THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE
by DANIEL DE FOE
London.
1808
[Illustration: I had one labour to make me a Canoe,
which at last I finished.]
THE LIFE OF DE FOE
Daniel De Foe was descended from a respectable family in the county of
Northampton, and born in London, about the year 1663. His father, James
Foe, was a butcher, in the parish of St. Giles’s, Cripplegate, and a
protestant dissenter. Why the subject of this memoir prefixed the _De_
to his family name cannot now be ascertained, nor did he at any period
of his life think it necessary to give his reasons to the public. The
political scribblers of the day, however, thothe utmost hazard theught proper to remedy this
lack of information, and accused him of possessing so little of the
_amor patriae_, as to make the addition in order that he might not be
taken for an Englishman; though this idea could have had no other
foundation than the circumstance of his having, in consequence of his
zeal for King William, attacked the prejudices of his countrymen in his
“True-born Englishman.”
After receiving a good education at an academy at Newington, young De
Foe, before he had attained his twenty-first year, commenced his career
as an author, by writing a pamphlet against a very prevailing sentiment
in favour of the Turks who were at that time laying siege to Vienna.
This production, being very inferior to those of his maturer years, was
very little read, and the indignant author, despairing of success with
his pen, had recourse to the sword; or, as he termed it, when boasting
of the exploit in his latter years, “displayed his attachment to
liberty, and protestantism,” by joining the ill-advised insurrection
under the Duke of Monmouth, in the west. On the failure of that
unfortunate enterprise, he returned again to the metropolis; and it is
not improbable, but that the circumstance of his being a native of
London, and his person not much known in that part of the kingdom where
the rebellion took place, might facilitate his escape, and be the means
of preventing his being brought to trial for his share in the
transaction. With the professions of a writer and a soldier, Mr. De Foe,
in the year 1685, joined that of a trader; he was first engaged as a
hosier, in Cornhill, and afterwards as a maker of bricks and pantiles,
near Tilbury Fort, in Essex; but in consequence of spending those hours
in the hilarity of the tavern which he ought to have employed in the
calculations of the counting-house, his commercial schemes proved
unsuccessful; and in 1694 he was obliged to abscond from his creditors,
not failing to attribute those misfortunes to the war and the severity
of the times, which were doubtless owing to his own misconduct. It is
much to his credit however, that after having been freed from his debts
by composition, and being in prosperous circumstances from King
William’s favour, he voluntarily paid most of his creditors both the
principal and interest of their claims. This is such an example of
honesty as it would be unjust to De Foe and to the world to conceal. The
amount of the sums thus paid must have been very considerable, as he
afterwards feelingly mentions to Lord Haversham, who had reproached him
with covetousness; “With a numerous family, and no helps but my own
industry, I have forced my way through a sea of misfortunes, and reduced
my debts, exclusive of composition, from seventeen thousand to less than
five thousand pounds.”
At the beginning of the year 1700, Mr. De Foe published a satire in
verse, which excited very considerable attention, called the “True-born
Englishman.” Its purpose was to furnish a reply to those who were
continually abusing King William and some of his friends as
_foreigners_, by shewing that the present race of Englishmen was a mixed
and heterogeneous brood, scarcely any of which could lay claim to native
purity of blood. The satire was in many parts very severe; and though
it gave high offence, it claimed a considerable share of the public
attention. The reader will perhaps be gratified by a specimen of this
production, wherein he endeavours to account for—
“What makes this discontented land appear
Less happy now in times of peace, than war;
Why civil feuds disturb the nation more,
Than all our bloody wars had done before:
Fools out of favour grudge at knaves in place,
And men are always honest in disgrace:
The court preferments make men knaves in course,
But they, who would be in them, would be worse.
’Tis not at foreigners that we repine,
Would foreigners their perquisites resign:
The grand contention’s plainly to be seen,
To get some men put out, and some put in.”
It will be immediately perceived that De Foe could have no pretentious
to the character of a _poet_; but he has, notwithstanding, some nervous
and well-versified lines, and in choice of subject and moral he is in
general excellent. The True-born Englishman concludes thus:
Could but our ancestors retrieve their fate,
And see their offspring thus degenerate;
How we contend for birth and names unknown,
And build on their past actions, not our own;
They’d cancel records, and their tombs deface,
And openly disown the vile, degenerate race.
For fame of families is all a cheat;
’TIS PERSONAL VIRTUE ONLY MAKES US GREAT.
For this defence of foreigners De Foe was amply rewarded by King
William, who not only ordered him a pension, but as his opponents
denominated it, appointed him _pamphlet-writer general to the court_; an
office for which he was peculiarly well calculated, possessing, with a
strong mind and a ready wit, that kind of yielding conscience which
allowed him to support the measures of his benefactors though convinced
they were injurious to his country. De Foe now retired to Newington
with his family, and for a short time lived at ease; but the death of
his royal patron deprived him of a generous protector, and opened a
scene of sorrow which probably embittered his future life.
