CAPTAIN SINGLETON
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY EDWARD GARNETT
[Transcriber's Note: In the print copy, the following words and those of
the title page are written in intricate, illuminated calligraphy.]
A TALE WHICH HOLDETH CHILDREN FROM PLAY
AND OLD MEN FROM THE CHIMNEY CORNER
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY
THE LIFE ADVENTURES AND PIRACIES
OF THE FAMOUS CAPTAIN SINGLETON
BY DANIEL DEFOE
PREFACE
That all Defoe's novels, with the exception of "Robinson Crusoe," should
have been covered with the dust of neglect for many generations, is a plain
proof of how much fashions in taste affect the popularity of the British
classics. It is true that three generations or so ago, Defoe's works were
edited by both Sir Walter Scott and Hazlitt, and that this masterly piece
of realism, "Captain Singleton," was reprinted a few years back in "The
Camelot Classics," but it is safe to say that out of every thousand readers
of "Robinson Crusoe" only one or two will have even heard of the "Memoirs
of a Cavalier," "Colonel Jack," "Moll Flanders," or "Captain Singleton." It
is indeed distressing to think that while many scores of thousands of
copies of Lord Lytton's flashy romance, "Paul Clifford," have been devoured
by the public, "Captain Singleton" has remained unread and almost
forgotten. But the explanation is simple. Defoe's plain and homely realism
soon grew to be thought vulgar by people who themselves aspired to be
refined and genteel. The rapid spread of popular education, in the middle
of last century, was responsible for a great many aberrations of taste, and
the works of the two most English of Englishmen, Defoe and Hogarth, were
judged to be hardly fitting for polite society, as we may see from Lamb's
Essay on Hogarth, and from an early edition of Chambers's "Cyclopaedia of
English Literature" (1843), where we are told: "Nor is it needful to show
how elegant and reflective literature, especially, tends to moralise, to
soften, and to adorn the soul and life of man." "Unfortunately the taste or
_circumstances of Defoe led him mostly into low life_, and his characters
are such _as we cannot sympathise with_. The whole arcana of roguery
and villany seems to have been open to him.... It might be thought that the
good taste which led Defoe to write in a style of such pure and
unpretending English, instead of the inflated manner of vulgar writers,
_would have dictated a more careful selection of his subjects_, and
kept him from wandering so frequently into the low and disgusting purlieus
of vice. But this moral and tasteful discrimination seems to have been
wholly wanting," &c. The 'forties were the days when critics still talked
learnedly of the "noble style," &c., "the vulgar," of "sinking" or "rising"
with "the subject," the days when Books of Beauty were in fashion, and
Rembrandt's choice of beggars, wrinkled faces and grey hairs, for his
favourite subjects seemed a low and reprehensible taste in "high art."
Though critics to-day still ingenuously confound an artist's subject with
his treatment of it, and prefer scenes of life to be idealised rather than
realised by writers, we have advanced a little since the days of the poet
Montgomery, and it would be difficult now to find anybody writing so
confidently - "Unfortunately the taste or circumstances of Defoe led him
mostly into low life," however much the critic might believe it. But let us
glance at a few passages in "Captain Singleton," which may show us why
Defoe excels as a realist, and why his descriptions of "low life" are
artistically as perfect as any descriptions of "higher life" in the works
of the English novelists. Take the following description of kidnapping: -
"The woman pretending to take me up in her arms and kiss me, and
play with me, draws the girl a good way from the house, till at
last she makes a fine story to the girl, and bids her go back to
the maid, and tell her where she was with the child; that a
gentlewoman had taken a fancy to the child and was kissing it, but
she should not be frightened, or to that purpose; for they were
but just there; and so while the girl went, she carried me quite
away. - Page 2.
Now here, in a single sentence, Defoe catches for us the whole soul and
character of the situation. It _seems_ very simple, but it sums up
marvellously an exact observation and knowledge of the arts of the gipsy
child-stealer, of her cunning flattery and brassy boldness, and we can
see the simple little girl running back to the house to tell the nurse
that a fine lady was kissing the child, and had told her to tell where
they were and she should not be frightened, &c.; and this picture again
calls up the hue and cry after the kidnappers and the fruitless hopes of
the parents. In a word, Defoe has condensed in the eight simple lines of
his little scene all that is essential to its living truth; and let the
young writer note that it is ever the sign of the master to do in three
words, or with three strokes, what the ordinary artist does in thirty.
