“Mr Watson,” continued the stranger, “very freely
acquainted me, that the unhappy situation of his circumstances, occasioned
by a tide of ill luck, had in a manner forced him to a resolution of
destroying himself.
“I now began to argue very seriously with him, in opposition to this
heathenish, or indeed diabolical, principle of the lawfulness of
self-murder; and said everything which occurred to me on the subject; but,
to my great concern, it seemed to have very little effect on him. He
seemed not at all to repent of what he had done, and gave me reason to
fear he would soon make a second attempt of the like horrible kind.
“When I had finished my discourse, instead of endeavouring to answer
my arguments, he looked me stedfastly in the face, and with a smile said,
`You are strangely altered, my good friend, since I remember you. I
question whether any of our bishops could make a better argument against
suicide than you have entertained me with; but unless you can find
somebody who will lend me a cool hundred, I must either hang, or drown, or
starve; and, in my opinion, the last death is the most terrible of the
three.'
“I answered him very gravely that I was indeed altered since I had
seen him last. That I had found leisure to look into my follies and to
repent of them. I then advised him to pursue the same steps; and at last
concluded with an assurance that I myself would lend him a hundred pound,
if it would be of any service to his affairs, and he would not put it into
the power of a die to deprive him of it.
“Mr Watson, who seemed almost composed in slumber by the former part
of my discourse, was roused by the latter. He seized my hand eagerly, gave
me a thousand thanks, and declared I was a friend indeed; adding that he
hoped I had a better opinion of him than to imagine he had profited so
little by experience, as to put any confidence in those damned dice which
had so often deceived him. `No, no,' cries he; `let me but once handsomely
be set up again, and if ever Fortune makes a broken merchant of me
afterwards, I will forgive her.'
“I very well understood the language of setting up, and broken
merchant. I therefore said to him, with a very grave face, Mr Watson, you
must endeavour to find out some business or employment, by which you may
procure yourself a livelihood; and I promise you, could I see any
probability of being repaid hereafter, I would advance a much larger sum
than what you have mentioned, to equip you in any fair and honourable
calling; but as to gaming, besides the baseness and wickedness of making
it a profession, you are really, to my own knowledge, unfit for it, and it
will end in your certain ruin.
“`Why now, that's strange,' answered he; `neither you, nor any of my
friends, would ever allow me to know anything of the matter, and yet I
believe I am as good a hand at every game as any of you all; and I
heartily wish I was to play with you only for your whole fortune: I should
desire no better sport, and I would let you name your game into the
bargain: but come, my dear boy, have you the hundred in your pocket?”
“I answered I had only a bill for £50, which I delivered him, and
promised to bring him the rest next morning; and after giving him a little
more advice, took my leave.
“I was indeed better than my word; for I returned to him that very
afternoon. When I entered the room, I found him sitting up in his bed at
cards with a notorious gamester. This sight, you will imagine, shocked me
not a little; to which I may add the mortification of seeing my bill
delivered by him to his antagonist, and thirty guineas only given in
exchange for it.
“The other gamester presently quitted the room, and then Watson
declared he was ashamed to see me; `but,' says he, `I find luck runs so
damnably against me, that I will resolve to leave off play for ever. I
have thought of the kind proposal you made me ever since, and I promise
you there shall be no fault in me, if I do not put it in execution.'
“Though I had no great faith in his promises, I produced him the
remainder of the hundred in consequence of my own; for which he gave me a
note, which was all I ever expected to see in return for my money.
“We were prevented from any further discourse at present by the
arrival of the apothecary; who, with much joy in his countenance, and
without even asking his patient how he did, proclaimed there was great
news arrived in a letter to himself, which he said would shortly be
public, `That the Duke of Monmouth was landed in the west with a vast army
of Dutch; and that another vast fleet hovered over the coast of Norfolk,
and was to make a descent there, in order to favour the duke's enterprize
with a diversion on that side.'
“This apothecary was one of the greatest politicians of his time. He
was more delighted with the most paultry packet, than with the best
patient, and the highest joy he was capable of, he received from having a
piece of news in his possession an hour or two sooner than any other
person in the town. His advices, however, were seldom authentic; for he
would swallow almost anything as a truth—a humour which many made
use of to impose upon him.
“Thus it happened with what he at present communicated; for it was
known within a short time afterwards that the duke was really landed, but
that his army consisted only of a few attendants; and as to the diversion
in Norfolk, it was entirely false.
“The apothecary staid no longer in the room than while he acquainted
us with his news; and then, without saying a syllable to his patient on
any other subject, departed to spread his advices all over the town.
“Events of this nature in the public are generally apt to eclipse
all private concerns. Our discourse therefore now became entirely
political.[*] For my own part, I had been for some time very seriously
affected with the danger to which the Protestant religion was so visibly
exposed under a Popish prince, and thought the apprehension of it alone
sufficient to justify that insurrection; for no real security can ever be
found against the persecuting spirit of Popery, when armed with power,
except the depriving it of that power, as woeful experience presently
showed. You know how King James behaved after getting the better of this
attempt; how little he valued either his royal word, or coronation oath,
or the liberties and rights of his people. But all had not the sense to
foresee this at first; and therefore the Duke of Monmouth was weakly
supported; yet all could feel when the evil came upon them; and therefore
all united, at last, to drive out that king, against whose exclusion a
great party among us had so warmly contended during the reign of his
brother, and for whom they now fought with such zeal and affection.”
“What you say,” interrupted Jones, “is very true; and it
has often struck me, as the most wonderful thing I ever read of in
history, that so soon after this convincing experience which brought our
whole nation to join so unanimously in expelling King James, for the
preservation of our religion and liberties, there should be a party among
us mad enough to desire the placing his family again on the throne.”