He had always discovered a great inclination to engage in religious
controversy, and the furious contest, civil and ecclesiastical, which
ensued on the accession of Queen Anne, gave him an opportunity of
gratifying his favourite passion. He therefore published a tract
entitled “The shortest Way with the Dissenters, or Proposals for the
Establishment of the Church,” which contained an ironical recommendation
of persecution, but written in so serious a strain, that many persons,
particularly Dissenters, at first mistook its real intention. The high
church party however saw, and felt the ridicule, and, by their
influence, a prosecution was commenced against him, and a proclamation
published in the Gazette, offering a reward for his apprehension[1].
When De Foe found with how much rigour himself and his pamphlet were
about to be treated, he at first secreted himself; but his printer and
bookseller being taken into custody, he surrendered, being resolved, as
he expresses it, “to throw himself upon the favour of government, rather
than that others should be ruined for his mistakes.” In July, 1703, he
was brought to trial, found guilty, and sentenced to be imprisoned, to
stand in the pillory, and to pay a fine of two hundred marks. He
underwent the infamous part of the punishment with great fortitude, and
it seems to have been generally thought that he was treated with
unreasonable severity. So far was he from being ashamed of his fate
himself, that he wrote a hymn to the pillory, which thus ends, alluding
to his accusers:
Tell them, the men that plac’d him here
Are scandals to the times;
Are at a loss to find his guilt,
And can’t commit his crimes.
Pope, who has thought fit to introduce him in his Dunciad (probably from
no other reason than party difference) characterises him in the
following line:
Earless on high stood unabash’d De Foe.
[Footnote 1: St. James’s, January 10, 1702-3. “Whereas Daniel De Foe,
alias De Fooe, is charged with writing a scandalous and seditious
pamphlet, entitled ‘The shortest Way with the Dissenters:’ he is a
middle-sized spare man, about 40 years old, of a brown complexion, and
dark-brown coloured hair, but wears a wig, a hooked nose, a sharp chin,
grey eyes, and a large mole near his mouth, was born in London, and for
many years was a hose-factor, in Freeman’s Yard, in Cornhill, and now is
owner of the brick and pantile works near Tilbury Fort, in Essex;
whoever shall discover the said Daniel De Foe, to one of her Majesty’s
Principal Secretaries of State, or any of her Majesty’s Justices of
Peace, so as he may be apprehended, shall have a reward of 50_l_. which
her Majesty has ordered immediately to be paid upon such discovery.”
_London Gaz_. No. 3679.]
This is one of those instances of injustice and malignity which so
frequently occur in the Dunciad, and which reflect more dishonour on the
author than on the parties traduced. De Foe lay friendless and
distressed in Newgate, his family ruined, and himself without hopes of
deliverance, till Sir Robert Harley, who approved of his principles, and
foresaw that during a factious age such a genius could be converted to
many uses, represented his unmerited sufferings to the Queen, and at
length procured his release. The treasurer, Lord Godolphin, also sent a
considerable sum to his wife and family, and to him money to pay his
fine and the expense of his discharge. Gratitude and fidelity are
inseparable from an honest man; and it was this benevolent act that
prompted De Foe to support Harley, with his able and ingenious pen, when
Anne lay lifeless, and his benefactor in the vicissitude of party was
persecuted by faction, and overpowered, though not conquered,
by violence.
The talents and perseverance of De Foe began now to be properly
estimated, and as a firm supporter of the administration, he was sent
by Lord Godolphin to Scotland, on an errand which, as he says, was far
from being unfit for a sovereign to direct, or an honest man to perform.
His knowledge of commerce and revenue, his powers of insinuation, and
above all, his readiness of pen, were deemed of no small utility, in
promoting the union of the two kingdoms; of which he wrote an able
history, in 1709, with two dedications, one to the Queen, and another to
the Duke of Queensbury. Soon afterwards he unhappily, by some equivocal
writings, rendered himself suspected by both parties, so that he once
more retired to Newington in hopes of spending the remainder of his days
in peace. His pension being withdrawn, and wearied with politics, he
began to compose works of a different kind.—The year 1715 may therefore
be regarded as the period of De Foe’s political life. Faction henceforth
found other advocates, and parties procured other writers to disseminate
their suggestions, and to propagate their falsehoods.
In 1715 De Foe published the “Family Instructor;” a work inculcating the
domestic duties in a lively manner, by narration and dialogue, and
displaying much knowledge of life in the middle ranks of society.
