure to sow and increase them.\n\nHaving done all this, I left them the next day, and went on board the\nship: we prepared immediately to sail, but did not weigh that night: the\nnext morning early, two of the five men came swimming to the ship's\nside, and making a most lamentable complaint of the other three, begged\nto be taken into the ship for God's sake, for they should be murdered;\nand begged the captain to take them on board though he hanged them\nimmediately.\n\nUpon this the captain pretended to have no power without me; but after\nsome difficulty, and after their solemn promises of amendment, they were\ntaken on board, and were some time after soundly whipped and pickled;\nafter which they proved very honest and quiet fellows.\n\nSome time after this, I went with the boat on shore, the tide being up,\nwith the things promised to the men, to which the captain, at my\nintercession, caused their chests and clothes to be added, which they\ntook, and were very thankful for: I also encouraged them, by telling\nthem, that if it lay in my way to send a vessel to take them in, I would\nnot forget them.\n\nWhen I took leave of this island, I carried on board for relics the\ngreat goat-skin cap I had made, my umbrella, and one of my parrots; also\nI forgot not to take the money I formerly mentioned, which had lain by\nme so long useless that it was grown rusty or tarnished, and could\nhardly pass for silver, till it had been a little rubbed and handled;\nand also the money I found in the wreck of the Spanish ship.\n\nAnd thus I left the island the nineteenth of December, as I found by the\nship's account, in the year 1686, after I had been upon it\neight-and-twenty years, two months, and nineteen days: being delivered\nfrom the second captivity the same day of the month that I first made\nmy escape in the barco-longo, from among the Moors of Sallee.\n\nIn this vessel, after a long voyage, I arrived in England the eleventh\nof June, in the year 1687; having been thirty and five years absent.\n\nWhen I came to England, I was a perfect stranger to all the world, as if\nI had never been known there: my benefactor, and faithful steward, whom\nI had left in trust with my money, was alive, but had had great\nmisfortunes in the world, was become a widow the second time, and very\nlow in the world: I made her easy as to what she owed me, assuring her I\nwould give her no trouble; but on the contrary, in gratitude to her\nformer care and faithfulness to me, I relieved her as my little stock\nwould afford, which at that time would indeed allow me to do but little\nfor her: but I assured her, I would never forget her former kindness to\nme; nor did I forget her, when I had sufficient to help her; as shall be\nobserved in its place.\n\nI went down afterwards into Yorkshire; but my father was dead, and my\nmother and all the family extinct; except that I found two sisters, and\ntwo of the children of one of my brothers: and as I had been long ago\ngiven over for dead, there had been no provision made for me, so that,\nin a word, I found nothing to relieve or assist me; and that little\nmoney I had, would not do much for me as to settling in the world.\n\nI met with one piece of gratitude indeed, which I did not expect; and\nthis was, that the master of the ship, whom I had so happily delivered,\nand by the same means saved the ship and cargo, having given a very\nhandsome account to the owners, of the manner how I had saved the lives\nof the men, and the ship, they invited me to meet them and some other\nmerchants concerned, and all together made me a very handsome compliment\nupon that subject, and a present of almost two hundred pounds sterling.\n\nBut after making several reflections upon the circumstances of my life,\nand how little way this would go towards settling me in the world, I\nresolved to go to Lisbon, and see if I might not come by some\ninformation of the state of my plantation in the Brasils, and what was\nbecome of my partner, who, I had reason to suppose, had some years now\ngiven me over for dead.\n\nWith this view I took shipping for Lisbon, where I arrived in April\nfollowing; my man Friday accompanying me very honestly in all these\nramblings, and proving a most faithful servant upon all occasions.\n\nWhen I came to Lisbon, I found out, by inquiry, and to my particular\nsatisfaction, my old friend the captain of the ship, who first took me\nup at sea, off the shore of Africa: he was now grown old, and had left\noff the sea, having put his son, who was far from a young man, into his\nship; and who still used the Brasil trade. The old man did not know me,\nand, indeed, I hardly knew him; but I soon brought myself to his\nremembrance, when I told him who I was.\n\nAfter some passionate expressions of our old acquaintance, I inquired,\nyou may be sure, after my plantation and my partner; the old man told\nme, he had not been in the Brasils for about nine years; but that he\ncould assure me, that when he came away, my partner was living; but the\ntrustees, whom I had joined with him, to take cognizance of my part,\nwere both dead; that, however, he believed that I would have a very good\naccount of the improvement of the plantation; for that, upon the general\nbelief of my being cast away and drowned, my trustees had given in the\naccount of the produce of my part of the plantation, to the procurator\nfiscal; who had appropriated it, in case I never came to claim it, one\nthird to the king, and two thirds to the monastery of St. Augustine, to\nbe expended for the benefit of the poor, and for the conversion of the\nIndians to the Catholic faith; but that if I appeared, or any one for\nme, to claim the inheritance, it would be restored; only that the\nimprovement, or annual production, being distributed to charitable uses,\ncould not be restored; but he assured me, that the steward of the\nking's revenue, (from lands) and the provedore, or steward of the\nmonastery, had taken great care all along, that the incumbent, that is\nto say, my partner, gave every year a faithful account of the produce,\nof which they received duly my moiety.\n\nI asked him, if he knew to what height of improvement he had brought the\nplantation; and whether he thought it might be worth looking after; or\nwhether, on my going thither, I should meet with no obstruction to my\npossessing my just right in the moiety.\n\nHe told me, he could not tell exactly to what degree the plantation was\nimproved; but this he knew, that my partner was growing exceeding rich\nupon the enjoying but one half of it; and that, to the best of his\nremembrance, he had heard, that the king's third of my part, which was,\nit seems, granted away to some other monastery, or religious house,\namounted to above two hundred moidores a year; that, as to my being\nrestored to a quiet possession of it, there was no question to be made\nof that, my partner being alive to witness my title, and my name being\nalso enrolled in the register of the county. Also he told me, that the\nsurvivors of my two trustees were very fair, honest people, and very\nwealthy, and he believed I would not only have their assistance for\nputting me in possession, but would find a very considerable sum of\nmoney in their hands for my account, being the produce of the farm,\nwhile their fathers held the trust, and before it was given up, as\nabove, which, as he remembered, was about twelve years.\n\nI shewed myself a little concerned and uneasy at this account, and\ninquired of the old captain, how it came to pass, that the trustees\nshould thus dispose of my effects, when he knew that I had made my will,\nand had made him, the Portuguese captain, my universal heir, &c.\n\nHe told me that was true; but that, as there was no proof of my being\ndead, he could not act as executor, until some certain account should\ncome of my death; and that, besides, he was not willing to intermeddle\nwith a thing so remote: that it was true, he had registered my will, and\nput in his claim; and could he have given any account of my being dead\nor alive, he would have acted by procuration, and taken possession of\nthe _ingenio_, (so they called the sugarhouse) and had given his son,\nwho was now at the Brasils, order to do it.\n\n\"But,\" says the old man, \"I have one piece of news to tell you, which\nperhaps may not be so acceptable to you as the rest; and that is, that\nbelieving you were lost, and all the world believing so also, your\npartner and trustees did offer to account to me in your name, for six or\neight of the first years of profit, which I received; but there being at\nthat time,\" says he, \"great disbursements for increasing the works,\nbuilding an _ingenio_ and buying slaves, it did not amount to near so\nmuch as afterwards it produced: however,\" says the old man, \"I shall\ngive you a true account of what I have received in all, and how I have\ndisposed of it.\"\n\nAfter a few days farther conference with this ancient friend, he brought\nme an account of the six first years income of my plantation, signed by\nmy partner, and the merchants' trustees, being always delivered in\ngoods; viz. tobacco in roll, and sugar in chests, besides rum, molasses,\n&c. which is the consequence of a sugar-work; and I found by this\naccount, that every year the income considerably increased: but, as\nabove, the disbursement being large, the sum at first was small:\nhowever, the old man let me see, that he was debtor to me four hundred\nand seventy moidores of gold, besides sixty chests of sugar, and fifteen\ndouble rolls of tobacco, which were lost in his ship, he having been\nshipwrecked coming home to Lisbon, about eleven years after my leaving\nthe place.\n\nThe good man then began to complain of his misfortunes, and how he had\nbeen obliged to make use of my money to recover his losses, and buy him\na share in a new ship; \"however, my old friend,\" says he, \"you shall\nnot want a supply in your necessity; and as soon as my son returns, you\nshall be fully satisfied.\"\n\nUpon this he pulls out an old pouch, and gives me two hundred Portugal\nmoidores in gold; and giving me the writings of his title to the ship\nwhich his son was gone to the Brasils in, of which he was a quarter part\nowner, and his son another, he puts them both in my hands for security\nof the rest.\n\nI was too much moved with the honesty and kindness of the poor man, to\nbe able to bear this; and remembering what he had done for me, how he\nhad taken me up at sea, and how generously he had used me on all\noccasions, and particularly how sincere a friend he was now to me, I\ncould hardly refrain weeping at what he said to me: therefore, first I\nasked him if his circumstances admitted him to spare so much money at\nthat time, and if it would not straiten him? He told me he could not say\nbut it might straiten him a little; but, however, it was my money, and I\nmight want it more than he.\n\nEvery thing the good man said was full of affection, and I could hardly\nrefrain from tears while he spake. In short, I took one hundred of the\nmoidores, and called for a pen and ink to give him a receipt for them;\nthen I returned him the rest, and told him, if ever I had possession of\nthe plantation, I would return the other to him also, as indeed I\nafterwards did; and then, as to the bill of sale of his part in his\nson's ship, I would not take it by any means; but that if I wanted the\nmoney, I found he was honest enough to pay me; and if I did not, but\ncame to receive what he gave me reason to expect, I would never have a\npenny more from him.\n\nWhen this was past, the old man began to ask me if he should put me in a\nmethod to make my claim to my plantation. I told him, I thought to go\nover to it myself. He said, I might do so if I pleased; but that if I\ndid not, there were ways enough to secure my right, and immediately to\nappropriate the profits to my use; and as there were ships in the river\nof Lisbon, just ready to go away to Brasil, he made me enter my name in\na public register, with his affidavit, affirming upon oath that I was\nalive, and that I was the same person who took up the land for the\nplanting the said plantation at first.\n\nThis being regularly attested by a notary, and the procuration affixed,\nhe directed me to send it with a letter of his writing, to a merchant of\nhis acquaintance at the place; and then proposed my staying with him\ntill an account came of the return.\n\nNever any thing was more honourable than the proceedings upon this\nprocuration; for in less than seven months I received a large packet\nfrom the survivors of my trustees, the merchants, on whose account I\nwent to sea, in which were the following particular letters and\npapers enclosed.\n\nFirst, There was the account current of the produce of my farm, or\nplantation, from the year when their fathers had balanced with my old\nPortugal captain, being for six years; the balance appeared to be 1171\nmoidores in my favour.\n\nSecondly, There was the account of four years more while they kept the\neffects in their hands, before the government claimed the\nadministration, as being the effects of a person not to be found, which\nthey call _civil-death_; and the balance of this, the value of\nplantation increasing, amounted to 38892 crusadoes, which made 3241 moidores.\n\nThirdly, There was the prior of the Augustines account, who had received\nthe profits for above fourteen years; but not being able to account for\nwhat was disposed to the hospital, very honestly declared he had 872\nmoidores not distributed, which he acknowledged to my account. As to the\nking's part, that refunded nothing.\n\nThere was also a letter of my partner's, congratulating me very\naffectionately upon my being alive; giving me an account how the estate\nwas improved, and what it produced a year, with a particular of the\nnumber of squares or acres that it contained; how planted, how many\nslaves there were upon it, and making two and twenty crosses for\nblessings, told me he had said so many Ave Marias to thank the Blessed\nVirgin that I was alive; inviting me very passionately to come over and\ntake possession of my own; and in the mean time to give him orders to\nwhom he should deliver my effects, if I did not come my self; concluding\nwith a hearty tender of his friendship, and that of his family, and sent\nme, as a present, seven fine leopard's skins, which he had it seems\nreceived from Africa, by some other ship which he had sent thither, and\nwho it seems had made a better voyage than I: he sent me also five\nchests of excellent sweetmeats, and an hundred pieces of gold uncoined,\nnot quite so large as moidores.\n\nBy the same fleet, my two merchant trustees shipped me 1,200 chests of\nsugar, 800 rolls of tobacco, and the rest of the whole Account in gold.\n\nI might well say, now indeed, that the latter end of Job was better than\nthe beginning. It is impossible to express here the flutterings of my\nvery heart, when I looked over these letters, and especially when I\nfound all my wealth about me; for as the Brasil ships come all in\nfleets, the same ships which brought my letters, brought my goods; and\nthe effects were safe in the river before the letters came to my hand.\nIn a word, I turned pale, and grew sick; and had not the old man run and\nfetched me a cordial, I believe the sudden surprize of joy had overset\nnature, and I had died upon the spot.\n\nNay after that, I continued very ill, and was so some hours, 'till a\nphysician being sent for, and something of the real cause of my illness\nbeing known, he ordered me to be let blood; after which, I had relief,\nand grew well: but I verily believe, if it had not been eased by a vent\ngiven in that manner, to the spirits, I should have died.\n\nI was now master, all on a sudden, of above 5000_l_. sterling in money,\nand had an estate, as I might well call it, in the Brasils, of above a\nthousand pounds a year, as sure as an estate of lands in England: and in\na word, I was in a condition which I scarce knew how to understand, or\nhow to compose my self, for the enjoyment of it.\n\nThe first thing I did, was to recompense my original benefactor, my good\nold captain, who had been first charitable to me in my distress, kind to\nme in my beginning, and honest to me at the end: I shewed him all that\nwas sent me, I told him, that next to the Providence of Heaven, which\ndisposes all things, it was owing to him; and that it now lay on me to\nreward him, which I would do a hundred fold: so I first returned to him\nthe hundred moidores I had received of him, then I sent for a notary,\nand caused him to draw up a general release or discharge for the 470\nmoidores, which he had acknowledged he owed me in the fullest and\nfirmest manner possible; after which, I caused a procuration to be\ndrawn, impowering him to be my receiver of the annual profits of my\nplantation, and appointing my partner to account to him, and make the\nreturns by the usual fleets to him in my name; and a clause in the end,\nbeing a grant of 100 moidores a year to him, during his life, out of the\neffects, and 50 moidores a year to his son after him, for his life: and\nthus I requited my old man.\n\nI was now to consider which way to steer my course next, and what to do\nwith the estate that Providence had thus put into my hands; and indeed I\nhad more care upon my head now, than I had in my silent state of life in\nthe island, where I wanted nothing but what I had, and had nothing but\nwhat I wanted: whereas I had now a great charge upon me, and my business\nwas how to secure it. I had ne'er a cave now to hide my money in, or a\nplace where it might lie without lock or key, 'till it grew mouldy and\ntarnished before any body would meddle with it: on the contrary, I knew\nnot where to put it, or who to trust with it. My old patron, the\ncaptain, indeed was honest, and that was the only refuge I had.\n\nIn the next place, my interest in the Brasils seemed to summon me\nthither, but now I could not tell, how to think of going thither, 'till\nI had settled my affairs, and left my effects in some safe hands behind\nme. At first I thought of my old friend the widow, who I knew was\nhonest, and would be just to me; but then she was in years, and but\npoor, and for ought I knew, might be in debt; so that in a word, I had\nno way but to go back to England my self, and take my effects with me.\n\nIt was some months however before I resolved upon this; and therefore,\nas I had rewarded the old captain fully, and to his satisfaction, who\nhad been my former benefactor, so I began to think of my poor widow,\nwhose husband had been my first benefactor, and she, while it was in her\npower, my faithful steward and instructor. So the first thing I did, I\ngot a merchant in Lisbon to write to his correspondent in London, not\nonly to pay a bill, but to go find her out, and carry her in money, an\nhundred pounds from me, and to talk with her, and comfort her in her\npoverty, by telling her she should, if I lived, have a further supply:\nat the same time I sent my two sisters in the country, each of them an\nhundred pounds, they being, though not in want, yet not in very good\ncircumstances; one having been married, and left a widow; and the other\nhaving a husband not so kind to her as he should be.\n\nBut among all my relations, or acquaintances, I could not yet pitch upon\none, to whom I durst commit the gross of my stock, that I might go away\nto the Brasils, and leave things safe behind me; and this greatly\nperplexed me.\n\nI had once a mind to have gone to the Brasils, and have settled my self\nthere; for I was, as it were, naturalized to the place; but I had some\nlittle scruple in my mind about religion, which insensibly drew me back,\nof which I shall say more presently. However, it was not religion that\nkept me from going thither for the present; and as I had made no scruple\nof being openly of the religion of the country, all the while I was\namong them, so neither did I yet; only that now and then having of late\nthought more of it than formerly, when I began to think of living and\ndying among them, I began to regret my having professed myself a Papist,\nand thought it might not be the best religion to die in.\n\nBut, as I have said, this was not the main thing that kept me from going\nto the Brasils, but that really I did not know with whom to leave my\neffects behind me; so I resolved at last to go to England with them,\nwhere if I arrived, I concluded I should make some acquaintance, or find\nsome relations, that would be faithful to me; and accordingly I prepared\nto go for England with all my wealth.\n\nIn order to prepare things for my going home, I first (the Brasil fleet\nbeing just going away) resolved to give answers suitable to the just and\nfaithful account of things I had from thence; and first to the prior of\nSt. Augustine I wrote a letter full of thanks for his just dealings, and\nthe offer of the eight hundred and seventy-two moidores, which was\nundisposed of, which I desired might be given, five hundred to the\nmonastery, and three hundred and seventy-two to the poor, as the prior\nshould direct, desiring the good Padre's prayers for me, and the like.\n\nI wrote next a letter of thanks to my two trustees, with all the\nacknowledgment that so much justice and honesty called for; as for\nsending them any present, they were far above having any occasion of it.\n\nLastly, I wrote to my partner, acknowledging his industry in the\nimproving the plantation, and his integrity in increasing the stock of\nthe works, giving him instructions for his future government of my part\naccording to the powers I had left with my old patron, to whom I desired\nhim to send whatever became due to me, till he should hear from me more\nparticularly; assuring him, that it was my intention, not only to come\nto him, but to settle myself there for the remainder of my life. To this\nI added a very handsome present of some Italian silks for his wife and\ntwo daughters, for such the captain's son informed me he had; with two\npieces of fine English broad-cloth, the best I could get in Lisbon, five\npieces of black bays, and some Flanders lace of a good value.\n\nHaving thus settled my affairs, sold my cargo, and turned all my effects\ninto good bills of exchange, my next difficulty was, which way to go to\nEngland. I had been accustomed enough to the sea, and yet I had a\nstrange aversion to go to England by sea at that time; and though I\ncould give no reason for it, yet the difficulty increased upon me so\nmuch, that though I had once shipped my baggage in order to go, yet I\naltered my mind, and that not once, but two or three times.\n\nIt is true, I had been very unfortunate by sea, and this might be one of\nthe reasons. But let no man slight the strong impulses of his own\nthoughts in cases of such moment. Two of the ships which I had singled\nout to go in, I mean more particularly singled out than any other, that\nis to say, so as in one of them to put my things on board, and in the\nother to have agreed with the captain; I say, two of these ships\nmiscarried, viz. one was taken by the Algerines, and the other was cast\naway on the Start, near Torbay, and all the people drowned except three;\nso that in either of those vessels I had been made miserable, and in\nwhich most, it was hard to say.\n\nHaving been thus harassed in my thoughts, my old pilot, to whom I\ncommunicated every thing, pressed me earnestly not to go to sea; but\neither to go by land to the Groyne, and cross over the Bay of Biscay to\nRochelle, from whence it was but an easy and safe journey by land to\nParis, and so to Calais and Dover; or to go up to Madrid, and so all the\nway by land through France.\n\nIn a word, I was so prepossessed against my going by sea at all, except\nfrom Calais to Dover, that I resolved to travel all the way by land;\nwhich, as I was not in haste, and did not value the charge, was by much\nthe pleasanter way; and to make it more so, my old captain brought an\nEnglish gentleman, the son of a merchant in Lisbon, who was willing to\ntravel with me; after which, we picked up two who were English, and\nmerchants also, and two young Portuguese gentlemen, the last going to\nParis only; so that we were in all six of us, and five servants, the two\nmerchants and the two Portuguese contenting themselves with one servant\nbetween two, to save the charge; and as for me, I got an English sailor\nto travel with me as a servant, besides my man Friday, who was too much\na stranger to be capable of supplying the place of a servant upon\nthe road.\n\nIn this manner I set out from Lisbon; and our company being all very\nwell mounted and armed, we made a little troop whereof they did me the\nhonour to call me captain, as well because I was the oldest man, as\nbecause I had two servants, and indeed was the original of the\nwhole journey.\n\nAs I have troubled you with none of my sea journals, so shall I trouble\nyou with none of my land journals. But some adventures that happened to\nus in this tedious and difficult journey, I must not omit.\n\nWhen we came to Madrid, we, being all of us strangers to Spain, were\nwilling to stay some time to sec the court of Spain, and to see what was\nworth observing; but it being the latter part of the summer, we hastened\naway, and set out from Madrid about the middle of October. But when we\ncame to the edge of Navarre, we were alarmed at several towns on the\nway, with an account that so much snow was fallen on the French side of\nthe mountains, that several travellers were obliged to come back to\nPampeluna, after having attempted, at an extreme hazard, to pass on.\n\nWhen we came to Pampeluna itself, we found it so indeed; and to me that\nhad been always used to a hot climate, and indeed to countries where we\ncould scarce bear any clothes on, the cold was insufferable; nor,\nindeed, was it more painful than it was surprising: to come but ten days\nbefore out of the Old Castile, where the weather was not only warm, but\nvery hot, and immediately to feel a wind from the Pyrenees mountains, so\nvery keen, so severely cold, as to be intolerable, and to endanger\nbenumbing and perishing of our fingers and toes, was very strange.\n\nPoor Friday was really frighted when he saw the mountains all covered\nwith snow, and felt cold weather, which he had never seen or felt before\nin his life.\n\nTo mend the matter, after we came to Pampeluna, it continued snowing\nwith so much violence, and so long, that the people said, winter was\ncome before its time; and the roads, which were difficult before, were\nnow quite impassable: in a word, the snow lay in some places too thick\nfor us to travel; and being not hard frozen, as is the case in northern\ncountries, there was no going without being in danger of being buried\nalive every step. We staid no less than twenty days at Pampeluna; when\n(seeing the winter coming on, and no likelihood of its being better, for\nit was the severest winter all over Europe that had been known in many\nyears) proposed that we should all go away to Fontarabia, and there take\nshipping for Boardeaux, which was a very little voyage.\n\nBut while we were considering this, there came in four French gentlemen,\nwho, having been stopped on the French side of the passes, as we were on\nthe Spanish, had found out a guide, who traversing the country near the\nhead of Languedoc, had brought them over the mountains by such ways,\nthat they were not much incommoded with the snow; and where they met\nwith snow in any quantity, they said it was frozen hard enough to bear\nthem and their horses.\n\nWe sent for this guide, who told us, he would undertake to carry us the\nsame way, with no hazard from the snow, provided we were armed\nsufficiently to protect us from wild beasts: for he said, upon these\ngreat snows, it was frequent for some wolves to show themselves at the\nfoot of the mountains, being made ravenous for want of food, the ground\nbeing covered with snow. We told him we were well enough prepared for\nsuch creatures as they were, if he would ensure us from a kind of\ntwo-legged wolves, which we were told we were in most danger from,\nespecially on the French side of the mountains.\n\nHe satisfied us there was no danger of that kind in the way that we were\nto go: so we readily agreed to follow him; as did also twelve other\ngentlemen, with their servants, some French, some Spanish, who, as I\nsaid, had attempted to go, and were obliged to come back again.\n\nAccordingly we all set out from Pampeluna, with our guide, on the\nfifteenth of November; and indeed I was surprised, when, instead of\ngoing forward, he came directly back with us, on the same road that we\ncame from Madrid, above twenty miles; when having passed two rivers, and\ncome into the plain country, we found ourselves in a warm climate again,\nwhere the country was pleasant, and no snow to be seen; but on a sudden,\nturning to the left, he approached the mountains another way; and though\nit is true, the hills and the precipices looked dreadfully, yet he made\nso many tours, such meanders, and led us by such winding ways, we\ninsensibly passed the height of the mountains, without being much\nencumbered with the snow; and all on a sudden he shewed us the pleasant\nfruitful provinces of Languedoc and Gascoigne, all green and\nflourishing; though indeed they were at a great distance, and we had\nsome rough way to pass yet.\n\nWe were a little uneasy, however, when we found it snowed one whole day\nand a night, so fast, that we could not travel; but he bid us be easy,\nwe should soon be past it all: we found, indeed, that we began to\ndescend every day, and to come more north than before; and so, depending\nupon our guide, we went on.\n\nIt was about two hours before night, when our guide being something\nbefore us, and not just in sight, out rushed three monstrous wolves, and\nafter them a bear, out of a hollow way, adjoining to a thick wood. Two\nof the wolves flew upon the guide, and had he been half a mile before\nus, he had been devoured indeed, before we could have helped him; one of\nthem fastened upon his horse, and the other attacked the man with that\nviolence, that he had not time, or not presence of mind enough, to draw\nhis pistol, but hallooed and cried out to us most lustily. My man Friday\nbeing next to me, I bid him ride up, and see what was the matter. As\nsoon as Friday came in sight of the man, he hallooed, as loud as the\nother, \"O master' O master!\" But, like a bold fellow, rode directly up\nto the man, and with his pistol shot the wolf that attacked him in\nthe head.\n\nIt was happy for the poor man that it was my man Friday; for he, having\nbeen used to that kind of creature in his country, had no fear upon him,\nbut went close up to him, and shot him as above; whereas any of us would\nhave fired at a farther distance, and have perhaps either missed the\nwolf, or endangered shooting the man.\n\nBut it was enough to have terrified a bolder man than I, and indeed it\nalarmed all our company, when, with the noise of Friday's pistol, we\nheard on both sides the dismallest howlings of wolves, and the noise\nredoubled by the echo of the mountains, that it was to us as if there\nhad been a prodigious multitude of them; and perhaps indeed there was\nnot such a few, as that we had no cause of apprehensions.\n\nHowever, as Friday had killed this wolf, the other, that had fastened\nupon the horse, left him immediately, and fled, having happily fastened\nupon his head, where the bosses of the bridle had stuck in his teeth, so\nthat he had not done him much hurt; the man, indeed, was most hurt; for\nthe raging creature had bit him twice, once on the arm, and the other\ntime a little above his knee; and he was just as it were tumbling down\nby the disorder of the horse, when Friday came up and shot the wolf.\n\nIt is easy to suppose, that at the noise of Friday's pistol we all\nmended our pace, and rid up as fast as the way (which was very\ndifficult) would give us leave, to see what was the matter. As soon as\nwe came clear of the trees which blinded us before, we saw plainly what\nhad been the case, and how Friday had disengaged the poor guide; though\nwe did not presently discern what kind of creature it was he had killed.\n\nBut never was a fight managed so hardily, and in such a surprising\nmanner, as that which followed between Friday and the bear, which gave\nus all (though at first we were surprised and afraid for him) the\ngreatest diversion imaginable. As the bear is a heavy, clumsy creature,\nand does not gallop as the wolf does, which is swift and light; so he\nhas two particular qualities, which generally are the rule of his\nactions: first, as to men, who are not his proper prey, I say not his\nproper prey, because though I can't say what excessive hunger might do,\nwhich was now their case, the ground being all covered with snow; yet as\nto men, he does not usually attempt them, unless they first attack him;\non the contrary, if you meet him in the woods, if you don't meddle with\nhim, he won't meddle with you; yet then you must take care to be very\ncivil to him, and give him the road; for he is a very nice gentleman, he\nwon't go a step out of the way for a prince; nay, if you are really\nafraid, your best way is to look another way, and keep going on; for\nsometimes, if you stop, and stand still, and look steadfastly at him, he\ntakes it for an affront; and if you throw or toss any thing at him, and\nit hits him, though it were but a bit of stick as big as your finger, he\ntakes it for an affront, and sets all other business aside to pursue his\nrevenge; for he will have satisfaction in point of honour, and this is\nhis first quality; the next is, that if he be once affronted, he will\nnever leave you, night or day, till he has his revenge, but follow at a\ngood round rate till he overtakes you.\n\nMy man Friday had delivered our guide, and when we came up to him, he\nwas helping him off from his horse; for the man was both hurt and\nfrighted, and indeed the last more than the first; when, on a sudden, we\nespied the bear come out of the wood, and a very monstrous one it was,\nthe biggest by far that ever I saw: we were all a little surprised when\nwe saw him; but when Friday saw him, it was easy to see joy and courage\nin the fellow's countenance: \"O! O! O!\" says Friday, three times,\npointing to him, \"O master! you give me te leave, me shakee te hand with\nhim, me makee you good laugh.\"\n\nI was surprised to see the fellow so pleased: \"You fool you,\" said I,\n\"he will eat you up.\"--\"Eatee me up! eatee me up!\" says Friday, twice\nover again; \"me eatee him up; me make you good laugh; you all stay here,\nme shew you good laugh.\" So down he sits and gets his boots off in a\nmoment, and put on a pair of pumps, (as we call the flat shoes they\nwear) and which he had in his pocket, and gives my other servant his\nhorse, and with his gun away he flew, swift like the wind.\n\nThe bear was walking softly on, and offered to meddle with nobody, till\nFriday coming pretty near, calls to him, as if the bear could understand\nhim: \"Hark ye, hark ye,\" says Friday, \"me speakee wit you,\" We followed\nat a distance; for now being come down to the Gascoigne side of the\nmountains, we were entered a vast great forest, where the country was\nplain, and pretty open, though many trees in it scattered here\nand there.\n\nFriday, who had, as we say, the heels of the bear, came up with him\nquickly, and takes up a great stone, and throws at him, and hit him just\non the head; but did him no more harm than if he had thrown it against a\nwall; but it answered Friday's end; for the rogue was so void of fear,\nthat he did it purely to make the bear follow him, and shew us some\nlaugh, as he called it.\n\nAs soon as the bear felt the stone, and saw him, he turns about, and\ncomes after him, taking devilish long strides, and strolling along at a\nstrange rate, so as he would put a horse to a middling gallop. Away runs\nFriday, and takes his course, as if he ran towards us for help; so we\nall resolved to fire at once upon the bear, and deliver my man; though I\nwas angry at him heartily for bringing the bear back upon us, when he\nwas going about his own business another way; and especially I was angry\nthat he had turned the bear upon us, and then run away; and I called\nout, \"You dog,\" said I, \"is this your making us laugh? Come away, and\ntake your horse, that we may shoot the creature.\" He hears me, and cries\nout, \"No shoot, no shoot, stand still, you get much laugh;\" and as the\nnimble creature ran two feet for the beast's one, he turned on a sudden,\non one side of us, and seeing a great oak tree, fit for his purpose, he\nbeckoned us to follow, and doubling his pace, he gets nimbly up the\ntree, laying his gun down upon the ground, at about five or six yards\nfrom the bottom of the tree.\n\nThe bear soon came to the tree, and we followed at a distance. The first\nthing he did, he stopped at the gun, smelt to it, but let it lie, and up\nhe scrambles into the tree, climbing like a cat, though so monstrous\nheavy. I was amazed at the folly, as I thought it, of my man, and could\nnot for my life see any thing to laugh at yet, till seeing the bear get\nup the tree, we all rode nearer to him.\n\nWhen we came to the tree, there was Friday got out to the small of a\nlarge limb of the tree, and the bear got about half way to him. As soon\nas the bear got out to that part where the limb of the tree was weaker,\n\"Ha,\" says he to us, \"now you see me teachee the bear dance;\" so he\nfalls a-jumping, and shaking the bough, at which the bear began to\ntotter, but stood still, and began to look behind him, to see how he\nshould get back; then indeed we did laugh heartily. But Friday had not\ndone with him by a great deal: when he sees him stand still, he calls\nout to him again, as if he had supposed the bear could speak English,\n\"What, you come no farther? Pray you come farther.\" So he left jumping\nand shaking the bough; and the bear, just as if he understood what he\nsaid, did come a little farther; then he fell a-jumping again, and the\nbear stopped again.\n\nWe thought now was a good time to knock him on the head, and called to\nFriday to stand still, and we would shoot the bear; but he cried out\nearnestly, \"O pray! O pray! no shoot, me shoot by and then;\" he would\nhave said by and by. However, to shorten the story, Friday danced so\nmuch, and the bear stood so ticklish, that we had laughing enough\nindeed, but still could not imagine what the fellow would do; for first\nwe thought he depended upon shaking the bear off; and we found the bear\nwas too cunning for that too; for he would not get out far enough to be\nthrown down, but clings fast with his great broad claws and feet, so\nthat we could not imagine what would be the end of it, and where the\njest would be at last.\n\nBut Friday put us out of doubt quickly; for seeing the bear cling fast\nto the bough, and that he would not be persuaded to come any farther;\n\"Well, well,\" said Friday, \"you no come farther, me go, me go; you no\ncome to me, me come to you;\" and upon this he goes out to the smallest\nend of the bough, where it would bend with his weight, and gently lets\nhimself down by it, sliding down the bough, till he came near enough to\njump down on his feet; and away he ran to his gun, takes it up, and\nstands still.\n\n\"Well,\" said I to him, \"Friday, what will you do now? Why don't you\nshoot him?\"--\"No shoot,\" says Friday, \"no yet; me shoot now me no kill;\nme stay, give you one more laugh;\" and indeed so he did, as you will see\npresently; for when the bear saw his enemy gone, he comes back from the\nbough where he stood, but did it mighty leisurely, looking behind him\nevery step, and coming backward till he got into the body of the tree;\nthen with the same hinder end foremost, he came down the tree; grasping\nit with his claws, and moving one foot at a time, very leisurely. At\nthis juncture, and just before he could set his hind feet upon the\nground, Friday stepped close to him, clapped the muzzle of his piece\ninto his ear, and shot him as dead as a stone.\n\nThen the rogue turned about to see if we did not laugh; and when he saw\nwe were pleased by our looks, he falls a-laughing himself very loud; \"So\nwe kill bear in my country,\" says Friday. \"So you kill them?\" said I;\n\"why, you have no guns.\"--\"No,\" says he, \"no guns, but shoot great much\nlong arrow.\"\n\nThis was, indeed, a good diversion to us; but we were still in a wild\nplace, and our guide very much hurt, and what to do we hardly knew: the\nhowling of wolves ran much in my head; and indeed except the noise I\nonce heard on the shore of Africa, of which I have said something\nalready, I never heard any thing that filled me with so much horror.\n\nThese things, and the approach of night, called us off, or else, as\nFriday would have had us, we should certainly have taken the skin of\nthis monstrous creature off, which was worth saving; but we had three\nleagues to go, and our guide hastened us; so we left him, and went\nforward on our journey.\n\nThe ground was still covered with snow, though not so deep and dangerous\nas on the mountains; and the ravenous creatures, as we heard afterwards,\nwere come down into the forest and plain country, pressed by hunger, to\nseek for food, and had done a great deal of mischief in the villages,\nwhere they surprised the country-people, killed a great many of their\nsheep and horses, and some people too.\n\nWe had one dangerous place to pass, of which our guide told us, if there\nwere any more wolves in the country, we should find them there; and this\nwas a small plain, surrounded with woods on every side, and a long\nnarrow defile or lane, which we were to pass to get through the wood,\nand then we should come to the village where we were to lodge.\n\nIt was within half an hour of sunset when we entered the first wood; and\na little after sunset, when we came into the plain. We met with nothing\nin the first wood, except that in a little plain within the wood, which\nwas not above two furlongs over, we saw five great wolves cross the\nroad, full speed one after another, as if they had been in chase of some\nprey, and had it in view: they took no notice of us, and were gone and\nout of sight in a few moments.\n\nUpon this our guide, who, by the way, was a wretched faint-hearted\nfellow, bade us keep in a ready posture; for he believed there were more\nwolves a-coming.\n\nWe kept our arms ready, and our eyes about us; but we saw no more wolves\ntill we came through that wood, which was near half a league, and\nentered the plain: as soon as we came into the plain, we had occasion\nenough to look about us. The first object we met with was a dead horse,\nthat is to say, a poor horse which the wolves had killed, and at least a\ndozen of them at work; we could not say eating of him, but picking of\nhis bones rather; for they had eaten up all the flesh before.\n\nWe did not think fit to disturb them at their feast, neither did they\ntake much notice of us: Friday would have let fly at them, but I would\nnot suffer him by any means; for I found we were like to have more\nbusiness upon our hands than we were aware of. We were not half gone\nover the plain, but we began to hear the wolves howl in the woods, on\nour left, in a frightful manner; and presently after we saw about a\nhundred coming on directly towards us, all in a body, and most of them\nin a line, as regularly as an army drawn up by experienced officers. I\nscarce knew in what manner to receive them; but found to draw ourselves\nin a close line was the only way; so we formed in a moment; but, that we\nmight not have too much interval, I ordered, that only every other man\nshould fire; and that the others, who had not fired, should stand ready\nto give them a second volley immediately, if they continued to advance\nupon us; and that then those who had fired at first, should not pretend\nto load their fusils again, but stand ready, with every one a pistol,\nfor we were all armed with a fusil and a pair of pistols each man; so we\nwere, by this method, able to fire six vollies, half of us at a time;\nhowever, at present we had no necessity; for, upon firing the first\nvolley, the enemy made a full stop, being terrified, as well with the\nnoise as with the fire; four of them being shot in the head, dropped;\nseveral others were wounded, and went bleeding off, as we could see by\nthe snow. I found they stopped, but did not immediately retreat;\nwhereupon, remembering that I had been told, that the fiercest creatures\nwere terrified at the voice of a man, I caused all our company to halloo\nas loud as we could, and I found the notion not altogether mistaken; for\nupon our shout, they began to retire, and turn about; then I ordered a\nsecond volley to be fired in their rear, which put them to the gallop,\nand away they went to the woods.\n\nThis gave us leisure to charge our pieces again, and that we might lose\nno time, we kept doing; but we had but little more than loaded our\nfusils, and put ourselves into a readiness, when we heard a terrible\nnoise in the same wood on our left; only that it was farther onward the\nsame way we were to go.\n\nThe night was coming on, and the night began to be dusky, which made it\nthe worse on our side; but, the noise increasing, we could easily\nperceive that it was the howling and yelling of those hellish creatures;\nand, on a sudden, we perceived two or three troops of wolves on our\nleft, one behind us, and one on our front, so that we seemed to be\nsurrounded with them; however, as they did not fall upon us, we kept our\nway forward, as fast as we could make our horses go, which, the way\nbeing very rough, was only a good large trot; and in this manner we only\ncame in view of the entrance of the wood through which we were to pass,\nat the farther side of the plain; but we were greatly surprised, when,\ncoming near the lane, or pass, we saw a confused number of wolves\nstanding just at the entrance.\n\nOn a sudden, at another opening of the wood, we heard the noise of a\ngun; and, looking that way, out rushed a horse, with a saddle and a\nbridle on him, flying like the wind, and sixteen or seventeen wolves\nafter him full speed: indeed the horse had the heels of them; but as we\nsupposed that he could not hold it at that rate, we doubted not but they\nwould get up with him at last; and no question but they did.\n\nHere we had a most horrible sight; for, riding up to the entrance where\nthe horse came out, we found the carcass of another horse, and of two\nmen devoured by these ravenous creatures, and of one the man was no\ndoubt the same whom we heard fire a gun, for there lay a gun just by him\nfired off; but as to the man, his head, and the upper part of his body,\nwere eaten up.\n\nThis filled us with horror, and we knew not what course to take; but the\ncreatures resolved us soon, for they gathered about us presently, in\nhopes of prey; and I verily believe there were three hundred of them. It\nhappened very much to our advantage, that at the entrance into the wood,\nbut a little way from it, there by some large timber trees, which had\nbeen cut down the summer before, and I suppose lay there for carriage: I\ndrew my little troop in among these trees, and placing ourselves in a\nline behind one long tree, I advised them all to alight, and keeping\nthat tree before us for a breastwork, to stand in a triangle, or three\nfronts, enclosing our horses in the centre.\n\nWe did so, and it was well we did; for never was a more furious charge\nthan the creatures made upon us in this place; they came on us with a\ngrowling kind of a noise, and mounted the piece of timber (which, as I\nsaid, was our breastwork,) as if they were only rushing upon their prey;\nand this fury of theirs, it seems, was principally occasioned by their\nseeing our horses behind us, which was the prey they aimed at. I ordered\nour men to fire as before, every man; and they took their aim so sure,\nthat indeed they killed several of the wolves at the first volley; but\nthere was a necessity to keep a continual firing, for they came on like\ndevils, those behind pushing on those before.\n\nWhen we had fired our second volley of fusils, we thought they stopped a\nlittle, and I hoped they would have gone off, but it was but a moment,\nfor others came forward again; so we fired our vollies of pistols; and I\nbelieve in these four firings we killed seventeen or eighteen of them,\nand lamed twice as many; yet they came on again.\n\nI was loath to spend our last shot too hastily; so I called my servant,\nnot my man Friday, for he was better employed; for, with the greatest\ndexterity imaginable, he charged my fusil and his own, while we were\nengaged; but, as I said, I called my other man; and giving him a horn of\npowder, I bade him lay a train all along the piece of timber, and let it\nbe a large train; he did so, and had but time to get away, when the\nwolves came up to it, and some were got up upon it; when I, snapping an\nuncharged pistol close to the powder, set it on fire; and those that\nwere upon the timber were scorched with it, and six or seven of them\nfell, or rather jumped in among us, with the force and fright of the\nfire; we dispatched these in an instant, and the rest were so frighted\nwith the light, which the night, for now it was very near dark, made\nmore terrible, that they drew back a little.\n\nUpon which I ordered our last pistols to be fired off in one volley, and\nafter that we gave a shout; upon this the wolves turned tail, and we\nsallied immediately upon near twenty lame ones, which we found\nstruggling on the ground, and fell a-cutting them with our swords, which\nanswered our expectation; for the crying and howling they made were\nbetter understood by their fellows; so that they fled and left us.\n\nWe had, first and last, killed about three score of them; and had it\nbeen daylight, we had killed many more. The field of battle being thus\ncleared, we made forward again; for we had still near a league to go. We\nheard the ravenous creatures howl and yell in the woods as we went,\nseveral times; and sometimes we fancied we saw some of them, but the\nsnow dazzling our eyes, we were not certain; so in about an hour more we\ncame to the town, where we were to lodge, which we found in a terrible\nfright, and all in arms; for it seems, that, the night before, the\nwolves and some bears had broken into that village, and put them in a\nterrible fright; and they were obliged to keep guard night and day, but\nespecially in the night, to preserve their cattle, and indeed\ntheir people.\n\nThe next morning our guide was so ill, and his limbs so swelled with the\nrankling of his two wounds, that he could go no farther; so we were\nobliged to take a new guide there, and go to Tholouse, where we found a\nwarm climate, a fruitful pleasant country, and no snow, no wolves, or\nany thing like them; but when we told our story at Tholouse, they told\nus it was nothing but what was ordinary in the great forest at the foot\nof the mountains, especially when the snow lay on the ground; but they\ninquired much what kind of a guide we had gotten, that would venture to\nbring us that way in such a severe season; and told us, it was very much\nwe were not all devoured. When we told them how we placed ourselves, and\nthe horses in the middle, they blamed us exceedingly, and told us it was\nfifty to one but we had been all destroyed; for it was the sight of the\nhorses that made the wolves so furious, seeing their prey; and that at\nother times they are really afraid of a gun; but they being excessive\nhungry, and raging on that account, the eagerness to come at the horses\nhad made them senseless of danger; and that if we had not by the\ncontinued fire, and at last by the stratagem of the train of powder,\nmastered them, it had been great odds but that we had been torn to\npieces; whereas, had we been content to have sat still on horseback, and\nfired as horsemen, they would not have taken the horses so much for\ntheir own, when men were on their backs, as otherwise; and withal they\ntold us, that at last, if we had stood all together, and left our\nhorses, they would have been so eager to have devoured them, that we\nmight have come off safe, especially having our fire-arms in our hands,\nand being so many in number.\n\nFor my part, I was never so sensible of danger in my life; for seeing\nabove three hundred devils come roaring and open-mouthed to devour us,\nand having nothing to shelter us, or retreat to, I gave myself over for\nlost; and as it was, I believe, I shall never care to cross those\nmountains again; I think I would much rather go a thousand leagues by\nsea, though I were sure to meet with a storm once a week.\n\nI have nothing uncommon to take notice of in my passage through France;\nnothing but what other travellers have given an account of, with much\nmore advantage than I can. I travelled from Tholouse to Paris, and\nwithout any considerable stay came to Calais, and landed safe at Dover,\nthe fourteenth of January, after having had a severe cold season to\ntravel in.\n\nI was now come to the centre of my travels, and had in a little time all\nmy new-discovered estate safe about me, the bills of exchange, which I\nbrought with me, having been very currently paid.\n\nMy principal guide and privy-counsellor was my good ancient widow, who,\nin gratitude for the money I had sent her, thought no pains too much, or\ncare too great, to employ for me; and I trusted her so entirely with\nevery thing, that I was perfectly easy as to the security of my effects;\nand indeed I was very happy from my beginning, and now to the end, in\nthe unspotted integrity of this good gentlewoman.\n\nAnd now I began to think of leaving my effects with this woman, and\nsetting out for Lisbon, and so to the Brasils. But now another scruple\ncame in the way, and that was religion; for as I had entertained some\ndoubts about the Roman religion, even while I was abroad, especially in\nmy state of solitude; so I knew there was no going to the Brasils for\nme, much less going to settle there, unless I resolved to embrace the\nRoman Catholic religion, without any reserve; except on the other hand I\nresolved to be a sacrifice to my principles, be a martyr for religion,\nand die in the Inquisition: so I resolved to stay at home, and, if I\ncould find means for it, to dispose of my plantation.\n\nTo this purpose I wrote to my old friend at Lisbon, who in return gave\nme notice, that he could easily dispose of it there: but that if I\nthought fit to give him leave to offer it in my name to the two\nmerchants, the survivors of my trustees, who lived in the Brasils, who\nmust fully understand the value of it, who lived just upon the spot, and\nwho I knew to be very rich, so that he believed they would be fond of\nbuying it; he did not doubt, but I should make 4 or 5000 pieces of eight\nthe more of it.\n\nAccordingly I agreed, gave him orders to offer it to them, and he did\nso; and in about eight months more, the ship being then returned, he\nsent me an account, that they had accepted the offer, and had remitted\n33,000 pieces of eight to a correspondent of theirs at Lisbon, to\npay for it.\n\nIn return, I signed the instrument of sale in the form which they sent\nfrom Lisbon, and sent it to my old man, who sent me the bills of\nexchange for 32,800 pieces of eight for the estate; reserving the\npayment of 100 moidores a year, to him (the old man) during his life,\nand 50 moidores afterwards to his son for his life, which I had promised\nthem; and which the plantation was to make good as a rent charge. And\nthus I have given the first part of a life of fortune and adventure, a\nlife of Providence's chequer-work, and of a variety which the world will\nseldom be able to shew the like of: beginning foolishly, but closing\nmuch more happily than any part of it ever gave me leave to much as\nto hope for.\n\nAny one would think, that in this state of complicated good fortune, I\nwas past running any more hazards, and so indeed I had been, if other\ncircumstances had concurred: but I was inured to a wandering life, had\nno family, nor many relations; nor, however rich, had I contracted much\nacquaintance; and though I had sold my estate in the Brasils, yet I\ncould not keep that country out of my head, and had a great mind to be\nupon the wing again; especially I could not resist the strong\ninclination I had to see my island, and to know if the poor Spaniards\nwere in being there; and how the rogues I left there had used them.\n\nMy true friend the widow earnestly dissuaded me from it, and so far\nprevailed with me, that almost for seven years she prevented my running\nabroad; during which time I took my two nephews, the children of one of\nmy brothers, into my care: the eldest having something of his own, I\nbred up as a gentleman and gave him a settlement of some addition to his\nestate, after my decease; the other I put out to a captain of a ship;\nand after five years, finding him a sensible, bold, enterprising young\nfellow, I put him into a good ship, and sent him to sea: and this young\nfellow afterwards drew me in, as old as I was, to farther\nadventures myself.\n\nIn the meantime, I in part settled myself here; for, first of all, I\nmarried, and that not either to my disadvantage or dissatisfaction; and\nhad three children, two sons and one daughter: but my wife dying, and my\nnephew coming home with good success from a voyage to Spain, my\ninclination to go abroad, and his importunity, prevailed, and engaged me\nto go in his ship as a private trader to the East Indies. This in the\nyear 1694.\n\nIn this voyage I visited my new colony in the island, saw my successors\nthe Spaniards, had the whole story of their lives, and of the villains I\nleft there; how at first they insulted the poor Spaniards, how they\nafterwards agreed, disagreed, united, separated, and how at last the\nSpaniards were obliged to use violence with them; how they were\nsubjected to the Spaniards; how honestly the Spaniards used them; an\nhistory, if it were entered into, as full of variety and wonderful\naccidents as my own part: particularly also as to their battles with the\nCaribbeans, who landed several times upon the island, and as to the\nimprovement they made upon the island itself; and how five of them made\nan attempt upon the main land, and brought away eleven men and five\nwomen prisoners; by which, at my coming, I found about twenty young\nchildren on the island.\n\nHere I stayed about twenty days; left them supplies of all necessary\nthings, and particularly of arms, powder, shot, clothes, tools, and two\nworkmen, which I brought from England with me; viz. a carpenter and\na smith.\n\nBesides this, I shared the lands into parts with them, reserved to\nmyself the property of the whole, but gave them such parts respectively,\nas they agreed on; and, having settled all things with them, and engaged\nthem not to leave the place, I left them there.\n\nFrom thence I touched at the Brasils, from whence I sent a bark, which I\nbought there, with more people to the island; and in it, besides other\nsupplies, I sent seven women, being such as I found proper for service,\nor for wives to such as would take them. As for the Englishmen, I\npromised them to send them some women from England, with a good cargo of\nnecessaries, if they would apply themselves to planting; which I\nafterwards could not perform: the fellows proved very honest and\ndiligent, after they were mastered, and had their properties set apart\nfor them, I sent them also from the Brasils five cows, three of them\nbeing big with calf, some sheep, and some hogs, which, when I came\nagain, were considerably increased.\n\nBut all these things, with an account how three hundred Caribbees came\nand invaded them, and ruined their plantations, and how they fought with\nthat whole number twice, and were at first defeated and some of them\nkilled; but at last a storm destroying their enemies' canoes, they\nfamished or destroyed almost all the rest, and renewed and recovered the\npossession of their plantation, and still lived upon the island:--\n\nAll these things, with some very surprising incidents in some new\nadventures of my own, for ten years more I may, perhaps, give a further\naccount of hereafter.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat homely proverb used on so many occasions in England, viz. \"That\nwhat is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh,\" was never more\nverified than in the story of my Life. Any one would think, that after\nthirty-five years affliction, and a variety of unhappy circumstances,\nwhich few men, if any, ever went through before, and after near seven\nyears of peace and enjoyment in the fulness of all things; grown old,\nand when, if ever, it might be allowed me to have had experience of\nevery state of middle life, and to know which was most adapted to make a\nman completely happy; I say, after all this, any one would have thought\nthat the native propensity to rambling, which I gave an account of in my\nfirst setting out into the world to have been so predominant in my\nthoughts, should be worn out, the volatile part be fully evacuated, or\nat least condensed, and I might at sixty-one years of age have been a\nlittle inclined to stay at home, and have done venturing life and\nfortune any more.\n\nNay farther, the common motive of foreign adventures was taken away in\nme; for I had no fortune to make, I had nothing to seek: if I had gained\nten thousand pounds, I had been no richer; for I had already sufficient\nfor me, and for those I had to leave it to, and that I had was visibly\nincreasing; for having no great family, I could not spend the income of\nwhat I had, unless I would set up for an expensive way of living, such\nas a great family, servants, equipage, gaiety, and the like, which were\nthings I had no notion of, or inclination to; so that I had nothing\nindeed to do, but to sit still, and fully enjoy what I had got, and see\nit increase daily upon my hands.\n\nYet all these things, had no effect upon me, or at least not enough to\nresist the strong inclination I had to go abroad again, which hung about\nme like a chronical distemper; particularly the desire of seeing my new\nplantation in the island, and the colony I left there, ran in my head\ncontinually. I dreamed of it all night, and my imagination ran upon it\nall day; it was uppermost in all my thoughts, and my fancy worked so\nsteadily and strongly upon it, that I talked of it in my sleep; in\nshort, nothing could remove it out of my mind; it even broke so\nviolently into all my discourses, that it made my conversation tiresome;\nfor I could talk of nothing else, all my discourse ran into it, even to\nimpertinence, and I saw it myself.\n\nI have often heard persons of good judgment say, that all the stir\npeople make in the world about ghosts and apparitions, is owing to the\nstrength of imagination, and the powerful operation of fancy in their\nminds; that there is no such thing as a spirit appearing, or a ghost\nwalking, and the like; that people's poring affectionately upon the past\nconversation of their deceased friends so realizes it to them, that they\nare capable of fancying upon some extraordinary circumstances that they\nsee them, talk to them, and are answered by them, when, in truth, there\nis nothing but shadow and vapour in the thing; and they really know\nnothing of the matter.\n\nFor my part, I know not to this hour whether there are any such things\nas real apparitions, spectres, or walking of people after they are dead,\nor whether there is any thing in the stories they tell us of that kind,\nmore than the product of vapours, sick minds, and wandering fancies. But\nthis I know, that my imagination worked up to such a height, and brought\nme into such excess of vapours, or what else I may call it, that I\nactually supposed myself oftentimes upon the spot, at my old castle\nbehind the trees, saw my old Spaniard, Friday's father, and the\nreprobate sailors whom I left upon the island; nay, I fancied I talked\nwith them, and looked at them so steadily, though I was broad awake, as\nat persons just before me; and this I did till I often frightened myself\nwith the images my fancy represented to me: one time in my sleep I had\nthe villany of the three pirate sailors so lively related to me, by the\nfirst Spaniard and Friday's father, that it was surprising; they told me\nhow they barbarously attempted to murder all the Spaniards, and that\nthey set fire to the provisions they had laid up, on purpose to distress\nand starve them; things that I had never heard of, and that were yet all\nof them true in fact; but it was so warm in my imagination, and so\nrealized to me, that to the hour I saw them, I could not be persuaded\nbut that it was or would be true; also how I resented it when the\nSpaniard complained to me, and how I brought them to justice, tried them\nbefore me, and ordered them all three to be hanged. What there was\nreally in this, shall be seen in its place; for however I came to form\nsuch things in my dream, and what secret converse of spirits injected\nit, yet there was, I say, very much of it true. I own, that this dream\nhad nothing literally and specifically true; but the general part was so\ntrue, the base and villanous behaviour of these three hardened rogues\nwas such, and had been so much worse than all I can describe, that the\ndream had too much similitude of the fact; and as I would afterwards\nhave punished them severely, so if I had hanged them all, I had been\nmuch in the right, and should have been justifiable both by the laws of\nGod and man.\n\nBut to return to my story.--In this kind of temper I had lived some\nyears, I had no enjoyment of my life, no pleasant hours, no agreeable\ndiversion but what had something or other of this in it; so that my\nwife, who saw my mind so wholly bent upon it, told me very seriously one\nnight, that she believed there was some secret powerful impulse of\nProvidence upon me, which had determined me to go thither again; and\nthat she found nothing hindered my going, but my being engaged to a wife\nand children. She told me, that it was true she could not think of\nparting with me; but as she was assured, that if she was dead it would\nbe the first thing I would do; so, as it seemed to her that the thing\nwas determined above, she would not be the only obstruction; for if I\nthought fit, and resolved to go--Here she found me very intent upon her\nwords, and that I looked very earnestly at her; so that it a little\ndisordered her, and she stopped. I asked her why she did not go on, and\nsay out what she was going to say? But I perceived her heart was too\nfull, and some tears stood in her eyes: \"Speak out, my dear,\" said I;\n\"are you willing I should go?\"--\"No,\" says she, very affectionately, \"I\nam far from willing: but if you are resolved to go,\" says she, \"and\nrather than I will be the only hindrance, I will go with you; for though\nI think it a preposterous thing for one of your years, and in your\ncondition, yet if it must be,\" said she again, weeping, \"I won't leave\nyou; for if it be of Heaven, you must do it; there is no resisting it;\nand if Heaven makes it your duty to go, he will also make it mine to go\nwith you, or otherwise dispose of me, that I may not obstruct it.\"\n\nThis affectionate behaviour of my wife brought me a little out of the\nvapours, and I began to consider what I was doing; I corrected my\nwandering fancy, and began to argue with myself sedately, what business\nI had, after threescore years, and after such a life of tedious\nsufferings and disasters, and closed in so happy and easy a manner, I\nsay, what business had I to rush into new hazards, and put myself upon\nadventures, fit only for youth and poverty to run into?\n\nWith those thoughts, I considered my new engagement; that I had a wife,\none child born, and my wife then great with child of another; that I had\nall the world could give me and had no need to seek hazards for gain;\nthat I was declining in years, and ought to think rather of leaving what\nI had gained, than of seeking to increase it; that as to what my wife\nhad said, of its being an impulse from Heaven, and that it should be my\nduty to go, I had no notion of that; so after many of these cogitations,\nI struggled with the power of my imagination, reasoned myself out of it,\n_as I believe people may always do in like cases, if they will_; and, in\na word, I conquered it; composed myself with such arguments as occurred\nto my thoughts, and which my present condition furnished me plentifully\nwith; and particularly, as the most effectual method, I resolved to\ndivert myself with other things, and to engage in some business that\nmight effectually tie me up from any more excursions of this kind; for I\nfound the thing return upon me chiefly when I was idle, had nothing to\ndo, or any thing of moment immediately before me.\n\nTo this purpose I bought a little farm in the county of Bedford, and\nresolved to remove myself thither. I had a little convenient house upon\nit, and the land about it I found was capable of great improvement, and\nthat it was many ways suited to my inclination, which delighted in\ncultivating, managing, planting, and improving of land; and\nparticularly, being an inland country, I was removed from conversing\namong ships, sailors, and things relating to the remote part of\nthe world.\n\nIn a word, I went down to my farm, settled my family, bought me ploughs,\nharrows, a cart, waggon, horses, cows, sheep; and setting seriously to\nwork, became in one half year a mere country gentleman; my thoughts were\nentirely taken up in managing my servants, cultivating the ground,\nenclosing, planting, &c.; and I lived, as I thought, the most agreeable\nlife that nature was capable of directing, or that a man always bred to\nmisfortunes was capable of being retreated to.\n\nI farmed upon my own land, I had no rent to pay, was limited by no\narticles; I could pull up or cut down as I pleased; what I planted was\nfor myself, and what I improved, was for my family; and having thus left\noff the thoughts of wandering, I had not the least discomfort in any\npart of my life, as to this world. Now I thought indeed, that I enjoyed\nthe middle state of life which my father so earnestly recommended to me,\na kind of heavenly life, something like what is described by the poet\nupon the subject of a country life:\n\n     Free from vices, free from care,\n     Age has no pains, and youth no snare.\n\nBut in the middle of all this felicity, one blow from unforeseen\nProvidence unhinged me at once; and not only made a breach upon me,\ninevitable and incurable, but drove me, by its consequence, upon a deep\nrelapse into the wandering disposition; which, as I may say, being born\nin my very blood, soon recovered its hold of me, and, like the returns\nof a violent distemper, came on with an irresistible force upon me; so\nthat nothing could make any more impression upon me. This blow was the\nloss of my wife.\n\nIt is not my business here to write an elegy upon my wife, to give a\ncharacter of her particular virtues, and make my court to the sex by the\nflattery of a funeral sermon. She was, in a few words, the stay of all\nmy affairs, the centre of all my enterprises, the engine that by her\nprudence reduced me to that happy compass I was in, from the most\nextravagant and ruinous project that fluttered in my head as above; and\ndid more to guide my rambling genius, than a mother's tears, a father's\ninstructions, a friend's counsel, or all my own reasoning powers could\ndo. I was happy in listening to her tears, and in being moved by her\nentreaties, and to the last degree desolate and dislocated in the world\nby the loss of her.\n\nWhen she was gone the world looked awkwardly round me, I was as much a\nstranger in it in my thoughts as I was in the Brasils when I went first\non shore there; and as much alone, except as to the assistance of\nservants, as I was in my island. I knew neither what to do, or what not\nto do; I saw the world busy round me, one part labouring for bread, and\nthe other part squandering in vile excesses or empty pleasures, equally\nmiserable, because the end they proposed still fled from them; for the\nmen of pleasure every day surfeited of their vice, and heaped up work\nfor sorrow and repentance, and the men of labour spent their strength in\ndaily strugglings for bread to maintain the vital strength they laboured\nwith; so living in a daily circulation of sorrow, living but to work,\nand working but to live, as if daily bread were the only end of a\nwearisome life, and a wearisome life the only occasion of daily bread.\n\nThis put me in mind of the life I lived in my kingdom the island, where\nI suffered no more corn to grow, because I did not want it; and bred no\nmore goats, because I had no more use for them; where the money lay in\nthe drawer till it grew mildewed, and had scarce the favour to be looked\nupon in twenty years.\n\nAll these things, had I improved them as I ought to have done, and as\nreason and religion had dictated to me, would have taught me to search\nfarther than human enjoyments for a full felicity, and that there was\nsomething which certainly was the reason and end of life, superior to\nall these things, and which was either to be possessed, or at least\nhoped for, on this side the grave.\n\nBut my sage counsellor was gone, I was like a ship without a pilot, that\ncould only run before the wind; my thoughts run all away again into the\nold affair, my head was quite turned with the whimsies of foreign\nadventures; and all the pleasing innocent amusements of my farm and my\ngarden, my cattle and my family, which before entirely possessed me,\nwere nothing to me, had no relish, and were like music to one that has\nno ear, or food to one that has no taste: in a word, I resolved to leave\noff housekeeping, let my farm, and return to London; and in a few months\nafter I did so.\n\nWhen I came to London I was still as uneasy as before; I had no relish\nto the place, no employment in it, nothing to do but to saunter about\nlike an idle person, of whom it may be said, he is perfectly useless in\nGod's creation, and it is not one farthing matter to the rest of his\nkind whether he be dead or alive. This also was the thing which of all\ncircumstances of life was the most my aversion, who had been all my days\nused to an active life; and I would often say to myself, \"A state of\nidleness is the very dregs of life;\" and indeed I thought I was much\nmore suitably employed when I was twenty-six days making me a\ndeal board.\n\nIt was now the beginning of the year 1693, when my nephew, whom, as I\nhave observed before, I had brought up to the sea, and had made him\ncommander of a ship, was come home from a short voyage to Bilboa, being\nthe first he had made; he came to me, and told me, that some merchants\nof his acquaintance had been proposing to him to go a voyage for them to\nthe East Indies and to China, as private traders; \"And now, uncle,\" says\nhe, \"if you will go to sea with me, I'll engage to land you upon your\nold habitation in the island, for we are to touch at the Brasils.\"\n\nNothing can be a greater demonstration of a future state, and of the\nexistence of an invisible world, than the concurrence of second causes\nwith the ideas of things which we form in our minds, perfectly reserved,\nand not communicated to any in the world.\n\nMy nephew knew nothing how far my distemper of wandering was returned\nupon me, and I knew nothing of what he had in his thoughts to say, when\nthat very morning, before he came to me, I had, in a great deal of\nconfusion of thought, and revolving every part of my circumstances in my\nmind, come to this resolution, viz. that I would go to Lisbon, and\nconsult with my old sea-captain; and so, if it was rational and\npracticable, I would go and see the island again, and see what was\nbecome of my people there. I had pleased myself also with the thoughts\nof peopling the place, and carrying inhabitants from hence, getting a\npatent for the possession, and I know not what; when in the middle of\nall this, in comes my nephew, as I have said, with his project of\ncarrying me thither, in his way to the East Indies.\n\nI paused awhile at his words, and looking steadily at him, \"What devil,\"\nsaid I, \"sent you of this unlucky errand?\" My nephew startled, as if he\nhad been frighted at first; but perceiving I was not much displeased\nwith the proposal, he recovered himself. \"I hope it may not be an\nunlucky proposal, Sir,\" says he; \"I dare say you would be pleased to see\nyour new colony there, where you once reigned with more felicity than\nmost of your brother-monarchs in the world.\"\n\nIn a word, the scheme hit so exactly with my temper, that is to say,\nwith the prepossession I was under, and of which I have said so much,\nthat I told him, in a few words, if he agreed with the merchants I would\ngo with him: but I told him I would not promise to go any farther than\nmy own island. \"Why, Sir,\" says he, \"you don't want to be left there\nagain, I hope?\"--\"Why,\" said I, \"can you not take me up again in your\nreturn?\" He told me, it could not be possible that the merchants would\nallow him to come that way with a loaden ship of such value, it being a\nmonth's sail out of his way, and might be three or four: \"Besides, Sir,\nif I should miscarry,\" said he, \"and not return at all, then you would\nbe just reduced to the condition you were in before.\"\n\nThis was very rational; but we both found out a remedy for it, which was\nto carry a framed sloop on board the ship, which, being taken in pieces\nand shipped on board the ship, might, by the help of some carpenters,\nwhom we agreed to carry with us, be set up again in the island, and\nfinished, fit to go to sea in a few days.\n\nI was not long resolving; for indeed the importunities of my nephew\njoined in so effectually with my inclination, that nothing could oppose\nme: on the other hand, my wife being dead, I had nobody concerned\nthemselves so much for me, as to persuade me one way or other, except my\nancient good friend the widow, who earnestly struggled with me to\nconsider my years, my easy circumstances, and the needless hazard of a\nlong voyage; and, above all, my young children: but it was all to no\npurpose; I had an irresistible desire to the voyage; and I told her I\nthought there was something so uncommon in the impressions I had upon\nmy mind for the voyage, that it would be a kind of resisting Providence,\nif I should attempt to stay at home; after which she ceased her\nexpostulations, and joined with me, not only in making provision for my\nvoyage, but also in settling my family affairs in my absence, and\nproviding for the education of my children.\n\nIn order to this I made my will, and settled the estate I had in such a\nmanner for my children, and placed in such hands, that I was perfectly\neasy and satisfied they would have justice done them, whatever might\nbefal me; and for their education, I left it wholly to my widow, with a\nsufficient maintenance to herself for her care: all which she richly\ndeserved; for no mother could have taken more care in their education,\nor understood it better; and as she lived till I came home, I also lived\nto thank her for it.\n\nMy nephew was ready to sail about the beginning of January 1694--5, and\nI with my man Friday went on board in the Downs the 8th, having, besides\nthat sloop which I mentioned above, a very considerable cargo of all\nkinds of necessary things for my colony, which if I did not find in good\ncondition, I resolved to leave so.\n\nFirst, I carried with me some servants, whom I purposed to place there\nas inhabitants, or at least to set on work there upon my own account\nwhile I stayed, and either to leave them there, or carry them forward,\nas they should appear willing; particularly, I carried two carpenters, a\nsmith, and a very handy, ingenious fellow, who was a cooper by trade,\nbut was also a general mechanic; for he was dexterous at making wheels,\nand hand-mills to grind corn, was a good turner, and a good potmaker; he\nalso made any thing that was proper to make of earth, or of wood; in a\nword, we called him our Jack of all Trades.\n\nWith these I carried a tailor, who had offered himself to go passenger\nto the East Indies with my nephew, but afterwards consented to stay on\nour new plantation, and proved a most necessary handy fellow as could\nbe desired, in many other businesses besides that of this trade; for, as\nI observed formerly, necessity arms us for all employments.