The Project Gutenberg eBook of In furthest Ind
Title: In furthest Ind
The narrative of Mr Edward Carlyon of the honourable East India Company's service
Author: Sydney C. Grier
Release date: August 22, 2024 [eBook #74298]
Language: English
Original publication: London: William Blackwood and Sons, 1894
Credits: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer
IN FURTHEST IND
THE NARRATIVE OF MR EDWARD CARLYON
OF THE HONOURABLE EAST INDIA COMPANY’S SERVICE
EDITED, WITH A FEW EXPLANATORY NOTES
BY
SYDNEY C. GRIER
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCXCIV
All Rights reserved
[NOTE.]
The Narrative of Mr Edward Carlyon of Ellswether, in the County of Northampton, and late of the Honourable East India Company’s Service, Gentleman; and comprising his most marvellous Escape from the Hands of the Inquisition (falsely called Holy) at Goa, and his Journey to the Court of the Great Mogul, likewise the true Relation of his Dealings with the Lord Marquis of Tourvel, and with Madam Heliodora his Daughter (concerning which grievous Calumnies have of late been forged by certain unfriendly Persons), together with divers curious Observations on the Manners of the Indians, and on the Situation of his Majesty’s Subjects at present resident among them. Wrote by his own hand in the year of grace 1697.
TO HIM THAT READS.
I, Edward Carlyon of Ellswether, Esquire, being of sound mind and body (for the which I thank God), do take up my pen on this fourth day of November, sixteen hundred and ninety-seven, to record the history of my life, being moved thereto by divers considerations.
Imprimis. I would desire to protect my children from such tribulation as hath been brought lately upon myself and my dear wife, through the evil offices of an enemy, from which we were hardly delivered by the great kindness of my honoured and esteemed friend, Mr Robert Martin, lately Accountant of Surat in East India.
Item. I would do all that lies in my power to lighten the griefs of an illustrious lady, whose trials, no less than the fortitude with which she hath endured them, would seem to a man of honour to have earned her exemption from cowardly attempts.
Item. During my sojourn in the Indies, I met several marvellous adventures, and had the felicity to enjoy the discourse of many ingenious persons, the recounting whereof may serve both for the instructing and the diverting those that shall come after me. By the advice, therefore, of my aforesaid friend, Mr Robert Martin, I am resolved, God helping me, on composing, from such notes and letters as I have preserved, a book of my life.
CONTENTS.
I. OF MY DESCENT AND PARENTAGE, AND OF MY SENDING TO THE INDIES
III. OF MY ARRIVING AT SURAT, AND OF THE POSTURE OF AFFAIRS THERE
IV. OF MY SENDING TO GOA BY MY EMPLOYERS, AND OF THOSE THINGS THAT BEFELL ME THERE
V. OF THE EVENTS THAT BEFELL ME ON MY ARREST, AND IN THE HOLY HOUSE AT GOA
VI. OF THE SECRET, DREADFUL, AND BLOODY DOINGS OF THE TRIBUNAL OF THE HOLY INQUISITION
VII. OF MY AMAZING AND MIRACULOUS ESCAPE FROM MOST IMMINENT DEATH
VIII. OF MY SECOND VOYAGE IN THE BOSCOBEL, AND OF THE ENDING THEREOF
IX. OF MY FINDING THE NEW FRANCE IN THE INDIES
X. OF THE CONFIDENCE REPOSED IN ME BY MY LORD, AND OF THE PITFALL WHEREIN I FELL
XI. OF MY CASTING OUT FROM MY FOOL’S PARADISE
XII. OF A PART OF MY LIFE THAT HAD BEEN BETTER SPENT OTHERWISE THAN IT WAS
XIII. OF MY JOURNEYING TO THE CITY OF AGRA; OF MY COMING THITHER, AND OF THE PERSON I FOUND THERE
XV. OF MY SECOND DELIVERANCE FROM EXTREME PERIL OF DEATH
XVI. OF MY DEPARTING FROM EAST INDIA, AND RETURNING TO MY HOME AND DOROTHY
XVII. OF MY SETTING TO REAP THE HARVEST I HAD SOWN
XVIII. OF MY ATTAINING MY DESIRED HAVEN AFTER LONG TRIAL OF STORMY SEAS
XIX. OF CERTAIN ANCIENT FRIENDS OF MINE THAT WERE SUFFERERS FOR CONSCIENCE’ SAKE
I. ON THE NATIVE RACES OF INDIA
II. ON THE SPELLING OF PROPER NAMES
III. ON PRIVATE TRADING BY THE COMPANY’S SERVANTS
IV. ON OLD AND NEW GOA AND MODERN GOA
VI. ON THE HISTORICAL BASIS OF THIS STORY
IN FURTHEST IND.
CHAPTER I.
OF MY DESCENT AND PARENTAGE, AND OF MY SENDING TO THE INDIES.
It will be convenient for me, before relating my history, to give some account of my birth and parentage, and this I will proceed to do. Our branch of the family of Carlyon, though not of the most illustrious, is at least respectable in its antiquity, having been settled at Ellswether (which at one time belonged to a branch of the noble family of De Lovetot) for the space of four hundred years, ever since the esquire Simon Carlyon wedded Dame Elianora, daughter and heiress to Sir Walter de Lovetot. My honoured father was the fourth and youngest son of Roger Carlyon, Esquire, and Margery Colepepper his wife. Being but a younger son, he quitted his home early, and adventured himself in the wars in foreign parts, together with his cousin, my Lord Brandon. Under the banner of this nobleman my father showed great valour and skill in arms, both in Bohemia and also in the Palatinate, so that his assistance was much sought after by many princes and captains of those parts. But on hearing of the troubles in England, my father accompanied his kinsman to Oxford, to the intent to place their swords at the disposition of his majesty. It was when on this visit that my father first saw my mother, that was then Mrs Margaret Brodie, daughter to Sir Nicholas Brodie of Rinnington in the county of Durham, and Anne Delamere his wife. In her youth my mother was bred up with a young lady of quality, Mrs Hyacinth Penfold, that was sister’s daughter to my lord Duke of London, and dwelt at his grace’s castle of Belfort in this county. Now when my lady duchess (that was as truly honest a lady in her opinions as ever lived, though his grace her husband was but a trimmer) came to pay her devoirs to the king and queen at Oxford, she carried with her the two young gentlewomen aforesaid, and they were to her as her own daughters.