Defoe's imagination is so extraordinarily comprehensive in picking out
just those little matter-of-fact details that suggest all the other
aspects, and that emphasise the character of the scene or situation,
that he makes us believe in the actuality of whatever he is describing.
So real, so living in every detail is this apocryphal narrative, in
"Captain Singleton," of the crossing of Africa by a body of marooned
sailors from the coast of Mozambique to the Gold Coast, that one would
firmly believe Defoe was committing to writing the verbal narrative of
some adventurer in the flesh, if it were not for certain passages - such
as the description of the impossible desert on page 90, which proves
that Defoe was piecing together his description of an imaginary journey
from the geographical records and travellers' tales of his contemporaries,
aided perhaps by the confused yarns of some sailor friends. How
substantially truthful in spirit and in detail is Defoe's account of
Madagascar is proved by the narrative of Robert Drury's "Captivity in
Madagascar," published in 1729. The natives themselves, as described
intimately by Drury, who lived amongst them for many years, would produce
just such an effect as Defoe describes on rough sailors in their perilous
position. The method by which Defoe compels us to accept improbabilities,
and lulls our critical sense asleep, is well shown in the following
passages: -
"Thieving, lying, swearing, forswearing, joined to the most
abominable lewdness, was the stated practice of the ship's crew;
adding to it, that with the most unsufferable boasts of their own
courage, they were, generally speaking, the most complete cowards
that I ever met with." - Page 7.
"All the seamen in a body came up to the rail of the quarter-deck,
where the captain was walking with some of his officers, and
appointing the boatswain to speak for them, he went up, and falling
on his knees to the captain, begged of him in the humblest manner
possible, to receive the four men on board again, offering to answer
for their fidelity, or to have them kept in chains, till they came
to Lisbon, and there to be delivered up to justice, rather than, as
they said, to have them left, to be murdered by savages, or devoured
by wild beasts. It was a great while ere the captain took any notice
of them, but when he did, he ordered the boatswain to be seized, and
threatened to bring him to the capstan for speaking for them....
Upon this severity, one of the seamen, bolder than the rest, but
still with all possible respect to the captain, besought his honour,
as he called him, that he would give leave to some more of them to
go on shore, and die with their companions, or, if possible, to
assist them to resist the barbarians." - Page 18.
Now the first passage we have quoted about the cowardice, &c., of the
Portuguese crew is not in keeping with the second passage, which shows the
men as "wishing to die with their companions"; but so actual is the scene
of the seamen "in a body coming up to the rail of the quarter-deck," that
we cannot but believe the thing happened so, just as we believe in all the
thousand little details of the imaginary narrative of "Robinson Crusoe."
This feat of the imagination Defoe strengthens in the most artful manner,
by putting in the mouths of his characters various reflections to
substantiate the narrative. For example, in the description, on page 263,
of the savages who lined the perilous channel in a half-moon, where the
European ship lay, we find the afterthoughts are added so naturally, that
they would carry conviction to any judge or jury: -
"They little thought what service they had done us, and how
unwittingly, and by the greatest ignorance, they had made
themselves pilots to us, while we, having not sounded the place,
might have been lost before we were aware. _It is true we might
have sounded our new harbour, before we had ventured out; but I
cannot say for certain, whether we should or not; for I, for my
part, had not the least suspicion of what our real case was;
however, I say, perhaps, before we had weighed, we should have
looked about us a little._"
Turning to the other literary qualities that make Defoe's novels great,
if little read, classics, how delightful are the little satiric touches
that add grave weight to the story. Consider the following: "My good
gipsy mother, for some of her worthy actions, no doubt, happened in
process of time to be hanged, and as this fell out something too soon
for me to be perfected in the strolling trade," &c.(p. 3). Every other
word here is dryly satiric, and the large free callousness and careless
brutality of Defoe's days with regard to the life of criminals is