\n\nMy cargo, as near as I can recollect, for I have not kept an account of\nthe particulars, consisted of a sufficient quantity of linen, and some\nthin English stuffs for clothing the Spaniards that I expected to find\nthere, and enough of them as by my calculation might comfortably supply\nthem for seven years: if I remember right, the materials which I carried\nfor clothing them, with gloves, hats, shoes, stockings, and all such\nthings as they could want for wearing, amounted to above two hundred\npounds, including some beds, bedding, and household-stuff, particularly\nkitchen utensils, with pots, kettles, pewter, brass, &c. besides near a\nhundred pounds more in iron-work, nails, tools of every kind, staples,\nhooks, hinges, and every necessary thing I could think of.\n\nI carried also a hundred spare arms, muskets, and fuzees, besides some\npistols, a considerable quantity of shot of all sizes, three or four\ntons of lead, and two pieces of brass cannon; and because I knew not\nwhat time and what extremities I was providing for, I carried an hundred\nbarrels of powder, besides swords, cutlasses, and the iron part of some\npikes and halberts; so that, in short, we had a large magazine of all\nsorts of stores; and I made my nephew carry two small quarter-deck guns\nmore than he wanted for his ship, to leave behind if there was occasion;\nthat when they came there we might build a fort, and man it against all\nsorts of enemies: and indeed I at first thought there would be need\nenough of it all, and much more, if we hoped to maintain our possession\nof the island, as shall be seen in the course of the story.\n\nI had not such bad luck in this voyage as I had been used to meet with;\nand therefore shall have the less occasion to interrupt the reader, who\nperhaps may be impatient to hear how matters went with my colony; yet\nsome odd accidents, cross winds, and bad weather happened on this first\nsetting out, which made the voyage longer than I expected it at first;\nand I, who had never made but one voyage, viz. my first voyage to\nGuinea, in which I might be said to come back again as the voyage was at\nfirst designed, began to think the same ill fate still attended me; and\nthat I was born to be never contented with being on shore, and yet to be\nalways unfortunate at sea.\n\nContrary winds first put us to the northward, and we were obliged to put\nin at Galway, in Ireland, where we lay wind bound two-and-thirty days;\nbut we had this satisfaction with the disaster, that provisions were\nhere, exceeding cheap, and in the utmost plenty; so that while we lay\nhere we never touched the ship's stores, but rather added to them: here\nalso I took several hogs, and two cows with their calves, which I\nresolved, if I had a good passage, to put on shore in my island; but we\nfound occasion to dispose otherwise of them.\n\nWe set out the 5th of February from Ireland, and had a very fair gale of\nwind for some days; as I remember, it might be about the 20th of\nFebruary in the evening late, when the mate having the watch, came into\nthe round-house, and told us he saw a flash of fire, and heard a gun\nfired; and while he was telling us of it, a boy came in, and told us the\nboatswain heard another. This made us all run out upon the quarter-deck,\nwhere for a while we heard nothing, but in a few minutes we saw a very\ngreat light, and found that there was some very terrible fire at a\ndistance. Immediately we had recourse to our reckonings, in which we all\nagreed that there could be no land that way in which the fire shewed\nitself, no, not for five hundred leagues, for it appeared at W.N.W. Upon\nthis we concluded it must be some ship on fire at sea; and as by our\nhearing the noise of guns just before, we concluded it could not be far\noff, we stood directly towards it, and were presently satisfied we\nshould discover it, because the farther we sailed the greater the light\nappeared, though the weather being hazy we could not perceive any thing\nbut the light for a while; in about half an hour's sailing, the wind\nbeing fair for us, though not much of it, and the weather clearing up a\nlittle, we could plainly discern that it was a great ship on fire in the\nmiddle of the sea.\n\nI was most sensibly touched with this disaster, though not at all\nacquainted with the persons engaged in it; I presently recollected my\nformer circumstances, in what condition I was in when taken up by the\nPortugal captain; and how much more deplorable the circumstances of the\npoor creatures belonging to this ship must be if they had no other ship\nin company with them: upon this I immediately ordered that five guns\nshould be fired, one soon after another, that, if possible, we might\ngive notice to them that there was help for them at hand, and that they\nmight endeavour to save themselves in their boat; for though we could\nsee the flame in the ship, yet they, it being night, could see\nnothing of us.\n\nWe lay by some time upon this, only driving as the burning ship drove,\nwaiting for daylight; when on a sudden, to our great terror, though we\nhad reason to expect it, the ship blew up in the air, and immediately\nsunk. This was terrible, and indeed an afflicting sight, for the sake of\nthe poor men, who, I concluded, must be either all destroyed in the\nship, or be in the utmost distress in their boats in the middle of the\nocean, which, at present, by reason it was dark, I could not see:\nhowever, to direct them as well as I could, I caused lights to be hung\nout in all the parts of the ship where we could, and which we had\nlanterns for, and kept firing guns all the night long; letting them know\nby this, that there was a ship not far off.\n\nAbout eight o'clock in the morning we discovered the ship's boats, by\nthe help of our perspective-glasses; and found there were two of them,\nboth thronged with people, and deep in the water; we perceived they\nrowed, the wind being against them; that they saw our ship, and did the\nutmost to make us see them.\n\nWe immediately spread our ancient, to let them know we saw them; and\nhung a waft out, as a signal for them to come on board; and then made\nmore sail, standing directly to them. In a little more than half an hour\nwe came up with them, and in a word took them all in, being no less than\nsixty-four men, women, and children; for there were a great many\npassengers.\n\nUpon the whole, we found it was a French merchant-ship of three hundred\ntons, homeward-bound from Quebec, in the river of Canada. The master\ngave us a long account of the distress of his ship, how the fire began\nin the steerage by the negligence of the steersman; but, on his crying\nout for help, was, as everybody thought, entirely put out: but they soon\nfound that some sparks of the first fire had gotten into some part of\nthe ship, so difficult to come at, that they could not effectually\nquench it; and afterwards getting in between the timbers, and within the\nceiling of the ship, it proceeded into the hold, and mastered all the\nskill and all the application they were able to exert.\n\nThey had no more to do then but to get into their boats, which, to their\ngreat comfort, were pretty large; being their long-boat, and a great\nshallop, besides a small skiff, which was of no great service to them,\nother than to get some fresh water and provisions into her, after they\nhad secured themselves from the fire. They had indeed small hope of\ntheir lives by getting into these boats at that distance from any land;\nonly, as they said well, that they were escaped from the fire, and had a\npossibility, that some ship might happen to be at sea, and might take\nthem in. They had sails, oars, and a compass; and were preparing to make\nthe best of their way to Newfoundland, the wind blowing pretty fair; for\nit blew an easy gale at S.E. by E. They had as much provisions and\nwater, as, with sparing it so as to be next door to starving, might\nsupport them about twelve days; in which, if they had no bad weather,\nand no contrary winds, the captain said, he hoped he might get to the\nbanks of Newfoundland, and might perhaps take some fish to sustain them\ntill they might go on shore. But there were so many chances against them\nin all these cases; such as storms to overset and founder them; rains\nand cold to benumb and perish their limbs; contrary winds to keep them\nout and starve them; that it must have been next to miraculous if they\nhad escaped.\n\nIn the midst of their consultations, every one being hopeless, and ready\nto despair, the captain with tears in his eyes told me, they were on a\nsudden surprised with the joy of hearing a gun fire, and after that four\nmore; these were the five guns which I caused to be fired at first\nseeing the light: this revived their hearts, and gave them the notice\nwhich, as above, I designed it should, viz. that there was a ship at\nhand for their help.\n\nIt was upon the hearing these guns, that they took down their masts and\nsails; and the sound coming from the windward, they resolved to lie by\ntill morning. Some time after this, hearing no more guns, they fired\nthree muskets, one a considerable while after another; but these, the\nwind being contrary, we never heard.\n\nSome time after that again, they were still more agreeably surprised\nwith seeing our lights, and hearing the guns, which, as I have said, I\ncaused to be fired all the rest of the night: this set them to work with\ntheir oars to keep their boats ahead, at least that we might the sooner\ncome up with them; and at last, to their inexpressible joy, they found\nwe saw them.\n\nIt is impossible for me to express the several gestures, the strange\necstasies, the variety of postures, which these poor delivered people\nran into, to express the joy of their souls at so unexpected a\ndeliverance; grief and fear are easily described; sighs, tears, groans,\nand a very few motions of head and hands, make up the sum of its\nvariety: but an excess of joy, a surprise of joy, has a thousand\nextravagances in it; there were some in tears, some raging and tearing\nthemselves, as if they had been in the greatest agonies of sorrow; some\nstark raving and downright lunatic; some ran about the ship stamping\nwith their feet, others wringing their hands; some were dancing, several\nsinging, some laughing, more crying; many quite dumb, not able to speak\na word; others sick and vomiting, several swooning, and ready to faint;\nand a few were crossing themselves and giving God thanks.\n\nI would not wrong them neither; there might be many that were thankful\nafterward; but the passion was too strong for them at first, and they\nwere not able to master it; they were thrown into ecstasies and a kind\nof frenzy, and so there were but a very few who were composed and\nserious in their joy.\n\nPerhaps also the case may have some addition to it, from the particular\ncircumstance of the nation they belonged to; I mean the French, whose\ntemper is allowed to be more volatile, more passionate, and more\nsprightly, and their spirits more fluid, than of other nations. I am not\nphilosopher to determine the cause, but nothing I had ever seen before\ncame up to it: the ecstasies poor Friday, my trusty savage, was in, when\nhe found his father in the boat, came the nearest to it; and the\nsurprise of the master, and his two companions, whom I delivered from\nthe two villains that set them on shore in the island, came a little way\ntowards it; but nothing was to compare to this, either that I saw in\nFriday, or any where else in my life.\n\nIt is farther observable, that these extravagances did not shew\nthemselves in that different manner I have mentioned, in different\npersons only: but all the variety would appear in a short succession of\nmoments, in one and the same person. A man that we saw this minute dumb,\nand, as it were, stupid and confounded, should the next minute be\ndancing and hallooing like an antic; and the next moment a-tearing his\nhair, or pulling his clothes to pieces, and stamping them under his feet\nlike a madman; a few minutes after that, we should have him all in\ntears, then sick, then swooning; and had not immediate help been had,\nwould in a few moments more have been dead; and thus it was, not with\none or two, or ten or twenty, but with the greatest part of them; and,\nif I remember right, our surgeon was obliged to let above thirty of\nthem blood.\n\nThere were two priests among them, one an old man, and the other a young\nman; and that which was strangest was, that the oldest man was\nthe worst.\n\nAs soon as he set his foot on board our ship, and saw himself safe, he\ndropped down stone dead, to all appearance; not the least sign of life\ncould be perceived in him; our surgeon immediately applied proper\nremedies to recover him; and was the only man in the ship that believed\nhe was not dead: and at length he opened a vein in his arm, having first\nchafed and rubbed the part, so as to warm it as much as possible: upon\nthis the blood, which only dropped at first, flowed something freely; in\nthree minutes after the man opened his eyes; and about a quarter of an\nhour after that he spoke, grew better, and, in a little time, quite\nwell; after the blood was stopped he walked about, told us he was\nperfectly well, took a dram of cordial which the surgeon gave him, and\nwas, what we called, come to himself; about a quarter of an hour after\nthis they came running into the cabin to the surgeon, who was bleeding a\nFrench woman that had fainted, and told him the priest was gone stark\nmad. It seems he had begun to revolve the change of his circumstances in\nhis mind, and this put him into an ecstasy of joy: his spirits whirled\nabout faster than the vessels could convey them; the blood grew hot and\nfeverish; and the man was as fit for Bedlam as any creature that ever\nwas in it; the surgeon would not bleed him again in that condition, but\ngave him something to doze and put him to sleep, which, after some time,\noperated upon him, and he waked next morning perfectly composed\nand well.\n\nThe younger priest behaved himself with great command of his passion,\nand was really an example of a serious, well-governed mind; at his first\ncoming on board the ship, he threw himself flat on his face,\nprostrating himself in thankfulness for his deliverance; in which I\nunhappily and unseasonably disturbed him, really thinking he had been in\na swoon: but he spoke calmly; thanked me; told me he was giving God\nthanks for his deliverance; begged me to leave him a few moments, and\nthat next to his Maker he would give me thanks also.\n\nI was heartily sorry that I disturbed him, and not only left him, but\nkept others from interrupting him also; he continued in that posture\nabout three minutes, or a little more, after I left him, then came to\nme, as he had said he would, and with a great deal of seriousness and\naffection, but with tears in his eyes, thanked me that had, under God,\ngiven him and so many miserable creatures their lives: I told him, I had\nno room to move him to thank God for it rather than me; for I had seen\nthat he had done that already: but I added, that it was nothing but what\nreason and humanity dictated to all men, and that we had as much reason\nas he to give thanks to God, who had blessed us so far as to make us the\ninstruments of his mercy to so many of his creatures.\n\nAfter this the young priest applied himself to his country-folks;\nlaboured to compose them; persuaded, entreated, argued, reasoned with\nthem, and did his utmost to keep them within the exercise of their\nreason; and with some he had success, though others were, for a time,\nout of all government of themselves.\n\nI cannot help committing this to writing, as perhaps it may be useful to\nthose into whose hands it may fall, in the guiding themselves in all the\nextravagances of their passions; for if an excess of joy can carry men\nout to such a length beyond the reach of their reason, what will not the\nextravagances of anger, rage, and a provoked mind, carry us to? And,\nindeed, here I saw reason for keeping an exceeding watch over our\npassions of every kind, as well those of joy and satisfaction, as those\nof sorrow and anger.\n\nWe were something disordered by these extravagances among our new\nguests for the first day; but when they had been retired, lodgings\nprovided for them as well as our ship would allow, and they had slept\nheartily, as most of them did, being fatigued and frightened, they were\nquite another sort of people the next day.\n\nNothing of good manners, or civil acknowledgments for the kindness shown\nthem, was wanting; the French, it is known, are naturally apt enough to\nexceed that way. The captain and one of the priests came to me the next\nday; and, desiring to speak with me and my nephew, the commander, began\nto consult with us what should be done with them; and first they told\nus, that as we had saved their lives, so all they had was little enough\nfor a return to us for the kindness received. The captain said, they had\nsaved some money, and some things of value in their boats, catched\nhastily out of the flames: and if we would accept it, they were ordered\nto make an offer of it all to us; they only desired to be set on shore\nsomewhere in our way, where, if possible, they might get a passage\nto France.\n\nMy nephew was for accepting their money at first word, and to consider\nwhat to do with them afterwards; but I overruled him in that part; for I\nknew what it was to be set on shore in a strange country; and if the\nPortugal captain that took me up at sea had served me so, and took all I\nhad for my deliverance, I must have starved, or have been as much a\nslave at the Brasils as I had been at Barbary, the being sold to a\nMahometan only excepted; and perhaps a Portuguese is not a much better\nmaster than a Turk, if not, in some cases, a much worse.\n\nI therefore told the French captain that we had taken them up in their\ndistress, it was true; but that it was our duty to do so, as we were\nfellow-creatures, and as we would desire to be so delivered, if we were\nin the like or any other extremity; that we had done nothing for them\nbut what we believed they would have done for us if we had been in their\ncase and they in ours; but that we took them up to serve them, not to\nplunder them; and that it would be a most barbarous thing, to take that\nlittle from them which they had saved out of the fire, and then set them\non shore and leave them; that this would be first to save them from\ndeath and then kill them ourselves; save them from drowning and then\nabandon them to starving; and therefore I would not let the least thing\nbe taken from them: as to setting them on shore, I told them indeed that\nwas an exceeding difficulty to us, for that the ship was bound to the\nEast Indies; and though we were driven out of our course to the westward\na very great way, which perhaps was directed by Heaven on purpose for\ntheir deliverance, yet it was impossible for us wilfully to change our\nvoyage on this particular account; nor could my nephew, the captain,\nanswer it to the freighters, with whom he was under charter-party to\npursue his voyage by the way of Brasil; and all I knew he could do for\nthem was, to put ourselves in the way of meeting with other ships\nhomeward-bound from the West Indies, and get them passage, if possible,\nto England or France.\n\nThe first part of the proposal was so generous and kind, they could not\nbut be very thankful for it; but they were in a great consternation,\nespecially the passengers, at the notion of being carried away to the\nEast Indies: they then entreated me, that seeing I was driven so far to\nthe westward before I met with them, I would at least keep on the same\ncourse to the banks of Newfoundland, where it was possible I might meet\nsome ship or sloop that they might hire to carry them back to Canada,\nfrom whence they came.\n\nI thought this was but a reasonable request on their part, and therefore\nI inclined to agree to it; for indeed I considered, that to carry this\nwhole company to the East Indies would not only be an intolerable\nseverity to the poor people, but would be ruining our voyage by\ndevouring all our provisions; so I thought it no breach of\ncharter-party, but what an unforeseen accident made absolutely necessary\nto us; and in which no one could say we were to blame; for the laws of\nGod and nature would have forbid, that we should refuse to take up two\nboats full of people in such a distressed condition; and the nature of\nthe thing, as well respecting ourselves as the poor people, obliged us\nto see them on shore somewhere or other, for their deliverance; so I\nconsented that we would carry them to Newfoundland, if wind and weather\nwould permit; and, if not, that I would carry them to Martinico in the\nWest Indies.\n\nThe wind continued fresh easterly, but the weather pretty good; and as\nit had blowed continually in the points between N.E. and S.E. a long\ntime, we missed several opportunities of sending them to France; for we\nmet several ships bound to Europe, whereof two were French, from St.\nChristopher's; but they had been so long beating up against the wind,\nthat they durst take in no passengers for fear of wanting provisions for\nthe voyage, as well for themselves as for those they should take in; so\nwe were obliged to go on. It was about a week after this, that we made\nthe banks of Newfoundland, where, to shorten my story, we put all our\nFrench people on board a bark, which they hired at sea there, to put\nthem on shore, and afterwards to carry them to France, if they could get\nprovisions to victual themselves with: when, I say, all the French went\non shore, I should remember that the young priest I spoke of, hearing we\nwere bound to the East Indies, desired to go the voyage with us, and to\nbe set on shore on the coast of Coromandel: I readily agreed to that;\nfor I wonderfully liked the man, and had very good reason, as will\nappear afterwards; also four of the seamen entered themselves in our\nship, and proved very useful fellows.\n\nFrom hence we directed our course for the West Indies, steering away S.\nand S. by E. for about twenty days together, sometimes little or no wind\nat all, when we met with another subject for our humanity to work upon,\nalmost as deplorable as that before.\n\nIt was in the latitude of 27 degrees 5 minutes N. and the 19th day of\nMarch 1684--5, when we espied a sail, our course S.E. and by S. We soon\nperceived it was a large vessel, and that she bore up to us; but could\nnot at first know what to make of her, till, after coming a little\nnearer, we found she had lost her main-topmast, fore-mast, and bowsprit;\nand presently she fires a gun as a signal of distress. The weather was\npretty good, wind at N.N.W. a fresh gale, and we soon came to speak\nwith her.\n\nWe found her a ship of Bristol bound home from Barbadoes, but had been\nblown out of the road at Barbadoes, a few days before she was ready to\nsail, by a terrible hurricane, while the captain and chief mate were\nboth gone on shore; so that beside the terror of the storm, they were\nbut in an indifferent case for good artists to bring the ship home; they\nhad been already nine weeks at sea, and had met with another terrible\nstorm after the hurricane was over, which had blown them quite out of\ntheir knowledge to the westward, and in which they had lost their masts,\nas above; they told us, they expected to have seen the Bahama Islands,\nbut were then driven away again to the south-east by a strong gale of\nwind at N.N.W. the same that blew now, and having no sails to work the\nship with, but a main-course, and a kind of square sail upon a\njury-foremast, which they had set up, they could not lie near the wind,\nbut were endeavouring to stand away for the Canaries.\n\nBut that which was worst of all, was, that they were almost starved for\nwant of provisions, besides the fatigues they had undergone; their bread\nand flesh was quite gone, they had not an ounce left in the ship, and\nhad had none for eleven days; the only relief they had, was, their water\nwas not all spent, and they had about half a barrel of flour left; they\nhad sugar enough; some succades or sweetmeats they had at first, but\nthey were devoured; and they had seven casks of rum.\n\nThere was a youth and his mother, and a maid-servant, on board, who were\ngoing passengers, and thinking the ship was ready to sail, unhappily\ncame on board the evening before the hurricane began; and having no\nprovisions of their own left, they were in a more deplorable condition\nthan the rest; for the seamen, being reduced to such an extreme\nnecessity themselves, had no compassion, we may be sure, for the poor\npassengers; and they were indeed in a condition that their misery is\nvery hard to describe.\n\nI had perhaps not known this part, if my curiosity had not led me, the\nweather being fair, and the wind abated, to go on board the ship: the\nsecond mate, who upon this occasion commanded the ship, had been on\nboard our ship; and he told me indeed, that they had three passengers in\nthe great cabin, that they were in a deplorable condition; \"Nay,\" says\nhe, \"I believe they are dead, for I have heard nothing of them for above\ntwo days; and I was afraid to inquire after them,\" said he, \"for I had\nnothing to relieve them with.\"\n\nWe immediately applied ourselves to give them what relief we could\nspare; and indeed I had so far overruled things with my nephew, that I\nwould have victualled them, though we had gone away to Virginia, or any\npart of the coast of America, to have supplied ourselves; but there was\nno necessity for that.\n\nBut now they were in a new danger, for they were afraid of eating too\nmuch, even of that little we gave them. The mate or commander brought\nsix men with him in his boat, but these poor wretches looked like\nskeletons, and were so weak they could hardly sit to their oars; the\nmate himself was very ill, and half-starved, for he declared he had\nreserved nothing from the men, and went share and share alike with them\nin every bit they ate.\n\nI cautioned him to eat sparingly, but set meat before him immediately,\nand he had not eaten three mouthfuls before he began to be sick, and out\nof order; so he stopped awhile, and our surgeon mixed him up something\nwith some broth, which he said would be to him both food and physic; and\nafter he had taken it, he grew better: in the meantime I forgot not the\nmen; I ordered victuals to be given them, and the poor creatures rather\ndevoured than ate it; they were so exceeding hungry, that they were in a\nmanner ravenous, and had no command of themselves; and two of them ate\nwith so much greediness, that they were in danger of their lives the\nnext morning.\n\nThe sight of these people's distress was very moving to me, and brought\nto mind what I had a terrible respect of at my first coming on shore in\nmy island, where I had not the least mouthful of food, or any hopes of\nprocuring it; besides the hourly apprehension I had of being made the\nfood of other creatures. But all the while the mate was thus relating to\nme the miserable condition of the ship's company, I could not put out of\nmy thought the story he had told me of the three poor creatures in the\ngreat cabin; viz. the mother, her son, and the maid-servant, whom he had\nheard nothing of for two or three days; and whom he seemed to confess\nthey had wholly neglected, their own extremities being so great; by\nwhich I understood that they had really given them no food at all; and\nthat therefore they must be perished, and be all lying dead perhaps on\nthe floor or deck of the cabin.\n\nAs I therefore kept the mate, whom we then called captain, on board with\nhis men to refresh them, so I also forgot not the starving crew that\nwere left on board, but ordered my own boat to go on board the ship and\nwith my mate and twelve men to carry them a sack of bread, and four or\nfive pieces of beef to boil. Our surgeon charged the men to cause the\nmeat to be boiled while they stayed, and to keep guard in the cook-room,\nto prevent the men's taking it to eat raw, or taking it out of the pot\nbefore it was well boiled, and then to give every man but a little at a\ntime; and by this caution he preserved the men, who would otherwise have\nkilled themselves with that very food that was given them on purpose to\nsave their lives.\n\nAt the same time I ordered the mate to go into the great cabin, and see\nwhat condition the poor passengers were in, and, if they were alive, to\ncomfort them and give them what refreshment was proper; and the surgeon\ngave him a large pitcher with some of the prepared broth which he had\ngiven the mate that was on board, and which he did not question would\nrestore them gradually.\n\nI was not satisfied with this; but, as I said above, having a great mind\nto see the scene of misery, which I knew the ship itself would present\nme with, in a more lively manner than I could have it by report, I took\nthe captain of the ship, as we now called him, with me, and went myself\na little after in their boat.\n\nI found the poor men on board almost in a tumult to get the victuals out\nof the boiler before it was ready; but my mate observed his order, and\nkept a good guard at the cook-room door; and the man he placed there,\nafter using all possible persuasion to have patience, kept them off by\nforce: however, he caused some biscuit cakes to be dipped in the pot,\nand softened them with the liquor of the meat, which they call brewis,\nand gave every one one, to stay their stomachs, and told them it was for\ntheir own safety that he was obliged to give them but little at a time.\nBut it was all in vain, and had I not come on board, and their own\ncommander and officers with me, and with good words, and some threats\nalso of giving them no more, I believe they would have broke into the\ncook-room by force, and torn the meat out of the furnace; for words\nindeed are of a very small force to an hungry belly: however, we\npacified them, and fed them gradually and cautiously for the first time,\nand the next time gave them more, and at last filled their bellies, and\nthe men did well enough.\n\nBut the misery of the poor passengers in the cabin was of another\nnature, and far beyond the rest; for as, first, the ship's company had\nso little for themselves, it was but too true, that they had at first\nkept them very low, and at last totally neglected them; so that for six\nor seven days, it might be said, they had really had no food at all, and\nfor several days before, very little.\n\nThe poor mother, who, as the first mate reported, was a woman of good\nsense and good breeding, had spared all she could get so affectionately\nfor her son, that at last she entirely sunk under it; and when the mate\nof our ship went in, she sat upon the floor or deck, with her back up\nagainst the sides, between two chairs, which were lashed fast, and her\nhead sunk in between her shoulders, like a corpse, though not quite\ndead. My mate said all he could to revive and encourage her, and with a\nspoon put some broth into her mouth; she opened her lips, and lifted up\none hand, but could not speak: yet she understood what he said, and made\nsigns to him, intimating, that it was too late for her; but pointed to\nher child, as if she would have said, they should take care of him.\n\nHowever, the mate, who was exceedingly moved with the sight, endeavoured\nto get some of the broth into her mouth; and, as he said, got two or\nthree spoonfuls down, though I question whether he could be sure of it\nor not; but it was too late, and she died the same night.\n\nThe youth, who was preserved at the price of his most affectionate\nmother's life, was not so far gone; yet he lay in a cabin-bed as one\nstretched out, with hardly any life left in him; he had a piece of an\nold glove in his mouth, having eaten up the rest of it; however, being\nyoung, and having more strength than his mother, the mate got something\ndown his throat, and he began sensibly to revive, though, by giving him\nsome time after but two or three spoonfuls extraordinary, he was very\nsick, and brought it up again.\n\nBut the next care was the poor maid; she lay all along upon the deck\nhard by her mistress, and just like one that had fallen down with an\napoplexy, and struggled for life: her limbs were distorted, one of her\nhands was clasped round the frame of one chair, and she griped it so\nhard, that we could not easily make her let it go; her other arm lay\nover her head, and her feet lay both together, set fast against the\nframe of the cabin-table; in short, she lay just like one in the last\nagonies of death; and yet she was alive too.\n\nThe poor creature was not only starved with hunger, and terrified with\nthe thoughts of death, but, as the men told us afterwards, was\nbroken-hearted for her mistress, whom she saw dying two or three days\nbefore, and whom she loved most tenderly.\n\nWe knew not what to do with this poor girl; for when our surgeon, who\nwas a man of very great knowledge and experience, and with great\napplication recovered her as to life, he had her upon his hand as to her\nsenses, for she was little less than distracted for a considerable time\nafter; as shall appear presently.\n\nWhoever shall read these memorandums, must be desired to consider, that\nvisits at sea are not like a journey into the country, where sometimes\npeople stay a week or a fortnight at a place. Our business was to\nrelieve this distressed ship's crew, but not lie by for them; and though\nthey were willing to steer the same course with us for some days, yet we\ncould carry no sail to keep pace with a ship that had no masts: however,\nas their captain begged of us to help him to set up a main-topmast, and\na kind of topmast to his jury-foremast, we did, as it were, lie by him\nfor three or four days, and then having given him five barrels of beef\nand pork, two hogsheads of biscuit, and a proportion of peas, flour, and\nwhat other things we could spare; and taking three casks of sugar and\nsome rum, and some pieces of eight of them for satisfaction, we left\nthem, taking on board with us, at their own earnest request, the youth\nand the maid, and all their goods.\n\nThe young lad was about seventeen years of age, a pretty, well-bred,\nmodest, and sensible youth; greatly dejected with the loss of his\nmother, and, as it happened had lost his father but a few months before\nat Barbados. He begged of the surgeon to speak to me, to take him out of\nthe ship; for he said, the cruel fellows had murdered his mother; and\nindeed so they had, that is to say, passively; for they might have\nspared a small sustenance to the poor helpless widow, that might have\npreserved her life, though it had been just to keep her alive. But\nhunger knows no friend, no relation, no justice, no right; and therefore\nis remorseless, and capable of no compassion.\n\nThe surgeon told him how far we were going, and how it would carry him\naway from all his friends, and put him perhaps in as bad circumstance,\nalmost, as we found them in; that is to say, starving in the world. He\nsaid it mattered not whither he went, if he was but delivered from the\nterrible crew that he was among: that the captain (by which he meant me,\nfor he could know nothing of my nephew) had saved his life, and he was\nsure would not hurt him; and as for the maid, he was sure, if she came\nto herself, she would be very thankful for it, let us carry them whither\nwe would. The surgeon represented the case so affectionately to me, that\nI yielded, and we took them both on board with all their goods, except\neleven hogsheads of sugar, which could not be removed, or come at; and\nas the youth had a bill of lading for them, I made his commander sign a\nwriting, obliging him to go, as soon as he came to Bristol, to one Mr.\nRogers, a merchant there, to whom the youth said he was related, and to\ndeliver a letter which I wrote to him, and all the goods he had\nbelonging to the deceased widow; which I suppose was not done; for I\ncould never learn that the ship came to Bristol; but was, as is most\nprobable, lost at sea, being in so disabled a condition, and so far from\nany land, that I am of opinion, the first storm she met with afterwards\nshe might founder in the sea; for she was leaky, and had damage in her\nhold when I met with her.\n\nI was now in the latitude of 19 deg. 32 min. and had hitherto had a\ntolerable voyage as to weather, though at first the winds had been\ncontrary. I shall trouble nobody with the little incidents of wind,\nweather, currents, &c. on the rest of our voyage; but, shortening my\nstory for the sake of what is to follow, shall observe, that I came to\nmy old habitation, the island, on the 10th of April, 1695. It was with\nno small difficulty that I found the place; for as I came to it, and\nwent from it before, on the south and east side of the island, as coming\nfrom the Brasils; so now coming in between the main and the island, and\nhaving no chart for the coast, nor any land-mark, I did not know it when\nI saw it, or know whether I saw it or no.\n\nWe beat about a great while, and went on shore on several islands in the\nmouth of the great river Oroonoque, but none for my purpose: only this I\nlearnt by my coasting the shore, that I was under one great mistake\nbefore, viz. that the continent which I thought I saw from the island I\nlived in, was really no continent, but a long island, or rather a ridge\nof islands reaching from one to the other side of the extended mouth of\nthat great river; and that the savages who came to my island, were not\nproperly those which we call Caribbees, but islanders, and other\nbarbarians of the same kind, who inhabited something nearer to our side\nthan the rest.\n\nIn short, I visited several of the islands to no purpose; some I found\nwere inhabited, and some were not. On one of them I found some\nSpaniards, and thought they had lived there; but speaking with them,\nfound they had a sloop lay in a small creek hard by, and that they came\nthither to make salt, and catch some pearl-muscles, if they could; but\nthey belonged to the Isle de Trinidad, which lay farther north, in the\nlatitude of 10 and 11 degrees.\n\nThus coasting from one island to another, sometimes with the ship,\nsometimes with the Frenchman's shallop (which we had found a convenient\nboat, and therefore kept her with their very good will,) at length I\ncame fair on the south side of my island, and I presently knew the very\ncountenance of the place; so I brought the ship safe to an anchor\nbroadside with the little creek where was my old habitation.\n\nAs soon as I saw the place, I called for Friday, and asked him, if he\nknew where he was? He looked about a little, and presently clapping his\nhands, cried, \"O yes, O there, O yes, O there!\" pointing to our old\nhabitation, and fell a-dancing and capering like a mad fellow; and I had\nmuch ado to keep him from jumping into the sea, to swim ashore to\nthe place.\n\n\"Well, Friday,\" said I, \"do you think we shall find any body here, or\nno? and what do you think, shall we see your father?\" The fellow stood\nmute as a stock a good while; but when I named his father, the poor\naffectionate creature looked dejected; and I could see the tears run\ndown his face very plentifully. \"What is the matter, Friday?\" said I;\n\"are you troubled because you may see your father\"--\"No, no,\" says he,\nshaking his head, \"no see him more, no ever more see again.\"--\"Why so,\"\nsaid I, \"Friday? how do you know that?\"--\"O no, O no,\" says Friday, \"he\nlong ago die; long ago, he much old man.\"--\"Well, well,\" said I,\n\"Friday, you don't know; but shall we see any one else then?\" The\nfellow, it seems, had better eyes than I, and he points just to the hill\nabove my old house; and though we lay half a league off, he cries out,\n\"Me see! me see! yes, yes, me see much man there, and there, and there.\"\nI looked, but I could see nobody, no, not with a perspective-glass;\nwhich was, I suppose, because I could not hit the place; for the fellow\nwas right, as I found upon inquiry the next day, and there were five or\nsix men all together stood to look at the ship, not knowing what to\nthink of us.\n\nAs soon as Friday had told me he saw people, I caused the English\nancient to be spread, and fired three guns, to give them notice we were\nfriends; and about half a quarter of an hour after, we perceived a smoke\nrise from the side of the creek; so I immediately ordered a boat out,\ntaking Friday with me; and hanging out a white flag, or a flag of\ntruce, I went directly on shore, taking with me the young friar I\nmentioned, to whom I had told the whole story of living there, and the\nmanner of it, and every particular both of myself and those that I left\nthere, and who was on that account extremely desirous to go with me, We\nhad besides about sixteen men very well armed, if we had found any new\nguest there which we did not know of; but we had no need of weapons.\n\nAs we went on shore upon the tide of flood near high water, we rowed\ndirectly into the creek; and the first man I fixed my eye upon was the\nSpaniard whose life I had saved, and whom I knew by his face perfectly\nwell; as to his habit, I shall describe it afterwards. I ordered nobody\nto go on shore at first but myself; but there was no keeping Friday in\nthe boat; for the affectionate creature had spied his father at a\ndistance, a good way off of the Spaniards, where indeed I saw nothing of\nhim; and if they had not let him go on shore he would have jumped into\nthe sea. He was no sooner on shore, but he flew away to his father like\nan arrow out of a bow. It would have made any man shed tears in spite of\nthe firmest resolution to have seen the first transports of this poor\nfellow's joy, when he came to his father; how he embraced him, kissed\nhim, stroked his face, took him in his arms, set him down upon a tree,\nand lay down by him; then stood and looked at him as any one would look\nat a strange picture, for a quarter of an hour together; then lay down\nupon the ground, and stroked his legs, and kissed them, and then got up\nagain, and stared at him; one would have thought the fellow bewitched:\nbut it would have made a dog laugh to see how the next day his passion\nrun out another way: in the morning he walked along the shore to and\nagain, with his father, several hours, always leading him by the hand as\nif he had been a lady and every now and then would come to fetch\nsomething or other for him from the boat, either a lump of sugar, or a\ndram, a biscuit, or something or other that was good. In the afternoon\nhis frolics ran another way; for then he would set the old man down upon\nthe ground, and dance about him, and made a thousand antic postures and\ngestures; and all the while he did this he would be talking to him, and\ntelling him one story or another of his travels, and of what had\nhappened to him abroad, to divert him. In short, if the same filial\naffection was to be found in Christians to their parents in our parts of\nthe world, one would be tempted to say there hardly would have been any\nneed of the fifth commandment.\n\nBut this is a digression; I return to my landing. It would be endless to\ntake notice of all the ceremonies and civilities that the Spaniards\nreceived me with. The first Spaniard whom, as I said, I knew very well,\nwas he whose life I saved; he came towards the boat attended by one\nmore, carrying a flag of truce also; and he did not only not know me at\nfirst, but he had no thoughts, no notion, of its being me that was come\ntil I spoke to him. \"Seignior,\" said I, in Portuguese, \"do you not know\nme?\" At which he spoke not a word; but giving his musket to the man\nthat was with him, threw his arms abroad, and saying something in\nSpanish that I did not perfectly hear, came forward, and embraced me,\ntelling me, he was inexcusable not to know that face again that he had\nonce seen, as of an angel from Heaven sent to save his life: he said\nabundance of very handsome things, as a well-bred Spaniard always knows\nhow: and then beckoning to the person that attended him, bade him go and\ncall out his comrades. He then asked me if I would walk to my old\nhabitation, where he would give me possession of my own house again, and\nwhere I should see there, had been but mean improvements; so I walked\nalong with him; but alas! I could no more find the place again than if I\nhad never been there; for they had planted so many trees, and placed\nthem in such a posture, so thick and close to one another, in ten years\ntime they were grown so big, that, in short, the place was\ninaccessible, except by such windings and blind ways as they themselves\nonly who made them could find.\n\nI asked them, what put them upon all these fortifications? He told me, I\nwould say there was need enough of it, when they had given an account\nhow they had passed their time since their arriving in the island,\nespecially after they had the misfortune to find that I was gone: he\ntold me he could not but have some satisfaction in my good fortune, when\nhe heard that I was gone in a good ship, and to my satisfaction; and\nthat he had oftentimes a strong persuasion that one time or other he\nshould see me again: but nothing that ever befel him in his life, he\nsaid, was so surprising and afflicting to him at first, as the\ndisappointment he was under when he came back to the island, and found I\nwas not there.\n\nAs to the three barbarians (so he called them) that were left behind,\nand of whom he said he had a long story to tell me; the Spaniards all\nthought themselves much better among the savages, only that their number\nwas so small. \"And,\" says he, \"had they been strong enough, we had been\nall long ago in purgatory and with that he crossed himself upon the\nbreast. But, Sir,\" says he, \"I hope you will not be displeased, when I\nshall tell you how, forced by necessity, we were obliged, for our own\npreservation, to disarm them, and making them our subjects, who would\nnot be content with being moderately our masters, but would be our\nmurderers.\" I answered, I was heartily afraid of it when I left them\nthere; and nothing troubled me at my parting from the island, but that\nthey were not come back, that I might have put them in possession of\nevery thing first, and left the other in a state of subjection, as they\ndeserved; but if they had reduced them to it, I was very glad, and\nshould be very far from finding any fault with it; for I knew they were\na parcel of refractory, ungovernable villains, and were fit for any\nmanner of mischief.\n\nWhile I was saying this came the man whom he had sent back, and with\nhim eleven men more: in the dress they were in, it was impossible to\nguess what nation they were of; but he made all clear both to them and\nto me. First he turned to me, and pointing to them, said, \"These, Sir,\nare some of the gentlemen who owe their lives to you;\" and then turning\nto them, and pointing to me, he let them know who I was; upon which they\nall came up one by one, not as if they had been sailors, and ordinary\nfellows, and I the like, but really as if they had been ambassadors or\nnoblemen, and I a monarch or a great conqueror: their behaviour was to\nthe last degree obliging and courteous, and yet mixed with a manly\nmajestic gravity, which very well became them; and, in short, they had\nso much more manners than I, that I scarce knew how to receive their\ncivilities, much less how to return them in kind.\n\nThe history of their coming to, and conduct in the island after my going\naway, is so remarkable, and has so many incidents, which the former part\nof my relation will help to understand, and which will, in most of the\nparticulars, refer to that account I have already given, that I cannot\nbut commit them with great delight to the reading of those that\ncome after me.\n\nI shall no longer trouble the story with a relation in the first person,\nwhich will put me to the expense of ten thousand Said I's, and Said\nhe's, and He told me's, and I told him's, and the like; but I shall\ncollect the facts historically as near as I can gather them out of my\nmemory from what they related to me, and from what I met with in my\nconversing with them, and with the place.\n\nIn order to do this succinctly, and as intelligibly as I can, I must go\nback to the circumstance in which I left the island, and which the\npersons were in of whom I am to speak. At first it is necessary to\nrepeat, that I had sent away Friday's father and the Spaniard, the two\nwhose lives I had rescued from the savages; I say, I had sent them away\nin a large canoe to the main, as I then thought it, to fetch over the\nSpaniard's companions whom he had left behind him, in order to save them\nfrom the like calamity that he had been in, and in order to succour them\nfor the present, and that, if possible, we might together find some way\nfor our deliverance afterward.\n\nWhen I sent them away, I had no visible appearance of, or the least room\nto hope for, my own deliverance, any more than I had twenty years\nbefore; much less had I any foreknowledge of what after happened, I mean\nof an English ship coming on shore there to fetch them off; and it could\nnot but be a very great surprise to them when they came back, not only\nto find that I was gone, but to find three strangers left on the spot,\npossessed of all that I had left behind me, which would otherwise have\nbeen their own.\n\nThe first thing, however, which I inquired into, that I might begin\nwhere I left off, was of their own part; and I desired he would give me\na particular account of his voyage back to his countrymen with the boat,\nwhen I sent him to fetch them over. He told me there was little variety\nin that part; for nothing remarkable happened to them on the way, they\nhaving very calm weather and a smooth sea; for his countrymen it could\nnot be doubted, he said, but that they were overjoyed to see him (it\nseems he was the principal man among them, the captain of the vessel\nthey had been shipwrecked in having been dead some time:) they were, he\nsaid, the more surprised to see him, because they knew that he was\nfallen into the hands of savages, who, they were satisfied, would devour\nhim, as they did all the rest of their prisoners; that when he told them\nthe story of the deliverance, and in what manner he was furnished for\ncarrying them away, it was like a dream to them; and their astonishment,\nthey said, was something like that of Joseph's brethren, when he told\nthem who he was, and told them the story of his exaltation in Pharaoh's\ncourt; but when he shewed them the arms, the powder, the ball, and the\nprovisions that he brought them for their journey or voyage, they were\nrestored to themselves, took a just share of the joy of their\ndeliverance, and immediately prepared to come away with him.\n\nTheir first business was to get canoes; and in this they were obliged\nnot to stick so much upon the honest part of it, but to trespass upon\ntheir friendly savages, and to borrow two large canoes or periaguas, on\npretence of going out a-fishing, or for pleasure.\n\nIn these they came away the next morning; it seems they wanted no time\nto get themselves ready, for they had no baggage, neither clothes, or\nprovisions, or any thing in the world, but what they had on them, and a\nfew roots to eat, of which they used to make their bread.\n\nThey were in all three weeks absent, and in that time, unluckily for\nthem, I had the occasion offered for my escape, as I mentioned in my\nother part, and to get off from the island; leaving three of the most\nimpudent, hardened, ungoverned, disagreeable villains behind me that any\nman could desire to meet with, to the poor Spaniards' great grief and\ndisappointment you may be sure.\n\nThe only just thing the rogues did, was, that when the Spaniards came on\nshore, they gave my letter to them, and gave them provisions and other\nrelief, as I had ordered them to do; also they gave them the long paper\nof directions, which I had left with them, containing the particular\nmethods which I took for managing every part of my life there; the way\nhow I baked my bread, bred up my tame goats, and planted my corn; how I\ncured my grapes, made my pots, and, in a word, every thing I did; all\nthis being written down, they gave to the Spaniards, two of whom\nunderstood English well enough; nor did they refuse to accommodate the\nSpaniards with any thing else, for they agreed very well for some time;\nthey gave them an equal admission into the house, or cave, and they\nbegan to live very sociably; and the head Spaniard, who had seen pretty\nmuch of my method, and Friday's father together, managed all their\naffairs; for as for the Englishmen, they did nothing but ramble about\nthe island, shoot parrots, and catch tortoises, and when they came home\nat night, the Spaniards provided their suppers for them.\n\nThe Spaniards would have been satisfied with this would the other but\nhave left them alone; which however, they could not find in their hearts\nto do long; but, like the dog in the manger, they would not eat\nthemselves, and would not let others eat neither: the differences,\nnevertheless, were at first but trivial and such as are not worth\nrelating: but at last it broke out into open war, and it began with all\nthe rudeness and insolence that can be imagined, without reason, without\nprovocation, contrary to nature, and indeed to common sense; and though,\nit is true, the first relation of it came from the Spaniards themselves,\nwhom I may call the accusers, yet when I came to examine the fellows,\nthey could not deny a word of it.\n\nBut before I come to the particulars of this part, I must supply a\ndefect in my former relation; and this was, that I forgot to set down\namong the rest, that just as we were weighing the anchor to set sail,\nthere happened a little quarrel on board our ship, which I was afraid\nonce would turn to a second mutiny; nor was it appeased till the\ncaptain, rousing up his courage, and taking us all to his assistance,\nparted them by force, and making two of the most refractory fellows\nprisoners, he laid them in irons; and as they had been active in the\nformer disorders, and let fall some ugly dangerous words the second\ntime, he threatened to carry them in irons to England, and have them\nhanged there for mutiny, and running away with the ship.\n\nThis, it seems, though the captain did not intend to do it, frighted\nsome other men in the ship; and some of them had put it in the heads of\nthe rest, that the captain only gave them good words for the present\ntill they should come to some English port, and that then they should\nbe all put into a gaol, and tried for their lives.\n\nThe mate got intelligence of this, and acquainted us with it; upon which\nit was desired that I, who still passed for a great man among them,\nshould go down with the mate and satisfy the men, and tell them, that\nthey might be assured, if they behaved well the rest of the voyage, all\nthey had done for the time past should be pardoned. So I went, and after\npassing my honour's word to them they appeared easy, and the more so,\nwhen I caused the two men who were in irons to be released and forgiven.\n\nBut this mutiny had brought us to an anchor for that night, the wind\nalso falling calm. Next morning we found that our two men who had been\nlaid in irons, had stole each of them a musket and some other weapons;\nwhat powder or shot they had we knew not; and had taken the ship's\npinnace, which was not yet haled up, and run away with her to their\ncompanions in roguery on shore.\n\nAs soon as we found this, I ordered the long-boat on shore, with twelve\nmen and the mate, and away they went to seek the rogues; but they could\nneither find them, nor any of the rest; for they all fled into the woods\nwhen they saw the boat coming on shore. The mate was once resolved, in\njustice to their roguery, to have destroyed their plantations, burnt all\ntheir household stuff and furniture, and left them to shift without it;\nbut having no order, he let all alone, left every thing as they found\nit, and bringing the pinnace away, came on board without them.\n\nThese two men made their number five: but the other three villains were\nso much wickeder than these, that after they had been two or three days\ntogether, they turned their two new-comers out of doors to shift for\nthemselves, and would have nothing to do with them; nor could they, for\na good while, be persuaded to give them any food: as for the Spaniards,\nthey were not yet come.\n\nWhen the Spaniards came first on shore, the business began to go\nforward; the Spaniards would have persuaded the three English brutes to\nhave taken in their two countrymen again, that, as they said, they might\nbe all one family; but they would not hear of it: so the two poor\nfellows lived by themselves, and finding nothing but industry and\napplication would make them live comfortable, they pitched their tents\non the north shore of the island, but a little more to the west, to be\nout of the danger of the savages, who always landed on the east parts of\nthe island.\n\nHere they built two huts, one to lodge in, and the other to lay up their\nmagazines and stores in; and the Spaniards having given them some corn\nfor seed, and especially some of the peas which I had left them, they\ndug and planted, and enclosed, after the pattern I had set for them all,\nand began to live pretty well; their first crop of corn was on the\nground, and though it was but a little bit of land which they had dug up\nat first, having had but a little time, yet it was enough to relieve\nthem, and find them with bread or other eatables; and one of the\nfellows, being the cook's mate of the ship, was very ready at making\nsoup, puddings, and such other preparations, as the rice and the milk,\nand such little flesh as they got, furnished him to do.\n\nThey were going on in a little thriving posture, when the three\nunnatural rogues, their own countrymen too, in mere humour, and to\ninsult them, came and bullied them, and told them the island was theirs;\nthat the governor, meaning me, had given them possession of it, and\nnobody else had any right to it; and, damn them, they should build no\nhouses upon their ground, unless they would pay them rent for them.\n\nThe two men thought they had jested at first, and asked them to come and\nsit down, and see what fine houses they were that they had built, and\ntell them what rent they demanded: and one of them merrily told them, if\nthey were ground-landlords, he hoped if they built tenements upon the\nland and made improvements, they would, according to the custom of all\nlandlords, grant them a long lease; and bid them go fetch a scrivener to\ndraw the writings. One of the three, damning and raging, told them they\nshould see they were not in jest; and going to a little place at a\ndistance, where the honest men had made a fire to dress their victuals,\nhe takes a firebrand and claps it to the outside of their hut, and very\nfairly set it on fire; and it would have been all burnt down in a few\nminutes, if one of the two had not run to the fellow, thrust him away,\nand trod the fire out with his feet, and that not without some\ndifficulty too.\n\nThe fellow was in such a rage at the honest man's thrusting him away,\nthat he turned upon him with a pole he had in his hand; and had not the\nman avoided the blow very nimbly, and run into the hut, he had ended his\ndays at once. His comrade, seeing the danger they were both in, ran in\nafter him, and immediately they came both out with their muskets; and\nthe man that was first struck at with the pole knocked the fellow down\nwho began the quarrel with the stock of his musket, and that before the\nother two could come to help him; and then seeing the rest come at them,\nthey stood together, and presenting the other ends of their pieces to\nthem, bade them stand off.\n\nThe others had fire-arms with them too; but one of the two honest men,\nbolder than his comrade, and made desperate by his danger, told them if\nthey offered to move hand or foot they were all dead men, and boldly\ncommanded them to lay down their arms. They did not indeed lay down\ntheir arms; but seeing him resolute, it brought them to a parley, and\nthey consented to take their wounded man with them, and be gone; and,\nindeed, it seems the fellow was wounded sufficiently with the blow:\nhowever, they were much in the wrong, since they had the advantage, that\nthey did not disarm them effectually, as they might have done, and have\ngone immediately to the Spaniards, and given them an account how the\nrogues treated them; for the three villains studied nothing but\nrevenge, and every day gave them some intimation that they did so.\n\nBut not to crowd this part with an account of the lesser part of their\nrogueries, such as treading down their corn, shooting three young kids\nand a she-goat, which the poor men had got to breed up tame for their\nstore; and in a word, plaguing them night and day in this manner, it\nforced the two men to such a desperation, that they resolved to fight\nthem all three the first time they had a fair opportunity. In order to\nthis they resolved to go to the castle, as they called it, that was my\nold dwelling, where the three rogues and the Spaniards all lived\ntogether at that time, intending to have a fair battle, and the\nSpaniards should stand by to see fair play. So they got up in the\nmorning before day, and came to the place, and called the Englishmen by\ntheir names, telling a Spaniard that answered, that they wanted to speak\nwith them.\n\nIt happened that the day before two of the Spaniards, having been in the\nwoods, had seen one of the two Englishmen, whom, for distinction, I call\nthe honest men; and he had made a sad complaint to the Spaniards, of the\nbarbarous usage they had met with from their three countrymen, and how\nthey had ruined their plantation, and destroyed their corn, that they\nhad laboured so hard to bring forward, and killed the milch-goat, and\ntheir three kids, which was all they had provided for their sustenance;\nand that if he and his friends, meaning the Spaniards, did not assist\nthem again, they should be starved. When the Spaniards came home at\nnight, and they were all at supper, he took the freedom to reprove the\nthree Englishmen, though in gentle and mannerly terms, and asked them,\nhow they could be so cruel, they being harmless inoffensive fellows, and\nthat they were putting themselves in a way to subsist by their labour,\nand that it had cost them a great deal of pains to bring things to such\nperfection as they had?\n\nOne of the Englishmen returned very briskly, \"What had they to do there?\nThat they came on shore without leave, and that they should not plant\nor build upon the island; it was none of their ground.\"--\"Why,\" says the\nSpaniard, very calmly, \"Seignior Inglese, they must not starve.\" The\nEnglishman replied, like a true rough-hewn tarpaulin, \"they might starve\nand be d--ed, they should not plant nor build in that place.\"--\"But what\nmust they do then, Seignior?\" says the Spaniard. Another of the brutes\nreturned, \"Do! d--n them, they should be servants, and work for\nthem.\"--\"But how can you expect that of them? They are not bought with\nyour money; you have no right to make them servants.\" The Englishman\nanswered, \"The island was theirs, the governor had given it to them, and\nno man had any thing to do there but themselves;\" and with that swore by\nhis Maker, that he would go and burn all their new huts; they should\nbuild none upon their land.\n\n\"Why, Seignior,\" says the Spaniard, \"by the same rule, we must be your\nservants too.\"--\"Ay,\" says the bold dog, \"and so you shall too, before\nwe have done with you;\" mixing two or three G--d d--mme's in the proper\nintervals of his speech. The Spaniard only smiled at that, and made him\nno answer. However, this little discourse had heated them; and starting\nup, one says to the other, I think it was he they called Will Atkins,\n\"Come, Jack, let us go and have the other brush with them; we will\ndemolish their castle, I will warrant you; they shall plant no colony in\nour dominions.\"\n\nUpon this they were all trooping away, with every man a gun, a pistol,\nand a sword, and muttered some insolent things among themselves, of what\nthey would do to the Spaniards too, when opportunity offered; but the\nSpaniards, it seems, did not so perfectly understand them as to know all\nthe particulars; only that, in general, they threatened them hard for\ntaking the two Englishmen's part.\n\nWhither they went, or how they bestowed their time that evening, the\nSpaniards said they did not know; but it seems they wandered about the\ncountry part of the night; and then lying down in the place which I\nused to call my bower, they were weary, and overslept themselves. The\ncase was this: they had resolved to stay till midnight, and so to take\nthe poor men when they were asleep; and they acknowledged it afterwards,\nintending to set fire to their huts while they were in them, and either\nburn them in them, or murder them as they came out: and, as malice\nseldom sleeps very sound, it was very strange they should not have been\nkept waking.\n\nHowever, as the two men had also a design upon them, as I have said,\nthough a much fairer one than that of burning and murdering, it\nhappened, and very luckily for them all, that they were up, and gone\nabroad, before the bloody-minded rogues came to their huts.\n\nWhen they came thither, and found the men gone, Atkins, who it seems was\nthe forwardest man, called out to his comrades, \"Ha! Jack, here's the\nnest; but d--n them, the birds are flown.\" They mused awhile to think\nwhat should be the occasion of their being gone abroad so soon, and\nsuggested presently, that the Spaniards had given them notice of it; and\nwith that they shook hands, and swore to one another, that they would be\nrevenged of the Spaniards. As soon as they had made this bloody bargain,\nthey fell to work with the poor men's habitation; they did not set fire\nindeed to any thing, but they pulled down both their houses, and pulled\nthem so limb from limb, that they left not the least stick standing, or\nscarce any sign on the ground where they stood; they tore all their\nlittle collected household-stuff in pieces, and threw every thing about\nin such a manner, that the poor men found, afterwards, some of their\nthings a mile off from their habitation.\n\nWhen they had done this, they pulled up all the young trees which the\npoor men had planted; pulled up the enclosure they had made to secure\ntheir cattle and their corn; and, in a word, sacked and plundered every\nthing, as completely as a herd of Tartars would have done.\n\nThe two men were at this juncture gone to find them out, and had\nresolved to fight them wherever they had been, though they were but two\nto three; so that, had they met, there certainly would have been\nbloodshed among them; for they were all very stout, resolute fellows, to\ngive them their due.\n\nBut Providence took more care to keep them asunder, than they themselves\ncould do to meet; for, as they had dogged one another, when the three\nwere gone thither, the two were here; and afterwards, when the two went\nback to find them, the three were come to the old habitation again: we\nshall see their differing conduct presently. When the three came back,\nlike furious creatures, flushed with the rage which the work they had\nbeen about put them into, they came up to the Spaniards, and told them\nwhat they had done, by way of scoff and bravado; and one of them\nstepping up to one of the Spaniards, as if they had been a couple of\nboys at play, takes hold of his hat, as it was upon his head, and giving\nit a twirl about, jeering in his face, says he to him, \"And you,\nSeignior Jack Spaniard, shall have the same sauce, if you do not mend\nyour manners.\" The Spaniard, who, though quite a civil man, was as brave\nas a man could desire to be, and withal a strong well-made man, looked\nsteadily at him for a good while; and then, having no weapon in his\nhand, stepped gravely up to him, and with one blow of his fist knocked\nhim down, as an ox is felled with a pole-axe; at which one of the\nrogues, insolent as the first, fixed his pistol at the Spaniard\nimmediately; he missed his body indeed, for the bullets went through his\nhair, but one of them touched the tip of his ear, and he bled pretty\nmuch. The blood made the Spaniard believe he was more hurt than he\nreally was, and that put him into some heat, for before he acted all in\na perfect calm; but now resolving to go through with his work, he\nstooped and took the fellow's musket whom he had knocked down, and was\njust going to shoot the man who had fired at him; when the rest of the\nSpaniards, being in the cave, came out, and calling to him not to\nshoot, they stepped in, secured the other two, and took their arms\nfrom them.\n\nWhen they were thus disarmed, and found they had made all the Spaniards\ntheir enemies, as well as their own countrymen, they began to cool; and\ngiving the Spaniards better words, would have had their arms again; but\nthe Spaniards, considering the feud that was between them and the other\ntwo Englishmen, and that it would be the best method they could take to\nkeep them from one another, told them they would do them no harm; and if\nthey would live peaceably they would be very willing to assist and\nassociate with them, as they did before; but that they could not think\nof giving them their arms again, while they appeared so resolved to do\nmischief with them to their own countrymen, and had even threatened them\nall to make them their servants.\n\nThe rogues were now more capable to hear reason than to act reason; but\nbeing refused their arms, they went raving away, and raging like madmen,\nthreatening what they would do, though they had no fire-arms: but the\nSpaniards, despising their threatening, told them they should take care\nhow they offered any injury to their plantation or cattle; for if they\ndid, they would shoot them, as they would do ravenous beasts, wherever\nthey found them; and if they fell into their hands alive, they would\ncertainly be hanged. However, this was far from cooling them; but away\nthey went, swearing and raging like furies of hell. As soon as they were\ngone, came back the two men in passion and rage enough also, though of\nanother kind; for, having been at their plantation, and finding it all\ndemolished and destroyed, as above, it will easily be supposed they had\nprovocation enough; they could scarce have room to tell their tale, the\nSpaniards were so eager to tell them theirs; and it was strange enough\nto find, that three men should thus bully nineteen, and receive no\npunishment at all.\n\nThe Spaniards indeed despised them, and especially having thus disarmed\nthem, made light of their threatenings; but the two Englishmen resolved\nto have their remedy against them, what pains soever it cost to\nfind them out.\n\nBut the Spaniards interposed here too, and told them, that they were\nalready disarmed: they could not consent that they (the two) should\npursue them with fire-arms, and perhaps kill them: \"But,\" said the grave\nSpaniard, who was their governor, \"we will endeavour to make them do you\njustice, if you will leave it to us; for, as there is no doubt but they\nwill come to us again when their passion is over, being not able to\nsubsist without our assistance, we promise you to make no peace with\nthem, without having full satisfaction for you; and upon this condition\nwe hope you will promise to use no violence with them, other than in\nyour defence.\"\n\nThe two Englishmen; yielded to this very awkwardly and with great\nreluctance; but the Spaniards protested, they did it only to keep them\nfrom bloodshed, and to make all easy at last; \"For,\" said they, \"we are\nnot so many of us; here is room enough for us all, and it is great pity\nwe should not be all good friends.\" At length they did consent, and\nwaited for the issue of the thing, living for some days with the\nSpaniards; for their own habitation was destroyed.\n\nIn about five days time the three vagrants, tired with wandering, and\nalmost starved with hunger, having chiefly lived on turtles' eggs all\nthat while, came back to the grove: and finding my Spaniard, who, as I\nhave said, was the governor, and two more with him, walking by the side\nof the creek; they came up in a very submissive humble manner, and\nbegged to be received again into the family. The Spaniards used them\ncivilly, but told them, they had acted so unnaturally by their\ncountrymen, and so very grossly by them, (the Spaniards) that they could\nnot come to any conclusion without consulting the two Englishmen, and\nthe rest; but however they would go to them and discourse about it, and\nthey should know in half-an-hour. It may be guessed that they were very\nhard put to it; for, as they were to wait this half-hour for an answer,\nthey begged they would send them out some bread in the meantime, which\nthey did, sending at the same time a large piece of goat's flesh and a\nboiled parrot, which they ate very eagerly.\n\nAfter half-an-hour's consultation they were called in, and a long debate\nensued, their two countrymen charging them with the ruin of all their\nlabour, and a design to murder them; all which they owned before, and\ntherefore could not deny now. Upon the whole, the Spaniards acted the\nmoderators between them; and as they had obliged the two Englishmen not\nto hurt the three while they were naked and unarmed, so they now obliged\nthe three to go and rebuild their fellows' two huts, one to be of the\nsame and the other of larger dimensions than they were before; to fence\ntheir ground again, plant trees in the room of those pulled up, dig up\nthe land again for planting corn, and, in a word, to restore everything\nto the same state as they found it, that is, as near as they could.\n\nWell, they submitted to all this; and as they had plenty of provisions\ngiven them all the while, they grew very orderly, and the whole society\nbegan to live pleasantly and agreeably together again; only that these\nthree fellows could never be persuaded to work--I mean for\nthemselves--except now and then a little, just as they pleased. However,\nthe Spaniards told them plainly that if they would but live sociably and\nfriendly together, and study the good of the whole plantation, they\nwould be content to work for them, and let them walk about and be as\nidle as they pleased; and thus, having lived pretty well together for a\nmonth or two, the Spaniards let them have arms again, and gave them\nliberty to go abroad with them as before.\n\nIt was not above a week after they had these arms, and went abroad,\nbefore the ungrateful creatures began to be as insolent and troublesome\nas ever. However, an accident happened presently upon this, which\nendangered the safety of them all, and they were obliged to lay by all\nprivate resentments, and look to the preservation of their lives.\n\nIt happened one night that the governor, the Spaniard whose life I had\nsaved, who was now the governor of the rest, found himself very uneasy\nin the night, and could by no means get any sleep: he was perfectly well\nin body, only found his thoughts tumultuous; his mind ran upon men\nfighting and killing one another; but he was broad awake, and could not\nby any means get any sleep; in short, he lay a great while, but growing\nmore and more uneasy, he resolved to rise. As they lay, being so many of\nthem, on goat-skins laid thick upon such couches and pads as they made\nfor themselves, so they had little to do, when they were willing to\nrise, but to get upon their feet, and perhaps put on a coat, such as it\nwas, and their pumps, and they were ready for going any way that their\nthoughts guided them. Being thus got up, he looked out; but being dark,\nhe could see little or nothing, and besides, the trees which I had\nplanted, and which were now grown tall, intercepted his sight, so that\nhe could only look up, and see that it was a starlight night, and\nhearing no noise, he returned and lay down again; but to no purpose; he\ncould not compose himself to anything like rest; but his thoughts were\nto the last degree uneasy, and he knew not for what.\n\nHaving made some noise with rising and walking about, going out and\ncoming in, another of them waked, and, calling, asked who it was that\nwas up? The governor told him how it had been with him. \"Say you so?\"\nsays the other Spaniard; \"such things are not to be slighted, I assure\nyou; there is certainly some mischief working,\" says he, \"near us;\" and\npresently he asked him, \"Where are the Englishmen?\" \"They are all in\ntheir huts,\" says he, \"safe enough.\" It seems, the Spaniards had kept\npossession of the main apartment, and had made a place, where the three\nEnglishmen, since their last mutiny, always quartered by themselves, and\ncould not come at the rest. \"Well,\" says the Spaniard, \"there is\nsomething in it, I am persuaded from my own experience; I am satisfied\nour spirits embodied have converse with, and receive intelligence from,\nthe spirits unembodied, and inhabiting the invisible world; and this\nfriendly notice is given for our advantage, if we know how to make use\nof it. Come,\" says he, \"let us go out and look abroad; and if we find\nnothing at all in it to justify our trouble, I'll tell you a story of\nthe purpose, that shall convince you of the justice of my proposing it.\"\n\nIn a word, they went out to go to the top of the hill, where I used to\ngo; but they, being strong, and in good company, nor alone, as I was,\nused none of my cautions to go up by the ladder, and then pulling it up\nafter them, to go up a second stage to the top but were going round\nthrough the grove unconcerned and unwary, when they were surprised with\nseeing a light as of fire, a very little way off from them, and hearing\nthe voices of men, not of one or two, but of a great number.\n\nIn all the discoveries I had made of the savage landing on the island,\nit was my constant care to prevent them making the least discovery of\nthere being any inhabitant upon the place; and when by any necessity\nthey came to know it, they felt it so effectively, that they that got\naway, were scarce able to give any account of it, for we disappeared as\nsoon as possible, nor did ever any that had seen me, escape to tell any\none else, except it were the three savages in our last encounter, who\njumped into the boat, of whom I mentioned that I was afraid they should\ngo home, and bring more help.\n\nWhether it was the consequence of the escape of those men, that so great\na number came now together; or whether they came ignorantly, and by\naccident, on their usual bloody errand, the Spaniards could not, it\nseems, understand: but whatever it was, it had been their business,\neither to have: concealed themselves, and not have seen them at all;\nmuch less to have let the savages have seen, that there were any\ninhabitants in the place; but to have fallen upon them so effectually,\nas that not a man of them should have escaped, which could only have\nbeen by getting in between them and their boats: but this presence of\nmind was wanting to them; which was the ruin of their tranquillity for a\ngreat while.\n\nWe need not doubt but that the governor, and the man with him, surprised\nwith this sight, ran back immediately, and raised their fellows, giving\nthem an account of the imminent danger they were all in; and they again\nas readily took the alarm, but it was impossible to persuade them to\nstay close within where they were, but that they must all run out to see\nhow things stood.\n\nWhile it was dark indeed, they were well enough, and they had\nopportunity enough, for some hours, to view them by the light of three\nfires they had made at some distance from one another; what they were\ndoing they knew not, and what to do themselves they knew not; for,\nfirst, the enemy were too many; and, secondly, they did not keep\ntogether, but were divided into several parties, and were on shore in\nseveral places.\n\nThe Spaniards were in no small consternation at this sight; and as they\nfound that the fellows ran straggling all over the shore, they made no\ndoubt, but, first or last, some of them would chop in upon their\nhabitation, or upon some other place, where they would see the tokens of\ninhabitants; and they were in great perplexity also for fear of their\nflock of goats, which would have been little less than starving them, if\nthey should have been destroyed; so the first thing they resolved upon,\nwas to dispatch three men away before it was light, viz. two Spaniards\nand one Englishman, to drive all the goats away to the great valley\nwhere the cave was, and, if need were, to drive them into the very\ncave itself.\n\nCould they have seen the savages all together in one body, and at a\ndistance from their canoes, they resolved, if there had been an hundred\nof them, to have attacked them; but that could not be obtained, for\nthere were some of them two miles off from the other, and, as it\nappeared afterwards, were of two different nations.