Chapter xiv.

In which the Man of the Hill concludes his history.

“Mr Watson,” continued the stranger, “very freely acquainted me, that

the unhappy situation of his circumstances, occasioned by a tide of

ill luck, had in a manner forced him to a resolution of destroying

himself.

“I now began to argue very seriously with him, in opposition to this

heathenish, or indeed diabolical, principle of the lawfulness of

self-murder; and said everything which occurred to me on the subject;

but, to my great concern, it seemed to have very little effect on him.

He seemed not at all to repent of what he had done, and gave me reason

to fear he would soon make a second attempt of the like horrible kind.

“When I had finished my discourse, instead of endeavouring to answer

my arguments, he looked me stedfastly in the face, and with a smile

said, `You are strangely altered, my good friend, since I remember

you. I question whether any of our bishops could make a better

argument against suicide than you have entertained me with; but unless

you can find somebody who will lend me a cool hundred, I must either

hang, or drown, or starve; and, in my opinion, the last death is the

most terrible of the three.'

“I answered him very gravely that I was indeed altered since I had

seen him last. That I had found leisure to look into my follies and to

repent of them. I then advised him to pursue the same steps; and at

last concluded with an assurance that I myself would lend him a

hundred pound, if it would be of any service to his affairs, and he

would not put it into the power of a die to deprive him of it.

“Mr Watson, who seemed almost composed in slumber by the former part

of my discourse, was roused by the latter. He seized my hand eagerly,

gave me a thousand thanks, and declared I was a friend indeed; adding

that he hoped I had a better opinion of him than to imagine he had

profited so little by experience, as to put any confidence in those

damned dice which had so often deceived him. `No, no,' cries he; `let

me but once handsomely be set up again, and if ever Fortune makes a

broken merchant of me afterwards, I will forgive her.'

“I very well understood the language of setting up, and broken

merchant. I therefore said to him, with a very grave face, Mr Watson,

you must endeavour to find out some business or employment, by which

you may procure yourself a livelihood; and I promise you, could I see

any probability of being repaid hereafter, I would advance a much

larger sum than what you have mentioned, to equip you in any fair and

honourable calling; but as to gaming, besides the baseness and

wickedness of making it a profession, you are really, to my own

knowledge, unfit for it, and it will end in your certain ruin.

“`Why now, that's strange,' answered he; `neither you, nor any of my

friends, would ever allow me to know anything of the matter, and yet I

believe I _am_ as good a hand at every game as any of you all; and I

heartily wish I was to play with you only for your whole fortune: I

should desire no better sport, and I would let you name your game into

the bargain: but come, my dear boy, have you the hundred in your

pocket?”

“I answered I had only a bill for £50, which I delivered him, and

promised to bring him the rest next morning; and after giving him a

little more advice, took my leave.

“I was indeed better than my word; for I returned to him that very

afternoon. When I entered the room, I found him sitting up in his bed

at cards with a notorious gamester. This sight, you will imagine,

shocked me not a little; to which I may add the mortification of

seeing my bill delivered by him to his antagonist, and thirty guineas

only given in exchange for it.

“The other gamester presently quitted the room, and then Watson

declared he was ashamed to see me; `but,' says he, `I find luck runs

so damnably against me, that I will resolve to leave off play for

ever. I have thought of the kind proposal you made me ever since, and

I promise you there shall be no fault in me, if I do not put it in

execution.'

“Though I had no great faith in his promises, I produced him the

remainder of the hundred in consequence of my own; for which he gave

me a note, which was all I ever expected to see in return for my

money.

“We were prevented from any further discourse at present by the

arrival of the apothecary; who, with much joy in his countenance, and

without even asking his patient how he did, proclaimed there was great

news arrived in a letter to himself, which he said would shortly be

public, `That the Duke of Monmouth was landed in the west with a vast

army of Dutch; and that another vast fleet hovered over the coast of

Norfolk, and was to make a descent there, in order to favour the

duke's enterprize with a diversion on that side.'

“This apothecary was one of the greatest politicians of his time. He

was more delighted with the most paultry packet, than with the best

patient, and the highest joy he was capable of, he received from

having a piece of news in his possession an hour or two sooner than

any other person in the town. His advices, however, were seldom

authentic; for he would swallow almost anything as a truth--a humour

which many made use of to impose upon him.

“Thus it happened with what he at present communicated; for it was

known within a short time afterwards that the duke was really landed,

but that his army consisted only of a few attendants; and as to the

diversion in Norfolk, it was entirely false.

“The apothecary staid no longer in the room than while he acquainted

us with his news; and then, without saying a syllable to his patient

on any other subject, departed to spread his advices all over the

town.

