and give you a fine notice how to succeed with them: if you meet a
sorrowful countenance with a red coat, be sure the wearer is a disbanded
officer: let a female always attack him, and tell him she is the widow of
a poor marine, who had served twelve years, and then broke his heart
because he was turned out without a penny; if you see a plain man hang
down his head as he comes out of some nobleman's gate, say to him, Good
worthy sir, I beg your pardon, but I am a poor ruined tradesman, that
once was in a good business, but the great people would not pay me. And
if you see a pretty woman with a dejected look, send your sister that is
at hand, to complain to her of a bad husband, that gets drunk and beats
her; that runs to whores, and has spent all her substance: there are but
two things that can make a handsome woman melancholy: the having a bad
husband, or the having no husband at all; if the first of these is the
case, one of the former crimes will touch her to the quick, and loosen
the strings of her purse; in the other, let a second distressed object
tell her she was to have been married well, but that her lover died a
week before; one way or other the tender heart of the female will be
melted, and the reward will be handsome. If you meet a homely, but
dressed-up lady, pray for her lovely face, and beg a penny; if you see a
mark of delicacy by the drawing up of the nose, send somebody to show her
a sore leg, a scalded head, or a rupture. If you are happy enough to
fall in with a tender husband leading his big wife to church, send
companions that have but one arm, or two thumbs, or tell her of some
monstrous child you have brought forth, and the good man will pay you to
be gone, if he gives slightly, it is but following, getting before the
lady, and talking louder, and you may depend upon his searching his
pocket to better purpose a second time. There are many more things of
which I have to speak, but my feeble tongue will not hold out. Profit by
these: they will be found sufficient, and if they prove to you, my
children, what they have been to me these eighteen years, I shall not
repine at my dissolution."
Here he paused for some time, being almost spent: then, recovering his
voice and spirits, he thus began again: "As I find the lamp of life is
not quite extinguished, I shall employ the little that remains in saying
a few words of my public conduct as your king. I call heaven to witness,
that I have loved you all with a paternal love: these now feeble limbs
and broken spirits have been worn out in providing for your welfare, and
often have these dim eyes watched while you have slept, with a father's
care for your safety. I call you all to witness that I have kept an
impartial register of your actions, and no merit has passed unnoticed. I
have, with a most exact hand, divided to every man his due portion of our
common stock, and have had no worthless favourite nor useless officer to
eat the honey of your labour. And for all these I have had my reward, in
seeing the happiness, and having the love of all my subjects. I depart,
therefore, in peace, to rest from my labours; it remains only that I give
you my last advice, which is, that in choosing my successor, you pay no
partial regard to my family, but let him only that is most worthy rule
over you." He said no more, but, leaning back in his chair, died without
a sigh.
Never was there a scene of more real distress, or more unfeigned grief,
than now appeared among his children and subjects. Nothing was heard but
sighs and exclamations for their loss. When the first transports of
their grief were over, they sent the sorrowful news to all the houses
that were frequented by their community in every part of the kingdom; at
the same time summoning them to repair to the city of London on a certain
day, in order to proceed to the election of a new king.
Before the day appointed for the election a vast concourse of mendicants
flocked from all parts of the kingdom to the city of London; for every
member of the community has a right to vote in the choice of their king,
as they think it inconsistent with that of natural liberty, which every
man is born heir to, to deny any one the privilege of making his own
choice in a matter of so great importance.