\n\nAfter having mused a great while on the course they should take, and\nbeaten their brains in considering their present circumstances, they\nresolved, at last while it was dark, to send the old savage (Friday's\nfather) out as a spy, to learn if possible something concerning them, as\nwhat they came for, and what they intended to do, and the like. The old\nman readily undertook it, and stripping himself quite naked, as most of\nthe savages were, away he went. After he had been gone an hour or two,\nhe brings word that he had been among them undiscovered, that he found\nthey were two parties, and of two several nations who had war with one\nanother, and had had a great battle in their own country, and that both\nsides having had several prisoners taken in the fight, they were by mere\nchance landed in the same island for the devouring their prisoners, and\nmaking merry; but this coming so by chance to the same place had spoiled\nall their mirth; that they were in a great rage at one another, and were\nso near, that he believed they would fight again as soon as daylight\nbegan to appear; he did not perceive that they had any notion of\nanybody's being on the island but themselves. He had hardly made an end\nof telling the story, when they could perceive, by the unusual noise\nthey made, that the two little armies were engaged in a bloody fight.\n\nFriday's father used all the arguments he could to persuade our people\nto lie close, and not be seen; he told them their safety consisted in\nit, and that they had nothing to do but to lie still, and the savages\nwould kill one another to their hands, and the rest would go away; and\nit was so to a tittle. But it was impossible to prevail, especially upon\nthe Englishmen, their curiosity was so importunate upon their\nprudentials, that they must run out and see the battle; however, they\nused some caution, viz. they did not go openly just by their own\ndwelling, but went farther into the woods, and placed themselves to\nadvantage, where they might securely see them manage the fight, and, as\nthey thought, not to be seen by them; but it seems the savages did see\nthem, as we shall find hereafter.\n\nThe battle was very fierce, and if I might believe the Englishmen, one\nof them said he could perceive that some of them were men of great\nbravery, of invincible spirits, and of great policy in guiding the\nfight. The battle, they said, held two hours before they could guess\nwhich party would be beaten; but then that party which was nearest our\npeople's habitation began to appear weakest, and, after some time more,\nsome of them began to fly; and this put our men again into a great\nconsternation, lest any of those that fled should run into the grove\nbefore their dwelling for shelter, and thereby involuntarily discover\nthe place, and that by consequence the pursuers should do the like in\nsearch for them. Upon this they resolved, that they would stand armed\nwithin the wall, and whoever came into the grove they should sally out\nover the wall, and kill them, so that if possible not one should return\nto give an account of it; they ordered also, that it should be done with\ntheir swords, or by knocking them down with the stock of the musket,\nnot by shooting them, for fear of raising an alarm by the noise.\n\nAs they expected it fell out: three of the routed army fled for life,\nand crossing the creek ran directly into the place, not in the least\nknowing whither they went, but running as into a thick wood for shelter.\nThe scout they kept to look abroad gave notice of this within, with this\naddition to our men's great satisfaction, viz. that the conquerors had\nnot pursued them, or seen which way they were gone. Upon this the\nSpaniard governor, a man of humanity, would not suffer them to kill the\nthree fugitives; but sending three men out by the top of the hill,\nordered them to go round and come in behind them, surprise and take them\nprisoners; which was done: the residue of the conquered people fled to\ntheir canoes, and got off to sea; the victors retired, and made no\npursuit, or very little, but drawing themselves into a body together,\ngave two great screaming shouts, which they suppose were by way of\ntriumph, and so the fight ended; and the same day, about three o'clock\nin the afternoon, they also marched to their canoes. And thus the\nSpaniards had their island again free to themselves, their fright was\nover, and they saw no savages in several years after.\n\nAfter they were all gone, the Spaniards came out of their den, and\nviewing the field of battle, they found about two-and-thirty dead men\nupon the spot; some were killed with great long arrows, several of which\nwere found sticking in their bodies, but most of them were killed with\ntheir great wooden swords, sixteen or seventeen of which they found in\nthe field of battle, and as many bows, with a great many arrows. These\nswords were great unwieldy things, and they must be very strong men that\nused them; most of those men that were killed with them had their heads\nmashed to pieces, as we may say, or, as we call it in English, their\nbrains knocked out, and several of their arms and legs broken; so that\nit is evident they fight with inexpressible rage and fury. They found\nnot one wounded man that was not stone dead; for either they stay by\ntheir enemy till they have quite killed them, or they carry all the\nwounded men, that are not quite dead, away with them.\n\nThis deliverance tamed our Englishmen for a great while; the sight had\nfilled them with horror, and the consequence appeared terrible to the\nlast degree; especially upon supposing that some time or other they\nshould fall into the hands of those creatures, who would not only kill\nthem as enemies, but kill them for food as we kill our cattle. And they\nprofessed to me, that the thoughts of being eaten up like beef or\nmutton, though it was supposed it was not to be till they were dead, had\nsomething in it so horrible that it nauseated their very stomachs, made\nthem sick when they thought of it, and filled their minds with unusual\nterror, that they were not themselves for some weeks after.\n\nThis, as I said, tamed even the three English brutes I have been\nspeaking of, and for a great while after they were very tractable, and\nwent about the common business of the whole society well enough;\nplanted, sowed, reaped, and began to be all naturalized to the country;\nbut some time after this they fell all into such simple measures again\nas brought them into a great deal of trouble.\n\nThey had taken three prisoners, as I had observed; and these three being\nlusty stout young fellows, they made them servants, and taught them to\nwork for them; and as slaves they did well enough; but they did not take\ntheir measures with them as I did by my man Friday, viz. to begin with\nthem upon the principle of having saved their lives, and then instructed\nthem in the rational principles of life, much less of religion,\ncivilizing and reducing them by kind usage and affectionate arguings;\nbut as they gave them their food every day, so they gave them their work\ntoo, and kept them fully employed in drudgery enough; but they failed in\nthis by it, that they never had them to assist them and fight for them\nas I had my man Friday, who was as true to me as the very flesh upon\nmy bones.\n\nBut to come to the family part: Being all now good friends (for common\ndanger, as I said above, had effectually reconciled them,) they began to\nconsider their general circumstances; and the first thing that came\nunder their consideration was, whether, seeing the savages particularly\nhaunted that side of the island, and that there were more remote and\nretired parts of it equally adapted to their way of living, and\nmanifestly to their advantage, they should not rather remove their\nhabitation, and plant in some more proper place for their safety, and\nespecially for the security of their cattle and corn.\n\nUpon this, after long debate, it was conceived that they should not\nremove their habitation, because that some time or other they thought\nthey might hear from their governor again, meaning me; and if I should\nsend any one to seek them, I would be sure to direct them on that side,\nwhere if they should find the place demolished they would conclude the\nsavages had killed us all, and we were gone, and so our supply would\ngo away too.\n\nBut as to their corn and cattle, they agreed to remove them into the\nvalley where my cave was, where the land was as proper to both, and\nwhere indeed there was land enough; however, upon second thoughts they\naltered one part of that resolution too, and resolved only to remove\npart of their cattle thither, and plant part of their corn there; and\nso, if one part was destroyed, the other might be saved; and one piece\nof prudence they used, which it was very well they did; viz. that they\nnever trusted these three savages, which they had taken prisoners, with\nknowing any thing of the plantation they had made in that valley, or of\nany cattle they had there; much less of the cave there, which they kept\nin case of necessity as a safe retreat; and thither they carried also\nthe two barrels of powder which I had left them at my coming away.\n\nBut however they resolved not to change their habitation; yet they\nagreed, that as I had carefully covered it first with a wall and\nfortification, and then with a grove of trees; so seeing their safety\nconsisted entirely in their being concealed, of which they were now\nfully convinced, they set to work to cover and conceal the place yet\nmore effectually than before: to this purpose, as I had planted trees\n(or rather thrust in stakes which in time all grew to be trees) for some\ngood distance before the entrance into my apartment, they went on in the\nsame manner, and filled up the rest of that whole space of ground, from\nthe trees I had set quite down to the side of the creek, where, as I\nsaid, I landed my floats, and even into the very ooze where the tide\nflowed, not so much as leaving any place to land, or any sign that there\nhad been any landing thereabout. These stakes also being of a wood very\nforward to grow, as I had noted formerly, they took care to have\ngenerally very much larger and taller than those which I had planted,\nand placed them so very thick and close, that when they had been three\nor four years grown there was no piercing with the eye any considerable\nway into the plantation. As for that part which I had planted, the trees\nwere grown as thick as a man's thigh; and among them they placed so many\nother short ones, and so thick, that, in a word, it stood like a\npalisado a quarter of a mile thick, and it was next to impossible to\npenetrate it but with a little army to cut it all down; for a little dog\ncould hardly get between the trees, they stood so close.\n\nBut this was not all; for they did the same by all the ground to the\nright hand, and to the left, and round even to the top of the hill,\nleaving no way, not so much as for themselves to come out, but by the\nladder placed up to the side of the hill, and then lifted up and placed\nagain from the first stage up to the top; which ladder, when it was\ntaken down, nothing but what had wings or witchcraft to assist it, could\ncome at them.\n\nThis was excellently well contrived, nor was it less than what they\nafterwards found occasion for; which served to convince me, that as\nhuman prudence has authority of Providence to justify it, so it has,\ndoubtless, the direction of Providence to set it to work, and, would we\nlisten carefully to the voice of it, I am fully persuaded we might\nprevent many of the disasters which our lives are now by our own\nnegligence subjected to: but this by the way.\n\nI return to the story: They lived two years after this in perfect\nretirement, and had no more visits from the savages; they had indeed an\nalarm given them one morning, which put them in a great consternation\nfor some of the Spaniards being out early one morning on the west side,\nor rather end of the island which, by the way, was that end where I\nnever went, for fear of being discovered, they were surprised with\nseeing above twenty canoes of Indians just coming on shore.\n\nThey made the best of their way home in hurry enough, and, giving the\nalarm to their comrades, they kept close all that day and the next,\ngoing out only at night to make observation; but they had the good luck\nto be mistaken, for wherever the savages went, they did not land at that\ntime on the island, but pursued some other design.\n\nAnd now they had another broil with the three Englishmen, one of which,\na most turbulent fellow, being in a rage at one of the three slaves\nwhich I mentioned they had taken, because the fellow had not done\nsomething right which he bid him do, and seemed a little untractable in\nhis shewing him, drew a hatchet out of a frog-belt, in which he bore it\nby his side, and fell upon him, the poor savage, not to correct him but\nto kill him. One of the Spaniards who was by, seeing him give the fellow\na barbarous cut with the hatchet which he aimed at his head, but struck\ninto his shoulder, so that he thought he had cut the poor creature's arm\noff, ran to him, and entreating him not to murder the poor man, clapt\nin between him and the savage to prevent the mischief.\n\nThe fellow being enraged the more at this, struck at the Spaniard with\nhis hatchet, and swore he would serve him as he intended to serve the\nsavage; which the Spaniard perceiving, avoided the blow, and with a\nshovel which he had in his hand (for they were working in the field\nabout the corn-land) knocked the brute down; another of the Englishmen\nrunning at the same time to help his comrade, knocked the Spaniard down,\nand then two Spaniards more came to help their man, and a third\nEnglishman fell upon them. They had none of them any fire-arms, or any\nother weapons but hatchets and other tools, except the third Englishman;\nhe had one of my old rusty cutlasses, with which he made at the last\nSpaniards, and wounded them both. This fray set the whole family in an\nuproar, and more help coming in, they took the three Englishmen\nprisoners. The next question was, what should be done with them? they\nhad been so often mutinous, and were so furious, so desperate, and so\nidle withal, that they knew not what course to take with them, for they\nwere mischievous to the highest degree, and valued not what hurt they\ndid any man; so that, in short, it was not safe to live with them.\n\nThe Spaniard who was governor, told them in so many words, that if they\nhad been his own countrymen he would have hanged them all; for all laws\nand all governors were to preserve society, and those who were dangerous\nto the society ought to be expelled out of it; but as they were\nEnglishmen, and that it was to the generous kindness of an Englishman\nthat they all owed their preservation and deliverance, he would use them\nwith all possible lenity, and would leave them to the judgment of the\nother two Englishmen, who were their countrymen.\n\nOne of the two honest Englishmen stood up, and said they desired it\nmight not be left to them; \"For,\" says he, \"I am sure we ought to\nsentence them to the gallows,\" and with that gives an account how Will\nAtkins, one of the three, had proposed to have all the five Englishmen\njoin together, and murder all the Spaniards when they were in\ntheir sleep.\n\nWhen the Spanish governor heard this, he calls to Will Atkins: \"How,\nSeignior Atkins,\" says he, \"will you murder us all? What have you to say\nto that?\" That hardened villain was so far from denying it, that he said\nit was true, and G-d d-mn him they would do it still before they had\ndone with them. \"Well, but Seignior Atkins,\" said the Spaniard, \"what\nhave we done to you that you will kill us? And what would you get by\nkilling us? And what must we do to prevent your killing us? Must we kill\nyou, or will you kill us? Why will you put us to the necessity of this,\nSeignior Atkins?\" says the Spaniard very calmly and smiling.\n\nSeignior Atkins was in such a rage at the Spaniard's making a jest of\nit, that had he not been held by three men, and withal had no weapons\nwith him, it was thought he would have attempted to have killed the\nSpaniard in the middle of all the company.\n\nThis harebrained carriage obliged them to consider seriously what was to\nbe done. The two Englishmen and the Spaniard who saved the poor savage,\nwere of the opinion that they should hang one of the three for an\nexample to the rest; and that particularly it should be he that had\ntwice attempted to commit murder with his hatchet; and indeed there was\nsome reason to believe he had done it, for the poor savage was in such a\nmiserable condition with the wound he had received, that it was thought\nhe could not live.\n\nBut the governor Spaniard still said, no, it was an Englishman that had\nsaved all their lives, and he would never consent to put an Englishman\nto death though he had murdered half of them; nay, he said if he had\nbeen killed himself by an Englishman, and had time left to speak, it\nshould be that they should pardon him.\n\nThis was so positively insisted on by the governor Spaniard, that there\nwas no gainsaying it; and as merciful counsels are most apt to prevail,\nwhere they are so earnestly pressed, so they all came into it; but then\nit was to be considered what should be done to keep them from the\nmischief they designed; for all agreed, governor and all, that means\nwere to be used for preserving the society from danger. After a long\ndebate it was agreed, first, that they should be disarmed, and not\npermitted to have either gun, or powder, or shot, or sword, or any\nweapon, and should be turned out of the society, and left to live where\nthey would, and how they could by themselves; but that none of the rest,\neither Spaniards or English, should converse with them, speak with them,\nor have any thing to do with them; that they should be forbid to come\nwithin a certain distance of the place where the rest dwelt; and that if\nthey offered to commit any disorder, so as to spoil, burn, kill, or\ndestroy any of the corn, plantings, buildings, fences, or cattle\nbelonging to the society, that they should die without mercy, and would\nshoot them wherever they could find them.\n\nThe governor, a man of great humanity, musing upon the sentence,\nconsidered a little upon it, and turning to the two honest Englishmen,\nsaid, \"Hold, you must reflect, that it will be long ere they can raise\ncorn and cattle of their own, and they must not starve; we must\ntherefore allow them provisions.\" So he caused to be added, that they\nshould have a proportion of corn given them to last them eight months,\nand for seed to sow, by which time they might be supposed to raise some\nof their own; that they should have six milch-goats, four he-goats, and\nsix kids given them, as well for present subsistence as for a store; and\nthat they should have tools given them for their work in the field; such\nas six hatchets, an axe, a saw, and the like: but they should have none\nof these tools or provisions unless they would swear solemnly that they\nwould not hurt or injure any of the Spaniards with them, or of their\nfellow Englishmen.\n\nThus they dismissed them the society, and turned them out to shift for\nthemselves. They went away sullen and refractory, as neither contented\nto go away or to stay; but as there was no remedy they went, pretending\nto go and choose a place where they should settle themselves, to plant\nand live by themselves; and some provisions were given, but no weapons.\n\nAbout four or five days after they came again for some victuals, and\ngave the governor an account where they had pitched their tents, and\nmarked themselves out an habitation or plantation: it was a very\nconvenient place indeed, on the remotest part of the island, N.E. much\nabout the place where I providentially landed in my first voyage when I\nwas driven out to sea, the Lord alone knows whither, in my foolish\nattempt to surround the island.\n\nHere they built themselves two handsome huts, and contrived them in a\nmanner like my first habitation being close under the side of a hill,\nhaving some trees growing already to the three sides of it; so that by\nplanting others it would be very easily covered from the sight, unless\nnarrowly searched for. They desired some dry goat-skins for beds and\ncovering, which were given them; and upon their giving their words that\nthey would not disturb the rest, or injure any of their plantations,\nthey gave them hatchets, and what other tools they could spare; some\npeas, barley, and rice, for sowing, and, in a word, any thing they\nwanted but arms and ammunition.\n\nThey lived in this separate condition about six months, and had got in\ntheir first harvest, though the quantity was but small, the parcel of\nland they had planted being but little; for indeed having all their\nplantation to form, they had a great deal of work upon their hands; and\nwhen they came to make boards, and pots, and such things, they were\nquite out of their element, and could make nothing of it; and when the\nrainy season came on, for want of a cave in the earth, they could not\nkeep their grain dry, and it was in great danger of spoiling: and this\nhumbled them much; so they came and begged the Spaniards to help them,\nwhich they very readily did; and in four days worked a great hole in\nthe side of the hill for them, big enough to secure their corn and other\nthings from the rain: but it was but a poor place at best compared to\nmine; and especially as mine was then; for the Spaniards had greatly\nenlarged it, and made several new apartments in it.\n\nAbout three quarters of a year after this separation a new frolic took\nthese rogues, which, together with the former villany they had\ncommitted, brought mischief enough upon them, and had very near been the\nruin of the whole colony. The three new associates began, it seems, to\nbe weary of the laborious life they led, and that without hope of\nbettering their circumstances; and a whim took them that they would make\na voyage to the continent from whence the savages came, and would try if\nthey could not seize upon some prisoners among the natives there, and\nbring them home, so as to make them do the laborious part of the\nwork for them.\n\nThe project was not so preposterous if they had gone no farther; but\nthey did nothing and proposed nothing but had either mischief in the\ndesign or mischief in the event; and if I may give my opinion, they\nseemed to be under a blast from Heaven; for if we will not allow a\nvisible curse to pursue visible crimes, how shall we reconcile the\nevents of things with divine justice? It was certainly an apparent\nvengeance on their crime of mutiny and piracy that brought them to the\nstate they were in; and as they shewed not the least remorse for the\ncrime, but added new villanies to it, such as particularly that piece of\nmonstrous cruelty of wounding a poor slave because he did not, or\nperhaps could not understand to do what he was directed, and to wound\nhim in such a manner as, no question, made him a cripple all his life,\nand in a place where no surgeon or medicine could be had for his cure;\nand what was still worse, the murderous intent, or, to do justice to the\ncrime, the intentional murder, for such to be sure it was, as was\nafterwards the formed design they all laid to murder the Spaniards in\ncold blood, and in their sleep.\n\nBut I leave observing, and return to the story: The three fellows came\ndown to the Spaniards one morning, and in very humble terms desired to\nbe admitted to speak with them; the Spaniards very readily heard what\nthey had to say, which was this, that they were tired of living in the\nmanner they did, that they were not handy enough to make the necessaries\nthey wanted; and that, having no help, they found they should be\nstarved; but if the Spaniards would give them leave to take one of the\ncanoes which they came over in, and give them arms and ammunition\nproportioned for their defence, they would go over to the main, and seek\ntheir fortune, and so deliver them from the trouble of supplying them\nwith any other provisions.\n\nThe Spaniards were glad enough to be rid of them; but yet very honestly\nrepresented to them the certain destruction they were running into; told\nthem they had suffered such hardships upon that very spot, that they\ncould, without any spirit of prophecy, tell them that they would be\nstarved or murdered, and bade them consider of it.\n\nThe men replied audaciously, they should be starved if they stayed here,\nfor they could not work, and would not work; and they could but be\nstarved abroad; and if they were murdered, there was an end of them,\nthey had no wives or children to cry after them; and, in short, insisted\nimportunately upon their demand, declaring that they would go, whether\nthey would give them any arms or no.\n\nThe Spaniards told them with great kindness, that if they were resolved\nto go, they should not go like naked men, and be in no condition to\ndefend themselves, and that though they could ill spare their fire-arms,\nhaving not enough for themselves, yet they would let them have two\nmuskets, a pistol, and a cutlass, and each man a hatchet, which they\nthought sufficient for them.\n\nIn a word, they accepted the offer, and having baked them bread enough\nto serve them a month, and given them as much goat's flesh as they could\neat while it was sweet, and a great basket full of dried grapes, a pot\nfull of fresh water, and a young kid alive to kill, they boldly set out\nin a canoe for a voyage over the sea, where it was at least forty\nmiles broad.\n\nThe boat was indeed a large one, and would have very well carried\nfifteen or twenty men, and therefore was rather too big for them to\nmanage; but as they had a fair breeze and the flood-tide with them, they\ndid well enough; they had made a mast of a long pole, and a sail of four\nlarge goat-skins dried, which they had sewed or laced together; and away\nthey went merrily enough; the Spaniards called after them, \"Bon veajo;\"\nand no man ever thought of seeing them any more.\n\nThe Spaniards would often say to one another, and the two honest\nEnglishmen who remained behind, how quietly and comfortably they lived\nnow those three turbulent fellows were gone; as for their ever coming\nagain, that was the remotest thing from their thoughts could be\nimagined; when, behold, after twenty-two days absence, one of the\nEnglishmen being abroad upon his planting work, sees three strange men\ncoming towards him at a distance, two of them with guns upon their\nshoulders.\n\nAway runs the Englishman, as if he was bewitched, and became frighted\nand amazed, to the governor Spaniard, and tells him they were all\nundone, for there were strangers landed upon the island, he could not\ntell who. The Spaniard pausing a while, says to him, \"How do you mean,\nyou cannot tell who? They are savages to be sure.\"--\"No, no,\" says the\nEnglishman, \"they are men in clothes, with arms.\"--\"Nay then,\" says the\nSpaniard, \"why are you concerned? If they are not savages, they must be\nfriends; for there is no Christian nation upon earth but will do us good\nrather than harm.\"\n\nWhile they were debating thus, came the three Englishmen, and standing\nwithout the wood which was new-planted, hallooed to them; they presently\nknew their voices, and so all the wonder of that kind ceased. But now\nthe admiration was turned upon another question, viz. What could be the\nmatter, and what made them come back again?\n\nIt was not long before they brought the men in; and inquiring where they\nhad been, and what they had been doing? they gave them a full account of\ntheir voyage in a few words, viz. that they reached the land in two\ndays, or something less, but finding the people alarmed at their coming,\nand preparing with bows and arrows to fight them, they durst not go on\nshore, but sailed on to the northward six or seven hours, till they came\nto a great opening, by which they perceived that the land they saw from\nour island was not the main, but an island: that entering that opening\nof the sea, they saw another island on the right hand north, and several\nmore west; and being resolved to land somewhere, they put over to one of\nthe islands which lay west, and went boldly on shore; that they found\nthe people were courteous and friendly to them, and they gave them\nseveral roots, and some dried fish, and appeared very sociable: and the\nwomen, as well as the men, were very forward to supply them with any\nthing they could get for them to eat, and brought it to them a great way\nupon their heads.\n\nThey continued here four days, and inquired, as well as they could of\nthem by signs, what nations were this way, and that way; and were told\nof several fierce and terrible people, that lived almost every way; who,\nas they made known by signs to them, used to eat men; but as for\nthemselves, they said, that they never ate men or women, except only\nsuch as they took in the wars; and then they owned that they made a\ngreat feast, and ate their prisoners.\n\nThe Englishmen inquired when they had a feast of that kind, and they\ntold them two moons ago, pointing to the moon, and then to two-fingers;\nand that their great king had two hundred prisoners now which he had\ntaken in his war, and they were feeding them to make them fat for the\nnext feast. The Englishmen seemed mighty desirous to see those\nprisoners, but the others mistaking them, thought they were desirous to\nhave some of them to carry away for their own eating. So they beckoned\nto them, pointing to the setting of the sun, and then to the rising;\nwhich was to signify, that the next morning at sun-rising they would\nbring some for them; and accordingly the next morning they brought down\nfive women and eleven men, and gave them to the Englishmen to carry with\nthem on their voyage, just as we would bring so many cows and oxen down\nto a sea-port town to victual a ship.\n\nAs brutish and barbarous as these fellows were at home, their stomachs\nturned at this sight, and they did not know what to do; to refuse the\nprisoners would have been the highest affront to the savage gentry that\noffered them; and what to do with them they knew not; however, upon some\ndebate, they resolved to accept of them; and in return they gave the\nsavages that brought them one of their hatchets, an old key, a knife,\nand six or seven of their bullets, which, though they did not\nunderstand, they seemed extremely pleased with; and then tying the poor\ncreatures' hands behind them, they (the people) dragged the prisoners\ninto the boat for our men.\n\nThe Englishmen were obliged to come away as soon as they had them, or\nelse they that gave them his noble present would certainly have expected\nthat they should have gone to work with them, have killed two or three\nof them the next morning, and perhaps have invited the donors to dinner.\n\nBut having taken their leave with all the respect and thanks that could\nwell pass between people, where, on either side, they understood not one\nword they could say, they put off with their boat, and came back towards\nthe first island, where when they arrived, they set eight of their\nprisoners at liberty, there being too many of them for their occasion.\n\nIn their voyage they endeavoured to have some communication with their\nprisoners, but it was impossible to make them understand any thing;\nnothing they could say to them, or give them, or do for them, but was\nlooked upon as going about to murder them: they first of all unbound\nthem, but the poor creatures screamed at that, especially the women, as\nif they had just felt the knife at their throats; for they immediately\nconcluded they were unbound on purpose to be killed.\n\nIf they gave them any thing to eat, it was the same thing; then they\nconcluded it was for fear they should sink in flesh, and so not be fat\nenough to kill; if they looked at one of them more particularly, the\nparty presently concluded it was to see whether he or she was fattest\nand fittest to kill first; nay, after they had brought them quite over,\nand began to use them kindly and treat them well, still they expected\nevery day to make a dinner or supper for their new masters.\n\nWhen the three wanderers had given this unaccountable history or journal\nof their voyage, the Spaniard asked them where their new family was? And\nbeing told that they had brought them on shore, and put them into one of\ntheir huts, and were come to beg some victuals for them; they (the\nSpaniards) and the other two Englishmen, that is to say, the whole\ncolony, resolved to go all down to the place and see them, and did so,\nand Friday's father with them.\n\nWhen they came into the hut, there they sat all bound; for when they had\nbrought them on shore they bound their hands, that they might not take\nthe boat and make their escape; there, I say, they sat all of them stark\nnaked. First, there were three men, lusty, comely fellows, well shaped,\nstraight and fair limbs, about thirty or thirty-five years of age, and\nfive women; whereof two might be from thirty to forty, two more not\nabove twenty-four or twenty-five, and the fifth, a tall, comely maiden,\nabout sixteen or seventeen. The women were well-favoured, agreeable\npersons, both in shape and features, only tawny; and two of them, had\nthey been perfect white, would have passed for handsome women, even in\nLondon itself, having very pleasant, agreeable countenances, and of a\nvery modest behaviour, especially when they came afterwards to be\nclothed, and dressed, as they called it, though that dress was very\nindifferent it must be confessed, of which hereafter.\n\nThe sight, you may be sure, was something uncouth to our Spaniards, who\nwere (to give them a just character) men of the best behaviour, of the\nmost calm, sedate tempers, and perfect good humour that ever I met with;\nand, in particular, of the most modesty, as will presently appear: I say\nthe sight was very uncouth, to see three naked men and five naked women,\nall together bound, and in the most miserable circumstances that human\nnature could be supposed to be, viz. to be expecting every moment to be\ndragged out, and have their brains knocked out, and then to be eaten up\nlike a calf that is killed for a dainty.\n\nThe first thing they did was to cause the old Indian, Friday's father,\nto go in and see first if he knew any of them, and then if he understood\nany of their speech. As soon as the old man came in, he looked seriously\nat them, but knew none of them; neither could any of them understand a\nword he said, or a sign he could make, except one of the women.\n\nHowever, this was enough to answer the end, which was to satisfy them,\nthat the men into whose hands they were fallen were Christians; that\nthey abhorred eating of men or women, and that they might be sure they\nwould not be killed. As soon as they were assured of this, they\ndiscovered such a joy, and by such awkward and several ways as is hard\nto describe, for it seems they were of several nations.\n\nThe woman who was their interpreter was bid, in the next place, to ask\nthem if they were willing to be servants, and to work for the men who\nhad brought them away to save their lives? At which they all fell a\ndancing; and presently one fell to taking up this, and another that, any\nthing that lay next, to carry on their shoulders, to intimate that they\nwere willing to work.\n\nThe governor, who found that the having women among them would presently\nbe attended with some inconveniency, and might occasion some strife, and\nperhaps blood, asked the three men what they intended to do with these\nwomen, and how they intended to use them, whether as servants or as\nwomen? One of the Englishmen answered very boldly and readily, that they\nwould use them as both. To which the governor said, \"I am not going to\nrestrain you from it; you are your own masters as to that: but this I\nthink is but just, for avoiding disorders and quarrels among you, and I\ndesire it of you for that reason only, viz. that you will all engage,\nthat if any of you take any of these women as a woman, or wife, he shall\ntake but one; and that, having taken one, none else should touch her;\nfor though we cannot marry any of you, yet it is but reasonable that\nwhile you stay here, the woman any of you takes should be maintained by\nthe man that takes her, and should be his wife; I mean,\" says he, \"while\nhe continues here; and that none else should have any thing to do with\nher.\" All this appeared so just, that every one agreed to it without any\ndifficulty.\n\nThen the Englishmen asked the Spaniards if they designed to take any of\nthem? But every one answered, \"No;\" some of them said they had wives in\nSpain; and the others did not like women that were not Christians; and\nall together declared, that they would not touch one of them; which was\nan instance of such virtue as I have not met with in all my travels. On\nthe other hand, to be short, the five Englishmen took them every one a\nwife; that is to say, a temporary wife; and so they set up a new form of\nliving; for the Spaniards and Friday's father lived in my old\nhabitation, which they had enlarged exceedingly within; the three\nservants, which they had taken in the late battle of the savages, lived\nwith them; and these carried on the main part of the colony, supplying\nall the rest with food, and assisting them in any thing as they could,\nor as they found necessity required.\n\nBut the wonder of this story was, how five such refractory, ill-matched\nfellows should agree about these women, and that two of them should not\npitch upon the same woman, especially seeing two or three of them were,\nwithout comparison, more agreeable than the others: but they took a good\nway enough to prevent quarrelling among themselves; for they set the\nfive women by themselves in one of their huts, and they went all into\nthe other hut, and drew lots among them who should choose first.\n\nHe that drew to choose first, went away by himself to the hut where the\npoor naked creatures were, and fetched out her he chose; and it was\nworth observing that he that chose first took her that was reckoned the\nhomeliest and the oldest of the five, which made mirth enough among the\nrest; and even the Spaniards laughed at it; but the fellow considered\nbetter than any of them, that it was application and business that they\nwere to expect assistance in as much as any thing else, and she proved\nthe best wife in the parcel.\n\nWhen the poor women saw themselves in a row thus, and fetched out one by\none, the terrors of their condition returned upon them again, and they\nfirmly believed that they were now going to be devoured: accordingly,\nwhen the English sailor came in and fetched out one of them, the rest\nset up a most lamentable cry, and hung about her, and took their leave\nof her with such agonies and such affection as would have grieved the\nhardest heart in the world; nor was it possible for the Englishmen to\nsatisfy them that they were not to be immediately murdered, till they\nfetched the old man, Friday's father, who instantly let them know, that\nthe five men who had fetched them out one by one, had chosen them for\ntheir wives.\n\nWhen they had done this, and the fright the women were in was a little\nover, the men went to work, and the Spaniards came and helped them; and\nin a few hours they had built them every one a new hut or tent for their\nlodging apart; for those they had already were crowded with their tools,\nhousehold stuff, and provisions. The three wicked ones had pitched\nfarthest off, and the two honest ones nearer, but both on the north\nshore of the island, so that they continued separate as before: and thus\nmy island was peopled in three places, and, as I might say, three towns\nwere begun to be planted.\n\nAnd here it is very well worth observing, that as it often happens in\nthe world, (what the wise ends of God's providences are in such a\ndisposition of things I cannot say) the two honest fellows had the two\nworst wives; and the three reprobates, that were scarce worth hanging,\nthat were fit for nothing, and neither seemed born to do themselves\ngood, or any one else, had three clever, diligent, careful, and\ningenious wives, not that the two first were ill wives as to their\ntemper or humour; for all the five were most willing, quiet, passive,\nand subjected creatures, rather like slaves than wives; but my meaning\nis, they were not alike, capable, ingenious, or industrious, or alike\ncleanly and neat.\n\nAnother observation I must make, to the honour of a diligent application\non the one hand, and to the disgrace of a slothful, negligent, idle\ntemper on the other, that when I came to the place, and viewed the\nseveral improvements, planting, and management of the several little\ncolonies, the two men had so far out-gone the three, that there was no\ncomparison; they had indeed both of them as much ground laid out for\ncorn as they wanted; and the reason was, because according to my rule,\nnature dictated, that it was to no purpose to sow more corn than they\nwanted; but the difference of the cultivation, of the planting, of the\nfences, and indeed every thing else, was easy to be seen at first view.\n\nThe two men had innumerable young trees planted about their huts, that\nwhen you came to the place nothing was to be seen but a wood; and\nthough they had their plantation twice demolished, once by their own\ncountrymen, and once by the enemy, as shall be shewn in its place; yet\nthey had restored all again, and every thing was flourishing and\nthriving about them: they had grapes planted in order, and managed like\na vineyard, though they had themselves never seen any thing of that\nkind; and by their good ordering their vines their grapes were as good\nagain as any of the others. They had also formed themselves a retreat in\nthe thickest part of the woods, where, though there was not a natural\ncave, as I had found, yet they made one with incessant labour of their\nhands, and where, when the mischief which followed happened, they\nsecured their wives and children so as they could never be found; they\nhaving, by sticking innumerable stakes and poles of the wood, which, as\nI said, grow so easily, made a grove impassable except in one place,\nwhere they climbed up to get over the outside part, and then went in by\nways of their own leaving.\n\nAs to the three reprobates, as I justly call them, though they were much\ncivilized by their new settlement compared to what they were before, and\nwere not so quarrelsome, having not the same opportunity, yet one of the\ncertain companions of a profligate mind never left them, and that was\ntheir idleness. It is true, they planted corn and made fences; but\nSolomon's words were never better verified than in them: \"I went by the\nvineyard of the slothful, and it was overgrown with thorns;\" for when\nthe Spaniards came to view their crop, they could not see it in some\nplaces for weeds; the hedge had several gaps in it, where the wild goats\nhad gotten in and eaten up the corn; perhaps here and there a dead bush\nwas crammed in to stop them out for the present, but it was only\nshutting the stable door after the steed was stolen; whereas, when they\nlooked on the colony of the other two, here was the very face of\nindustry and success upon all they did; there was not a weed to be seen\nin all their corn, or a gap in any of their hedges; and they, on the\nother hand, verified Solomon's words in another place: \"The diligent\nhand maketh rich;\" for every thing grew and thrived, and they had plenty\nwithin and without; they had more tame cattle than the others, more\nutensils and necessaries within doors, and yet more pleasure and\ndiversion too.\n\nIt is true, the wives of the three were very handy and cleanly within\ndoors; and having learnt the English ways of dressing and cooking from\none of the other Englishmen, who, as I said, was a cook's mate on board\nthe ship, they dressed their husbands' victuals very nicely; whereas the\nother could not be brought to understand it; but then the husband, who\nas I said, had been cook's mate, did it himself; but as for the husbands\nof the three wives, they loitered about, fetched turtles' eggs, and\ncaught fish and birds; in a word, any thing but labour, and they fared\naccordingly. The diligent lived well and comfortably and the slothful\nlived hard and beggarly; and so I believe, generally speaking, it is all\nover the world.\n\nBut now I come to a scene different from all that had happened before,\neither to them or me; and the origin of the story was this:\n\nEarly one morning there came on shore five or six canoes of Indians, or\nsavages, call them which you please; and there is no room to doubt that\nthey came upon the old errand of feeding upon their slaves; but that\npart was now so familiar to the Spaniards, and to our men too, that they\ndid not concern themselves about it as I did; but having been made\nsensible by their experience, that their only business was to lie\nconcealed, and that, if they were not seen by any of the savages, they\nwould go off again quietly when the business was done, having as yet not\nthe least notion of there being any inhabitants in the island; I say\nhaving been made sensible of this, they had nothing to do but to give\nnotice to all the three plantations to keep within doors, and not to\nshew themselves; only placing a scout in a proper place, to give notice\nwhen the boats went off to sea again.\n\nThis was, without doubt, very right; but a disaster spoiled all these\nmeasures, and made it known among the savages that there were\ninhabitants there, which was, in the end, the desolation of almost the\nwhole colony. After the canoes with the savages were gone off, the\nSpaniards peeped abroad again, and some of them had the curiosity to go\nto the place where they had been, to see what they had been doing. Here,\nto their great surprise, they found three savages left behind, and lying\nfast asleep upon the ground; it was supposed they had either been so\ngorged with their inhuman feast, that, like beasts, they were asleep,\nand would not stir when the others went, or they were wandered into the\nwoods, and did not come back in time to be taken in.\n\nThe Spaniards were greatly surprised at this sight, and perfectly at a\nloss what to do; the Spaniard governor, as it happened, was with them,\nand his advice was asked; but he professed he knew not what to do; as\nfor slaves, they had enough already; and as to killing them, they were\nnone of them inclined to that. The Spaniard governor told me they could\nnot think of shedding innocent blood; for as to them, the poor creatures\nhad done no wrong, invaded none of their property; and they thought they\nhad no just quarrel against them to take away their lives.\n\nAnd here I must, in justice to these Spaniards, observe, that let all\nthe accounts of Spanish cruelty in Mexico and Peru be what they will, I\nnever met with seventeen men, of any nation whatsoever, in any foreign\ncountry, who were so universally modest, temperate, virtuous, so very\ngood-humoured, and so courteous as these Spaniards; and, as to cruelty,\nthey had nothing of it in their very nature; no inhumanity, no\nbarbarity, no outrageous passions, and yet all of them men of great\ncourage and spirit.\n\nTheir temper and calmness had appeared in their bearing the insufferable\nusage of the three Englishmen; and their justice and humanity appeared\nnow in the case of the savages as above. After some consultation they\nresolved upon this, that they would lie still a while longer, till, if\npossible, these three men might be gone; but then the governor Spaniard\nrecollected that the three savages had no boat; and that if they were\nleft to rove about the island, they would certainly discover that there\nwere inhabitants in it, and so they should be undone that way.\n\nUpon this they went back again, and there lay the fellows fast asleep\nstill; so they resolved to awaken them, and take them prisoners; and\nthey did so. The poor fellows were strangely frighted when they were\nseized upon and bound, and afraid, like the women, that they should be\nmurdered and eaten; for it seems those people think all the world do as\nthey do, eating mens' flesh; but they were soon made easy as to that:\nand away they carried them.\n\nIt was very happy for them that they did not carry them home to their\ncastle; I mean to my palace under the hill; but they carried them first\nto the bower, where was the chief of their country work; such as the\nkeeping the goats, the planting the corn, &c.; and afterwards they\ncarried them to the habitation of the two Englishmen.\n\nHere they were set to work, though it was not much, they had for them to\ndo; and whether it was by negligence in guarding them, or that they\nthought the fellows could not mend themselves, I know not, but one of\nthem ran away, and taking into the woods, they could never hear of\nhim more.\n\nThey had good reason to believe he got home again soon after in some\nother boats or canoes of savages, who came on shore three or four weeks\nafterwards, and who, carrying on their revels as usual, went off again\nin two days time. This thought terrified them exceedingly; for they\nconcluded, and that not without good cause indeed, that if this fellow\ngot safe home among his comrades, he would certainly give them an\naccount that there were people in the island, as also how weak and few\nthey were; for this savage, as I observed before, had never been told,\nas it was very happy he had not, how many they were, or where they\nlived, nor had he ever seen or heard the fire of any of their guns, much\nless had they shewn him any other of their retired places, such as the\ncave in the valley, or the new retreat which the two Englishmen had\nmade, and the like.\n\nThe first testimony they had that this fellow had given intelligence of\nthem was, that about two months after this, six canoes of savages, with\nabout seven or eight, or ten men in a canoe, came rowing along the north\nside of the island, where they never used to come before, and landed\nabout an hour after sunrise, at a convenient place, about a mile from\nthe habitation of the two Englishmen, where this escaped man had been\nkept. As the Spaniard governor said, had they been all there the damage\nwould not have been so much, for not a man of them would have escaped:\nbut the case differed now very much; for two men to fifty were too much\nodds. The two men had the happiness to discover them about a league off,\nso that it was about an hour before they landed, and as they landed\nabout a mile from their huts, it was some time before they could come at\nthem. Now having great reason to believe that they were betrayed, the\nfirst thing they did was to bind the slaves which were left, and cause\ntwo of the three men whom they brought with the women, who, it seems,\nproved very faithful to them, to lead them with their two wives, and\nwhatever they could carry away with them, to their retired place in the\nwoods, which I have spoken of above, and there to bind the two fellows\nhand and foot till they heard farther.\n\nIn the next place, seeing the savages were all come on shore, and that\nthey bent their course directly that way, they opened the fences where\ntheir milch-goats were kept, and drove them all out, leaving their goats\nto straggle into the wood, whither they pleased, that the savages might\nthink they were all bred wild; but the rogue who came with them was too\ncunning for that, and gave them an account of it all, for they went\ndirectly to the place.\n\nWhen the poor frighted men had secured their wives and goods, they sent\nthe other slave they had of the three, who came with the women, and who\nwas at their place by accident, away to the Spaniards with all speed, to\ngive them the alarm, and desire speedy help; and in the mean time they\ntook their arms, and what ammunition they had, and retreated towards the\nplace in the wood where their wives were sent, keeping at a distance;\nyet so that they might see, if possible, which way the savages took.\n\nThey had not gone far but that, from a rising ground, they could see the\nlittle army of their enemies come on directly to their habitation, and\nin a moment more could see all their huts and household-stuff flaming up\ntogether, to their great grief and mortification; for they had a very\ngreat loss, and to them irretrievable, at least for some time. They kept\ntheir station for a while, till they found the savages, like wild\nbeasts, spread themselves all over the place, rummaging every way, and\nevery place they could think of, in search for prey, and in particular\nfor the people, of whom it plainly appeared they had intelligence.\n\nThe two Englishmen, seeing this, thinking themselves not secure where\nthey stood, as it was likely some of the wild people might come that\nway, so they might come too many together, thought it proper to make\nanother retreat about half a mile farther, believing, as it afterwards\nhappened, that the farther they strolled, the fewer would be together.\n\nThe next halt was at the entrance into a very thick grown part of the\nwoods, and where an old trunk of a tree stood, which was hollow, and\nvastly large; and in this tree they both took their standing, resolving\nto see what might offer.\n\nThey had not stood there long, but two of the savages appeared running\ndirectly that way, as if they had already notice where they stood, and\nwere coming up to attack them; and a little way farther they espied\nthree more coming after them, and five more beyond them, all coming the\nsame way; besides which, they saw seven or eight more at a distance,\nrunning another way; for, in a word, they ran every way, like sportsmen\nbeating for their game.\n\nThe poor men were now in great perplexity, whether they should stand and\nkeep their posture, or fly; but after a very short debate with\nthemselves, they considered that if the savages ranged the country thus\nbefore help came, they might, perhaps, find out their retreat in the\nwoods, and then all would be lost; so they resolved to stand them there;\nand if there were too many to deal with, then they would get to the top\nof the tree, from whence they doubted not to defend themselves, fire\nexcepted, as long as their ammunition lasted, though all the savages\nthat were landed, which were near fifty, were to attack them.\n\nHaving resolved upon this, they next considered whether they should fire\nat the two first, or wait for the three, and so take the middle party,\nby which the two and the five that followed would be separated: at\nlength they resolved to let the two first pass by, unless they should\nspy them in the tree, and come to attack them. The two first savages\nalso confirmed them in this resolution, by turning a little from them\ntowards another part of the wood; but the three, and the five after\nthem, came forwards directly to the tree, as if they had known the\nEnglishmen were there.\n\nSeeing them come so straight towards them, they resolved to take them in\na line as they came; and as they resolved to fire but one at a time,\nperhaps the first shot might hit them all three; to which purpose, the\nman who was to fire put three or four bullets into his piece, and having\na fair loop-hole, as it were, from a broken hole in the tree, he took a\nsure aim, without being seen, waiting till they were within about thirty\nyards of the tree, so that he could not miss.\n\nWhile they were thus waiting, and the savages came on, they plainly saw,\nthat one of the three was the runaway savage that had escaped from them;\nand they both knew him distinctly, and resolved that, if possible, he\nshould not escape, though they should both fire; so the other stood\nready with his piece, that if he did not drop at the first shot, he\nshould be sure to have a second. But the first was too good a marksman\nto miss his aim; for as the savages kept near one another, a little\nbehind in a line, he fired, and hit two of them directly; the foremost\nwas killed outright, being shot in the head; the second, which was the\nrunaway Indian, was shot through the body, and fell, but was not quite\ndead; and the third had a little scratch in the shoulder, perhaps by the\nsame ball that went through the body of the second; and being dreadfully\nfrightened, though not so much hurt, sat down upon the ground, screaming\nand yelling in a hideous manner.\n\nThe five that were behind, more frightened with the noise than sensible\nof the danger, stood still at first; for the woods made the sound a\nthousand times bigger than it really was, the echoes rattling from one\nside to another, and the fowls rising from all parts, screaming, and\nevery sort making a different noise, according to their kind; just as it\nwas when I fired the first gun that perhaps was ever shot off in\nthe island.\n\nHowever, all being silent again, and they not knowing what the matter\nwas, came on unconcerned, till they came to the place where their\ncompanions lay in a condition miserable enough. Here the poor ignorant\ncreatures, not sensible that they were within reach of the same\nmischief, stood all together over the wounded man, talking, and, as may\nbe supposed, inquiring of him how he came to be hurt; and who, it is\nvery rational to believe, told them that a flash of fire first, and\nimmediately after that thunder from their gods, had killed those two and\nwounded him. This, I say, is rational; for nothing is more certain than\nthat, as they saw no man near them, so they had never heard a gun in all\ntheir lives, nor so much as heard of a gun; neither knew they anything\nof killing and wounding at a distance with fire and bullets: if they\nhad, one might reasonably believe they would not have stood so\nunconcerned to view the fate of their fellows, without some\napprehensions of their own.\n\nOur two men, as they confessed to me, were grieved to be obliged to kill\nso many poor creatures, who had no notion of their danger; yet, having\nthem all thus in their power, and the first having loaded his piece\nagain, resolved to let fly both together among them; and singling out,\nby agreement, which to aim at, they shot together, and killed, or very\nmuch wounded, four of them; the fifth, frightened even to death, though\nnot hurt, fell with the rest; so that our men, seeing them all fall\ntogether, thought they had killed them all.\n\nThe belief that the savages were all killed made our two men come boldly\nout from the tree before they had charged their guns, which was a wrong\nstep; and they were under some surprise when they came to the place, and\nfound no less than four of them alive, and of them two very little hurt,\nand one not at all. This obliged them to fall upon them with the stocks\nof their muskets; and first they made sure of the runaway savage, that\nhad been the cause of all the mischief, and of another that was hurt in\nthe knee, and put them out of their pain; then the man that was not hurt\nat all came and kneeled down to them, with his two hands held up, and\nmade piteous moans to them, by gestures and signs, for his life, but\ncould not say one word to them that they could understand. However, they\nmade signs to him to sit down at the foot of a tree hard by; and one of\nthe Englishmen, with a piece of rope-yarn, which he had by great chance\nin his pocket, tied his two hands behind him, and there they left him;\nand with what speed they could made after the other two, which were gone\nbefore, fearing they, or any more of them, should find the way to their\ncovered place in the woods, where their wives, and the few goods they\nhad left, lay. They came once in sight of the two men, but it was at a\ngreat distance; however, they had the satisfaction to see them cross\nover a valley towards the sea, the quite contrary way from that which\nled to their retreat, which they were afraid of; and being satisfied\nwith that, they went back to the tree where they left their prisoner,\nwho as they supposed was delivered by his comrades; for he was gone, and\nthe two pieces of rope-yarn with which they had bound him, lay just at\nthe foot of the tree.\n\nThey were now in as great a concern as before, not knowing what course\nto take, or how near the enemy might be, or in what numbers; so they\nresolved to go away to the place where their wives were, to see if all\nwas well there, and to make them easy, who were in fright enough to be\nsure; for though the savages were their own country-folks, yet they were\nmost terribly afraid of them, and perhaps the more, for the knowledge\nthey had of them.\n\nWhen they came thither, they found the savages had been in the wood, and\nvery near the place, but had not found it; for indeed it was\ninaccessible, by the trees standing so thick, as before, unless the\npersons seeking it had been directed by those that knew it, which these\nwere not; they found, therefore, every thing very safe, only the women\nin a terrible fright. While they were here they had the comfort of seven\nof the Spaniards coming to their assistance: the other ten with their\nservants, and old Friday, I mean Friday's father, were gone in a body to\ndefend their bower, and the corn and cattle that were kept there, in\ncase the savages should have roved over to that side of the country; but\nthey did not spread so far. With the seven Spaniards came one of the\nsavages, who, as I said, were their prisoners formerly, and with them\nalso came the savage whom the Englishmen had left bound hand and foot at\nthe tree; for it seems they came that way, saw the slaughter of the\nseven men, and unbound the eighth, and brought him along with them,\nwhere, however, they were obliged to bind him again, as they had done\nthe two others, who were left when the third run away.\n\nThe prisoners began now to be a burden to them; and they were so afraid\nof their escaping, that they thought they were under an absolute\nnecessity to kill them for their own preservation: however, the Spaniard\ngovernor would not consent to it; but ordered, that they should be sent\nout of the way to my old cave in the valley, and be kept there, with two\nSpaniards to guard them and give them food; which was done; and they\nwere bound there hand and foot for that night.\n\nWhen the Spaniards came, the two Englishmen were so encouraged, that\nthey could not satisfy themselves to stay any longer there; but taking\nfive of the Spaniards, and themselves, with four muskets and a pistol\namong them, and two stout quarter-staves, away they went in quest of the\nsavages. And first, they came to the tree where the men lay that had\nbeen killed; but it was easy to see that some more of the savages had\nbeen there; for they attempted to carry their dead men away, and had\ndragged two of them a good way, but had given it over; from thence they\nadvanced to the first rising ground, where they had stood and seen their\ncamp destroyed, and where they had the mortification still to see some\nof the smoke; but neither could they here see any of the savages: they\nthen resolved, though with all possible caution, to go forward towards\ntheir ruined plantation; but a little before they came thither, coming\nin sight of the sea-shore, they saw plainly the savages all embarking\nagain in their canoes, in order to be gone.\n\nThey seemed sorry at first that there was no way to come at them to give\nthem a parting blow; but upon the whole were very well satisfied to be\nrid of them.\n\nThe poor Englishmen being now twice ruined, and all their improvements\ndestroyed, the rest all agreed to come and help them to rebuild, and to\nassist them with needful supplies. Their three countrymen, who were not\nyet noted for having the least inclination to do any thing good, yet, as\nsoon as they heard of it (for they, living remote, knew nothing till all\nwas over), came and offered their help and assistance, and did very\nfriendly work for several days to restore their habitations and make\nnecessaries for them; and thus in a little time they were set upon their\nlegs again.\n\nAbout two days after this they had the farther satisfaction of seeing\nthree of the savages' canoes come driving onshore, and at some distance\nfrom them, with two drowned men; by which they had reason to believe\nthat they had met with a storm at sea, which had overset some of them,\nfor it blew very hard the night after they went off.\n\nHowever, as some might miscarry, so on the other hand enough of them\nescaped to inform the rest, as well of what they had done, as of what\nhappened to them; and to whet them on to another enterprise of the same\nnature, which they, it seems, resolved to attempt, with sufficient force\nto carry all before them; for except what the first man told them of\ninhabitants, they could say little to it of their own knowledge; for\nthey never saw one man, and the fellow being killed that had affirmed\nit, they had no other witness to confirm it to them.\n\nIt was five or six months after this before they heard any more of the\nsavages, in which time our men were in hopes they had not forgot their\nformer bad luck, or had given over the hopes of better; when on a sudden\nthey were invaded with a most formidable fleet of no less than\ntwenty-eight canoes, full of savages, armed with bows and arrows, great\nclubs, wooden swords, and such-like engines of war; and they brought\nsuch numbers with them, that in short it put all our people into the\nutmost consternation.\n\nAs they came on shore in the evening, and at the easternmost side of the\nisland, our men had that night to consult and consider what to do; and\nin the first place, knowing that their being entirely concealed was\ntheir only safety before, and would much more be so now, while the\nnumber of their enemies was so great, they therefore resolved, first of\nall, to take down the huts which were built for the two Englishmen, and\ndrive away their goats to the old cave; because they supposed the\nsavages would go directly thither as soon as it was day, to play the old\ngame over again, though they did not now land within two leagues of it.\n\nIn the next place, they drove away all the flock of goats they had at\nthe old bower, as I called it, which belonged to the Spaniards; and, in\nshort, left as little appearance of inhabitants any where as possible;\nand the next morning early they posted themselves with all their force\nat the plantation of the two men, waiting for their coming. As they\nguessed, so it happened: these new invaders, leaving their canoes at the\neast end of the island, came ranging along the shore, directly towards\nthe place, to the number of two hundred and fifty, as near as our men\ncould judge. Our army was but small indeed; but that which was worse,\nthey had not arms for all their number neither: the whole account, it\nseems, stood thus:--first, as to men:\n\n     17 Spaniards.\n      5 Englishmen.\n      1 Old Friday, or Friday's father.\n      3 Slaves, taken with the women, who proved very\n          faithful.\n      3 Other slaves who lived with the Spaniards.\n     --\n     29\n           To arm these they had:\n     11 Muskets.\n      5 Pistols.\n      3 Fowling-pieces.\n      5 Muskets, or fowling-pieces, which were taken by\n           me from the mutinous seamen whom I reduced.\n      2 Swords.\n      3 Old halberts.\n     --\n     29\n\nTo their slaves they did not give either musket or fusil, but they had\nevery one an halbert, or a long staff, like a quarter-staff, with a\ngreat spike of iron fastened into each end of it, and by his side a\nhatchet; also every one of our men had hatchets. Two of the women could\nnot be prevailed upon but they would come into the fight, and they had\nbows and arrows, which the Spaniards had taken from the savages when the\nfirst action happened, which I have spoken of, where the Indians fought\nwith one another; and the women had hatchets too.\n\nThe Spaniard governor, whom I have described so often, commanded the\nwhole; and William Atkins, who, though a dreadful fellow for wickedness,\nwas a most daring, bold fellow, commanded under him. The savages came\nforward like lions, and our men, which was the worst of their fate, had\nno advantage in their situation; only that Will Atkins, who now proved a\nmost useful fellow, with six men, was planted just behind a small\nthicket of bushes, as an advanced guard, with orders to let the first of\nthem pass by, and then fire into the middle of them; and as soon as he\nhad fired to make his retreat, as nimbly as he could, round a part of\nthe wood, and so come in behind the Spaniards where they stood, having a\nthicket of trees all before them.\n\nWhen the savages came on, they ran straggling about every way in heaps,\nout of all manner of order, and Will Atkins let about fifty of them pass\nby him; then seeing the rest come in a very thick throng, he orders\nthree of his men to fire, having loaded their muskets with six or seven\nbullets apiece, about as big as large pistol-bullets. How many they\nkilled or wounded they knew not; but the consternation and surprise was\ninexpressible among the savages, who were frighted to the last degree,\nto hear such a dreadful noise, and see their men killed, and others\nhurt, but see nobody that did it. When in the middle of their fright,\nWilliam Atkins and his other three let fly again among the thickest of\nthem and in less than a minute the first three, being loaded again, gave\nthem a third volley.\n\nHad William Atkins and his men retired immediately, as soon as they had\nfired, as they were ordered to do; or had the rest of the body been at\nhand to have poured in their shot continually, the savages had been\neffectually routed; for the terror that was among them came principally\nfrom this; viz. that they were killed by the gods with thunder and\nlightning, and could see nobody that hurt them: but William Atkins\nstaying to load again, discovered the cheat; some of the savages who\nwere at a distance, spying them, came upon them behind; and though\nAtkins and his men fired at them also, two or three times, and killed\nabove twenty, retiring as fast as they could, yet they wounded Atkins\nhimself, and killed one of his fellow Englishmen with their arrows, as\nthey did afterwards one Spaniard, and one of the Indian slaves who came\nwith the women. This slave was a most gallant fellow, and fought most\ndesperately, killing five of them with his own hand, having no weapon\nbut one of the armed staves and a hatchet.\n\nOur men being thus hard laid at, Atkins wounded, and two other men\nkilled, retreated to a rising ground in the wood; and the Spaniards,\nafter firing three vollies upon them, retreated also; for their number\nwas so great, and they were so desperate, that though above fifty of\nthem were killed, and more than so many wounded, yet they came on in the\nteeth of our men, fearless of danger, and shot their arrows like a\ncloud; and it was observed, that their wounded men, who were not quite\ndisabled, were made outrageous by their wounds, and fought like madmen.\n\nWhen our men retreated, they left the Spaniard and the Englishman that\nwere killed behind them; and the savages, when they came up to them,\nkilled them over again in a wretched manner, breaking their arms, legs,\nand heads, with their clubs and wooden swords, like true savages. But\nfinding our men were gone, they did not seem inclined to pursue them,\nbut drew themselves up in a kind of ring, which is, it seems, their\ncustom, and shouted twice in token of their victory; after which, they\nhad the mortification to see several of their wounded men fall, dying\nwith the mere loss of blood.\n\nThe Spaniard governor having drawn his little body up together upon a\nrising ground, Atkins, though he was wounded, would have had him march,\nand charge them again all together at once: but the Spaniard replied,\n\"Seignior Atkins, you see how their wounded men fight; let them alone\ntill morning; all these wounded men will be stiff and sore with their\nwounds, and faint with the loss of blood, and so we shall have the fewer\nto engage.\"\n\nThe advice was good; but Will Atkins replied merrily, \"That's true,\nSeignior, and so shall I too; and that's the reason I would go on while\nI am warm.\"--\"Well, Seignior Atkins,\" says the Spaniard, \"you have\nbehaved gallantly, and done your part; we will fight for you, if you\ncannot come on; but I think it best to stay till morning:\" so\nthey waited.\n\nBut as it was a clear moonlight night, and they found the savages in\ngreat disorder about their dead and wounded men, and a great hurry and\nnoise among them where they lay, they afterwards resolved to fall upon\nthem in the night, especially if they could come to give them but one\nvolley before they were discovered. This they had a fair opportunity to\ndo; for one of the two Englishmen, in whose quarter it was where the\nfight began, led them round between the woods and the sea-side,\nwestward, and turning short south, they came so near where the thickest\nof them lay, that before they were seen or heard, eight of them fired in\namong them, and did dreadful execution upon them; in half a minute more\neight others fired after them, pouring in their small shot in such a\nquantity, that abundance were killed and wounded; and all this while\nthey were not able to see who hurt them, or which way to fly.\n\nThe Spaniards charged again with the utmost expedition, and then\ndivided themselves into three bodies, and resolved to fall in among them\nall together. They had in each body eight persons; that is to say,\ntwenty-four, whereof were twenty-two men, and the two women, who, by the\nway, fought desperately.\n\nThey divided the fire-arms equally in each party, and so of the halberts\nand staves. They would have had the women keep back; but they said they\nwere resolved to die with their husbands. Having thus formed their\nlittle army, they marched out from among the trees, and came up to the\nteeth of the enemy, shouting and hallooing as loud as they could. The\nsavages stood all together, but were in the utmost confusion, hearing\nthe noise of our men shouting from three quarters together; they would\nhave fought if they had seen us; and as soon as we came near enough to\nbe seen, some arrows were shot, and poor old Friday was wounded, though\nnot dangerously. But our men gave them no time, but running up to them,\nfired among them three ways, and then fell in with the butt ends of\ntheir muskets, their swords, armed staves, and hatchets; and laid about\nthem so well, that in a word they set up a dismal screaming and howling,\nflying to save their lives which way soever they could.\n\nOur men were tired with the execution; and killed, or mortally wounded,\nin the two fights, about one hundred and eighty of them: the rest, being\nfrighted out of their wits, scoured through the woods and over the\nhills, with all the speed that fear and nimble feet could help them to\ndo; and as we did not trouble ourselves much to pursue them, they got\nall together to the sea-side, where they landed, and where their canoes\nlay. But their disaster was not at an end yet, for it blew a terrible\nstorm of wind that evening from the seaward, so that it was impossible\nfor them to put off; nay, the storm continuing all night, when the tide\ncame up their canoes were most of them driven by the surge of the sea so\nhigh upon the shore, that it required infinite toil to get them off; and\nsome of them were even dashed to pieces against the beach, or against\none another.\n\nOur men, though glad of their victory, yet got little rest that night;\nbut having refreshed themselves as well as they could, they resolved to\nmarch to that part of the island where the savages were fled, and see\nwhat posture they were in. This necessarily led them over the place\nwhere the fight had been, and where they found several of the poor\ncreatures not quite dead, and yet past recovering life; a sight\ndisagreeable enough to generous minds; for a truly great man, though\nobliged by the law of battle to destroy his enemy, takes no delight in\nhis misery.\n\nHowever, there was no need to give any order in this case; for their own\nsavages, who were their servants, dispatched those poor creatures with\ntheir hatchets.\n\nAt length they came in view of the place where the more miserable\nremains of the savages' army lay, where there appeared about one hundred\nstill: their posture was generally sitting upon the ground, with their\nknees up towards their mouth, and the head put between the hands,\nleaning down upon the knees.\n\nWhen our men came within two musket-shot of them, the Spaniard governor\nordered two muskets to be fired without ball, to alarm them; this he\ndid, that by their countenance he might know what to expect, viz.\nwhether they were still in heart to fight, or were so heartily beaten,\nas to be dispirited and discouraged, and so he might manage accordingly.\n\nThis stratagem took; for as soon as the savages heard the first gun, and\nsaw the flash of the second, they started up upon their feet in the\ngreatest consternation imaginable; and as our men advanced swiftly\ntowards them, they all ran screaming and yawling away, with a kind of an\nhowling noise, which our men did not understand, and had never heard\nbefore; and thus they ran up the hills into the country.\n\nAt first our men had much rather the weather had been calm, and they\nhad all gone away to sea; but they did not then consider, that this\nmight probably have been the occasion of their coming again in such\nmultitudes as not to be resisted; or, at least, to come so many and so\noften, as would quite desolate the island and starve them. Will Atkins\ntherefore, who, notwithstanding his wound, kept always with them, proved\nthe best counsellor in this case. His advice was, to take the advantage\nthat offered, and clap in between them and their boats, and so deprive\nthem of the capacity of ever returning any more to plague the island.\n\nThey consulted long about this, and some were against it, for fear of\nmaking the wretches fly into the woods, and live there desperate; and so\nthey should have them to hunt like wild beasts, be afraid to stir about\ntheir business, and have their plantation continually rifled, all their\ntame goats destroyed, and, in short, be reduced to a life of\ncontinual distress.\n\nWill Atkins told them they had better have to do with one hundred men\nthan with one hundred nations; that as they must destroy their boats, so\nthey must destroy the men, or be all of them destroyed themselves. In a\nword, he shewed them the necessity of it so plainly, that they all came\ninto it; so they went to work immediately with the boats, and getting\nsome dry wood together from a dead tree, they tried to set some of them\non fire; but they were so wet that they would scarce burn. However, the\nfire so burned the upper part, that it soon made them unfit for swimming\nin the sea as boats. When the Indians saw what they were about, some of\nthem came running out of the woods, and coming as near as they could to\nour men, kneeled down and cried, _Oa, Oa, Waramokoa_, and some other\nwords of their language, which none of the others understood any thing\nof; but as they made pitiful gestures and strange noises, it was easy to\nunderstand they begged to have their boats spared, and that they would\nbe gone, and never return thither again.\n\nBut our men were now satisfied, that they had no way to preserve\nthemselves or to save their colony, but effectually to prevent any of\nthese people from ever going home again; depending upon this, that if\never so much as one of them got back into their country to tell the\nstory, the colony was undone; so that letting them know that they should\nnot have any mercy, they fell to work with their canoes, and destroyed\nthem, every one that the storm had not destroyed before; at the sight of\nwhich the savages raised a hideous cry in the woods, which our people\nheard plain enough; after which they ran about the island like\ndistracted men; so that, in a word, our men did not really know at first\nwhat to do with them.\n\nNor did the Spaniards, with all their prudence, consider that while they\nmade those people thus desperate, they ought to have kept good guard at\nthe same time upon their plantations; for though it is true they had\ndriven away their cattle, and the Indians did not find their main\nretreat, I mean my old castle at the hill, nor the cave in the valley;\nyet they found out my plantation at the bower, and pulled it all to\npieces, and all the fences and planting about it; trod all the corn\nunder foot; tore up the vines and grapes, being just then almost ripe,\nand did our men an inestimable damage, though to themselves not one\nfarthing's-worth of service.