My Lord Brandon, then, was presented to Mrs Penfold as a match she should do well to accept, though he was well advanced in years, and little beautified by the chances of war, and my father cast his eyes upon the gentlewoman that bare this lady company. And Mrs Brodie, hearing of his feats of arms in the wars of Germany, and finding his person not disagreeable to her, was not loath to look kindly upon her servant.[1] He then, discovering in her not only great beauty of countenance, but also a sweet civility of manner and marvellous parts of mind, did ask her hand of my lady duchess. Who did grant him, with many kind words, the boon he craved; and my father and mother were wedded at the same time and place with my lord and Mrs Penfold, and lived together for over seven years thereafter in the enjoyment of a rare peace and felicity, though troubled on all sides by the evil chances of the time. This same year was memorable for that my father was knighted on the field of battle by the hand of his sacred majesty himself, after a certain skirmish near to the city of Bristow,[2] since that he did, by his skill in war, save the king’s forces when near to their destruction. ’Twas at Oxford that I was born, in the year 1646, in a mean lodging in a certain poor street of that town, since my mother was afraid to show herself in any more convenient dwelling, and my father durst only visit her secretly by night for fear of capture, my Lord-General Fairfax having but just then took the city.
Shortly after this, also, by the deaths of my uncles, his three brothers (whereof the eldest was slain with my grandfather in that lamentable defeat of my Lord Astley at Stow-on-the-Wold, and the second, having been taken at Leicester the year before, died in prison, and the third was foully murdered in a tumult raised against him in the streets of Northampton), my father found himself possessed of Ellswether—that is to say, of the old house only, whereof all the lands were sold or mortgaged for his majesty’s service. And he, taking up his abode there with my mother and myself, fought still for the king, until that day when the rebels consummated their iniquity by that deed whereof no age hath ever seen the like for its enormity, when he left fighting, being assured that God must shortly punish the whole nation of England with utter destruction. Two years thereafter, notwithstanding, he joined himself to the cause of his majesty King Charles II., and at Worcester Fight was grievously wounded, and lay for many days in danger of his life in a certain mean house of that city. Being there found by the rebels, he was thrown into a dungeon, but after a while, by the good offices of my lord Duke of London, was released, and suffered to return home, being now incapable of fighting more, for that his left leg had been shot off by a ball from a great gun, and his right arm disabled by a pistol-shot, at Worcester Fight.
In the year 1653 there come sad news to Ellswether. My Lord Brandon, heading a rising for the young king in the North, was taken and beheaded; and my lady his wife, who had wearied herself in vain to obtain his pardon, died after giving birth to a daughter. Their son and heir had died in his infancy, and the barony must needs descend to a distant cousin of my lord’s, that was a boon companion of the king in France and Flanders. My lord’s estates and property was all confiscated, and for the poor babe was nothing left, save that she might have my lady’s gowns and suchlike. My lady had committed her babe to the charge of the gentlewoman that bare her company, desiring that she should be brought to Ellswether, and bred up by my mother. Wherefore this gentlewoman, Mrs Sophronia Skipwith by name, took with her the babe, together with my lady’s gowns and jewels, and the great portraits of her and my lord which he had had painted for her on their wedding, and divers tomes of French and English romances, and started on her journey. Coming to Ellswether, she found there sore lamentation, for that my dear mother had departed this life two days before. And Sir Harry, my father, finding himself with my Lady Brandon’s babe to keep, and discerning Mrs Skipwith to be a gentlewoman of most discreet conversation and a sobriety suiting her years (which were thirty-five at the least, and rather over than under), did offer her to remain as governess to the babe, the rather as the aforesaid Mrs Skipwith was an orphan and a distant kinswoman of my lady’s. Now if you look to hear that Mrs Skipwith made use of Sir Harry’s kindness to creep into his good graces, and thus marry him thereafter, you shall be disappointed, for she behaved herself throughout her life with a rare discreetness and wisdom, and hath left behind her a memory full of praise.
My good father, then, adopted for his own the little Mrs Dorothy Brandon (whose kinsman, even after the happy Restoration of his majesty King Charles II., when he gat back his lands, never troubled himself to inquire after her, lest for very shame he must settle on her a portion out of the estates of my lord her father), my father, I say, adopted her, intending in due time to marry her to me his son, and we grew up together as brother and sister, but in that prospect. Now at the Restoration, as I have said, there was many received back their confiscated lands, but my father, who (with his brothers) had sold and mortgaged all for the king’s service, gat nothing, since he had done it all willingly. There remained to us, then, only the manor of Ellswether itself, whereon was a heavy mortgage, that was fallen into the hands of Mr Sternhold, the attorney that my grandfather had been wont to employ. And again, if you look to hear in this place that Mr Sternhold proved himself a cruel or an unrighteous creditor, you will again receive a disappointment, for sure there was never no man that served better either the father or the absent son. But if this great burden of the mortgage was to be removed, it was needful for me to make my fortune, and this in no unspeedy way. And if you shall be surprised that my father allowed me, his only son, to undertake such a distant and dangerous manner of life as that I have followed, I would have you remember that Sir Harry, as was but natural in a gentleman of his family and breeding, cared more for the honour and name of the house than for him that might one day bear it, and that he sent me forth in quest of wealth for to redeem the estates, as any father in Rome might have sent forth his son in quest of warlike honour. After this explanation, which I trust shall resolve any matters that might otherwise seem to you obscure or contradictory, I will proceed to my tale.
Since I have spoke to you of my father’s poverty, you will readily perceive that he could not send me to any great school, nor was he likely, in the dark days that then shadowed this poor realm of ours, to commit me to the tuition of the schismatical minister that had usurped the room of the vicar of our parish, wherefore he was constrained to send me by the day to the grammar-school of Puckle Acton, which town lieth in the vicinage of Ellswether. Here, in common with the sons of many gentlemen of the country round, I gained a slight acquaintance with Greek and Latin, and (for which my life hath made me far more grateful) such a knowledge of the art of fence, of boxing and shooting, as hath often stood me in good stead. When I was not at the school, the time did often hang heavy for me, for the gentlemen’s sons of whom I have spoken durst not admit me to their company more than rarely, for fear of the suspicions of our tyrants, that were wont to scent a conjuration or conspiracy whensoever any number of Malignants (for so they called us) was met together. The company of the boys of the town I neither sought nor would my father have permitted me so to do, and I came thus, almost of necessity, to use and enjoy that of my little cousin Dorothy Brandon, in all my holidays and times of rest. ’Twas with her I learned from Mrs Skipwith to read French, and we loved to pore together over the pages of the ‘Grand Cyrus,’ that magazine of brave thoughts and witty conceits, of the ‘Cleopâtre’ and of the ‘Clélie.’ Of English books we had no great store, but in Sir Philip Sidney his ‘Arcadia’ and in Mr Lyly’s ‘Euphues’ we found a rare delight. Add to this, that my little cousin taught herself Latin in order to the reading it with me, and (her youth remembered) was no mean scholar in the Greek, and you shall see that we had no lack of fantastic and heroical reading for to divert ourselves withal.
