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 andoppressed for some time; and one evening, in one of our cool walks, Ibegan with him about the leaving our effects. William was a wise andwary man, and indeed all the prudentials of my conduct had for a longtime been owing to his advice, and so now all the methods for preservingour effects, and even ourselves, lay upon him; and he had been tellingme 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 Europewith all this cargo that we have about us?"
"Ay," says William, "without doubt, as well as other merchants withtheirs, as long as it is not publicly known what quantity or of whatvalue our cargo consists."
"Why, William," says I, smiling, "do you think that if there is a Godabove, as you have so long been telling me there is, and that we mustgive an account to Him,--I say, do you think, if He be a righteousJudge, 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 toan account for it before we can get to Europe, where we pretend to enjoyit?"
William appeared struck and surprised at the question, and made noanswer for a great while; and I repeated the question, adding that itwas not to be expected.
After a little pause, says William, "Thou hast started a very weightyquestion, and I can make no positive answer to it; but I will state itthus: first, it is true that, if we consider the justice of God, wehave no reason to expect any protection; but as the ordinary ways ofProvidence are out of the common road of human affairs, so we may hopefor mercy still upon our repentance, and we know not how good He may beto us; so we are to act as if we rather depended upon the last, I meanthe merciful part, than claimed the first, which must produce nothingbut judgment and vengeance."
"But hark ye, William," says I, "the nature of repentance, as you havehinted 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 rapineand spoil."
"It is true," says William, "we never can do that, for we can never cometo the knowledge of the owners."
"But what, then, must be done with our wealth," said I, "the effectsof plunder and rapine? If we keep it, we continue to be robbers andthieves; and if we quit it we cannot do justice with it, for we cannotrestore 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 weought to keep it carefully together, with a resolution to do what rightwith it we are able; and who knows what opportunity Providence mayput into our hands to do justice, at least, to some of those we haveinjured? 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, thetruth is, all he said, and at all times, was solid and good; and hadnot William thus, as it were, quieted my mind, I think, verily, I was soalarmed at the just reason I had to expect vengeance from Heaven uponme for my ill-gotten wealth, that I should have run away from it as thedevil's goods, that I had nothing to do with, that did not belong tome, and that I had no right to keep, and was in certain danger of beingdestroyed for.
However, William settled my mind to more prudent steps than these, andI 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 uponrecord, that I had from this time no joy of the wealth I had got. Ilooked upon it all 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 theinnocent 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 hatemyself for a dog; a wretch that had been a thief and a murderer; awretch that was in a condition which nobody was ever in; for I hadrobbed, and though I had the wealth by me, yet it was impossible Ishould ever make any restitution; and upon this account it ran in myhead that I could never repent, for that repentance could not be sincerewithout restitution, and therefore must of necessity be damned. Therewas no room for me to escape. I went about with my heart full of thesethoughts, little better than a distracted fellow; in short, runningheadlong into the dreadfullest despair, and premeditating nothing buthow to rid myself out of the world; and, indeed, the devil, if suchthings are of the devil's immediate doing, followed his work very closewith me, and nothing lay upon my mind for several days but to shootmyself into the head with my pistol.
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 conversewith but poor William. He was my ghostly father or confessor, and he wasall the comfort I had. As for my knowledge of religion, you have heardmy history. You may suppose I had not much; and as for the Word ofGod, I do not remember that I ever read a chapter in the Bible in mylifetime. I was little Bob at Bussleton, and went to school to learn myTestament.
However, it pleased God to make William the Quaker everything to me.Upon this occasion, I took him out one evening, as usual, and hurriedhim away into the fields with me, in more haste than ordinary; andthere, in short, I told him the perplexity of my mind, and under whatterrible 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, nodoubt; for it is the devil of a reason, that, because thou art in an illcase, therefore thou must put thyself into a worse."
This shocked my reason indeed. "Well, but," says I, "there is no bearingthe miserable condition I am in."
"Very well," says William; "but it seems there is some bearing a worsecondition; 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 tomake it certain; for though on this side death you cannot be sure youwill be damned at all, yet the moment you step on the other side of timeyou are sure of it; for when it is done, it is not to be said then thatyou 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, Idreamed that the devil came for me, and asked me what my name was; andI told him. Then he asked me what trade I was. 'Trade?' says I; 'I am athief, a rogue, by my calling: I am a pirate and a murderer, and oughtto be hanged.' 'Ay, ay,' says the devil, 'so you do; and you are theman I looked for, and therefore come along with me.' At which I was mosthorribly frighted, and cried out so that it waked me; and I have been inhorrible agony ever since."
"Very well," says William; "come, give me the pistol thou talkedst ofjust now."
"Why," says I, "what will you do with it?"
"Do with it!" says William. "Why, thou needest not shoot thyself; Ishall 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 thysleep, '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 understandE
nglish. 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 besensible that, if anybody had been near me to understand English, I hadbeen 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 Ido? I shall betray you all."
"Come, come, friend Bob," says he, "I'll put an end to it all, if