\n\nThough our men were able to fight them upon all occasions, yet they were\nin no condition to pursue them, or hunt them up and down; for as they\nwere too nimble of foot for our men when they found them single, so our\nmen durst not go about single for fear of being surrounded with their\nnumbers: the best was, they had no weapons; for though they had bows\nthey had no arrows left, nor any materials to make any, nor had they any\nedged tool or weapon among them. The extremity and distress they were\nreduced to was great, and indeed deplorable, but at the same time our\nmen were also brought to very hard circumstances by them; for though\ntheir retreats were preserved, yet their provision was destroyed, and\ntheir harvest spoiled; and what to do or which way to turn themselves,\nthey knew not; the only refuge they had now was the stock of cattle they\nhad in the valley by the cave, and some little corn which grew there.\nThe three Englishmen, William Atkins and his comrades, were now reduced\nto two, one of them being killed by an arrow, which struck him on the\nside of his head, just under the temples, so that he never spoke more;\nand it was very remarkable, that this was the same barbarous fellow who\ncut the poor savage slave with his hatchet, and who afterwards intended\nto have murdered the Spaniards.\n\nI look upon their case to have been worse at this time than mine was at\nany time after I first discovered the grains of barley and rice, and got\ninto the method of planting and raising my corn, and my tame cattle; for\nnow they had, as I may say, an hundred wolves upon the island, which\nwould devour every thing they could come at, yet could be very hardly\ncome at themselves.\n\nThe first thing they concluded when they saw what their circumstances\nwere, was, that they would, if possible, drive them up to the farther\npart of the island, south-east, that if any more savages came on shore,\nthey might not find one another; then that they would daily hunt and\nharass them, and kill as many of them as they could come at, till they\nhad reduced the number; and if they could at last tame them, and bring\nthem to any thing, they would give them corn, and teach them how to\nplant, and live upon their daily Labour.\n\nIn order to this they followed them, and so terrified them with their\nguns, that in a few days, if any of them fired a gun at an Indian, if he\ndid not hit him, yet he would fall down for fear; and so dreadfully\nfrighted they were, that they kept out of sight farther and farther,\ntill at last our men following them, and every day almost killing and\nwounding some of them, they kept up in the woods and hollow places so\nmuch, that it reduced them to the utmost misery for want of food; and\nmany were afterwards found dead in the woods, without any hurt, but\nmerely starved to death.\n\nWhen our men found this, it made their hearts relent, and pity moved\nthem; especially the Spaniard governor, who was the most gentleman-like,\ngenerous-minded man that ever I met with in my life; and he proposed, if\npossible, to take one of them alive, and bring him to understand what\nthey meant, so far as to be able to act as interpreter, and to go among\nthem, and see if they might be brought to some conditions that might be\ndepended upon, to save their lives, and do us no spoil.\n\nIt was some time before any of them could be taken; but being weak, and\nhalf-starved, one of them was at last surprised, and made a prisoner: he\nwas sullen at first, and would neither eat nor drink; but finding\nhimself kindly used, and victuals given him, and no violence offered\nhim, he at last grew tractable, and came to himself.\n\nThey brought old Friday to him, who talked often with him, and told him\nhow kind the others would be to them all: that they would not only save\ntheir lives, but would give them a part of the island to live in,\nprovided they would give satisfaction; that they should keep in their\nown bounds, and not come beyond them, to injure or prejudice others; and\nthat they should have corn given them, to plant and make it grow for\ntheir bread, and some bread given them for their present subsistence;\nand old Friday bade the fellow go and talk with the rest of his\ncountrymen, and hear what they said to it, assuring them that if they\ndid not agree immediately they should all be destroyed.\n\nThe poor wretches, thoroughly humbled, and reduced in number to about\nthirty-seven, closed with the proposal at the first offer, and begged to\nhave some food given them; upon which twelve Spaniards and two\nEnglishmen, well armed, and three Indian slaves, and old Friday, marched\nto the place where they were; the three Indian slaves carried them a\nlarge quantity of bread, and some rice boiled up to cakes, and dried in\nthe sun, and three live goats; and they were ordered to go to the side\nof an hill, where they sat down, ate the provisions very thankfully, and\nwere the most faithful fellows to their words that could be thought of;\nfor except when they came to beg victuals and directions they never came\nout of their bounds; and there they lived when I came to the island, and\nI went to see them.\n\nThey had taught them both to plant corn, make bread, breed tame goats,\nand milk them; they wanted nothing but wives, and they soon would have\nbeen a nation: they were confined to a neck of land surrounded with high\nrocks behind them, and lying plain towards the sea before them, on the\nsouth-east corner of the island; they had land enough, and it was very\ngood and fruitful; for they had a piece of land about a mile and a half\nbroad, and three or four miles in length.\n\nOur men taught them to make wooden spades, such as I made for myself;\nand gave among them twelve hatchets, and three or four knives; and there\nthey lived, the most subjected innocent creatures that were ever\nheard of.\n\nAfter this the colony enjoyed a perfect tranquillity with respect to the\nsavages, till I came to revisit them, which was in about two years. Not\nbut that now and then some canoes of savages came on shore for their\ntriumphal, unnatural feasts; but as they were of several nations, and,\nperhaps, had never heard of those that came before, or the reason of it,\nthey did not make any search or inquiry after their countrymen; and if\nthey had, it would have been very hard for them to have found them out.\n\nThus, I think, I have given a full account of all that happened to them\nto my return, at least that was worth notice. The Indians, or savages,\nwere wonderfully civilized by them, and they frequently went among them;\nbut forbid, on pain of death, any of the Indians coming to them,\nbecause they would not have their settlement betrayed again.\n\nOne thing was very remarkable, viz. that they taught the savages to make\nwicker-work, or baskets; but they soon outdid their masters; for they\nmade abundance of most ingenious things in wicker-work; particularly all\nsorts of baskets, sieves, bird-cages, cupboards, &c. as also chairs to\nsit on, stools, beds, couches, and abundance of other things, being very\ningenious at such work when they were once put in the way of it.\n\nMy coming was a particular relief to these people, because we furnished\nthem with knives, scissars, spades, shovels, pickaxes, and all things of\nthat kind which they could want.\n\nWith the help of these tools they were so very handy, that they came at\nlast to build up their huts, or houses, very handsomely; raddling, or\nworking it up like basket-work all the way round, which was a very\nextraordinary piece of ingenuity, and looked very odd; but was an\nexceeding good fence, as well against heat, as against all sorts of\nvermin; and our men were so taken with it, that they got the wild\nsavages to come and do the like for them; so that when I came to see the\ntwo Englishmen's colonies, they looked, at a distance, as if they lived\nall like bees in a hive; and as for Will Atkins, who was now become a\nvery industrious, necessary, and sober fellow, he had made himself such\na tent of basket work as I believe was never seen. It was one hundred\nand twenty paces round on the outside, as I measured by my steps; the\nwalls were as close worked as a basket, in pannels or squares,\nthirty-two in number, and very strong, standing about seven feet high:\nin the middle was another not above twenty-two paces round, but built\nstronger, being eight-square in its form, and in the eight corners stood\neight very strong posts, round the top of which he laid strong pieces,\njoined together with wooden pins, from which he raised a pyramid before\nthe roof of eight rafters, very handsome I assure you, and joined\ntogether very well, though he had no nails, and only a few iron spikes,\nwhich he had made himself too, out of the old iron that I had left\nthere; and indeed this fellow shewed abundance of ingenuity in several\nthings which he had no knowledge of; he made himself a forge, with a\npair of wooden bellows to blow the fire; he made himself charcoal for\nhis work, and he formed out of one of the iron crows a middling good\nanvil to hammer upon; in this manner he made many things, but especially\nhooks, staples and spikes, bolts and hinges. But to return to the house:\nafter he pitched the roof of his innermost tent, he worked it up between\nthe rafters with basket-work, so firm, and thatched that over again so\ningeniously with rice-straw, and over that a large leaf of a tree, which\ncovered the top, that his house was as dry as if it had been tiled or\nslated. Indeed he owned that the savages made the basket-work for him.\n\nThe outer circuit was covered, as a lean-to, all round his inner,\napartment, and long rafters lay from the thirty two angles to the top\nposts of the inner house, being about twenty feet distant; so that there\nwas a space like a walk within the outer wicker wall, and without the\ninner, near twenty feet wide.\n\nThe inner place he partitioned off with the same wicker work, but much\nfairer, and divided into six apartments, for that he had six rooms on a\nfloor, and out of every one of these there was a door: first, into the\nentry, or coming into the main tent; and another door into the space or\nwalk that was round it; so that this walk was also divided into six\nequal parts, which served not only for a retreat, but to store up any\nnecessaries which the family had occasion for. These six spaces not\ntaking up the whole circumference, what other apartments the outer\ncircle had, were thus ordered: as soon as you were in at the door of the\nouter circle, you had a short passage straight before you to the door of\nthe inner house; but on either side was a wicker partition, and a door\nin it, by which you went first into a large room or storehouse, twenty\nfeet wide, and about thirty feet long, and through that into another\nnot quite so long: so that in the outer circle were ten handsome rooms,\nsix of which were only to be come at through the apartments of the inner\ntent, and served as closets or retired rooms to the respective chambers\nof the inner circle; and four large warehouses or barns, or what you\nplease to call them, which went in through one another, two on either\nhand of the passage that led through the outer door to the inner tent.\n\nSuch a piece of basket-work, I believe, was never seen in the world; nor\nan house or tent so neatly contrived, much less so built. In this great\nbeehive lived the three families; that is to say, Will Atkins and his\ncompanions; the third was killed, but his wife remained with three\nchildren; for she was, it seems, big with child when he died, and the\nother two were not at all backward to give the widow her full share of\nevery thing, I mean as to their corn, milk, grapes, &c. and when they\nkilled a kid, or found a turtle on the shore; so that they all lived\nwell enough, though it was true, they were not so industrious as the\nother two, as has been observed already.\n\nOne thing, however, cannot be omitted, viz. that, as for religion, I\ndon't know that there was any thing of that kind among them; they pretty\noften indeed put one another in mind that there was a God, by the very\ncommon method of seamen, viz. swearing by his name; nor were their poor,\nignorant, savage wives much the better for having been married to\nChristians as we must call them; for as they knew very little of God\nthemselves, so they were utterly incapable of entering into any\ndiscourse with their wives about a God or to talk any thing to them\nconcerning religion.\n\nThe utmost of all the improvement which I can say the wives had made\nfrom them, was, that they had taught them to speak English pretty well;\nand all the children they had, which were near twenty in all were taught\nto speak English too, from their first learning to speak, though they at\nfirst spoke it in a very broken manner, like their mothers. There were\nnone of those children above six years old when I came thither; for it\nwas not much above seven years that they had fetched these five savage\nladies over, but they had all been pretty fruitful, for they had all\nchildren, more or less: I think the cook's mate's wife was big of her\nsixth child; and the mothers were all a good sort of well-governed,\nquiet, laborious women, modest and decent, helpful to one another,\nmighty observant and subject to their masters, I cannot call them\nhusbands; and wanted nothing but to be well instructed in the Christian\nreligion, and to be legally married; both which were happily brought\nabout afterwards by my means, or at least by the consequence of my\ncoming among them.\n\nHaving thus given an account of the colony in general, and pretty much\nof my five runagate Englishmen, I must say something of the Spaniards,\nwho were the main body of the family, and in whose story there are some\nincidents also remarkable enough.\n\nI had a great many discourses with them about their circumstances when\nthey were among the savages; they told me readily, that they had no\ninstances to give of their application or ingenuity in that country;\nthat they were a poor, miserable, dejected handful of people; that if\nmeans had been put into their hands, they had yet so abandoned\nthemselves to despair, and so sunk under the weight of their\nmisfortunes, that they thought of nothing but starving. One of them, a\ngrave and very sensible man, told me he was convinced they were in the\nwrong; that it was not the part of wise men to give up themselves to\ntheir misery, but always to take hold of the helps which reason offered,\nas well for present support, as for future deliverance; he told me that\ngrief was the most senseless insignificant passion in the world, for\nthat it regarded only things past, which were generally impossible to be\nrecalled or to be remedied, but had no view to things to come, and had\nno share in any thing that looked like deliverance, but rather added to\nthe affliction than proposed a remedy; and upon this he repeated a\nSpanish proverb, which though I cannot repeat in just the same words\nthat he spoke it, yet I remember I made it into an English proverb of my\nown, thus;\n\n     In trouble to be troubled,\n     Is to have your trouble doubled.\n\nHe then ran on in remarks upon all the little improvements I had made in\nmy solitude; my unwearied application, as he called it, and how I had\nmade a condition, which in its circumstances was at first much worse\nthan theirs, a thousand times more happy than theirs was, even now when\nthey were all together. He told me it was remarkable that Englishmen had\na greater presence of mind in their distress than any people that ever\nhe met with; that their unhappy nation, and the Portuguese, were the\nworst men in the world to struggle with misfortunes; for that their\nfirst step in dangers, after common efforts are over, was always to\ndespair, lie down under it and die, without rousing their thoughts up to\nproper remedies for escape.\n\nI told him their case and mine differed exceedingly; that they were cast\nupon the shore without necessaries, without supply of food, or of\npresent sustenance, till they could provide it; that it is true, I had\nthis disadvantage and discomfort, that I was alone; but then the\nsupplies I had providentially thrown into my hands, by the unexpected\ndriving of the ship on shore, was such a help as would have encouraged\nany creature in the world to have applied himself as I had done.\n\"Seignior,\" says the Spaniard, \"had we poor Spaniards been in your case\nwe should never have gotten half those things out of the ship as you\ndid.\" \"Nay,\" says he, \"we should never have found means to have gotten a\nraft to carry them, or to have gotten a raft on shore without boat or\nsail; and how much less should we have done,\" said he, \"if any of us had\nbeen alone!\" Well, I desired him to abate his compliment, and go on\nwith the history of their coming on shore, where they landed. He told me\nthey unhappily landed at a place where there were people without\nprovisions; whereas, had they had the common sense to have put off to\nsea again, and gone to another island a little farther, they had found\nprovisions though without people; there being an island that way, as\nthey had been told, where there were provisions though no people; that\nis to say, that the Spaniards of Trinidad had frequently been there, and\nfilled the island with goats and hogs at several times, where they have\nbred in such multitudes, and where turtle and sea-fowls were in such\nplenty, that they could have been in no want of flesh though they had\nfound no bread; whereas here they were only sustained with a few roots\nand herbs, which they understood not, and which had no substance in\nthem, and which the inhabitants gave them sparingly enough, and who\ncould treat them no better unless they would turn cannibals, and eat\nmen's flesh, which was the great dainty of the country.\n\nThey gave me an account how many ways they strove to civilize the\nsavages they were with, and to teach them rational customs in the\nordinary way of living, but in vain; and how they retorted it upon them\nas unjust, that they, who came thither for assistance and support,\nshould attempt to set up for instructors of those that gave them bread;\nintimating, it seems, that none should set up for the instructors of\nothers but those who could live without them.\n\nThey gave me dismal accounts of the extremities they were driven to; how\nsometimes they were many days without any food at all, the island they\nwere upon being inhabited by a sort of savages that lived more indolent,\nand for that reason were less supplied with the necessaries of life than\nthey had reason to believe others were in the same part of the world;\nand yet they found that these savages were less ravenous and voracious\nthan those who had better supplies of food.\n\nAlso they added, that they could not but see with what demonstrations\nof wisdom and goodness the governing providence of God directs the event\nof things in the world, which they said appeared in their circumstances;\nfor if, pressed by the hardships they were under, and the barrenness of\nthe country where they were, they had searched after a better place to\nlive in, they had then been out of the way of the relief that happened\nto them by my means.\n\nThen they gave me an account how the savages whom they lived among\nexpected them to go out with them into their wars; and it was true, that\nas they had fire-arms with them, had they not had the disaster to lose\ntheir ammunition, they should not have been serviceable only to their\nfriends, but have made themselves terrible both to friends and enemies;\nbut being without powder and shot, and in a condition that they could\nnot in reason deny to go out with their landlords to their wars; when\nthey came in the field of battle they were in a worse condition than the\nsavages themselves, for they neither had bows nor arrows, nor could they\nuse those the savages gave them, so that they could do nothing but stand\nstill and be wounded with arrows, till they came up to the teeth of\ntheir enemy; and then indeed the three halberts they had were of use to\nthem, and they would often drive a whole little army before them with\nthose halberts and sharpened sticks put into the muzzles of their\nmuskets: but that for all this, they were sometimes surrounded with\nmultitudes, and in great danger from their arrows; till at last they\nfound the way to make themselves large targets of wood, which they\ncovered with skins of wild beasts, whose names they knew not, and these\ncovered them from the arrows of the savages; that notwithstanding these,\nthey were sometimes in great danger, and were once five of them knocked\ndown together with the clubs of the savages, which was the time when one\nof them was taken prisoner, that is to say, the Spaniard whom I had\nrelieved; that at first they thought he had been killed, but when\nafterwards they heard he was taken prisoner, they were under the\ngreatest grief imaginable, and would willingly have all ventured their\nlives to have rescued him.\n\nThey told me, that when they were so knocked down, the rest of their\ncompany rescued them, and stood over them fighting till they were come\nto themselves, all but he who they thought had been dead; and then they\nmade their way with their halberts and pieces, standing close together\nin a line, through a body of above a thousand savages, beating down all\nthat came in their way, got the victory over their enemies, but to their\ngreat sorrow, because it was with the loss of their friend; whom the\nother party, finding him alive, carried off with some others, as I gave\nan account in my former.\n\nThey described, most affectionately, how they were surprised with joy at\nthe return of their friend and companion in misery, who they thought had\nbeen devoured by wild beasts of the worst kind, viz. by wild men; and\nyet how more and more they were surprised with the account he gave them\nof his errand, and that there was a Christian in a place near, much more\none that was able, and had humanity enough to contribute to their\ndeliverance.\n\nThey described how they were astonished at the sight of the relief I\nsent them, and at the appearance of loaves of bread, things they had not\nseen since their coming to that miserable place; how often they crossed\nit, and blessed it as bread sent from heaven; and what a reviving\ncordial it was to their spirits to taste it, as also of the other things\nI had sent for their supply. And, after all, they would have told me\nsomething of the joy they were in at the sight of a boat and pilots to\ncarry them away to the person and place from whence all these new\ncomforts came; but they told me it was impossible to express it by\nwords, for their excessive joy driving them to unbecoming\nextravagancies, they had no way to describe them but by telling me that\nthey bordered upon lunacy, having no way to give vent to their passion\nsuitable to the sense that was upon them; that in some it worked one\nway, and in some another; and that some of them, through a surprise of\njoy, would burst out into tears; others be half mad, and others\nimmediately faint. This discourse extremely affected me, and called to\nmy mind Friday's ecstasy when he met his father, and the poor people's\necstasy when I took them up at sea, after their ship was on fire; the\nmate of the ship's joy, when he found himself delivered in the place\nwhere he expected to perish; and my own joy, when after twenty-eight\nyears captivity I found a good ship ready to carry me to my own country.\nAll these things made me more sensible of the relation of these poor\nmen, and more affected with it.\n\nHaving thus given a view of the state of things as I found them, I must\nrelate the heads of what I did for these people, and the condition in\nwhich I left them. It was their opinion, and mine too, that they would\nbe troubled no more with the savages; or that, if they were, they would\nbe able to cut them off, if they were twice as many as before; so that\nthey had no concern about that. Then I entered into a serious discourse\nwith the Spaniard whom I called governor, about their stay in the\nisland; for as I was not come to carry any of them off, so it would not\nbe just to carry off some and leave others, who perhaps would be\nunwilling to stay if their strength was diminished.\n\nOn the other hand I told them, I came to establish them there, not to\nremove them; and then I let them know that I had brought with me relief\nof sundry kinds for them; that I had been at a great charge to supply\nthem with all things necessary, as well for their convenience as their\ndefence; and that I had such particular persons with me, as well to\nincrease and recruit their number, as by the particular necessary\nemployments which they were bred to, being artificers, to assist them in\nthose things in which at present they were to seek.\n\nThey were all together when I talked thus to them; and before I\ndelivered to them the stores I had brought, I asked them, one by one, if\nthey had entirely forgot and buried the first animosities that had been\namong them, and could shake hands with one another, and engage in a\nstrict friendship and union of interest, so that there might be no more\nmisunderstandings or jealousies.\n\nWilliam Atkins, with abundance of frankness and good humour, said, they\nhad met with afflictions enough to make them all sober, and enemies\nenough to make them all friends: that for his part he would live and die\nwith them; and was so far from designing any thing against the\nSpaniards, that he owned they had done nothing to him but what his own\nbad humour made necessary, and what he would have done, and perhaps much\nworse, in their case; and that he would ask them pardon, if I desired\nit, for the foolish and brutish things he had done to them; and was very\nwilling and desirous of living on terms of entire friendship and union\nwith them; and would do any thing that lay in his power, to convince\nthem of it: and as for going to England, he cared not if he did not go\nthither these twenty years.\n\nThe Spaniards said, they had indeed at first disarmed and excluded\nWilliam Atkins and his two countrymen, for their ill conduct, as they\nhad let me know; and they appealed to me for the necessity they were\nunder to do so; but that William Atkins had behaved himself so bravely\nin the great fight they had with the savages, and on several occasions\nsince, and had shewed himself so faithful to, and concerned for the\ngeneral interest of them all, that they had forgotten all that was past,\nand thought he merited as much to be trusted with arms, and supplied\nwith necessaries, as any of them; and that they had testified their\nsatisfaction in him, by committing the command to him, next to the\ngovernor himself; and as they had an entire confidence in him and all\nhis countrymen, so they acknowledged they had merited that confidence by\nall the methods that honest men could merit to be valued and trusted;\nand they most heartily embraced the occasion of giving me this\nassurance, that they would never have any interest separate from\none another.\n\nUpon these frank and open declarations of friendship, we appointed the\nnext day to dine all together, and indeed we made a splendid feast. I\ncaused the ship's cook and his mate to come on shore and dress our\ndinner, and the old cook's mate we had on shore assisted. We brought on\nshore six pieces of good beef, and four pieces of pork, out of the\nship's provision, with our punch-bowl, and materials to fill it; and, in\nparticular, I gave them ten bottles of French claret, and ten bottles of\nEnglish beer, things that neither the Spaniards nor the Englishmen had\ntasted for many years; and which it may be supposed they were\nexceeding glad of.\n\nThe Spaniards added to our feast five whole kids, which the cooks\nroasted; and three of them were sent, covered up close, on board our\nship to the seamen, that they might feast on fresh meat from on shore,\nas we did with their salt meal from on board.\n\nAfter this feast, at which we were very innocently merry, I brought out\nmy cargo of goods, wherein, that there might be no dispute about\ndividing, I shewed them that there was sufficient for them all; and\ndesired that they might all take an equal quantity of the goods that\nwere for wearing; that is to say, equal when made up. As first, I\ndistributed linen sufficient to make every one of them four shirts; and,\nat the Spaniards' request, afterwards made them up six; these were\nexceeding comfortable to them, having been what, as I may say, they had\nlong since forgot the use of, or what it was to wear them.\n\nI allotted the thin English stuffs, which I mentioned before, to make\nevery one a light coat like a frock, which I judged fittest for the heat\nof the season, cool and loose; and ordered, that whenever they decayed,\nthey should make more, as they thought fit. The like for pumps, shoes,\nstockings, and hats, &c.\n\nI cannot express what pleasure, what satisfaction, sat upon the\ncountenances of all these poor men when they saw the care I had taken of\nthem, and how well I had furnished them; they told me I was a father to\nthem; and that having such a correspondent as I was, in so remote a part\nof the world, it would make them forget that they were left in a\ndesolate place; and they all voluntarily engaged to me not to leave the\nplace without my consent.\n\nThen I presented to them the people I had brought with me, particularly\nthe tailor, the smith, and the two carpenters, all of them most\nnecessary people; but above all, my general artificer, than whom they\ncould not name any thing that was more needful to them; and the tailor,\nto shew his concern for them, went to work immediately, and, with my\nleave, made them every one a shirt the first thing he did; and, which\nwas still more, he taught the women not only how to sew and stitch, and\nuse the needle, but made them assist to make the shirts for their\nhusbands and for all the rest.\n\nAs for the carpenters, I scarce need mention how useful they were, for\nthey took in pieces all my clumsy unhandy things, and made them clever\nconvenient tables, stools, bedsteads, cupboards, lockers, shelves, and\nevery thing they wanted of that kind.\n\nBut to let them see how nature made artificers at first, I carried the\ncarpenters to see William Atkins's basket house, as I called it, and\nthey both owned they never saw an instance of such natural ingenuity\nbefore, nor any thing so regular and so handily built, at least of its\nkind; and one of them, when he saw it, after musing a good while,\nturning about to me, \"I am sure,\" says he, \"that man has no need of us;\nyou need do nothing but give him tools.\"\n\nThen I brought them out all my store of tools, and gave every man a\ndigging spade, a shovel, and a rake, for we had no harrows or ploughs;\nand to every separate place a pickaxe, a crow, a broadaxe, and a saw;\nalways appointing, that as often as any were broken, or worn out, they\nshould be supplied, without grudging, out of the general stores that I\nleft behind.\n\nNails, staples, hinges, hammers, chisels, knives, scissors, and all\nsorts of tools and iron-work, they had without tale as they required;\nfor no man would care to take more than he wanted, and he must be a fool\nthat would waste or spoil them on any account whatever. And for the use\nof the smith I left two tons of unwrought iron for a supply.\n\nMy magazine of powder and arms which I brought them, was such, even to\nprofusion, that they could not but rejoice at them; for now they could\nmarch, as I used to do, with a musket upon each shoulder, if there was\noccasion; and were able to fight a thousand savages, if they had but\nsome little advantages of situation, which also they could not miss of\nif they had occasion.\n\nI carried on shore with me the young man whose mother was starved to\ndeath, and the maid also: she was a sober, well-educated, religious\nyoung woman, and behaved so inoffensively, that every one gave her a\ngood word. She had, indeed, an unhappy life with us, there being no\nwoman in the ship but herself; but she bore it with patience. After a\nwhile, seeing things so well ordered, and in so fine a way of thriving\nupon my island, and considering that they had neither business nor\nacquaintance in the East Indies, or reason for taking so long a voyage;\nI say, considering all this, both of them came to me, and desired I\nwould give them leave to remain on the island, and be entered among my\nfamily, as they called it.\n\nI agreed to it readily, and they had a little plot of ground allotted to\nthem, where they had three tents or houses set up, surrounded with a\nbasket-work, palisaded like Atkins's, and adjoining to his plantation.\nTheir tents were contrived so, that they had each of them a room, a part\nto lodge in, and a middle tent, like a great storehouse, to lay all\ntheir goods in, and to eat and drink in. And now the other two\nEnglishmen moved their habitation to the same place, and so the island\nwas divided into three colonies, and no more; viz. the Spaniards, with\nold Friday, and the first servants, at my old habitation under the hill,\nwhich was, in a word, the capital city, and where they had so enlarged\nand extended their works, as well under as on the outside of the hill,\nthat they lived, though perfectly concealed, yet full at large. Never\nwas there such a little city in a wood, and so hid, I believe, in any\npart of the world; for I verily believe a thousand men might have ranged\nthe island a month, and if they had not known there was such a thing,\nand looked on purpose for it, they would not have found it; for the\ntrees stood so thick and so close, and grew so fast matted into one\nanother, that nothing but cutting them down first, could discover the\nplace, except the two narrow entrances where they went in and out, could\nbe found, which was not very easy. One of them was just down at the\nwater's edge, on the side of the creek; and it was afterwards above two\nhundred yards to the place; and the other was up the ladder at twice, as\nI have already formerly described it; and they had a large wood, thick\nplanted, also on the top of the hill, which contained above an acre,\nwhich grew apace, and covered the place from all discovery there, with\nonly one narrow place between two trees, not easy to be discovered, to\nenter on that side.\n\nThe other colony was that of Will Atkins, where there were four families\nof Englishmen, I mean those I had left there, with their wives and\nchildren; three savages that were slaves; the widow and children of the\nEnglishman that was killed; the young man and the maid; and by the way,\nwe made a wife of her also before we went away. There were also the two\ncarpenters and the tailor, whom I brought with me for them; also the\nsmith, who was a very necessary man to them, especially as the gunsmith,\nto take care of their arms; and my other man, whom I called Jack of all\nTrades, who was himself as good almost as twenty men, for he was not\nonly a very ingenious fellow, but a very merry fellow; and before I went\naway we married him to the honest maid that came with the youth in the\nship, whom I mentioned before.\n\nAnd now I speak of marrying, it brings me naturally to say something of\nthe French ecclesiastic that I had brought with me out of the ship's\ncrew whom I took at sea. It is true, this man was a Roman, and perhaps\nit may give offence to some hereafter, if I leave any thing\nextraordinary upon record of a man, whom, before I begin, I must (to set\nhim out in just colours) represent in terms very much to his\ndisadvantage in the account of Protestants; as, first, that he was a\nPapist; secondly, a Popish priest; and thirdly, a French Popish priest.\n\nBut justice demands of me to give him a due character; and I must say,\nhe was a grave, sober, pious, and most religious person; exact in his\nlife, extensive in his charity, and exemplary in almost every thing he\ndid. What then can any one say against my being very sensible of the\nvalue of such a man, notwithstanding his profession? though it may be my\nopinion, perhaps as well as the opinion of others who shall read this,\nthat he was mistaken.\n\nThe first hour that I began to converse with him, after he had agreed to\ngo with me to the East Indies, I found reason to delight exceedingly in\nhis conversation; and he first began with me about religion, in the most\nobliging manner imaginable.\n\n\"Sir,\" says he, \"you have not only, under God\" (and at that he crossed\nhis breast), \"saved my life, but you have admitted me to go this voyage\nin your ship, and by your obliging civility have taken me into your\nfamily, giving me an opportunity of free conversation. Now, Sir,\" says\nhe, \"you see by my habit what my profession is, and I guess by your\nnation what yours is. I may think it is my duty, and doubtless it is so,\nto use my utmost endeavours on all occasions to bring all the souls that\nI can to the knowledge of the truth, and to embrace the Catholic\ndoctrine; but as I am here under your permission, and in your family, I\nam bound in justice to your kindness, as well as in decency and good\nmanners, to be under your government; and therefore I shall not, without\nyour leave, enter into any debates on the points of religion, in which\nwe may not agree, farther than you shall give me leave.\"\n\nI told him his carriage was so modest that I could not but acknowledge\nit; that it was true, we were such people as they call heretics, but\nthat he was not the first Catholic that I had conversed with without\nfalling into any inconveniencies, or carrying the questions to any\nheight in debate; that he should not find himself the worse used for\nbeing of a different opinion from us; and if we did not converse without\nany dislike on either side, upon that score, it would be his fault,\nnot ours.\n\nHe replied, that he thought our conversation might be easily separated\nfrom disputes; that it was not his business to cap principles with every\nman he discoursed with; and that he rather desired me to converse with\nhim as a _gentleman_ than as a _religieux_; that if I would give him\nleave at any time to discourse upon religious subjects, he would readily\ncomply with it; and that then he did not doubt but I would allow him\nalso to defend his own opinions as well as he could; but that without my\nleave he would not break in upon me with any such thing.\n\nHe told me farther, that he would not cease to do all that became him in\nhis office as a priest, as well as a private Christian, to procure the\ngood of the ship, and the safety of all that was in her; and though\nperhaps we would not join with him, and he could not pray with us, he\nhoped he might pray for us, which he would do upon all occasions. In\nthis manner we conversed; and as he was of a most obliging\ngentleman-like behaviour, so he was, if I may be allowed to say so, a\nman of good sense, and, as I believe, of great learning.\n\nHe gave me a most diverting account of his life, and of the many\nextraordinary events of it; of many adventures which had befallen him in\nthe few years that he had been abroad in the world, and particularly\nthis was very remarkable; viz. that during the voyage he was now engaged\nin he had the misfortune to be five times shipped and unshipped, and\nnever to go to the place whither any of the ships he was in were at\nfirst designed: that his first intent was to have gone to Martinico, and\nthat he went on board a ship bound thither at St. Maloes; but being\nforced into Lisbon in bad weather, the ship received some damage by\nrunning aground in the mouth of the river Tagus, and was obliged to\nunload her cargo there: that finding a Portuguese ship there, bound to\nthe Madeiras, and ready to sail, and supposing he should easily meet\nwith a vessel there bound to Martinico, he went on board in order to\nsail to the Madeiras; but the master of the Portuguese ship being but an\nindifferent mariner, had been out in his reckoning, and they drove to\nFyal; where, however, he happened to find a very good market for his\ncargo, which was corn, and therefore resolved not to go to the Madeiras,\nbut to load salt at the isle of May, to go away to Newfoundland. He had\nno remedy in the exigence but to go with the ship, and had a pretty good\nvoyage as far as the Banks, (so they call the place where they catch the\nfish) where meeting with a French ship bound from France to Quebec, in\nthe river of Canada, and from thence to Martinico, to carry provisions,\nhe thought he should have an opportunity to complete his first design.\nBut when he came to Quebec the master of the ship died, and the ship\nproceeded no farther. So the next voyage he shipped himself for France,\nin the ship that was burnt, when we took them up at sea, and then\nshipped them with us for the East Indies, as I have already said. Thus\nhe had been disappointed in five voyages, all, as I may call it, in one\nvoyage, besides what I shall have occasion to mention farther of the\nsame person.\n\nBut I shall not make digressions into other men's stories which have no\nrelation to my own. I return to what concerns our affair in the island.\nHe came to me one morning, for he lodged among us all the while we were\nupon the island, and it happened to be just when I was going to visit\nthe Englishmen's colony at the farthest part of the island; I say, he\ncame to me, and told me with a very grave countenance, that he had for\ntwo or three days desired an opportunity of some discourse with me,\nwhich he hoped would not be displeasing to me, because he thought it\nmight in some measure correspond with my general design, which was the\nprosperity of my new colony, and perhaps might put it at least more than\nhe yet thought it was in the way of God's blessing.\n\nI looked a little surprised at the last part of his discourse, and\nturning a little short, \"How, Sir,\" said I, \"can it be said, that we are\nnot in the way of God's blessing, after such visible assistances and\nwonderful deliverances as we have seen here, and of which I have given\nyou a large account?\"\n\n\"If you had pleased, Sir,\" said he, with a world of modesty, and yet\nwith great readiness, \"to have heard me, you would have found no room to\nhave been displeased, much less to think so hard of me, that I should\nsuggest, that you have not had wonderful assistances and deliverances;\nand I hope, on your behalf, that you are in the way of God's blessing,\nand your design is exceeding good, and will prosper. But, Sir,\" said he,\n\"though it were more so than is even possible to you, yet there may be\nsome among you that are not equally right in their actions; and you know\nthat in the story of Israel, one Achan, in the camp, removed God's\nblessing from them, and turned his hand so against them, that thirty-six\nof them, though not concerned in the crime, were the objects of divine\nvengeance, and bore the weight of that punishment.\"\n\nI was sensibly touched with this discourse, and told him his inference\nwas so just, and the whole design seemed so sincere, and was really so\nreligious in its own nature, that I was very sorry I had interrupted\nhim, and begged him to go on; and in the meantime, because it seemed\nthat what we had both to say might take up some time, I told him I was\ngoing to the Englishmens' plantation, and asked him to go with me, and\nwe might discourse of it by the way. He told me he would more willingly\nwait on me thither, because there, partly, the thing was acted which he\ndesired to speak to me about. So we walked on, and I pressed him to be\nfree and plain with me in what he had to say.\n\n\"Why then, Sir,\" says he, \"be pleased to give me leave to lay down a few\npropositions as the foundation of what I have to say, that we may not\ndiffer in the general principles, though we may be of some differing\nopinions in the practice of particulars. First, Sir, though we differ in\nsome of the doctrinal articles of religion, and it is very unhappy that\nit is so, especially in the case before us, as I shall shew afterwards,\nyet there are some general principles in which we both agree; viz.\nfirst, that there is a God, and that this God, having given us some\nstated general rules for our service and obedience, we ought not\nwillingly and knowingly to offend him, either by neglecting to do what\nhe has commanded, or by doing what he has expressly forbidden; and let\nour different religions be what they will, this general principle is\nreadily owned by us all, that the blessing of God does not ordinarily\nfollow a presumptuous sinning against his command; and every good\nChristian will be affectionately concerned to prevent any that are under\nhis care, living in a total neglect of God and his commands. It is not\nyour men being Protestants, whatever my opinion may be of such, that\ndischarges me from being concerned for their souls, and from\nendeavouring, if it lies before me, that they should live in as little\ndistance from and enmity with their Maker as possible; especially if you\ngive me leave to meddle so far in your circuit.\"\n\nI could not yet imagine, what he aimed at, and told him I granted all\nhe had said; and thanked him that he would so far concern himself for\nus; and begged he would explain the particulars of what he had observed,\nthat, like Joshua, (to take his own parable) I might put away the\naccursed thing from us.\n\n\"Why then, Sir,\" says he, \"I will take the liberty you give me; and\nthere are three things which, if I am right, must stand in the way of\nGod's blessing upon your endeavours here, and which I should rejoice,\nfor your sake, and their own, to see removed. And, Sir,\" says he, \"I\npromise myself that you will fully agree with me in them all as soon as\nI name them; especially because I shall convince you that every one of\nthem may with great ease, and very much to your satisfaction, be\nremedied.\"\n\nHe gave me no leave to put in any more civilities, but went on: \"First,\nSir,\" says he, \"you have here four Englishmen, who have fetched women\nfrom among the savages, and have taken them as their wives, and have had\nmany children by them all, and yet are not married to them after any\nstated legal manner, as the laws of God and man require; and therefore\nare yet, in the sense of both, no less than adulterers, and living in\nadultery. To this, Sir,\" says he, \"I know you will object, that there\nwas no clergyman or priest of any kind, or of any profession, to perform\nthe ceremony; nor any pen and ink, or paper, to write down a contract of\nmarriage, and have it signed between them. And I know also, Sir, what\nthe Spaniard governor has told you; I mean of the agreement that he\nobliged them to make when they took these women, viz. that they should\nchoose them out by consent, and keep separately to them; which, by the\nway, is nothing of a marriage, no agreement with the women as wives, but\nonly an agreement among themselves, to keep them from quarrelling.\n\n\"But, Sir, the essence of the sacrament of matrimony (so he called it,\nbeing a Roman) consists not only in the mutual consent of the parties to\ntake one another as man and wife, but in the formal and legal\nobligation that there is in the contract to compel the man and woman at\nall times to own and acknowledge each other; obliging the man to abstain\nfrom all other women, to engage in no other contract while these\nsubsist; and on all occasions, as ability allows, to provide honestly\nfor them and their children; and to oblige the women to the same, on\nlike conditions, _mutatis mutandis_, on their side.\n\n\"Now, Sir,\" says he, \"these men may, when they please, or when occasion\npresents, abandon these women, disown their children, leave them to\nperish, and take other women and marry them whilst these are living.\"\nAnd here he added, with some warmth, \"How, Sir, is God honoured in this\nunlawful liberty? And how shall a blessing succeed your endeavours in\nthis place, however good in themselves, and however sincere in your\ndesign, while these men, who at present are your subjects, under your\nabsolute government and dominion, are allowed by you to live in open\nadultery?\"\n\nI confess I was struck at the thing itself, but much more with the\nconvincing arguments he supported it with. For it was certainly true,\nthat though they had no clergyman on the spot, yet a formal contract on\nboth sides, made before witnesses, and confirmed by any token which they\nhad all agreed to be bound by, though it had been but the breaking a\nstick between them, engaging the men to own these women for their wives\nupon all occasions, and never to abandon them or their children, and the\nwomen to the same with their husbands, had been an effectual lawful\nmarriage in the sight of God, and it was a great neglect that it was\nnot done.\n\nBut I thought to have gotten off with my young priest by telling him,\nthat all that part was done when I was not here; and they had lived so\nmany years with them now, that if it was adultery it was past remedy,\nthey could do nothing in it now.\n\n\"Sir,\" says he, \"asking your pardon for such freedom, you are right in\nthis; that it being done in your absence, you could not be charged with\nthat part of the crime. But I beseech you, matter not yourself that you\nare not therefore under an obligation to do your uttermost now to put an\nend to it. How can you think, but that, let the time past lie on whom it\nwill, all the guilt for the future will lie entirely upon you? Because\nit is certainly in your power now to put an end to it, and in nobody's\npower but yours.\"\n\nI was so dull still, that I did not take him right, but I imagined that\nby putting an end to it he meant that I should part them, and not suffer\nthem to live together any longer; and I said to him I could not do that\nby any means, for that it would put the whole island in confusion. He\nseemed surprised that I should so far mistake him. \"No, Sir,\" says he,\n\"I do not mean that you should separate them, but legally and\neffectually marry them now. And, Sir, as my way of marrying may not be\nso easy to reconcile them to, though it will be as effectual even by\nyour own laws; so your way may be as well before God, and as valid among\nmen; I mean by a written contract signed by both man and woman, and by\nall the witnesses present; which all the laws of Europe would decree to\nbe valid.\"\n\nI was amazed to see so much true piety, and so much sincerity of zeal,\nbesides the unusual impartiality in his discourse, as to his own party\nor church, and such a true warmth for the preserving people that he had\nno knowledge of or relation to; I say, for preserving them from\ntransgressing the laws of God; the like of which I had indeed not met\nwith any where. But recollecting what he had said of marrying them by a\nwritten contract, which I knew would stand too, I returned it back upon\nhim, and told him I granted all that he had said to be just, and on his\npart very kind; that I would discourse with the men upon the point now\nwhen I came to them. And I knew no reason why they should scruple to let\nhim marry them all; which I knew well enough would be granted to be as\nauthentic and valid in England as if they were married by one of our own\nclergymen. What was afterwards done in this matter I shall speak of\nby itself.\n\nI then pressed him to tell me what was the second complaint which he had\nto make, acknowledging I was very much his debtor for the first, and\nthanked him heartily for it. He told me he would use the same freedom\nand plainness in the second, and hoped I would take it as well; and this\nwas, that notwithstanding these English subjects of mine, as he called\nthem, had lived with these women for almost seven years, and had taught\nthem to speak English, and even to read it, and that they were, as he\nperceived, women of tolerable understanding and capable of instruction;\nyet they had not, to this hour taught them any thing of the Christian\nreligion; no not so much as to know that there was a God, or a worship,\nor in what manner God was to be served; or that their own idolatry, and\nworshipping they knew not who, was false and absurd.\n\nThis, he said, was an unaccountable neglect, and what God would\ncertainly call them to an account for; and perhaps at last take the work\nout of their hands. He spoke this very affectionately and warmly. \"I am\npersuaded,\" says he, \"had those men lived in the savage country whence\ntheir wives came, the savages would have taken more pains to have\nbrought them to be idolaters, and to worship the devil, than any of\nthese men, so far as I can see, has taken with them to teach them the\nknowledge of the true God. Now, Sir,\" said he, \"though I do not\nacknowledge your religion, or you mine, yet we should be all glad to see\nthe devil's servants, and the subjects of his kingdom, taught to know\nthe general principles of the Christian religion; that they might at\nleast hear of God, and of a Redeemer, and of the resurrection, and of a\nfuture state, things which we all believe; they had at least been so\nmuch nearer coming into the bosom of the true church, than they are now\nin the public profession of idolatry and devil-worship.\"\n\nI could hold no longer; I took him in my arms, and embraced him with an\nexcess of passion. \"How far,\" said I to him, \"have I been from\nunderstanding the most essential part of a Christian, viz. to love the\ninterest of the Christian church, and the good of other men's souls! I\nscarce have known what belongs to being a Christian.\"--\"O, Sir, do not\nsay so,\" replied he; \"this thing is not your fault.\"--\"No,\" said I; \"but\nwhy did I never lay it to heart as well as you?\"--\"It is not too late\nyet,\" said he; \"be not too forward to condemn yourself.\"--\"But what can\nbe done now?\" said I; \"you see I am going away.\"--\"Will you give me\nleave,\" said he, \"to talk with these poor men about it?\"--\"Yes, with all\nmy heart,\" said I, \"and I will oblige them to give heed to what you say\ntoo.\"--\"As to that,\" said he, \"we must leave them to the mercy of\nChrist; but it is our business to assist them, encourage them, and\ninstruct them; and if you will give me leave, and God his blessing, I do\nnot doubt but the poor ignorant souls shall be brought home into the\ngreat circle of Christianity, if not into the particular faith that we\nall embrace; and that even while you stay here.\" Upon this I said, \"I\nshall not only give you leave, but give you a thousand thanks for it.\"\nWhat followed on this account I shall mention also again in its place.\n\nI now pressed him for the third article in which we were to blame. \"Why\nreally,\" says he, \"it is of the same nature, and I will proceed (asking\nyour leave) with the same plainness as before; it is about your poor\nsavages yonder, who are, as I may say, your conquered subjects. It is a\nmaxim, Sir, that is, or ought to be received among all Christians, of\nwhat church, or pretended church soever, viz. that Christian knowledge\nought to be propagated by all possible means, and on all possible\noccasions. It is on this principle that our church sends missionaries\ninto Persia, India, and China; and that our clergy, even of the\nsuperior sort, willingly engage in the most hazardous voyages, and the\nmost dangerous residence among murderers and barbarians, to teach them\nthe knowledge of the true God, and to bring them over to embrace the\nChristian faith. Now, Sir, you have an opportunity here to have six or\nseven-and-thirty poor savages brought over from idolatry to the\nknowledge of God, their Maker and Redeemer, that I wonder how you can\npass by such an occasion of doing good, which is really worth the\nexpense of a man's whole life.\"\n\nI was now struck dumb indeed, and had not one word to say; I had here a\nspirit of true Christian zeal for God and religion before me, let his\nparticular principles be of what kind soever. As for me, I had not so\nmuch as entertained a thought of this in my heart before, and I believe\nshould not have thought of it; for I looked upon these savages as\nslaves, and people whom, had we any work for them to do, we would have\nused as such, or would have been glad to have transported them to any\nother part of the world; for our business was to get rid of them, and we\nwould all have been satisfied if they had been sent to any country, so\nthey had never seen their own. But to the case: I say I was confounded\nat his discourse, and knew not what answer to make him. He looked\nearnestly at me, seeing me in some disorder; \"Sir,\" said he, \"I shall be\nvery sorry, if what I have said gives you any offence.\"--\"No, no,\" said\nI, \"I am offended with nobody but myself; but I am perfectly confounded,\nnot only to think that I should never take any notice of this before,\nbut with reflecting what notice I am able to take of it now. You know,\nSir,\" said I, \"what circumstances I am in; I am bound to the East\nIndies, in a ship freighted by merchants, and to whom it would be an\ninsufferable piece of injustice to detain their ship here, the men lying\nall this while at victuals and wages upon the owners' account. It is\ntrue, I agreed to be allowed twelve days here, and if I stay more I\nmust pay 32 sterling per diem demurrage; nor can I stay upon demurrage\nabove eight days more, and I have been here thirteen days already; so\nthat I am perfectly unable to engage in this work; unless I would suffer\nmyself to be left behind here again; in which case, if this single ship\nshould miscarry in any part of her voyage, I should be just in the same\ncondition that I was left in here at first, and from which I have been\nso wonderfully delivered.\"\n\nHe owned the case was very hard upon me as to my voyage, but laid it\nhome upon my conscience, whether the blessing of saving seven-and-thirty\nsouls was not worth my venturing all I had in the world for. I was not\nso sensible of that as he was, and I returned upon him thus: \"Why, Sir,\nit is a valuable thing indeed to be an instrument in God's hand to\nconvert seven-and-thirty heathens to the knowledge of Christ: but as you\nare an ecclesiastic, and are given over to that work, so that it seems\nnaturally to fall into the way of your profession, how is it then that\nyou do not rather offer yourself to undertake it, than press me to it!\"\n\nUpon this he faced about, just before me, as he walked along, and\npulling me to a full stop, made me a very low bow: \"I most heartily\nthank God, and you, Sir,\" says he, \"for giving me so evident a call to\nso blessed a work; and if you think yourself discharged from it, and\ndesire me to undertake it, I will most readily do it, and think it a\nhappy reward for all of the hazards and difficulties of such a broken\ndisappointed voyage as I have met with, that I have dropped at last into\nso glorious a work.\"\n\nI discovered a kind of rapture in his face while he spoke this to me;\nhis eyes sparkled like fire, his face bowed, and his colour came and\nwent as if he had been falling into fits; in a word, he was tired with\nthe agony of being embarked in such a work. I paused a considerable\nwhile before I could tell what to say to him, for I was really surprised\nto find a man of such sincerity and zeal, and carried out in his zeal\nbeyond the ordinary rate of men, not of his profession only, but even of\nany profession whatsoever. But after I had considered it awhile, I asked\nhim seriously if he was in earnest, and that he would venture on the\nsingle consideration of an attempt on those poor people, to be locked up\nin an unplanted island for perhaps his life, and at last might not know\nwhether he should be able to do them any good or not?\n\nHe turned short upon me, and asked me what I called a venture? \"Pray,\nSir,\" said he, \"what do you think I consented to go in your ship to the\nEast Indies for?\"--\"Nay,\" said I, \"that I know not, unless it was to\npreach to the Indians.\"--\"Doubtless it was,\" said he; \"and do you think\nif I can convert these seven-and-thirty men to the faith of Christ, it\nis not worth my time, though I should never be fetched off the island\nagain? Nay, is it not infinitely of more worth to save so many souls\nthan my life is, or the life of twenty more of the same profession? Yes,\nSir,\" says he, \"I would give Christ and the Blessed Virgin thanks all my\ndays, if I could be made the least happy instrument of saving the souls\nof these poor men though I was never to set my foot off this island, or\nsee my native country any more. But since you will honour me,\" says he,\n\"with putting me into this work, (for which I will pray for you all the\ndays of my life) I have one humble petition to you,\" said he\n\"besides.\"--\"What is that?\" said I. \"Why,\" says he, \"it is, that you\nwill leave your man Friday with me, to be my interpreter to them, and to\nassist me for without some help I cannot speak to them, or they to me.\"\n\nI was sensibly troubled at his requesting Friday, because I could not\nthink of parting with him, and that for many reasons. He had been the\ncompanion of my travels; he was not only faithful to me, but sincerely\naffectionate to the last degree; and I had resolved to do something\nconsiderable for him if he out-lived me, as it was probable he would.\nThen I knew that as I had bred Friday up to be a Protestant, it would\nquite confound him to bring him to embrace another profession; and he\nwould never, while his eyes were open, believe that his old master was a\nheretic, and would be damned; and this might in the end ruin the poor\nfellow's principles, and so turn him back again to his first idolatry.\n\nHowever, a sudden thought relieved me in this strait, and it was this: I\ntold him I could not say that I was willing to part with Friday on any\naccount whatever; though a work that to him was of more value than his\nlife, ought to me to be of much more value than the keeping or parting\nwith a servant. But on the other hand, I was persuaded, that Friday\nwould by no means consent to part with me; and then to force him to it\nwithout his consent would be manifest injustice, because I had promised\nI would never put him away, and he had promised and engaged to me that\nhe would never leave me unless I put him away.\n\nHe seemed very much concerned at it; for he had no rational access to\nthese poor people, seeing he did not understand one word of their\nlanguage, nor they one word of his. To remove this difficulty, I told\nhim Friday's father had learnt Spanish, which I found he also\nunderstood, and he should serve him for an interpreter; so he was much\nbetter satisfied, and nothing could persuade him but he would stay to\nendeavour to convert them; but Providence gave another and very happy\nturn to all this.\n\nI come back now to the first part of his objections. When we came to the\nEnglishmen I sent for them all together; and after some accounts given\nthem of what I had done for them, viz. what necessary things I had\nprovided for them, and how they were distributed, which they were\nsensible of, and very thankful for; I began to talk to them of the\nscandalous life they led, and gave them a full account of the notice the\nclergyman had already taken of it; and arguing how unchristian and\nirreligious a life it was, I first asked them if they were married men\nor bachelors? They soon explained their condition to me, and shewed me\nthat two of them were widowers, and the other three were single men or\nbachelors. I asked them with what conscience they could take these\nwomen, and lie with them as they had done, call them their wives, and\nhave so many children by them, and not be married lawfully to them?\n\nThey all gave me the answer that I expected, viz. that there was nobody\nto marry them; that they agreed before the governor to keep them as\ntheir wives; and to keep them and own them as their wives; and they\nthought, as things stood with them, they were as legally married as if\nthey had been married by a parson, and with all the formalities in\nthe world.\n\nI told them that no doubt they were married in the sight of God, and\nwere bound in conscience to keep them as their wives; but that the laws\nof men being otherwise, they might pretend they were not married, and so\ndesert the poor women and children hereafter; and that their wives,\nbeing poor, desolate women, friendless and moneyless, would have no way\nto help themselves: I therefore told them, that unless I was assured of\ntheir honest intent, I could do nothing for them; but would take care\nthat what I did should be for the women and children without them; and\nthat unless they would give some assurances that they would marry the\nwomen, I could not think it was convenient they should continue together\nas man and wife; for that it was both scandalous to men and offensive to\nGod, who they could not think would bless them if they went on thus.\n\nAll this passed as I expected; and they told me, especially Will Atkins,\nwho seemed now to speak for the rest, that they loved their wives as\nwell as if they had been born in their own native country, and would not\nleave them upon any account whatever; and they did verily believe their\nwives were as virtuous and as modest, and did to the utmost of their\nskill as much for them and for their children as any women could\npossibly do, and they would not part with them on any account: and Will\nAtkins for his own particular added, if any man would take him away, and\noffer to carry him home to England, and to make him captain of the best\nman of war in the navy, he would not go with him if he might not carry\nhis wife and children with him; and if there was a clergyman in the\nship, he would be married to her now with all his heart.\n\nThis was just as I would have it. The priest was not with me at that\nmoment, but was not far off. So to try him farther, I told him I had a\nclergyman with me, and if he was sincere I would have him married the\nnext morning, and bade him consider of it, and talk with the rest. He\nsaid, as for himself, he need not consider of it at all, for he was very\nready to do it, and was glad I had a minister with me; and he believed\nthey would be all willing also. I then told him that my friend the\nminister was a Frenchman, and could not speak English, but that I would\nact the clerk between them. He never so much as asked me whether he was\na Papist or Protestant, which was indeed what I was afraid of. But I say\nthey never inquired about it. So we parted; I went back to my clergyman,\nand Will Atkins went in to talk with his companions. I desired the\nFrench gentleman not to say any thing to them till the business was\nthorough ripe, and I told him what answer the men had given me.\n\nBefore I went from their quarter they all came to me, and told me, they\nhad been considering what I had said; that they were very glad to hear I\nhad a clergyman in my company; and they were very willing to give me the\nsatisfaction I desired, and to be formally married as soon as I pleased;\nfor they were far from desiring to part from their wives; and that they\nmeant nothing but what was very honest when they chose them. So I\nappointed them to meet me the next morning, and that in the mean time\nthey should let their wives know the meaning of the marriage law; and\nthat it was not only to prevent any scandal, but also to oblige them\nthat they should not forsake them, whatever might happen.\n\nThe women were easily made sensible of the meaning of the thing, and\nwere very well satisfied with it, as indeed they had reason to be; so\nthey failed not to attend all together at my apartment next morning,\nwhere I brought out my clergyman: and though he had not on a minister's\ngown, after the manner of England, or the habit of a priest, after the\nmanner of France; yet having a black vest, something like a cassock,\nwith a sash round it, he did not look very unlike a minister; and as for\nhis language I was interpreter.\n\nBut the seriousness of his behaviour to them, and the scruple he made of\nmarrying the women because they were not baptized, and professed\nChristians, gave them an exceeding reverence for his person; and there\nwas no need after that to inquire whether he was a clergyman or no.\n\nIndeed I was afraid his scruple would have been carried so far as that\nhe would not have married them at all: nay, notwithstanding all I was\nable to say to him, he resisted me, though modestly, yet very steadily;\nand at last refused absolutely to marry them, unless he had first talked\nwith the men and the women too; and though at first I was a little\nbackward to it, yet at last I agreed to it with a good will, perceiving\nthe sincerity of his design.\n\nWhen he came to them, he let them know that I had acquainted him with\ntheir circumstances, and with the present design; that he was very\nwilling to perform that part of his function, and marry them as I had\ndesired; but that before he could do it, he must take the liberty to\ntalk with them. He told them that in the sight of all different men, and\nin the sense of the laws of society, they had lived all this while in an\nopen adultery; and that it was true that nothing but the consenting to\nmarry, or effectually separating them from one another now, could put\nan end to it; but there was a difficulty in it too, with respect to the\nlaws of Christian matrimony, which he was not fully satisfied about,\nviz. that of marrying one that is a professed Christian to a savage, an\nidolater, and a heathen, one that is not baptized; and yet that he did\nnot see that there was time left for it to endeavour to persuade the\nwomen to be baptized, or to profess the name of Christ, whom they had,\nhe doubted, heard nothing of, and without which they could not\nbe baptized.\n\nHe told me he doubted they were but indifferent Christians themselves;\nthat they had but little knowledge of God or his ways, and therefore he\ncould not expect that they had said much to their wives on that head\nyet; but that unless they would promise him to use their endeavours with\ntheir wives to persuade them to become Christians, and would as well as\nthey could instruct them in the knowledge and belief of God that made\nthem, and to worship Jesus Christ that redeemed them, he could not marry\nthem; for he would have no hand in joining Christians with savages; nor\nwas it consistent with the principles of the Christian religion, and was\nindeed expressly forbidden in God's law.\n\nThey heard all this very attentively, and I delivered it very faithfully\nto them from his mouth, as near his own words as I could, only sometimes\nadding something of my own, to convince them how just it was, and how I\nwas of his mind: and I always very faithfully distinguished between what\nI said from myself and what were the clergyman's words. They told me it\nwas very true what the gentleman had said, that they were but very\nindifferent Christians themselves, and that they had never talked to\ntheir wives about religion.--\"Lord, Sir,\" says Will Atkins, \"how should\nwe teach them religion? Why, we know nothing ourselves; and besides,\nSir,\" said he, \"should we go to talk to them of God, and Jesus Christ,\nand heaven and hell, it would be to make them laugh at us, and ask us\nwhat we believe ourselves? and if we should tell them we believe all\nthe things that we speak of to them, such as of good people going to\nheaven, and wicked people to the devil, they would ask us, where we\nintended to go ourselves who believe all this, and yet are such wicked\nfellows, as we indeed are: why, Sir,\" said Will, \"'tis enough to give\nthem a surfeit of religion, at that hearing: folks must have some\nreligion themselves before they pretend to teach other people.\"--\"Will\nAtkins,\" said I to him, \"though I am afraid what you say has too much\ntruth in it, yet can you not tell your wife that she is in the wrong;\nthat there is a God, and a religion better than her own; that her gods\nare idols; that they can neither hear nor speak; that there is a great\nBeing that made all things, and that can destroy all that he has made;\nthat he rewards the good, and punishes the bad; that we are to be judged\nby him, at last, for all we do here? You are not so ignorant but even\nnature itself will teach you that all this is true; and I am satisfied\nyou know it all to be true, and believe it yourself.\"\n\n\"That's true, Sir,\" said Atkins; \"but with what face can I say any thing\nto my wife of all this, when she will tell me immediately it cannot\nbe true?\"\n\n\"Not true!\" said I; \"what do you mean by that?\"--\"Why, Sir,\" said he,\n\"she will tell me it cannot be true: that this God (I shall tell her of)\ncan be just, or can punish or reward, since I am not punished and sent\nto the devil, that have been such a wicked creature as she knows I have\nbeen, even to her, and to every body else; and that I should be suffered\nto live, that have been always acting so contrary to what I must tell\nher is good, and to what I ought to have done.\"\n\n\"Why truly, Atkins,\" said I, \"I am afraid thou speakest too much truth;\"\nand with that I let the clergyman know what Atkins had said, for he was\nimpatient to know. \"O!\" said the priest, \"tell him there is one thing\nwill make him the best minister in the world to his wife, and that is\nrepentance; for none teach repentance like true penitents. He wants\nnothing but to repent, and then he will be so much the better qualified\nto instruct his wife; he will then be able to tell her, that there is\nnot only a God, and that he is the just rewarder of good and evil; but\nthat he is a merciful Being, and, with infinite goodness and\nlong-suffering, forbears to punish those that offend; waiting to be\ngracious, and willing not the death of a sinner, but rather that he\nshould return and live; that he often suffers wicked men to go on a long\ntime, and even reserves damnation to the general day of retribution:\nthat it is a clear evidence of God, and of a future state, that\nrighteous men receive not their reward, or wicked men their punishment,\ntill they come into another world; and this will lend him to teach his\nwife the doctrine of the resurrection, and of the last judgment: let him\nbut repent for himself, he will be an excellent preacher of repentance\nto his wife.\"\n\nI repeated all this to Atkins, who looked very serious all the while,\nand who, we could easily perceive, was more than ordinarily affected\nwith it: when being eager, and hardly suffering me to make an end--\"I\nknow all this, master,\" says he, \"and a great deal more; but I han't the\nimpudence to talk thus to my wife, when God and my own conscience knows,\nand my wife will be an undeniable evidence against me, that I have lived\nas if I never heard of God, or a future state, or any thing about it;\nand to talk of my repenting, alas! (and with that he fetched a deep\nsigh; and I could see that tears stood in his eyes,) 'tis past all that\nwith me.\"--\"Past it, Atkins!\" said I; \"what dost thou mean by that?\"--\"I\nknow well enough what I mean, Sir,\" says he; \"I mean 'tis too late; and\nthat is too true.\"\n\nI told my clergyman word for word what he said. The poor zealous priest\n(I must call him so; for, be his opinion what it will, he had certainly\na most singular affection for the good of other men's souls; and it\nwould be hard to think he had not the like for his own)--I say, this\nzealous, affectionate man could not refrain tears also: but recovering\nhimself, he said to me, \"Ask him but one question: Is he easy that it is\ntoo late, or is he troubled, and wishes it were not so?\" I put the\nquestion fairly to Atkins; and he answered with a great deal of passion,\n\"How could any man be easy in a condition that certainly must end in\neternal destruction? That he was far from being easy; but that, on the\ncontrary, he believed it would one time or the other ruin him.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\" said I.--\"Why,\" he said, \"he believed he\nshould, one time or another, cut his own throat to put an end to the\nterror of it.\"\n\nThe clergyman shook his head, with a great concern in his face, when I\ntold him all this; but turning quick to me upon it, said, \"If that be\nhis case, you may assure him it is not too late; Christ will give him\nrepentance. But pray,\" says he, \"explain this to him, that as no man is\nsaved but by Christ, and the merit of his passion, procuring divine\nmercy for him, how can it be too late for any man to receive mercy? Does\nhe think he is able to sin beyond the power or reach of divine mercy?\nPray tell him, there may be a time when provoked mercy will no longer\nstrive, and when God may refuse to hear; but that 'tis never too late\nfor men to ask mercy; and we that are Christ's servants are commanded to\npreach mercy at all times, in the name of Jesus Christ, to all those\nthat sincerely repent: so that 'tis never too late to repent.\"\n\nI told Atkins all this, and he heard me with great earnestness; but it\nseemed as if he turned off the discourse to the rest; for he said to me\nhe would go and have some talk with his wife: so he went out awhile, and\nwe talked to the rest. I perceived they were all stupidly ignorant as to\nmatters of religion; much as I was when I went rambling away from my\nfather; and yet that there were none of them backward to hear what had\nbeen said; and all of them seriously promised that they would talk with\ntheir wives about it, and do their endeavour to persuade them to turn\nChristians.\n\nThe clergyman smiled upon me when I reported what answer they gave, but\nsaid nothing a good while; but at last shaking his head, \"We that are\nChrist's servants,\" says he, \"can go no farther than to exhort and\ninstruct; and when men comply, submit to the reproof, and promise what\nwe ask, 'tis all we can do; we are bound to accept their good words; but\nbelieve me, Sir,\" said he, \"whatever you may have known of the life of\nthat man you call William Atkins, I believe he is the only sincere\nconvert among them; I take that man to be a true penitent; I won't\ndespair of the rest; but that man is perfectly struck with the sense of\nhis past life; and I doubt not but when he comes to talk of religion to\nhis wife, he will talk himself effectually into it; for attempting to\nteach others is sometimes the best way of teaching ourselves. I knew a\nman,\" added he, \"who having nothing but a summary notion of religion\nhimself, and being wicked and profligate to the last degree in his life,\nmade a thorough reformation in himself by labouring to convert a Jew:\nand if that poor Atkins begins but once to talk seriously of Jesus\nChrist to his wife, my life for it he talks himself into a thorough\nconvert, makes himself a penitent; and who knows what may follow?\"\n\nUpon this discourse, however, and their promising as above to endeavour\nto persuade their wives to embrace Christianity, he married the other\nthree couple; but Will Atkins and his wife were not yet come in. After\nthis, my clergyman waiting awhile, was curious to know where Atkins was\ngone; and turning to me, says he, \"I entreat you, Sir, let us walk out\nof your labyrinth here and look; I dare say we shall find this poor man\nsomewhere or other, talking seriously with his wife, and teaching her\nalready something of religion.\" I began to be of the same mind; so we\nwent out together, and I carried him a way which none knew but myself,\nand where the trees were so thick set, as that it was not easy to see\nthrough the thicket of leaves, and far harder to see in than to see\nout; when coming to the edge of the wood I saw Atkins, and his tawny\nsavage wife, sitting under the shade of a bush, very eager in discourse.\nI stopped short till my clergyman came up to me, and then having shewed\nhim where they were, we stood and looked very steadily at them a\ngood while.\n\nWe observed him very earnest with her, pointing up to the sun, and to\nevery quarter of the heavens; then down to the earth, then out to the\nsea, then to himself, then to her, to the woods, to the trees. \"Now,\"\nsays my clergyman, \"you see my words are made good; the man preaches to\nher; mark him; now he is telling her that our God has made him, and her,\nand the heavens, the earth, the sea, the woods, the trees, &c.\"--\"I\nbelieve he is,\" said I. Immediately we perceived Will Atkins start up\nupon his feet, fall down upon his knees, and lift up both his hands; we\nsupposed he said something, but we could not hear him; it was too far\noff for that: he did not continue kneeling half a minute, but comes and\nsits down again by his wife, and talks to her again. We perceived then\nthe woman very attentive, but whether she said any thing or no we could\nnot tell. While the poor fellow was upon his knees, I could see the\ntears run plentifully down my clergyman's cheeks; and I could hardly\nforbear myself; but it was a great affliction to us both, that we were\nnot near enough to hear any thing that passed between them.