Part 11 (1/2)
CHAPTER II.
_Carew's First Adventure in his New Profession._
Carew being again initiated among them, at the first general a.s.sembly of the gipsies, took the oaths of allegiance to their sovereign, by whom he was soon sent out on a cruise against their enemies. Carew now set his wits to work how to succeed: so equipping himself with an old pair of trousers, a piece of a jacket, just enough to cover his nakedness, stockings full of holes, and an old cap, he forgot both friends and family and became nothing more or less than an unfortunate s.h.i.+pwrecked seaman. In this, his first excursion, he gained much credit, artfully imitating pa.s.ses and certificates that were necessary for him to travel unmolested. After a month's travel he happened to meet with his old school-fellow Coleman, who had once left the gipsies' society, but, for the same reason as himself, returned to them again. Great was their joy at meeting, and they agreed to travel some time together; so entering Exeter, they, in one day, raised a contribution of several pounds.
Having obtained all he could from this stratagem, he then became a plain, honest farmer, whose grounds had been overflowed, and cattle drowned; his dejected countenance and mournful tale, together with a wife and seven helpless infants being partakers of his misfortunes, gained him both pity and profit.
Having obtained a considerable booty by these two stratagems, he returned to his companions, where he was received with great applause; and, as a mark of their respect, seated him next the king. He soon became a great man in the profession and confined not himself from doing good to others, when it did not infringe upon the community of which he was a member.
His next stratagem was to become a madman; so stripping himself quite naked, he threw a blanket over him and then he was, ”Poor mad Tom, whom the foul fiend had led through fire and through flame; through fire and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set ratsbane for his porridge, and made him proud at heart to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inch bridges; to curse his own shadow for a traitor; who eats the swimming-frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, swallows the old rat and ditch dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool:
And mice and rats, and such like gear, Have been Tom's food for seven long year.
”O do de, do de, do de! bless thee! from whirlwind, star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There I could have him now--and there!--and there!--and here again!--and there!--Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind--Tom's a cold!--who gives anything to poor Tom?”
In this character, with such like expressions, he entered the houses of both small and great, claiming kindred to them, and committing all kinds of frantic actions, such as beating himself, offering to eat coals of fire, running against the wall, and tearing to pieces whatever garments were given to him to cover his nakedness; by which means he raised considerable contributions.
He never was more happy than when he was engaged in some adventure; therefore he was always very diligent to inquire when any accident happened, especially fire, to which he would immediately repair, and, getting information of the causes, names, trades, and circ.u.mstances of the unhappy sufferers, he would a.s.sume one of them, and burning some part of his clothes, by way of demonstration, run to some place distant, pa.s.s for one of them, gain credit and get much profit. Under this character he had once the boldness to address a justice, who was the terror and professed enemy to all the gipsies, yet he so well managed the affair, that in a long examination he made him believe he was an honest miller, whose house, mill and substance had been consumed by fire, occasioned by the negligence of the apprentice; and accordingly, got a bountiful sum for his relief, the justice not in the least suspecting a defraud.
He had such wonderful facility in every character he a.s.sumed, that he even deceived those who thought themselves so well acquainted with him, that it was impossible for him to impose on them.
Coming one day to Squire Portman's house at Blandford, in the character of a rat-catcher, with a hair cap on his head, a buff girdle about his waste, a little box by his side, and a tame rat in his hand, he goes boldly up to the house, where he had been well known before, and meeting the squire, Parson Bryant, and one Mr. Pleydell, of Milbourn, and some other gentlemen, he asked them if they had any rats to kill. ”Do you understand the business well?” says the squire. ”Yes, an please your honour,” replied Carew, ”I have been a rat-catcher for many years, and I have been employed in his majesty's yards and s.h.i.+ps.” ”Well,” says the squire, ”go in and get some vituals, and after dinner we will try your abilities.” He was accordingly called into the parlour, where were a large company of gentlemen and ladies. ”Well, honest rat-catcher,” says the squire, ”can you lay any scheme to kill the rats without hurting my dogs?” ”Yes, yes,” cries Carew, ”I can lay it where even the rats cannot climb to reach it.” ”What countryman are you?” ”A Devons.h.i.+re man, an please your honour.” ”What is your name?” Here our hero began to perceive that he was discovered, by the smilings and whisperings of several gentlemen, and he very composedly answered, ”My name is Bamfylde Moore Carew.” This occasioned much mirth, and Mr. Pleydell expressed extraordinary pleasure. He had often wished to see him but never had.
”Yes, you have,” replied Carew, ”and given me a suit of clothes. Do you not remember meeting a poor wretch one day at your stable door, with a stocking round his head, an old mantle over his shoulders, without s.h.i.+rt, stockings, or scarce any shoes, who told you he was a poor unfortunate man, cast away upon the coast, with sixteen more of the crew who were all drowned; you, believing the story, generously relieved me with a guinea and a good suit of clothes.” ”I well remember it,” said Mr. Pleydell, ”but, on this discovery, it is impossible to deceive me so again, come in whatever shape you will.” The company blamed him for thus boasting, and secretly prevailed upon Carew to put his art in practice to convince him of the fallacy thereof: to which he agreed, and in a few days after appointing the company present to be at Mr. Pleydell's house, he put the following scheme into execution.
He shaved himself closely, and clothed himself in an old woman's apparel, with a high-crowned hat, and a large dowdy under his chin; then, taking three children from among his fraternity, he tied two on his back and one under his arm. Thus accoutred, he comes to Mr.