“Events of this nature in the public are generally apt to eclipse all

private concerns. Our discourse therefore now became entirely

political.[*] For my own part, I had been for some time very seriously

affected with the danger to which the Protestant religion was so

visibly exposed under a Popish prince, and thought the apprehension of

it alone sufficient to justify that insurrection; for no real security

can ever be found against the persecuting spirit of Popery, when armed

with power, except the depriving it of that power, as woeful

experience presently showed. You know how King James behaved after

getting the better of this attempt; how little he valued either his

royal word, or coronation oath, or the liberties and rights of his

people. But all had not the sense to foresee this at first; and

therefore the Duke of Monmouth was weakly supported; yet all could

feel when the evil came upon them; and therefore all united, at last,

to drive out that king, against whose exclusion a great party among us

had so warmly contended during the reign of his brother, and for whom

they now fought with such zeal and affection.”

“What you say,” interrupted Jones, “is very true; and it has often

struck me, as the most wonderful thing I ever read of in history, that

so soon after this convincing experience which brought our whole

nation to join so unanimously in expelling King James, for the

preservation of our religion and liberties, there should be a party

among us mad enough to desire the placing his family again on the

throne.” “You are not in earnest!” answered the old man; “there can be

no such party. As bad an opinion as I have of mankind, I cannot

believe them infatuated to such a degree. There may be some hot-headed

Papists led by their priests to engage in this desperate cause, and

think it a holy war; but that Protestants, that are members of the

Church of England, should be such apostates, such _felos de se_, I

cannot believe it; no, no, young man, unacquainted as I am with what

has past in the world for these last thirty years, I cannot be so

imposed upon as to credit so foolish a tale; but I see you have a mind

to sport with my ignorance.”--“Can it be possible,” replied Jones,

“that you have lived so much out of the world as not to know that

during that time there have been two rebellions in favour of the son

of King James, one of which is now actually raging in the very heart

of the kingdom.” At these words the old gentleman started up, and in a

most solemn tone of voice, conjured Jones by his Maker to tell him if

what he said was really true; which the other as solemnly affirming,

he walked several turns about the room in a profound silence, then

cried, then laughed, and at last fell down on his knees, and blessed

God, in a loud thanksgiving prayer, for having delivered him from all

society with human nature, which could be capable of such monstrous

extravagances. After which, being reminded by Jones that he had broke

off his story, he resumed it again in this manner:--

“As mankind, in the days I was speaking of, was not yet arrived at

that pitch of madness which I find they are capable of now, and which,

to be sure, I have only escaped by living alone, and at a distance

from the contagion, there was a considerable rising in favour of

Monmouth; and my principles strongly inclining me to take the same

part, I determined to join him; and Mr Watson, from different motives

concurring in the same resolution (for the spirit of a gamester will

carry a man as far upon such an occasion as the spirit of patriotism),

we soon provided ourselves with all necessaries, and went to the duke

at Bridgewater.

“The unfortunate event of this enterprize, you are, I conclude, as

well acquainted with as myself. I escaped, together with Mr Watson,

from the battle at Sedgemore, in which action I received a slight

wound. We rode near forty miles together on the Exeter road, and then

abandoning our horses, scrambled as well as we could through the

fields and bye-roads, till we arrived at a little wild hut on a

common, where a poor old woman took all the care of us she could, and

dressed my wound with salve, which quickly healed it.”

“Pray, sir, where was the wound?” says Partridge. The stranger

satisfied him it was in his arm, and then continued his narrative.

“Here, sir,” said he, “Mr Watson left me the next morning, in order,

as he pretended, to get us some provision from the town of Collumpton;

but--can I relate it, or can you believe it?--this Mr Watson, this

friend, this base, barbarous, treacherous villain, betrayed me to a

party of horse belonging to King James, and at his return delivered me

into their hands.

“The soldiers, being six in number, had now seized me, and were

conducting me to Taunton gaol; but neither my present situation, nor

the apprehensions of what might happen to me, were half so irksome to

my mind as the company of my false friend, who, having surrendered

himself, was likewise considered as a prisoner, though he was better

treated, as being to make his peace at my expense. He at first

endeavoured to excuse his treachery; but when he received nothing but

scorn and upbraiding from me, he soon changed his note, abused me as

the most atrocious and malicious rebel, and laid all his own guilt to

my charge, who, as he declared, had solicited, and even threatened

him, to make him take up arms against his gracious as well as lawful

sovereign.

“This false evidence (for in reality he had been much the forwarder of

the two) stung me to the quick, and raised an indignation scarce

conceivable by those who have not felt it. However, fortune at length

took pity on me; for as we were got a little beyond Wellington, in a

narrow lane, my guards received a false alarm, that near fifty of the

enemy were at hand; upon which they shifted for themselves, and left

me and my betrayer to do the same. That villain immediately ran from

me, and I am glad he did, or I should have certainly endeavoured,

though I had no arms, to have executed vengeance on his baseness.