conveyed in half a sentence. And what an amount of shrewd observation is
summed up in this one saying: "Upon these foundations, William said he
was satisfied we might trust them; for, says William, I would as soon
trust a man whose interest binds him to be just to me, as a man whose
principle binds himself" (p. 227). Extremely subtle is also this remark:
"_Why, says I, did you ever know a pirate repent?_ At this he
started a little and returned, _At the gallows_ I have known
_one_ repent, and I _hope_ thou wilt be the second." The
character of William the Quaker pirate is a masterpiece of shrewd
humour. He is the first Quaker brought into English fiction, and we
know of no other Friend in latter-day fiction to equal him. Defoe in
his inimitable manner has defined surely and deftly the peculiar
characteristics of the sect in this portrait. On three separate occasions
we find William saving unfortunate natives or defenceless prisoners from
the cruel and wicked barbarity of the sailors. At page 183, for example,
the reader will find a most penetrating analysis of the dense stupidity
which so often accompanies man's love of bloodshed. The sketch of the
second lieutenant, who was for "murdering the negroes to make them tell,"
when he could not make them even understand what he wanted, is worthy of
Tolstoy. We have not space here to dwell upon the scores of passages of
similar deep insight which make "Captain Singleton" a most true and vivid
commentary on the life of Defoe's times, but we may call special attention
to the passage on page 189 which describe the sale of the negroes to the
planters; to the description of the awakening of the conscience of Captain
Singleton through terror at the fire-cloud (page 222); and to the
extraordinarily picturesque conversation between William and the captive
Dutchman (page 264). Finally, if the reader wishes to taste Defoe's flavour
in its perfection let him examine carefully those passages in the
concluding twenty pages of the book, wherein Captain Singleton is shown
as awakening to the wickedness of his past life, and the admirable dry
reasoning of William by which the Quaker prevents him from committing
suicide and persuades him to keep his ill-gotten wealth, "with a resolution
to do what right with it we are able; and who knows what opportunity
Providence may put into our hands.... As it is without doubt, our present
business is to go to some place of safety, where we may wait His will."
How admirable is the passage about William's sister, the widow with four
children who kept a little shop in the Minories, and that in which the
penitent ex-pirates are shown us as hesitating in Venice for two years
before they durst venture to England for fear of the gallows.
"Captain Singleton" was published in 1720, a year after "Robinson Crusoe,"
when Defoe was fifty-nine. Twenty years before had seen "The True-Born
Englishman" and "The Shortest Way with the Dissenters"; and we are told
that from "June 1687 to almost the very week of his death in 1731 a stream
of controversial books and pamphlets poured from his pen commenting upon
and marking every important passing event." The fecundity of Defoe as a
journalist alone surpasses that of any great journalist we can name,
William Cobbett not excepted, and we may add that the style of "Captain
Singleton," like that of "Robinson Crusoe," is so perfect that there is not
a single ineffective passage, or indeed a weak sentence, to be found in the
book.
EDWARD GARNETT.
The following is a list of Defoe's works: "New Discovery of Old Intrigue"
(verse), 1691. "Character of Dr. Samuel Annesley" (verse), 1697. "The
Pacificator" (verse), 1700. "True-Born Englishman" (verse), 1701. "The Mock
Mourners" (verse), 1702. "Reformation of Manners" (verse), 1702. "New Test
of Church of England's Loyalty," 1702. "Shortest Way with the Dissenters,"
1702. "Ode to the Athenian Society," 1703. "Enquiry into Acgill's General
Translation," 1703. "More Reformation" (verse), 1703. "Hymn to the
Pillory," 1703. "The Storm" (Tale), 1704. "Layman's Sermon on the Late
Storm," 1704. "The Consolidator; or, Memoirs of Sundry Transactions from
the World in the Moon," 1704. "Elegy on Author of 'True-Born Englishman,'"
1704. "Hymn to Victory," 1704. "Giving Alms no Charity," 1704. "The Dyet of
Poland" (verse), 1705. "Apparition of Mrs. Veal," 1706. "Sermon on the
Filling-up of Dr. Burgess's Meeting-house," 1706. "Jure Divino" (verse),
1706. "Caledonia" (verse), 1706. "History of the Union of Great Britain,"
1709. "Short Enquiry into a Late Duel," 1713. "A General History of Trade,"
1713. "Wars of Charles III.," 1715. "The Family Instruction" (two eds.),
1715. "Hymn to the Mob," 1715. "Memoirs of the Church of Scotland," 1717.