“Religious Courtship” also appeared soon after, which, like the “Family
Instructor,” is eminently religious and moral in its tendency, and
strongly impresses on the mind that spirit of sobriety and private
devotion for which the dissenters have generally been distinguished. The
most celebrated of all his works, “The Life and Adventures of Robinson
Crusoe,” appeared in 1719. This work has passed through numerous
editions, and been translated into almost all modern languages. The
great invention which is displayed in it, the variety of incidents and
circumstances which it contains, related in the most easy and natural
manner, together with the excellency of the moral and religious
reflections, render it a performance of very superior and uncommon
merit, and one of the most interesting works that ever appeared. It is
strongly recommended by Rosseau as a book admirably calculated to
promote the purposes of natural education; and Dr. Blair says, “No
fiction, in any language, was ever better supported than the Adventures
of Robinson Crusoe. While it is carried on with that appearance of truth
and simplicity, which takes a strong hold of the imagination of all
readers, it suggests, at the same time, very useful instruction; by
shewing how much the native powers of man may be exerted for surmounting
the difficulties of any external situation.” It has been pretended, that
De Foe surreptitiously appropriated the papers of Alexander Selkirk, a
Scotch mariner, who lived four years alone on the island of Juan
Fernandez, and a sketch of whose story had before appeared in the voyage
of Captain Woodes Rogers. But this charge, though repeatedly and
confidently brought, appears to be totally destitute of any foundation.
De Foe probably took some general hints for his work from the story of
Selkirk, but there exists no proof whatever, nor is it reasonable to
suppose that he possessed any of his papers or memoirs, which had been
published seven years before the appearance of Robinson Crusoe. As a
farther proof of De Foe’s innocence, Captain Rogers’s Account of Selkirk
may be produced, in which it is said that the latter had neither
preserved pen, ink, or paper, and had, in a great measure, lost his
language; consequently De Foe could not have received any written
assistance, and we have only the assertion of his enemies to prove that
he had any verbal.
The great success of Robinson Crusoe induced its author to write a
number of other lives and adventures, some of which were popular in
their times, though at present nearly forgotten. One of his latest
publications was “A Tour through the Island of Great Britain,” a
performance of very inferior merit; but De Foe was now the garrulous old
man, and his spirit (to use the words of an ingenious biographer) “like
a candle struggling in the socket, blazed and sunk, blazed and sunk,
till it disappeared at length in total darkness.” His laborious and
unfortunate life was finished on the 26th of April, 1731, in the parish
of St. Giles’s, Cripplegate.
Daniel De Foe possessed very extraordinary talents; as a commercial
writer, he is fairly entitled to stand in the foremost rank among his
contemporaries, whatever may be their performances or their fame. His
distinguishing characteristics are originality, spirit, and a profound
knowledge of his subject, and in these particulars he has seldom been
surpassed. As the author of Robinson Crusoe he has a claim, not only to
the admiration, but to the gratitude of his countrymen; and so long as
we have a regard for supereminent merit, and take an interest in the
welfare of the rising generation, that gratitude will not cease to
exist. But the opinion of the learned and ingenious Dr. Beattie will be
the best eulogium that can be pronounced on that celebrated romance:
“Robinson Crusoe,” says the Doctor, “must be allowed by the most rigid
moralist, to be one of those novels which one may read, not only with
pleasure, but also with profit. It breathes throughout a spirit of piety
and benevolence; it sets in a very striking light the importance of the
mechanic arts, which they, who know not what it is to be without them,
are so apt to undervalue; it fixes in the mind a lively idea of the
horrors of solitude, and, consequently, of the sweets of social life,
and of the blessings we derive from conversation and mutual aid; and it
shews, how, by labouring with one’s own hands, one may secure
independence, and open for one’s self many sources of health and
amusement. I agree, therefore, with Rosseau, that it is one of the best
books that can be put into the hands of children.”
G.D.
THE
LIFE AND ADVENTURES
OF
ROBINSON CRUSOE,
&c. &c.
* * * * *
I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family,
though not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who
settled first at Hull: he got a good estate by merchandise, and leaving
off his trade, lived afterwards at York, from whence he had married my
mother, whose relations were named Robinson, a very good family in that
country, and from whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but by the
usual corruption of words in England, we are now called, nay we call
ourselves, and write our name Crusoe, and so my companions always
called me.
I had two elder brothers, one of which was lieutenant-colonel to an
English regiment of foot in Flanders, formerly commanded by the famous
Colonel Lockhart, and was killed at the battle near Dunkirk against the
Spaniards. What became of my second brother I never knew, any more than
my father or mother did know what was become of me.
Being the third son of the family, and not bred to any trade, my head
began to be filled very early with rambling thoughts: my father, who was
very ancient, had given me a competent share of learning, as far as
house education and a country free-school generally go, and designed me
for the law; but I would be satisfied with nothing but going to sea; and
my inclination to this led me so strongly against the will, nay the
commands of my father, and against all the entreaties and persuasions of
my mother and other friends, that there seemed to be something fatal in
that propension of nature tending directly to the life of misery which
was to befal me.