Pleydell's door, and pinching one of the brats, set it a roaring; this gave the alarm to the dogs, who came out with open mouths, so that the whole company was soon alarmed. Out came the maid saying, ”Carry away the children, good woman, they disturb the ladies.” ”G.o.d bless their ladys.h.i.+ps,” said Carew, ”I am the poor unfortunate grandmother of these helpless infants, whose mother and all they had were burnt at the dreadful fire at Kirkton, and hope the good ladies, for Heaven's sake, will bestow something on the poor, famis.h.i.+ng, starving infants.” In goes the maid with this affecting story to the ladies, while Carew keeps pinching the children to make them cry, and the maid soon returned with half-a-crown and some good broth, which he thankfully received, and went into the court-yard to sit down and sup them, as perceiving the gentlemen were not at home. He had not long been there before they came, when one of them accosted him thus--”Where do you come from, old woman?” ”From Kirkton, please your honours,” said he, ”where the poor unhappy mother of these helpless infants was burnt in the flames and all she had consumed.” ”There has been more money collected for Kirkton than ever Kirkton was worth,” said the gentleman. However, they gave the supposed old grandmother a s.h.i.+lling, commiserating the hard case of her and her poor helpless infants, which he thankfully received, pretending to go away; but the gentlemen were hardly got into the house, before their ears were suddenly saluted with a ”tantivy, tantivy,” and a ”halloo” to the dogs; on which they turned about, supposing it to be some other sportsmen; but seeing n.o.body, they imagined it to be Carew, in the disguise of the old Kirkton grandmother; so bidding the servants fetch him back, he was brought into the parlour among them all, and confessed himself to be the famous Mr. Bamfylde Moore Carew, to the astonishmet and mirth of them all; who well rewarded him for the diversion he had afforded them.
In like manner he raised a contribution twice in one day of Mr. Jones, near Bristol. In the morning, with a sooty face, leather ap.r.o.n, a dejected countenance, and a woollen cap, he was generously relieved as an unfortunate blacksmith, whose all had been consumed by fire. In the afternoon he exchanged his legs for crutches, and, with a dejected countenance, pale face, and every sign of pain, he became a disabled tinner, incapable of maintaining a wife and seven small children, by the damps and hards.h.i.+ps he had suffered in the mines; and so well acted his part, that the tinner got as well relieved in the afternoon as the blacksmith in the morning.
These successful stratagems gained him high applause and honour in the community of gipsies. He soon became the favourite of their king, who was very old and decrepid, and had always some honourable mark of distinction a.s.signed him at their a.s.semblies.
Being one morning near the seat of his good friend, Sir William Courtney, he was resolved to pay him three visits that day. He therefore puts on a parcel of rags, and goes to him with a piteous, mean, dismal countenance, and deplorable tale, and got half-a-crown from him, telling him he had met with great misfortunes at sea. At noon he puts on a leather ap.r.o.n scorched with fire, and with a dejected countenance goes to him again, and was relieved as an unfortunate shoemaker, who had been burnt out of his house and all he had. In the afternoon he goes again in trimmed clothes, and desiring admittance to Sir William, with a modest grace and submissive eloquence, he repeats his misfortunes, as the supercargo of a vessel which had been cast away and his whole effects lost.
Sir William, seeing his genteel appearance and behaviour, treated him with respect and gave him a guinea at his departure. There were several gentlemen at dinner with Sir William at that time, none of whom had any knowledge of him except the Rev. Mr. Richards, who did not discover him till he was gone; upon which a servant was despatched to desire him to come back, which he did; and when he entered the room they were very merry with him and requested him to give an account how he got his fine clothes, and of his stratagems, with the success of them. He asked Sir William if he had not given half-a-crown in the morning to a beggar, and about noon relieved a poor unfortunate shoemaker. ”I did,” said Sir William. ”Behold him before you,” said Carew, ”in this fine embroidered coat, as a broken merchant.” The company would not believe him; so to convince them, he re-a.s.sumed those characters again, to their no small mirth and satisfaction.
CHAPTER III.
_Carew made King of the Beggars._
On the death of the king of the gipsies, named Clause Patch, our hero was a candidate to succeed him, and exhibited to the electors a long 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 voices, though there were ten candidates for the same honour; on which he was declared duly elected and hailed by the whole a.s.sembly--King of the Gipsies. The public register of their acts being immediately committed to his care, and homage done him by all the a.s.sembly, the whole concluded by rejoicings.
Though Mr. Carew was now privileged, by the dignity of his office, from going on any cruise, and was provided with everything necessary by the joint contribution of the community, yet he did not give himself up to indolence. Our hero, though a king, was as active in his stratagems as ever, and ready to encounter any difficulty which seemed to promise success.
Mr. Carew being in the town of South Molton, in Devons.h.i.+re, and having been ill-used by an officer there called the bellman, resolved on the following stratagem by way of revenge. It was at that time reported that a gentleman of the town, lately buried, walked nightly in the churchyard; and as the bellman was obliged by his nightly duty to go through it just at the very hour of one, Mr. Carew repaired thither a little before the time, and stripping in his s.h.i.+rt, lay down upon the gentleman's grave. Soon after, hearing the bellman approach, he raised himself up with a solemn slowness, which the bellman beholding, by the glimmerings of the moon through a dark cloud, was terribly frightened, so took to his heels and ran away. In his fright he looked behind him, and seeing the ghost following him, dropped his bell and ran the faster; which Carew seized on as a trophy, and forbore any further pursuit. The bellman did not stop till he reached home, where he obstinately affirmed he had seen the gentleman's ghost, who had taken away the bell, which greatly alarmed the whole town.