"Life and Death of Count Patkul," 1717. "Memoirs of Duke of Shrewsbury,"
1718. "Memoirs of Daniel Williams," 1718. "The Life and Strange Surprising
Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner," 1719. "The Farther
Adventures of Robinson Crusoe," 1719. "The Dumb Philosopher: or, Great
Britain's Wonder," 1719. "The King of Pirates" (Capt. Avery), 1719. "Life
of Baron de Goertz," 1719. "Life and Adventures of Duncan Campbell," 1720.
"Mr. Campbell's Pacquet," 1720. "Memoirs of a Cavalier," 1720. "Life of
Captain Singleton," 1720. "Serious Reflections during the Life and
Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe," 1720. "The Supernatural
Philosopher; or, The Mysteries of Magick," 1720. Translation of Du
Fresnoy's "Compleat Art of Painting" (verse), 1720. "Moll Flanders," 1722,
"Journal of the Plague Year," 1722. "Due Preparations for the Plague,"
1722. "Life of Cartouche," 1722. "History of Colonel Jacque," 1722.
"Religious Courtship," 1722. "History of Peter the Great," 1723. "The
Highland Rogue" (Rob Roy), 1723. "The Fortunate Mistress" (Roxana), 1724.
"Narrative of Murders at Calais," 1724. "Life of John Sheppard," 1724.
"Robberies, Escapes, &c., of John Sheppard," 1724. "The Great Law of
Subordination; or, The Insolence and Insufferable Behaviour of Servants in
England," 1724. "A Tour through Great Britain," 1724-6. "New Voyage Round
the World," 1725. "Account of Jonathan Wild," 1725. "Account of John Gow,"
1725. "Everybody's Business is Nobody's Business" (on Servants), 1725. "The
Complete English Tradesman," 1725; vol. ii., 1727. "The Friendly Demon,"
1726. "Mere Nature Delineated" (Peter the Wild Boy), 1726. "Political
History of the Devil," 1726. "Essay upon Literature and the Original of
Letters," 1726. "History of Discoveries," 1726-7. "The Protestant
Monastery," 1726. "A System of Magic," 1726. "Parochial Tyranny," 1727.
"Treatise concerning Use and Abuse of Marriage," 1727. "Secrets of
Invisible World Discovered; or, History and Reality of Apparitions," 1727,
1728. "A New Family Instructor," 1728. "Augusta Triumphans," 1728. "Plan of
English Commerce," 1728. "Second Thoughts are Best" (on Street Robberies),
1728. "Street Robberies Considered," 1728. "Humble Proposal to People of
England for Increase of Trade, &c.," 1729. "Preface to R. Dodsley's Poem
'Servitude'" 1729. "Effectual Scheme for Preventing Street Robberies,"
1731.
Besides the above-named publications a large number of further tracts by
Defoe are extant, on matters of Politics and Church.
THE LIFE, ADVENTURES, AND PIRACIES
OF CAPTAIN SINGLETON
As it is usual for great persons, whose lives have been remarkable, and
whose actions deserve recording to posterity, to insist much upon their
originals, give full accounts of their families, and the histories of their
ancestors, so, that I may be methodical, I shall do the same, though I can
look but a very little way into my pedigree, as you will see presently.
If I may believe the woman whom I was taught to call mother, I was a little
boy, of about two years old, very well dressed, had a nursery-maid to
attend me, who took me out on a fine summer's evening into the fields
towards Islington, as she pretended, to give the child some air; a little
girl being with her, of twelve or fourteen years old, that lived in the
neighbourhood. The maid, whether by appointment or otherwise, meets with a
fellow, her sweetheart, as I suppose; he carries her into a public-house,
to give her a pot and a cake; and while they were toying in the house the
girl plays about, with me in her hand, in the garden and at the door,
sometimes in sight, sometimes out of sight, thinking no harm.
At this juncture comes by one of those sort of people who, it seems, made
it their business to spirit away little children. This was a hellish trade
in those days, and chiefly practised where they found little children very
well dressed, or for bigger children, to sell them to the plantations.