My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious and excellent counsel
against what he foresaw was my design. He called me one morning into his
chamber, where he was confined by the gout, and expostulated very warmly
with me upon this subject: he asked me what reasons more than a mere
wandering inclination I had for leaving my father’s house and my native
country, where I might be well introduced, and had a prospect of raising
my fortune by application and industry, with a life of ease and
pleasure. He told me it was for men of desperate fortunes on one hand,
or of aspiring superior fortunes on the other, who went abroad upon
adventures, to rise by enterprise, and make themselves famous in
undertakings of a nature out of the common road; that these things were
all either too far above me, or too far below me; that mine was the
middle state, or what might be called the upper station of _low life_,
which he had found by long experience was the best state in the world,
the most suited to human happiness, not exposed to the miseries and
hardships, the labour and sufferings of the mechanic part of mankind,
and not embarrassed with the pride, luxury, ambition, and envy of the
upper part of mankind, he told me, I might judge of the happiness of
this state by this one thing, viz. that this was the state of life which
all other people envied; that kings have frequently lamented the
miserable consequences of being born to great things, and wish they had
been placed in the middle of the two extremes, between the mean and the
great; that the wise man gave his testimony to this as the just standard
of true felicity, when he prayed to have neither poverty nor riches.
He bid me observe it, and I should always find, that the calamities of
life were shared among the upper and lower part of mankind; but that the
middle station had the fewest disasters, and was not exposed to so many
vicissitudes as the higher or lower part of mankind; nay, they were not
subjected to so many distempers and uneasinesses, either of body or
mind, as those were, who by vicious living, luxury, and extravagances,
on one hand, or by hard labour, want of necessaries, and mean or
insufficient diet, on the other hand, bring distempers upon themselves
by the natural consequences of their way of living; that the middle
station of life was calculated for all kind of virtues and all kind of
enjoyments; that peace and plenty were the handmaids of a middle
fortune; that temperance, moderation, quietness, health, society, all
agreeable diversions, and all desirable pleasures, were the blessings
attending the middle station of life; that this way men went silently
and smoothly through the world, and comfortably out of it, not
embarrassed with the labours of the hands or of the head, not sold to
the life of slavery for daily bread, or harassed with perplexed
circumstances, which rob the soul of peace, and the body of rest; not
enraged with the passion of envy, or secret burning lust of ambition for
great things; but in easy circumstances sliding gently through the
world, and sensibly tasting the sweets of living, without the bitter,
feeling that they are happy, and learning by every day’s experience to
know it more sensibly.
After this, he pressed me earnestly, and in the most affectionate
manner, not to play the young man, not to precipitate myself into
miseries which nature and the station of life I was born in seemed to
have provided against; that I was under no necessity of seeking my
bread; that he would do well for me, and endeavour to enter me fairly
into the station of life which he had been just recommending to me; and
that if I was not very easy and happy in the world, it must be my mere
fate or fault that must hinder it, and that he should have nothing to
answer for, having thus discharged his duty in warning me against
measures which he knew would be to my hurt: in a word, that as he would
do very kind things for me if I would stay and settle at home as he
directed, so he would not have so much hand in my misfortunes, as to
give me any encouragement to go away: and to close all, he told me I had
my elder brother for an example, to whom he had used the same earnest
persuasions to keep him from going into the Low Country wars, but could
not prevail, his young desires prompting him to run into the army, where
he was killed; and though he said he would not cease to pray for me, yet
he would venture to say to me, that if I did take this foolish step, God
would not bless me, and I would have leisure hereafter to reflect upon
having neglected his counsel when there might be none to assist in
my recovery.
I observed in this last part of his discourse, which was truly
prophetic, though I suppose my father did not know it to be so himself;
I say, I observed the tears run down his face very plentifully, and
especially when he spoke of my brother who was killed; and that when he
spoke of my having leisure to repent, and none to assist me, he was so
moved, that he broke off the discourse, and told me, his heart was so
full he could say no more to me.
I was sincerely affected with this discourse, as indeed who could be
otherwise? and I resolved not to think of going abroad any more, but to
settle at home according to my father’s desire. But, alas! a few days
wore it all off; and in short, to prevent any of my father’s farther
importunities, in a few weeks after I resolved to run quite away from
him. However, I did not act so hastily neither as my first heat of
resolution prompted, but I took my mother, at a time when I thought her
a little pleasanter than ordinary, and told her, that my thoughts were
so entirely bent upon seeing the world, that I should never settle to
any thing with resolution enough to go through with it, and my father
had better give me his consent than force me to go without it; that I
was now eighteen years old, which was too late to go apprentice to a
trade, or clerk to an attorney; that I was sure, if I did, I should
never serve out my time, and I should certainly run away from my master
before my time was out, and go to sea; and if she would speak to my
father to let me go one voyage abroad, if I came home again, and did not
like it, I would go no more, and I would promise by a double diligence
to recover that time I had lost.
This put my mother into a great passion: she told me, she knew it would
be to no purpose to speak to my father upon any such subject; that he
knew too well what was my interest to give his consent to any such thing
so much for my hurt; and that she wondered how I could think of any such
thing after such a discourse as I had had with my father, and such kind
and tender expressions as she knew my father had used to me; and that,
in short, if I would ruin myself, there was no help for me; but I might
depend I should never have their consent to it: that for her part she
would not have so much hand in my destruction; and I should never have
it to say, that my mother was willing when my father was not.