Nor was this all our diversion, for we had, beside, our especial romance, or rather romancical drama, since we never writ our incidents, but, if I may so speak, lived them. In this piece my cousin was called Polyxandra, a wood-nymph vowed to Dian’s service, and I Cleombrocles, her faithful knight. The action of the plot was mighty tragical, and full of moving scenes and incidents, for we were beset not alone by the horrid monster Anthropophage, whose castle I have ofttimes besieged, and whose self (as presented by Bevis our house-dog) I often slew, but also by Sophronysius, the tyrannic governor of Mycene, whose part, unknown to herself, was played by Mrs Skipwith. This tyrant was wont to carry off the amiable Polyxandra whensoever as our romance was most alluring; and many fearful vows have I breathed against her, the poor victim weeping meanwhile over her task of presenting in needlework the history of Sisera and Jael. My father performed the part of the Deus ex machinâ, stepping in to grant Polyxandra an holiday when all my intercessions failed; but even he could do little against a certain terrible enchanter, named Virgilius Tully, to whom the renowned Cleombrocles was bound by a solemn vow, that he should attend upon him daily in his cave, and there serve him. Yet was not all our life spent in wars, for to us the meadows and woods around Ellswether were those of Arcady and Thessalia, and we wandered through them engaged in heroic discourse, carried on in extreme picked and delicate language, and garnished with many euphuisms and other pretty conceits, such as I now hear the learned ladies of France do mightily affect. Oh! the vows of never-dying devotion these woods have echoed, the coy answers of the nymph, and the renewed passion of Cleombrocles, interrupted by the approach of the fell Sophronysius!
After the joyful and happy Restoration of his majesty King Charles II., I was able to meet with my fellows without molestation, and also to join with them in many noble sports; but so great was the ruin and poverty brought upon us by the dominion of the rebels (though now happily past), that of the common usages and hospitalities of the country was there next to none among us. ’Twas but rarely that my little cousin and I visited upon any, and ’twas fewer still that came to the Hall, save now and then an ancient cavalier that had known my father in the days of his youth. Yet ’twas one of these ancient gentlemen, as I believe, that must have stirred Sir Harry’s mind to see that I, his only son, was growing up in idleness, and thus embarked him, if I may so speak, on that long voyage of treaties and negotiations, whereof I was only made aware when all was complete.
Two or three times in the year, it was our custom (my little cousin’s and mine) to go to Puckle Acton and take supper with good Mr Sternhold, the attorney. There was never there for us any lack of welcome on the part of Mrs Sternhold or himself; and their two comely daughters, Mrs Diony and Mrs Sisley, were wont to make much of me, and to show great kindness to my little cousin. It did much please them that we, being so young, were deemed troth-plight; and they did delight to set us side by side, and to cry out how pretty a couple we made, and then to incite me to show myself a courteous servant to that my little lady. But always after this was Dorothy wont to behave herself so coy and disdainful as ’tis impossible to conceive, and would try me with as many grievous slights as did ever the coldest and cruellest maid in the romances, so as I would threaten to go away into some foreign kingdom, and seek my fortune, far from my untender love, as did the knights of whom we read so often. And this also did mightily divert the two young damsels and their mother. ’Twas on my eighteenth birthday, at the close of the year 1664, that that occurred which enabled me, though without any knowledge of mine beforehand, to perform this frequent threat—nay, rather compelled me so to do. We had been supping at Mr Sternhold’s house, Dorothy and I, and as we returned she did most steadfastly refuse to take my hand through the woods, because, said she, I had had the misfortune to turn my back on her during the evening. And we wrangling and quarrelling over this mighty matter, the dispute lasted until we were come to the Hall, where I spake after my usual fashion, but Dorothy tossed her saucy head, and must needs say that I talked much of going to foreign parts, but should never go there. Then upon this scornful humour of hers brake in the voice of my father, that was sitting in his great chair in the study, with many papers upon the table before him.
“Son Edward,” says he, “I would fain speak with you.”
“At your pleasure, sir,” says I. “When shall I attend upon you?”
“Now,” says my father; “so soon as little Doll here be gone to bed.”
Dorothy kissed my father, though with a pout, made me a curtsey, and ran away, I shutting the door after her.
“You are now arrived at your eighteenth year, Ned?” says my father.
“Yes, sir,” says I. “I was born in the year that my Lord Fairfax took Oxford city, as I have heard you say.”
“True,” saith Sir Harry, “and you are come to this age without being bred to any trade or calling. Not that ’tis your fault, lad, but mine. ’Tis no news to you, my son, that we abide here truly only on sufferance of Sternhold, and that ’tis all I can do to keep up the house as we live at present. Wherefore you won’t be surprised when I say that I can neither send you to the university, even had you displayed any leaning thereto, nor yet maintain you while you seek a place in his Majesty’s service in foreign parts.”
“Indeed, no, sir,” says I.
“There remains, then,” said my father, “the life of a soldier; but now that the wars of Germany are ended, that an’t any longer a road to wealth by the means of large spoils and larger ransoms, and moreover, you are too old, for I hold that a lad should be bred to that calling from fourteen years, or fifteen at the most. Also there are now no such masters in the art of war as those I had the honour to observe in my young days, nor any such noble theatre as that wherein I observed ’em. And with regard to his majesty’s navy, I fear there is but little glory to be won there nowadays. The rebels were good sailors, even I will say that for ’em. And beside these, which we need not consider, there is two other places offer ’emselves to your choice, for I am willing you should choose which you will accept. Being lately reminded of your age and stature (and sure ’tis well I was reminded on’t, for I had clean forgot it), I writ to my lord Duke of London, son to my Lady Brandon’s uncle that did deal with me so kindly after Worcester Fight, and asked him to use his good offices with his majesty to gain for you some place or preferment. And to this my lord duke hath replied, with many civil words touching my care of little Doll there, his kinswoman, that places be now so few, and they that seek ’em so many, that he knows none for which he might make interest with his majesty on your behalf. Yet out of his remembrance of his parents’ ancient love for our house, his grace is good enough to offer you his nomination to the post of writer[3] in the India Company’s service, which if I accept on’t for you, his majesty hath been graciously pleased to command that the bond of £500, which must be entered into for your good behaviour, shall be pledged from his privy purse. Had it been but five hundred pence instead of pounds, I had never been able to pay ’em, and this, no doubt, in his singular great kindness, his majesty hath guessed. And with regard to this offer, I can say naught but good on’t. As for wealth, this is one of the straightest roads to’t, for though the wage be but £10 by the year for five years, and after that a convenient increase, yet are there many places of trust to be obtained, and, as I hear, many chances of trading on your own account, so that many gentlemen of that service are become by this means very rich. ’Tis true that you must needs leave your country for a term of years, but that is no more than I did myself, and many other noblemen and gentlemen that fought in that long war.”