\n\nWell, however, we could come no nearer for fear of disturbing them; so\nwe resolved to see an end of this piece of still conversation, and it\nspoke loud enough to us without the help of voice. He sat down again, as\nI have said, close by her, and talked again earnestly to her, and two or\nthree times we could see him embrace her passionately; another time we\nsaw him take out his handkerchief and wipe her eyes, and then kiss her\nagain, with a kind of transport very unusual; and after several of these\nthings, we saw him on a sudden jump up again and lend her his hand to\nhelp her up, when immediately leading her by the hand a step or two,\nthey both kneeled down together, and continued so about two minutes.\n\nMy friend could bear it no longer, but cries out aloud, \"St. Paul, St.\nPaul, behold he prayeth!\"--I was afraid Atkins would hear him; therefore\nI entreated him to withhold himself awhile, that we might see an end of\nthe scene, which to me, I must confess, was the most affecting, and yet\nthe most agreeable, that ever I saw in my life. Well, he strove with\nhimself, and contained himself for awhile, but was in such raptures of\njoy to think that the poor heathen woman was become a Christian, that he\nwas not able to contain himself; he wept several times: then throwing up\nhis hands, and crossing his breast, said over several things\nejaculatory, and by way of giving God thanks for so miraculous a\ntestimony of the success of our endeavours: some he spoke softly, and I\ncould not well hear; others audibly; some in Latin, some in French; then\ntwo or three times the tears of joy would interrupt him, that he could\nnot speak at all. But I begged that he would compose himself, and let us\nmore narrowly and fully observe what was before us, which he did for a\ntime, and the scene was not ended there yet; for after the poor man and\nhis wife were risen again from their knees, we observed he stood talking\nstill eagerly to her; and we observed by her motion that she was greatly\naffected with what he said, by her frequent lifting up her hands, laying\nher hand to her breast, and such other postures as usually express the\ngreatest seriousness and attention. This continued about half a quarter\nof an hour, and then they walked away too; so that we could see no more\nof them in that situation.\n\nI took this interval to talk with my clergyman: and first I told him, I\nwas glad to see the particulars we had both been witnesses to; that\nthough I was hard enough of belief in such cases, yet that I began to\nthink it was all very sincere here, both in the man and his wife,\nhowever ignorant they both might be; and I hoped such a beginning would\nhave yet a more happy end: \"And who knows,\" said I, \"but these two may\nin time, by instruction and example, work upon some of the\nothers?\"--\"Some of them!\" said he, turning quick upon me, \"ay, upon all\nof them: depend upon it, if those two savages (for _he_ has been but\nlittle better as you relate it) should embrace Jesus Christ, they will\nnever leave till they work upon all the rest; for true religion is\nnaturally communicative, and he that is once made a Christian will never\nleave a Pagan behind him if he can help it,\" I owned it was a most\nChristian principle to think so, and a testimony of a true zeal, as well\nas a generous heart in him. \"But, my friend,\" said I, \"will you give me\nliberty to start one difficulty here? I cannot tell how to object the\nleast thing against that affectionate concern which you shew for the\nturning the poor people from their Paganism to the Christian religion;\nbut how does this comfort you, while these people are, in your account,\nout of the pale of the Catholic church, without which, you believe,\nthere is no salvation; so that you esteem these but heretics still; and,\nfor other reasons, as effectually lost as the Pagans themselves?\"\n\nTo this he answered with abundance of candour and Christian charity,\nthus: \"Sir, I am a Catholic of the Roman church, and a priest of the\norder of St. Benedict, and I embrace all the principles of the Roman\nfaith. But yet, if you will believe me, and this I do not speak in\ncompliment to you, or in respect to my circumstances and your\ncivilities; I say, nevertheless, I do not look upon you, who call\nyourselves reformed, without some charity: I dare not say, though I know\nit is our opinion in general, yet I dare not say, that you cannot be\nsaved; I will by no means limit the mercy of Christ, so far as to think\nthat he cannot receive you into the bosom of his church, in a manner to\nus imperceivable, and which it is impossible for us to know; and I hope\nyou have the same charity for us. I pray daily for your being all\nrestored to Christ's church, by whatsoever methods he, who is all-wise,\nis pleased to direct. In the mean time, sure you will allow it to\nconsist with me, as a Roman, to distinguish far between a Protestant and\na Pagan; between him that calls on Jesus Christ, though in a way which I\ndo not think is according to the true faith; and a savage, a barbarian,\nthat knows no God, no Christ, no Redeemer at all; and if you are not\nwithin the pale of the Catholic church, we hope you are nearer being\nrestored to it than those that know nothing at all of God or his church.\nI rejoice, therefore, when I see this poor man, who, you say, has been a\nprofligate, and almost a murderer, kneel down and pray to Jesus Christ,\nas we suppose he did, though not fully enlightened; believing that God,\nfrom whom every such work proceeds, will sensibly touch his heart, and\nbring him to the further knowledge of the truth in his own time; and if\nGod shall influence this poor man to convert and instruct the ignorant\nsavage his wife, I can never believe that he shall be cast away himself;\nand have I not reason then to rejoice, the nearer any are brought to the\nknowledge of Christ, though they may not be brought quite home into the\nbosom of the Catholic church, just at the time when I may desire it;\nleaving it to the goodness of Christ to perfect his work in his own\ntime, and his own way? Certainly I would rejoice if all the savages in\nAmerica were brought, like this poor woman, to pray to God, though they\nwere to be all Protestants at first, rather than they should continue\npagans and heathens; firmly believing, that He who had bestowed that\nfirst light upon them, would farther illuminate them with a beam of his\nheavenly grace, and bring them into the pale of his church, when he\nshould see good.\"\n\nI was astonished at the sincerity and temper of this truly pious Papist,\nas much as I was oppressed by the power of his reasoning; and it\npresently occurred to my thoughts, that if such a temper was universal,\nwe might be all Catholic Christians, whatever church or particular\nprofession we were joined to, or joined in; that a spirit of charity\nwould soon work us all up into right principles; and, in a word, as he\nthought that the like charity would make us all Catholics, as I told\nhim, I believed had all the members of his church the like moderation\nthey would soon be all Protestants; and there we left that part, for we\nnever disputed at all.\n\nHowever, I talked to him another way; and taking him by the hand, \"My\nfriend,\" said I, \"I wish all the clergy of the Roman church were blessed\nwith such moderation, and an equal share of your charity. I am entirely\nof your opinion; but I must tell you, that if you should preach such\ndoctrine in Spain or Italy, they would put you into the Inquisition.\"\n\n\"It may be so,\" said he; \"I know not what they might do in Spain and\nItaly; but I will not say they would be the better Christians for that\nseverity; for I am sure there is no heresy in too much charity.\"\n\nWell, as Will Atkins and his wife were gone, our business there was\nover; so we went back our own way; and when we came back we found them\nwaiting to be called in. Observing this, I asked my clergyman if we\nshould discover to him that we had seen him under the bush, or no; and\nit was his opinion we should not; but that we should talk to him first,\nand hear what he would say to us: so we called him in alone, nobody\nbeing in the place but ourselves; and I began with him thus:\n\n\"Will Atkins,\" said I, \"pr'ythee what education had you? What was your\nfather?\"\n\n_W.A._ A better man than ever I shall be. Sir, my father was a\nclergyman.\n\n_R.C._ What education did he give you?\n\n_W.A._ He would have taught me well, Sir; but I despised all education,\ninstruction, or correction, like a beast as I was.\n\n_R.C._ It is true, Solomon says, \"He that despiseth reproof is brutish.\"\n\n_W.A._ Ay, Sir, I was brutish indeed; I murdered my father; for God's\nsake, Sir, talk no more about that, Sir; I murdered my poor father.\n\n_Priest_. Ha! a murderer?\n\n     [Here the priest started (for I interpreted every word as he\n     spoke it), and looked pale: it seems he believed that Will\n     had really killed his own father.]\n\n_R.C._ No, no, Sir, I do not understand him so. Will Atkins, explain\nyourself: you did not kill your father, did you, with your own hands?\n\n_W.A._ No, Sir; I did not cut his throat; but I cut the thread of all\nhis comforts, and shortened his days; I broke his heart by the most\nungrateful, unnatural return for the most tender, affectionate treatment\nthat ever father gave, or child could receive.\n\n_R.C._ Well, I did not ask you about your father to extort this\nconfession; I pray God give you repentance for it, and forgive you that\nand all your other sins; but I asked you, because I see that, though you\nhave not much learning, yet you are not so ignorant as some are in\nthings that are good; that you have known more of religion a great deal\nthan you have practised.\n\n_W.A._ Though you, Sir, did not extort the confession that I make about\nmy father, conscience does; and whenever we come to look back upon our\nlives, the sins against our indulgent parents are certainly the first\nthat touch us; the wounds they make lie deepest; and the weight they\nleave will lie heaviest upon the mind of all the sins we can commit.\n\n_R.C._ You talk too feelingly and sensible for me, Atkins; I cannot bear\nit.\n\n_W.A. You_ bear it, master! I dare say you know nothing of it.\n\n_R.C._ Yes, Atkins, every shore, every hill, nay, I may say every tree\nin this island, is witness to the anguish of my soul for my ingratitude\nand base usage of a good tender father; a father much like yours by your\ndescription; and I murdered my father as well as you, Will Atkins; but\nthink for all that, my repentance is short of yours too, by a\ngreat deal.\n\n     [I would have said more, if I could have restrained my\n     passions; but I thought this poor man's repentance was so\n     much sincerer than mine, that I was going to leave off the\n     discourse and retire, for I was surprised with what he said,\n     and thought, that, instead of my going about to teach and\n     instruct him, the man was made a teacher and instructor to\n     me, in a most surprising and unexpected manner.]\n\nI laid all this before the young clergyman, who was greatly affected\nwith it, and said to me, \"Did I not say, Sir, that when this man was\nconverted he would preach to us all? I tell you, Sir, if this one man be\nmade a true penitent, here will be no need of me, he will make\nChristians of all in the island.\" But having a little composed myself I\nrenewed my discourse with Will Atkins.\n\n\"But, Will,\" said I, \"how comes the sense of this matter to touch you\njust now?\"\n\n_W.A._ Sir, you have set me about a work that has struck a dart through\nmy very soul; I have been talking about God and religion to my wife, in\norder, as you directed me, to make a Christian of her; and she has\npreached such a sermon to me as I shall never forget while I live.\n\n_R.C._ No, no; it is not your wife has preached to you; but when you\nwere moving religious arguments to her, conscience has flung them\nback upon you.\n\n_W.A._ Ay, Sir, with such a force as is not to be resisted.\n\n_R.C._ Pray, Will, let us know what passed between you and your wife;\nfor I know something of it already.\n\n_W.A._ Sir, it is impossible to give you a full account of it: I am too\nfull to hold it, and yet have no tongue to express it: but let her have\nsaid what she will, and though I cannot give you an account of it, this\nI can tell you of it, that I resolve to amend and reform my life.\n\n_R.C._ But tell us some of it. How did you begin Will? for this has been\nan extraordinary case, that is certain; she has preached a sermon\nindeed, if she has wrought this upon you.\n\n_W.A._ Why, I first told her the nature of our laws about marriage, and\nwhat the reasons were that men and women were obliged to enter into such\ncompacts as it was neither in the power of one or other to break; that\notherwise, order and justice could not be maintained, and men would run\nfrom their wives and abandon their children, mix confusedly with one\nanother, and neither families be kept entire, or inheritances be settled\nby a legal descent.\n\n_R.C._ You talk like a civilian, Will. Could you make her understand\nwhat you meant by inheritance and families? They know no such thing\namong the savages, but marry any how, without any regard to relation,\nconsanguinity, or family; brother and sister, nay, as I have been told,\neven the father and daughter, and the son and the mother.\n\n_W.A._ I believe, Sir, you are misinformed;--my wife assures me of the\ncontrary, and that they abhor it. Perhaps for any further relations they\nmay not be so exact as we are; but she tells me they never touch one\nanother in the near relations you speak of.\n\n_R.C._ Well, what did she say to what you told her?\n\n_W.A._ She said she liked it very well; and it was much better than in\nher country.\n\n_R.C._ But did you tell her what marriage was?\n\n_W.A._ Ay, ay, there began all our dialogue. I asked her, if she would\nbe married to me our way? She asked me, what way that was? I told her\nmarriage was appointed of God; and here we had a strange talk together\nindeed, as ever man and wife had, I believe.\n\n     [N.B. This dialogue between W. Atkins and his wife, as I took\n     it down in writing just after he told it me, was as follows:]\n\n_Wife_. Appointed by your God! Why, have you a God in your country?\n\n_W.A._ Yes, my dear; God is in every country.\n\n_Wife._ No your God in my country; my country have the great old\nBenamuckee God.\n\n_W.A._ Child, I am very unfit to shew you who God is; God is in heaven,\nand made the heaven and the earth, the sea, and all that in them is.\n\n_Wife._ No makee de earth; no you God makee de earth; no make my\ncountry.\n\n     [W.A. laughed a little at her expression of God not making\n     her country.]\n\n_Wife._ No laugh: why laugh me? This no ting to laugh.\n\n     [He was justly reproved by his wife, for she was more serious\n     than he at first.]\n\n_W.A._ That's true, indeed; I will not laugh any more, my dear.\n\n_Wife._ Why you say, you God make all?\n\n_W.A._ Yes, child, our God made the whole world, and you, and me, and\nall things; for he is the only true God; there is no God but he; he\nlives for ever in heaven.\n\n_Wife._ Why you no tell me long ago?\n\n_W.A._ That's true, indeed; but I have been a wicked wretch, and have\nnot only forgotten to acquaint thee with any thing before, but have\nlived without God in the world myself.\n\n_Wife._ What have you de great God in your country, you no know him? No\nsay O to him? No do good ting for him? That no impossible!\n\n_W.A._ It is too true though, for all that: we live as if there was no\nGod in heaven, or that he had no power on earth.\n\n_Wife._ But why God let you do so? Why he no makee you good live!\n\n_W.A._ It is all our own fault.\n\n_Wife._ But you say me he is great, much great, have much great power;\ncan make kill when he will: why he no make kill when you no serve him?\nno say O to him? no be good mans?\n\n_W.A._ That is true; he might strike me dead, and I ought to expect it;\nfor I have been a wicked wretch, that is true: but God is merciful, and\ndoes not deal with us as we deserve.\n\n_Wife._ But then do not you tell God tankee for that too?\n\n_W.A._ No, Indeed; I have not thanked God for his mercy, any more than I\nhave feared God for his power.\n\n_Wife._ Then you God no God; me no tink, believe he be such one, great\nmuch power, strong; no makee kill you, though you makee him much angry!\n\n_W.A._ What! will my wicked life hinder you from believing in God! What\na dreadful creature am I! And what a sad truth is it, that the horrid\nlives of Christians hinder the conversion of heathens!\n\n_Wife._ Now me tink you have great much God up there, (_she points up to\nheaven_) and yet no do well, no do good ting? Can he tell? Sure he no\ntell what you do.\n\n_W.A._ Yes, yes, he knows and seen all things; he hears us speak, sees\nwhat we do, knows what we think, though we do not speak.\n\n_Wife_ What! he no hear you swear, curse, speak the great damn?\n\n_W.A._ Yes, yes, he hears it all.\n\n_Wife._ Where be then the muchee great power strong?\n\n_W.A._ He is merciful; that is all we can say for it; and this proves\nhim to be the true God: he is God, and not man; and therefore we are\nnot consumed.\n\n     [Here Will Atkins told us he was struck with horror to think\n     how he could tell his wife so clearly that God sees, and\n     hears, and knows the secret thoughts of the heart, and all\n     that we do; and yet that he had dared to do all the vile\n     things he had done.]\n\n_Wife._ Merciful! what you call dat?\n\n_W.A._ He is our father and maker; and he pities and spares us.\n\n_Wife._ So then he never makee kill, never angry when you do wicked;\nthen he no good himself, or no great able.\n\n_W.A._ Yes, yes, my dear; he is infinitely good, and infinitely great,\nand able to punish too; and some times, to shew his justice and\nvengeance, he lets fly his anger to destroy sinners and make examples;\nmany are cut off in their sins.\n\n_Wife._ But no makee kill you yet; then he tell you, may be, that he no\nmakee you kill, so you make de bargain with him, you do bad ting, he no\nbe angry at you, when he be angry at other mans?\n\n_W.A._ No, indeed, my sins are all presumptions upon his goodness; and\nhe would be infinitely just if he destroyed me as he has done other men.\n\n_Wife._ Well, and yet no kill, no makee you dead! What you say to him\nfor that? You no tell him tankee for all that too!\n\n_W.A._ I am an unthankful, ungrateful dog, that is true.\n\n_Wife._ Why he no makee you much good better? You say he makee you.\n\n_W.A._. He made me as he made all the world; 'tis I have deformed\nmyself, and abused his goodness, and have made myself an\nabominable wretch.\n\n_Wife._ I wish you makee God know me; I no makee him angry; I no do bad\nwicked ting.\n\n     [Here Will Atkins said his heart sunk within him, to hear a\n     poor, untaught creature desire to be taught to know God, and\n     he such a wicked wretch that he could not say one word to her\n     about God, but what the reproach of his own carriage would\n     make most irrational to her to believe; nay, that already she\n     could not believe in God, because he that was so wicked was\n     not destroyed.]\n\n_W.A._ My dear, you mean you wish I could teach you to know God, not God\nto know you, for he knows you already, and every thought in your heart.\n\n_Wife._ Why then he know what I say to you now; he know me wish to know\nhim; how shall me know who makee me?\n\n_W.A._ Poor creature, he must teach thee, I cannot teach thee; I'll pray\nto him to teach thee to know him; and to forgive me that I am unworthy\nto teach thee.\n\n     [The poor fellow was in such an agony at her desiring him to\n     make her know God, and her wishing to know him, that he said\n     he fell down on his knees before her, and prayed to God to\n     enlighten her mind with the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ,\n     and to pardon his sins, and accept of his being the unworthy\n     instrument of instructing her in the principles of religion;\n     after which he sat down by her again, and their dialogue\n     went on.]\n\n     N.B. This was the time when we saw him kneel down and lift up\n     his hands.\n\n_Wife._ What you put down the knee for? What you hold up the hand for?\nWhat you say? Who you speak to? What is that?\n\n_W.A._ My dear, I bow my knees in token of my submission to Him that\nmade me: I said O to him, as you call it, and as you say your old men do\nto their idol Benamuckee; that is, I prayed to him.\n\n_Wife._ What you say O to him for?\n\n_W.A._ I prayed to him to open your eyes and your understanding, that\nyou may know him, and be accepted by him.\n\n_Wife._ Can he do that too?\n\n_W.A._ Yes, he can; he can do all things.\n\n_Wife._ But he no hear what you say?\n\n_W.A._ Yes, he has bid us pray to him; and promised to hear us.\n\n_Wife._ Bid you pray? When he bid you? How he bid you? What you hear him\nspeak?\n\n_W.A._ No, we do not hear him speak; but he has revealed himself many\nways to us.\n\n     [Here he was at a great loss to make her understand that God\n     had revealed himself to us by his word; and what his word\n     was; but at last he told it her thus:]\n\n_W.A._ God has spoken to some good men in former days, even from heaven,\nby plain words; and God has inspired good men by his Spirit; and they\nhave written all his laws down in a book.\n\n_Wife._ Me no understand that: where is book?\n\n_W.A._. Alas! my poor creature, I have not this book; but I hope I\nshall, one time or other, get it for you to read it.\n\n     [Here he embraced her with great affection; but with\n     inexpressible grief, that he had not a Bible.]\n\n_Wife._ But how you makee me know that God teachee them to write that\nbook?\n\n_W.A._ By the same rule that we know him to be God.\n\n_Wife._ What rule? what way you know?\n\n_W.A._ Because he teaches and commands nothing but what is good,\nrighteous, and holy, and tends to make us perfectly good, as well as\nperfectly happy; and because he forbids, and commands us to avoid, all\nthat is wicked, that is evil in itself, or evil in its consequences.\n\n_Wife._ That me would understand, that me fain see; if he reward all\ngood thing, punish all wicked thing, he teachee all good thing, forbid\nall wicked thing, he makee all thing, he give all thing; he hear me when\nI say O to him, as you go to do just now; he makee me good if I wish be\ngood; he spare me, no makee kill me when I no be good; all this you say\nhe do: yes, he be great God; me take, think, believe him be great God;\nme say O to him too with you, my dear.\n\nHere the poor man said he could forbear no longer; but, raising her up,\nmade her kneel by him; and he prayed to God aloud to instruct her in the\nknowledge of himself by his Spirit; and that by some good providence, if\npossible, she might some time or other come to have a Bible, that she\nmight read the word of God, and be taught by him to know him.\n\n     [This was the time that we saw him lift her up by the hand,\n     and saw him kneel down by her, as above.]\n\nThey had several other discourses, it seems, after this, too long to\nset down here; and particularly she made him promise, that, since he\nconfessed his own life had been a wicked, abominable course of\nprovocation against God, he would reform it, and not make God angry any\nmore, lest he should make him dead, as she called it, and then she\nshould be left alone, and never be taught to know this God better; and\nlest he should be miserable, as he told her wicked men should be\nafter death.\n\nThis was a strange account, and very affecting to us both, but\nparticularly the young clergyman; he was indeed wonderfully surprised\nwith it; but under the greatest affliction imaginable that he could not\ntalk to her; that he could not speak English to make her understand him;\nand as she spoke but very broken English he could not understand her.\nHowever, he turned himself to me, and told me, that he believed there\nmust be more to do with this woman than to marry her. I did not\nunderstand him at first, but at length he explained himself, viz. that\nshe ought to be baptized.\n\nI agreed with him in that part readily, and was for going about it\npresently: \"No, no; hold, Sir,\" said he; \"though I would have her\nbaptized by all means, yet I must observe, that Will Atkins, her\nhusband, has indeed brought her, in a wonderful manner, to be willing to\nembrace a religious life; and has given her just ideas of the being of a\nGod, of his power, justice, and mercy; yet I desire to know of him, if\nhe has said any thing to her of Jesus Christ, and of the salvation of\nsinners; of the nature of faith in him, and the redemption by him; of\nthe Holy Spirit, the Resurrection, the last judgment, and a\nfuture state.\"\n\nI called Will Atkins again, and asked him; but the poor fellow fell\nimmediately into tears, and told us he had said something to her of all\nthose things, but that he was himself so wicked a creature, and his own\nconscience so reproached him with his horrid, ungodly life, that he\ntrembled at the apprehensions, that her knowledge of him should lessen\nthe attention she should give to those things, and make her rather\ncontemn religion than receive it: but he was assured, he said, that her\nmind was so disposed to receive due impressions of all those things,\nthat, if I would but discourse with her, she would make it appear to my\nsatisfaction that my labour would not be lost upon her.\n\nAccordingly I called her in, and placing myself as interpreter between\nmy religious priest and the woman, I entreated him to begin with her.\nBut sure such a sermon was never preached by a popish priest in these\nlatter ages of the world: and, as I told him, I thought he had all the\nzeal, all the knowledge, all the sincerity of a Christian, without the\nerrors of a Roman Catholic; and that I took him to be such a clergyman\nas the Roman bishops were before the church of Rome assumed spiritual\nsovereignty over the consciences of men.\n\nIn a word, he brought the poor woman to embrace the knowledge of Christ,\nand of redemption by him, not with wonder and astonishment only, as she\ndid the first notions of a God, but with joy and faith, with an\naffection, and a surprising degree of understanding, scarce to be\nimagined, much less to be expressed; and at her own request she\nwas baptized.\n\nWhen he was preparing to baptize her, I entreated him that he would\nperform that office with some caution, that the man might not perceive\nhe was of the Roman church, if possible; because of other ill\nconsequences which might attend a difference among us in that very\nreligion which we were instructing the other in. He told me, that as he\nhad no consecrated chapel, nor proper things for the office, I should\nsee he would do it in a manner that I should not know by it that he was\na Roman Catholic himself it I had not known it before, and so he did;\nfor saying only some words over to himself in Latin, which I could not\nunderstand, he poured a whole dishfull of water upon the woman's head,\npronouncing in French very loud _Mary_ (which was the name her husband\ndesired me to give her, for I was her godfather,) _I baptize thee in\nthe name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost_; so that\nnone could know any thing by it what religion he was of: he gave the\nbenediction afterwards in Latin; but either Will Atkins did not know but\nit was in French, or else did not take notice of it at that time.\n\nAs soon as this was over, he married them; and after the marriage was\nover, he turned himself to Will Atkins, and in a very affectionate\nmanner exhorted him not only to persevere in that good disposition he\nwas in, but to support the convictions that were upon him by a\nresolution to reform his life; told him it was in vain to say he\nrepented if he did not forsake his crimes; represented to him, how God\nhad honoured him with being the instrument of bringing his wife to the\nknowledge of the Christian religion; and that he should be careful he\ndid not dishonour the grace of God; and that if he did, he would see the\nheathen a better Christian than himself; the savage converted, and the\ninstrument cast away!\n\nHe said a great many good things to them both, and then recommended\nthem, in a few words, to God's goodness; gave them the benediction\nagain, I repeating every thing to them in English: and thus ended the\nceremony. I think it was the most pleasant, agreeable day to me that\never I passed in my whole life.\n\nBut my clergyman had not done yet; his thoughts hung continually upon\nthe conversion of the thirty-seven savages, and fain he would have staid\nupon the island to have undertaken it; but I convinced him, first, that\nhis undertaking was impracticable in itself; and secondly, that,\nperhaps, I could put it into a way of being done, in his absence, to his\nsatisfaction; of which by and by.\n\nHaving thus brought the affair of the island to a narrow compass, I was\npreparing to go on board the ship when the young man, whom I had taken\nout of the famished ship's company, came to me, and told me, he\nunderstood I had a clergyman with me, and that I had caused the\nEnglishmen to be married to the savages whom they called wives; that he\nhad a match too, which he desired might be finished before I went,\nbetween two Christians, which he hoped would not be disagreeable to me.\n\nI knew this must be the young woman who was his mother's servant, for\nthere was no other Christian woman on the island. So I began to persuade\nhim not to do any thing of that kind rashly, or because he found himself\nin this solitary circumstance. I represented that he had some\nconsiderable substance in the world, and good friends, as I understood\nby himself, and by his maid also; that the maid was not only poor, and a\nservant, but was unequal to him, she being twenty-six or twenty-seven\nyears old, and he not above seventeen or eighteen; that he might very\nprobably, with my assistance, make a remove from this wilderness, and\ncome into his own country again, and that then it would be a thousand to\none but he would repent his choice, and the dislike of that circumstance\nmight be disadvantageous to both. I was going to say more, but he\ninterrupted me, smiling; and told me, with a great deal of modesty, that\nI mistook in my guesses; that he had nothing of that kind in his\nthoughts, his present circumstances being melancholy and disconsolate\nenough; and he was very glad to hear that I had some thoughts of putting\nthem in a way to see their own country again; and that nothing should\nhave set him upon staying there, but that the voyage I was going was so\nexceeding long and hazardous, and would carry him quite out of the reach\nof all his friends; that he had nothing to desire of me, but that I\nwould settle him in some little property of the island where he was;\ngive him a servant or two, and some few necessaries, and he would settle\nhimself here like a planter, waiting the good time when, if ever I\nreturned to England, I would redeem him, and hoped I would not be\nunmindful of him when I came to England; that he would give me some\nletters to his friends in London, to let them know how good I had been\nto him, and what part of the world, and what circumstances I had left\nhim in; and he promised me, that whenever I redeemed him, the\nplantation, and all the improvements he had made upon it, let the value\nbe what it would, should be wholly mine.\n\nHis discourse was very prettily delivered, considering his youth, and\nwas the more agreeable to me, because he told me positively the match\nwas not for himself. I gave him all possible assurances, that, if I\nlived to come safe to England, I would deliver his letters, and do his\nbusiness effectually, and that he might depend I would never forget the\ncircumstances I left him in. But still I was impatient to know who was\nthe person to be married; upon which he told me it was my Jack of all\nTrades and his maid Susan.\n\nI was most agreeably surprised when he named the match; for indeed I had\nthought it very suitable. The character of that man I have given\nalready; and as for the maid, she was a very honest, modest, sober, and\nreligious young woman; had a very good share of sense; was agreeable\nenough in her person; spoke very handsomely, and to the purpose; always\nwith decency and good manners, and not backward to speak when any thing\nrequired it, or impertinently forward to speak when it was not her\nbusiness; very handy and housewifely in any thing that was before her;\nan excellent manager, and fit indeed to have been governess to the whole\nisland; she knew very well how to behave herself to all kind of folks\nshe had about her, and to better if she had found any there.\n\nThe match being proposed in this manner, we married them the same day:\nand as I was father at the altar, as I may say, and gave her away, so I\ngave her a portion, for I appointed her and her husband a handsome large\nspace of ground for their plantation; and indeed this match, and the\nproposal the young gentleman made to me, to give him a small property in\nthe island, put me upon parcelling it out among them, that they might\nnot quarrel afterwards about their situation.\n\nThis sharing out the land to them I left to Will Atkins, who indeed was\nnow grown a most sober, grave, managing fellow, perfectly reformed,\nexceeding pious and religious, and as far as I may be allowed to speak\npositively in such a case, I verily believe was a true sincere penitent.\n\nHe divided things so justly, and so much to every one's satisfaction,\nthat they only desired one general writing under my hand for the whole,\nwhich I caused to be drawn up, and signed and sealed to them, setting\nout the bounds and situation of every man's plantation, and testifying\nthat I gave them thereby, severally, a right to the whole possession and\ninheritance of the respective plantations or farms, with their\nimprovements, to them and their heirs; reserving all the rest of the\nisland as my own property, and a certain rent for every particular\nplantation after eleven years, if I or any one from me, or in my name,\ncame to demand it, producing an attested copy of the same writing.\n\nAs to the government and laws among them, I told them, I was not capable\nof giving them better rules than they were able to give themselves; only\nmade them promise me to live in love and good neighbourhood with one\nanother: and so I prepared to leave them.\n\nOne thing I must not omit, and that is, that being now settled in a kind\nof commonwealth among themselves, and having much business in hand, it\nwas but odd to have seven-and-thirty Indians live in a nook of the\nisland, independent, and indeed unemployed; for excepting the providing\nthemselves food, which they had difficulty enough in doing sometimes,\nthey had no manner of business or property to manage: I proposed\ntherefore to the governor Spaniard, that he should go to them with\nFriday's father, and propose to them to remove, and either plant for\nthemselves, or take them into their several families as servants, to be\nmaintained for their labour, but without being absolute slaves, for I\nwould not admit them to make them slaves by force by any means, because\nthey had their liberty given by capitulation, and as it were articles\nof surrender, which they ought not to break.\n\nThey most willingly embraced the proposal, and came all very cheerfully\nalong with him; so we allotted them land and plantations, which three or\nfour accepted of, but all the rest chose to be employed as servants in\nthe several families we had settled; and thus my colony was in a manner\nsettled as follows: The Spaniards possessed my original habitation,\nwhich was the capital city, and extended their plantation all along the\nside of the brook which made the creek that I have so often described,\nas far as my bower; and as they increased their culture, it went always\neastward. The English lived in the north-east part, where Will Atkins\nand his comrades began, and came on southward and south-west, towards\nthe back part of the Spaniards; and every plantation had a great\naddition of land to take in, if they found occasion, so that they need\nnot jostle one another for want of room.\n\nAll the west end of the island was left uninhabited, that, if any of the\nsavages should come on shore there, only for their usual customary\nbarbarities, they might come and go; if they disturbed nobody, nobody\nwould disturb them; and no doubt but they were often ashore, and went\naway again, for I never heard that the planters were ever attacked and\ndisturbed any more.\n\nIt now came into my thoughts that I had hinted to my friend the\nclergyman that the work of converting the savages might perhaps be set\non foot in his absence to his satisfaction; and I told him, that now I\nthought it was put in a fair way, for the savages being thus divided\namong the Christians, if they would but every one of them do their part\nwith those which came under their hands, I hoped it might have a very\ngood effect.\n\nHe agreed presently in that; \"if,\" said he, \"they will do their part;\nbut how,\" says he, \"shall we obtain that of them?\" I told him we would\ncall them all together, and leave it in charge with them, or go to them\none by one, which he thought best; so we divided it--he to speak to the\nSpaniards, who were all Papists, and I to the English, who were all\nProtestants; and we recommended it earnestly to them, and made them\npromise that they would never make any distinction of Papist or\nProtestant in their exhorting the savages to turn Christians, but teach\nthem the general knowledge of the true God, and of their Saviour Jesus\nChrist; and they likewise promised us that they would never have any\ndifferences or disputes one with another about religion.\n\nWhen I came to Will Atkins's house, (I may call it so, for such a house,\nor such a piece of basket-work, I believe was not standing in the world\nagain!) I say, when I came thither I found the young woman I have\nmentioned above, and William Atkins's wife, were become intimates; and\nthis prudent and religious young woman had perfected the work Will\nAtkins had begun; and though it was not above four days after what I\nhave related, yet the new-baptized savage woman was made such a\nChristian as I have seldom heard of any like her, in all my observation\nor conversation in the world.\n\nIt came next into my mind in the morning, before I went to them, that\namong all the needful things I had to leave with them, I had not left a\nBible; in which I shewed myself less considering for them than my good\nfriend the widow was for me, when she sent me the cargo of 100_l_. from\nLisbon, where she packed up three Bibles and a Prayer-book. However, the\ngood woman's charity had a greater extent than ever she imagined, for\nthey were reserved for the comfort and instruction of those that made\nmuch better use of them than I had done.\n\nI took one of the Bibles in my pocket; and when I came to William\nAtkins's tent, or house, I found the young woman and Atkins's baptized\nwife had been discoursing of religion together (for William Atkins told\nit me with a great deal of joy.) I asked if they were together now? And\nhe said yes; so I went into the house, and he with me, and we found\nthem together, very earnest in discourse: \"O Sir,\" says William Atkins,\n\"when God has sinners to reconcile to himself, and aliens to bring home,\nhe never wants a messenger: my wife has got a new instructor--I knew I\nwas unworthy, as I was incapable of that work--that young woman has been\nsent hither from Heaven--she is enough to convert a whole island of\nsavages.\" The young woman blushed, and rose up to go away, but I desired\nher to sit still; I told her she had a good work upon her hands, and I\nhoped God would bless her in it.\n\nWe talked a little, and I did not perceive they had any book among them,\nthough I did not ask, but I put my hand in my pocket, and pulled out my\nBible. \"Here,\" said I to Atkins, \"I have brought you an assistant, that\nperhaps you had not before.\" The man was so confounded, that he was not\nable to speak for some time; but recovering himself, he takes it with\nboth hands, and turning to his wife, \"Here, my dear,\" says he, \"did not\nI tell you our God, though he lives above, could hear what we said? Here\nis the book I prayed for when you and I kneeled down under the bush; now\nGod has heard us, and sent it.\" When he had said thus, the man fell in\nsuch transports of a passionate joy, that between the joy of having it,\nand giving God thanks for it, the tears ran down his face like a child\nthat was crying.\n\nThe woman was surprised, and was like to have run into a mistake that\nnone of us were aware of; for she firmly believed God had sent the book\nupon her husband's petition: it is true that providentially it was so,\nand might be taken so in a consequent sense; but I believed it would\nhave been no difficult matter at that time to have persuaded the poor\nwoman to have believed that an express messenger came from Heaven on\npurpose to bring that individual book; but it was too serious a matter\nto suffer any delusion to take place: so I turned to the young woman,\nand told her we did not desire to impose upon the convert in her first\nand more ignorant understanding of things, and begged her to explain to\nher that God may be very properly said to answer our petitions, when in\nthe course of his providence such things are in a particular manner\nbrought to pass as we petitioned for; but we do not expect returns from\nHeaven in a miraculous and particular manner; and that it is our mercy\nit is not so.\n\nThis the young woman did afterwards effectually; so that there was, I\nassure you, no priestcraft used here; and I should have thought it one\nof the most unjustifiable frauds in the world to have had it so: but the\nsurprise of joy upon Will Atkins is really not to be expressed; and\nthere we may be sure was no delusion. Sure no man was ever more thankful\nin the world for any thing of its kind than he was for this Bible; and I\nbelieve never any man was glad of a Bible from a better principle; and\nthough he had been a most profligate creature, desperate, headstrong,\noutrageous, furious, and wicked to a great degree, yet this man is a\nstanding rule to us all for the well instructing children, viz. that\nparents should never give over to teach and instruct, or ever despair of\nthe success of their endeavours, let the children be ever so obstinate,\nrefractory, or to appearance insensible of instruction; for if ever God\nin his providence touches the consciences of such, the force of their\neducation returns upon them, and the early instruction of parents is not\nlost, though it may have been many years laid asleep, but some time or\nother they may find the benefit of it.\n\nThus it was with this poor man. However ignorant he was, or divested of\nreligion and Christian knowledge, he found he had some to do with now\nmore ignorant than himself; and that the least part of the instruction\nof his good father that could now come to his mind was of use to him.\n\nAmong the rest it occurred to him, he said, how his father used to\ninsist much upon the inexpressible value of the Bible, the privilege\nand blessing of it to nations, families, and persons; but he never\nentertained the least notion of the worth of it till now, when being to\ntalk to heathens, savages, and barbarians, he wanted the help of the\nwritten oracle for his assistance.\n\nThe young woman was very glad of it also for the present occasion,\nthough she had one, and so had the youth, on board our ship among the\ngoods which were not yet brought on shore. And now, having said so many\nthings of this young woman, I cannot omit telling one story more of her\nand myself, which has something in it very informing and remarkable.\n\nI have related to what extremity the poor young woman was reduced; how\nher mistress was starved to death, and did die on board that unhappy\nship we met at sea; and how the whole ship's company being reduced to\nthe last extremity, the gentlewoman and her son, and this maid, were\nfirst hardly used as to provisions, and at last totally neglected and\nstarved; that is to say, brought to the last extremity of hunger.\n\nOne day being discoursing with her upon the extremities they suffered, I\nasked her if she could describe by what she felt what it was to starve,\nand how it appeared? She told me she believed she could, and she told\nher tale very distinctly thus:\n\n\"First, Sir,\" said she, \"we had for some days fared exceeding hard, and\nsuffered very great hunger, but now at last we were wholly without food\nof any kind except sugar, and a little wine, and a little water. The\nfirst day after I had received no food at all, I found myself, towards\nevening, first empty and sickish at my stomach, and nearer night\nmightily inclined to yawning, and sleepy; I lay down on a couch in the\ngreat cabin to sleep, and slept about three hours, and awaked a little\nrefreshed, having taken a glass of wine when I lay down. After being\nabout three hours awake, it being about five o'clock in the morning, I\nfound myself empty, and my stomach sickish again, and lay down again,\nbut could not sleep at all, being very faint and ill; and thus I\ncontinued all the second day with a strange variety--first hungry, then\nsick again, with retchings to vomit. The second night, being obliged to\ngo to bed again without any food more than a draught of fair water, and\nbeing asleep, I dreamed I was at Barbadoes, and that the market was\nmightily stocked with provisions, that I bought some for my mistress,\nand went and dined very heartily.\n\n\"I thought my stomach was full after this, as it would have been after\nor at a good dinner; but when I waked, I was exceedingly sunk in my\nspirits to find myself in the extremity of famine; the last glass of\nwine we had I drank, and put sugar into it, because of its having some\nspirit to supply nourishment; but there being no substance in the\nstomach for the digesting office to work upon, I found the only effect\nof the wine was to raise disagreeable fumes from the stomach into the\nhead; and I lay, as they told me, stupid and senseless as one drunk for\nsome time.\n\n\"The third day in the morning, after a night of strange and confused\ninconsistent dreams, and rather dozing than sleeping, I awaked ravenous\nand furious with hunger; and I question, had not my understanding\nreturned and conquered it, I say, I question whether, if I had been a\nmother, and had had a little child with me, its life would have been\nsafe or no.\n\n\"This lasted about three hours, during which time I was twice raging mad\nas any creature in Bedlam, as my young master told me, and as he can now\ninform you.\n\n\"In one of these fits of lunacy or distraction, whether by the motion of\nthe ship or some slip of my foot I know not, I fell down, and struck my\nface against the corner of a pallet-bed, in which my mistress lay, and\nwith the blow the blood gushed out of my nose, and the cabin-boy\nbringing me a little basin, I sat down and bled into it a great deal,\nand as the blood ran from me I came to myself, and the violence of the\nflame or the fever I was in abated, and so did the ravenous part of\nthe hunger.\n\n\"Then I grew sick, and retched to vomit, but could not, for I had\nnothing in my stomach to bring up. After I had bled some time I swooned,\nand they all believed I was dead; but I came to myself soon after, and\nthen had a most dreadful pain in my stomach, not to be described, not\nlike the colic, but a gnawing eager pain for food, and towards night it\nwent off with a kind of earnest wishing or longing for food, something\nlike, as I suppose, the longing of a woman with child. I took another\ndraught of water with sugar in it, but my stomach loathed the sugar, and\nbrought it all up again; then I took a draught of water without sugar,\nand that stayed with me, and I laid me down upon the bed, praying most\nheartily that it would please God to take me away; and composing my mind\nin hopes of it, I slumbered awhile; and then waking, thought myself\ndying, being light with vapours from an empty stomach: I recommended my\nsoul to God, and earnestly wished that somebody would throw me into\nthe sea.\n\n\"All this while my mistress lay by me just, as I thought, expiring, but\nbore it with much more patience than I, and gave the last bit of bread\nshe had to her child, my young master, who would not have taken it, but\nshe obliged him to eat it, and I believe it saved his life.\n\n\"Towards the morning I slept again, and first when I awaked I fell into\na violent passion of crying, and after that had a second fit of violent\nhunger, so that I got up ravenous, and in a most dreadful condition. Had\nmy mistress been dead, so much as I loved her, I am certain I should\nhave eaten a piece of her flesh with as much relish and as unconcerned\nas ever I did the flesh of any creature appointed for food; and once or\ntwice I was going to bite my own arm. At last I saw the basin in which\nwas the blood had bled at my nose the day before; I ran to it, and\nswallowed it with such haste, and such a greedy appetite, as if I had\nwondered nobody had taken it before, and afraid it should be taken\nfrom me now.\n\n\"Though after it was down the thoughts of it filled me with horror, yet\nit checked the fit of hunger, and I drank a draught of fair water, and\nwas composed and refreshed for some hours, after it. This was the fourth\nday; and thus I held it till towards night, when, within the compass of\nthree hours, I had all these several circumstances over again, one after\nanother, viz. sick, sleepy, eagerly hungry, pain in the stomach, then\nravenous again, then sick again, then lunatic, then crying, then\nravenous again, and so every quarter of an hour; and my strength wasted\nexceedingly. At night I laid me down, having no comfort but in the hope\nthat I should die before morning.\n\n\"All this night I had no sleep, but the hunger was now turned into a\ndisease, and I had a terrible colic and griping, wind instead of food\nhaving found its way into my bowels; and in this condition I lay till\nmorning, when I was surprised a little with the cries and lamentations\nof my young master, who called out to me that his mother was dead. I\nlifted myself up a little, for I had not strength to rise, but found she\nwas not dead, though she was able to give very little signs of life.\n\n\"I had then such convulsions in my stomach for want of some sustenance,\nthat I cannot describe them, with such frequent throes and pangs of\nappetite that nothing but the tortures of death can imitate; and this\ncondition I was in when I heard the seamen above cry out 'A sail! a\nsail!' and halloo and jump about as if they were distracted.\n\n\"I was not able to get off from the bed, and my mistress much less; and\nmy master was so sick that I thought he had been expiring; so we could\nnot open the cabin-door, or get any account what it was that occasioned\nsuch a combustion; nor had we any conversation with the ship's company\nfor two days, they having told us they had not a mouthful of any thing\nto eat in the ship; and they told us afterwards they thought we had\nbeen dead.\n\n\"It was this dreadful condition we were in when you were sent to save\nour lives; and how you found us, Sir, you know as well as I, and\nbetter too.\"\n\nThis was her own relation, and is such a distinct account of starving to\ndeath as I confess I never met with, and was exceeding entertaining to\nme: I am the rather apt to believe it to be a true account, because the\nyouth gave me an account of a good part of it; though I must own not so\ndistinct and so feelingly as his maid, and the rather because it seems\nhis mother fed him at the price of her own life: but the poor maid,\nthough her constitution being stronger than that of her mistress, who\nwas in years, and a weakly woman too, she might struggle harder with it;\nI say, the poor maid might be supposed to feel the extremity something\nsooner than her mistress, who might be allowed to keep the last bits\nsomething longer than she parted with any to relieve the maid. No\nquestion, as the case is here related, if our ship, or some other, had\nnot so providentially met them, a few days more would have ended all\ntheir lives, unless they had prevented it by eating one another; and\neven that, as their case stood, would have served them but a little\nwhile, they being five hundred leagues from any land, or any possibility\nof relief, other than in the miraculous manner it happened.--But this is\nby the way; I return to my disposition of things among the people.\n\nAnd first, it is to be observed here, that for many reasons I did not\nthink fit to let them know any thing of the sloop I had framed, and\nwhich I thought of setting up among them; for I found, at least at my\nfirst coming, such seeds of division among them, that I saw it plainly,\nhad I set up the sloop, and left it among them, they would, upon very\nlight disgust, have separated, and gone away from one another; or\nperhaps have turned pirates, and so made the island a den of thieves,\ninstead of a plantation of sober and religious people, as I intended it\nto be; nor did I leave the two pieces of brass cannon that I had on\nboard, or the two quarter-deck guns, that my nephew took extraordinary,\nfor the same reason: I thought they had enough to qualify them for a\ndefensive war, against any that should invade them; but I was not to set\nthem up for an offensive war, or to encourage them to go abroad to\nattack others, which, in the end, would only bring ruin and destruction\nupon themselves and all their undertakings: I reserved the sloop,\ntherefore, and the guns, for their service another way, as I shall\nobserve in its place.\n\nI have now done with the island: I left them all in good circumstances,\nand in a flourishing condition, and went on board my ship again the\nfifth day of May, having been five and twenty days among them; and, as\nthey were all resolved to stay upon the island till I came to remove\nthem, I promised to send some further relief from the Brasils, if I\ncould possibly find an opportunity; and particularly I promised to send\nthem some cattle; such as sheep, hogs, and cows; for as to the two cows\nand calves which I brought from England, we had been obliged, by the\nlength of our voyage, to kill them at sea, for want of hay to feed them.\n\nThe next day, giving them a salute of five guns at parting, we set sail,\nand arrived at the bay of All Saints, in the Brasils, in about\ntwenty-two days; meeting nothing remarkable in our passage but this,\nthat about three days after we sailed, being becalmed, and the current\nsetting strong to the N.N.E. running, as it were, into a bay or gulf on\nthe land side, we were driven something out of our course; and once or\ntwice our men cried Land, to the westward; but whether it was the\ncontinent, or islands, we could not tell by any means.\n\nBut the third day, towards evening, the sea smooth and the weather calm,\nwe saw the sea, as it were, covered towards the land, with something\nvery black, not being able to discover what it was; but, after some\ntime, our chief mate going up the main shrouds a little way, and looking\nat them with a perspective, cried out, it was an army. I could not\nimagine what he meant by an army, and spoke a little hastily, calling\nthe fellow a fool, or some such word: \"Nay, Sir,\" says he, \"don't be\nangry, for it is an army, and a fleet too; for I believe there are a\nthousand canoes, and you may see them paddle along, and they are coming\ntowards us too apace, and full of men.\"\n\nI was a little surprised then, indeed, and so was my nephew the captain;\nfor he had heard such terrible stories of them in the island, and having\nnever been in those seas before, that he could not tell what to think of\nit, but said two or three times, we should all be devoured. I must\nconfess, considering we were becalmed, and the current set strong\ntowards, the shore, I liked it the worse; however, I bade him not be\nafraid, but bring the ship to an anchor, as soon as we came so near as\nto know that we must engage them.\n\nThe weather continued calm, and they came on apace towards us; so I gave\norders to come to an anchor, and furl all our sails. As for the savages,\nI told them they had nothing to fear from them but fire; and therefore\nthey should get their boats out, and fasten them, one close by the head,\nand the other by the stern, and man them both well, and wait the issue\nin that posture: this I did, that the men in the boats might be ready,\nwith sheet and buckets, to put out any fire these savages might\nendeavour to fix upon the outside of the ship.\n\nIn this posture we lay by for them, and in a little while they came up\nwith us; but never was such a horrid sight seen by Christians; my mate\nwas much mistaken in his calculation of their number, I mean of a\nthousand canoes; the most we could make of them when they came up, being\nabout 126; and a great many of them too; for some of them had sixteen or\nseventeen men in them, some more, and the least six or seven.\n\nWhen they came nearer to us, they seemed to be struck with wonder and\nastonishment, as at a sight which they had, doubtless, never seen\nbefore; nor could they, at first, as we afterwards understood, know what\nto make of us. They came boldly up however, very near to us, and seemed\nto go about to row round us; but we called to our men in the boats not\nto let them come too near them. This very order brought us to an\nengagement with them, without our designing it; for five or six of the\nlarge canoes came so near our long-boat, that our men beckoned with\ntheir hands to keep them back, which they understood very well, and went\nback: but at their retreat about fifty arrows came on board us from\nthose boats, and one of our men in the long-boat was very much wounded.\nHowever, I called to them not to fire by any means; but we handed down\nsome deal boards into the boat, and the carpenter presently set up a\nkind of fence, like waste boards, to cover them from the arrows of the\nsavages, if they should shoot again.\n\nAbout half-an-hour afterwards they all came up in a body astern of us,\nand so near that we could easily discern what they were, though we could\nnot tell their design; and I easily found they were some of my old\nfriends, the same sort of savages that I had been used to engage with.\nIn a short time more they rowed a little farther out to sea, till they\ncame directly broadside with us, and then rowed down straight upon us,\ntill they came so near that they could hear us speak; upon this, I\nordered all my men to keep close, lest they should shoot any more\narrows, and made all our guns ready; but being so near as to be within\nhearing, I made Friday go out upon the deck, and call out aloud to them\nin his language, to know what they meant. Whether they understood him or\nnot, that I knew not; but as soon as he had called to them, six of them,\nwho were in the foremost or nearest boat to us, turned their canoes from\nus, and stooping down, showed us their naked backs; whether this was a\ndefiance or challenge we knew not, or whether it was done in mere\ncontempt, or as a signal to the rest; but immediately Friday cried out\nthey were going to shoot, and, unhappily for him, poor fellow, they let\nfly about three hundred of their arrows, and to my inexpressible grief,\nkilled poor Friday, no other man being in their sight. The poor fellow\nwas shot with no less than three arrows, and about three more fell very\nnear him; such unlucky marksmen they were!\n\nI was so annoyed at the loss of my old trusty servant and companion,\nthat I immediately ordered five guns to be loaded with small shot, and\nfour with great, and gave them such a broadside as they had never heard\nin their lives before. They were not above half a cable's length off\nwhen we fired; and our gunners took their aim so well, that three or\nfour of their canoes were overset, as we had reason to believe, by one\nshot only. The ill manners of turning up their bare backs to us gave us\nno great offence; neither did I know for certain whether that which\nwould pass for the greatest contempt among us might be understood so by\nthem or not; therefore, in return, I had only resolved to have fired\nfour or five guns at them with powder only, which I knew would frighten\nthem sufficiently: but when they shot at us directly with all the fury\nthey were capable of, and especially as they had killed my poor Friday,\nwhom I so entirely loved and valued, and who, indeed, so well deserved\nit, I thought myself not only justifiable before God and man, but would\nhave been very glad if I could have overset every canoe there, and\ndrowned every one of them.\n\nI can neither tell how many we killed nor how many we wounded at this\nbroadside, but sure such a fright and hurry never were seen among such a\nmultitude; there were thirteen or fourteen of their canoes split and\noverset in all, and the men all set a-swimming: the rest, frightened out\nof their wits, scoured away as fast as they could, taking but little\ncare to save those whose boats were split or spoiled with our shot; so I\nsuppose that many of them were lost; and our men took up one poor\nfellow swimming for his life; above an hour after they were all gone.\n\nOur small shot from our cannon must needs kill and wound a great many;\nbut, in short, we never knew any thing how it went with them; for they\nfled so fast that, in three hours, or thereabouts, we could not see\nabove three or four straggling canoes; nor did we ever see the rest any\nmore; for a breeze of wind springing up the same evening, we weighed and\nset sail for the Brasils.\n\nWe had a prisoner indeed, but the creature was so sullen, that he would\nneither eat nor speak; and we all fancied he would starve himself to\ndeath; but I took a way to cure him; for I made them take him, and turn\nhim into the long-boat, and make him believe they would toss him into\nthe sea again, and so leave him where they found him, if he would not\nspeak: nor would that do, but they really did throw him into the sea,\nand came away from him; and then he followed them, for he swam like a\ncork, and called to them in his tongue, though they knew not one word of\nwhat he said. However, at last, they took him in again, and then he\nbegan to be more tractable; nor did I ever design they should drown him.\n\nWe were now under sail again; but I was the most disconsolate creature\nalive, for want of my man Friday, and would have been very glad to have\ngone back to the island, to have taken one of the rest from thence for\nmy occasion, but it could not be; so we went on. We had one prisoner, as\nI have said; and it was a long while before we could make him understand\nany thing; but in time, our men taught him some English, and he began to\nbe a little tractable: afterwards we inquired what country he came from,\nbut could make nothing of what he said; for his speech was so odd, all\ngutturals, and spoken in the throat, in such a hollow and odd manner,\nthat we could never form a word from him; and we were all of opinion\nthat they might speak that language as well if they were gagged, as\notherwise; nor could we perceive that they had any occasion either for\nteeth, tongue, lips, or palate; but formed their words just as a\nhunting-horn forms a tune, with an open throat: he told us, however,\nsome time after, when we had taught him to speak a little English, that\nthey were going, with their kings, to fight a great battle. When he said\nkings, we asked him, how many kings? He said, there were five nation (we\ncould not make him understand the plural _s_,) and that they all joined\nto go against two nation. We asked him, What made them come up to us? He\nsaid, \"To makee te great wonder look.\"--Where it is to be observed, that\nall those natives, as also those of Africa, when they learn English,\nthey always add two _e_'s at the end of the words where we use one, and\nplace the accent upon the last of them; as _makee, takee_, and the like;\nand we could not break them of it; nay, I could hardly make Friday leave\nit off, though at last he did.\n\nAnd now I name the poor fellow once more, I must take my last leave of\nhim; poor honest Friday! We buried him with all decency and solemnity\npossible, by putting him into a coffin, and throwing him into the sea;\nand I caused them to fire eleven guns for him: and so ended the life of\nthe most grateful, faithful, honest, and most affectionate servant that\never man had.\n\nWe now went away with a fair wind for Brasil, and, in about twelve days\ntime, we made land in the latitude of five degrees south of the line,\nbeing the north-easternmost land of all that part of America. We kept on\nS. by E. in sight of the shore four days, when we made the Cape St.\nAugustine, and in three days came to an anchor off the bay of All\nSaints, the old place of my deliverance, from whence came both my good\nand evil fate.\n\nNever did a ship come to this part that had less business than I had;\nand yet it was with great difficulty that we were admitted to hold the\nleast correspondence on shore. Not my partner himself, who was alive,\nand made a great figure among them, not my two merchant trustees, nor\nthe fame of my wonderful preservation in the island, could obtain me\nthat favour; but my partner remembering that I had given five hundred\nmoidores to the prior of the monastery of the Augustines, and three\nhundred and seventy-two to the poor, went to the monastery, and obliged\nthe prior that then was, to go to the governor, and beg leave for me\npresently, with the captain, and one more, besides eight seamen, to come\non shore, and no more; and this upon condition absolutely capitulated\nfor, that we should not offer to land any goods out of the ship, or to\ncarry any person away without licence.\n\nThey were so strict with us, as to landing any goods, that it was with\nextreme difficulty that I got on shore three bales of English goods,\nsuch as fine broad-cloths, stuffs, and some linen, which I had brought\nfor a present to my partner.\n\nHe was a very generous, broad-hearted man, though (like me) he came from\nlittle at first; and though he knew not that I had the least design of\ngiving him any thing, he sent me on board a present of fresh provisions,\nwine, and sweetmeats, worth above thirty moidores, including some\ntobacco, and three or four fine medals in gold. But I was even with him\nin my present, which, as I have said, consisted of fine broad-cloth,\nEnglish stuffs, lace, and fine Hollands. Also, I delivered him about the\nvalue of 100_l_. sterling, in the same goods, for other uses: and I\nobliged him to set up the sloop which I had brought with me from\nEngland, as I have said, for the use of my colony, in order to send the\nrefreshments I intended to my plantation.\n\nAccordingly he got hands, and finished the sloop in a very few days, for\nshe was already framed; and I gave the master of her such instruction as\nhe could not miss the place; nor did he miss it, as I had an account\nfrom my partner afterwards. I got him soon loaded with the small cargo I\nhad sent them; and one of our seamen, that had been on shore with me\nthere, offered to go with the sloop, and settle there, upon my letter\nto the governor Spaniard, to allot him a sufficient quantity of land for\na plantation; and giving him some clothes, and tools for his planting\nwork, which he said he understood, having been an old planter in\nMaryland, and a buccaneer into the bargain.\n\nI encouraged the fellow by granting all he desired; and, as an addition,\nI gave him the savage which we had taken prisoner of war, to be his\nslave, and ordered the governor Spaniard to give him his share of\neverything he wanted, with the rest.\n\nWhen we came to fit this man out, my old partner told me, there was a\ncertain very honest fellow, a Brasil planter of his acquaintance, who\nhad fallen into he displeasure of the church: \"I know not what the\nmatter is with him,\" says he, \"but, on my conscience, I think he is a\nheretic in his heart; and he has been obliged to conceal himself for\nfear of the Inquisition;\" that he would be very glad of such an\nopportunity to make his escape, with his wife and two daughters; and if\nI would let them go to the island, and allot them a plantation, he would\ngive them a small stock to begin with; for the officers of the\nInquisition had seized all his effects and estate, and he had nothing\nleft but a little household stuff, and two slaves; \"And,\" adds he,\n\"though I hate his principles, yet I would not have him fall into their\nhands, for he will assuredly be burnt alive if he does.\"\n\nI granted this presently, and joined my Englishman with them; and we\nconcealed the man, and his wife and daughters, on board our ship, till\nthe sloop put out to go to sea; and then (having put all their goods on\nboard the sloop some time before) we put them on board the sloop, after\nshe was got out of the bay.\n\nOur seaman was mightily pleased with this new partner; and their stock,\nindeed, was much alike, rich in tools, and in preparations, for a farm;\nbut nothing to begin with, but as above. However, they carried over with\nthem (which was worth all the rest) some materials for planting\nsugar-canes, with some plants of canes; which he (I mean the Portugal\nman) understood very well.\n\nAmong the rest of the supplies sent my tenants in the island, I sent\nthem, by this sloop, three milch-cows and five calves, about twenty-two\nhogs, among them, three sows big with pig, two mares, and a stone-horse.\n\nFor my Spaniards, according to my promise, I engaged three Portugal\nwomen to go; and recommended it to them to marry them, and use them\nkindly. I could have procured more women, but I remembered that the poor\npersecuted man had two daughters, and there were but five of the\nSpaniards that wanted; the rest had wives of their own, though in\nanother country.\n\nAll this cargo arrived safe, and, as you may easily suppose, very\nwelcome to my old inhabitants, who were now (with this addition) between\nsixty and seventy people, besides little children; of which there were a\ngreat many: I found letters at London from them all, by way of Lisbon,\nwhen I came back to England, being sent back to the Brasils by this\nsloop; of which I shall take some notice in its place.\n\nI have now done with my island, and all manner of discourse about it;\nand whoever reads the rest of my memorandums, would do well to turn his\nthoughts entirely from it, and expect to read only of the follies of an\nold man, not warned by his own harms, much less by those of other men,\nto beware of the like; not cooled by almost forty years misery and\ndisappointments; not satisfied with prosperity beyond expectation; not\nmade cautious by affliction and distress beyond irritation.\n\nI had no more business to go to the East Indies, than a man at full\nliberty, and having committed no crime, has to go to the turnkey at\nNewgate, and desire him to lock him up among the prisoners there, and\nstarve him. Had I taken a small vessel from England, and gone directly\nto the island; had I loaded her, as I did the other vessel, with all the\nnecessaries for the plantation, and for my people; took a patent from\nthe government here, to have secured my property, in subjection only to\nthat of England, which, to be sure, I might have obtained; had I carried\nover cannon and ammunition, servants, and people to plant, and, taking\npossession of the place, fortified and strengthened it in the name of\nEngland, and increased it with people, as I might easily have done; had\nI then settled myself there, and sent the ship back, loaded with good\nrice, as I might also have done in six months time, and ordered my\nfriends to have fitted her out again for our supply; had I done this,\nand staid there myself, I had, at least, acted like a man of common\nsense; but I was possessed with a wandering spirit, scorned all\nadvantages, pleased myself with being the patron of these people I had\nplaced there, and doing for them in a kind of haughty majestic way, like\nan old patriarchal monarch; providing for them, as if I had been father\nof the whole family, as well as of the plantation: but I never so much\nas pretended to plant in the name of any government or nation, or to\nacknowledge any prince, or to call my people subjects to any one nation\nmore than another; nay, I never so much as gave the place a name; but\nleft it as I found it, belonging to no man; and the people under no\ndiscipline or government but my own; who, though I had an influence over\nthem as father and benefactor, had no authority or power to act or\ncommand one way or other, farther than voluntary consent moved them to\ncomply: yet even this, had I staid there, would have done well enough;\nbut as I rambled from them, and came thither no more, the last letters I\nhad from any of them, were by my partner's means, who afterwards sent\nanother sloop to the place; and who sent me word, though I had not the\nletter till five years after it was written, that they went on but\npoorly, were malecontent with their long stay there; that Will Atkins\nwas dead; that five of the Spaniards were come away; and that though\nthey had not been much molested by the savages, yet they had had some\nskirmishes with them; that they begged of him to write to me to think\nof the promise I had made to fetch them away, that they might see their\nown country again before they died.\n\nBut I was gone a wild-goose chase indeed, and they who will have any\nmore of me, must be content to follow me through a new variety of\nfollies, hardships, and wild adventures; wherein the justice of\nProvidence may be duly observed, and we may see how easily Heaven can\ngorge us with our own desires, make the strongest of our wishes to be\nour affliction and punish us most severely with those very things which\nwe think it would be our utmost happiness to be allowed in.\n\nLet no wise man flatter himself with the strength of his own judgment,\nas if he was able to choose any particular station of life for himself.\nMan is a short-sighted creature, sees but a very little way before him;\nand as his passions are none of his best friends, so his particular\naffections are generally his worst counsellors.\n\nI say this with respect to the impetuous desire I had from a youth to\nwander into the world, and how evident it now was that this principle\nwas preserved in me for my punishment. How it came on, the manner, the\ncircumstance, and the conclusion of it, it is easy to give you\nhistorically, and with its utmost variety of particulars. But the secret\nends of Divine Providence, in thus permitting us to be hurried down the\nstream of our own desires, are only to be understood of those who can\nlisten to the voice of Providence, and draw religious consequences from\nGod's justice and their own mistakes.\n\nBe it had I business or no business, away I went. It is no time now to\nenlarge any farther upon the reason or absurdity of my own conduct; but\nto come to the history--I was embarked for the voyage, and the voyage\nI went.\n\nI shall only add here, that my honest and truly pious clergyman left me\nhere; a ship being ready to go to Lisbon, he asked me leave to go\nthither; being still as he observed, bound never to finish any voyage\nhe began. How happy had it been for me if I had gone with him!\n\nBut it was too late now; all things Heaven appoints are best. Had I gone\nwith him, I had never had so many things to be thankful for, and you had\nnever heard of the Second Part of the Travels and Adventures of Robinson\nCrusoe; so I must leave here the fruitless exclaiming at myself, and go\non with my voyage.\n\nFrom the Brasils we made directly away over the Atlantic sea to the Cape\nde Bonne Esperance, or, as we call it, the Cape of Good Hope; and had a\ntolerable good voyage, our course generally south-east; now and then a\nstorm, and some contrary winds. But my disasters at sea were at an end;\nmy future rubs and cross events were to befal me on shore; that it might\nappear the land was as well prepared to be our scourge as the sea, when\nHeaven, who directs the circumstances of things, pleases to appoint\nit to be so.\n\nOur ship was on a trading voyage, and had a supercargo on board, who was\nto direct all her motions after she arrived at the Cape; only being\nlimited to a certain number of days for stay, by charter-party, at the\nseveral ports she was to go to. This was none of my business, neither\ndid I meddle with it at all; my nephew the captain, and the supercargo,\nadjusting all those things between them as they thought fit.\n\nWe made no stay at the Cape longer than was needful to take in fresh\nwater, but made the best of our way for the coast of Coromandel; we were\nindeed informed that a French man of war of fifty guns and two large\nmerchant-ships were gone for the Indies; and as I knew we were at war\nwith France, I had some apprehensions of them; but they went their own\nway, and we heard no more of them.\n\nI shall not pester my account, or the reader, with descriptions of\nplaces, journals of our voyages, variations of the compass, latitudes,\nmeridian distances, trade-winds, situation of ports, and the like; such\nas almost all the histories of long navigation are full of, and which\nmake the reading tiresome enough, and are perfectly unprofitable to all\nthat read, except only to those who are to go to those places\nthemselves.\n\nIt is enough to name the ports and places which we touched at, and what\noccurred to us upon our passing from one to another. We touched first at\nthe island of Madagascar, where, though the people are fierce and\ntreacherous, and, in particular, very well armed with lances and bows,\nwhich they use with inconceivable dexterity, yet we fared very well with\nthem awhile; they treated us very civilly; and for some trifles which we\ngave them, such as knives, scissors, &c. they brought us eleven good fat\nbullocks, middling in size, but very good in flesh, which we took in,\npartly for fresh provisions for our present spending, and the rest to\nsalt for the ship's use.\n\nWe were obliged to stay here for some time after we had furnished\nourselves with provisions; and I that was always too curious to look\ninto every nook of the world wherever I came, was for going on shore as\noften as I could. It was on the east side of the island that we went on\nshore one evening, and the people, who by the way are very numerous,\ncame thronging about us, and stood gazing at us at a distance; as we had\ntraded freely with them, and had been kindly used, we thought ourselves\nin no danger; but when we saw the people we cut three boughs out of a\ntree, and stuck them up at a distance from us, which, it seems, is a\nmark in the country not only of truce and friendship, but when it is\naccepted, the other side set up three poles or boughs also, which is a\nsignal that they accept the truce too; but then this is a known\ncondition of the truce, that you are not to pass beyond their three\npoles towards them, nor they come past your three poles or boughs\ntowards you; so that you are perfectly secure within the three poles,\nand all the space between your poles and theirs is allowed like a market\nfor free converse, traffic, and commerce. When you go thither you must\nnot carry your weapons with you; and if they come into that space they\nstick up their javelins and lances all at the first poles, and come on\nunarmed; but if any violence is offered them, and the truce thereby\nbroken, away they run to the poles and lay hold of their weapons, and\nthen the truce is at an end.\n\nIt happened one evening when we went on shore, that a greater number of\ntheir people came down than usual, but all was very friendly and civil.\nThey brought with them several kinds of provisions, for which we\nsatisfied them with such toys as we had; their women also brought us\nmilk and roots, and several things very acceptable to us, and all was\nquiet; and we made us a little tent or hut, of some boughs of trees, and\nlay on shore all that night.\n\nI know not what was the occasion, but I was not so well satisfied to lie\non shore as the rest; and the boat lying at an anchor about a stone's\ncast from the land, with two men in her to take care of her, I made one\nof them come on shore, and getting some boughs of trees to cover us also\nin the boat, I spread the sail on the bottom of the boat, and lay on\nboard, under the cover of the branches of the trees, all night.