Though my mother refused to move it to my father, yet, as I have heard
afterwards, she reported all the discourse to him, and that my father,
after shewing a great concern at it, said to her with a sigh, “That boy
might be happy if he would stay at home; but if he goes abroad, he will
be the most miserable wretch that was ever born; I can give no
consent to it.”
It was not till almost a year after this that I broke loose, though, in
the meantime, I continued obstinately deaf to all proposals of settling
to business, and frequently expostulating with my father and mother
about their being so positively determined against what they knew my
inclinations prompted me to. But being one day at Hull, where I went
casually, and without any purpose of making an elopement that time; but
I say, being there, and one of my companions being going by sea to
London, in his father’s ship, and prompting me to go with them, with the
common allurement of seafaring men, viz. that it should cost me nothing
for my passage, I consulted neither father or mother any more, not so
much as sent them word of it; but leaving them to hear of it as they
might, without asking God’s blessing, or my father’s, without any
consideration of circumstances or consequences, and in an ill hour, God
knows, on the first of September, 1651, I went on board a ship bound for
London. Never any young adventurer’s misfortunes, I believe, began
sooner, or continued longer than mine. The ship was no sooner gotten out
of the Humber, but the wind began to blow, and the waves to rise in a
most frightful manner; and, as I had never been at sea before, I was
most inexpressibly sick in body, and terrified in mind. I began now
seriously to reflect upon what I had done, and how justly I was
overtaken by the judgment of Heaven for my wicked leaving my father’s
house, and abandoning my duty; all the good counsel of my parents, my
father’s tears and my mother’s entreaties, came now fresh into my mind;
and my conscience, which was not yet come to the pitch of hardness to
which it has been since, reproached me with the contempt of advice, and
the breach of my duty to God and my father.
All this while the storm increased, and the sea, which I had never been
upon before, went very high, though nothing like what I have seen many
times since; no, nor like what I saw a few days after: but it was enough
to affect me then, who was but a young sailor, and had never known any
thing of the matter. I expected every wave would have swallowed us up,
and that every time the ship fell down, as I thought, in the trough or
hollow of the sea, we should never rise more; and in this agony of mind
I made many vows and resolutions, that if it would please God here to
spare my life this one voyage, if ever I got once my foot upon dry land
again I would go directly home to my father, and never set it into a
ship again while I lived; that I would take his advice, and never run
myself into such miseries as these any more. Now I saw plainly the
goodness of his observations about the middle station of life, how easy,
how comfortably he had lived all his days, and never had been exposed to
tempests at sea, or troubles on shore; and I resolved that I would, like
a true repenting prodigal, go home to my father.
These wise and sober thoughts continued all the while the storm
continued, and indeed some time after; but the next day the wind was
abated, and the sea calmer, and I began to be a little inured to it:
however, I was very grave for all that day, being also a little sea-sick
still; but towards night the weather cleared up, the wind was quite
over, and a charming fine evening followed; the sun went down perfectly
clear, and rose so the next morning; and having little or no wind, and a
smooth sea, the sun shining upon it, the sight was, as I thought, the
most delightful that ever I saw.
I had slept well in the night, and was now no more sea-sick, but very
cheerful, looking with wonder upon the sea that was so rough and
terrible the day before, and could be so calm and so pleasant in so
little time after. And now, lest my good resolutions should continue, my
companion, who had indeed enticed me away, comes to me: “Well, Bob,”
says he, (clapping me upon the shoulder) “how do you do after it? I
warrant you were frighted, wa’n’t you, last night, when it blew but a
capful of wind?”—“A capful do you call it?” said I; “it was a terrible
storm.”—“A storm you fool you,” replied he, “do you call that a storm?
why it was nothing at all; give us but a good ship and sea-room, and we
think nothing of such a squall of wind as that; but you’re but a
fresh-water sailor, Bob. Come, let us make a bowl of punch, and we’ll
forget all that; do you see what charming weather it is now?” To make
short this sad part of my story, we went the old way of all sailors; the
punch was made, and I was made drunk with it; and in that one night’s
wickedness I drowned all my repentance, all my reflections upon my past
conduct, and all my resolutions for my future. In a word, as the sea was
returned to its smoothness of surface and settled calmness by the
abatement of that storm, so the hurry of my thoughts being over, my
fears and apprehensions of being swallowed up by the sea being
forgotten, and the current of my former desires returned, I entirely
forgot the vows and promises that I made in my distress. I found,
indeed, some intervals of reflection, and the serious thoughts did, as
it were, endeavour to return again sometimes; but I shook them off, and
roused myself from them as it were from a distemper, and applying myself
to drinking and company, soon mastered the return of those fits, for so
I called them; and I had in five or six days got as complete a victory
over conscience, as any young fellow that resolved not to be troubled
with it could desire: but I was to have another trial for it still; and
Providence, as in such cases generally it does, resolved to leave me
entirely without excuse: for if I would not take this for a deliverance,
the next was to be such a one as the worst and most hardened wretch
among us would confess both the danger and the mercy.
