our comrades fell into bad hands, or by many accidents which we could not foresee.

It was during my being here, for here we stayed near two months, that I grew very thoughtful about my circumstances; not as to the danger, neither indeed were we in any, but were entirely concealed and unsuspected; but I really began to have other thoughts of myself, and of the world, than ever I had before.

William had struck so deep into my unthinking temper, with hinting to me that there was something beyond all this; that the present time was the time of enjoyment, but that the time of account approached; that the work that remained was gentler than the labour past, viz., repentance, and that it was high time to think of it: I say these, and such thoughts as these, engrossed my hours, and, in a word, I grew very sad.

As to the wealth I had, which was immensely great, it was all like dirt under my feet; I had no value for it, no peace in the possession of it, no great concern about me for the leaving of it.

William had perceived my thoughts to be troubled, and my mind heavy and oppressed for some time; and one evening, in one of our cool walks, I began with him about the leaving our effects. William was a wise and wary man; and indeed all the prudentials of my conduct had for a long time been owing to his advice, and so now all the methods for preserving our effects, and even ourselves, lay upon him; and he had been telling me of some of the measures he had been taking for our making homeward, and for the security of our wealth, when I took him very short. Why, William, says I, dost thou think we shall ever be able to reach Europe with all this cargo that we have about us?

Aye, says William, without doubt, as well as other merchants with theirs, as long as it is not publicly known what quantity, or of what value our cargo consists.

Why, William, says I, smiling, do you think that, if there is a God above, as you have so long been telling me there is, and that we must give an account to him; I say, do you think, if he be a righteous judge, he will let us escape thus with the plunder, as we may call it, of so many innocent people, nay, I might say nations, and not call us to

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an account for it before we can get to Europe, where we pretend to enjoy it?

William appeared struck and surprised at the question, and made no answer for a great while; and I repeated the question, adding that it was not to be expected.

After a little pause, says William, thou hast started a very weighty question, and I can make no positive answer to it; but I will state it thus: first, it is time that, if we consider the justice of God, we have no reason to expect any protection; but as the ordinary ways of Providence are out of the common road of human affairs, so we may hope for mercy still upon our repentance, and we know not how good he may be to us; so we are to act as if we rather depended upon the last, I mean the merciful part, than claimed the first, which must produce nothing but judgment and vengeance.

But hark ye, William, says I, the nature of repentance, as you hinted once to me, included reformation; and we can never reform; how then can we repent?

Why can we never reform? says William.

Because, said I, we cannot restore what we have taken away by rapine and spoil.

It is true, says William, we can never do that; for we can never come to the knowledge of the owners.

But what then must be done with our wealth, said I, the effects of plunder and rapine? If we keep it, we continue to be robbers and thieves; and if we quit it, we cannot do justice with it, for we cannot restore it to the right owners.

Nay, says William, the answer to it is short. To quit what we have, and do it here, is to throw it away to those who have no claim to it, and to divest ourselves of it, but to do no right with it; whereas we ought to keep it carefully together, with a resolution to do what right with it we are able; and who knows what opportunity Providence may put into our hands, to do justice, at least, to some of those we have injured; so we ought, at least, to leave it to him, and go on. As it is, without doubt, our present business is to go to some place of safety, where we may wait his will.

This resolution of William was very satisfying to me indeed, as, the truth is, all he said, and at all times, was solid and good; and had not William thus, as it were, quieted my

mind, I think verily, I was so alarmed at the just reason I had to expect vengeance from Heaven upon me for my ill-gotten wealth, that I should have run away from it as the devil's goods, that I had nothing to do with, that did not belong to me, and that I had no right to keep, and was in certain danger of being destroyed for.