\n\nAbout two o'clock in the morning we heard one of our men make a terrible\nnoise on the shore, calling out for God's sake to bring the boat in, and\ncome and help them, for they were all like to be murdered; at the same\ntime I heard the firing of five muskets, which was the number of the\nguns they had, and that three times over; for, it seems, the natives\nhere were not so easily frighted with guns as the savages were in\nAmerica, where I had to do with them.\n\nAll this while I knew not what was the matter; but rousing immediately\nfrom sleep with the noise, I caused the boat to be thrust in, and\nresolved, with three fusils we had on board, to land and assist our men.\n\nWe got the boat soon to the shore; but our men were in too much haste;\nfor being come to the shore, they plunged into the water to get to the\nboat with all the expedition they could, being pursued by between three\nand four hundred men. Our men were but nine in all, and only five of\nthem had fusils with them; the rest, indeed, had pistols and swords, but\nthey were of small use to them.\n\nWe took up seven of our men, and with difficulty enough too, three of\nthem being very ill wounded; and that which was still worse was, that\nwhile we stood in the boat to take our men in, we were in as much danger\nas they were in on shore; for they poured their arrows in upon us so\nthick, that we were fain to barricade the side of the boat up with the\nbenches and two or three loose boards, which to our great satisfaction\nwe had by mere accident, or providence rather, in the boat.\n\nAnd yet had it been daylight, they are, it seems, such exact marksmen,\nthat if they could have seen but the least part of any of us, they would\nhave been sure of us. We had, by the light of the moon, a little sight\nof them as they stood pelting us from the shore with darts and arrows,\nand having got ready our fire-arms, we gave them a volley, and we could\nhear by the cries of some of them, that we had wounded several; however,\nthey stood thus in battle array on the shore till break of day, which we\nsuppose was that they might see the better to take their aim at us.\n\nIn this condition we lay, and could not tell how to weigh our anchor, or\nset up our sail, because we must needs stand up in the boat, and they\nwere as sure to hit us as we were to hit a bird in a tree with small\nshot. We made signals of distress to the ship, which though she rode a\nleague off, yet my nephew, the captain, hearing our firing, and by\nglasses perceiving the posture we lay in, and that we fired towards the\nshore, pretty well understood us; and weighing anchor with all speed, he\nstood as near the shore as he durst with the ship, and then sent another\nboat with ten hands in her to assist us; but we called to them not to\ncome too near, telling them what condition we were in; however, they\nstood in nearer to us; and one of the men taking the end of a tow-line\nin his hand, and keeping our boat between him and the enemy, so that\nthey could not perfectly see him, swam on board us, and made the line\nfast to the boat, upon which we slipt our little cable, and leaving our\nanchor behind, they towed us out of the reach of the arrows, we all the\nwhile lying close behind the barricade we had made.\n\nAs soon as we were got from between the ship and the shore, that she\ncould lay her side to the shore, we ran along just by them, and we\npoured in a broadside among them, loaded with pieces of iron and lead,\nsmall bullets, and such stuff, besides the great shot, which made a\nterrible havoc among them.\n\nWhen we were got on board and out of danger, we had time to examine into\nthe occasion of this fray; and indeed our supercargo, who had been often\nin those parts, put me upon it; for he said he was sure the inhabitants\nwould not have touched us after we had made a truce, if we had not done\nsomething to provoke them to it. At length it came out, viz. that an old\nwoman, who had come to sell us some milk, had brought it within our\npoles, with a young woman with her, who also brought some roots or\nherbs; and while the old woman (whether she was mother to the young\nwoman or no they could not tell) was selling us the milk, one of our men\noffered some rudeness to the wench that was with her, at which the old\nwoman made a great noise. However, the seaman would not quit his prize,\nbut carried her out of the old woman's sight, among the trees, it being\nalmost dark. The old woman went away without her, and, as we suppose,\nmade an outcry among the people she came from; who, upon notice, raised\nthis great army upon us in three or four hours; and it was great odds\nbut we had been all destroyed.\n\nOne of our men was killed with a lance that was thrown at him, just at\nthe beginning of the attack, as he sallied out of the tent we had made;\nthe rest came off free, all but the fellow who was the occasion of all\nthe mischief, who paid dear enough for his black mistress, for we could\nnot hear what became of him a great while. We lay upon the shore two\ndays after, though the wind presented, and made signals for him; made\nour boat sail up shore and down shore several leagues, but in vain; so\nwe were obliged to give him over; and if he alone had suffered for it,\nthe loss had been the less.\n\nI could not satisfy myself, however, without venturing on shore once\nmore, to try if I could learn any thing of him or them. It was the third\nnight after the action that I had a great mind to learn, if I could by\nany means, what mischief he had done, and how the game stood on the\nIndian side. I was careful to do it in the dark, lest we should be\nattacked again; but I ought indeed to have been sure that the men I went\nwith had been under my command before I engaged in a thing so hazardous\nand mischievous, as I was brought into it without my knowledge\nor desire.\n\nWe took twenty stout fellows with us as any in the ship, besides the\nsupercargo and myself; and we landed two hours before midnight, at the\nsame place where the Indians stood drawn up the evening before. I landed\nhere, because my design, as I have said, was chiefly to see if they had\nquitted the field, and if they had left any marks behind them, or of the\nmischief we had done them; and I thought if we could surprise one or two\nof them, perhaps we might get our man again by way of exchange.\n\nWe landed without any noise, and divided our men into two companies,\nwhereof the boatswain commanded one, and I the other. We neither could\nhear nor see any body stir when we landed; so we marched up, one body at\na distance from the other, to the field of battle. At first we could see\nnothing, it being very dark; but by and by our boatswain, that led the\nfirst party, stumbled and fell over a dead body. This made them halt\nthere awhile; for knowing by the circumstances that they were at the\nplace where the Indians had stood, they waited for my coming up. Here\nwe concluded to halt till the moon began to rise, which we knew would be\nin less than an hour, and then we could easily discern the havoc we had\nmade among them. We told two-and-thirty bodies upon the ground, whereof\ntwo were not quite dead. Some had an arm, and some a leg, shot off, and\none his head; those that were wounded we supposed they had carried away.\n\nWhen we had made, as I thought, a full discovery of all we could come at\nthe knowledge of, I was for going on board again; but the boatswain and\nhis party often sent me word, that they were resolved to make a visit to\nthe Indian town, where these dogs, as they called them, dwelt, and\ndesired me to go along with them, and if they could find them, as they\nstill fancied they should, they did not doubt, they said, getting a good\nbooty, and it might be they might find Thomas Jeffrys there, that was\nthe man's name we had lost.\n\nHad they sent to ask my leave to go, I knew well enough what answer to\nhave given them; for I would have commanded them instantly on board,\nknowing it was not a hazard fit for us to run who had a ship and a\nship's loading in our charge, and a voyage to make, which depended very\nmuch upon the lives of the men; but as they sent me word they were\nresolved to go, and only asked me and my company to go along with them,\nI positively refused it, and rose up (for I was sitting on the ground)\nin order to go to the boat. One or two of the men began to importune me\nto go, and when I still refused positively, began to grumble, and say\nthey were not under my command, and they would go. \"Come, Jack,\" says\none of the men, \"will you go with me? I will go for one.\" Jack said he\nwould; and another followed, and then another; and, in a word, they all\nleft me but one, whom, with much difficulty too, I persuaded to stay; so\nthe supercargo and I, with one man, went back to the boat, where, I\ntold them, we would stay for them, and take care to take in as many of\nthem as should be left; for I told them it was a mad thing they were\ngoing about, and supposed most of them would run the fate of\nThomas Jeffrys.\n\nThey told me, like seamen, they would warrant it they would come off\nagain, and they would take care, &c. So away they went. I entreated them\nto consider the ship and the voyage; that their lives were not their\nown; and that they were entrusted with the voyage in some measure; that\nif they miscarried, the ship might be lost for want of their help; and\nthat they could not answer it to God and man. I said a great deal more\nto them on that head, but I might as well have talked to the main-mast\nof the ship; they were mad upon their journey; only they gave me good\nwords, and begged I would not be angry; said they would be very\ncautious, and they did not doubt but they would be back again in about\nan hour at farthest; for the Indian town, they said, was not above half\na mile off; though they found it above two miles before they got to it.\n\nWell, they all went away as above; and though the attempt was desperate,\nand such as none but madmen would have gone about, yet, to give them\ntheir due, they went about it warily as well as boldly. They were\ngallantly armed, that is true; for they had every man a fusil or musket,\na bayonet, and every man a pistol; some of them had broad cutlasses,\nsome of them hangers, and the boatswain and two more had pole-axes;\nbesides all which they had among them thirteen hand-grenadoes. Bolder\nfellows, and better provided, never went about any wicked work in\nthe world.\n\nWhen they went out their chief design was plunder, and they were in\nmighty hopes of finding gold there; but a circumstance, which none of\nthem were aware of, set them on fire with revenge, and made devils of\nthem all. When they came to the few Indian houses, which they thought\nhad been the town, which were not above half a mile off, they were under\na great disappointment; for there were not above twelve or thirteen\nhouses; and where the town was, or how big, they knew not. They\nconsulted therefore what to do, and were some time before they could\nresolve; for if they fell upon these they must cut all their throats,\nand it was ten to one but some of them might escape, it being in the\nnight, though the moon was up; and if one escaped he would run away, and\nraise all the town, so they should have a whole army upon them. Again,\non the other hand, if they went away, and left those untouched (for the\npeople were all asleep), they could not tell which way to look for\nthe town.\n\nHowever, the last was the best advice; so they resolved to leave those\nhouses, and look for the town as well as they could. They went on a\nlittle way, and found a cow tied to a tree: this they presently\nconcluded would be a good guide to them; for they said the cow certainly\nbelonged to the town before them or the town behind them, and if they\nuntied her they should see which way she went: if she went back they had\nnothing to say to her, but if she went forward they had nothing to do\nbut to follow her; so they cut the cord, which was made of twisted\nflags, and the cow went on before them. In a word, the cow led them\ndirectly to the town, which, as they reported, consisted of above two\nhundred houses or huts; and in some of these they found several families\nliving together.\n\nHere they found all silent; as profoundly secure as sleep and a country\nthat had never seen an enemy of that kind could make them. Upon this\nthey called another council to consider what they had to do, and in a\nword they resolved to divide themselves into three bodies, and to set\nthree houses on fire in three parts of the town; and as the men came\nout, to seize them and bind them; if any resisted, they need not be\nasked what to do then, and so to search the rest of the houses for\nplunder; but resolved to march silently first through the town, and see\nwhat dimensions it was of, and consider if they might venture upon it\nor no.\n\nThey did so, and desperately resolved that they would venture upon them;\nbut while they were animating one another to the work, three of them\nthat were a little before the rest called out aloud, and told them they\nhad found Thomas Jeffrys; they all ran up to the place; and so it was\nindeed, for there they found the poor fellow, hanged up naked by one\narm, and his throat cut. There was an Indian house just by the tree,\nwhere they found sixteen or seventeen of the principal Indians who had\nbeen concerned in the fray with us before, and two or three of them\nwounded with our shot; and our men found they were awake, and talking\none to another in that house, but knew not their number.\n\nThe sight of their poor mangled comrade so enraged them, as before, that\nthey swore to one another they would be revenged, and that not an Indian\nwho came into their hands should have quarter; and to work they went\nimmediately, and yet not so madly as by the rage and fury they were in\nmight be expected. Their first care was to get something that would soon\ntake fire; but after a little search they found that would be to no\npurpose, for most of the houses were low, and thatched with flags or\nrushes, of which the country is full: so they presently made some\nwildfire, as we call it, by wetting a little powder in the palms of\ntheir hands; and in a quarter of an hour they set the town on fire in\nfour or five places, and particularly that house where the Indians were\nnot gone to bed. As soon as the fire began to blaze, the poor frighted\ncreatures began to rush out to save their lives, but met with their fate\nin the attempt, and especially at the door, where they drove them back,\nthe boatswain himself killing one or two with his pole-axe; the house\nbeing large, and many in it, he did not care to go in, but called for an\nhand-grenado, and threw it among them, which at first frighted them; but\nwhen it burst made such havoc among them, that they cried out in a\nhideous manner.\n\nIn short, most of the Indians who were in the open part of the house,\nwere killed or hurt with the grenado, except two or three more, who\npressed to the door, which the boatswain and two more kept with the\nbayonets in the muzzles of their pieces, and dispatched all who came\nthat way. But there was another apartment in the house, where the\nprince, or king, or whatsoever he was, and several others, were; and\nthey kept in till the house, which was by this time all of a light\nflame, fell in upon them, and they were smothered or burnt together.\n\nAll this while they fired not a gun, because they would not waken the\npeople faster than they could master them; but the fire began to waken\nthem fast enough, and our fellows were glad to keep a little together in\nbodies; for the fire grew so raging, all the houses being made of light\ncombustible stuff, that they could hardly bear the street between them,\nand their business was to follow the fire for the surer execution. As\nfast as the fire either forced the people out of those houses which were\nburning, or frighted them out of others, our people were ready at their\ndoors to knock them on the head, still calling and hallooing to one\nanother to remember Thomas Jeffrys.\n\nWhile this was doing I must confess I was very uneasy, and especially\nwhen I saw the flames of the town, which, it being night, seemed to be\njust by me.\n\nMy nephew the captain, who was roused by his men too, seeing such a\nfire, was very uneasy, not knowing what the matter was, or what danger I\nwas in; especially hearing the guns too, for by this time they began to\nuse their fire-arms. A thousand thoughts oppressed his mind concerning\nme and the supercargo, what should become of us; and at last, though he\ncould ill spare any more men, yet, not knowing what exigence we might be\nin, he takes another boat, and with thirteen men and himself comes on\nshore to me.\n\nHe was surprised to see me and the supercargo in the boat with no more\nthan two men, for one had been left to keep the boat; and though he was\nglad that we were well, yet he was in the same impatience with us to\nknow what was doing, for the noise continued and the flame increased. I\nconfess it was next to an impossibility for any men in the world to\nrestrain their curiosity of knowing what had happened, or their concern\nfor the safety of the men. In a word, the captain told me he would go\nand help his men, let what would come. I argued with him, as I did\nbefore with the men, the safety of the ship, and the danger of the\nvoyage, the interest of the owners and merchants, &c. and told him I\nwould go, and the two men, and only see if we could, at a distance,\nlearn what was like to be the event, and come back and tell him.\n\nIt was all one to talk to my nephew, as it was to talk to the rest\nbefore; he would go, he said, and he only wished he had left but ten men\nin the ship, for he could not think of having his men lost for want of\nhelp; he had rather, he said, lose the ship, the voyage, and his life,\nand all: and so away went he.\n\nNor was I any more able to stay behind now than I was to persuade them\nnot to go before; so, in short, the captain ordered two men to row back\nthe pinnace, and fetch twelve men more from the ship, leaving the\nlong-boat at an anchor; and that when they came back six men should keep\nthe two boats, and six more come after us, so that he left only sixteen\nmen in the ship; for the whole ship's company consisted of sixty-five\nmen, whereof two were lost in the first quarrel which brought this\nmischief on.\n\nBeing now on the march, you may be sure we felt little of the ground we\ntrod on, and being guided by the fire we kept no path, but went directly\nto the place of the flame. If the noise of the guns were surprising to\nus before, the cries of the poor people were now quite of another\nnature, and filled us with horror. I must confess I never was at the\nsacking of a city, or at the taking of a town by storm; I have heard of\nOliver Cromwell taking Drogheda in Ireland, and killing man, woman, and\nchild; and I had read of Count Tilly sacking the city of Magdebourg, and\ncutting the throats of 22,000 of both sexes; but I never had an idea of\nthe thing itself before, nor is it possible to describe it, or the\nhorror which was upon our minds at hearing it.\n\nHowever, we went on, and at length came to the town, though there was no\nentering the streets of it for the fire. The first object we met with\nwas the ruins of a hut or house, or rather the ashes of it, for the\nhouse was consumed; and just before it, plain now to be seen by the\nlight of the fire, lay four men and three women killed; and, as we\nthought, one or two more lay in the heap among the fire. In short, these\nwere such instances of a rage altogether barbarous, and of a fury\nsomething beyond what was human, that we thought it impossible our men\ncould be guilty of it; or if they were the authors of it, we thought\nthat every one of them ought to be put to the worst of deaths: but this\nwas not all; we saw the fire increased forward, and the cry went on just\nas the fire went on, so that we were in the utmost confusion. We\nadvanced a little way farther, and beheld to our astonishment three\nwomen naked, crying in a most dreadful manner, and flying as if they had\nindeed had wings, and after them sixteen or seventeen men, natives, in\nthe same terror and consternation, with three of our English butchers\n(for I can call them no better) in the rear, who, when they could not\novertake them, fired in among them, and one that was killed by their\nshot fell down in our sight: when the rest saw us, believing us to be\ntheir enemies; and that we would murder them as well as those that\npursued them, they set up a most dreadful shriek, especially the women,\nand two of them fell down as if already dead with the fright.\n\nMy very soul shrunk within me, and my blood ran chill in my veins, when\nI saw this; and I believe had the three English sailors that pursued\nthem come on, I had made our men kill them all. However, we took some\nways to let the poor flying creatures know that we would not hurt them,\nand immediately they came up to us, and kneeling down, with their hands\nlifted up, made piteous lamentations to us to save them, which we let\nthem know we would do; where upon they kept all together in a huddle\nclose behind us for protection. I left my men drawn up together, and\ncharged them to hurt nobody, but if possible to get at some of our\npeople, and see what devil it was possessed them, and what they intended\nto do; and in a word to command them off, assuring them that if they\nstaid till daylight they would have a hundred thousand men about their\nears: I say, I left them and went among those flying people, taking only\ntwo of our men with me; and there was indeed a piteous spectacle among\nthem: some of them had their feet terribly burnt with trampling and\nrunning through the fire, others their hands burnt; one of the women had\nfallen down in the fire, and was almost burnt to death before she could\nget out again; two or three of the men had cuts in their backs and\nthighs, from our men pursuing, and another was shot through the body,\nand died while I was there.\n\nI would fain have learnt what the occasion of all this was, but I could\nnot understand one word they said, though by signs I perceived that some\nof them knew not what was the occasion themselves. I was so terrified in\nmy thoughts at this outrageous attempt, that I could not stay there, but\nwent back to my own men: I told them my resolution, and commanded them\nto follow me, when in the very moment came four of our men, with the\nboatswain at their head, running over the heaps of bodies they had\nkilled, all covered with blood and dust, as if they wanted more people\nto massacre, when our men hallooed to them as loud as they could halloo,\nand with much ado one of them made them hear, so that they knew who we\nwere, and came up to us.\n\nAs soon as the boatswain saw us he set up a halloo, like a shout of\ntriumph, for having, as he thought, more help come; and without bearing\nto hear me, \"Captain,\" says he, \"noble captain, I am glad you are come;\nwe have not half done yet: villains! hell-hound dogs! I will kill as\nmany of them as poor Tom has hairs upon his head. We have sworn to spare\nnone of them; we will root out the very name of them from the earth.\"\nAnd thus he ran on, out of breath too with action, and would not give us\nleave to speak a word.\n\nAt last, raising my voice, that I might silence him a little, \"Barbarous\ndog!\" said I, \"what are you doing? I won't have one creature touched\nmore upon pain of death. I charge you upon your life to stop your hands,\nand stand still here, or you are a dead man this minute.\"\n\n\"Why, Sir,\" says he, \"do you know what you do, or what they have done?\nIf you want a reason for what we have done, come hither;\" and with that\nhe shewed me the poor fellow hanging upon a tree, with his throat cut.\n\nI confess I was urged then myself, and at another time should have been\nforward enough; but I thought they had carried their rage too far, and\nthought of Jacob's words to his sons Simeon and Levi, \"Cursed be their\nanger, for it was fierce; and their wrath, for it was cruel.\" But I had\nnow a new task upon my hands; for when the men I carried with me saw the\nsight as I had done, I had as much to do to restrain them, as I should\nhave had with the others; nay, my nephew himself fell in with them, and\ntold me in their hearing, that he was only concerned for fear of the men\nbeing overpowered; for, as to the people, he thought not one of them\nought to live; for they had all glutted themselves with the murder of\nthe poor man, and that they ought to be used like murderers. Upon these\nwords away ran eight of my men with the boatswain and his crew to\ncomplete their bloody work; and I, seeing it quite out of my power to\nrestrain them, came away pensive and sad, for I could not bear the\nsight, much less the horrible noise and cries of the poor wretches that\nfell into their hands.\n\nI got nobody to come back with me but the supercargo and two men, and\nwith these I walked back to the boats. It was a very great piece of\nfolly in me, I confess, to venture back as it were alone; for as it\nbegan now to be almost day, and the alarm had run over the country,\nthere stood about forty men armed with lances and bows at the little\nplace where the twelve or thirteen houses stood mentioned before, but by\naccident I missed the place, and came directly to the sea-side; and by\nthat time I got to the sea-side it was broad day: immediately I took the\npinnace and went aboard, and sent her back to assist the men in what\nmight happen.\n\nI observed that about the time I came to the boat-side the fire was\npretty well out, and the noise abated; but in about half an hour after I\ngot on board I heard a volley of our men's fire-arms, and saw a great\nsmoke; this, as I understood afterwards, was our men falling upon the\nforty men, who, as I said, stood at the few houses on the way; of whom\nthey killed sixteen or seventeen, and set all those houses on fire, but\ndid not meddle with the women or children.\n\nBy the time the men got to the shore again with the pinnace our men\nbegan to appear; they came dropping in some and some, not in two bodies,\nand in form, as they went out, but all in heaps, straggling here and\nthere in such a manner that a small force of resolute men might have cut\nthem all off.\n\nBut the dread of them was upon the whole country. The people were amazed\nand surprised, and so frighted that I believe a hundred of them would\nhave fled at the sight of but five of our men. Nor in all this terrible\naction was there a man who made any considerable defence; they were so\nsurprised between the terror of the fire, and the sudden attack of our\nmen in the dark, that they knew not which way to turn themselves; for if\nthey fled one way they were met by one party, if back again by another;\nso that they were every where knocked down. Nor did any of our men\nreceive the least hurt, except one who strained his foot, and another\nhad one of his hands very much burnt.\n\nI was very angry with my nephew the captain, and indeed with all the\nmen, in my mind, but with him in particular, as well for his acting so\nout of his duty, as commander of the ship, and having the charge of the\nvoyage upon him, as in his prompting rather than cooling the rage of his\nmen in so bloody and cruel an enterprise: my nephew answered me very\nrespectfully, but told me that when he saw the body of the poor seaman\nwhom they had murdered in such a cruel and barbarous manner, he was not\nmaster of himself, neither could he govern his passion; he owned he\nshould not have done so, as he was commander of the ship, but as he was\na man, and nature moved him, he could not bear it. As for the rest of\nthe men, they were not subject to me at all, and they knew it well\nenough, so they took no notice of my dislike.\n\nThe next day we set sail, so we never heard any more of it. Our men\ndiffered in the account of the number they killed; some said one thing,\nsome another; but according to the best of their accounts, put all\ntogether, they killed or destroyed about a hundred and fifty people,\nmen, women, and children, and left not a house standing in the town.\n\nAs for the poor fellow, Thomas Jeffrys, as he was quite dead, for his\nthroat was so cut that his head was half off, it would do him no service\nto bring him away; so they left him where they found him, only took him\ndown from the tree where he was hanged by one hand.\n\nHowever just our men thought this action to be, I was against them in\nit, and I always after that time told them God would blast the voyage;\nfor I looked upon the blood they shed that night to be murder in them:\nfor though it is true that they killed Thomas Jeffrys, yet it was as\ntrue that Jeffrys was the aggressor, had broken the truce, and had\nviolated or debauched a young woman of theirs, who came to our camp\ninnocently, and on the faith of their capitulation.\n\nThe boatswain defended this quarrel when we were afterwards on board. He\nsaid, it was true that we seemed to break the truce, but really had not,\nand that the war was begun the night before by the natives themselves,\nwho had shot at us, and killed one of our men without any just\nprovocation; so that as we were in a capacity to fight them, we might\nalso be in a capacity to do ourselves justice upon them in an\nextraordinary manner; that though the poor man had taken liberty with a\nwench, he ought not to have been murdered, and that in such a villanous\nmanner; and that they did nothing but what was just, and that the laws\nof God allowed to be done to murderers.\n\nOne would think this should have been enough to have warned us against\ngoing on shore among heathens and barbarians; but it is impossible to\nmake mankind wise but at their own experience; and their experience\nseems to be always of most use to them when it is dearest bought.\n\nWe were now bound to the Gulf of Persia, and from thence to the coast of\nCoromandel, only to touch at Surat; but the chief of the supercargo's\ndesign lay at the Bay of Bengal, where if he missed of the business\noutward-bound he was to go up to China, and return to the coast as he\ncame home.\n\nThe first disaster that befel us was in the Gulf of Persia, where five\nof our men venturing on shore on the Arabian side of the Gulf were\nsurrounded by the Arabs, and either all killed or carried away into\nslavery; the rest of the boat's crew were not able to rescue them, and\nhad but just time to get off their boat. I began to upbraid them with\nthe just retribution of Heaven in this case; but the boatswain very\nwarmly told me, he thought I went farther in my censures than I could\nshow any warrant for in Scripture, and referred to the thirteenth of St.\nLuke, ver. 4, where our Saviour intimates that those men on whom the\ntower of Siloam fell, were not sinners above all the Galileans; but that\nwhich indeed put me to silence in this case was, that none of these five\nmen who were now lost were of the number of those who went on shore to\nthe massacre of Madagascar (so I always called it, though our men could\nnot bear the word _massacre_ with any patience:) and indeed this last\ncircumstance, as I have said, put me to silence for the present.\n\nBut my frequent preaching to them on this subject had worse consequences\nthan I expected; and the boatswain, who had been the head of the\nattempt, came up boldly to me one time, and told me he found that I\ncontinually brought that affair upon the stage, that I made unjust\nreflections upon it, and had used the men very ill on that account, and\nhimself in particular; that as I was but a passenger, and had no command\nin the ship, or concern in the voyage, they were not obliged to bear it;\nthat they did not know but I might have some ill design in my head, and\nperhaps call them to an account for it when they came to England; and\nthat therefore, unless I would resolve to have done with it, and also\nnot to concern myself farther with him, or any of his affairs, he would\nleave the ship; for he did not think it was safe to sail with me\namong them.\n\nI heard him patiently enough till he had done, and then told him that I\ndid confess I had all along opposed the massacre of Madagascar, for such\nI would always call it; and that I had on all occasions spoken my mind\nfreely about it, though not more upon him than any of the rest; that as\nto my having no command in the ship, that was true, nor did I exercise\nany authority, only took the liberty of speaking my mind in things which\npublicly concerned us all: as to what concern I had in the voyage, that\nwas none of his business; I was a considerable owner of the ship, and in\nthat claim I conceived I had a right to speak, even farther than I had\nyet done, and would not be accountable to him or any one else; and began\nto be a little warm with him: he made but little reply to me at that\ntime, and I thought that affair had been over. We were at this time in\nthe road to Bengal; and being willing to see the place, I went on shore\nwith the supercargo, in the ship's boat, to divert myself; and towards\nevening was preparing to go on board, when one of the men came to me,\nand told me he would not have me trouble myself to come down to the\nboat, for they had orders not to carry me on board. Any one may guess\nwhat a surprise I was in at so insolent a message; and I asked the man\nwho bade him deliver that errand to me? He told me, the coxswain. I said\nno more to the fellow, but bid him let them know he had delivered his\nmessage, and that I had given him no answer to it.\n\nI immediately went and round out the supercargo, and told him the story,\nadding, what I presently foresaw, viz. that there would certainly be a\nmutiny in the ship; and entreated him to go immediately on board the\nship in an Indian boat, and acquaint the captain of it: but I might have\nspared this intelligence, for before I had spoken to him on shore the\nmatter was effected on board: the boatswain, the gunner, the carpenter,\nand, in a word, all the inferior officers, as soon as I was gone off in\nthe boat, came up to the quarter-deck, and desired to speak with the\ncaptain; and there the boatswain making a long harangue, (for the fellow\ntalked very well) and repeating all he had said to me, told the captain\nin a few words, that as I was now gone peaceably on shore, they were\nloath to use any violence with me; which if I had not gone on shore,\nthey would otherwise have done, to oblige me to have gone. They\ntherefore thought fit to tell him, that as they shipped themselves to\nserve in the ship under his command, they would perform it faithfully;\nbut if I would not quit the ship, or the captain oblige me to quit it,\nthey would all leave the ship, and sail no farther with him; and at that\nword All, he turned his face about towards the main-mast, which was, it\nseems, the signal agreed on between them, at which all the seamen being\ngot together, they cried out, \"One and All, One and All!\"\n\nMy nephew, the captain, was a man of spirit, and of great presence of\nmind; and though he was surprised, you may be sure, at the thing, yet he\ntold them calmly he would consider of the matter, but that he could do\nnothing in it till he had spoken to me about it: he used some arguments\nwith them, to shew them the unreasonableness and injustice of the thing,\nbut it was all in vain; they swore, and shook hands round, before his\nface, that they would go all on shore unless he would engage to them not\nto suffer me to come on board the ship.\n\nThis was a hard article upon him, who knew his obligation to me, and did\nnot know how I might take it; so he began to talk cavalierly to them;\ntold them that I was a very considerable owner of the ship, and that in\njustice he could not put me out of my own house; that this was next door\nto serving me as the famous pirate Kid had done, who made the mutiny in\nthe ship, set the captain on shore in an uninhabited island, and ran\naway with the ship; that let them go into what ship they would, if ever\nthey came to England again it would cost them dear; that the ship was\nmine, and that he would not put me out of it; and that he would rather\nlose the ship, and the voyage too, than disoblige me so much; so they\nmight do as they pleased. However, he would go on shore, and talk with\nme there, and invited the boatswain to go with him, and perhaps they\nmight accommodate the matter with me.\n\nBut they all rejected the proposal; and said, they would have nothing to\ndo with me any more, neither on board nor on shore; and if I came on\nboard, they would go on shore. \"Well,\" said the captain, \"if you are all\nof this mind, let me go on shore, and talk with him:\" so away he came to\nme with this account, a little after the message had been brought to me\nfrom the coxswain.\n\nI was very glad to see my nephew I must confess, for I was not without\napprehensions that they would confine him by violence, set sail, and run\naway with the ship; and then I had been stripped naked, in a remote\ncountry, and nothing to help myself: in short, I had been in a worse\ncase than when I was all alone in the island.\n\nBut they had not come to that length, it seems, to my great\nsatisfaction; and when my nephew told me what they had said to him, and\nhow they had sworn, and shook hands, that they would one and all leave\nthe ship, if I was suffered to come on board, I told him he should not\nbe concerned at it at all, for I would stay onshore; I only desired he\nwould take care and send me all my necessary things on shore, and leave\nme a sufficient sum of money, and I would find my way to England as well\nas I could.\n\nThis was a heavy piece of news to my nephew; but there was no way to\nhelp it, but to comply with it. So, in short, he went on board the ship\nagain, and satisfied the men that his uncle had yielded to their\nimportunity, and had sent for his goods from on board the ship. So the\nmatter was over in a very few hours; the men returned to their duty, and\nI begun to consider what course I should steer.\n\nI was now alone in the remotest part of the world, as I think I may call\nit, for I was near three thousand leagues, by sea, farther off from\nEngland than I was at my island; only, it is true, I might travel here\nby land, over the Great Mogul's country to Surat, might go from thence\nto Bassora by sea, up the Gulf of Persia, and from thence might take the\nway of the caravans, over the deserts of Arabia, to Aleppo and\nScanderoon, and from thence by sea again to Italy, and so overland into\nFrance; and this, put together, might be, at least, a full diameter of\nthe globe; but, if it were to be measured, I suppose it would appear to\nbe a great deal more.\n\nI had another way before me, which was to wait for some English ships,\nwhich were coming to Bengal, from Achin, on the island of Sumatra, and\nget passage on board them for England: but as I came hither without any\nconcern with the English East India Company, so it would be difficult to\ngo from hence without their licence, unless with great favour of the\ncaptains of the ships, or of the Company's factors; and to both I was an\nutter stranger.\n\nHere I had the particular pleasure, speaking by contrarieties, to see\nthe ship set sail without me; a treatment, I think, a man in my\ncircumstances scarce ever met with, except from pirates running away\nwith a ship, and setting those that would not agree with their villany\non shore: indeed this was the next door to it both ways. However, my\nnephew left me two servants, or rather, one companion and one servant:\nthe first was clerk to the purser, whom he engaged to go with me; and\nthe other was his own servant. I took me also a good lodging in the\nhouse of an English woman, where several merchants lodged, some French,\ntwo Italians, or rather Jews, and one Englishman. Here I was handsomely\nenough entertained; and that I might not be said to run rashly upon any\nthing, I stayed here above nine months, considering what course to take,\nand how to manage myself. I had some English goods with me of value, and\na considerable sum of money; my nephew furnishing me with a thousand\npieces of eight, and a letter of credit for more, if I had occasion,\nthat I might not be straitened, whatever might happen.\n\nI quickly disposed of my goods, and to advantage too; and, as I\noriginally intended, I bought here some very good diamonds, which, of\nall other things, was the most proper for me, in my circumstances,\nbecause I might always carry my whole estate about me.\n\nAfter a long stay here, and many proposals made for my return to\nEngland, but none falling to my mind, the English merchant, who lodged\nwith me, and with whom I had contracted an intimate acquaintance, came\nto me one morning: \"Countryman,\" says he, \"I have a project to\ncommunicate to you, which, as it suits with my thoughts, may, for aught\nI know, suit with yours also, when you shall have thoroughly\nconsidered it.\n\n\"Here we are posted,\" says he, \"you by accident, and I by my own choice,\nin a part of the world very remote from our own country; but it is in a\ncountry where, by us who understand trade and business, a great deal of\nmoney is to be got: if you will put a thousand pounds to my thousand\npounds, we will hire a ship here, the first we can get to our minds; you\nshall be captain, I'll be merchant, and we will go a trading voyage to\nChina; for what should we stand still for? The whole world is in motion,\nrolling round and round; all the creatures of God, heavenly bodies and\nearthly, are busy and vibrant: why should we be idle? There are no\ndrones,\" says he, \"living in the world but men: why should we be of\nthat number?\"\n\nI liked this proposal very well; and the more because it seemed to be\nexpressed with so much good will, and in so friendly a manner. I will\nnot say, but that I might, by my loose and unhinged circumstances, be\nthe fitter to embrace a proposal for trade, and indeed for any thing\nelse; or otherwise trade was none of my element; however, I might,\nperhaps, say with some truth, that if trade was not my element, rambling\nwas; and no proposal for seeing any part of the world, which I had never\nseen before, could possibly come amiss to me.\n\nIt was, however, some time before we could get a ship to our mind; and\nwhen we got a vessel, it was not easy to get English sailors; that is to\nsay, so many as were necessary to govern the voyage, and manage the\nsailors which we should pick up there. After some time we got a mate, a\nboatswain, and a gunner, English; a Dutch carpenter, and three\nPortuguese foremast-men: with these we found we could do well enough,\nhaving Indian seamen, such as they are, to make up.\n\nThere are so many travellers who have written the history of their\nvoyages and travels this way, that it would be but very little diversion\nto any body, to give a long account of the places we went to, and the\npeople who inhabit there: those things I leave to others, and refer the\nreader to those journals and travels of Englishmen, many of which, I\nfind, are published, and more promised every day. It is enough for me to\ntell you that we made the voyage to Achin, in the island of Sumatra,\nfirst; and from thence to Siam, where we exchanged some of our wares for\nopium, and for some arrack; the first a commodity which bears a great\nprice among the Chinese, and which, at that time, was very much wanted\nthere: in a word, we went up to Susham; made a very great voyage; were\neight months out; and returned to Bengal: and I was very well satisfied\nwith my adventure.\n\nI observe, that our people in England often admire how the officers,\nwhich the Company send into India, and the merchants which generally\nstay there, get such very good estates as they do, and sometimes come\nhome worth sixty, seventy, and a hundred thousand pounds at a time. But\nit is no wonder, or, at least, we shall see so much farther into it,\nwhen we consider the innumerable ports and places where they have a free\ncommerce, that it will then be no wonder; and much less will it be so,\nwhen we consider, that at all those places and ports where the English\nships come, there is so much, and such constant demand for the growth of\nall other countries, that there is a certain vent for the return, as\nwell as a market abroad for the goods carried out.\n\nIn short, we made a very good voyage, and I got so much money by the\nfirst adventure, and such an insight into the method of getting more,\nthat, had I been twenty years younger, I should have been tempted to\nhave stayed here, and sought no farther for making my fortune: but what\nwas all this to a man on the wrong side of threescore, that was rich\nenough, and came abroad more in obedience to a restless desire of seeing\nthe world, than a covetous desire of getting in it? And indeed I think\nit is with great justice that I now call it a restless desire, for it\nwas so: when I was at home, I was restless to go abroad; and now I was\nabroad, I was restless to be at home. I say, what was this gain to me? I\nwas rich enough already; nor had I any uneasy desires about getting more\nmoney; and therefore, the profits of the voyage to me were things of no\ngreat force to me, for the prompting me forward to farther undertakings:\nhence I thought, that by this voyage I had made no progress at all;\nbecause I was come back, as I might call it, to the place from whence I\ncame, as to a home; whereas my eye, which, like that which Solomon\nspeaks of, was never satisfied with seeing, was still more desirous of\nwandering and seeing. I was come into a part of the world which I never\nwas in before; and that part in particular which I had heard much of;\nand was resolved to see as much of it as I could; and then I thought I\nmight say I had seen all the world that was worth seeing.\n\nBut my fellow-traveller and I had different notions: I do not name this\nto insist upon my own, for I acknowledge his was most just, and the most\nsuited to the end of a merchant's life; who, when he is abroad upon\nadventures, it is his wisdom to stick to that, as the best thing for\nhim, which he is like to get the most money by. My new friend kept\nhimself to the nature of the thing, and would have been content to have\ngone, like a carrier's horse, always to the same inn, backward and\nforward, provided he could, as he called it, find his account in it: on\nthe other hand, mine, as old as I was, was the notion of a mad rambling\nboy, that never cares to see a thing twice over.\n\nBut this was not all: I had a kind of impatience upon me to be nearer\nhome, and yet the most unsettled resolution imaginable, which way to go.\nIn the interval of these consultations, my friend, who was always upon\nthe search for business, proposed another voyage to me, viz. among the\nSpice Islands; and to bring home a load of cloves from the Manillas, or\nthereabouts; places where, indeed, the Dutch do trade, but the islands\nbelong partly to the Spaniards; though we went not so far, but to some\nother, where they have not the whole power as they have at Batavia,\nCeylon, &c. We were not long in preparing for this voyage; the chief\ndifficulty was in bringing me to come into it; however, at last, nothing\nelse offering, and finding that really stirring about and trading, the\nprofit being so great, and, as I may say, certain, had more pleasure in\nit, and more satisfaction to the mind, than sitting still; which, to me\nespecially, was the unhappiest part of life, I resolved on this voyage\ntoo: which we made very successfully, touching at Borneo, and several\nislands, whose names I do not remember, and came home in about five\nmonths. We sold our spice, which was chiefly cloves, and some nutmegs,\nto the Persian merchants, who carried them away for the Gulf; and,\nmaking near five of one, we really got a great deal of money.\n\nMy friend, when we made up this account, smiled at me: \"Well now,\" said\nhe, with a sort of an agreeable insult upon my indolent temper, \"is not\nthis better than walking about here, like a man of nothing to do, and\nspending our time in staring at the nonsense and ignorace of the\nPagans?\"--\"Why truly,\" said I, \"my friend, I think it is; and I begin to\nbe a convert to the principles of merchandising. But I must tell you,\"\nsaid I, \"by the way, you do not know what I am doing; for if once I\nconquer my backwardness, and embark heartily, as old as I am, I shall\nharass you up and down the world till I tire you; for I shall pursue it\nso eagerly, I shall never let you lie still.\"\n\nBut to be short with my speculations: a little while after this there\ncame in a Dutch ship from Batavia; she was a coaster, not an European\ntrader, and of about two hundred tons burden: the men, as they\npretended, having been so sickly, that the captain had not men enough to\ngo to sea with, he lay by at Bengal; and, as if having got money enough,\nor being willing, for other reasons, to go for Europe, he gave public\nnotice, that he would sell his ship; this came to my ears before my new\npartner heard of it; and I had a great mind to buy it. So I went home to\nhim, and told him of it: he considered awhile, for he was no rash man\nneither; but musing some time, he replied, \"She is a little too big;\nbut, however, we will have her.\" Accordingly we bought the ship; and,\nagreeing with the master, we paid for her, and took possession; when we\nhad done so, we resolved to entertain the men, if we could, to join them\nwith those we had, for the pursuing our business; but on a sudden, they\nnot having received their wages, but their share of the money, as we\nafterwards learnt, not one of them was to be found. We inquired much\nabout them, and at length were told, that they were all gone together,\nby land, to Agra, the great city of the Mogul's residence; and from\nthence were to travel to Surat, and so by sea to the Gulf of Persia.\n\nNothing had so heartily troubled me a good while, as that I missed the\nopportunity of going with them; for such a ramble, I thought, and in\nsuch company as would both have guarded me and diverted me, would have\nsuited mightily with my great design; and I should both have seen the\nworld, and gone homewards too; but I was much better satisfied a few\ndays after, when I came to know what sort of fellows they were; for, in\nshort, their history was, that this man they called captain was the\ngunner only, not the commander; that they had been a trading voyage, in\nwhich they were attacked on shore by some of the Malaccans, who had\nkilled the captain and three of his men; and that after the captain was\nkilled, these men, eleven in number, had resolved to run away with the\nship, which they did; and had brought her in at the Bay of Bengal,\nleaving the mate and five men more on shore; of whom we shall\nhear farther.\n\nWell; let them come by the ship how they would, we came honestly by her,\nas we thought; though we did not, I confess, examine into things so\nexactly as we ought; for we never inquired any thing of the seamen, who,\nif we had examined, would certainly have faltered in their accounts,\ncontradicted one another, and perhaps have contradicted themselves; or,\none how or other, we should have seen reason to have suspected them: but\nthe man shewed us a bill of sale for the ship, to one Emanuel\nClostershoven, or some such name, (for I suppose it was all a forgery)\nand called himself by that name; and we could not contradict him; and\nbeing withal a little too unwary, or at least having no suspicion of the\nthing, we went through with our bargain.\n\nHowever, we picked up some English seamen here after this, and some\nDutch; and we now resolved for a second voyage to the south-east, for\ncloves, &c. that is to say, among the Philippine and Malacca isles; and,\nin short, not to fill this part of my story with trifles, when what is\nyet to come is so remarkable, I spent, from first to last, six years in\nthis country, trading from port to port, backward and forward, and with\nvery good success; and was now the last year with my partner, going in\nthe ship above-mentioned, on a voyage to China; but designing first to\ngo to Siam, to buy rice.\n\nIn this voyage, being by contrary winds obliged to beat up and down a\ngreat while in the Straits of Malacca, and among the islands, we were no\nsooner got clear of those difficult seas, but we found our ship had\nsprung a leak, and we were not able, by all our industry, to find out\nwhere it was. This forced us to make for some port; and my partner, who\nknew the country better than I did, directed the captain to put into the\nriver of Cambodia; for I had made the English mate, one Mr. Thompson,\ncaptain, not being willing to take the charge of the ship upon myself.\nThis river lies on the north side of the great bay or gulf which goes\nup to Siam.\n\nWhile we were here, and going often on shore for refreshment, there\ncomes to me one day an Englishman, and he was, it seems, a gunner's mate\non board an English East India ship, which rode in the same river, up at\nor near the city of Cambodia: what brought him hither we knew not; but\nhe comes up to me, and, speaking English, \"Sir,\" says he, \"you are a\nstranger to me, and I to you; but I have something to tell you, that\nvery nearly concerns you.\"\n\nI looked stedfastly at him a good while, and he thought at first I had\nknown him, but I did not. \"If it very nearly concerns me,\" said I, \"and\nnot yourself, what moves you to tell it me?\"--\"I am moved,\" says he, \"by\nthe imminent danger you are in; and, for aught I see, you have no\nknowledge of it.\"--\"I know no danger I am in,\" said I, \"but that my ship\nis leaky, and I cannot find it out; but I propose to lay her aground\nto-morrow, to see if I can find it.\"--\"But, Sir,\" says he, \"leaky or not\nleaky, find it or not find it, you will be wiser than to lay your ship\non shore to-morrow, when you hear what I have to say to you. Do you\nknow, Sir,\" said he, \"the town of Cambodia lies about fifteen leagues up\nthis river? And there are two large English ships about five leagues on\nthis side, and three Dutch.\"--\"Well,\" said I, \"and what is that to\nme?\"--\"Why, Sir,\" says he, \"is it for a man that is upon such adventures\nas you are, to come into a port, and not examine first what ships there\nare there, and whether he is able to deal with them? I suppose you do\nnot think you are a match for them?\" I was amused very much at his\ndiscourse, but not amazed at it; for I could not conceive what he meant;\nand I turned short upon him, and said, \"Sir, I wish you would explain\nyourself; I cannot imagine what reason I have to be afraid of any of the\nCompany's ships, or Dutch ships; I am no interloper; what can they have\nto say to me?\"\n\nHe looked like a man half angry, half pleased; and pausing awhile, but\nsmiling, \"Well, Sir,\" says he, \"if you think yourself secure, you must\ntake your chance; I am sorry your fate should blind you against good\nadvice; but assure yourself if you do not put to sea immediately, you\nwill the very next tide be attacked by five long-boats full of men; and,\nperhaps, if you are taken, you will be hanged for a pirate, and the\nparticulars be examined into afterwards. I thought, Sir,\" added he, \"I\nshould have met with a better reception than this, for doing you a piece\nof service of such importance.\"--\"I can never be ungrateful,\" said I,\n\"for any service, or to any man that offers me any kindness; but it is\npast my comprehension,\" said I, \"what they should have such a design\nupon me for; however, since you say there is no time to be lost, and\nthat there is some villanous design in hand against me, I will go on\nboard this minute, and put to sea immediately, if my men can stop the\nleak, or if we can swim without stopping it: but, Sir,\" said I, \"shall I\ngo away ignorant of the reason of all this? Can you give me no farther\nlight into it?\"\n\n\"I can tell you but part of the story, Sir,\" says he; \"but I have a\nDutch seaman here with me, and, I believe, I could persuade him to tell\nyou the rest; but there is scarce time for it: but the short of the\nstory is this, the first part of which, I suppose, you know well enough,\nviz. that you were with this ship at Sumatra; that there your captain\nwas murdered by the Malaccans, with three of his men; and that you, or\nsome of those that were on board with you, ran away with the ship, and\nare since turned pirates. This is the sum of the story, and you will all\nbe seized as pirates, I can assure you, and executed with very little\nceremony; for you know merchant-ships shew but little law to pirates, if\nthey get them in their power.\"\n\n\"Now you speak plain English,\" said I, \"and I thank you; and though I\nknow nothing that we have done, like what you talk of, but I am sure we\ncame honestly and fairly by the ship; yet seeing such work is a-doing,\nas you say, and that you seem to mean honestly, I will be upon my\nguard.\"--\"Nay, Sir,\" says he, \"do not talk of being upon your guard; the\nbest defence is to be out of the danger: if you have any regard to your\nlife, and the lives of all your men, put out to sea without fail at\nhigh-water; and as you have a whole tide before you, you will be gone\ntoo far out before they can come down; for they will come away at high\nwater; and as they have twenty miles to come, you'll get near two hours\nof them by the difference of the tide, not reckoning the length of the\nway: besides, as they are only boats, and not ships, they will not\nventure to follow you far out to sea, especially if it blows.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"you have been very kind in this: what shall I do for\nyou to make you amends?\"--\"Sir,\" says he, \"you may not be so willing to\nmake me amends, because you may not be convinced of the truth of it: I\nwill make an offer to you; I have nineteen months pay due to me on board\nthe ship ----, which I came out of England in; and the Dutchman, that is\nwith me, has seven months pay due to him; if you will make good our pay\nto us, we will go along with you: if you find nothing more in it, we\nwill desire no more; but if we do convince you, that we have saved your\nlife, and the ship, and the lives of all the men in her, we will leave\nthe rest to you.\"\n\nI consented to this readily; and went immediately on board, and the two\nmen with me. As soon as I came to the ship's side, my partner, who was\non board, came on the quarter-deck, and called to me with a great deal\nof joy, \"O ho! O ho! we have stopped the leak!\"--\"Say you so?\" said I;\n\"thank God; but weigh the anchor then immediately.\"--\"Weigh!\" says he;\n\"what do you mean by that? What is the matter?\" says he. \"Ask no\nquestions,\" said I, \"but all hands to work, and weigh without losing a\nminute.\" He was surprised: but, however, he called the captain, and he\nimmediately ordered the anchor to be got up; and though the tide was not\nquite done, yet a little land breeze blowing, we stood out to sea; then\nI called him into the cabin, and told him the story at large; and we\ncalled in the men, and they told us the rest of it: but as it took us up\na great deal of time, so before we had done, a seaman comes to the cabin\ndoor, and calls out to us, that the captain made him tell us, we were\nchased. \"Chased!\" said I; \"by whom, and by what?\"--\"By five sloops, or\nboats,\" said the fellow, \"full of men.\"--\"Very well,\" said I; \"then it\nis apparent there is something in it.\" In the next place, I ordered all\nour men to be called up; and told them, that there was a design to seize\nthe ship, and to take us for pirates; and asked them, if they would\nstand by us, and by one another? The men answered, cheerfully, one and\nall, that they would live and die with us. Then I asked the captain,\nwhat way he thought best for us to manage a fight with them; for resist\nthem I resolved we would, and that to the last drop. He said, readily,\nthat the way was to keep them off with our great shot, as long as we\ncould, and then to fire at them with our small arms, to keep them from\nboarding us; but when neither of these would do any longer, we should\nretire to our close quarters; perhaps they had not materials to break\nopen our bulk-heads, or get in upon us.\n\nThe gunner had, in the mean time, orders to bring two guns to bear fore\nand aft, out of the steerage, to clear the deck, and load them with\nmusket-bullets and small pieces of old iron, and what next came to hand;\nand thus we made ready for fight; but all this while kept out to sea,\nwith wind enough, and could see the boats at a distance, being five\nlarge long-boats following us, with all the sail they could make.\n\nTwo of these boats, which, by our glasses, we could see were English,\nhad outsailed the rest, were near two leagues a head of them, and gained\nupon us considerably; so that we found they would come up with us: upon\nwhich we fired a gun without a shot, to intimate that they should bring\nto; and we put out a flag of truce, as a signal for parley; but they\nkept crowding after us, till they came within shot: upon this we took in\nour white flag, they having made no answer to it; hung out the red flag,\nand fired at them with shot; notwithstanding this, they came on till\nthey were near enough to call to them with a speaking, trumpet, which we\nhad on board; so we called to them, and bade them keep off at\ntheir peril.\n\nIt was all one, they crowded after us, and endeavoured to come under\nour stern, so to board us on our quarter: upon which, seeing they were\nresolute for mischief, and depended upon the strength that followed\nthem, I ordered to bring the ship to, so that they lay upon our\nbroadside, when immediately we fired five guns at them; one of them had\nbeen levelled so true, as to carry away the stern of the hindermost\nboat, and bring them to the necessity of taking down their sail, and\nrunning all to the head of the boat to keep her from sinking; so she lay\nby, and had enough of it; but seeing the foremost boat still crowd on\nafter us, we made ready to fire at her in particular.\n\nWhile this was doing, one of the three boats that was behind, being\nforwarder than the other two, made up to the boat which we had disabled,\nto relieve her, and we could afterwards see her take out the men: we\ncalled again to the foremost boat, and offered a truce to parley again,\nand to know what was her business with us; but had no answer: only she\ncrowded close under our stern. Upon this our gunner, who was a very\ndexterous fellow, run out his two chase-guns, and fired at her; but the\nshot missing, the men in the boat shouted, waved their caps, and came\non; but the gunner, getting quickly ready again, fired among them a\nsecond time; one shot of which, though it missed the boat itself, yet\nfell in among the men, and we could easily see had done a great deal of\nmischief among them; but we, taking no notice of that, weared the ship\nagain, and brought our quarter to bear upon them; and, firing three guns\nmore, we found the boat was split almost to pieces; in particular, her\nrudder, and a piece of her stern, were shot quite away; so they handed\ntheir sail immediately, and were in great disorder; but, to complete\ntheir misfortune, our gunner let fly two guns at them again; where he\nhit them we could not tell, but we found the boat was sinking, and some\nof the men already in the water. Upon this I immediately manned out our\npinnace, which we had kept close by our side, with orders to pick up\nsome of the men, if they could, and save them from drowning, and\nimmediately to come on board with them; because we saw the rest of the\nboats began to come up. Our men in the pinnace followed their orders,\nand took up three men; one of which was just drowning, and it was a good\nwhile before we could recover him. As soon as they were on board, we\ncrowded all the sail we could make, and stood farther out to sea; and we\nfound, that when the other three boats came up to the first two, they\ngave over their chase.\n\nBeing thus delivered from a danger, which though I knew not the reason\nof it, yet seemed to be much greater than I apprehended, I took care\nthat we should change our course, and not let any one imagine whither we\nwere going; so we stood out to sea eastward, quite out of the course of\nall European ships, whether they were bound to China, or any where else\nwithin the commerce of the European nations.\n\nWhen we were now at sea, we began to consult with the two seamen, and\ninquire first, what the meaning of all this should be? The Dutchman let\nus into the secret of it at once; telling us, that the fellow that sold\nus the ship, as we said, was no more than a thief that had run away with\nher. Then he told us how the captain, whose name too he mentioned,\nthough I do not remember it now, was treacherously murdered by the\nnatives on the coast of Malacca, with three of his men; and that he,\nthis Dutchman, and four more, got into the woods, where they wandered\nabout a great while; till at length he, in particular, in a miraculous\nmanner, made his escape, and swam off to a Dutch ship, which sailing\nnear the shore, in its way from China, had sent their boat on shore for\nfresh water; that he durst not come to that part of the shore where the\nboat was, but made shift in the night to take in the water farther off,\nand swimming a great while, at last the ship's boat took him up.\n\nHe then told us, that he went to Batavia, where two of the seamen\nbelonging to the ship had arrived, having deserted the rest in their\ntravels; and gave an account, that the fellow who had run away with the\nship, sold her at Bengal to a set of pirates, which were gone a-cruising\nin her; and that they had already taken an English ship, and two Dutch\nships, very richly laden.\n\nThis latter part we found to concern us directly; and though we knew it\nto be false, yet, as my partner said very well, if we had fallen into\ntheir hands, and they had such a prepossession against us beforehand, it\nhad been in vain for us to have defended ourselves, or to hope for any\ngood quarters at their hands; especially considering that our accusers\nhad been our judges, and that we could have expected nothing from them\nbut what rage would have dictated, and ungoverned passion have executed;\nand therefore it was his opinion, we should go directly back to Bengal,\nfrom whence we came, without putting in at any port whatever; because\nthere we could give an account of ourselves, and could prove where we\nwere when the ship put in, whom we bought her of, and the like; and,\nwhich was more than all the rest, if we were put to the necessity of\nbringing it before the proper judges, we should be sure to have some\njustice; and not be hanged first, and judged afterwards.\n\nI was some time of my partner's opinion; but after a little more serious\nthinking, I told him, I thought it was a very great hazard for us to\nattempt returning to Bengal, for that we were on the wrong side of the\nStraits of Malacca; and that if the alarm was given, we should be sure\nto be waylaid on every side, as well by the Dutch of Batavia, as the\nEnglish elsewhere; that if we should be taken, as it were, running away,\nwe should even condemn ourselves, and there would want no more evidence\nto destroy us. I also asked the English sailor's opinion, who said, he\nwas of my mind, and that we should certainly be taken.\n\nThis danger a little startled my partner, and all the ship's company;\nand we immediately resolved to go away to the coast of Tonquin, and so\non to China; and from thence pursuing the first design, as to trade,\nfind some way or other to dispose of the ship, and come back in some of\nthe vessels of the country, such as we could get. This was approved of\nas the best method for our security; and accordingly we steered away\nN.N.E. keeping above fifty leagues off from the usual course to\nthe eastward.\n\nThis, however, put us to some inconvenience; for first the winds when we\ncame to that distance from the shore, seemed to be more steadily against\nus, blowing almost trade as we call it, from the E. and E.N.E.; so that\nwe were a long while upon our voyage, and we were but ill provided with\nvictuals for so long a run; and, which was still worse, there was some\ndanger that those English and Dutch ships, whose boats pursued us,\nwhereof some were bound that way, might be got in before us; and if not,\nsome other ship bound to China might have information of us from them,\nand pursue us with the same vigour.\n\nI must confess I was now very uneasy, and thought myself, including the\nlast escape from the long boats, to have been in the most dangerous\ncondition that ever I was in through all my past life; for whatever ill\ncircumstances I had been in, I was never pursued for a thief before; nor\nhad I ever done any thing that merited the name of dishonest or\nfraudulent, much less thievish. I had chiefly been mine own enemy; or,\nas I may rightly say, I had been nobody's enemy but my own. But now I\nwas embarrassed in the worst condition imaginable; for though I was\nperfectly innocent, I was in no condition to make that innocence appear:\nand if I had been taken, it had been under a supposed guilt of the worst\nkind; at least a crime esteemed so among the people I had to do with.\n\nThis made me very anxious to make an escape, though which way to do it I\nknew not; or what port or place we should go to. My partner, seeing me\nthus dejected, though he was the most concerned at first, began to\nencourage me; and describing to me the several ports of the coast, told\nme, he would put in on the coast of Cochinchina, or the bay of Tonquin;\nintending to go afterwards to Macao, a town once in the possession or\nthe Portuguese, and where still a great many European families resided,\nand particularly the missionary priests usually went thither, in order\nto their going forward to China.\n\nHither we then resolved to go; and accordingly, though after a tedious\nand irregular course, and very much straitened for provisions, we came\nwithin sight of the coast very early in the morning; and upon reflection\nupon the past circumstances we were in, and the danger, if we had not\nescaped, we resolved to put into a small river, which, however, had\ndepth enough of water for us, and to see if we could, either overland or\nby the ship's pinnace, come to know what ships were in any port\nthereabouts. This happy step was, indeed, our deliverance; for though we\ndid not immediately see any European ships in the bay of Tonquin, yet\nthe next morning there came into the bay two Dutch ships; and a third\nwithout any colours; spread out, but which we believed to be a Dutchman,\npassed by at about two leagues distance, steering for the coast of\nChina; and in the afternoon went by two English ships, steering the same\ncourse; and thus we thought we saw ourselves beset with enemies, both\none way and the other. The place we were in was wild and barbarous, the\npeople thieves, even by occupation or profession; and though, it is\ntrue, we had not much to seek of them, and except getting a few\nprovisions, cared not how little we had to do with them; yet it was with\nmuch difficulty that we kept ourselves from being insulted by them\nseveral ways.\n\nWe were in a small river of this country, within a few leagues of its\nutmost limits northward, and by our boat we coasted north-east to the\npoint of land which opens to the great bay of Tonquin: and it was in\nthis beating up along the shore that we discovered as above, that, in a\nword, we were surrounded with enemies. The people we were among were the\nmost barbarous of all the inhabitants of the coast; having no\ncorrespondence with any other nation, and dealing only in fish and oil,\nand such gross commodities; and it may be particularly seen that they\nare, as I said, the most barbarous of any of the inhabitants, viz. that\namong other customs they have this one, that if any vessel had the\nmisfortune to be shipwrecked upon their coast, they presently make the\nmen all prisoners; that is to say, slaves; and it was not long before we\nfound a spice of their kindness this way, on the occasion following:\n\nI have observed above that our ship sprung a leak at sea, and that we\ncould not find it out: and however it happened, that, as I have said, it\nwas stopped unexpectedly, in the happy minute of our being to be seized\nby the Dutch and English ships, near the bay of Siam; yet, as we did not\nfind the ship so perfectly tight and sound as we desired, we resolved,\nwhile we were in this place, to lay her on shore, take out what heavy\nthings we had on board, which were not many, and to wash and clean her\nbottom, and if possible to find out where the leaks were.\n\nAccordingly, having lightened the ship, and brought all our guns, and\nother moveable things, to one side, we tried to bring her down, that we\nmight come at her bottom; for, on second thoughts, we did not care to\nlay her dry aground, neither could we find out a proper place for it.\n\nThe inhabitants, who had never been acquainted with such a sight, came\nwondering down to the shore to look at us; and seeing the ship lie down\non one side in such a manner, and heeling towards the shore, and not\nseeing our men, who were at work on her bottom with stages, and with\ntheir boats, on the off side, they presently concluded that the ship was\ncast away, and lay so very fast on the ground.\n\nOn this supposition they came all about us in two or three hours time,\nwith ten or twelve large boats, having some of them eight, some ten men\nin a boat, intending, no doubt, to have come on board and plunder the\nship; and if they had found us there, to have carried us away for\nslaves to their king, or whatever they call him, for we knew not who was\ntheir governor.\n\nWhen they came up to the ship, and began to row round her, they\ndiscovered us all hard at work, on the outside of the ship's bottom and\nside, washing, and graving, and stopping, as every seafaring man\nknows how.\n\nThey stood for awhile gazing at us, and we, who were a little surprised,\ncould not imagine what their design was; but being willing to be sure,\nwe took this opportunity to get some of us into the ship, and others to\nhand down arms and ammunition to those that were at work to defend\nthemselves with, if there should be occasion; and it was no more than\nneed; for in less than a quarter of an hour's consultation, they agreed,\nit seems, that the ship was really a wreck; that we were all at work\nendeavouring to save her, or to save our lives by the help of our boats;\nand when we handed our arms into the boats, they concluded by that\nmotion that we were endeavouring to save some of our goods. Upon this\nthey took it for granted they all belonged to them, and away they came\ndirectly upon our men, as if it had been in a line of battle.\n\nOur men seeing so many of them began to be frighted, for we lay but in\nan ill posture to fight, and cried out to us to know what they should\ndo? I immediately called to the men who worked upon the stages, to slip\nthem down and get up the side into the ship, and bade those in the boat\nto row round and come on board; and those few of us who were on board\nworked with all the strength and hands we had to bring the ship to\nrights; but, however, neither the men upon the stage, nor those in the\nboats, could do as they were ordered, before the Cochinchinese were upon\nthem, and with two of their boats boarded our long-boat, and began to\nlay hold of the men as their prisoners.\n\nThe first man they laid hold of was an English seaman, a stout, strong\nfellow, who having a musket in his hand, never offered to fire it, but\nlaid it down in the boat, like a fool as I thought. But he understood\nhis business better than I could teach him; for he grappled the Pagan,\nand dragged him by main force out of their own boat into ours; where\ntaking him by the two ears, he beat his head so against the boat's\ngunnel, that the fellow died instantly in his hands; and in the mean\ntime a Dutchman, who stood next, took up the musket, and with the\nbut-end of it so laid about him, that he knocked down five of them who\nattempted to enter the boat. But this was little towards resisting\nthirty or forty men, who fearless, because ignorant of their danger,\nbegan to throw themselves into the long-boat, where we had but five men\nto defend it. But one accident gave our men a complete victory, which\ndeserved our laughter rather than any thing else, and that was this:--\n\nOur carpenter being prepared to grave the outside of the ship, as well\nas to pay the seams where he had caulked her to stop the leaks, had got\ntwo kettles just let down into the boat; one filled with boiling pitch,\nand the other with rosin, tallow, and oil, and such stuff as the\nshipwrights used for that work; and the man that tended the carpenter\nhad a great iron ladle in his hand, with which he supplied the men that\nwere at work with that hot stuff: two of the enemy's men entered the\nboat just where this fellow stood, being in the fore-sheets; he\nimmediately sainted them with a ladleful of the stuff, boiling hot,\nwhich so burnt and scalded them, being half naked, that they roared out\nlike two bulls, and, enraged with the fire, leaped both into the sea.\nThe carpenter saw it, and cried out, \"Well done, Jack, give them some\nmore of it;\" when stepping forward himself, he takes one of their mops,\nand dipping it in the pitch-pot, he and his man threw it among them so\nplentifully, that, in short, of all the men in three boats, there was\nnot one that was not scalded and burnt with it in a most frightful,\npitiful manner, and made such a howling and crying, that I never heard a\nworse noise, and, indeed, nothing like it; for it was worth observing,\nthat though pain naturally makes all people cry out, yet every nation\nhave a particular way of exclamation, and make noises as different from\none another as their speech. I cannot give the noise these creatures\nmade a better name than howling, nor a name more proper to the tone of\nit; for I never heard any thing more like the noise of the wolves,\nwhich, as I have said, I heard howl in the forest on the frontiers of\nLanguedoc.\n\nI was never pleased with a victory better in my life; not only as it was\na perfect surprise to me, and that our danger was imminent before; but\nas we got this victory without any bloodshed, except of that man the\nfellow killed with his naked hands, and which I was very much concerned\nat; for I was sick of killing such poor savage wretches, even though it\nwas in my own defence, knowing they came on errands which they thought\njust, and knew no better; and that though it may be a just thing,\nbecause necessary, for there is no necessary wickedness in nature; yet I\nthought it was a sad life, when we must be always obliged to be killing\nour fellow-creatures to preserve ourselves; and, indeed, I think so\nstill; and I would, even now, suffer a great deal, rather than I would\ntake away the life even of the worst person injuring me. I believe also,\nall considering people, who know the value of life, would be of my\nopinion, if they entered seriously into the consideration of it.\n\nBut to return to my story. All the while this was doing, my partner and\nI, who managed the rest of the men on board, had, with great dexterity,\nbrought the ship almost to rights; and, having gotten the guns into\ntheir places again, the gunner called to me to bid our boat get out of\nthe way, for he would let fly among them. I called back again to him,\nand bid him not offer to fire, for the carpenter would do the work\nwithout him; but bade him heat another pitch-kettle, which our cook, who\nwas on board, took care of. But the enemy was so terrified with what\nthey met with in their first attack, that they would not come on again;\nand some of them that were farthest off, seeing the ship swim, as it\nwere, upright, began, as we supposed, to see their mistake, and gave\nover the enterprise, finding it was not as they expected. Thus we got\nclear of this merry fight; and having gotten some rice, and some roots\nand bread, with about sixteen good big hogs on board two days before, we\nresolved to stay here no longer, but go forward, whatever came of it;\nfor we made no doubt but we should be surrounded the next day with\nrogues enough, perhaps more than our pitch-kettle would dispose of\nfor us.\n\nWe therefore got all our things on board the same evening, and the next\nmorning were ready to sail. In the meantime, lying at an anchor some\ndistance from the shore, we were not so much concerned, being now in a\nlighting posture, as well as in a sailing posture, if any enemy had\npresented. The next day, having finished our work within board, and\nfinding our ship was perfectly healed of all her leaks, we set sail. We\nwould have gone into the bay of Tonquin, for we wanted to inform\nourselves of what was to be known concerning the Dutch ships that had\nbeen there; but we durst not stand in there, because we had seen several\nships go in, as we supposed, but a little before; so we kept on N.E.