Here, reader, as thou wilt be apt to judge from what thou hast seen, thou
already expectest a scene of riot and debauchery; to see the candidates
servilely cringing, meanly suing, and basely bribing the electors,
depriving themselves of sense and reason, and selling more than Esau did
for a mess of pottage; for, what is birthright, what is inheritance, when
put in the scale against that choicest blessing, public liberty! O,
Liberty! thou enlivener of life, thou solace of toils, thou patron of
virtue, thou encourager of industry, thou spring of justice, thou
something more than life, beyond the reach of fancy to describe, all
hail! It is thou that beamest the sunshine in the patriot's breast; it
is thou that sweetenest the toil of the labouring mechanic! thou dost
inspire the ploughman with his jocund mirth, and thou tunest the merry
milk-maid's song; thou canst make the desert smile, and the barren rock
to sing for joy; by thy sacred protection the poorest peasant lies secure
under the shadow of his defenceless cot, whilst oppression at a distance
gnashes with her teeth, but dares not show her iron rod; and power, like
the raging billows, dashes its bounds with indignation, but dares not
overpass them. But where thou art not, how changed the scene! how
tasteless, how irksome labour! how languid industry! Where are the
beauteous rose, the gaudy tulip, the sweet-scented jessamine? where the
purple grape, the luscious peach, the glowing nectarine? wherefore smile
not the valleys with their beauteous verdure, nor sing for joy with their
golden harvest? All are withered by the scorching sun of lawless power!
Where thou art not, what place so sacred as to be secure? or who can say,
this is my own! This is the language only of the place where thou
delightest to dwell; but, as soon as thou spreadest thy wings to some
more pleasing clime, power walks abroad with haughty strides, and
tramples upon the weak, whilst oppression, with its heavy hand, bows down
the unwilling neck to the yoke. O, my Country! alas, my Country! thou
wast once the chosen seat of liberty; her footsteps appeared in thy
streets, thy palaces, thy public assemblies: she exulted in thee: her
voice, the voice of joy and gladness was heard throughout the land: with
more than a mother's love she held forth her seven-fold shield to protect
thee, the meanest of her sons; whilst justice, supported by law, rode
triumphant by her side with awful majesty, and looked into fear and
trembling every disturber of the public quiet. O, thou whom my soul
loveth, wherefore dost thou sit dejected, and hidest thy face all the day
long? Canst thou ask the reason of my grief? See, see, my generous
hardy sons are become foolish, indolent, effeminate, thoughtless; behold,
how with their own hands they have loaded me with shackles: alas! hast
thou not seen them take the rod from my beloved sister, Justice, and give
it to the sons of blood and rapine? Yet a little while I mourn over lost
and degenerate sons, and then with hasty flight fix my habitation in some
more happy clime.
Though the community of the gipseys at other times give themselves up to
mirth and jollity with perhaps too much licence, yet nothing is reckoned
more infamous and shameful amongst them than to appear intoxicated during
the time of an election, and it very rarely happens that any of them are
so, for they reckon it a choice of so much importance, that they cannot
exert in it too much judgment, prudence, and wisdom; they therefore
endeavour to have their faculties strong, lively, penetrating, and clear
at that time. Their method of election is different from that of most
other people, though, perhaps, it is the best contrived of any, and
attended with the fewest inconveniences. We have already observed, that
none but those who have long been members of the community, are well
acquainted with the institution of it, and have signalized themselves by
some remarkable actions, are permitted to offer themselves as candidates.
These are obliged, ten days before the election, to fix up in some place
of their public resort an account of those actions, upon the merit of
which they found their pretensions of becoming candidates; to which they
must add their opinions on liberty, and the office and duties of a king.
They must, during these ten days, appear every day at the place of
election, that their electors may have an opportunity of forming some
judgment from the lineaments and prognostics of their countenance. A few
days before the election, a little white ball, and as many black ones as
with the white one will equal the number of candidates, are given to each
elector.