“You are not in earnest!” answered the old man; “there
can be no such party. As bad an opinion as I have of mankind, I cannot
believe them infatuated to such a degree. There may be some hot-headed
Papists led by their priests to engage in this desperate cause, and think
it a holy war; but that Protestants, that are members of the Church of
England, should be such apostates, such felos de se, I cannot
believe it; no, no, young man, unacquainted as I am with what has past in
the world for these last thirty years, I cannot be so imposed upon as to
credit so foolish a tale; but I see you have a mind to sport with my
ignorance.”—“Can it be possible,” replied Jones,
“that you have lived so much out of the world as not to know that
during that time there have been two rebellions in favour of the son of
King James, one of which is now actually raging in the very heart of the
kingdom.” At these words the old gentleman started up, and in a most
solemn tone of voice, conjured Jones by his Maker to tell him if what he
said was really true; which the other as solemnly affirming, he walked
several turns about the room in a profound silence, then cried, then
laughed, and at last fell down on his knees, and blessed God, in a loud
thanksgiving prayer, for having delivered him from all society with human
nature, which could be capable of such monstrous extravagances. After
which, being reminded by Jones that he had broke off his story, he resumed
it again in this manner:—
“As mankind, in the days I was speaking of, was not yet arrived at
that pitch of madness which I find they are capable of now, and which, to
be sure, I have only escaped by living alone, and at a distance from the
contagion, there was a considerable rising in favour of Monmouth; and my
principles strongly inclining me to take the same part, I determined to
join him; and Mr Watson, from different motives concurring in the same
resolution (for the spirit of a gamester will carry a man as far upon such
an occasion as the spirit of patriotism), we soon provided ourselves with
all necessaries, and went to the duke at Bridgewater.
“The unfortunate event of this enterprize, you are, I conclude, as
well acquainted with as myself. I escaped, together with Mr Watson, from
the battle at Sedgemore, in which action I received a slight wound. We
rode near forty miles together on the Exeter road, and then abandoning our
horses, scrambled as well as we could through the fields and bye-roads,
till we arrived at a little wild hut on a common, where a poor old woman
took all the care of us she could, and dressed my wound with salve, which
quickly healed it.”
“Pray, sir, where was the wound?” says Partridge. The stranger
satisfied him it was in his arm, and then continued his narrative. “Here,
sir,” said he, “Mr Watson left me the next morning, in order,
as he pretended, to get us some provision from the town of Collumpton; but—can
I relate it, or can you believe it?—this Mr Watson, this friend,
this base, barbarous, treacherous villain, betrayed me to a party of horse
belonging to King James, and at his return delivered me into their hands.
“The soldiers, being six in number, had now seized me, and were
conducting me to Taunton gaol; but neither my present situation, nor the
apprehensions of what might happen to me, were half so irksome to my mind
as the company of my false friend, who, having surrendered himself, was
likewise considered as a prisoner, though he was better treated, as being
to make his peace at my expense. He at first endeavoured to excuse his
treachery; but when he received nothing but scorn and upbraiding from me,
he soon changed his note, abused me as the most atrocious and malicious
rebel, and laid all his own guilt to my charge, who, as he declared, had
solicited, and even threatened him, to make him take up arms against his
gracious as well as lawful sovereign.
“This false evidence (for in reality he had been much the forwarder
of the two) stung me to the quick, and raised an indignation scarce
conceivable by those who have not felt it. However, fortune at length took
pity on me; for as we were got a little beyond Wellington, in a narrow
lane, my guards received a false alarm, that near fifty of the enemy were
at hand; upon which they shifted for themselves, and left me and my
betrayer to do the same. That villain immediately ran from me, and I am
glad he did, or I should have certainly endeavoured, though I had no arms,
to have executed vengeance on his baseness.
“I was now once more at liberty; and immediately withdrawing from
the highway into the fields, I travelled on, scarce knowing which way I
went, and making it my chief care to avoid all public roads and all towns—nay,
even the most homely houses; for I imagined every human creature whom I
saw desirous of betraying me.
“At last, after rambling several days about the country, during
which the fields afforded me the same bed and the same food which nature
bestows on our savage brothers of the creation, I at length arrived at
this place, where the solitude and wildness of the country invited me to
fix my abode. The first person with whom I took up my habitation was the
mother of this old woman, with whom I remained concealed till the news of
the glorious revolution put an end to all my apprehensions of danger, and
gave me an opportunity of once more visiting my own home, and of enquiring
a little into my affairs, which I soon settled as agreeably to my brother
as to myself; having resigned everything to him, for which he paid me the
sum of a thousand pounds, and settled on me an annuity for life.
“His behaviour in this last instance, as in all others, was selfish
and ungenerous. I could not look on him as my friend, nor indeed did he
desire that I should; so I presently took my leave of him, as well as of
my other acquaintance; and from that day to this, my history is little
better than a blank.”
“And is it possible, sir,” said Jones, “that you can
have resided here from that day to this?”—“O no, sir,”
answered the gentleman; “I have been a great traveller, and there
are few parts of Europe with which I am not acquainted.” “I
have not, sir,” cried Jones, “the assurance to ask it of you
now; indeed it would be cruel, after so much breath as you have already
spent: but you will give me leave to wish for some further opportunity of
hearing the excellent observations which a man of your sense and knowledge
of the world must have made in so long a course of travels.”—“Indeed,
young gentleman,” answered the stranger, “I will endeavour to
satisfy your curiosity on this head likewise, as far as I am able.”
Jones attempted fresh apologies, but was prevented; and while he and
Partridge sat with greedy and impatient ears, the stranger proceeded as in
the next chapter.