The woman, pretending to take me up in her arms and kiss me, and play with
me, draws the girl a good way from the house, till at last she makes a fine
story to the girl, and bids her go back to the maid, and tell her where she
was with the child; that a gentlewoman had taken a fancy to the child, and
was kissing of it, but she should not be frighted, or to that purpose; for
they were but just there; and so, while the girl went, she carries me quite
away.
From this time, it seems, I was disposed of to a beggar woman that wanted a
pretty little child to set out her case; and after that, to a gipsy, under
whose government I continued till I was about six years old. And this
woman, though I was continually dragged about with her from one part of the
country to another, yet never let me want for anything; and I called her
mother; though she told me at last she was not my mother, but that she
bought me for twelve shillings of another woman, who told her how she came
by me, and told her that my name was Bob Singleton, not Robert, but plain
Bob; for it seems they never knew by what name I was christened.
It is in vain to reflect here, what a terrible fright the careless hussy
was in that lost me; what treatment she received from my justly enraged
father and mother, and the horror these must be in at the thoughts of their
child being thus carried away; for as I never knew anything of the matter,
but just what I have related, nor who my father and mother were, so it
would make but a needless digression to talk of it here.
My good gipsy mother, for some of her worthy actions no doubt, happened in
process of time to be hanged; and as this fell out something too soon for
me to be perfected in the strolling trade, the parish where I was left,
which for my life I can't remember, took some care of me, to be sure; for
the first thing I can remember of myself afterwards, was, that I went to a
parish school, and the minister of the parish used to talk to me to be a
good boy; and that, though I was but a poor boy, if I minded my book, and
served God, I might make a good man.
I believe I was frequently removed from one town to another, perhaps as the
parishes disputed my supposed mother's last settlement. Whether I was so
shifted by passes, or otherwise, I know not; but the town where I last was
kept, whatever its name was, must be not far off from the seaside; for a
master of a ship who took a fancy to me, was the first that brought me to a
place not far from Southampton, which I afterwards knew to be Bussleton;
and there I attended the carpenters, and such people as were employed in
building a ship for him; and when it was done, though I was not above
twelve years old, he carried me to sea with him on a voyage to
Newfoundland.
I lived well enough, and pleased my master so well that he called me his
own boy; and I would have called him father, but he would not allow it, for
he had children of his own. I went three or four voyages with him, and grew
a great sturdy boy, when, coming home again from the banks of Newfoundland,
we were taken by an Algerine rover, or man-of-war; which, if my account
stands right, was about the year 1695, for you may be sure I kept no
journal.
I was not much concerned at the disaster, though I saw my master, after
having been wounded by a splinter in the head during the engagement, very
barbarously used by the Turks; I say, I was not much concerned, till, upon
some unlucky thing I said, which, as I remember, was about abusing my
master, they took me and beat me most unmercifully with a flat stick on the
soles of my feet, so that I could neither go or stand for several days
together.
But my good fortune was my friend upon this occasion; for, as they were
sailing away with our ship in tow as a prize, steering for the Straits, and
in sight of the bay of Cadiz, the Turkish rover was attacked by two great
Portuguese men-of-war, and taken and carried into Lisbon.
As I was not much concerned at my captivity, not indeed understanding the
consequences of it, if it had continued, so I was not suitably sensible of
my deliverance; nor, indeed, was it so much a deliverance to me as it would
otherwise have been, for my master, who was the only friend I had in the
world, died at Lisbon of his wounds; and I being then almost reduced to my
primitive state, viz., of starving, had this addition to it, that it was in
a foreign country too, where I knew nobody and could not speak a word of
their language. However, I fared better here than I had reason to expect;
for when all the rest of our men had their liberty to go where they would,
I, that knew not whither to go, stayed in the ship for several days, till
at length one of the lieutenants seeing me, inquired what that young
English dog did there, and why they did not turn him on shore.