When the day of election is come, as many boxes are placed as there are
candidates, with the name of the particular candidate written on the box
which is appropriated to him; these boxes are quite closed, except a
little opening at the top, which is every night, during the election,
locked up under the keys and seals of each candidate, and of six of the
most venerable old men in the community; it is in the little opening at
the top of these boxes, that the elector puts in the little ball we have
just now mentioned; at the same time he puts his white ball into the box
of the candidate whom he chooses to be his king, he puts a black ball
into the boxes of all the other candidates; and when they have all done
so, the boxes are broken open, and the balls counted in presence of all
the candidates, and of as many electors as choose it, by the old men
above mentioned; and he who has the greatest number of white balls is
always duly chosen. By this means no presiding officer has it in his
power to make one more than two, which sometimes happens in the elections
amongst other communities, who do not use this form. There are other
innumerable advantages attending this manner of election, and it is
likely to preserve public liberty the longest; for, first, as the
candidates are obliged to fix up publicly an account of those actions
upon the merit of which they become candidates, it deters any but those
who are truly worthy from offering themselves; and, as the sentiments
which each of them gives upon public liberty, and the duty and office of
a king, is immediately entered in their public register, it stands as a
public witness against, and a check upon that candidate who is chosen, to
deter him from a change of sentiments and principles; for, though in some
countries this is known to have little effect, and men have on a sudden,
without any alteration in the nature of things, shamelessly espoused
those principles and sentiments, which they had vehemently all their life
before opposed, yet in this community, where there is so high a sense of
honour and shame kept up, it must necessarily be none of the least
binding obligations. Secondly, by this method of balloting, or giving
their votes by balls, the elector's choice is more free and unbiassed;
for, as none but himself can know the candidate he gives his white ball
to, there can be no influence of fear, interest, ties of blood, or any
other cause, to oblige him to give his vote contrary to his judgment;
even bribes, if they were known amongst these people, would lose their
effect under this method of voting; because few candidates would choose
to bribe, when they could have no security or knowledge whether the
bribed elector might have put a black ball instead of a white one into
his box.
Our hero was now one of the candidates, and exhibited to the electors so
long a list of bold and ingenious stratagems which he had executed, and
made so graceful and majestic an appearance in his person, that he had a
considerable majority of white balls in his box, though there were ten
candidates for the same honour; upon which he was declared duly elected,
and hailed by the whole assembly, King of the Mendicants. The public
register of their actions being immediately committed to his care, and
homage done him by all the assembly, the whole concluded with great
feasting and rejoicing, and the electors sang the following ode:
I.
Cast your nabs {58a} and cares away,
This is Maunders' holiday;
In the world look out and see,
Where so blest a king as he! {58b}
II.
At the crowning of our king,
Thus we ever dance and sing;
Where's the nation lives so free,
And so merrily as we!
III.
Be it peace, or be it war,
Here at liberty we are:
Hang all Harmenbecks, {58c} we cry,
We the Cuffin Queres {58d} defy.
IV.
We enjoy our ease and rest,
To the field we are not press'd;
And when taxes are increased,
We are not a penny sess'd.
V.
Nor will any go to law
With a Maunder {58e} for a straw;
All which happiness, he brags,
Is only owing to his rags.
Though Mr. Carew was now privileged by the dignity of his office from
going out on any cruise, and was provided with every thing necessary, by
joint contributions of the community, yet he did not give himself up to
the slow poison of the mind, indolence, which, though its operations are
imperceptible, is more hurtful and fatal than any of the quicker
passions; for we often see great virtues break through the cloud of other
vices, but indolence is a standing corrupted pool, which always remains
in the same state, unfit for every purpose. Our hero, therefore,
notwithstanding the particular privilege of his office, was as active in
his stratagems as ever, and ready to encounter any difficulties which
seemed to promise success, of which the following is an instance.
Happening to be in the parish of Fleet, near Portland Race, in
Dorsetshire, he happened to hear in the evening of a ship in imminent
danger of being cast away, she having been driven on some shoals. Early
in the morning, before it was well light, he pulled off his clothes,
which he flung into a deep pit, and then unseen by any one swam to the
vessel, which now parted asunder; he found only one of the crew alive,
who was hanging by his hands on the side of the vessel, the rest being
either washed overboard, or drowned in attempting to swim to the shore.
Never was there a more piteous object than this poor wretch hanging
between life and death; Mr. Carew immediately offered him his assistance
to get him to shore, at the same time inquiring the name of the vessel,
and her master, what cargo on board, whence she came, and whither bound.