“And the other place, sir?” said I, when my father left speaking.
“The other place, Ned,” said Sir Harry, “an’t such as I could desire for a Carlyon of Ellswether. Mr Sternhold is so good as to say that he will find you work as his clerk, and although you should at the first receive nothing by way of wage, yet afterwards, I make no doubt, you may rise to wealth. The lawyers have gained much by the troubles of these days, and stand to gain much more. Still, what say you?”
I need scarce say to you that I had not to think for long. When the choice lay between the Indies and Mr Sternhold’s clerkship (the which, as I well knew, should never have been proffered by him had not my father asked it), you won’t wonder that I sprang joyfully at my lord duke his offer. Which also did hugely please my father, he saying that he was glad to find he had a son that would show himself no laggard in seeking to repair the fortunes of his house. And before aught else in the next morning, my father writ to the aforesaid nobleman to signify his grateful acceptance of his singular kindness, I myself also writing to express my duty to his grace and my desire to comport myself suitably in that place he destined for me. And this letter wrote, and set in readiness for my Lord Harmarthwaite’s messenger, that was, by the especial kindness of his lordship, to carry it to London, and there deliver it into his grace’s hands, I found time to consider what great change in my manner of life one day had brought. For but yesterday was I a masterless man (saving, of course, the authority of that my good father), too old for school, and yet without a calling, but to-day I was pledged to the Hon. East India Company, the which was now my master. And notwithstanding the joy that was in my heart, that I should at last have good hope of freeing my father’s estates, in process of time, from the burdens that oppressed them, there come upon me some natural sorrow that I must part from my good father, and from Dorothy, that quarrelled with me and loved me as she had been indeed my sister.
Standing on the staircase in some disquiet, and thinking thus with myself, there came running to me on a sudden my said little cousin Dorothy herself, dressed up mighty fine in a laced waistcoat[4] and petticoat of white satin, with cherry-coloured knots, and cried laughing to me, all our quarrels forgot—
“Why so sad and solemn, Cousin Ned? Do you see my new gown? How doth it please you?”
“Why so fine, little lady, rather let me ask?” says I, bowing low, lest she should again reproach me of lack of courtesy.
“Mrs Skipwith hath ripped a gown of my mother’s, and made this for me,” says she. “Come with me to the picture-room, Cousin Ned. I would have you tell me whether I am like my mother.”
So we two to the oaken gallery, where Dorothy held me by the hand, and we stood before the portraits of my Lord and Lady Brandon, he in his harness,[5] with a battlefield behind him, and she in her wedding-gown.
“Help me with this chair, Ned,” quoth my little cousin, and I dragged the great chair for her between the two portraits, when she climbed up on it, and stood thus between them.
“Tell me, Cousin Ned, am I like her?” she cries.
Truly there was a marvellous likeness, they both wearing white satin and lace, though there was pearls in my Lady Brandon’s dark hair in the stead of the cherry-coloured ribbons; nor did I find in her countenance that intrepidity and firmness that was displayed in my little cousin’s, and which she hath, I take it, from that gallant cavalier my lord her father.
“Well, Cousin Ned?” cries Dorothy, tired of standing.
“O matre pulchrâ filia pulchrior,” quoth I, with a low bow.
“Speak to me in good English,” cries she, pouting.
“ ’Tis but to say (as you very well know) that my lady your mother was fair, but you are fairer, little Doll.”
“Nay,” cries she, “I won’t be called that. Sure I an’t Miss Doll any more. Sir Harry saith I am to be called Mrs Dorothy always, for I am nearly eleven. Oh, Cousin Ned, is it true that you are going to the Indies?”
“Ay, sweet Doll,” says I; “to furthest Ind, and to the kingdoms of Cathay, perhaps.”
“You are ever teasing me,” she saith. “I would I had a fan here, that I might give you a tap therewith, Master Ned. But I will have one some day. When you come back from your voyages and adventures, I shall be a court lady, like my Lady Penelope Harrington, so”—and she held up her hand like a fan, and made great eyes over the edge on’t at me.
“God forbid!” cried I, in a grievous heat.
“And why, prithee?” she asked, somewhat angered. “My mother was a court lady, so why not I?”
“That was in better days,” says I, much disquieted by her speech, yet little caring to tell her what I meant; “but now times are changed. I can’t tell you much, little Doll, but this I will say, that rather than know you such as my Lady Penelope is now become, I would see you in your grave.”
“Then I won’t be like her,” says Dorothy, putting her hand in mine, “for when you have wrought all your great deeds you are coming back to marry me, Ned, an’t you?”
“Ay,” said I, “so that I find you a gentle and comely maiden, caring for my father, and seeking no court gaieties. I would not, with my goodwill, wed a court lady.”
“As you will,” says she. “And you will bring me back a parrot, Cousin Ned, and a pearl chain for to wear on Sundays, and an escrotore[6] of Indian work wherein to keep my jewels?”
“Ay so,” quoth I; “and when I go to London, as this next month, I will send you a fan and a cherry-coloured girdle for to hold it withal, as fine as any in the county, if you will give me one of your knots whereby to choose it.”
“Nay,” says she, “not for that only, but to keep for yourself. Sure after this goodness of yours, I must make you some return on’t. See here,” and she unfastened with great gravity her breast-knot, kissed it, and gave it to me, “now are you my knight, Cousin Ned, and you must enter upon all your adventures for my honour, as did Ambixules for Mizalinza, in the book[7] wherein Mrs Diony read to us last night. And I have made for you, beside, a badge in gum-work, for to carry with you and wear on Royal Oak Day, and you must needs keep ’em both for ever for my sake.”
“So be it, little cousin. But is my departure naught to you?” says I, somewhat grieved. “You have no farewell for me, Doll?”
“Come back with your shield, or else upon it,” quoth she slowly, and, as it seemed, with difficulty.
“Truly a Spartan message!” I cried. “Is there naught beside, little Doll?”
“I shall miss you,” she said, and climbed down from the chair, walking to the window away from me. And I, looking after her, saw that her face was pale and her shoulders heaving, the while she held her head as high as ever, and clenched her hand for to keep back the tears. And with this I was ashamed.
“Dorothy, my little cousin,” says I, going after her and taking her by the hand, “I beg your pardon. Trust me, I did not mean to hurt you.”
“Why—why,” cries Dorothy, turning round upon me in anger, and then on a sudden falling into a passion of weeping and tears, and hiding her face in my sleeve—“why will you make me cry, Cousin Ned, when I have been essaying to send you forth with all composure of mind, as a lady should her knight? ’Tis all spoilt now.”