\ntowards the isle of Formosa, as much afraid of being seen by a Dutch or\nEnglish merchant-ship, as a Dutch or English merchant-ship in the\nMediterranean is of an Algerine man of war.\n\nWhen we were thus got to sea, we kept on N.E. as if we would go to the\nManillas or the Philippine islands, and this we did, that we might not\nfall into the way of any of the European ships; and then we steered\nnorth again, till we came to the latitude of 22 degrees 20 minutes, by\nwhich means we made the island of Formosa directly, where we came to an\nanchor, in order to get water and fresh provisions, which the people\nthere, who are very courteous and civil in their manners, supplied us\nwith willingly, and dealt very fairly and punctually with us in all\ntheir agreements and bargains, which is what we did not find among\nother people, and may be owing to the remains of Christianity, which was\nonce planted here by a Dutch mission of Protestants, and is a testimony\nof what I have often observed, viz. that the Christian religion always\ncivilizes the people and reforms their manners, where it is received,\nwhether it works saving effects upon them or not.\n\nFrom hence we sailed still north, keeping the coast of China at an equal\ndistance, till we knew we were beyond all the ports of China where our\nEuropean ships usually come: but being resolved, if possible, not to\nfall into any of their hands, especially in this country, where, as our\ncircumstances were, we could not fail of being entirely ruined; nay, so\ngreat was my fear in particular, as to my being taken by them, that I\nbelieve firmly I would much rather have chosen to fall into the hands of\nthe Spanish Inquisition.\n\nBeing now come to the latitude of 30 degrees, we resolved to put into\nthe first trading port we should come at, and standing in for the shore,\na boat came off two leagues to us, with an old Portuguese pilot on\nboard, who, knowing us to be an European ship, came to offer his\nservice, which indeed we were very glad of, and took him on board; upon\nwhich, without asking us whither we would go, he dismissed the boat he\ncame in, and sent it back.\n\nI thought it was now so much in our choice to make the old man carry us\nwhither we would, that I began to talk with him about carrying us to the\ngulf of Nanquin, which is the most northern part of the coast of China.\nThe old man said he knew the gulf of Nanquin very well; but smiling,\nasked us what we would do there?\n\nI told him we would sell our cargo, and purchase China wares, calicoes,\nraw silks, tea, wrought silks, &c. and so would return by the same\ncourse we came. He told us our best port had been to have put in at\nMacao, where we could not fail of a market for our opium to our\nsatisfaction, and might, for our money, have purchased all sorts of\nChina goods as cheap as we could at Nanquin.\n\nNot being able to put the old man out of his talk, of which he was very\nopinionated, or conceited, I told him we were gentlemen as well as\nmerchants, and that we had a mind to go and see the great city of Pekin,\nand the famous court of the monarch of China. \"Why then,\" says the old\nman, \"you should go to Ningpo, where, by the river that runs into the\nsea there, you may go up within five leagues of the great canal. This\ncanal is a navigable made stream, which goes through the heart of all\nthat vast empire of China, crosses all the rivers, passes some\nconsiderable hills by the help of sluices and gates, and goes up to the\ncity of Pekin, being in length near two hundred and seventy leagues.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"Seignior Portuguese, but that is not our business now;\nthe great question is, if you can carry us up to the city of Nanquin,\nfrom whence we can travel to Pekin afterwards?\" Yes, he said, he could\ndo so very well, and there was a great Dutch ship gone up that way just\nbefore. This gave me a little shock; a Dutch ship was now our terror,\nand we had much rather have met the devil, at least if he had not come\nin too frightful a figure; we depended upon it that a Dutch ship would\nbe our destruction, for we were in no condition to fight them; all the\nships they trade with in those parts being of great burden, and of much\ngreater force than we were.\n\nThe old man found me a little confused, and under some concern, when he\nnamed a Dutch ship: and said to me, \"Sir, you need be under no\napprehension of the Dutch; I suppose they are not now at war with your\nnation.\"--\"No,\" said I, \"that's true; but I know not what liberties men\nmay take when they are out of the reach of the laws of their\ncountry.\"--\"Why,\" said he, \"you are no pirates, what need you fear? They\nwill not meddle with peaceable merchants, sure.\"\n\nIf I had any blood in my body that did not fly up into my face at that\nword, it was hindered by some stop in the vessels appointed by nature to\ncirculate it; for it put me into the greatest disorder and confusion\nimaginable; nor was it possible for me to conceal it so, but that the\nold man easily perceived it.\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"I find you are in some disorder in your thoughts at my\ntalk; pray be pleased to go which way you think fit, and depend upon it\nI'll do you all the service I can.\"--\"Why, Seignior,\" said I, \"it is\ntrue, I am a little unsettled in my resolution at this time, whither to\ngo in particular; and I am something more so for what you said about\npirates. I hope there are no pirates in these seas; we are but in an ill\ncondition to meet with them; for you see we have but a small force, and\nbut very weakly manned.\"\n\n\"O Sir,\" said he, \"do not be concerned; I do not know that there have\nbeen any pirates in these seas these fifteen years, except one, which\nwas seen, as I hear, in the bay of Siam, about a month since; but you\nmay be assured she is gone to the southward; nor was she a ship of any\ngreat force, or fit for the work; she was not built for a privateer, but\nwas run away with by a reprobate crew that were on board, after the\ncaptain and some of his men had been murdered by the Malaccans, at or\nnear the island of Sumatra.\"\n\n\"What!\" said I, seeming to know nothing of the matter, \"did they murder\nthe captain?\"--\"No,\" said he, \"I do not understand that they murdered\nhim; but as they afterwards ran away with the ship, it is generally\nbelieved they betrayed him into the hands of the Malaccans, who did\nmurder him; and, perhaps, they procured them to do it.\"--\"Why then,\"\nsaid I, \"they deserved death, as much as if they had done it\nthemselves.\"--\"Nay,\" said the old man, \"they do deserve it, and they\nwill certainly have it if they light upon any English or Dutch ship; for\nthey have all agreed together that if they meet that rogue they will\ngive him no quarter.\"\n\n\"But,\" said I to him, \"you say the pirate is gone out of these seas;\nhow can they meet with him then?\"--\"Why, that is true,\" said he, \"they\ndo say so; but he was, as I tell you, in the bay of Siam, in the river\nCambodia, and was discovered there by some Dutchmen who belonged to the\nship, and who were left on shore when they ran away with her; and some\nEnglish and Dutch traders being in the river, they were within a little\nof taking him. Nay,\" said he, \"if the foremost boats had been well\nseconded by the rest, they had certainly taken him; but he finding only\ntwo boats within reach of him, tacked about, and fired at these two, and\ndisabled them before the others came up; and then standing off to sea,\nthe others were not able to follow him, and so he got away. But they\nhave all so exact a description of the ship, that they will be sure to\nknow him; and where-ever they find him, they have vowed to give no\nquarter to either the captain or the seamen, but to hang them all up at\nthe yard-arm.\"\n\n\"What!\" said I, \"will they execute them, right or wrong; hang them\nfirst, and judge them afterwards?\"--\"O Sir!\" said the old pilot, \"there\nis no need to make a formal business of it with such rogues as those;\nlet them tie them back to back, and set them a-diving; it is no more\nthan they rightly deserve.\"\n\nI knew I had my old man fast aboard, and that he could do me no harm; so\nI turned short upon him. \"Well, Seignior,\" said I, \"and this is the very\nreason why I would have you carry us to Nanquin, and not to put back to\nMacao, or to any other part of the country where the English or Dutch\nships came; for be it known to you, Seignior, those captains of the\nEnglish and Dutch ships are a parcel of rash, proud, insolent fellows,\nthat neither know what belongs to justice, or how to behave themselves\nas the laws of God and nature direct; but being proud of their offices,\nand not understanding their power, they would get the murderers to\npunish robbers; would take upon them to insult men falsely accused, and\ndetermine them guilty without due inquiry; and perhaps I may live to\ncall some of them to an account of it, where they may be taught how\njustice is to be executed; and that no man ought to be treated as a\ncriminal till some evidence may be had of the crime, and that he is\nthe man.\"\n\nWith this I told him, that this was the very ship they had attacked; and\ngave him a full account of the skirmish we had with their boats, and how\nfoolishly and coward-like they had behaved. I told him all the story of\nour buying the ship, and how the Dutchmen served us. I told him the\nreasons I had to believe that this story of killing the master by the\nMalaccans was not true; as also the running away with the ship; but that\nit was all a fiction of their own, to suggest that the men were turned\npirates; and they ought to have been sure it was so, before they had\nventured to attack us by surprise, and oblige us so resist them; adding,\nthat they would have the blood of those men who were killed there, in\nour just defence, to answer for.\n\nThe old man was amazed at this relation; and told us, we were very much\nin the right to go away to the north; and that if he might advise us, it\nshould be to sell the ship in China, which we might very well do, and\nbuy or build another in the country; \"And,\" said he, \"though you will\nnot get so good a ship, yet you may get one able enough to carry you and\nall your goods back again to Bengal, or any where else.\"\n\nI told him I would take his advice when I came to any port where I could\nfind a ship for my turn, or get any customer to buy this. He replied, I\nshould meet with customers enough for the ship at Nanquin, and that a\nChinese junk would serve me very well to go back again; and that he\nwould procure me people both to buy one and sell the other.\n\n\"Well, but, Seignior,\" says I, \"as you say they know the ship so well, I\nmay, perhaps, if I follow your measures, be instrumental to bring some\nhonest innocent men into a terrible broil, and, perhaps, be murdered in\ncold blood; for wherever they find the ship they will prove the guilt\nupon the men by proving this was the ship, and so innocent men may\nprobably be overpowered and murdered.\"--\"Why,\" said the old man, \"I'll\nfind out a way to prevent that also; for as I know all those commanders\nyou speak of very well, and shall see them all as they pass by, I will\nbe sure to set them to rights in the thing, and let them know that they\nhad been so much in the wrong; that though the people who were on board\nat first might run away with the ship, yet it was not true that they had\nturned pirates; and that in particular those were not the men that first\nwent off with the ship, but innocently bought her for their trade; and I\nam persuaded they will so far believe me, as, at least, to act more\ncautiously for the time to come.\"--\"Well,\" said I, \"and will you deliver\none message to them from me?\"--\"Yes, I will,\" says he, \"if you will give\nit under your hand in writing, that I may be able to prove it came from\nyou, and not out of my own head.\" I answered, that I would readily give\nit him under my hand. So I took a pen and ink, and paper, and wrote at\nlarge the story of assaulting me with the long-boats, &c. the pretended\nreason of it, and the unjust, cruel design of it; and concluded to the\ncommanders that they had done what they not only should have been\nashamed or, but also, that if ever they came to England, and I lived to\nsee them there, they should all pay dearly for it, if the laws of my\ncountry were not grown out of use before I arrived there.\n\nMy old pilot read this over and over again, and asked me several times\nif I would stand to it. I answered, I would stand to it as long as I had\nany thing left in the world; being sensible that I should, one time or\nother, find an opportunity to put it home to them. But we had no\noccasion ever to let the pilot carry this letter, for he never went back\nagain. While those things were passing between us, by way of discourse,\nwe went forward directly for Nanquin, and, in about thirteen days sail,\ncame to anchor at the south-west point of the great gulf of Nanquin;\nwhere, by the way, I came by accident to understand, that the two Dutch\nships were gone that length before me, and that I should certainly fall\ninto their hands. I consulted my partner again in this exigency, and he\nwas as much at a loss as I was, and would very gladly have been safe on\nshore almost any where. However, I was not in such perplexity neither,\nbut I asked the old pilot if there was no creek or harbour, which I\nmight put into, and pursue my business with the Chinese privately, and\nbe in no danger of the enemy. He told me if I would sail to the\nsouthward about two-and-forty leagues, there was a little port called\nQuinchang, where the fathers of the mission usually landed from Macao,\non their progress to teach the Christian religion to the Chinese, and\nwhere no European ships ever put in: and, if I thought proper to put in\nthere, I might consider what farther course to take when I was on shore.\nHe confessed, he said, it was not a place for merchants, except that at\nsome certain times they had a kind of a fair there, when the merchants\nfrom Japan came over thither to buy the Chinese merchandises.\n\nWe all agreed to go back to this place: the name of the port, as he\ncalled it, I may, perhaps, spell wrong, for I do not particularly\nremember it, having lost this, together with the names of many other\nplaces set down in a little pocket-book, which was spoiled by the water,\non an accident which I shall relate in its order; but this I remember,\nthat the Chinese or Japanese merchants we correspond with call it by a\ndifferent name from that which our Portuguese pilot gave it, and\npronounced it as above, Quinchang.\n\nAs we were unanimous in our resolutions to go to this place, we weighed\nthe next day, having only gone twice on shore, where we were to get\nfresh water; on both which occasions the people of the country were very\ncivil to us, and brought us abundance of things to sell to us; I mean of\nprovisions, plants, roots, tea, rice, and some fowls; but nothing\nwithout money.\n\nWe came to the other port (the wind being contrary) not till five days;\nbut it was very much to our satisfaction, and I was joyful, and I may\nsay thankful, when I set my foot safe on shore, resolving, and my\npartner too, that if it was possible to dispose of ourselves and effects\nany other way, though not every way to our satisfaction, we would never\nset one foot on board that unhappy vessel again: and indeed I must\nacknowledge, that of all the circumstances of life that ever I had any\nexperience of, nothing makes mankind so completely miserable as that of\nbeing in constant fear. Well does the Scripture say, \"The fear of man\nbrings a snare;\" it is a life of death, and the mind is so entirely\nsuppressed by it, that it is capable of no relief; the animal spirits\nsink, and all the vigour of nature, which usually supports men under\nother afflictions, and is present to them in the greatest exigencies,\nfails them here.\n\nNor did it fail of its usual operations upon the fancy, by heightening\nevery danger; representing the English and Dutch captains to be men\nincapable of hearing reason, or distinguishing between honest men and\nrogues; or between a story calculated for our own turn, made out of\nnothing, on purpose to deceive, and a true genuine account of our whole\nvoyage, progress, and design; for we might many ways have convinced any\nreasonable creature that we were not pirates; the goods we had on board,\nthe course we steered, our frankly shewing ourselves, and entering into\nsuch and such ports; even our very manner, the force we had, the number\nof men, the few arms, little ammunition, and short provisions; all these\nwould have served to convince any man that we were no pirates. The\nopium, and other goods we had on board, would make it appear the ship\nhad been at Bengal; the Dutchmen, who, it was said, had the names of all\nthe men that were in the ship, might easily see that we were a mixture\nof English, Portuguese, and Indians, and but two Dutchmen on board.\nThese, and many other particular circumstances, might have made it\nevident to the understanding of any commander, whose hands we might\nfall into, that we were no pirates.\n\nBut fear, that blind useless passion, worked another way, and threw us\ninto the vapours; it bewildered our understandings, and set the\nimagination at work, to form a thousand terrible things, that, perhaps,\nmight never happen. We first supposed, as indeed every body had related\nto us, that the seamen on board the English and Dutch ships, but\nespecially the Dutch, were so enraged at the name of a pirate, and\nespecially at our beating off their boats, and escaping, that they would\nnot give themselves leave to inquire whether we were pirates or no; but\nwould execute us off-hand, as we call it, without giving us any room for\na defence. We reflected that there was really so much apparent evidence\nbefore them, that they would scarce inquire after any more: as, first,\nthat the ship was certainly the same, and that some of the seamen among\nthem knew her, and had been on board her; and, secondly, that when we\nhad intelligence at the river Cambodia, that they were coming down to\nexamine us, we fought their boats, and fled: so that we made no doubt\nbut they were as fully satisfied of our being pirates as we were\nsatisfied of the contrary; and I often said, I knew not but I should\nhave been apt to have taken the like circumstances for evidence, if the\ntables were turned, and my case was theirs; and have made no scruple of\ncutting all the crew to pieces, without believing, or perhaps\nconsidering, what they might have to offer in their defence.\n\nBut let that be how it will, those were our apprehensions; and both my\npartner and I too scarce slept a night without dreaming of halters and\nyard-arms; that is to say, gibbets; of fighting, and being taken; of\nkilling, and being killed; and one night I was in such a fury in my\ndream, fancying the Dutchmen had boarded us, and I was knocking one of\ntheir seamen down, that I struck my double fist against the side of the\ncabin I lay in, with such a force as wounded my hand most gievously,\nbroke my knuckles, and cut and bruised the flesh, so that it not only\nwaked me out of my sleep, but I was once afraid I should have lost two\nof my fingers.\n\nAnother apprehension I had, was, of the cruel usage we should meet with\nfrom them, if we fell into their hands: then the story of Amboyna came\ninto my head, and how the Dutch might, perhaps, torture us, as they did\nour countrymen there; and make some of our men, by extremity of torture,\nconfess those crimes they never were guilty of; own themselves, and all\nof us, to be pirates; and so they would put us to death, with a formal\nappearance of justice; and that they might be tempted to do this for the\ngain of our ship and cargo, which was worth four or five thousand\npounds, put all together.\n\nThese things tormented me, and my partner too, night and day; nor did we\nconsider that the captains of ships have no authority to act thus; and\nif we had surrendered prisoners to them, they could not answer the\ndestroying us, or torturing us, but would be accountable for it when\nthey came into their own country. This, I say, gave me no satisfaction;\nfor, if they will act thus with us, what advantage would it be to us\nthat they would be called to an account for it? or, if we were first to\nbe murdered, what satisfaction would it be to us to have them punished\nwhen they came home?\n\nI cannot refrain taking notice here what reflections I now had upon the\npast variety of my particular circumstances; how hard I thought it was,\nthat I, who had spent forty years in a life of continued difficulties,\nand was at last come, as it were, at the port or haven which all men\ndrive at, viz. to have rest and plenty, should be a volunteer in new\nsorrows, by my own unhappy choice; and that I, who had escaped so many\ndangers in my youth, should now come to be hanged, in my old age, and in\nso remote a place, for a crime I was not in the least inclined to, much\nless guilty of; and in a place and circumstance, where innocence was not\nlike to be any protection at all to me.\n\nAfter these thoughts, something of religion would come in; and I would\nbe considering that this seemed to me to be a disposition of immediate\nProvidence; and I ought to look upon it, and submit to it as such: that\nalthough I was innocent as to men, I was far from being innocent as to\nmy Maker; and I ought to look in, and examine what other crimes in my\nlife were most obvious to me, and for which Providence might justly\ninflict this punishment as a retribution; and that I ought to submit to\nthis, just as I would to a shipwreck, if it had pleased God to have\nbrought such a disaster upon me.\n\nIn its turn, natural courage would sometimes take its place; and then I\nwould be talking myself up to vigorous resolution, that I would not be\ntaken to be barbarously used by a parcel of merciless wretches in cold\nblood; that it was much better to have fallen into the hands of the\nsavages, who were men-eaters, and who, I was sure, would feast upon me,\nwhen they had taken me, than by those who would perhaps glut their rage\nupon me by inhuman tortures and barbarities: that, in the case of the\nsavages, I always resolved to die fighting to the last gasp; and why\nshould I not do so now, seeing it was much more dreadful, to me at\nleast, to think of falling into these men's hands, than ever it was to\nthink of being eaten by men? for the savages, give them their due, would\nnot eat a man till he was dead; and killed him first, as we do a\nbullock; but that these men had many arts beyond the cruelty of death.\nWhenever these thoughts prevailed I was sure to put myself into a kind\nof fever, with the agitations of a supposed fight; my blood would boil,\nand my eyes sparkle, as if I was engaged; and I always resolved that I\nwould take no quarter at their hands; but even at last, if I could\nresist no longer, I would blow up the ship, and all that was in her, and\nleave them but little booty to boast of.\n\nBut by how much the greater weight the anxieties and perplexities of\nthose things were to our thoughts while we were at sea, by so much the\ngreater was our satisfaction when we saw ourselves on shore; and my\npartner told me he dreamed that he had a very heavy load upon his back,\nwhich he was to carry up a hill, and found that he was not able to stand\nlong under it; but the Portuguese pilot came, and took it off his back,\nand the hill disappeared, the ground before him shewing all smooth and\nplain: and truly it was so; we were all like men who had a load taken\noff their backs.\n\nFor my part, I had a weight taken off from my heart, that I was not able\nany longer to bear; and, as I said above, we resolved to go no more to\nsea in that ship. When we came on shore, the old pilot, who was now our\nfriend, got us a lodging, and a warehouse for our goods, which, by the\nway, was much the same: it was a little house, or hut, with a large\nhouse joining to it, all built with canes, and palisadoed round with\nlarge canes, to keep out pilfering thieves, of which it seems there were\nnot a few in the country. However, the magistrates allowed us all a\nlittle guard, and we had a soldier with a kind of halbert, or half-pike,\nwho stood sentinel at our door, to whom we allowed a pint of rice, and a\nlittle piece of money, about the value of three-pence, per day: so that\nour goods were kept very safe.\n\nThe fair or mart usually kept in this place had been over some time;\nhowever, we found that there were three or four junks in the river, and\ntwo Japanners, I mean ships from Japan, with goods which they had bought\nin China, and were not gone away, having Japanese merchants on shore.\n\nThe first thing our old Portuguese pilot did for us was to bring us\nacquainted with three missionary Romish priests, who were in the town,\nand who had been there some time, converting the people to Christianity;\nbut we thought they made but poor work of it, and made them but sorry\nChristians when they had done. However, that was not our business. One\nof these was a Frenchman, whom they called Father Simon; he was a jolly\nwell-conditioned man, very free in his conversation, not seeming so\nserious and grave as the other two did, one of whom was a Portuguese,\nand the other a Genoese: but Father Simon was courteous, easy in his\nmanner, and very agreeable company; the other two were more reserved,\nseemed rigid and austere, and applied seriously to the work they came\nabout, viz. to talk with, and insinuate themselves among the inhabitants\nwherever they had opportunity. We often ate and drank with those men;\nand though I must confess, the conversion, as they call it, of the\nChinese to Christianity, is so far from the true conversion required to\nbring heathen people to the faith of Christ, that it seems to amount to\nlittle more than letting them know the name of Christ, say some prayers\nto the Virgin Mary and her Son, in a tongue which they understand not,\nand to cross themselves, and the like; yet it must be confessed that\nthese religious, whom we call missionaries, have a firm belief that\nthese people should be saved, and that they are the instrument of it;\nand, on this account, they undergo not only the fatigue of the voyage,\nand hazards of living in such places, but oftentimes death itself, with\nthe most violent tortures, for the sake of this work: and it would be a\ngreat want of charity in us, whatever opinion we have of the work\nitself, and the manner of their doing it, if we should not have a good\nopinion of their zeal, who undertake it with so many hazards, and who\nhave no prospect of the least temporal advantage to themselves.\n\nBut to return to my story: This French priest, Father Simon, was\nappointed, it seems, by order of the chief of the mission, to go up to\nPekin, the royal seat of the Chinese emperor; and waited only for\nanother priest, who was ordered to come to him from Macao, to go along\nwith him; and we scarce ever met together but he was inviting me to go\nthat journey with him, telling me, how he would shew me all the glorious\nthings of that mighty empire; and among the rest the greatest city in\nthe world; \"A city,\" said he, \"that your London and our Paris put\ntogether cannot be equal to.\" This was the city of Pekin, which, I\nconfess, is very great, and infinitely full of people; but as I looked\non those things with different eyes from other men, so I shall give my\nopinion of them in few words when I come in the course of my travels to\nspeak more particularly of them.\n\nBut first I come to my friar or missionary: dining with him one day, and\nbeing very merry together, I showed some little inclination to go with\nhim; and he pressed me and my partner very hard, and with a great many\npersuasions, to consent. \"Why, Father Simon,\" says my partner, \"why\nshould you desire our company so much? You know we are heretics, and you\ndo not love us, nor can keep us company with any pleasure.\"--\"O!\" says\nhe, \"you may, perhaps, be good Catholics in time; my business here is to\nconvert heathens, and who knows but I may convert you too?\"--\"Very well,\nFather,\" said I, \"so you will preach to us all the way.\"--\"I won't be\ntroublesome to you,\" said he; \"our religion does not divest us of good\nmanners; besides,\" said he, \"we are all here like countrymen; and so we\nare, compared to the place we are in; and if you are Hugonots, and I a\nCatholic, we may be all Christians at last; at least,\" said he, \"we are\nall gentlemen, and we may converse so, without being uneasy to one\nanother.\" I liked that part of his discourse very well, and it began to\nput me in mind of my priest that I had left in the Brasils; but this\nFather Simon did not come up to his character by a great deal; for\nthough Father Simon had no appearance of a criminal levity in him\nneither, yet he had not that fund of Christian zeal, strict piety, and\nsincere affection to religion, that my other good ecclesiastic had, of\nwhom I have said so much.\n\nBut to leave him a little, though he never left us, nor soliciting us to\ngo with him, but we had something else before us at that time; for we\nhad all this while our ship and our merchandise to dispose of; and we\nbegan to be very doubtful what we should do, for we were now in a place\nof very little business; and once I was about to venture to sail for\nthe river of Kilam, and the city of Nanquin: but Providence seemed now\nmore visibly, as I thought, than ever, to concern itself in our affairs;\nand I was encouraged from this very time to think I should, one way or\nother, get out of this entangled circumstance, and be brought home to my\nown country again, though I had not the least view of the manner; and\nwhen I began sometimes to think of it, could not imagine by what method\nit was to be done. Providence, I say, began here to clear up our way a\nlittle; and the first thing that offered was, that our old Portuguese\npilot brought a Japan merchant to us, who began to inquire what goods we\nhad; and, in the first place, he bought all our opium, and gave us a\nvery good price for it, paying us in gold by weight, some in small\npieces of their own coin, and some in small wedges, of about ten or\neleven ounces each. While we were dealing with him for our opium, it\ncame into my head that he might, perhaps, deal with us for the ship too;\nand I ordered the interpreter to propose it to him. He shrunk up his\nshoulders at it, when it was first proposed to him; but in a few days\nafter he came to me, with one of the missionary priests for his\ninterpreter, and told me he had a proposal to make to me, and that was\nthis: he had bought a great quantity of goods of us when he had no\nthoughts (or proposals made to him) of buying the ship, and that,\ntherefore, he had not money enough to pay for the ship; but if I would\nlet the same men who were in the ship navigate her, he would hire the\nship to go to Japan, and would send them from thence to the Philippine\nislands with another loading, which he would pay the freight of before\nthey went from Japan; and that, at their return, he would buy the ship.\nI began to listen to this proposal; and so eager did my head still run\nupon rambling, that I could not but begin to entertain a notion myself\nof going with him, and so to sail from the Philippine islands away to\nthe South Seas; and accordingly I asked the Japanese merchant if he\nwould not hire us to the Philippine islands, and discharge us there. He\nsaid, no, he could not do that, for then he could not have the return of\nhis cargo; but he would discharge us in Japan, he said, at the ship's\nreturn. Well, still I was for taking him at that proposal, and going\nmyself; but my partner, wiser than myself, persuaded me from it,\nrepresenting the dangers, as well of the seas, as of the Japanese, who\nare a false, cruel, treacherous people; and then of the Spaniards at the\nPhilippines, more false, more cruel, more treacherous than they.\n\nBut, to bring this long turn of our affairs to a conclusion, the first\nthing we had to do was to consult with the captain of the ship, and with\nthe men, and know if they were willing to go to Japan; and, while I was\ndoing this, the young man whom, as I said, my nephew had left with me as\nmy companion for my travels, came to me and told me that he thought that\nvoyage promised very fair, and that there was a great prospect of\nadvantage, and he would be very glad if I undertook it; but that if I\nwould not, and would give him leave, he would go as a merchant, or how I\npleased to order him; and if ever he came to England, and I was there,\nand alive, he would render me a faithful account of his success, and it\nshould be as much mine as I pleased.\n\nI was really loath to part with him; but considering the prospect of\nadvantage, which was really considerable, and that he was a young fellow\nas likely to do well in it as any I knew, I inclined to let him go; but\nfirst I told him, I would consult my partner, and give him an answer the\nnext day. My partner and I discoursed about it, and my partner made a\nmost generous offer: he told me, \"You know it has been an unlucky ship,\nand we both resolve not to go to sea in it again; if your steward (so he\ncalled my man) will venture the voyage, I'll leave my share of the\nvessel to him, and let him make the best of it; and if we live to meet\nin England, and he meets with success abroad, he shall account for one\nhalf of the profits of the ship's freight to us, the other shall be\nhis own.\"\n\nIf my partner, who was no way concerned with my young man, made him\nsuch an offer, I could do no less than offer him the same; and all the\nship's company being willing to go with him, we made over half the ship\nto him in property, and took a writing from him, obliging him to account\nfor the other; and away he went to Japan. The Japan merchant proved a\nvery punctual honest man to him, protected him at Japan, and got him a\nlicence to come on shore, which the Europeans in general have not lately\nobtained, paid him his freight very punctually, sent him to the\nPhilippines, loaded him with Japan and China wares, and a supercargo of\ntheir own, who trafficking with the Spaniards, brought back European\ngoods again, and a great quantity of cloves and other spice; and there\nhe was not only paid his freight very well, and at a very good price,\nbut being not willing to sell the ship then, the merchant furnished him\nwith goods on his own account; that for some money and some spices of\nhis own, which he brought with him, he went back to the Manillas, to the\nSpaniards, where he sold his cargo very well. Here, having gotten a good\nacquaintance at Manilla, he got his ship made a free ship; and the\ngovernor of Manilla hired him to go to Acapulco in America, on the coast\nof Mexico; and gave him a licence to land there, and travel to Mexico;\nand to pass in any Spanish ship to Europe, with all his men.\n\nHe made the voyage to Acapulco very happily, and there he sold his ship;\nand having there also obtained allowance to travel by land to Porto\nBello, he found means, some how or other, to go to Jamaica with all his\ntreasure; and about eight years after came to England, exceeding rich;\nof which I shall take notice in its place; in the mean time, I return to\nour particular affairs.\n\nBeing now to part with the ship and ship's company, it came before us,\nof course, to consider what recompense we should give to the two men\nthat gave us such timely notice of the design against us in the river\nof Cambodia. The truth was, they had done us a considerable service, and\ndeserved well at our hands; though, by the way, they were a couple of\nrogues too: for, as they believed the story of our being pirates, and\nthat we had really run away with the ship, they came down to us, not\nonly to betray the design that was formed against us, but to go to sea\nwith us as pirates; and one of them confessed afterwards, that nothing\nelse but the hopes of going a-roguing brought him to do it. However, the\nservice they did us was not the less; and therefore, as I had promised\nto be grateful to them, I first ordered the money to be paid to them,\nwhich they said was due to them on board their respective ships; that is\nto say, the Englishman nineteen months pay, and to the Dutchman seven;\nand, over and above that, I gave each of them a small sum of money in\ngold, which contented them very well: then I made the Englishman gunner\nof the ship, the gunner being now made second mate and purser; the\nDutchman I made boatswain: so they were both very well pleased, and\nproved very serviceable, being both able seamen, and very stout fellows.\n\nWe were now on shore in China. If I thought myself banished, and remote\nfrom my own country at Bengal, where I had many ways to get home for my\nmoney, what could I think of myself now, when I was gotten about a\nthousand leagues farther off from home, and perfectly destitute of all\nmanner of prospect of return!\n\nAll we had for it was this, that in about four months time there was to\nbe another fair at that place where we were, and then we might be able\nto purchase all sorts of the manufactures of the country, and withal\nmight possibly find some Chinese junks or vessels from Nanquin, that\nwould be to be sold, and would carry us and our goods whither we\npleased. This I liked very well, and resolved to wait; besides, as our\nparticular persons were not obnoxious, so if any English or Dutch ships\ncame thither, perhaps we might have an opportunity to load our goods,\nand get passage to some other place in India nearer home.\n\nUpon these hopes we resolved to continue here; but, to divert ourselves,\nwe took two or three journies into the country; first, we went ten days\njourney to see the city of Nanquin, a city well worth seeing indeed:\nthey say it has a million of people in it; which, however, I do not\nbelieve: it is regularly built, the streets all exactly straight, and\ncross one another in direct lines, which gives the figure of it great\nadvantage.\n\nBut when I came to compare the miserable people of these countries with\nours; their fabrics, their manner of living, their government, their\nreligion, their wealth, and their glory, (as some call it) I must\nconfess, I do not so much as think it worth naming, or worth my while to\nwrite of, or any that shall come after me to read.\n\nIt is very observable, that we wonder at the grandeur, the riches, the\npomp, the ceremonies, the government, the manufactures, the commerce,\nand the conduct of these people; not that they are to be wondered at,\nor, indeed, in the least to be regarded; but because, having first a\nnotion of the barbarity of those countries, the rudeness and the\nignorance that prevail there, we do not expect to find any such things\nso far off.\n\nOtherwise, what are their buildings to the palaces and royal buildings\nof Europe? What their trade to the universal commerce of England,\nHolland, France, and Spain? What their cities to ours, for wealth,\nstrength, gaiety of apparel, rich furniture, and an infinite variety?\nWhat are their ports, supplied with a few junks and barks, to our\nnavigation, our merchants' fleets, our large and powerful navies? Our\ncity of London has more trade than all their mighty empire. One English,\nor Dutch, or French man of war of eighty guns, would fight with and\ndestroy all the shipping of China. But the greatness of their wealth,\ntheir trade, the power of their government, and strength of their\narmies are surprising to us, because, as I have said, considering them\nas a barbarous nation of pagans, little better than savages, we did not\nexpect such things among them; and this, indeed, is the advantage with\nwhich all their greatness and power is represented to us: otherwise, it\nis in itself nothing at all; for, as I have said of their ships, so it\nmay be said of their armies and troops; all the forces of their empire,\nthough they were to bring two millions of men into the field together,\nwould be able to do nothing but ruin the country and starve themselves.\nIf they were to besiege a strong town in Flanders, or to fight a\ndisciplined army, one line of German cuirassiers, or of French cavalry,\nwould overthrow all the horse of China; a million of their foot could\nnot stand before one embattled body of our infantry, posted so as not to\nbe surrounded, though they were not to be one to twenty in number: nay,\nI do not boast if I say, that 30,000 German or English foot, and 10,000\nFrench horse, would fairly beat all the forces of China. And so of our\nfortified towns, and of the art of our engineers, in assaulting and\ndefending towns; there is not a fortified town in China could hold out\none month against the batteries and attacks of an European army; and at\nthe same time, all the armies of China could never take such a town as\nDunkirk, provided it was not starved; no, not in ten years siege. They\nhave fire-arms, it is true, but they are awkward, clumsy, and uncertain\nin going off; they have powder, but it is of no strength; they have\nneither discipline in the field, exercise in their arms, skill to\nattack, nor temper to retreat. And therefore I must confess it seemed\nstrange to me when I came home, and heard our people say such fine\nthings of the power, riches, glory, magnificence, and trade of the\nChinese, because I saw and knew that they were a contemptible herd or\ncrowd of ignorant, sordid slaves, subjected to a government qualified\nonly to rule such a people; and, in a word, for I am now launched quite\nbeside my design, I say, in a word, were not its distance inconceivably\ngreat from Muscovy, and were not the Muscovite empire almost as rude,\nimpotent, and ill-governed a crowd of slaves as they, the czar of\nMuscovy might, with much ease, drive them all out of their country, and\nconquer them in one campaign; and had the czar, who I since hear is a\ngrowing prince, and begins to appear formidable in the world, fallen\nthis way, instead of attacking the warlike Swedes, in which attempt none\nof the powers of Europe would have envied or interrupted him; he might,\nby this time, have been emperor of China, instead of being beaten by the\nking of Sweden at Narva, when the latter was not one to six in number.\nAs their strength and their grandeur, so their navigation, commerce, and\nhusbandry, are imperfect and impotent, compared to the same things in\nEurope. Also, in their knowledge, their learning, their skill in the\nsciences; they have globes and spheres, and a smatch of the knowledge of\nthe mathematics; but when you come to inquire into their knowledge, how\nshort-sighted are the wisest of their students! They know nothing of the\nmotion of the heavenly bodies; and so grossly, absurdly ignorant, that\nwhen the sun is eclipsed, they think it is a great dragon has assaulted\nand run away with it; and they fall a-cluttering with all the drums and\nkettles in the country, to fright the monster away, just as we do to\nhive a swarm of bees.\n\nAs this is the only excursion of this kind which I have made in all the\naccount I have given of my travels, so I shall make no more descriptions\nof countries and people: it is none of my business, or any part of my\ndesign; but giving an account of my own adventures, through a life of\ninfinite wanderings, and a long variety of changes, which, perhaps, few\nhave heard the like of, I shall say nothing of the mighty places, desert\ncountries, and numerous people, I have yet to pass through, more than\nrelates to my own story, and which my concern among them will make\nnecessary. I was now, as near as I can compute, in the heart of China,\nabout the latitude of thirty degrees north of the line, for we were\nreturned from Nanquin; I had indeed a mind to see the city of Pekin,\nwhich I had heard so much of, and Father Simon importuned me daily to do\nit. At length his time of going away being set, and the other\nmissionary, who was to go with him, being arrived from Macao, it was\nnecessary that we should resolve either to go, or not to go; so I\nreferred him to my partner, and left it wholly to his choice; who at\nlength resolved it in the affirmative; and we prepared for our journey.\nWe set out with very good advantage, as to finding the way; for we got\nleave to travel in the retinue of one of their mandarins, a kind of\nviceroy, or principal magistrate, in the province where they reside, and\nwho take great state upon them, travelling with great attendance, and\nwith great homage from the people, who are sometimes greatly\nimpoverished by them, because all the countries they pass through are\nobliged to furnish provisions for them, and all their attendants. That\nwhich I particularly observed, as to our travelling with his baggage,\nwas this; that though we received sufficient provisions, both for\nourselves and our horses, from the country, as belonging to the\nmandarin, yet we were obliged to pay for every thing we had after the\nmarket-price of the country, and the mandarin's steward, or commissary\nof the provisions, collected it duly from us; so that our travelling in\nthe retinue of the mandarin, though it was a very great kindness to us,\nwas not such a mighty favour in him, but was, indeed, a great advantage\nto him, considering there were about thirty other people travelling in\nthe same manner besides us, under the protection of his retinue, or, as\nwe may call it, under his convoy. This, I say, was a great advantage to\nhim; for the country furnished all the provisions for nothing, and he\ntook all our money for them.\n\nWe were five-and-twenty days travelling to Pekin, through a country\ninfinitely populous, but miserably cultivated; the husbandry, economy,\nand the way of living, all very miserable, though they boast so much of\nthe industry of the people: I say miserable; and so it is; if we, who\nunderstand how to live, were to endure it, or to compare it with our\nown; but not so to these poor wretches, who know no other. The pride of\nthese people is infinitely great, and exceeded by nothing but their\npoverty, which adds to that which I call their misery. I must needs\nthink the naked savages of America live much more happy, because, as\nthey have nothing, so they desire nothing; whereas these are proud and\ninsolent, and, in the main, are mere beggars and drudges; their\nostentation is inexpressible, and is chiefly shewed in their clothes and\nbuildings, and in the keeping multitudes of servants or slaves, and,\nwhich is to the last degree ridiculous, their contempt of all the world\nbut themselves.\n\nI must confess, I travelled more pleasantly afterwards, in the deserts\nand vast wildernesses of Grand Tartary, than here; and yet the roads\nhere are well paved and well kept, and very convenient for travellers:\nbut nothing was more awkward to me, than to see such a haughty,\nimperious, insolent people, in the midst of the grossest simplicity and\nignorance; for all their famed ingenuity is no more. My friend Father\nSimon, and I, used to be very merry upon these occasions, to see the\nbeggarly pride of those people. For example, coming by the house of a\ncountry-gentleman, as Father Simon called him, about ten leagues off\nfrom the city of Nanquin, we had, first of all, the honour to ride with\nthe master of the house about two miles; the state he rode in was a\nperfect Don Quixotism, being a mixture of pomp and poverty.\n\nThe habit of this greasy Don was very proper for a scaramouch, or\nmerry-andrew; being a dirty calico, with all the tawdry trappings of a\nfool's coat, such as hanging sleeves, taffety, and cuts and slashes\nalmost on every side: it covered a rich taffety vest, as greasy as a\nbutcher, and which testified, that his honour must needs be a most\nexquisite sloven.\n\nHis horse was a poor, lean, starved, hobbling creature, such as in\nEngland might sell for about thirty or forty shillings; and he had two\nslaves followed him on foot, to drive the poor creature along: he had a\nwhip in his hand, and he belaboured the beast as fast about the head as\nhis slaves did about the tail; and thus he rode by us with about ten or\ntwelve servants; and we were told he was going from the city to his\ncountry-seat, about half a league before us. We travelled on gently, but\nthis figure of a gentleman rode away before us; and as we stopped at a\nvillage about an hour to refresh us, when we came by the country-seat of\nthis great man, we saw him in a little place before his door, eating his\nrepast; it was a kind of a garden, but he was easy to be seen; and we\nwere given to understand, that the more we looked on him, the better he\nwould be pleased.\n\nHe sat under a tree, something like the palmetto-tree, which effectually\nshaded him over the head, and on the south side; but under the tree also\nwas placed a large umbrella, which made that part look well enough: he\nsat lolling back in a great elbow-chair, being a heavy corpulent man,\nand his meat being brought him by two women-slaves: he had two more,\nwhose office, I think, few gentlemen in Europe would accept of their\nservice in, viz. one fed the squire with a spoon, and the other held the\ndish with one hand, and scraped off what he let fall upon his worship's\nbeard and taffety vest, with the other; while the great fat brute\nthought it below him to employ his own hands in any of those familiar\noffices, which kings and monarchs would rather do than be troubled with\nthe clumsy fingers of their servants.\n\nI took this time to think what pain men's pride puts them to, and how\ntroublesome a haughty temper, thus ill-managed, must be to a man of\ncommon sense; and, leaving the poor wretch to please himself with our\nlooking at him, as if we admired his pomp, whereas we really pitied and\ncontemned him, we pursued our journey: only Father Simon had the\ncuriosity to stay to inform himself what dainties the country justice\nhad to feed on, in all his state; which he said he had the honour to\ntaste of, and which was, I think, a dose that an English hound would\nscarce have eaten, if it had been offered him, viz. a mess of boiled\nrice, with a great piece of garlick in it, and a little bag filled with\ngreen pepper, and another plant which they have there, something like\nour ginger, but smelling like musk and tasting like mustard: all this\nwas put together, and a small lump or piece of lean mutton boiled in it;\nand this was his worship's repast, four or five servants more attending\nat a distance. If he fed them meaner than he was fed himself, the spice\nexcepted, they must fare very coarsely indeed.\n\nAs for our mandarin with whom we travelled, he was respected like a\nking; surrounded always with his gentlemen, and attended in all his\nappearances with such pomp, that I saw little of him but at a distance;\nbut this I observed, that there was not a horse in his retinue, but that\nour carriers' pack-horses in England seem to me to look much better; but\nthey were so covered with equipage, mantles, trappings, and such-like\ntrumpery, that you cannot see whether they are fat or lean. In a word,\nwe could scarce see any thing but their feet and their heads.\n\nI was now light-hearted, and all my trouble and perplexity that I had\ngiven an account of being over, I had no anxious thoughts about me;\nwhich made this journey much the pleasanter to me; nor had I any ill\naccident attended me, only in the passing or fording a small river, my\nhorse fell, and made me free of the country, as they call it; that is to\nsay, threw me in: the place was not deep, but it wetted me all over: I\nmention it, because it spoiled my pocket-book, wherein I had set down\nthe names of several people and places which I had occasion to remember,\nand which not taking due care of, the leaves rotted, and the words were\nnever after to be read, to my great loss, as to the names of some places\nwhich I touched at in this voyage.\n\nAt length we arrived at Pekin; I had nobody with me but the youth, whom\nmy nephew the captain had given me to attend me as a servant, and who\nproved very trusty and diligent; and my partner had nobody with him but\none servant, who was a kinsman. As for the Portuguese pilot, he being\ndesirous to see the court, we gave him his passage, that is to say, bore\nhis charges for his company; and to use him as an interpreter, for he\nunderstood the language of the country, and spoke good French and a\nlittle English; and, indeed, this old man was a most useful implement to\nus every where; for we had not been above a week at Pekin, when he came\nlaughing: \"Ah, Seignior Inglese,\" said he, \"I have something to tell\nyou, will make your heart glad.\"--\"My heart glad,\" said I; \"what can\nthat be? I don't know any thing in this country can either give me joy\nor grief, to any great degree.\"--\"Yes, yes,\" said the old man, in broken\nEnglish, \"make you glad, me sorrow;\" sorry, he would have said. This\nmade me more inquisitive. \"Why,\" said I, \"will it make you\nsorry?\"--\"Because,\" said he, \"you have brought me here twenty-five days\njourney, and will leave me to go back alone; and which way shall I get\nto my port afterwards, without a ship, without a horse, without pecune?\"\nso he called money; being his broken Latin, of which he had abundance to\nmake us merry with.\n\nIn short, he told us there was a great caravan of Muscovy and Polish\nmerchants in the city, and that they were preparing to set out on their\njourney, by land, to Muscovy, within four or five weeks, and he was sure\nwe would take the opportunity to go with them, and leave him behind to\ngo back alone. I confess I was surprised with this news: a secret joy\nspread itself over my whole soul, which I cannot describe, and never\nfelt before or since; and I had no power, for a good while, to speak a\nword to the old man; but at last I turned to him: \"How do you know\nthis?\" said I: \"are you sure it is true?\"--\"Yes,\" he said, \"I met this\nmorning in the street an old acquaintance of mine, an Armenian, or one\nyou call a Grecian, who is among them; he came last from Astracan, and\nwas designing to go to Tonquin; where I formerly knew him, but has\naltered his mind, and is now resolved to go back with the caravan to\nMoscow, and so down the river of Wolga to Astracan.\"--\"Well, Seignior,\"\nsaid I, \"do not be uneasy about being left to go back alone; if this be\na method for my return to England, it shall be your fault if you go back\nto Macao at all.\" We then went to consult together what was to be done,\nand I asked my partner what he thought of the pilot's news, and whether\nit would suit with his affairs: he told me he would do just as I would;\nfor he had settled all his affairs so well at Bengal, and left his\neffects in such good hands, that as we made a good voyage here, if he\ncould vest it in China silks, wrought and raw, such as might be worth\nthe carriage, he would be content to go to England, and then make his\nvoyage back to Bengal by the Company's ships.\n\nHaving resolved upon this, we agreed, that, if our Portuguese pilot\nwould go with us, we would bear his charges to Moscow, or to England, if\nhe pleased; nor, indeed, were we to be esteemed over-generous in that\npart neither, if we had not rewarded him farther; for the service he had\ndone us was really worth all that, and more; for he had not only been a\npilot to us at sea, but he had been also like a broker for us on shore;\nand his procuring for us the Japan merchant was some hundreds of pounds\nin our pockets. So we consulted together about it; and, being willing to\ngratify him, which was, indeed, but doing him justice, and very willing\nalso to have him with us besides, for he was a most necessary man on all\noccasions, we agreed to give him a quantity of coined gold, which, as I\ncompute it, came to about one hundred and seventy-five pounds sterling\nbetween us, and to bear his charges, both for himself and horse, except\nonly a horse to carry his goods.\n\nHaving settled this among ourselves, we called him to let him know what\nwe had resolved: I told him, he had complained of our being like to let\nhim go back alone, and I was now to tell him we were resolved he should\nnot go back at all: that as we had resolved to go to Europe with the\ncaravan, we resolved also he should go with us, and that we called him\nto know his mind. He shook his head, and said it was a long journey, and\nhe had no pecune to carry him thither, nor to subsist himself when he\ncame thither. We told him, we believed it was so, and therefore we had\nresolved to do something for him, that would let him see how sensible we\nwere of the service he had done us; and also how agreeable he was to us;\nand then I told him what we had resolved to give him here, which he\nmight lay out as we would do our own; and that as for his charges, if he\nwould go with us, we would set him safe ashore (life and casualties\nexcepted), either in Muscovy or in England, which he would, at our own\ncharge, except only the carriage of his goods.\n\nHe received the proposal like a man transported, and told us, he would\ngo with us over the whole world; and so, in short, we all prepared\nourselves for the journey. However, as it was with us, so it was with\nthe other merchants, they had many things to do; and instead of being\nready in five weeks, it was four months and some odd days before all\nthings were got together.\n\nIt was the beginning of February, our style, when we set out from Pekin.\nMy partner and the old pilot had gone express back to the port where we\nhad first put in, to dispose of some goods which he had left there; and\nI, with a Chinese merchant, whom I had some knowledge of at Nanquin, and\nwho came to Pekin on his own affairs, went to Nanquin, where I bought\nninety pieces of fine damasks, with about two hundred pieces of other\nvery fine silks, of several sorts, some mixed with gold, and had all\nthese brought to Pekin against my partner's return: besides this, we\nbought a very large quantity of raw silk, and some other goods; our\ncargo amounting, in these goods only, to about three thousand five\nhundred pounds sterling, which, together with tea, and some fine\ncalicoes, and three camel-loads of nutmegs and cloves, loaded in all\neighteen camels for our share, besides those we rode upon; which, with\ntwo or three spare horses, and two horses loaded with provisions, made\nus, in short, twenty-six camels and horses in our retinue.\n\nThe company was very great, and, as near as I can remember, made between\nthree and four hundred horses and camels, and upward of a hundred and\ntwenty men, very well armed, and provided for all events. For, as the\neastern caravans are subject to be attacked by the Arabs, so are these\nby the Tartars; but they are not altogether so dangerous as the Arabs,\nnor so barbarous when they prevail.\n\nThe company consisted of people of several nations, such as Muscovites\nchiefly; for there were about sixty of them who were merchants or\ninhabitants of Moscow, though of them some were Livonians; and to our\nparticular satisfaction, five of them were Scots, who appeared also to\nbe men of great experience in business, and very good substance.\n\nWhen we had travelled one day's journey, the guides, who were five in\nnumber, called all the gentlemen and merchants, that is to say, all the\npassengers, except the servants, to a great council, as they termed it.\nAt this great council every one deposited a certain quantity of money to\na common stock, for the necessary expense of buying forage on the way\nwhere it was not otherwise to be had, and for satisfying the guides,\ngetting horses, and the like. And here they constituted the journey, as\nthey called it, viz. they named captains and officers to draw us all up\nand give the command in case of an attack; and give every one their turn\nof command. Nor was this forming us into order any more than what we\nfound needful upon the way, as shall be observed in its place.\n\nThe road all on this side of the country is very populous, and is full\nof potters and earth makers; that is to say, people that tempered the\nearth for the China ware; and, as I was going along, our Portuguese\npilot, who had always something or other to say to make us merry, came\nsneering to me, and told me, he would shew the greatest rarity in all\nthe country; and that I should have this to say of China, after all the\nill humoured things I had said of it, that I had seen one thing which\nwas not to be seen in all the world beside. I was very importunate to\nknow what it was; at last he told me, it was a gentleman's house, built\nall with China ware. \"Well,\" said I, \"are not the materials of their\nbuilding the product of their own country; and so it is all China ware,\nis it not?\"--\"No, no,\" says he, \"I mean, it is a house all made of China\nware, such as you call so in England; or, as it is called in our\ncountry, porcelain.\"--\"Well,\" said I, \"such a thing may be: how big is\nit? can we carry it in a box upon a camel? If we can, we will buy\nit.\"--\"Upon a camel!\" said the old pilot, holding up both his hands;\n\"why, there is a family of thirty people lives in it.\"\n\nI was then curious, indeed, to see it; and when I came to see it, it was\nnothing but this: it was a timber house, or a house built, as we call it\nin England, with lath and plaster, but all the plastering was really\nChina ware, that is to say, it was plastered with the earth that makes\nChina ware.\n\nThe outside, which the sun shone hot upon, was glazed, and looked very\nwell, perfectly white, and painted with blue figures, as the large China\nware in England is painted, and hard, as if it had been burnt. As to the\ninside, all the walls, instead of wainscot, were lined with hardened and\npainted tiles, like the little square tiles we call gally tiles in\nEngland, all made of the finest china, and the figures exceeding fine\nindeed, with extraordinary variety of colours, mixed with gold, many\ntiles making but one figure, but joined so artificially with mortar,\nbeing made of the same earth, that it was very hard to see where the\ntiles met. The floors of the rooms were of the same composition, and as\nhard as the earthen floors we have in use in several parts of England,\nespecially Lincolnshire, Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire, &c. as hard as\nstone, and smooth, but not burnt and painted, except some smaller rooms,\nlike closets, which were all, as it were, paved with the same tile: the\nceilings, and, in a word, all the plastering work in the whole house,\nwere of the same earth; and, after all, the roof was covered with tiles\nof the same, but of a deep shining black.\n\nThis was a china warehouse indeed, truly and lite rally to be called so;\nand had I not been upon the journey, I could have staid some days to see\nand examine the particulars of it. They told me there were fountains and\nfish-ponds in the garden, all paved at the bottom and sides with the\nsame, and fine statues set up in rows on the walks, entirely formed of\nthe porcelain earth, and burnt whole.\n\nAs this is one of the singularities of China, so they may be allowed to\nexcel in it; but I am very sure they _excel_ in their accounts of it;\nfor they told me such incredible things of their performance in\ncrockery-ware, for such it is, that I care not to relate, as knowing it\ncould not be true.--One told me, in particular, of a workman that made a\nship, with all its tackle, and masts, and sails, in earthenware, big\nenough to carry fifty men. If he had told me he launched it, and made a\nvoyage to Japan in it, I might have said something to it indeed; but as\nit was, I knew the whole story, which was, in short, asking pardon for\nthe word, that the fellow lied; so I smiled, and said nothing to it.\n\nThis odd sight kept me two hours behind the caravan, for which the\nleader of it for the day fined me about the value of three shillings;\nand told me, if it had been three days journey without the wall, as it\nwas three days within, he must have fined me four times as much, and\nmade me ask pardon the next council-day: so I promised to be more\norderly; for, indeed, I found afterwards the orders made for keeping all\ntogether were absolutely necessary for our common safety.\n\nIn two days more we passed the great China wall, made for a\nfortification against the Tartars; and a very great work it is, going\nover hills and mountains in an endless track, where the rocks are\nimpassable, and the precipices such as no enemy could possibly enter,\nor, indeed, climb up, or where, if they did, no wall could hinder them.\nThey tell us, its length is near a thousand English miles, but that the\ncountry is five hundred, in a straight measured line, which the wall\nbounds, without measuring the windings and turnings it takes: 'tis about\nfour fathom high, and as many thick in some places.\n\nI stood still an hour, or thereabouts, without trespassing on our\norders, for so long the caravan was in passing the gate; I say, I stood\nstill an hour to look at it, on every side, near and far off; I mean,\nwhat was within my view; and the guide of our caravan, who had been\nextolling it for the wonder of the world, was mighty eager to hear my\nopinion of it. I told him it was a most excellent thing to keep off the\nTartars, which he happened not to understand as I meant it, and so took\nit for a compliment; but the old pilot laughed: \"O, Seignior Inglese,\"\nsaid he, \"you speak in colours.\"--\"In colours!\" said I; \"what do you\nmean by that?\"--\"Why, you speak what looks white this way, and black\nthat way; gay one way, and dull another way: you tell him it is a good\nwall to keep out Tartars; you tell me, by that, it is good for nothing\nbut to keep out Tartars; or, will keep out none but Tartars. I\nunderstand you, Seignior Inglese, I understand you,\" said he, joking;\n\"but Seignior Chinese understand you his own way.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"Seignior, do you think it would stand out an army of\nour country-people, with a good train of artillery; or our engineers,\nwith two companies of miners? Would they not batter it down in ten\ndays, that an army might enter in battalia, or blow it up in the air,\nfoundation and all, that there should be no sign of it left?\"--\"Ay, ay,\"\nsaid he, \"I know that.\" The Chinese wanted mightily to know what I said,\nand I gave him leave to tell him a few days after, for we were then\nalmost out of their country, and he was to leave us in a little time\nafterwards; but when he knew what I had said, he was dumb all the rest\nof the way, and we heard no more of his fine story of the Chinese power\nand greatness while he staid.\n\nAfter we had passed this mighty nothing, called a wall, something like\nthe Picts wall, so famous in Northumberland, and built by the Romans, we\nbegan to find the country thinly inhabited, and the people rather\nconfined to live in fortified towns and cities, as being subject to the\ninroads and depredations of the Tartars, who rob in great armies, and\ntherefore are not to be resisted by the naked inhabitants of an\nopen country.\n\nAnd here I began to find the necessity of keeping together in a caravan,\nas we travelled; for we saw several troops of Tartars roving about; but\nwhen I came to see them distinctly, I wondered how that the Chinese\nempire could be conquered by such contemptible fellows; for they are a\nmere herd or crowd of wild fellows, keeping no order, and understanding\nno discipline, or manner of fight.\n\nTheir horses are poor, lean, starved creatures, taught nothing, and are\nfit for nothing; and this we found the first day we saw them, which was\nafter we entered the wilder part of the country. Our leader for the day\ngave leave for about sixteen of us to go a hunting, as they call it; and\nwhat was this but hunting of sheep! However, it may be called hunting\ntoo; for the creatures are the wildest, and swiftest of foot, that ever\nI saw of their kind; only they will not run a great way, and you are\nsure of sport when you begin the chase; for they appear generally by\nthirty or forty in a flock, and, like true sheep, always keep together\nwhen they fly.\n\nIn pursuit of this odd sort of game, it was our hap to meet with about\nforty Tartars: whether they were hunting mutton as we were, or whether\nthey looked for another kind of prey, I know not; but as soon as they\nsaw us, one of them blew a kind of horn very loud, but with a barbarous\nsound that I had never heard before, and, by the way, never care to hear\nagain. We all supposed this was to call their friends about them; and so\nit was; for in less than half a quarter of an hour, a troop of forty or\nfifty more appeared at about a mile distance; but our work was over\nfirst, as it happened.\n\nOne of the Scots merchants of Moscow happened to be amongst us; and as\nsoon as he heard the horn, he told us, in short, that we had nothing to\ndo but to charge them immediately, without loss of time; and, drawing us\nup in a line, he asked, if we were resolved? We told him, we were ready\nto follow him: so he rode directly up to them. They stood gazing at us,\nlike a mere crowd, drawn up in no order, nor shewing the face of any\norder at all; but as soon as they saw us advance, they let fly their\narrows; which, however, missed us very happily: it seems they mistook\nnot their aim, but their distance; for their arrows all fell a little\nshort of us, but with so true an aim, that had we been about twenty\nyards nearer, we must have had several men wounded, if not killed.\n\nImmediately we halted; and though it was at a great distance, we fired,\nand sent them leaden bullets for wooden arrows, following our shot full\ngallop, resolving to fall in among them sword in hand; for so our bold\nScot that led us, directed. He was, indeed, but a merchant, but he\nbehaved with that vigour and bravery on this occasion, and yet with such\na cool courage too, that I never saw any man in action fitter for\ncommand. As soon as we came up to them, we fired our pistols in their\nfaces, and then drew; but they fled in the greatest confusion\nimaginable; the only stand any of them made was on our right, where\nthree of them stood, and, by signs, called the rest to come back to\nthem, having a kind of scimitar in their hands, and their bows hanging\nat their backs. Our brave commander, without asking any body to follow\nhim, galloped up close to them, and with his fusil knocked one of them\noff his horse, killed the second with his pistol, and the third ran\naway; and thus ended our fight; but we had this misfortune attending it,\nviz. that all our mutton that we had in chase got away. We had not a man\nkilled or hurt; but, as for the Tartars, there were about five of them\nkilled; how many were wounded, we knew not; but this we knew, that the\nother party was so frighted with the noise of our guns, that they fled,\nand never made any attempt upon us.\n\nWe were all this while in the Chinese dominions, and therefore the\nTartars were not so bold as afterwards; but in about five days we\nentered a vast great wild desert, which held us three days and nights\nmarch; and we were obliged to carry our water with us in great leather\nbottles, and to encamp all night, just as I have heard they do in the\ndeserts of Arabia.\n\nI asked our guides, whose dominion this was in? and they told me this\nwas a kind of border that might be called No Man's Land; being part of\nthe Great Karakathy, or Grand Tartary; but that, however, it was\nreckoned to China; that there was no care taken here to preserve it from\nthe inroads of thieves; and therefore it was reckoned the worst desert\nin the whole march, though we were to go over some much larger.\n\nIn passing this wilderness, which, I confess, was at the first view very\nfrightful to me, we saw two or three times little parties of the\nTartars, but they seemed to be upon their own affairs, and to have no\ndesign upon us; and so, like the man who met the devil, if they had\nnothing to say to us, we had nothing to say to them; we let them go.\n\nOnce, however, a party of them came so near as to stand and gaze at us;\nwhether it was to consider what they should do, viz. to attack us, or\nnot attack us, we knew not; but when we were passed at some distance by\nthem, we made a rear guard of forty men, and stood ready for them,\nletting the caravan pass half a mile, or thereabouts, before us. After a\nwhile they marched off, only we found they assaulted us with five arrows\nat their parting; one of which wounded a horse, so that it disabled him;\nand we left him the next day, poor creature, in great need of a good\nfarrier. We suppose they might shoot more arrows, which might fall short\nof us; but we saw no more arrows, or Tartars, at that time.\n\nWe travelled near a month after this, the ways being not so good as at\nfirst, though still in the dominions of the emperor of China; but lay,\nfor the most part, in villages, some of which were fortified, because of\nthe incursions of the Tartars. When we came to one of these towns, (it\nwas about two days and a half's journey before we were to come to the\ncity of Naum) I wanted to buy a camel, of which there are plenty to be\nsold all the way upon that road, and of horses also, such as they are,\nbecause so many caravans coming that way, they are very often wanted.\nThe person that I spoke to to get me a camel, would have gone and\nfetched it for me; but I, like a fool, must be officious, and go myself\nalong with him. The place was about two miles out of the village, where,\nit seems, they kept the camels and horses feeding under a guard.\n\nI walked it on foot, with my old pilot in company, and a Chinese, being\ndesirous, forsooth, of a little variety. When we came to this place, it\nwas a low marshy ground, walled round with a stone wall, piled up dry,\nwithout mortar or earth among it, like a park, with a little guard of\nChinese soldiers at the doors. Having bought a camel, and agreed for the\nprice, I came away; and the Chinese man, that went with me, led the\ncamel, when on a sudden came up five Tartars on horseback: two of them\nseized the fellow, and took the camel from him, while the other three\nstepped up to me and my old pilot; seeing us, as it were, unarmed, for I\nhad no weapon about me but my sword, which could but ill defend me\nagainst three horsemen. The first that came up stopped short upon my\ndrawing my sword; (for they are arrant cowards) but a second coming upon\nmy left, gave me a blow on the head, which I never felt till afterwards,\nand wondered, when I came to myself, what was the matter with me, and\nwhere I was, for he laid me flat on the ground; but my never-failing old\npilot, the Portuguese (so Providence, unlooked for, directs deliverances\nfrom dangers, which to us are unforeseen,) had a pistol in his pocket,\nwhich I knew nothing of nor the Tartars neither; if they had, I suppose\nthey would not have attacked us; but cowards are always boldest when\nthere is no danger.\n\nThe old man, seeing me down, with a bold heart stepped up to the fellow\nthat had struck me, and laying hold of his arm with one hand, and\npulling him down by main force a little towards him with the other, he\nshot him into the head, and laid him dead on the spot; he then\nimmediately stepped up to him who had stopped us, as I said, and before\nhe could come forward again (for it was all done as it were in a moment)\nmade a blow at him with a scimitar, which he always wore, but, missing\nthe man, cut his horse into the side of his head, cut one of his ears\noff by the root, and a great slice down the side of his face. The poor\nbeast, enraged with the wounds, was no more to be governed by his rider,\nthough the fellow sat well enough too; but away he flew, and carried him\nquite out of the pilot's reach; and, at some distance, rising upon his\nhind legs, threw down the Tartar, and fell upon him.\n\nIn this interval the poor Chinese came in, who had lost the camel, but\nhe had no weapon; however, seeing the Tartar down, and his horse fallen\nupon him, he runs to him, and seizing upon an ugly ill-favoured weapon\nhe had by his side, something like a pole-axe, but not a pole-axe\neither, he wrenched it from him, and made shift to knock his Tartarian\nbrains out with it. But my old man had the third Tartar to deal with\nstill; and, seeing he did not fly as he expected, nor come on to fight\nhim, as he apprehended, but stood stock still, the old man stood still\ntoo, and falls to work with his tackle to charge his pistol again: but\nas soon as the Tartar saw the pistol, whether he supposed it to be the\nsame or another, I know not; but away he scoured, and left my pilot, my\nchampion I called him afterwards, a complete victory.\n\nBy this time I was a little awake; for I thought, when I first began to\nawake, that I had been in a sweet sleep; but as I said above, I wondered\nwhere I was, how I came upon the ground, and what was the matter: in a\nword, a few minutes after, as sense returned, I felt pain, though I did\nnot know where; I clapped my hand to my head, and took it away bloody;\nthen I felt my head ache, and then, in another moment, memory returned,\nand every thing was present to me again.\n\nI jumped up upon my feet instantly, and got hold of my sword, but no\nenemies in view. I found a Tartar lie dead, and his horse standing very\nquietly by him; and looking farther, I saw my champion and deliverer,\nwho had been to see what the Chinese had done, coming back with his\nhanger in his hand. The old man, seeing me on my feet, came running to\nme, and embraced me with a great deal of joy, being afraid before that I\nhad been killed; and seeing me bloody, would see how I was hurt; but it\nwas not much, only what we call a broken head; neither did I afterwards\nfind any great inconvenience from the blow, other than the place which\nwas hurt, and which was well again in two or three days.\n\nWe made no great gain, however, by this victory; for we lost a camel,\nand gained a horse: but that which was remarkable, when we came back to\nthe village, the man demanded to be paid for the camel; I disputed it,\nand it was brought to a hearing before the Chinese judge of the place;\nthat is to say, in English, we went before a justice of the peace. Give\nhim his due, he acted with a great deal of prudence and impartiality;\nand having heard both sides, he gravely asked the Chinese man that went\nwith me to buy the camel, whose servant he was? \"I am no servant,\" said\nhe, \"but went with the stranger.\"--\"At whose request?\" said the justice.\n\"At the stranger's request,\" said he. \"Why then,\" said the justice, \"you\nwere the stranger's servant for the time; and the camel being delivered\nto his servant, it was delivered to him, and he must pay for it.\"\n\nI confess the thing was so clear, that I had not a word to say; but\nadmiring to see such just reasoning upon the consequence, and so\naccurate stating the case, I paid willingly for the camel, and sent for\nanother; but you may observe, _I sent_ for it; I did not go to fetch it\nmyself any more; I had had enough of that.\n\nThe city of Naum is a frontier of the Chinese empire: they call it\nfortified, and so it is, as fortifications go there; for this I will\nventure to affirm, that all the Tartars in Karakathy, which, I believe,\nare some millions, could not batter down the walls with their bows and\narrows; but to call it strong, if it were attacked with cannon, would be\nto make those who understand it laugh at you.\n\nWe wanted, as I have said, about two days journey of this city, when\nmessengers were sent express to every part of the road, to tell all\ntravellers and caravans to halt, till they had a guard sent to them; for\nthat an unusual body of Tartars, making ten thousand in all, had\nappeared in the way, about thirty miles beyond the city.\n\nThis was very bad news to travellers; however, it was carefully done of\nthe governor, and we were very glad to hear we should have a guard.\nAccordingly, two days after, we had two hundred soldiers sent us from a\ngarrison of the Chinese on our left, and three hundred more from the\ncity of Naum, and with those we advanced boldly: the three hundred\nsoldiers from Naum marched in our front, the two hundred in our rear,\nand our men on each side of our camels with our baggage, and the whole\ncaravan in the centre. In this order, and well prepared for battle, we\nthought ourselves a match for the whole ten thousand Mogul Tartars, if\nthey had appeared; but the next day, when they did appear, it was quite\nanother thing.\n\nIt was early in the morning, when marching from a little well-situated\ntown, called Changu, we had a river to pass, where we were obliged to\nferry; and had the Tartars had any intelligence, then had been the time\nto have attacked us, when, the caravan being over, the rear-guard was\nbehind: but they did not appear there.