The poor wretch replied, she belonged to Bristol, captain Griffin,
master, came from Hamburg, was bound to Bristol with a cargo of Hamburg
goods, and had seven men and a boy on board; at the same time our hero
was pressing him to let go his hold, and commit himself to his care, and
he would endeavour to swim with him to shore: but, when the danger is so
imminent, and death stands before our eyes, it is no easy matter to be
persuaded to quit the weakest stay; thus the poor wretch hesitated so
long before he would quit his hold of the vessel, that a large sea broke
upon the wreck, and overwhelmed him in the great deep. Mr. Carew was in
no little danger, but, being an excellent swimmer, he with great
difficulty got to shore, though not without hurt, the sea throwing him
with great violence on the beach, whereby one of his arms was wounded. By
this time a great number of spectators were gathered on the strand, who
rejoiced to see Mr. Carew come ashore alive, supposing him to be one of
the poor wretches belonging to the ship. Naked, spent with fatigue, and
wounded, he raised a feeling of pity in all the spectators; for, so
strongly is this tender passion connected with our frame by the
beneficent Author of Nature, to promote the assistance of each other,
that, no sooner does the eye see a deplorable object, than the heart
feels it, and as quickly forces the hand to relieve it; so that those
whom the love of money, for we think that the greatest opposite to pity,
has rendered unfeeling of another's woes, are said to have no hearts, or
hearts of stone; as we naturally conclude no one can be void of that soft
and Godlike passion--pity, but either one who by some cause or other
happens to be made up without a heart, or one in whom continual droppings
of self-love or avarice have quite changed the nature of it; which, by
the most skilful anatomist, is allowed in its natural state to be fleshy,
soft, and tender; but has been found, without exception, upon inspection
into the bodies of several money lovers, to be nothing but a callous
stony substance, from which the chemists, by most intense fires, have
been able to extract nothing but a _caput mortuum_, or an earthy, dry,
useless powder.
Amongst the spectators of Mr. Carew, was the housekeeper of Madam Mohun,
in the parish of Fleet, who had a heart made of the softest substance;
for she immediately, agreeable to the beneficent precepts of the gospel,
pulled off her own cloak to give to him that had none: and, like the good
Samaritan, giving him a handkerchief to bind up his wounds, bid him
follow her, and led him to her mistress's house, where, placing him
before a good fire, she gave him two large glasses of brandy, with loaf
sugar in it; then bringing him a shirt and other apparel, she went up
stairs and acquainted Madam Mohun, her venerable mistress, in the most
feeling manner, with the whole affair.
Here, could we hope our work would last to future ages, we might
immortalize this generous woman.--Her mistress was so affected with her
relation, that she immediately ordered a warm bed to be prepared for the
poor wretch, and that he should be taken great care of, which was
accordingly soon done, and Mr. Carew lay very quiet for three or four
hours; then waking, he seemed to be very much disturbed in his mind; his
talk was incoherent, his groans moving, and he tossed from one side of
the bed to the other, but seemed to find ease in none: the good people
seeing him so uneasy in bed, brought him a good suit of clothes, and he
got up. Being told the bodies of some of his shipmates were flung up by
the sea on the shore, he seemed greatly affected, and the tears dropped
from his eyes. Having received from Justice Farwell, who happened to be
there, ill of the gout, a guinea and a pass for Bristol, and considerable
contributions from the great number of people who flocked to see him, to
the amount of nine or ten pounds, he expressed an inclination of making
the best of his way to Bristol: and the good Justice Farwell lent him his
own horse to ride as far as the town of Dorchester, and the parson of the
parish sent his man to show him the way.
Mr. Carew would have been gladly excused from going through Dorchester,
as he had appeared there but four or five days before in the character of
a broken miller, and had thereby raised a contribution of the mayor and
corporation of that place; but as it lay in the direct road to Bristol,
and he was attended by a guide, he could not possibly avoid it. As soon
as they came there, his guide presented the pass in behalf of Mr. Carew
to the mayor, who thereupon ordered the town-bell to be rung, and
assembled the heads of the corporation. Though he had been so lately
with them, yet, being now in a quite different dress, and a pass which
they knew to be signed by Justice Farwell, and the guide testifying that
he was an unfortunate shipwrecked seaman, escaped from the most imminent
danger, they had no notion of his being the broken miller who had been
with them a few days before; they therefore treated him with great
humanity, and relieved him very generously. After this, the guide took
his leave of him with a great many good wishes for his safe arrival at
Bristol; but Mr. Carew, instead of pursuing his way thither, steered his
course towards Devonshire, and raised contributions by the way, as a
shipwrecked seaman, on Colonel Brown of Framton, Squire Trenchard, and
Squire Falford of Tolla, Colonel Broadrip, Colonel Mitchell, and Squire
Richards of Long Britty, and several other gentlemen.