“Not so,” says I, admiring the child’s insistence in her romancical dreams. “I am going forth as your knight, my Lady Doll, to forge my weapons, and with ’em to fight the great and cruel giant Poverty, and to release my noble father, whom he holds in his toils. You also the giant keeps in durance, but not so strong but you are allowed to help and solace the other captive, and to send words of cheer to your knight. Here is a noble tale, indeed!”
“True knight for true lady?” asks she.
“There is our motto,” says I. “Now are we indeed well provided with all that a romance could lack, little cousin.”
“I would I were going too,” says she, looking up at me with her eyes yet shining with tears; “I would fain be your page, Cousin Ned, like the ladies in the romances, for you will see all the marvels, the tigers and the wild men of the woods, and the elephants, and the Great Mogul himself, and I must stay here. But be sure, if you fall, that I shall don armour and avenge you, as did Parthenia for Argalus in the ‘Arcadia.’ ”
“But that, we may hope, shall not be needful,” said I. “Come into the garden with me now, Doll, and we will slay Anthropophage once more before I depart,” and we left speaking, and went down into the garden, holding each other by the hand.
Now this relation of all those things that preceded my setting out in search of fortune I have set down at length, to the end that all may see how falsely ’tis said that I went to East India in pursuance of my own way and against my father’s will, and also that I was already tired of the match my said father had prepared for me, and desired to rid myself of my cousin Dorothy. Such is the malice of my enemies, that they don’t scruple to say even this, whereas I have showed to you that my father did wellnigh force me to set out, and that I departed in the full intention to return and fulfil my contract with my cousin. And this relation I do hereby declare to be true of all things therein contained.
CHAPTER II.
OF MY TARRYING IN LONDON AND OF MY SAILING IN THE GOOD SHIP BOSCOBEL,
AND ALSO OF MY MAKING AN ENEMY IN MR VANE SPENDER.
’Twas in the month of January 1663-64,[8] that I rid away from Ellswether, mounted on my father’s war-horse Gustavus, with our servant Miles behind me, on a beast taken from the plough, and bade farewell to my home for more than twenty long years. And looking back for to view the Hall once more, I did see my cousin Dorothy waving her handkercher, and heard her cry to me, “True knight for true lady, Cousin Ned!” which words of hers did much move me, so that I rid in silence for some time. But passing Mr Sternhold his house, there come out that good attorney himself, and would ride with me some miles of my way, parting from me at the last with much sorrow, and asking my acceptance of a book of wise counsels (said he) for young gentlemen that were going to foreign parts, called ‘The Merchant’s Avizo,’ which I received with much thanks, and have often found cause to be grateful for the same. And Mr Sternhold leaving us, we journeyed on without remark nor disaster, and in process of time came to London town. Here the first night I lay at an inn (whose name I have now forgot), and in the morning I did send Miles for to acquaint my lord duke of my being arrived, and to inquire when it should be convenient for me to wait upon his grace, and testify my gratefulness for his kindness. But in less than an hour Miles came back, not alone, but with him my lord duke’s chaplain, Dr Ruthven, in his grace’s coach, for to carry me to Belfort Place (which leadeth off from the Strand), there to abide while as I should be in town. So I with the chaplain in the coach, Miles following with the beasts, to his grace’s mansion, where I lay so long as I remained in London, eating with the family,[9] and once or twice at my lord duke’s own table, where his grace showed himself mighty condescending towards me, and asked of my father’s health, and likewise of that of Mrs Dorothy Brandon, his grace’s kinswoman.
“I had thought,” said he, “of having the young damsel here, for to breed her up with my own little girls; but there was some that showed me divers difficulties in the way.”
Methought, as I looked upon the visage of her grace the duchess, that I saw who she was that had showed the difficulties, and truly Dr Ruthven informed me thereafter that I was right.
“Well,” says my lord duke, more cheerfully, “there is plenty of time yet. Perchance, should Mrs Dorothy wed suitably with her quality, we may be able to provide her a marriage portion.”
But looking again upon the duchess, I foresaw that she would have her say concerning this also, and indeed we have heard no more of the marriage portion up to this present time of my writing.
Now in other matters also was my lord duke very gracious to me, in especial in carrying me into his privy cabinet, where he was wont to make experiment into the secrets of Nature, and did discourse to me mighty ingeniously concerning humours and transmutations and efficient and material causes and radical heat and the like, all which I do now much regret that I set them not down at the time; but having once let slip, the years between have blotted out the clear recollection thereof. And at other times I was under the particular charge of Dr Ruthven, that had known my mother, having been in the service of my late lady duchess before that his grace the now duke had attained to his title, and entreated me most gently for her sake. ’Twas with him I paid a visit to that place of much resort, the New Exchange, where I must needs buy for Dorothy her fan and her girdle, and truly I had not believed that there could be so many fans in the world, and Dr Ruthven and I were sorely troubled to choose one among ’em all. ’Twas also with Dr Ruthven that I presented myself in Leadenhall Street, at the house of the Honourable Company I should serve from thenceforth, and having testified my thanks to the gentlemen of the Committee for their acceptance of me, was enrolled on their books. Here, while I was waiting in an outer room while Dr Ruthven visited upon one of his friends, that was a clerk or factor in the house, I fell in with a young gentleman, by name Mr Vane Spender, who wished to put a quarrel upon me, and all because my nomination had been received before his own. By this means I gained I know not what immunity or privilege, but ’twas such as made Mr Spender conceive himself deeply injured at my hands. But I, foreseeing that if we should be cameradoes (as the soldiers say) in the Indies, we were well to endeavour ourselves to live in peace, did address myself to speak him fair, so that his anger cooled before we parted. And here again you shall see how false it is to say that on my first falling in with Mr Spender, I incited him to wrath by the arrogancy and haughtiness of my behaviour, since I did my best to conduct myself handsomely towards him.
Some two or three days after this meeting was the 30th of January, being the day set apart for ever for the remembrance and deploring of that dreadful, bloody, and tremendous crime, the murder of our late sovereign lord, King Charles the Martyr, which was then but lately appointed as a fast-day by authority for the continual reprobating of the same. So in the morning to his grace’s chapel, where was preached a most moving sermon by Dr Ruthven, such as was like to teach us all the horror and wickedness of rebelling against the Lord’s anointed. And after dinner, it not being fit to go to see shows on such a day, I was left idle, and chose to walk abroad in my mourning habit, meditating in myself upon the observance of this day at home. For there it had been my duty in the afternoon to read aloud to my father the later chapters of that most truthful and pathetic book, the ‘Eikon Basilike,’ until Dorothy and Mrs Skipwith was moved to tears, and Sir Harry would look lovingly at his sword and armour on the wall. Walking thus, I heard on a sudden my name called, and looking up, saw Mr Vane Spender at the window of a tavern, bidding me come in and drink with him. And I, answering that I had no list to drink that day, did walk on, but in a moment come Mr Spender running after me, and cries—
“Nay, Mr Carlyon, sure you must come. Here is his lordship desires to speak with you.”