However, William settled my mind to more prudent steps than these, and I concluded, that I ought, however, to proceed to a place of safety, and leave the event to God Almighty's mercy; but this I must leave upon record, that I had, from this time, no joy of the wealth I had got; I looked upon it as stolen, and so indeed the greatest part of it was; I looked upon it as a hoard of other men's goods, which I had robbed the innocent owners of, and which I ought, in a word, to be hanged for here, and damned for hereafter; and now, indeed, I began sincerely to hate myself for a dog; a wretch, that had been a thief, and a murderer; a wretch, that was in a condition which nobody was ever in; for I had robbed, and though I had the wealth by me, yet it was impossible I should ever make any restitution; and upon this account it ran in my head, that I could never repent, for that repentance could not be sincere without restitution, and therefore must of necessity be damned; there was no room for me to escape; I went about with my heart full of these thoughts, little better than a distracted fellow; in short, running headlong into the most dreadful despair, and premeditating nothing but how to rid myself out of the world; and, indeed, the devil, if such things are of the devil's immediate doing, followed his work very close with me; and nothing lay upon my mind for several days, but to shoot myself into the head with my pistol.

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CHAPTER XX.

FARTHER CONVERSATIONS WITH WILLIAM, WHICH QUIET MY CONSCIENCE IN SOME DEGREE ACCOUNT OF OUR JOURNEY FROM BASSORA TO SCANDEROON, AND FROM THENCE TO VENICE WILLIAM WRITES TO ENGLAND ΤΟ HIS SISTER-HER AFFECTIONATE ANSWER-WE AT LENGTH RETURN ΤΟ ENGLAND VERY RICH, WHERE I MARRY WILLIAM'S SISTER-CONCLUSION.

I was all this while in a vagrant life, among infidels, Turks, pagans, and such sort of people; I had no minister, no Christian to converse with, but poor William; he was my ghostly father, or confessor; and he was all the comfort I had. As for my knowledge of religion, you have heard my history; you may suppose I had not much; and, as for the word of God, I don't remember that I ever read a chapter in the Bible in my lifetime; I was little Bob at Busselton, and went to school to learn my Testament.

However, it pleased God to make William the quaker everything to me. Upon this occasion, I took him out one evening, as usual, and hurried him away into the fields with me, in more haste than ordinary; and there, in short, I told him the perplexity of my mind, and under what terrible temptations of the devil I had been; that I must shoot myself, for I could not support the weight and terror that

was upon me.

Shoot yourself! says William; why, what will that do for

you?

Why, says I, it will put an end to a miserable life.

Well, says William, are you satisfied the next will be better?

No, no, says I, much worse, to be sure.

Why then, says he, shooting yourself is the devil's motion, no doubt; for it is the devil of a reason, that, because thou art in an ill case, therefore thou must put thyself into a

worse.

This shocked my reason indeed. Well but, says I, there is no bearing the miserable condition I am in.

Very well, says William; but it seems there is some bear

ing a worse condition; and so you will shoot yourself, that you may be past remedy?

I am past remedy already, says I.
How do you know that? says he.
I am satisfied of it, said I.

Well, says he, but you are not sure; so you will shoot yourself to make it certain; for, though on this side death, you cannot be sure you will be damned at all, yet the moment you step on the other side of time, you are sure of it; for when it is done, it is not to be said then that you will be, but that you are damned.

Well, but, says William, as if he had been between jest and earnest, pray, what didst thou dream of last night?

Why, said I, I had frightful dreams all night; and, particularly, I dreamed that the devil came for me, and asked me what my name was? and I told him. Then he asked me what trade I was? Trade! says I; I am a thief, a rogue, by my calling; I am a pirate, and a murderer, and ought to be hanged. Ay, ay, says the devil, so you do; and you are the man I looked for, and therefore come along with me; at which, I was most horribly frightened, and cried out, so that it waked me; and I have been in horrible agony ever since. Very well, says William; come, give me the pistol thou talkedst of just now.

Why, says I, what will you do with it?

Do with it! says William, why, thou needest not shoot thyself; I shall be obliged to do it for thee: why, thou wilt destroy us all.

What do you mean, William? said I.

Mean! said he; nay, what didst thou mean, to cry out aloud in thy sleep, I am a thief, a pirate, a murderer, and ought to be hanged? Why, thou wilt ruin us all; 'twas well the Dutchman did not understand English. In short, I must shoot thee, to save my own life: come, come, says he, give me thy pistol.

I confess this terrified me again another way; and I began to be sensible, that, if anybody had been near me to understand English, I had been undone. The thought of shooting myself forsook me from that time; and I turned to William ; you disorder me extremely, William, said I; why I am never safe, nor is it safe to keep me company; What shall I do? I shall betray you all.