It was not long after this, that, being in the city of Bristol, he put in
execution a very bold and ingenious stratagem. Calling to mind one Aaron
Cook, a trader of considerable worth and note, at St. John's in
Newfoundland, whom he resembled both in person and speech, he resolved to
be the son of Aaron Cook for some time; he therefore went upon the
Tolsey, and other places of public resort for the merchants of Bristol,
and there modestly acquainted them with his name, as well as his
misfortunes; that he was born and lived all his life at St. John's in
Newfoundland; that he was bound for England, in the Nicholas, Captain
Newman; which vessel springing a leak, they were obliged to quit her, and
were taken up by an Irishman, Patrick Pore, and by him carried into
Waterford; whence he had got passage, and landed at King's Road; that his
business in England was to buy provisions and fishing craft, and to see
his relations, who lived in the parish of Cockington, near Torbay, where,
he said, his father was born.
Captains Elton, Galloway, Masters, Thomas, Turner, and several other
Newfoundland traders, many of whom personally knew his pretended father
and mother, asked him many questions about the family, their usual place
of fishing, &c., particularly if he remembered how the quarrel happened
at his father's (when he was but a boy) which was of so unhappy a
consequence to Governor Collins? Mr. Carew very readily replied, that
though he was then very young, he remembered that the governor, the
parson and his wife, Madam Short, Madam Bengy, Madam Brown, and several
other women of St. John's, having met together, and feasting at his
father's, a warm dispute happened among the men in the heat of liquor,
concerning the virtue of women, the governor obstinately averring that
there was not one honest woman in all Newfoundland. What think you then
of my wife? said the parson. The same as I do of all other women, all
whores alike, answered the governor roughly. Hereupon the women, not
able to bear this gross aspersion on their honour, with one accord
attacked the governor, who, being overpowered by their fury, could not
defend his face from being disfigured by their nails, nor his clothes
from being torn off his back; and what was much worse, the parson's wife
thinking herself most injured, cut the hamstring of his leg with a knife,
which rendered him a cripple his whole life after.
This circumstantial account, which was in every point exactly as the
affair happened, and many other questions concerning the family which the
captains asked him, and he as readily answered, (having got every
particular information concerning them when in Newfoundland,) fully
convinced them that he must really be the son of their good old friend
Mr. Aaron Cook; they therefore not only very generously relieved him, but
offered to lend him any moderate sum, to be paid again in Newfoundland,
the next fishing season; but Mr. Carew had too high a sense of honour to
abuse their generosity so far; he therefore excused himself from
accepting their offer, by saying he would be furnished with as much as he
should have occasion for, by merchant Pemm of Exeter. They then took him
with them to Guildhall, recommending him to the benevolence of the mayor
and corporation, testifying he was a man of reputable family in
Newfoundland. Here a very handsome collection was made for him; and the
circumstances of his misfortunes becoming public, many other respectable
ladies and gentlemen gave him that assistance according to their
abilities, which is always due to unfortunate strangers. Three days did
the captains detain him by their civilities in Bristol, showing him all
the curiosities and pleasures of the place to divert his melancholy. He
then set out for Cockington, where his relations lived, and Bridgewater
being on his road, he had a letter, from one of the Bristol captains, to
Captain Drake in that place.
As soon as he came to Bridgewater, he went directly to the mayor's house,
and knocking at the gate, it was opened to him by madam mayoress, to whom
he related his misfortune; and the good lady, pitying him as an
unfortunate stranger, so far distant from his home, gave him
half-a-crown, and engaged her daughter, a child, to give him a shilling.