Then I, being fain, as I have said, to keep well with Mr Spender, and being moreover curious to know who his lordship should be, that desired to speak with me, made answer that I would sit a while in their company willingly, but would not drink. So he, and I after him, to an upper room of the tavern, where was Mr Spender’s elder brother, Mr Hampden Spender, and with him a gentleman in a very rich habit, as little mourning as could well be worn that day by any loyal person.
“Come, sir,” says Mr Hampden Spender, “call for what you will.”
“I thank you, sir,” says I, “but with your permission I won’t drink. Your brother hath fetched me in to pleasure his lordship yonder, which I’m desirous to do so far as my power allow.”
“Oh, come,” saith he again, “even though your grandmother be dead, Mr Carlyon, there’s none here will carry home tales of your drinking in a tavern on her funeral-day.”
“Sir,” said I, “ ’tis because this is a fast-day appointed that I don’t drink, and if it wan’t, I trust I should be little like to forget what happened thereon.”
“You are putting an affront upon me, sir,” cries Mr H. Spender, mighty fierce. “Pray, are you too nice to drink with us? Do you know in whose company you are, sir?”
“Sir,” says I, “you are seeking to put a quarrel upon me, as I call his lordship to witness. If you desire me to settle this matter by force of arms, I am ready to pleasure you, if his lordship will certify me that I am right in so doing.”
I saw Mr Spender’s countenance change at this, as I had looked it should, since, as I discovered afterwards from Dr Ruthven, his father had been but an attorney, who, meddling with great business in the troubles of the last reign, had gained for himself a high place and some esteem among the rebels. This son of his, Mr Hampden Spender, attained to a seat in the Commons’ House of that Parliament which was jestingly called the Rump, and had showed himself exceeding eager in the matter of the conferring upon my lord Duke of Albemarle of power to treat with the king on behalf of his Commons. Now that his majesty was happily returned, Mr H. Spender was in good favour with him, and was wont to take occasion by this favour to aspire higher than his original[10] might seem to us loyal gentlemen to warrant.
“Come, Spender, let the lad be,” says my lord, not ill-humouredly, on our reaching this pass. “ ’Twas you brought him here; why should you press him to drink? You han’t no cause to pick a quarrel, even if Mr Carlyon thought fit to fight you.”
“I bow to your lordship,” says Mr Spender, and gulps down his wine with an angry face.
“Pray, sir,” says his lordship, turning to me, “tell me whether I ben’t speaking to the son of Sir Harry Carlyon of Ellswether?”
“You are, my lord,” says I.
“And pray, sir,” says he, “an’t it true that Sir Harry hath in his family a young gentlewoman that is some kin to my late Lord Brandon, that was ’headed ten years since?”
“You are right, my lord; he hath,” said I, much marvelling who this might be that spake thus acquaintedly of Dorothy.
“And I trust, Mr Carlyon, that this Mrs Dolly or Mrs Molly, or whatever her name be, is a young damsel of good conditions, and shows herself dutiful towards her kind guardian?”
“I’m glad to be able to assure your lordship that Mrs Brandon gives every satisfaction to those set over her,” says I. “But give me leave, my lord, to ask who you may be that are so well acquainted with a young gentlewoman’s family that you don’t scruple to mention her name in a place of public resort? If you be one of Mrs Brandon’s kin, permit me to say that after so many years of neglect you choose a strange time and place for to show an interest in her welfare, and one that justifies me to inquire your designs.”
Thus far I, in grievous fear lest while I was away in the Indies my little cousin should be took away from my father at Ellswether, and delivered unto some of her noble kin for to bring up.
“Tut, tut, Sir Spitfire!” saith my lord, but not unkindly; “go tilt with windmills. As for my name, I don’t doubt Mr Spender will be pleased to tell it you when I am gone. But you need have no fear that I mean to claim little Mrs Brandon from Sir Harry. What should I do with a modest, well-brought-up young damsel? ’Twould be worse than Daniel in the den of lions. No, that an’t what I meant.”
“The lady among the rabble rout of Comus, perhaps, my lord,” I said, as he hesitated; and he gave a great laugh, and vowed that I was as much a Puritan as Mr Milton himself, and with that arose, and took up his sword and beaver to depart, saying that the king should require his attendance in an hour’s time.
“ ’Tis the usual way,” says Mr Hampden Spender, when his lordship was departed. “My Lord Brandon drinks, and I pay.”
“Pray, sir,” says I, “is that my Lord Brandon?” and went to the window and looked after him. This was the first and last time that I beheld that nobleman, my cousin Dorothy’s kinsman, who was slain not long thereafter in a duel, and the barony became extinct, the estates thereof passing to the Crown.
“Ay, sir, indeed is’t,” saith Mr Vane Spender. “Pray who else should be so kind and condescending, and recognise so abundantly the services that my brother hath the honour to render him? Why, my brother is his right hand in all he doth. At present he is his attorney in his case of——”
“Oh, hush, my dear brother!” quoth Mr Hampden Spender; “the word hath an ugly sound. Prythee, name it not in the ears of our dear young friend here. Sure, I’ll never have it said of us that we corrupted youth.”
“Sir,” said I, “I vow I don’t understand you. Do you wish to pick a quarrel again?”
“No, sir,” saith Mr Spender, standing up mighty grand, but somewhat fuddled with the wine he had drank. “We wish no quarrels with persons too nice to drink with us, and too proud for our company, nor no conversation with ’em neither.”
“Then, sir,” says I, “you’ll allow me to bid you good day, if you please,” and so left the place before they could stop me. But to this day I have never found myself able to determine whether these gentlemen, the Messieurs Spender, were in reality desirous to put a quarrel upon me, and having compelled me to fight first one and then t’other of ’em, thus to rid themselves of me, or whether ’twas but the natural heat of their temper that moved them to provoke me to a dispute—a heat that hath led to many grievous troubles between us since that time.