The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads; the wind
having been contrary, and the weather calm, we had made but little way
since the storm. Here we were obliged to come to anchor, and here we
lay, the wind continuing contrary, viz. at south-west, for seven or
eight days, during which time a great many ships from Newcastle came
into the same roads, as the common harbour where the ships might wait
for a wind for the river.
We had not, however, rid here so long, but should have tided it up the
river, but that the wind blew too fresh; and after we had lain four or
five days, blew very hard. However, the roads being reckoned as good as
a harbour, the anchorage good, and our ground tackle very strong, our
men were unconcerned, and not in the least apprehensive of danger, but
spent the time in rest and mirth, after the manner of the sea; but the
eighth day in the morning the wind increased, and we had all hands at
work to strike our topmasts, and make every thing snug and close, that
the ship might ride as easy as possible. By noon the sea went very high
indeed, and our ship rid _forecastle in_, shipped several seas, and we
thought once or twice our anchor had come home; upon which our master
ordered out the sheet anchor; so that we rode with two anchors ahead,
and the cables veered out to the better end.
By this time it blew a terrible storm indeed; and now I began to see
terror and amazement in the faces even of the seamen themselves. The
master, though vigilant in the business of preserving the ship, yet as
he went in and out of his cabin by me, I could hear him softly to
himself say several times, “Lord be merciful to us! we shall be all
lost, we shall be all undone!” and the like. During these first hurries
I was stupid, lying still in my cabin, which was in the steerage, and
cannot describe my temper: I could ill reassume the first penitence
which I had so apparently trampled upon, and hardened myself against: I
thought the bitterness of death had been past, and that this would be
nothing like the first: but when the master himself came by me, as I
said just now, and said we should be all lost, I was dreadfully
frighted: I got up out of my cabin, and looked out; but such a dismal
sight I never saw; the sea went mountains high, and broke upon us every
three or four minutes: when I could look about, I could see nothing but
distress round us: two ships that rid near us, we found, had cut their
masts by the board, being deep loaden; and our men cried out, that a
ship which rid about a mile ahead of us was foundered. Two more ships
being driven from their anchors, were run out of the roads to sea, at
all adventures, and that with not a mast standing. The light ships fared
the best, as not so much labouring in the sea; but two or three of them
drove, and came close by us, running away with only their sprit-sail out
before the wind.
Towards evening the mate and boatswain begged the master of our ship to
let them cut away the fore-mast, which he was very unwilling to do: but
the boatswain protesting to him, that if he did not, the ship would
founder, he consented; and when they had cut away the fore-mast, the
main-mast stood so loose, and shook the ship so much, they were obliged
to cut her away also, and make a clear deck.
Any one may judge what a condition I must be in at all this, who was but
a young sailor, and who had been in such a fright before at but a
little. But if I can express at this distance the thoughts I had about
me at that time, I was in tenfold more horror of mind upon account of my
former convictions, and the having returned from them to the resolutions
I had wickedly taken at first, than I was at death itself; and these,
added to the terror of the storm, put me in such a condition, that I can
by no words describe it. But the worst was not come yet; the storm
continued with such fury, that the seamen themselves acknowledged they
had never known a worse. We had a good ship, but she was deep loaden,
and wallowed in the sea, that the seamen every now and then cried out,
she would founder. It was my advantage in one respect, that I did not
know what they meant by founder till I inquired. However, the storm was
so violent, that I saw what is not often seen, the master, the
boatswain, and some others more sensible than the rest, at their
prayers, and expecting every moment when the ship would go to the
bottom. In the middle of the night, and under all the rest of our
distresses, one of the men that had been down on purpose to see, cried
out, we had sprang a leak; another said, there was four foot water in
the hold. Then all hands were called to the pump. At that very word my
heart, as I thought, died within me, and I fell backwards upon the side
of my bed where I sat, into the cabin. However, the men roused me, and
told me, that I that was able to do nothing before, was as well able to
pump as another; at which I stirred up, and went to the pump and worked
very heartily. While this was doing, the master seeing some light
colliers, who, not able to ride out the storm, were obliged to slip and
run away to sea, and would come near us, ordered to fire a gun as a
signal of distress. I, who knew nothing what that meant, was so
surprised, that I thought the ship had broke, or some dreadful thing
happened. In a word, I was so surprised, that I fell down in a swoon. As
this was a time when every body had his own life to think of, nobody
minded me, or what was become of me; but another man stept up to the
pump, and thrusting me aside with his foot, let me lie, thinking I had
been dead; and it was a great while before I came to myself.