\n\nAbout three hours after, when we were entered upon, a desert of about\nfifteen or sixteen miles over, behold, by a cloud of dust they raised,\nwe saw an enemy was at hand; and they were at hand indeed, for they came\non upon the spur.\n\nThe Chinese, our guard on the front, who had talked so big the day\nbefore, began to stagger, and the soldiers frequently looked behind\nthem; which is a certain sign in a soldier, that he is just ready to run\naway. My old pilot was of my mind; and being near me, he called out:\n\"Seignior Inglese,\" said he, \"those fellows must be encouraged, or they\nwill ruin us all; for if the Tartars come on, they will never stand\nit.\"--\"I am of your mind,\" said I: \"but what course must be\ndone?\"--\"Done?\" said he; \"let fifty of our men advance, and flank them\non each wing, and encourage them, and they will fight like brave fellows\nin brave company: but without it, they will every man turn his back.\"\nImmediately I rode up to our leader, and told him, who was exactly of\nour mind; and accordingly fifty of us marched to the right wing, and\nfifty to the left, and the rest made a line of reserve; for so we\nmarched, leaving the last two hundred men to make another body to\nthemselves, and to guard the camels; only that, if need were, they\nshould send a hundred men to assist the last fifty.\n\nIn a word, the Tartars came on, and an innumerable company they were;\nhow many, we could not tell, but ten thousand we thought was the least.\nA party of them came on first, and viewed our posture, traversing the\nground in the front of our line; and as we found them within gun-shot,\nour leader ordered the two wings to advance swiftly, and give them a\n_salvo_ on each wing with their shot, which was done; but they went off,\nand I suppose went back to give an account of the reception they were\nlike to meet with; and, indeed, that salute clogged their stomachs; for\nthey immediately halted, stood awhile to consider of it, and, wheeling\noff to the left, they gave over the design, and said no more to us for\nthat time; which was very agreeable to our circumstances, which were but\nvery indifferent for a battle with such a number.\n\nTwo days after this we came to the city of Naum, or Naunm. We thanked\nthe governor for his care for us, and collected to the value of one\nhundred crowns, or thereabouts, which we gave to the soldiers sent to\nguard us; and here we rested one day. This is a garrison indeed, and\nthere were nine hundred soldiers kept here; but the reason of it was,\nthat formerly the Muscovite frontiers lay nearer to them than they do\nnow, the Muscovites having abandoned that part of the country (which\nlies from the city west, for about two hundred miles) as desolate and\nunfit for use; and more especially, being so very remote, and so\ndifficult to send troops hither for its defence; for we had yet above\ntwo thousand miles to Muscovy, properly so called.\n\nAfter this we passed several great rivers, and two dreadful deserts, one\nof which we were sixteen days passing over, and which, as I said, was to\nbe called No Man's Land; and on the 13th of April we came to the\nfrontiers of the Muscovite dominions. I think the first city, or town,\nor fortress, whatever it might be called, that belonged to the czar of\nMuscovy, was called Argun, being on the west side of the river Argun.\n\nI could not but discover an infinite satisfaction; that I was now\narrived in, as I called it, a Christian country; or, at least, in a\ncountry governed by Christians: for though the Muscovites do, in my\nopinion, but just deserve the name of Christians (yet such they pretend\nto be, and are very devout in their way:) it would certainly occur to\nany man who travels the world as I have done, and who had any power of\nreflection; I say, it would occur to him, to reflect, what a blessing it\nis to be brought into the world where the name of God, and of a\nRedeemer, is known, worshipped, and adored--and not where the people,\ngiven up by Heaven to strong delusions, worship the devil, and prostrate\nthemselves to stocks and stones; worship monsters, elements,\nhorrible-shaped animals, and statues, or images of monsters. Not a town\nor city we passed through but had their pagods, their idols, and their\ntemples; and ignorant people worshipping even the works of their\nown hands!\n\nNow we came where, at least, a face of the Christian worship appeared,\nwhere the knee was bowed to Jesus; and whether ignorantly or not, yet\nthe Christian religion was owned, and the name of the true God was\ncalled upon and adored; and it made the very recesses of my soul rejoice\nto see it. I saluted the brave Scotch merchant I mentioned above, with\nmy first acknowledgment of this; and, taking him by the hand, I said to\nhim, \"Blessed be God, we are once again come among Christians!\" He\nsmiled, and answered, \"Do not rejoice too soon, countryman; these\nMuscovites are but an odd sort of Christians; and but for the name of\nit, you may see very little of the substance for some months farther of\nour journey.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"but still it is better than paganism, and worshipping\nof devils.\"--\"Why, I'll tell you,\" said he; \"except the Russian soldiers\nin garrisons, and a few of the inhabitants of the cities upon the road,\nall the rest of this country, for above a thousand miles farther, is\ninhabited by the worst and most ignorant of pagans.\" And so indeed\nwe found it.\n\nWe were now launched into the greatest piece of solid earth, if I\nunderstand any thing of the surface of the globe, that is to be found in\nany part of the world: we had at least twelve hundred miles to the sea,\neastward; we had at least two thousand to the bottom of the Baltic sea,\nwestward; and almost three thousand miles, if we left that sea, and went\non west to the British and French channels; we had full five thousand\nmiles to the Indian or Persian sea, south; and about eight hundred miles\nto the Frozen sea, north; nay, if some people may be believed, there\nmight be no sea north-east till we came round the pole, and consequently\ninto the north-west, and so had a continent of land into America, no\nmortal knows where; though I could give some reasons why I believe that\nto be a mistake too.\n\nAs we entered into the Muscovite dominions, a good while before we came\nto any considerable town, we had nothing to observe there but this:\nfirst, that all the rivers run to the east. As I understood by the\ncharts which some of our caravans had with them, it was plain that all\nthose rivers ran into the great river Yamour, or Gammour. This river, by\nthe natural course of it, must run into the east sea, or Chinese ocean.\nThe story they tell us, that the mouth of this river is choked up with\nbulrushes of a monstrous growth, viz. three feet about, and twenty or\nthirty feet high, I must be allowed to say I believe nothing of; but as\nits navigation is of no use, because there is no trade that way, the\nTartars, to whom alone it belongs, dealing in nothing but cattle; so\nnobody that ever I heard or, has been curious enough either to go down\nto the mouth of it in boats, or to come up from the mouth of it in\nships; but this is certain, that this river running due east, in the\nlatitude of sixty degrees, carries a vast concourse of rivers along with\nit, and finds an ocean to empty itself in that latitude; so we are sure\nof sea there.\n\nSome leagues to the north of this river there are several considerable\nrivers, whose streams run as due north as the Yamour runs east; and\nthese are all found to join their waters with the great river Tartarus,\nnamed so from the northernmost nations of the Mogul Tartars, who, the\nChinese say, were the first Tartars in the world; and who, as our\ngeographers allege, are the Gog and Magog mentioned in sacred story.\n\nThese rivers running all northward, as well as all the other rivers I am\nyet to speak of, made it evident that the northern ocean bounds the land\nalso on that side; so that it does not seem rational in the least to\nthink that the land can extend itself to join with America on that side,\nor that there is not a communication between the northern and the\neastern ocean; but of this I shall say no more; it was my observation at\nthat time, and therefore I take notice of it in this place. We now\nadvanced from the river Arguna by easy and moderate journies, and were\nvery visibly obliged to the care the czar of Muscovy has taken to have\ncities and towns built in as many places as are possible to place them,\nwhere his soldiers keep garrison, something, like the stationary\nsoldiers placed by the Romans in the remotest countries of their empire,\nsome of which I had read were particularly placed in Britain for the\nsecurity of commerce, and for the lodging of travellers; and thus it was\nhere; though wherever we came at these towns and stations the garrisons\nand governor were Russians and professed mere pagans, sacrificing to\nidols, and worshipping the sun, moon, and stars, or all the host of\nheaven; and not only so, but were, of all the heathens and pagans that\never I met with, the most barbarous, except only that they did not eat\nman's flesh, as our savages of America did.\n\nSome instances of this we met with in the country between Arguna, where\nwe enter the Muscovite dominions, and a city of Tartars and Russians\ntogether, called Nertzinskay; in which space is a continued desert or\nforest, which cost us twenty days to travel over it. In a village near\nthe last of those places, I had the curiosity to go and see their way of\nliving; which is most brutish and unsufferable: they had, I suppose, a\ngreat sacrifice that day; for there stood out upon an old stump of a\ntree, an idol made of wood, frightful as the devil; at least as any\nthing we can think of to represent the devil that can be made. It had a\nhead certainly not so much as resembling any creature that the world\never saw; ears as big as goats' horns, and as high; eyes as big as a\ncrown-piece; and a nose like a crooked ram's horn, and a mouth extended\nfour-cornered, like that of a lion, with horrible teeth, hooked like a\nparrot's under bill. It was dressed up in the filthiest manner that you\ncan suppose; its upper garment was of sheep-skins, with the wool\noutward; a great Tartar bonnet on the head, with two horns growing\nthrough it: it was about eight feet high, yet had no feet or legs, or\nany other proportion of parts.\n\nThis scarecrow was set up at the outside of the village; and when I came\nnear to it, there were sixteen or seventeen creatures, whether men or\nwomen I could not tell, for they make no distinction by their habits,\neither of body or head; these lay all flat on the ground, round this\nformidable block of shapeless wood. I saw no motion among them any more\nthan if they had been logs of wood, like their idol; at first I really\nthought they had been so; but when I came a little nearer, they started\nup upon their feet, and raised a howling cry, as if it had been so many\ndeep-mouthed hounds, and walked away as if they were displeased at our\ndisturbing them. A little way off from this monster, and at the door of\na tent or hut, made all of sheep-skins and cow-skins, dried, stood three\nbutchers: I thought they were such; for when I came nearer to them, I\nfound they had long knives in their hands, and in the middle of the tent\nappeared three sheep killed, and one young bullock, or steer. These, it\nseems, were sacrifices to that senseless log of an idol; and these three\nmen priests belonging to it; and the seventeen prostrated wretches were\nthe people who brought the offering, and were making their prayers to\nthat stock.\n\nI confess I was more moved at their stupidity, and this brutish worship\nof a hobgoblin, than ever I was at any thing in my life: to see God's\nmost glorious and best creature, to whom he had granted so many\nadvantages, even by creation, above the rest of the works of his hands,\nvested with a reasonable soul, and that soul adorned with faculties and\ncapacities adapted both to honour his Maker and be honoured by him; I\nsay, to see it sunk and degenerated to a degree so more than stupid, as\nto prostrate itself to a frightful nothing, a mere imaginary object\ndressed up by themselves, and made terrible to themselves by their own\ncontrivance, adorned only with clouts and rags; and that this should be\nthe effect of mere ignorance, wrought up into hellish devotion by the\ndevil himself; who, envying his Maker the homage and adoration of his\ncreatures, had deluded them into such gross, surfeiting, sordid, and\nbrutish things, as one would think should shock nature itself.\n\nBut what signified all the astonishment and reflection of thoughts? Thus\nit was, and I saw it before my eyes; and there was no room to wonder at\nit, or think it impossible. All my admiration turned to rage; and I rode\nup to the image or monster, call it what you will, and with my sword cut\nthe bonnet that was on its head in two in the middle, so that it hung\ndown by one of the horns; and one of our men that was with me, took hold\nof the sheep skin that covered it, and pulled at it, when, behold, a\nmost hideous outcry and howling ran through the village, and two or\nthree hundred people came about my ears, so that I was glad to scour for\nit; for we saw some had bows and arrows; but I resolved from that moment\nto visit them again.\n\nOur caravan rested three nights at the town, which was about four miles\noff, in order to provide some horses, which they wanted, several of the\nhorses having been lamed and jaded with the badness of the way, and our\nlong march over the last desert; so we had some leisure here to put my\ndesign in execution. I communicated my project to the Scots merchant, of\nMoscow, of whose courage I had had a sufficient testimony, as above. I\ntold him what I had seen, and with what indignation I had since thought\nthat human nature could be so degenerate. I told him, I was resolved,\nif I could get but four or five men well armed to go with me, to go and\ndestroy that vile, abominable idol; to let them see, that it had no\npower to help itself, and consequently could not be an object of\nworship, or to be prayed to, much less help them that offered\nsacrifices to it.\n\nHe laughed at me: said he, \"Your zeal may be good; but what do you\npropose to yourself by it?\"--\"Propose!\" said I: \"to vindicate the\nhonour of God, which is insulted by this devil-worship.\"--\"But how will\nit vindicate the honour of God,\" said he, \"while the people will not be\nable to know what you mean by it, unless you could speak to them too,\nand tell them so? and then they will fight you too, I will assure you,\nfor they are desperate fellows, and that especially in defence of their\nidolatry.\"--\"Can we not,\" said I, \"do it in the night, and then leave\nthem the reasons in writing, in their own language?\"--\"Writing!\" said\nhe; \"why, there is not in five nations of them one man that knows any\nthing of a letter, or how to read a word in any language, or in their\nown.\"--\"Wretched ignorance!\" said I to him: \"however, I have a great\nmind to do it; perhaps nature may draw inferences from it to them, to\nlet them see how brutish they are to worship such horrid things.\"--\"Look\nyou, Sir,\" said he; \"if your zeal prompts you to it so warmly, you must\ndo it; but in the next place, I would have you consider these wild\nnations of people are subjected by force to the czar of Muscovy's\ndominion; and if you do this, it is ten to one but they will come by\nthousands to the governor of Nertzinskay, and complain, and demand\nsatisfaction; and if he cannot give them satisfaction, it is ten to one\nbut they revolt; and it will occasion a new war with all the Tartars in\nthe country.\"\n\nThis, I confess, put new thoughts into my head for a while; but I harped\nupon the same string still; and all that day I was uneasy to put my\nproject in execution. Towards the evening the Scots merchant met me by\naccident in our walk about the town, and desired to speak with me: \"I\nbelieve,\" said he, \"I have put you off your good design; I have been a\nlittle concerned about it since; for I abhor the idol and idolatry as\nmuch as you can do.\"--\"Truly,\" said I, \"you have put it off a little, as\nto the execution of it, but you have not put it all out of my thoughts;\nand, I believe, I shall do it still before I quit this place, though I\nwere to be delivered up to them for satisfaction.\"--\"No, no,\" said he,\n\"God forbid they should deliver you up to such a crew of monsters! they\nshall not do that neither; that would be murdering you indeed.\"--\"Why,\"\nsaid I, \"how would they use me?\"--\"Use you!\" said he: \"I'll tell you how\nthey served a poor Russian, who affronted them in their worship just as\nyou did, and whom they took prisoner, after they had lamed him with an\narrow, that he could not run away: they took him and stripped him stark\nnaked, and set him upon the top of the idol monster, and stood all round\nhim, and shot as many arrows into him as would stick over his whole\nbody; and then they burnt him, and all the arrows sticking in him, as a\nsacrifice to the idol.\"--\"And was this the same idol:\" said I.--\"Yes,\"\nsaid he, \"the very same.\"--\"Well,\" said I, \"I will tell you a story.\" So\nI related the story of our men at Madagascar, and how they burnt and\nsacked the village there, and killed man, woman, and child, for their\nmurdering one of our men, just as it is related before; and when I had\ndone, I added, that I thought we ought to do so to this village.\n\nHe listened very attentively to the story; but when I talked of doing so\nto that village, said he, \"You mistake very much; it was not this\nvillage, it was almost a hundred miles from this place; but it was the\nsame idol, for they carry him about in procession all over the\ncountry.\"--\"Well,\" said I, \"then that idol ought to be punished for it;\nand it shall,\" said I, \"if I live this night out.\"\n\nIn a word, finding me resolute, he liked the design, and told me, I\nshould not go alone, but he would go with me; but he would go first,\nand bring a stout fellow, one of his countrymen, to go also with us;\n\"and one,\" said he, \"as famous for his zeal as you can desire any one to\nbe against such devilish things as these.\" In a word, he brought me his\ncomrade a Scotsman, whom he called Captain Richardson; and I gave him a\nfull account of what I had seen, and also what I intended; and he told\nme readily, he would go with me, if it cost him his life. So we agreed\nto go, only we three. I had, indeed, proposed it to my partner, but he\ndeclined it. He said, he was ready to assist me to the utmost, and upon\nall occasions, for my defence; but that this was an adventure quite out\nof his way: so, I say, we resolved upon our work, only we three, and my\nman-servant, and to put it in execution that night about midnight, with\nall the secresy imaginable.\n\nHowever, upon second thoughts, we were willing to delay it till the next\nnight, because the caravan being to set forward in the morning, we\nsupposed the governor could not pretend to give them any satisfaction\nupon us when we were out of his power. The Scots merchant, as steady in\nhis resolution to enterprise it as bold in executing, brought me a\nTartar's robe or gown of sheep-skins, and a bonnet, with a bow and\narrows, and had provided the same for himself and his countryman, that\nthe people, if they saw us, should not be able to determine who we were.\n\nAll the first night we spent in mixing up some combustible matter with\naqua-vitae, gunpowder, and such other materials as we could get; and,\nhaving a good quantity of tar in a little pot, about an hour after night\nwe set out upon our expedition.\n\nWe came to the place about eleven o'clock at night, and found that the\npeople had not the least jealousy of danger attending their idol. The\nnight was cloudy; yet the moon gave us light enough to see that the idol\nstood just in the same posture and place that it did before. The people\nseemed to be all at their rest; only, that in the great hut, or tent as\nwe called it, where we saw the three priests, whom we mistook for\nbutchers, we saw a light, and going up close to the door, we heard\npeople talking, as if there were five or six of them; we concluded,\ntherefore, that if we set wildfire to the idol, these men would come out\nimmediately, and run up to the place to rescue it from the destruction\nthat we intended for it; and what to do with them we knew not. Once we\nthought of carrying it away, and setting fire to it at a distance, but\nwhen we came to handle it we found it too bulky for our carriage; so we\nwere at a loss again. The second Scotsman was for setting fire to the\ntent or hut, and knocking the creatures that were there on the head,\nwhen they came out; but I could not join with that; I was against\nkilling them, if it was possible to be avoided. \"Well then,\" said the\nScots merchant, \"I will tell you what we will do; we will try to make\nthem prisoners, tie their hands, and make them stand and see their idol\ndestroyed.\"\n\nAs it happened, we had twine or packthread enough about us, which we\nused to tie our fire-works together with; so we resolved to attack these\npeople first, and with as little noise as we could. The first thing we\ndid, we knocked at the door, when one of the priests coming to it, we\nimmediately seized upon him, stopped his mouth, and tied his hands\nbehind him, and led him to the idol, where we gagged him that he might\nnot make a noise, tied his feet also together, and left him on\nthe ground.\n\nTwo of us then waited at the door, expecting that another would come out\nto see what the matter was; but we waited so long till the third man\ncame back to us; and then nobody coming out, we knocked again gently,\nand immediately out came two more, and we served them just in the same\nmanner, but were obliged to go all with them, and lay them down by the\nidol some distance from one another; when going back we found two more\nwere come out to the door, and a third stood behind them within the\ndoor. We seized the two, and immediately tied them, when the third\nstepping back, and crying out, my Scots merchant went in after him, and\ntaking out a composition we had made, that would only smoke and stink,\nhe set fire to it, and threw it in among them: by that time the other\nScotsman and my man taking charge of the two men already bound, and tied\ntogether also by the arm, led them away to the idol, and left them\nthere, to see if their idol would relieve them, making haste back to us.\n\nWhen the furze we had thrown in had filled the hut with so much smoke\nthat they were almost suffocated, we then threw in a small leather bag\nof another kind, which flamed like a candle, and following it in, we\nfound there were but four people left, who, it seems, were two men and\ntwo women, and, as we supposed, had been about some of their diabolic\nsacrifices. They appeared, in short, frighted to death, at least so as\nto sit trembling and stupid, and not able to speak neither, for\nthe smoke.\n\nIn a word, we took them, bound them as we had the other, and all without\nany noise, I should have said, we brought them out of the house, or hut,\nfirst; for, indeed, we were not able to bear the smoke any; more than\nthey were. When we had done this, we carried them all together to the\nidol: when we came there we fell to work with him; and first we daubed\nhim all over, and his robes also, with tar, and such other stuff as we\nhad, which was tallow mixed with brimstone; then we stopped his eyes,\nand ears, and, mouth full of gunpowder; then we wrapped up a great piece\nof wildfire in his bonnet; and then sticking all the combustibles we had\nbrought with us upon; him, we looked about to see if we could find any\nthing else to help to burn him; when my Scotsman remembered that by the\ntent, or hut, where the men were, there lay a heap of dry forage,\nwhether straw or rushes I do not remember: away he and the other\nScotsman ran, and fetched their arms full of that. When we had done\nthis, we took all our prisoners, and brought them, having untied their\nfeet and ungagged their mouths, and made them stand up, and set them\nall before their monstrous idol, and then set fire to the whole.\n\nWe stayed by it a quarter of an hour, or thereabouts, til the powder in\nthe eyes, and mouth, and ears of the idol blew up, and, as we could\nperceive, had split and deformed the shape of it; and, in a word, till\nwe saw it burnt into a mere block or log of wood; and then igniting the\ndry forage to it, we found it would be soon quite consumed; so we began\nto think of going away; but the Scotsman said, \"No, we must not go, for\nthese poor deluded wretches will all throw themselves into the fire, and\nburn themselves with the idol.\" So we resolved to stay till the forage\nwas burnt down too, and then we came away and left them.\n\nIn the morning we appeared among our fellow-travellers, exceeding busy\nin getting ready for our journey; nor could any man suggest that we had\nbeen any where but in our beds, as travellers might be supposed to be,\nto fit themselves for the fatigues of that day's journey.\n\nBut it did not end so; for the next day came a great multitude of the\ncountry people, not only of this village, but of a hundred more, for\naught I know, to the town-gates; and in a most outrageous manner\ndemanded satisfaction of the Russian governor, for the insulting their\npriests, and burning their great Cham-Chi-Thaungu; such a hard name they\ngave the monstrous creature they worshipped. The people of Nertzinskay\nwere at first in a great consternation; for they said the Tartars were\nno less than thirty thousand, and that in a few days more they would be\none hundred thousand stronger.\n\nThe Russian governor sent out messengers to appease them, and gave them\nall the good words imaginable. He assured them he knew nothing of it,\nand that there had not a soul of his garrison been abroad; that it could\nnot be from any body there; and if they would let him know who it was,\nhe should be exemplarily punished. They returned haughtily, That all the\ncountry reverenced the great Cham-Chi-Thaungu, who dwelt in the son,\nand no mortal would have dared to offer violence to his image, but some\nChristian miscreant; so they called them, it seems; and they therefore\ndenounced war against him, and all the Russians, who, they said, were\nmiscreants and Christians.\n\nThe governor, still patient, and unwilling to make a breach, or to have\nany cause of war alleged to be given by him, the czar having straitly\ncharged him to treat the conquered country with gentleness and civility,\ngave them still all the good words he could; at last he told them, there\nwas a caravan gone towards Russia that morning, and perhaps it was some\nof them who had done them this injury; and that, if they would be\nsatisfied with that, he would send after them, to inquire into it. This\nseemed to appease them a little; and accordingly the governor sent after\nus, and gave us a particular account how the thing was, intimating\nwithal, that if any in our caravan had done it, they should make their\nescape; but that whether they had done it or no, we should make all the\nhaste forward that was possible; and that in the meantime he would keep\nthem in play as long as he could.\n\nThis was very friendly in the governor. However, when it came to the\ncaravan, there was nobody knew any thing of the matter; and, as for us\nthat were guilty, we were the least of all suspected; none so much as\nasked us the question; however, the captain of the caravan, for the\ntime, took the hint that the governor gave us, and we marched or\ntravelled two days and two nights without any considerable stop, and\nthen we lay at a village called Plothus; nor did we make any long stop\nhere, but hastened on towards Jarawena, another of the czar of Muscovy's\ncolonies, and where we expected we should be safe; but it is to be\nobserved, that here we began, for two or three days march, to enter upon\na vast nameless desert, of which I shall say more in its place; and\nwhich if we had now been upon it, it is more than probable we had been\nall destroyed. It was the second day's march from Plothus that by the\nclouds of dust behind us at a great distance, some of our people began\nto be sensible we were pursued; we had entered the desert, and had\npassed by a great lake, called Schanks Osier, when we perceived a very\ngreat body of horse appear on the other side of the lake to the north,\nwe travelling west. We observed they went away west, as we did; but had\nsupposed we should have taken that side of the lake, whereas we very\nhappily took the south side: and in two days more we saw them not, for\nthey, believing we were still before them, pushed on, till they came to\nthe river Udda: this is a very great river when it passes farther north,\nbut when we came to it, we found it narrow and fordable.\n\nThe third day they either found their mistake, or had intelligence of\nus, and came pouring in upon us towards the dusk of the evening. We had,\nto our great satisfaction, just pitched upon a place for our camp, which\nwas very convenient for the night; for as we were upon a desert, though\nbut at the beginning of it, that was above five hundred miles over, we\nhad no towns to lodge at, and, indeed, expected none but the city of\nJarawena, which we had yet two days march to; the desert, however, had\nsome few woods in it on this side, and little river, which ran all into\nthe great river Udda. It was in a narrow strait, between two small but\nvery thick woods, that we pitched our little camp for that night,\nexpecting to be attacked in the night.\n\nNobody knew but ourselves what we were pursued for; but as it was usual\nfor the Mogul Tartars to go about in troops in that desert, so the\ncaravans always fortify themselves every night against them, as against\narmies of robbers; and it was therefore no new thing to be pursued.\n\nBut we had this night, of all the nights of our travels, a most\nadvantageous camp; for we lay between two woods, with a little rivulet\nrunning just before our front; so that we could not be surrounded or\nattacked any way, but in our front or rear: we took care also to make\nour front as strong as we could, by placing our packs, with our camels\nand horses, all in a line on the side of the river, and we felled some\ntrees in our rear.\n\nIn this posture we encamped for the night; but the enemy was upon us\nbefore we had finished our situation: they did not come on us like\nthieves, as we expected, but sent three messengers to us, to demand the\nmen to be delivered to them, that had abused their priests, and burnt\ntheir god Cham-Chi-Thaungu, that they might burn them with fire; and,\nupon this, they said, they would go away, and do us no farther harm,\notherwise they would burn us all with fire. Our men looked very blank at\nthis message, and began to stare at one another, to see who looked with\nmost guilt in their faces, but, _nobody_ was the word, nobody did it.\nThe leader of the caravan sent word, he was well assured it was not\ndone, by any of our camp; that we were peaceable merchants, travelling\non our business; that we had done no harm to them, or to any one else;\nand therefore they must look farther for their enemies, who had injured\nthem, for we were not the people; so desired them not to disturb us;\nfor, if they did, we should defend ourselves.\n\nThey were far from being satisfied with this for an answer, and a great\ncrowd of them came down in the morning, by break of day, to our camp;\nbut, seeing us in such an advantageous situation, they durst come no\nfarther than the brook in our front, where they stood, and shewed us\nsuch a number, as, indeed, terrified us very much; for those that spoke\nleast of them, spoke of ten thousand. Here they stood, and looked at us\nawhile, and then setting up a great howl, they let fly a cloud of arrows\namong us; but we were well enough fortified for that, for we were\nsheltered under our baggage; and I do not remember that one man of\nus was hurt.\n\nSome time after this we saw them move a little to our right, and\nexpected them on the rear, when a cunning fellow, a Cossack, as they\ncall them, of Jarawena, in the pay of the Muscovites, calling to the\nleader of the caravan, said to him, \"I will send all these people away\nto Sibeilka.\" This was a city four or five days journey at least to the\nsouth, and rather behind us. So he takes his bow and arrows, and,\ngetting on horseback, he rides away from our rear directly, as it were,\nback to Nertzinskay; after this, he takes a great circuit about, and\ncomes to the army of the Tartars, as if he had been sent express to tell\nthem a long story, that the people who had burnt their Cham-Chi-Thaungu\nwere gone to Sibeilka, with a caravan of miscreants, as he called them;\nthat is to say, Christians; and that they were resolved to burn the god\nSeal Isarg, belonging to the Tonguses.\n\nAs this fellow was a mere Tartar, and perfectly spoke their language, he\ncounterfeited so well, that they all took it from him, and away they\ndrove, in a most violent hurry, to Sibeilka, which, it seems, was five\ndays journey to the south; and in less than three hours they were\nentirely out of our sight, and we never heard any more of them, nor ever\nknew whether they went to that other place called Sibeilka or no.\n\nSo we passed safely on to the city of Jarawena, where there was a\ngarrison of Muscovites; and there we rested five days, the caravan being\nexceedingly fatigued with the last day's march, and with want of rest in\nthe night.\n\nFrom this city we had a frightful desert, which held us three-and-twenty\ndays march. We furnished ourselves with some tents here, for the better\naccommodating ourselves in the night; and the leader of the caravan\nprocured sixteen carriages, or waggons, of the country, for carrying our\nwater and provisions; and these carriages were our defence every night\nround our little camp; so that had the Tartars appeared, unless they had\nbeen very numerous indeed, they would not have been able to hurt us.\n\nWe may well be supposed to want rest again after this long journey; for\nin this desert we saw neither house or tree, or scarce a bush: we saw,\nindeed, abundance of the sable-hunters, as they called them. These are\nall Tartars of the Mogul Tartary, of which this country is a part; and\nthey frequently attack small caravans; but we saw no numbers of them\ntogether. I was curious to see the sable skins they catched; but I could\nnever speak with any of them; for they durst not come near us; neither\ndurst we straggle from our company to go near them.\n\nAfter we had passed this desert, we came into a country pretty well\ninhabited; that is to say, we found towns and castles settled by the\nczar of Muscovy, with garrisons of stationary soldiers to protect the\ncaravans, and defend the country against the Tartars, who would\notherwise make it very dangerous travelling; and his czarish majesty has\ngiven such strict orders for the well guarding the caravans and\nmerchants, that if there are any Tartars heard of in the country,\ndetachments of the garrison are always sent to see travellers safe from\nstation to station.\n\nAnd thus the governor of Adinskoy, whom I had an opportunity to make a\nvisit to, by means of the Scots merchant, who was acquainted with him,\noffered us a guard of fifty men, if we thought there was any danger, to\nthe next station.\n\nI thought long before this, that as we came nearer to Europe we should\nfind the country better peopled, and the people more civilized; but I\nfound myself mistaken in both, for we had yet the nation of the Tonguses\nto pass through; where we saw the same tokens of paganism and barbarity,\nor worse, than before; only as they were conquered by the Muscovites,\nand entirely reduced, they were not so dangerous; but for the rudeness\nof manners, idolatry, and polytheism, no people in the world ever went\nbeyond them. They are clothed all in skins of beasts, and their houses\nare built of the same. You know not a man from a woman, neither by the\nruggedness of their countenances, or their clothes; and in the winter,\nwhen the ground is covered with snow, they live under ground, in houses\nlike vaults, which have cavities or caves going from one to another.\n\nIf the Tartars had their Cham-Chi-Thaungu for a whole village, or\ncountry, these had idols in every hut and every cave; besides, they\nworship the stars, the sun, the water, the snow; and, in a word, every\nthing that they do not understand, and they understand but very little;\nso that almost every element, every uncommon thing, sets them\na-sacrificing.\n\nBut I am no more to describe people than countries, any farther than my\nown story comes to be concerned in them. I met with nothing peculiar to\nmyself in all this country, which I reckon was, from the desert which I\nspoke of last, at least four hundred miles, half of it being another\ndesert, which took us up twelve days severe travelling, without house,\ntree, or bush; but we were obliged again to carry our own provisions, as\nwell water as bread. After we were out of this desert, and had travelled\ntwo days, we came to Janezay, a Muscovite city or station, on the great\nriver Janezay. This river, they told us, parted Europe from Asia, though\nour map-makers, as I am told, do not agree to it; however, it is\ncertainly the eastern boundary of the ancient Siberia, which now makes a\nprovince only of the vast Muscovite empire, but is itself equal in\nbigness to the whole empire of Germany.\n\nAnd yet here I observed ignorance and paganism, still prevailed, except\nin the Muscovite garrisons. All the country between the river Oby and\nthe river Janezay is as entirely pagan, and the people as barbarous, as\nthe remotest of the Tartars; nay, as any nation, for aught I know, in\nAsia or America. I also found, which I observed to the Muscovite\ngovernors, whom I had opportunity to converse with, that the pagans are\nnot much the wiser, or the nearer Christianity, for being under the\nMuscovite government; which they acknowledged was true enough, but, they\nsaid, it was none of their business; that if the czar expected to\nconvert his Siberian, or Tonguese, or Tartar subjects, it should be\ndone by sending clergymen among them, not soldiers; and they added, with\nmore sincerity than I expected, that they found it was not so much the\nconcern of their monarch to make the people Christians, as it was to\nmake them subjects.\n\nFrom this river to the great river Oby, we crossed a wild uncultivated\ncountry; I cannot say 'tis a barbarous soil; 'tis only barren of people,\nand wants good management; otherwise it is in itself a most pleasant,\nfruitful, and agreeable country. What inhabitants we found in it are all\npagans, except such as are sent among them from Russia; for this is the\ncountry, I mean on both sides the river Oby, whither the Muscovite\ncriminals, that are not put to death, are banished, and from whence it\nis next to impossible they should ever come away.\n\nI have nothing material to say of my particular affairs, till I came to\nTobolski, the capital of Siberia, where I continued some time on the\nfollowing occasion:--\n\nWe had been now almost seven months on our journey, and winter began to\ncome on apace; whereupon my partner and I called a council about our\nparticular affairs, in which we found it proper, considering that we\nwere bound for England, and not for Moscow, to consider how to dispose\nof ourselves. They told us of sledges and rein-deer to carry us over the\nsnow in the winter-time; and, indeed, they have such things, as it would\nbe incredible to relate the particulars of, by which means the Russians\ntravel more in the winter than they can in summer; because in these\nsledges they are able to run night and day: the snow being frozen, is\none universal covering to nature, by which the hills, the vales, the\nrivers, the lakes, are all smooth, and hard as a stone; and they run\nupon the surface, without any regard to what is underneath.\n\nBut I had no occasion to push at a winter journey of this kind; I was\nbound to England, not to Moscow, and my route lay two ways: either I\nmust go on as the caravan went, till I came to Jarislaw, and then go\noff west for Narva, and the gulf of Finland, and so either by sea or\nland to Dantzic, where I might possibly sell my China cargo to good\nadvantage; or I must leave the caravan at a little town on the Dwina,\nfrom whence I had but six days by water to Archangel, and from thence\nmight be sure of shipping, either to England, Holland, or Hamburgh.\n\nNow to go any of these journies in the winter would have been\npreposterous; for as to Dantzic, the Baltic would be frozen up, and I\ncould not get passage; and to go by land in those countries, was far\nless safe than among the Mogul Tartars; likewise to Archangel, in\nOctober all the ships would be gone from thence, and even the merchants,\nwho dwell there in summer, retire south to Moscow in the winter, when\nthe ships are gone; so that I should have nothing but extremity of cold\nto encounter, with a scarcity of provisions, and must lie there in an\nempty town all the winter: so that, upon the whole, I thought it much my\nbetter way to let the caravan go, and to make provision to winter where\nI was, viz. at Tobolski, in Siberia, in the latitude of sixty degrees,\nwhere I was sure of three things to wear out a cold winter with, viz.\nplenty of provisions, such as the country afforded, a warm house, with\nfuel enough, and excellent company; of all which I shall give a full\naccount in its place.\n\nI was now in a quite different climate from my beloved island, where I\nnever felt cold, except when I had my ague; on the contrary, I had much\nto do to bear my clothes on my back, and never made any fire but without\ndoors, for my necessity, in dressing my food, &c. Now I made me three\ngood vests, with large robes or gowns over them, to hang down to the\nfeet, and button close to the wrists, and all these lined with furs, to\nmake them sufficiently warm.\n\nAs to a warm house, I must confess, I greatly dislike our way in\nEngland, of making fires in every room in the house, in open chimnies,\nwhich, when the fire was out, always kept the air in the room cold as\nthe climate. But taking an apartment in a good house in the town, I\nordered a chimney to be built like a furnace, in the centre of six\nseveral rooms, like a stove; the funnel to carry the smoke went up one\nway, the door to come at the fire went in another, and all the rooms\nwere kept equally warm, but no fire seen; like as they heat the bagnios\nin England.\n\nBy this means we had always the same climate in all the rooms, and an\nequal heat was preserved; and how cold soever it was without, it was\nalways warm within; and yet we saw no fire, nor were ever incommoded\nwith any smoke.\n\nThe most wonderful thing of all was, that it should be possible to meet\nwith good company here, in a country so barbarous as that of the most\nnortherly part of Europe, near the Frozen ocean, and within but a very\nfew degrees of Nova Zembla.\n\nBut this being the country where the state criminals of Muscovy, as I\nobserved before, are all banished; this city was full of noblemen,\nprinces, gentlemen, colonels, and, in short, all degrees of the\nnobility, gentry, soldiery, and courtiers of Muscovy. Here were the\nfamous prince Galilfken, or Galoffken, and his son; the old general\nRobostisky, and several other persons of note, and some ladies.\n\nBy means of my Scots merchant, whom, nevertheless, I parted with here, I\nmade an acquaintance with several of these gentlemen, and some of them\nof the first rank; and from these, in the long winter nights, in which I\nstaid here, I received several agreeable visits. It was talking one\nnight with a certain prince, one of the banished ministers of state\nbelonging to the czar of Muscovy, that my talk of my particular case\nbegan. He had been telling me abundance of fine things, of the\ngreatness, the magnificence, and dominions, and the absolute power of\nthe emperor of the Russians. I interrupted him, and told him, I was a\ngreater and more powerful prince than ever the czar of Muscovy was,\nthough my dominions were not so large, or my people so many. The\nRussian grandee looked a little surprised, and fixing his eyes steadily\nupon me, began to wonder what I meant.\n\nI told him his wonder would cease when I had explained myself. First, I\ntold him, I had the absolute disposal of the lives and fortunes of all\nmy subjects: that notwithstanding my absolute power, I had not one\nperson disaffected to my government or to my person, in all my\ndominions. He shook his head at that, and said, there, indeed, I outdid\nthe czar of Muscovy. I told him, that all the lands in my kingdom were\nmy own, and all my subjects were not only my tenants, but tenants at\nwill; that they would all fight for me to the last drop; and that never\ntyrant, for such I acknowledged myself to be, was ever so universally\nbeloved, and yet so horribly feared, by his subjects.\n\nAfter amusing them with these riddles in government for awhile, I opened\nthe case, and told them the story at large of my living in the island,\nand how I managed both myself and the people there that were under me,\njust as I have since minuted it down. They were exceedingly taken with\nthe story, and especially the prince, who told me with a sigh, that the\ntrue greatness of life was to be master of ourselves; that he would not\nhave changed such a state of life as mine, to have been czar of Muscovy,\nand that he found more felicity in the retirement he seemed to be\nbanished to there, than ever he found in the highest authority he\nenjoyed in the court of his master the czar: that the height of human\nwisdom was to bring our tempers down to our circumstances, and to make a\ncalm within, under the weight of the greatest storm, without. When he\ncame first hither, he said, he used to tear the hair from his head, and\nthe clothes from his back, as others had done before him; but a little\ntime and consideration had made him look into himself, as well as round\nhimself, to things without: that he found the mind of man, if it was but\nonce brought to reflect upon the state of universal life, and how\nlittle this world was concerned in its true felicity, was perfectly\ncapable of making a felicity for itself, fully satisfying to itself, and\nsuitable to its own best ends and desires, with but very little\nassistance from the world; that air to breathe in, food to sustain life,\nclothes for warmth, and liberty for exercise, in order to health,\ncompleted, in his opinion, all that the world could do for us: and\nthough the greatness, the authority, the riches, and the pleasures,\nwhich some enjoyed in the world, and which he had enjoyed his share of,\nhad much in them that was agreeable to us, yet he observed, that all\nthose things chiefly gratified the coarsest of our affections; such as\nour ambition, our particular pride, our avarice, our vanity, and our\nsensuality; all which were, indeed, the mere product of the worst part\nof man, were in themselves crimes, and had in them the seeds of all\nmanner of crimes; but neither were related to, or concerned with, any of\nthose virtues that constituted us wise men, or of those graces which\ndistinguished us as Christians; that being now deprived of all the\nfancied felicity which he enjoyed in the full exercise of all those\nvices, he said, he was at leisure to look upon the dark side of them,\nwhere he found all manner of deformity; and was now convinced, that\nvirtue only makes a man truly wise, rich, and great, and preserves him\nin the way to a superior happiness in a future state; and in this, he\nsaid, they were more happy in their banishment, than all their enemies\nwere, who had the full possession of all the wealth and power that they\n(the banished) had left behind them.\n\n\"Nor, Sir,\" said he, \"do I bring my mind to this politically, by the\nnecessity of my circumstances, which some call miserable; but if I know\nany thing of myself, I would not go back, no not though my master, the\nczar, should call me, and offer to reinstate me in all my former\ngrandeur; I say, I would no more go back to it, than I believe my soul,\nwhen it shall be delivered from this prison of the body, and has had a\ntaste of the glorious state beyond life, would come back to the gaol of\nflesh and blood it is now enclosed in, and leave Heaven to deal in the\ndirt and grime of human affairs.\"\n\nHe spake this with so much warmth in his temper, so much earnestness and\nmotion of his spirits, which were apparent in his countenance, that it\nwas evident it was the true sense of his soul; and indeed there was no\nroom to doubt his sincerity.\n\nI told him, I once thought myself a kind of a monarch in my old station,\nof which I had given him an account, but that I thought he was not a\nmonarch only, but a great conqueror; for that he that has got a victory\nover his own exorbitant desires, and has the absolute dominion over\nhimself, and whose reason entirely governs his will, is certainly\ngreater than he that conquers a city. \"But, my lord,\" said I, \"shall I\ntake the liberty to ask you a question?\"--\"With all my heart,\" said he.\n\"If the door of your liberty was opened,\" said I, \"would not you take\nhold of it to deliver yourself from this exile?\"\n\n\"Hold,\" said he, \"your question is subtle, and requires some serious\njust distinctions to give it a sincere answer; and I'll give it you from\nthe bottom of my heart. Nothing that I know of in this world would move\nme to deliver myself from the state of banishment, except these two:\nfirst, the enjoyment of my relations; and secondly, a little warmer\nclimate. But I protest to you, that to go back to the pomp of the court,\nthe glory, the power, the hurry of a minister of state; the wealth, the\ngaiety, and the pleasures, that is to say, follies of a courtier; if my\nmaster should send me word this moment, that he restores me to all he\nbanished me from, I protest, if I know myself at all, I would not leave\nthis wilderness, these deserts, and these frozen lakes, for the palace\nof Moscow.\"\n\n\"But, my lord,\" said I, \"perhaps you not only are banished from the\npleasures of the court, and from the power, and authority, and wealth,\nyou enjoyed before, but you may be absent too from some of the\nconveniencies of life; your estate, perhaps, confiscated, and your\neffects plundered; and the supplies left you here may not be suitable to\nthe ordinary demands of life.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said he, \"that is, as you suppose me to be a lord, or a prince,\n&c. So indeed I am; but you are now to consider me only as a man, a\nhuman creature, not at all distinguished from another; and so I can\nsuffer no want, unless I should be visited with sickness and distempers.\nHowever, to put the question out of dispute; you see our manner; we are\nin this place five persons of rank; we live perfectly retired; as suited\nto a state of banishment; we have something rescued from the shipwreck\nof our fortunes, which keeps us from the mere necessity of hunting for\nour food; but the poor soldiers who are here, without that help, live in\nas much plenty as we. They go into the woods, and catch sables and\nfoxes; the labour of a month will maintain them a year; and as the way\nof living is not expensive, so it is not hard to get sufficient to\nourselves: so that objection is out of doors.\"\n\nI have no room to give a full account of the most agreeable conversation\nI had with this truly great man; in all which he shewed, that his mind\nwas so inspired with a superior knowledge of things, so supported by\nreligion, as well as by a vast share of wisdom, that his contempt of the\nworld was really as much as he had expressed, and that he was always the\nsame to the last, as will appear in the story I am going to tell.\n\nI had been here eight months, and a dark dreadful winter I thought it to\nbe. The cold was so intense, that I could not so much as look abroad\nwithout being wrapt in furs, and a mask of fur before my face, or rather\na hood, with only a hole for breath, and two for sight. The little\ndaylight we had, as we reckoned, for three months, not above five hours\na day, or six at most; only that the snow lying on the ground\ncontinually, and the weather being clear, it was never quite dark. Our\nhorses were kept (or rather starved) under ground; and as for our\nservants, (for we hired servants here to look after our horses and\nourselves) we had every now and then their fingers and toes to thaw, and\ntake care of, lest they should mortify and fall off.\n\nIt is true, within doors we were warm, the houses being close, the walls\nthick, the lights small, and the glass all double. Our food was chiefly\nthe flesh of deer, dried and cured in the season; good bread enough, but\nbaked as biscuits; dried fish of several sorts, and some flesh of\nmutton, and of buffaloes, which is pretty good beef. All the stores of\nprovision for the winter are laid up in the summer, and well cured. Our\ndrink was water mixed with aqua vitae instead of brandy; and, for a\ntreat, mead instead of wine; which, however, they have excellent good.\nThe hunters, who ventured abroad all weathers, frequently brought us in\nfresh venison, very fat and good; and sometimes bear's flesh, but we did\nnot much care for the last. We had a good stock of tea, with which we\ntreated our friends as above; and, in a word, we lived very cheerfully\nand well, all things considered.\n\nIt was now March, and the days grown considerably longer, and the\nweather at least tolerable; so other travellers began to prepare sledges\nto carry them over the snow, and to get things ready to be going; but my\nmeasures being fixed, as I have said, for Archangel, and not for Muscovy\nor the Baltic, I made no motion, knowing very well, that the ships from\nthe south do not set out for that part of the world till May or June;\nand that if I was there at the beginning of August, it would be as soon\nas any ships would be ready to go away; and therefore, I say, I made no\nhaste to be gone, as others did; in a word, I saw a great many people,\nnay, all the travellers, go away before me. It seems, every year they go\nfrom thence to Moscow for trade; viz. to carry furs, and buy necessaries\nwith them, which they bring back to furnish their shops; also others\nwent on the same errand to Archangel; but then they also, being to come\nback again above eight hundred miles, went all out before me.\n\nIn short, about the latter end of May I began to make all ready to pack\nup; and as I was doing this, it occurred to me, that seeing all these\npeople were banished by the czar of Muscovy to Siberia, and yet, when\nthey came there, were at liberty to go whither they would; why did they\nnot then go away to any part of the world wherever they thought fit? and\nI began to examine what should hinder them from making such an attempt.\n\nBut my wonder was over, when I entreated upon that subject with the\nperson I have mentioned, who answered me thus: \"Consider, first,\" said\nhe, \"the place where we are; and, secondly, the condition we are in;\nespecially,\" said he, \"the generality of the people who are banished\nhither. We are surrounded,\" said he, \"with stronger things than bars and\nbolts: on the north side is an unnavigable ocean, where ship never\nsailed, and boat never swam; neither, if we had both, could we know\nwhither to go with them. Every other way,\" said he, \"we have above a\nthousand miles to pass through the czar's own dominions, and by ways\nutterly impassable, except by the roads made by the government, and\nthrough the towns garrisoned by its troops; so that we could neither\npass undiscovered by the road, or subsist any other way: so that it is\nin vain to attempt it.\"\n\nI was silenced indeed, at once, and found that they were in a prison,\nevery jot as secure as if they had been locked up in the castle of\nMoscow; however, it came into my thoughts, that I might certainly be\nmade an instrument to procure the escape of this excellent person, and\nthat it was very easy for me to carry him away, there being no guard\nover him in the country; and as I was not going to Moscow, but to\nArchangel, and that I went in the nature of a caravan, by which I was\nnot obliged to lie in the stationary towns in the desert, but could\nencamp every night where I would, might easily pass uninterrupted to\nArchangel, where I could immediately secure him on board an English or\nDutch ship, and carry him off safe along with me; and as to his\nsubsistence, and other particulars, that should be my care, till he\nshould better supply himself.\n\nHe heard me very attentively, and looked earnestly on me all the while I\nspoke; nay, I could see in his very face, that what I said put his\nspirits into an exceeding ferment; his colour frequently changed, his\neyes looked red, and his heart fluttered, that it might be even\nperceived in his countenance; nor could he immediately answer me when I\nhad done, and, as it were, expected what he would say to it; and after\nhe had paused a little, he embraced me, and said, \"How unhappy are we!\nunguided creatures as we are, that even our greatest acts of friendship\nare made snares to us, and we are made tempters of one another! My dear\nfriend,\" said he, \"your offer is so sincere, has such kindness in it, is\nso disinterested in itself, and is so calculated for my advantage, that\nI must have very little knowledge of the world, if I did not both wonder\nat it, and acknowledge the obligation I have upon me to you for it: but\ndid you believe I was sincere in what I have so often said to you of my\ncontempt of the world? Did you believe I spoke my very soul to you, and\nthat I had really maintained that degree of felicity here, that had\nplaced me above all that the world could give me, or do for me? Did you\nbelieve I was sincere, when I told you I would not go back, if I was\nrecalled even to be all that once I was in the court, and with the\nfavour of the czar my master? Did you believe me, my friend, to be an\nhonest man, or did you think me to be a boasting hypocrite?\" Here he\nstopped, as if he would hear what I would say; but, indeed, I soon after\nperceived, that he stopped because his spirits were in motion: his heart\nwas full of struggles, and he could not go on. I was, I confess,\nastonished at the thing, as well as at the man, and I used some\narguments with him to urge him to set himself free; that he ought to\nlook upon this as a door opened by Heaven for his deliverance, and a\nsummons by Providence, who has the care and good disposition of all\nevents, to do himself good, and to render himself useful in the world.\n\nHe had by this time recovered himself. \"How do you know, Sir,\" said he,\nwarmly, \"but that, instead of a summons from Heaven, it may be a feint\nof another instrument, representing, in all the alluring colours to me,\nthe show of felicity as a deliverance, which may in itself be my snare,\nand tend directly to my ruin? Here I am free from the temptation of\nreturning to my former miserable greatness; there I am not sure, but\nthat all the seeds of pride, ambition, avarice, and luxury, which I know\nremain in my nature, may revive and take root, and, in a word, again\noverwhelm me; and then the happy prisoner, whom you see now master of\nhis soul's liberty, shall be the miserable slave of his own senses, in\nthe full possession of all personal liberty. Dear Sir, let me remain in\nthis blessed confinement, banished from the crimes of life, rather than\npurchase a show of freedom at the expense of the liberty of my reason,\nand at the expense of the future happiness which now I have in my view,\nbut shall then, I fear, quickly lose sight of; for I am but flesh, a\nman, a mere man, have passions and affections as likely to possess and\noverthrow me as any man: O be not my friend and my tempter both\ntogether!\"\n\nIf I was surprised before, I was quite dumb now, and stood silent,\nlooking at him; and, indeed, admired what I saw. The struggle in his\nsoul was so great, that, though the weather was extremely cold, it put\nhim into a most violent sweat, and I found he wanted to give vent to his\nmind; so I said a word or two, that I would leave him to consider of it,\nand wait on him again; and then I withdrew to my own apartment.\n\nAbout two hours after, I heard somebody at or near the door of the room,\nand I was going to open the door; but he had opened it, and come in: \"My\ndear friend,\" said he, \"you had almost overset me, but I am recovered:\ndo not take it ill that I do not close with your offer; I assure you, it\nis not for want of a sense of the kindness of it in you; and I come to\nmake the most sincere acknowledgment of it to you; but, I hope, I have\ngot the victory over myself.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said I, \"I hope you are fully satisfied, that you did not\nresist the call of Heaven.\"--\"Sir,\" said he, \"if it had been from\nHeaven, the same power would have influenced me to accept it; but I\nhope, and am fully satisfied, that it is from Heaven that I decline it;\nand I have an infinite satisfaction in the parting, that you shall leave\nme an honest man still, though not a free man.\"\n\nI had nothing to do but to acquiesce, and make profession to him of my\nhaving no end in it, but a sincere desire to serve him. He embraced me\nvery passionately, and assured me, he was sensible of that, and should\nalways acknowledge it: and with that he offered me a very fine present\nof sables, too much indeed for me to accept from a man in his\ncircumstances; and I would have avoided them, but he would not\nbe refused.\n\nThe next morning I sent my servant to his lordship, with a small present\nof tea, two pieces of China damask, and four little wedges of Japan\ngold, which, did not all weigh above six ounces, or thereabouts; but\nwere far short of the value of his sables, which indeed, when I came to\nEngland, I found worth near two hundred pounds. He accepted the tea, and\none piece of the damask, and one of the pieces of gold, which had a fine\nstamp upon it, of the Japan coinage, which I found he took for the\nrarity of it, but would not take any more; and sent word by my servant,\nthat he desired to speak with me.\n\nWhen I came to him, he told me, I knew what had passed between us, and\nhoped I would not move him any more in that affair; but that, since I\nmade such a generous offer to him, he asked me, if I had kindness enough\nto offer the same to another person that he would name to me, in whom\nhe had a great share of concern. I told him, that I could not say I\ninclined to do so much for any one but himself, for whom I had a\nparticular value, and should have been glad to have been the instrument\nof his deliverance: however, if he would please to name the person to\nme, I would give him my answer, and hoped he would not be displeased\nwith me, if he was with my answer. He told me, it was only his son, who,\nthough I had not seen, yet was in the same condition with himself, and\nabove two hundred miles from him, on the other side the Oby; but that,\nif I consented, he would send for him.\n\nI made no hesitation, but told him I would do it. I made some ceremony\nin letting him understand that it was wholly on his account; and that\nseeing I could not prevail on him, I would shew my respect to him by my\nconcern for his son: but these things are too tedious to repeat here. He\nsent away the next day for his son, and in about twenty days he came\nback with the messenger, bringing six or seven horses loaded with very\nrich furs, and which, in the whole, amounted to a very great value.\n\nHis servants brought the horses into the town, but left the young lord\nat a distance till night, when he came _incognito_ into our apartment,\nand his father presented him to me; and, in short, we concerted there\nthe manner of our travelling, and every thing proper for the journey.\n\nI had bought a considerable quantity of sables, black fox-skins, fine\nermines, and such other furs that are very rich; I say, I had bought\nthem in that city for exchange for some of the goods brought from China;\nin particular, for the cloves and nutmegs, of which I sold the greatest\npart here; and the rest afterwards at Archangel, for a much better price\nthan I could have done at Louden; and my partner, who was sensible of\nthe profit, and whose business, more particularly than mine, was\nmerchandise, was mightily pleased with our stay, on account of the\ntraffic we made here.\n\nIt was in the beginning of June when I left this remote place, a city,\nI believe, little heard of in the world; and, indeed, it is so far out\nof the road of commerce, that I know not how it should be much talked\nof. We were now come to a very small caravan, being only thirty-two\nhorses and camels in all, and all of them passed for mine, though my new\nguest was proprietor of eleven of them. It was most natural also, that I\nshould take more servants with me than I had before, and the young lord\npassed for my steward; what great man I passed for myself I know not,\nneither did it concern me to inquire. We had here the worst and the\nlargest desert to pass over that we met with in all the journey; indeed\nI call it the worst, because the way was very deep in some places, and\nvery uneven in others; the best we had to say for it was, that we\nthought we had no troops of Tartars and robbers to fear, and that they\nnever came on this side the river Oby, or at least but very seldom; but\nwe found it otherwise.\n\nMy young lord had with him a faithful Muscovite servant, or rather a\nSiberian servant, who was perfectly acquainted with the country; and who\nled us by private roads, that we avoided coming into the principal towns\nand cities upon the great road, such as Tumen, Soloy Kamaskoy, and\nseveral others; because the Muscovite garrisons, which are kept there,\nare very curious and strict in their observation upon travellers, and\nsearching lest any of the banished persons of note should make their\nescape that way into Muscovy; but by this means, as we were kept out of\nthe cities, so our whole journey was a desert, and we were obliged to\nencamp and lie in our tents, when we might have had good accommodation\nin the cities on the way: this the young lord was so sensible of, that\nhe would not allow us to lie abroad, when we came to several cities on\nthe way; but lay abroad himself, with his servant, in the woods, and met\nus always at the appointed places.\n\nWe were just entered Europe, having passed the river Kama, which, in\nthese parts, is the boundary between Europe and Asia; and the first city\non the European side was called Soloy Kamaskoy, which is as much as to\nsay, the great city on the river Kama; and here we thought to have seen\nsome evident alteration in the people, their manners, their habit, their\nreligion, and their business; but we were mistaken; for as we had a vast\ndesert to pass, which, by relation, is near seven hundred miles long in\nsome places, but not above two hundred miles over where we passed it;\nso, till we came past that horrible place, we found very little\ndifference between that country and the Mogul Tartary; the people mostly\nPagans, and little better than the savages of America; their houses and\ntowns full of idols, and their way of living wholly barbarous, except in\nthe cities as above, and the villages near them; where they are\nChristians, as they call themselves, of the Greek church; but even these\nhave their religion mingled with so many relics of superstition, that it\nis scarce to be known in some places from mere sorcery and witchcraft.\n\nIn passing this forest, I thought indeed we must, after all our dangers\nwere, in our imagination, escaped, as before, have been plundered and\nrobbed, and perhaps murdered, by a troop of thieves: of what country\nthey were; whether the roving bands of the Ostiachi, a kind of Tartars,\nor wild people on the banks of the Oby, had ranged thus far; or whether\nthey were the sable-hunters of Siberia, I am yet at a loss to know; but\nthey were all on horseback, carried bows and arrows, and were at first\nabout five-and-forty in number. They came so near to us as within about\ntwo musket shot; and, asking no questions, they surrounded us with their\nhorses, and looked very earnestly upon us twice. At length they placed\nthemselves just in our way; upon which we drew up in a little line\nbefore our camels, being not above sixteen men in all; and being drawn\nup thus, we halted, and sent out the Siberian servant who attended his\nlord, to see who they were: his master was the more willing to let him\ngo, because he was not a little apprehensive that they were a Siberian\ntroop sent out after him. The man came up near them with a flag of\ntruce, and called to them; but though he spoke several of their\nlanguages, or dialects of languages rather, he could not understand a\nword they said: however, after some signs to him not to come nearer to\nthem at his peril, so he said he understood them to mean, offering to\nshoot at him if he advanced, the fellow came back no wiser than he went,\nonly that by their dress, he said, he believed them to be some Tartars\nof Kalmuck, or of the Circassian hordes; and that there must be more of\nthem on the great desert, though he never heard that ever any of them\nwere seen so far north before.\n\nThis was small comfort to us; however, we had no remedy: there was on\nour left hand, at about a quarter of a mile's distance, a little grove\nor clump of trees, which stood close together, and very near the road; I\nimmediately resolved we should advance to those trees, and fortify\nourselves as well as we could there; for, first, I considered that the\ntrees would in a great measure cover us from their arrows; and in the\nnext place, they could not come to charge us in a body: it was, indeed,\nmy old Portuguese pilot who proposed it; and who had this excellency\nattending him, namely, that he was always readiest and most apt to\ndirect and encourage us in cases of the most danger. We advanced\nimmediately with what speed we could, and gained that little wood, the\nTartars, or thieves, for we knew not what to call them, keeping their\nstand, and not attempting to hinder us. When we came thither, we found,\nto our great satisfaction, that it was a swampy, springy piece of\nground, and, on the other side, a great spring of water, which, running\nout in a little rill or brook, was a little farther joined by another of\nthe like bigness; and was, in short, the head or source of a\nconsiderable river, called afterwards the Wirtska. The trees which grew\nabout this spring were not in all above two hundred, but were very\nlarge, and stood pretty thick; so that as soon as we got in, we saw\nourselves perfectly safe from the enemy, unless they alighted and\nattacked us on foot.\n\nBut to make this more difficult, our Portuguese, with indefatigable\napplication, cut down great arms of the trees, and laid them hanging,\nnot cut quite off, from one tree to another; so that he made a continued\nfence almost round us.\n\nWe staid here, waiting the motion of the enemy some hours, without\nperceiving they made any offer to stir; when about two hours before\nnight, they came down directly upon us; and, though we had not perceived\nit, we found they had been joined by some more of the same, so that they\nwere near fourscore horse, whereof, however, we fancied some were women.\nThey came in till they were within half a shot of our little wood, when\nwe fired one musket without ball, and called to them in the Russian\ntongue, to know what they wanted, and bid them keep off; but, as if they\nknew nothing of what we said, they came on with a double fury directly\nto the wood-side, not imagining we were so barricaded, that they could\nnot break in. Our old pilot was our captain, as well as he had been our\nengineer; and desired of us, not to fire upon them till they came within\npistol shot, that we might be sure to kill; and that, when we did fire,\nwe should be sure to take good aim. We bade him give the word of\ncommand; which he delayed so long, that they were, some of them, within\ntwo pikes length of us when we fired.\n\nWe aimed so true, (or Providence directed our shot so sure) that we\nkilled fourteen of them at the first volley, and wounded several others,\nas also several of their horses; for we had all of us loaded our pieces\nwith two or three bullets apiece at least.\n\nThey were terribly surprised with our fire, and retreated immediately\nabout one hundred rods from us; in which time we loaded our pieces\nagain, and, seeing them keep that distance, we sallied out, and caught\nfour or five of their horses, whose riders, we supposed, were killed;\nand coming up to the dead, we could easily perceive they were Tartars,\nbut knew not from what country, or how they came to make an excursion\nsuch an unusual length.\n\nAbout an hour after, they made a motion to attack us again, and rode\nround our little wood, to see where else they might break in; but\nfinding us always ready to face them, they went off again, and we\nresolved not to stir from the place for that night.\n\nWe slept but little, you may be sure; but spent the most part of the\nnight in strengthening our situation, and barricading the entrances into\nthe wood; and, keeping a strict watch, we waited for daylight, and, when\nit came, it gave us a very unwelcome discovery indeed: for the enemy,\nwho we thought were discouraged with the reception they had met with,\nwere now increased to no less than three hundred, and had set up eleven\nor twelve huts and tents, as if they were resolved to besiege us; and\nthis little camp they had pitched, was upon the open plain, at about\nthree quarters of a mile from us. We were indeed surprised at this\ndiscovery; and now, I confess, I gave myself over for lost, and all that\nI had. The loss of my effects did not lie so near me (though they were\nvery considerable) as the thoughts of falling into the hands of such\nbarbarians, at the latter end of my journey, after so many difficulties\nand hazards as I had gone through; and even in sight of our port, where\nwe expected safety and deliverance. As for my partner, he was raging: he\ndeclared, that to lose his goods would be his ruin; and he would rather\ndie than be starved; and he was for fighting to the last drop.\n\nThe young lord, as gallant as ever flesh shewed itself, was for fighting\nto the last also; and my old pilot was of the opinion we were able to\nresist them all, in the situation we then were in: and thus we spent the\nday in debates of what we should do; but towards evening, we found that\nthe number of our enemies still increased: perhaps, as they were abroad\nin several parties for prey, the first had sent out scouts to call for\nhelp, and to acquaint them of their booty; and we did not know but by\nthe morning they might still be a greater number; so I began to inquire\nof those people we had brought from Tobolski, if there were no other, or\nmore private ways, by which we might avoid them in the night, and\nperhaps either retreat to some town, or get help to guard us over\nthe desert.\n\nThe Siberian, who was servant to the young lord, told us, if we designed\nto avoid them, and not fight, he would engage to carry us off in the\nnight to a way that went north towards the river Petraz, by which he\nmade no doubt but we might get away, and the Tartars never the wiser;\nbut he said, his lord had told him he would not return, but would rather\nchoose to fight. I told him, he mistook his lord; for that he was too\nwise a man to love fighting for the sake of it; that I knew his lord was\nbrave enough by what he had shewed already; but that his lord knew\nbetter than to desire to have seventeen or eighteen men fight five\nhundred, unless an unavoidable necessity forced them to it; and that if\nhe thought it possible for us to escape in the night, we had nothing\nelse to do but to attempt it. He answered, if his lord gave him such\norder, he would lose his life if he did not perform it. We soon brought\nhis lord to give that order, though privately, and we immediately\nprepared for the putting it in practice.\n\nAnd first, as soon as it began to be dark, we kindled a fire in our\nlittle camp, which we kept burning, and prepared so as to make it burn\nall night, that the Tartars might conclude we were still there; but, as\nsoon as it was dark, that is to say, so as we could see the stars, (for\nour guide would not stir before) having all our horses and camels ready\nloaded, we followed our new guide, who, I soon found, steered himself by\nthe pole or north star, all the country being level for a long way.\n\nAfter we had travelled two hours very hard, it began to be lighter\nstill; not that it was quite dark all night, but the moon; began to\nrise; so that, in short, it was rather lighter than we wished it to be;\nbut by six o'clock next morning we were gotten near forty miles, though\nthe truth is, we almost spoiled our horses. Here we found a Russian\nvillage, named Kirmazinskoy, where we rested, and heard, nothing of the\nKalmuck Tartars that day. About two hours before night we set out again,\nand travelled till eight the next morning, though not quite so hastily\nas before; and about seven o'clock we passed a little river, called\nKirtza, and came to a good large town inhabited by Russians, and very\npopulous, called Ozomya. There we heard, that several troops or herds of\nKalmucks had been abroad upon the desert, but that we were now\ncompletely out of danger of them, which was to our great satisfaction,\nyou may be sure. Here we were obliged to get some fresh horses, and\nhaving need enough of rest, we staid five days; and my partner and I\nagreed to give the honest Siberian, who brought us hither, the value of\nten pistoles for his conducting us.\n\nIn five days more we came to Veussima, upon the river Witzogda, which\nrunning into the river Dwina, we were there very happily near the end of\nour travels by land, that river being navigable in seven days passage to\nArchangel. From hence we came to Lawrenskoy, where the river joins, the\nthird of July; and provided ourselves with two luggage-boats, and a\nbarge, for our convenience. We embarked the seventh, and arrived all\nsafe at Archangel the eighteenth, having been a year, five months, and\nthree days on the journey, including our stay of eight months and odd\ndays at Tobolski.\n\nWe were obliged to stay at this place six weeks for the arrival of the\nships, and must have tarried longer, had not a Hamburgher come in above\na month sooner than any of the English ships; when after some\nconsideration, that the city of Hamburgh might happen to be as good a\nmarket for our goods as London, we all took freight with him; and\nhaving put our goods on board, it was most natural for me to put my\nsteward, on board to take care of them; by which means my young lord had\na sufficient opportunity to conceal himself, never coming on shore again\nin all the time we staid there; and this he did, that he might not be\nseen in the city, where some of the Moscow merchants would certainly\nhave seen and discovered him.\n\nWe sailed from Archangel the twentieth of August the same year; and,\nafter no extraordinary bad voyage, arrived in the Elbe the thirteenth of\nSeptember. Here my partner and I found a very good sale for our goods,\nas well those of China, as the sables, &c. of Siberia; and dividing the\nproduce of our effects my share amounted to 3475_l_. 17_s_. 3_d_.\nnotwithstanding so many losses we had sustained, and charges we had been\nat; only remembering that I had included, in this, about 600_l_. worth\nof diamonds, which I had purchased at Bengal.\n\nHere the young lord took his leave of us, and went up to the Elbe, in\norder to go to the court of Vienna, where he resolved to seek\nprotection, and where he could correspond with those of his father's\nfriends who were left alive. He did not part without all the testimonies\nhe could give of gratitude for the service I had done him, and his sense\nof my kindness to the prince his father.\n\nTo conclude: having staid near four mouths in Hamburgh, I came from\nthence over land to the Hague, where I embarked in the packet, and\narrived in London the tenth of January 1705, having been gone from\nEngland ten years and nine months.\n\nAnd here, resolving to harass myself no more, I am preparing for a\nlonger journey than all these, having lived seventy-two years a life of\ninfinite variety, and learnt sufficiently to know the value of\nretirement, and the blessing of ending our days in peace."