I heard him, and partly understood what he meant, though not what he said,
and began then to be in a terrible fright; for I knew not where to get a
bit of bread; when the pilot of the ship, an old seaman, seeing me look
very dull, came to me, and speaking broken English to me, told me I must be
gone. "Whither must I go?" said I. "Where you will," said he, "home to your
own country, if you will." "How must I go thither?" said I. "Why, have you
no friend?" said he. "No," said I, "not in the world, but that dog,"
pointing to the ship's dog (who, having stolen a piece of meat just before,
had brought it close by me, and I had taken it from him, and ate it), "for
he has been a good friend, and brought me my dinner."
"Well, well," says he, "you must have your dinner. Will you go with me?"
"Yes," says I, "with all my heart." In short, the old pilot took me home
with him, and used me tolerably well, though I fared hard enough; and I
lived with him about two years, during which time he was soliciting his
business, and at length got to be master or pilot under Don Garcia de
Pimentesia de Carravallas, captain of a Portuguese galleon or carrack,
which was bound to Goa, in the East Indies; and immediately having gotten
his commission, put me on board to look after his cabin, in which he had
stored himself with abundance of liquors, succades, sugar, spices, and
other things, for his accommodation in the voyage, and laid in afterwards a
considerable quantity of European goods, fine lace and linen; and also
baize, woollen cloth, stuffs, &c., under the pretence of his clothes.
I was too young in the trade to keep any journal of this voyage, though my
master, who was, for a Portuguese, a pretty good artist, prompted me to it;
but my not understanding the language was one hindrance; at least it served
me for an excuse. However, after some time, I began to look into his charts
and books; and, as I could write a tolerable hand, understood some Latin,
and began to have a little smattering of the Portuguese tongue, so I began
to get a superficial knowledge of navigation, but not such as was likely to
be sufficient to carry me through a life of adventure, as mine was to be.
In short, I learned several material things in this voyage among the
Portuguese; I learned particularly to be an arrant thief and a bad sailor;
and I think I may say they are the best masters for teaching both these of
any nation in the world.
We made our way for the East Indies, by the coast of Brazil; not that it is
in the course of sailing the way thither, but our captain, either on his
own account, or by the direction of the merchants, went thither first,
where at All Saints' Bay, or, as they call it in Portugal, the Rio de Todos
los Santos, we delivered near a hundred tons of goods, and took in a
considerable quantity of gold, with some chests of sugar, and seventy or
eighty great rolls of tobacco, every roll weighing at least a
hundredweight.
Here, being lodged on shore by my master's order, I had the charge of the
captain's business, he having seen me very diligent for my own master; and
in requital for his mistaken confidence, I found means to secure, that is
to say, to steal, about twenty moidores out of the gold that was shipped on
board by the merchants, and this was my first adventure.
We had a tolerable voyage from hence to the Cape de Bona Speranza; and I
was reputed as a mighty diligent servant to my master, and very faithful. I
was diligent indeed, but I was very far from honest; however, they thought
me honest, which, by the way, was their very great mistake. Upon this very
mistake the captain took a particular liking to me, and employed me
frequently on his own occasion; and, on the other hand, in recompense for
my officious diligence, I received several particular favours from him;
particularly, I was, by the captain's command, made a kind of a steward
under the ship's steward, for such provisions as the captain demanded for
his own table. He had another steward for his private stores besides, but
my office concerned only what the captain called for of the ship's stores
for his private use.
However, by this means I had opportunity particularly to take care of my
master's man, and to furnish myself with sufficient provisions to make me
live much better than the other people in the ship; for the captain seldom
ordered anything out of the ship's stores, as above, but I snipt some of it
for my own share. We arrived at Goa, in the East Indies, in about seven
months from Lisbon, and remained there eight more; during which time I had
indeed nothing to do, my master being generally on shore, but to learn
everything that is wicked among the Portuguese, a nation the most
perfidious and the most debauched, the most insolent and cruel, of any that
pretend to call themselves Christians, in the world.
Thieving, lying, swearing, forswearing, joined to the most abominable
lewdness, was the stated practice of the ship's crew; adding to it, that,
with the most insufferable boasts of their own courage, they were,
generally speaking, the most complete cowards that I ever met with; and the
consequence of their cowardice was evident upon many occasions. However,
there was here and there one among them that was not so bad as the rest;
and, as my lot fell among them, it made me have the most contemptible
thoughts of the rest, as indeed they deserved.