We worked on; but the water increasing in the hold, it was apparent that
the ship would founder; and though the storm began to abate a little;
yet as it was not possible she could swim till we might run into a port,
so the master continued firing guns for help; and a light ship, who had
rid it out just ahead of us, ventured a boat out to help us. It was with
the utmost hazard the boat came near us, but it was impossible for us to
get on board, or for the boat to lie near the ship’s side, till at last
the men rowing very heartily, and venturing their lives to save ours,
our men cast them a rope over the stern with a buoy to it, and then
veered it out a great length, which they after great labour and hazard
took hold of, and we hauled them close under our stern, and got all into
their boat. It was to no purpose for them or us, after we were in the
boat, to think of reaching to their own ship; so all agreed to let her
drive, and only to pull her in towards shore as much as we could; and
our master promised them, that if the boat was staved upon shore he
would make it good to their master: so partly rowing and partly driving,
our boat went away to the northward, sloping towards the shore almost as
far as Winterton-Ness.
We were not much more than a quarter of an hour out of our ship but we
saw her sink, and then I understood for the first time what was meant by
a ship foundering in the sea. I must acknowledge I had hardly eyes to
look up when the seamen told me she was sinking; for from that moment
they rather put me into the boat, than that I might be said to go in; my
heart was, as it were, dead within me, partly with fright, partly with
horror of mind, and the thoughts of what was yet before me.
While we were in this condition, the men yet labouring at the oar to
bring the boat near the shore, we could see, when our boat mounting the
waves we were able to see the shore, a great many people running along
the shore to assist us when we should come near; but we made but slow
way towards the shore, nor were we able to reach the shore, till being
past the light-house at Winterton, the shore falls off to the westward
towards Cromer, and so the land broke off a little the violence of the
wind. Here we got in, and, though not without much difficulty, got all
safe on shore, and walked afterwards on foot to Yarmouth, where, as
unfortunate men, we were used with great humanity, as well by the
magistrates of the town, who assigned us good quarters, as by particular
merchants and owners of ships, and had money given us sufficient to
carry us either to London or back to Hull, as we thought fit.
Had I now had the sense to have gone back to Hull, and have gone home, I
had been happy, and my father, an emblem of our blessed Saviour’s
parable, had even killed the fatted calf for me; for hearing the ship I
went away in was cast away in Yarmouth Roads, it was a great while
before he had any assurance that I was not drowned.
But my ill fate pushed me on now with an obstinacy that nothing could
resist; and though I had several times loud calls from my reason and my
more composed judgment to go home, yet I had no power to do it. I know
not what to call this, nor will I urge that it is a secret over-ruling
decree that hurries us on to be the instruments of our own destruction,
even though it be before us, and that we push upon it with our eyes
open. Certainly nothing but some such decreed unavoidable misery
attending, and which it was impossible for me to escape, could have
pushed me forward against the calm reasonings and persuasions of my most
retired thoughts, and against two such visible instructions as I had met
with in my first attempt.
My comrade, who had helped to harden me before, and who was the master’s
son, was now less forward than I. The first time he spoke to me after we
were at Yarmouth, which was not till two or three days, for we were
separated in the town to several quarters; I say, the first time he saw
me, it appeared his tone was altered, and looking very melancholy, and
shaking his head, asked me how I did, and telling his father who I was,
and how I had come this voyage only for a trial, in order to go farther
abroad; his father turning to me with a very grave and concerned tone,
“Young man,” says he, “you ought never to go to sea any more; you ought
to take this for a plain and visible token that you are not to be a
seafaring man.”—“Why, Sir,” said I, “will you go to sea no more?” “That
is another case,” said he; “it is my calling, and therefore my duty; but
as you made this voyage for a trial, you see what a taste Heaven has
given you of what you are to expect if you persist: perhaps this is all
befallen us on your account, like Jonah in the ship of Tarshish. Pray,”
continues he, “what are you? and on what account did you go to sea?”
Upon that I told him some of my story; at the end of which he burst out
with a strange kind of passion; “What had I done,” says he, “that such
an unhappy wretch should come into my ship? I would not set my foot in
the same ship with thee again for a thousand pounds.” This indeed was,
as I said, an excursion of his spirits, which were yet agitated by the
sense of his loss, and was farther than he could have authority to go.
However, he afterwards talked very gravely to me, exhorted me to go back
to my father, and not tempt Providence to my ruin; told me I might see a
visible hand of Heaven against me. “And young man,” said he, “depend
upon it, if you do not go back, wherever you go, you will meet with
nothing but disasters and disappointments, till your father’s words are
fulfilled upon you.”
We parted soon after; for I made him little answer, and I saw him no
more: which way he went, I know not. As for me, having some money in my
pocket, I travelled to London by land; and there, as well as on the
road, had many struggles with myself, what course of life I should take,
and whether I should go home, or go to sea.
As to going home, shame opposed the best motions that offered to my
thoughts; and it immediately occurred to me how I should be laughed at
among the neighbours, and should be ashamed to see, not my father and
mother only, but even every body else; from whence I have since often
observed, how incongruous and irrational the common temper of mankind
is, especially of youth, to that reason which ought to guide them in
such cases, viz. that they are not ashamed to sin, and yet are ashamed
to repent; nor ashamed of the action for which they ought justly to be
esteemed fools, but are ashamed of the returning, which only can make
them be esteemed wise men.