Now some days after this, my lord duke would carry me with him in his coach to White Hall, there to wait upon the king, that I might thank his majesty for his singular great kindness towards me. And on our arriving, his majesty being in his Cabinet Council, we walked up and down, and his grace did point out to me many ladies and gentlemen of whom I had often heard speak, yea, and presented me to such as had known my honoured parents in their youth, who treated me with great gentleness, and wished me a short service and a great fortune. And presently, the Council being up, his majesty come out, and my lord duke did present me to him, who graciously allowed me to kiss his hand. And thereafter was his majesty pleased to jest with me, saying that he had heard by a sure hand that I was as much of a Puritan as any rebel among ’em. And this to my much heat and grief, for I perceived that the report of my adventure in the tavern (small though it were), had gone ahead of me, so that I made bold to say to the king that no man but he should have said such words to me, for that my father had shed his blood for his majesty’s father, and that I asked nothing better than to have occasion given me to do the like for himself, and so took it hard to be likened to a rebel. Whereat his majesty laughed prodigiously, and was good enough to say to me that I was a proper fellow, and he had liever I were staying in England than going forth to the Indies, for the realm had need of more such. And speaking thus, and saying that he hoped I should ever keep strictly the fast-day of the blessed King Charles the Martyr, and draw sword in defence of the ladies when their names was lightly used, his majesty left us, and my lord duke advised me to be proud and thankful for his condescension. Which indeed I was, only feeling sorrowful that so kindly a king should have so scant respect shown him, for verily among his courtiers was none that accorded him any reverence, but all elbowing and cursing one another as well in his presence as without it. And from such disorder and looseness as I saw in the Court, good Lord deliver us!
Now despite the good counsel of his grace and of Dr Ruthven, that reproach did still rankle in me, that I should be called a Puritan, and in order to the showing it untrue, I must needs go to the play. And this notwithstanding that the aforesaid Dr Ruthven did much advise me to the contrary, saying that I might well prove my loyalty to Church and King in many other and more reputable ways, but finding me set upon the thing, he desisted at last, considering that my wilfulness should bring its own punishment. And this indeed it did, for going with one of his grace’s gentlemen to the playhouse, we saw presented a comedy newly translated out of the French; but so debased was the sentiment, so indecent and unseemly the action of the piece, so vile the painting and so immodest the clothes of the women that played in’t (sure this in itself is a new thing, and of revolting newness), that I was fain to leave the place before even the first act was gone through. But this my companion would by no means suffer, so that I turned my eyes from the stage to the company present, but found little comfort there. For indeed, to see the gentlemen laughing hugely at the wickedness and profaneness of the piece, and the ladies feigning to cover their faces with their fans, as though it were to hide their blushes (but truly there was but little need of this), when the action was beyond ordinary unseemly, and yet peeping through holes cut in these same fans, for to view the stage still, was monstrous shameful. And in fine, when the play was finished, and I had refused my companion’s proffer to carry me with him behind the scene and present me to the lady that played the chief part (whose name is, alas! too well known in this kingdom), I returned unto Belfort Place, well determined never again to go to the play. And this resolve, so made, I have kept.
And after this, the spring now coming on, Dr Ruthven and I made a part of several parties of pleasure that were given by divers gentlemen and gentlewomen of the doctor’s acquaintance, for to visit his majesty’s palaces at Greenwich and Hampton, the docks at Deptford, and other places. In all which I found myself well entertained, and did gain, I hope, some knowledge that hath served me well since; but the time was now drawing near when I must needs start for the Indies. I then receiving one day a command to present myself on board of the Hon. Company’s ship Boscobel, lying in the Thames, for to embark for the factory at Surat, did make haste to bid farewell to their graces the duke and duchess, thanking them humbly for their singular kindness, and likewise to that curious scholar and good friend to me, Dr Ruthven. Miles, also, I despatched back to Ellswether with the horses, and such letters and gifts for my father and Dorothy, as well as for Mrs Skipwith and the others of the family, as I had gat together, and then gathered up my trunks, and took boat to Graves-End. At the which place, as I had been advertised by the Committee, I found the ship, whose master (his name Captain Freeman) received me with much civility, desiring me to choose my cabin and my seat at table where I might desire. For (says he to me), there’s another young gentleman bound for Surat with us, but he an’t yet appeared, and ’tis first come, first served, aboard of the Boscobel. Not to appear to slight his goodness, I complied with this desire of his, and did choose my place next to my kind captain’s own, which pleased him mightily, and me no less, for he was a person of very curious discourse, and one that had gone through infinite wanderings and perils.
And of these he was nothing loath to tell me, while as we lay a-waiting in the river, for ’twas yet two full days before my fellow-traveller come on board, so that the master swore we should lose our convoy by this delay, and that he would tarry no longer—nay, not for the President of the Indies himself. In these two days I was much entertained in visiting all parts of the vessel, which was a fine new ship of the Company’s own, and in learning from my good friend Captain Freeman many of the duties of a supercargo. Moreover, this good man did several times carry me with him in the ship’s boat, for to wait upon divers merchants with whom he had to do, and did so divert me with histories of his travels, that I vow this delay was no sorrow for me, but rather a pleasure. But at last, when Captain Freeman had but just now said that he would up anchor with the morning tide, and wait no longer, my fellow-traveller arrived on board in a monstrous rage, and cursing very loudly the waterman that brought him off, and had lost (says he) one of his trunks. Methought I knew my gentleman’s voice at once, and when I went on deck to assure myself of the matter, sure enough ’twas my old acquaintance, Mr Vane Spender. Who, seeing me, greeted me with an oath, and desired me bid the master to have the waterman soundly cudgelled by the seamen, which on Captain Freeman refusing, he was excessive vexed. And coming to us into the cabin, when this affair was settled, he took umbrage again to find me in the highest seat next to the captain, declaring that he was second cousin to the Secretary of the Indies at Surat, and must needs sit highest. Which I, for peace’ sake, was willing to suffer, but Captain Freeman would not hear on’t, and I kept that chiefest place. And herein also you shall see that I went not about to provoke Mr Spender, but contrariwise, did all in my power to pleasure him.
So then the next day we left Graves-End, and in the Downs did fall in with the East India fleet, which was ten in number, whereof six ships, ours being one, carried letters of mart[11] for protection against enemies. In our company was no king’s ships, for these use to meet only the homeward-bound fleet at Sancta Helena, for the better protecting of their incomparable rich cargoes; but we did believe ourselves secure from any foe that was like to come against us. And in this confidence were we well justified so long as we sailed in company the one with the other, but when alone and separated, we were like to have fallen an easy prey, as you shall hear. But of the exact history of this matter I am not well informed, and for this reason. For while we were yet in the Channel, Mr Spender was seized with that grievous disease of seasickness, whereof none knows the misery that han’t felt it, and did lie groaning in his cot, a-cursing at me if I did so much as speak to him. Seeing which, I left him to himself, and did continue to enjoy the ingenious discourse of Captain Freeman, the which did much divert me. But when, leaving behind the Narrow Seas, we were entered that great bay which is called from the Spanish province of Vizcaya, or by our seamen, Biskay, the complexion of things changed, so that Mr Spender arose and played the jolly sailor, whereas I was obliged to yield myself to the dreadful malady. And this made it the more irksome to me, that Mr Spender must needs come continually and make a mock at me, casting in my teeth all manner of nasty jests such as the seamen use to provoke one another withal, and deriding me in my misery, who could not frame so much as to answer, much less to punish him, until our good captain found him one day at his tricks, and threatened him with divers pains and penalties, in case he should annoy me again. And thereafter was I left in peace, though I was like to wish to die, so long as the master told me the ship was flying along with a fair wind, and making a fine course.