I was exactly fitted for their society indeed; for I had no sense of virtue
or religion upon me. I had never heard much of either, except what a good
old parson had said to me when I was a child of about eight or nine years
old; nay, I was preparing and growing up apace to be as wicked as anybody
could be, or perhaps ever was. Fate certainly thus directed my beginning,
knowing that I had work which I had to do in the world, which nothing but
one hardened against all sense of honesty or religion could go through; and
yet, even in this state of original wickedness, I entertained such a
settled abhorrence of the abandoned vileness of the Portuguese, that I
could not but hate them most heartily from the beginning, and all my life
afterwards. They were so brutishly wicked, so base and perfidious, not only
to strangers but to one another, so meanly submissive when subjected, so
insolent, or barbarous and tyrannical, when superior, that I thought there
was something in them that shocked my very nature. Add to this that it is
natural to an Englishman to hate a coward, it all joined together to make
the devil and a Portuguese equally my aversion.
However, according to the English proverb, he that is shipped with the
devil must sail with the devil; I was among them, and I managed myself as
well as I could. My master had consented that I should assist the captain
in the office, as above; but, as I understood afterwards that the captain
allowed my master half a moidore a month for my service, and that he had my
name upon the ship's books also, I expected that when the ship came to be
paid four months' wages at the Indies, as they, it seems, always do, my
master would let me have something for myself.
But I was wrong in my man, for he was none of that kind; he had taken me up
as in distress, and his business was to keep me so, and make his market of
me as well as he could, which I began to think of after a different manner
than I did at first, for at first I thought he had entertained me in mere
charity, upon seeing my distressed circumstances, but did not doubt but
when he put me on board the ship, I should have some wages for my service.
But he thought, it seems, quite otherwise; and when I procured one to
speak to him about it, when the ship was paid at Goa, he flew into the
greatest rage imaginable, and called me English dog, young heretic, and
threatened to put me into the Inquisition. Indeed, of all the names the
four-and-twenty letters could make up, he should not have called me
heretic; for as I knew nothing about religion, neither Protestant from
Papist, or either of them from a Mahometan, I could never be a heretic.
However, it passed but a little, but, as young as I was, I had been
carried into the Inquisition, and there, if they had asked me if I was a
Protestant or a Catholic, I should have said yes to that which came
first. If it had been the Protestant they had asked first, it had
certainly made a martyr of me for I did not know what.
But the very priest they carried with them, or chaplain of the ship, as we
called him, saved me; for seeing me a boy entirely ignorant of religion,
and ready to do or say anything they bid me, he asked me some questions
about it, which he found I answered so very simply, that he took it upon
him to tell them he would answer for my being a good Catholic, and he hoped
he should be the means of saving my soul, and he pleased himself that it
was to be a work of merit to him; so he made me as good a Papist as any of
them in about a week's time.
I then told him my case about my master; how, it is true, he had taken me
up in a miserable case on board a man-of-war at Lisbon; and I was indebted
to him for bringing me on board this ship; that if I had been left at
Lisbon, I might have starved, and the like; and therefore I was willing to
serve him, but that I hoped he would give me some little consideration for
my service, or let me know how long he expected I should serve him for
nothing.
It was all one; neither the priest nor any one else could prevail with him,
but that I was not his servant but his slave, that he took me in the
Algerine, and that I was a Turk, only pretended to be an English boy to get
my liberty, and he would carry me to the Inquisition as a Turk.
This frighted me out of my wits, for I had nobody to vouch for me what I
was, or from whence I came; but the good Padre Antonio, for that was his
name, cleared me of that part by a way I did not understand; for he came to
me one morning with two sailors, and told me they must search me, to bear
witness that I was not a Turk. I was amazed at them, and frighted, and did
not understand them, nor could I imagine what they intended to do to me.
However, stripping me, they were soon satisfied, and Father Antony bade me
be easy, for they could all witness that I was no Turk. So I escaped that
part of my master's cruelty.
And now I resolved from that time to run away from him if I could, but
there was no doing of it there, for there were not ships of any nation in
the world in that port, except two or three Persian vessels from Ormus, so
that if I had offered to go away from him, he would have had me seized on
shore, and brought on board by force; so that I had no remedy but patience.