In this state of life however I remained some time, uncertain what
measures to take, and what course of life to lead. An irresistible
reluctance continued to going home; and as I stayed a while, the
remembrance of the distress I had been in wore off; and as that abated,
the little motion I had in my desires to a return wore off with it, till
at last I quite laid aside the thoughts of it, and looked out for
a voyage.
That evil influence which carried me first away from my father’s house,
that hurried me into the wild and indigested notion of raising my
fortune; and that impressed those conceits so forcibly upon me, as to
make me deaf to all good advice, and to the entreaties and even the
command of my father: I say, the same influence, whatever it was,
presented the most unfortunate of all enterprises to my view; and I went
on board a vessel bound to the coast of Africa; or, as our sailors
vulgarly call it, a voyage to Guinea.
It was my great misfortune that in all these adventures I did not ship
myself as a sailor; whereby, though I might indeed have worked a little
harder than ordinary, yet at the same time I had learnt the duty and
office of a foremastman; and in time might have qualified myself for a
mate or lieutenant, if not for a master. But as it was always my fate to
choose for the worse, so I did here; for having money in my pocket, and
good clothes upon my back, I would always go on board in the habit of a
gentleman; and so I neither had any business in the ship, or learnt
to do any.
It was my lot first of all to fall into pretty good company in London,
which does not always happen to such loose and unguided young fellows as
I then was; the devil generally not omitting to lay some snare for them
very early: but it was not so with me. I first fell acquainted with the
master of a ship who had been on the coast of Guinea; and who, having
had very good success there, was resolved to go again; and who taking a
fancy to my conversation, which was not at all disagreeable at that
time, hearing me say I had a mind to see the world, told me if I would
go the voyage with him I should be at no expense; I should be his
messmate and his companion; and if I could carry any thing with me, I
should have all the advantage of it that the trade would admit; and
perhaps I might meet with some encouragement.
I embraced the offer; and entering into a strict friendship with this
captain, who was an honest and plain-dealing man, I went the voyage with
him, and carried a small adventure with me, which, by the disinterested
honesty of my friend the captain, I increased very considerably; for I
carried about 40_l_. in such toys and trifles as the captain directed me
to buy. This 40_l_. I had mustered together by the assistance of some of
my relations whom I corresponded with, and who, I believe, got my
father, or at least my mother, to contribute so much as that to my first
adventure.
This was the only voyage which I may say was successful in all my
adventures, and which I owe to the integrity and honesty of my friend
the captain, under whom also I got a competent knowledge of the
mathematics and the rules of navigation, learnt how to keep an account
of the ship’s course, take an observation, and, in short, to understand
some things that were needful to be understood by a sailor: for, as he
took delight to instruct me, I took delight to learn; and, in a word,
this voyage made me both a sailor and a merchant: for I brought home
five pounds nine ounces of gold-dust for my adventure, which yielded me
in London at my return almost 300_l_. and this filled me with those
aspiring thoughts which have so completed my ruin.
Yet even in this voyage I had my misfortunes too; particularly, that I
was continually sick, being thrown into a violent calenture by the
excessive heat of the climate; our principal trading being upon the
coast, from the latitude of 15 degrees north even to the line itself.
I was now set up for a Guinea trader; and my friend, to my great
misfortune, dying soon after his arrival, I resolved to go the same
voyage again, and I embarked in the same vessel with one who was his
mate in the former voyage, and had now got the command of the ship. This
was the unhappiest voyage that ever man made; for though I did not
carry quite 100_l_. of my new-gained wealth, so that I had 200_l_. left,
and which I lodged with my friend’s widow, who was very just to me, yet
I fell into terrible misfortunes in this voyage; and the first was this,
viz. our ship making her course towards the Canary Islands, or rather
between those islands and the African shore, was surprised in the grey
of the morning by a Turkish rover of Sallee, who gave chase to us with
all the sail she could make. We crowded also as much canvass as our
yards would spread, or our masts carry, to have got clear; but finding
the pirate gained upon us, and would certainly come up with us in a few
hours, we prepared to fight; our ship having twelve guns, and the rogue
eighteen. About three in the afternoon he came up with us, and bringing
to by mistake just athwart our quarter, instead of athwart our stern, as
he intended, we brought eight of our guns to bear on that side, and
poured in a broadside upon him, which made him sheer off again, after
returning our fire, and pouring in also his small-shot from near 200 men
which he had on board. However, we had not a man touched, all our men
keeping close. He prepared to attack us again, and we to defend
ourselves; but laying us on board the next time upon our other quarter,
he entered sixty men upon our decks, who immediately fell to cutting and
hacking the decks and rigging. We plied them with small-shot,
half-pikes, powder-cheats, and such like, and cleared our deck of them
twice. However, to cut short this melancholy part of our story, our ship
being disabled, and three of our men killed and eight wounded, we were
obliged to yield, and were carried all prisoners into Sallee, a port
belonging to the Moors.