“I was now once more at liberty; and immediately withdrawing from the

highway into the fields, I travelled on, scarce knowing which way I

went, and making it my chief care to avoid all public roads and all

towns--nay, even the most homely houses; for I imagined every human

creature whom I saw desirous of betraying me.

“At last, after rambling several days about the country, during which

the fields afforded me the same bed and the same food which nature

bestows on our savage brothers of the creation, I at length arrived at

this place, where the solitude and wildness of the country invited me

to fix my abode. The first person with whom I took up my habitation

was the mother of this old woman, with whom I remained concealed till

the news of the glorious revolution put an end to all my apprehensions

of danger, and gave me an opportunity of once more visiting my own

home, and of enquiring a little into my affairs, which I soon settled

as agreeably to my brother as to myself; having resigned everything to

him, for which he paid me the sum of a thousand pounds, and settled on

me an annuity for life.

“His behaviour in this last instance, as in all others, was selfish

and ungenerous. I could not look on him as my friend, nor indeed did

he desire that I should; so I presently took my leave of him, as well

as of my other acquaintance; and from that day to this, my history is

little better than a blank.”

“And is it possible, sir,” said Jones, “that you can have resided here

from that day to this?”--“O no, sir,” answered the gentleman; “I have

been a great traveller, and there are few parts of Europe with which I

am not acquainted.” “I have not, sir,” cried Jones, “the assurance to

ask it of you now; indeed it would be cruel, after so much breath as

you have already spent: but you will give me leave to wish for some

further opportunity of hearing the excellent observations which a man

of your sense and knowledge of the world must have made in so long a

course of travels.”--“Indeed, young gentleman,” answered the stranger,

“I will endeavour to satisfy your curiosity on this head likewise, as

far as I am able.” Jones attempted fresh apologies, but was prevented;

and while he and Partridge sat with greedy and impatient ears, the

stranger proceeded as in the next chapter.

[*] _The rest of this paragraph and the two following paragraphs

in the first edition were as follows_:

“For my own part, I had been for some time very seriously affected

with the danger to which the Protestant religion was so visibly

exposed, that nothing but the immediate interposition of Providence

seemed capable of preserving it; for King James had indeed declared

war against the Protestant cause. He had brought known papists into

the army and attempted to bring them into the Church and into the

University. Popish priests swarmed through the nation, appeared

publicly in their habits, and boasted that they should shortly walk

in procession through the streets. Our own clergy were forbid to

preach against popery, and bishops were ordered to supend those who

did; and to do the business at once an illegal ecclesiastical

commission was erected, little inferior to an inquisition, of which,

probably, it was intended to be the ringleader. Thus, as our duty to

the king can never be called more than our second duty, he had

discharged us from this by making it incompatible with our

preserving the first, which is surely to heaven. Besides this, he

had dissolved his subjects from their allegiance by breaking his

Coronation Oath, to which their allegiance is annexed; for he had

imprisoned bishops because they would not give up their religion,

and turned out judges because they would not absolutely surrender

the law into his hands; nay, he seized this himself, and when he

claimed a dispensing power, he declared himself, in fact, as

absolute as any tyrant ever was or can be. I have recapitulated

these matters in full lest some of them should have been omitted in

history; and I think nothing less than such provocations as I have

here mentioned, nothing less than certain and imminent danger to

their religion and liberties, can justify or even mitigate the

dreadful sin of rebellion in any people.”

“I promise you, sir,” says Jones, “all these facts, and more, I have

read in history, but I will tell you a fact which is not yet

recorded and of which I suppose you are ignorant. There is actually

now a rebellion on foot in this kingdom in favour of the son of that

very King James, a professed papist, more bigoted, if possible, than

his father, and this carried on by Protestants against a king who

hath never in one single instance made the least invasion on our

liberties.”

“Prodigious indeed!” answered the stranger. “You tell me what would

be incredible of a nation which did not deserve the character that

Virgil gives of a woman, _varium et mutabile semper_. Surely this is

to be unworthy of the care which Providence seems to have taken of

us in the preservation of our religion against the powerful designs

and constant machinations of Popery, a preservation so strange and

unaccountable that I almost think we may appeal to it as to a

miracle for the proof of its holiness. Prodigious indeed! A

Protestant rebellion in favour of a popish prince! The folly of

mankind is as wonderful as their knavery--But to conclude my story:

I resolved to take arms in defence of my country, of my religion,

and my liberty, and Mr. Watson joined in the same resolution. We

soon provided ourselves with an necessaries and joined the Duke at

Bridgewater.”

“The unfortunate event of this enterprise you are perhaps better

acquainted with than myself. I escaped together with Mr. Watson from

the battle at Sedgemore,...