And this he brought to an end too as soon as he could, for after this he
began to use me ill, and not only to straiten my provisions, but to beat
and torture me in a barbarous manner for every trifle, so that, in a word,
my life began to be very miserable.
The violence of this usage of me, and the impossibility of my escape from
his hands, set my head a-working upon all sorts of mischief, and in
particular I resolved, after studying all other ways to deliver myself, and
finding all ineffectual, I say, I resolved to murder him. With this hellish
resolution in my head, I spent whole nights and days contriving how to put
it in execution, the devil prompting me very warmly to the fact. I was
indeed entirely at a loss for the means, for I had neither gun or sword,
nor any weapon to assault him with; poison I had my thoughts much upon, but
knew not where to get any; or, if I might have got it, I did not know the
country word for it, or by what name to ask for it.
In this manner I quitted the fact, intentionally, a hundred and a hundred
times; but Providence, either for his sake or for mine, always frustrated
my designs, and I could never bring it to pass; so I was obliged to
continue in his chains till the ship, having taken in her loading, set sail
for Portugal.
I can say nothing here to the manner of our voyage, for, as I said, I kept
no journal; but this I can give an account of, that having been once as
high as the Cape of Good Hope, as we call it, or Cabo de Bona Speranza, as
they call it, we were driven back again by a violent storm from the W.S.W.,
which held us six days and nights a great way to the eastward, and after
that, standing afore the wind for several days more, we at last came to an
anchor on the coast of Madagascar.
The storm had been so violent that the ship had received a great deal of
damage, and it required some time to repair her; so, standing in nearer the
shore, the pilot, my master, brought the ship into a very good harbour,
where we rid in twenty-six fathoms water, about half a mile from the shore.
While the ship rode here there happened a most desperate mutiny among the
men, upon account of some deficiency in their allowance, which came to that
height that they threatened the captain to set him on shore, and go back
with the ship to Goa. I wished they would with all my heart, for I was full
of mischief in my head, and ready enough to do any. So, though I was but a
boy, as they called me, yet I prompted the mischief all I could, and
embarked in it so openly, that I escaped very little being hanged in the
first and most early part of my life; for the captain had some notice that
there was a design laid by some of the company to murder him; and having,
partly by money and promises, and partly by threatening and torture,
brought two fellows to confess the particulars, and the names of the
persons concerned, they were presently apprehended, till, one accusing
another, no less than sixteen men were seized and put into irons, whereof I
was one.
The captain, who was made desperate by his danger, resolving to clear the
ship of his enemies, tried us all, and we were all condemned to die. The
manner of his process I was too young to take notice of; but the purser and
one of the gunners were hanged immediately, and I expected it with the
rest. I do not remember any great concern I was under about it, only that I
cried very much, for I knew little then of this world, and nothing at all
of the next.
However, the captain contented himself with executing these two, and some
of the rest, upon their humble submission and promise of future good
behaviour, were pardoned; but five were ordered to be set on shore on the
island and left there, of which I was one. My master used all his interest
with the captain to have me excused, but could not obtain it; for somebody
having told him that I was one of them who was singled out to have killed
him, when my master desired I might not be set on shore, the captain told
him I should stay on board if he desired it, but then I should be hanged,
so he might choose for me which he thought best. The captain, it seems, was
particularly provoked at my being concerned in the treachery, because of
his having been so kind to me, and of his having singled me out to serve
him, as I have said above; and this, perhaps, obliged him to give my master
such a rough choice, either to set me on shore or to have me hanged on
board. And had my master, indeed, known what good-will I had for him, he
would not have been long in choosing for me; for I had certainly determined
to do him a mischief the first opportunity I had for it. This was,
therefore, a good providence for me to keep me from dipping my hands in
blood, and it made me more tender afterwards in matters of blood than I
believe I should otherwise have been. But as to my being one of them that
was to kill the captain, that I was wronged in, for I was not the person,
but it was really one of them that were pardoned, he having the good luck
not to have that part discovered.
I was now to enter upon a part of independent life, a thing I was indeed
very ill prepared to manage, for I was perfectly loose and dissolute in my
behaviour, bold and wicked while I was under government, and now perfectly
unfit to be trusted with liberty, for I was as ripe for any villainy as a