Yet, had I but known it, I had ought to have been thankful for that rough progress of ours, but of this I never thought until it was stopped. For one day methought I heard a prodigious great noise on deck, running and trampling and setting of sails and the like, and much loud talk and swearing. And in a moment in come Mr Spender with a pale face, telling me that we had outrun our consorts in the night, and were now chased by a Sallee rover, so that we were all like to be taken and made slaves to the Moors. Now upon this, though it seem to you a thing incredible, yet truly the disease, the which had heretofore weighed me down, and made me to long for death, left me on a sudden, so that I leaped up and dressed myself, and seizing my sword, ran upon deck, Mr Spender following after with his pistols. And upon deck I found the seamen busied in making ready the two cannons that our ship carried, and Captain Freeman a-serving out cutlasses and fusees.[12] Then looking behind, I saw the rover that chased us, the which was a long vessel of a monstrous outlandish build, mighty low in the water, and moving with a most marvellous swiftness. And asking our captain whether we were like to escape, “Mr Carlyon,” says he, “we have left our course and are now running for Tangier. If we can come at it, maybe a king’s ship or two will put out to our aid and drive off the black devils; but if not, I see no help but we shall end our days in Barbary.”
Now this catching the ear of a young boy, that was on board for to serve Captain Freeman in his cabin, he falls a-blubbering because the master said we must all end our days in Barbary, and this being heard by the seamen, they were taken with a mighty trembling and despair, so as to leave handling the ropes and charging their pieces, and stand gazing upon the rover. So that Captain Freeman, Mr Spender, and I were fain to go among them with our drawn swords, and so force them to return to their duty, which when they did we quickly made way upon the rover. And upon this the pirates tried to knock away our masts with a shot, but they was too far removed from us, and did but lose ground in the trying, while as the Boscobel flew on towards the coast, which we could now clearly discern. And now our captain caused the ship’s cannons to be fired again and again, and that not so much with the intent to hit the enemy, for of this, indeed, there was but little hope, but that those in the harbour, hearing the noise, might perceive our plight, and make haste to come to our help.
Now, as we learned thereafter, it chanced, in the great goodness of God, that there was at this time lying in the port the Royal Charles and the Navarre, king’s ships, whose captains, hearing the noise of cannons and perceiving its cause, made haste to put to sea and come to our help. We then, beholding these two great ships sailing towards us, gave thanks to God for His mercy, and left firing at the rover, the which was, indeed, no longer needful, since he, perceiving our reinforcement of strength, did incontinent turn himself about and seek to escape. But for all his subtlety and swiftness, our two ships were better than he, and sailing in such a manner as to cut him off from the port that he aimed at (I would I might describe this action in seamanlike terms, but this lies not within my power), had the mastery over him, and succeeded to bring him in and all his crew as captives. Who, in due course, were set a-working in chains upon the ramparts of the town of Tangier, a singular and worthy instance of God’s confounding the designs of the wicked, in bestowing upon them that very doom they thought to have prepared for us. And this all have acknowledged, to whom I have told this history, though many of them were (I fear) careless persons, and little like at ordinary times to observe and admire the Providence of God.
But ’tis not alone on the account of this marvellous escape and deliverance of ours that I shall always be mindful of this town of Tangier, but for an evil chance that was like to have befell me there. For we casting anchor in the port for to await our consorts, that were all to take in water at this place, the master of the Boscobel did grant to his seamen leave to go on shore, which leave we passengers also enjoyed. And I going in a boat of the place with Mr Spender, he met upon the landing-stage a gentleman of his friends among the officers of his majesty’s troops there quartered, and tarried to drink with him. But I, desiring to see somewhat of the city, went on apace, and found it a mighty pretty town, standing on a fair bay, and surrounded by fortifications of a tolerable strength, and that seemed apt to resist a siege. But the streets of the place are extreme narrow and dirty, so that one can scarce pass through them, from the great multitude of camels, asses, and other beasts that dispute passage with him. And the people of the city are so lazy and ragged as I had never before beheld, and the crowds of beggars beyond belief.
Passing at last through all this nastiness, I came to the ramparts on the land side of the place, whence was a fair prospect of desert and remote hills, such as I then saw for the first time. And here I sat me down for to examine and admire that I saw, and did watch the soldiers at their exercises close under the city walls with much diversion, in especial the Moorish part of them, whose riding and sword-play was very pretty. Now, as I sat there, there come up Mr Spender, none the better for the wine that he had of a rascally fellow, half Spaniard and half Moor, that kept a tavern under pretence of an inn. And you must know that ’twas now the 29th day of May, Royal Oak Day as we call it, so long had I tarried in London before the ship sailed. In remembrance, then, of the most miraculous happy escape, as on that day, of his majesty King Charles the Second, I was arrayed in a brave habit, with my cousin Dorothy’s badge on the forefront thereof, for to testify to all men that loyalty whereof our house is proud. And Mr Spender, coming up, did assail me suddenly with many evil words, miscalling me a penniless knave and a beggarly Malignant and many other such ill names. Nay, moreover, he gathered up dirt and cast it at me, and did even spit upon my Royal Oak badge, insulting me and it the while with such revilings as I won’t write down. And I, who was, despite my good advice given to my little cousin, and my temperate behaviour in London, but a youth, and hot-headed at that, was so wrought upon with his reproaches as to draw my hanger and run upon him with intent to slay him. And though now I am covered with shame to have desired to take away a fellow-creature’s life on such a cause, yet then I was ready to have killed him on the spot. And he, drawing his sword also, was prepared to fight, and I make no doubt but there should have been blood shed between us, had not Captain Freeman on a sudden come up with another shipmaster of his acquaintance, and thrown himself upon us.
“How, lads! young gentlemen!” cries he, mighty angry, “swords out? What’s this? You would pink one another, for all the world like a couple of Portugals or two Italian bravos in a play? And for what? For a few bad words? Fight it out with your fists, like honest Englishmen. Here’s Captain Branter and I will see fair.”
’Twas well indeed that they was there, for as I put up my sword, Mr Spender, mad with passion and the wine he had drank, flew upon me with his drawn blade, and I had much ado to defend myself. But Captain Branter pulling him off, I was able to make ready, and we did set to in good earnest. But, thanks to my fights with young rebels at school, it was not long before I made him admit himself mastered, and caused him take back all his naughty words. And Captain Freeman then enjoining upon us to shake hands and have it over, the which was done but with a poor grace on either side, we returned to the ship, so ending this affair.