The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe of York, Mariner Part 1

The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe Of York, Mariner.

Vol. 1.

by Daniel Defoe.

THE LIFE OF

_DANIEL 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, thought 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 circ.u.mstance of his having, in consequence of his zeal for King William, attacked the prejudices of his countrymen in his "Trueborn 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 protestanism," 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 circ.u.mstance 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 Ess.e.x; 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 circ.u.mstances from King William's favour, he voluntarily paid most of his creditors both the princ.i.p.al 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 "Trueborn Englishman." Its purpose was to furnish a reply to those who were continually abusing King William and some of his friends as _foreigners_, by showing 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 fends disturb the nation more, Than all our b.l.o.o.d.y 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 pretensions 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 Trueborn 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 pa.s.sion. He therefore published a tract, ent.i.tled "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 fort.i.tude, 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) characterizes him in the following line:

Earless on high stood unabash'd De Foe.

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 G.o.dolphin, also sent a considerable sum to his wife and family, and to him money to pay his fine and the expense of his discharge. Grat.i.tude 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 G.o.dolphin 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 Courts.h.i.+p" 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 pa.s.sed through numerous editions, and been translated into almost all modern languages. The great invention which is displayed in it, the variety of incidents and circ.u.mstances 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 showing 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 surrept.i.tiously 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 dest.i.tute 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'

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 a.s.sistance, and we have only the a.s.sertion 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 ent.i.tled to stand in the foremost rank among his contemporaries, whatever may be their performances or their fame. His distinguis.h.i.+ng characteristics are originality, spirit, and a profound knowledge of his subject, and in these particulars he has seldom been surpa.s.sed. As the author of Robinson Crusoe he has a claim, not only to the admiration, but to the grat.i.tude 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 grat.i.tude will not cease to exist. But the opinion of the learned and ingenious Dr. Beattie will be the best eulogium that can be p.r.o.nounced 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, riot 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 under-value; 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 shows how, by labouring with one's own hands, one may secure independence, and open for one's self many sources of health and amus.e.m.e.nt. I agree, therefore, with Rosseau, that it is one of the best books that can be put into the hands of children."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: _St. James's, January 10, 1702-5._ "Whereas Daniel De Foe, alias De Fooe, is charged with writing a scandalous and seditious pamphlet, ent.i.tled '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 Ess.e.x; whoever shall discover the said Daniel De Foe, to one of her Majesty's Princ.i.p.al Secretaries of State, or any of her Majesty's Justices of Peace, so as he may be apprehended, shall have a reward of 50, which her Majesty has ordered immediately to be paid upon such discovery."

_London Gaz._ No. 3879.]

THE

LIFE AND ADVENTURES

OF

ROBINSON CRUSOE.

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 whom 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 befall 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 hards.h.i.+ps, the labour and sufferings of the mechanic part of mankind, and not embarra.s.sed 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 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 and 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 embarra.s.sed with the labours of the hands or of the head, not sold to the life of slavery for daily bread, or hara.s.sed with perplexed circ.u.mstances, which rob the soul of peace, and the body of rest; not enraged with the pa.s.sion of envy, or secret burning l.u.s.t of ambition for great things; but, in easy circ.u.mstances, 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, G.o.d would not bless me, and I would have leisure hereafter to reflect upon having neglected his counsel, when there might be none to a.s.sist 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 a.s.sist 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 further 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 pa.s.sion: 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 showing 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 mean time, 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 at that time; but, I say, being there, and one of my companions then going by sea to London, in his father's s.h.i.+p, and prompting me to go with them, with the common allurement of seafaring men, viz. that it should cost me nothing for my pa.s.sage, 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 G.o.d's blessing, or my father's, without any consideration of circ.u.mstances or consequences, and in an ill hour, G.o.d knows, on the first of September, 1651, I went on board a s.h.i.+p bound for London. Never any young adventurer's misfortunes, I believe, began sooner, or continued longer than mine. The s.h.i.+p 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 wickedly 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 G.o.d 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 s.h.i.+p 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 G.o.d 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 s.h.i.+p 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 sh.o.r.e; and I resolved that I would, like a true repenting prodigal, go home to my father.

These wise and sober thoughts continued during the storm, and indeed some time after; but the next day, as the wind was abated, and the sea calmer, 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 s.h.i.+ning upon it, the sight was, as I thought, the most delightful that I ever 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 a little time after. And now, lest my good resolutions should continue, my companion, who had indeed enticed me away, came to me and said, "Well; Bob," clapping me on the shoulder, "how do you do after it? I warrant you were frightened, wa'n't you, last night, when it blew but a cap-full of wind?"--"A cap-full 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 s.h.i.+p 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 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 of.

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 tune a great many s.h.i.+ps from Newcastle came into the same roads, as the common harbour where the s.h.i.+ps 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 top-masts, and make every thing snug and close, that the s.h.i.+p might ride as easy as possible. By noon the sea went very high indeed, and our s.h.i.+p rode forecastle in, s.h.i.+pped 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 a-head, 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 s.h.i.+p, yet as he went in and out of his cabin by me, I could hear him softly say to himself 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 rea.s.sume 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 but 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 around us: two s.h.i.+ps that rid near us, we found, had cut their masts by the board, being deep laden; and our men cried out, that a s.h.i.+p which rid about a mile a-head of us was foundered. Two more s.h.i.+ps 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 s.h.i.+ps-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 spritsail out before the wind.