Bab Bab 53 · 第53章

I bought at a linen-draper’s shop, not in the fair, but in the town of

Cambridge, as much fine holland and other things as came to about seven

pounds; when I had done, I bade them be sent to such an inn, where I

had purposely taken up my being the same morning, as if I was to lodge

there that night.

I ordered the draper to send them home to me, about such an hour, to

the inn where I lay, and I would pay him his money. At the time

appointed the draper sends the goods, and I placed one of our gang at

the chamber door, and when the innkeeper’s maid brought the messenger

to the door, who was a young fellow, an apprentice, almost a man, she

tells him her mistress was asleep, but if he would leave the things and

call in about an hour, I should be awake, and he might have the money.

He left the parcel very readily, and goes his way, and in about half an

hour my maid and I walked off, and that very evening I hired a horse,

and a man to ride before me, and went to Newmarket, and from thence got

my passage in a coach that was not quite full to St. Edmund’s Bury,

where, as I told you, I could make but little of my trade, only at a

little country opera-house made a shift to carry off a gold watch from

a lady’s side, who was not only intolerably merry, but, as I thought, a

little fuddled, which made my work much easier.

I made off with this little booty to Ipswich, and from thence to

Harwich, where I went into an inn, as if I had newly arrived from

Holland, not doubting but I should make some purchase among the

foreigners that came on shore there; but I found them generally empty

of things of value, except what was in their portmanteaux and Dutch

hampers, which were generally guarded by footmen; however, I fairly got

one of their portmanteaux one evening out of the chamber where the

gentleman lay, the footman being fast asleep on the bed, and I suppose

very drunk.

The room in which I lodged lay next to the Dutchman’s, and having

dragged the heavy thing with much ado out of the chamber into mine, I

went out into the street, to see if I could find any possibility of

carrying it off. I walked about a great while, but could see no

probability either of getting out the thing, or of conveying away the

goods that were in it if I had opened it, the town being so small, and

I a perfect stranger in it; so I was returning with a resolution to

carry it back again, and leave it where I found it. Just in that very

moment I heard a man make a noise to some people to make haste, for the

boat was going to put off, and the tide would be spent. I called to the

fellow, “What boat is it, friend,” says I, “that you belong to?” “The

Ipswich wherry, madam,” says he. “When do you go off?” says I. “This

moment, madam,” says he; “do you want to go thither?” “Yes,” said I,

“if you can stay till I fetch my things.” “Where are your things,

madam?” says he. “At such an inn,” said I. “Well, I’ll go with you,

madam,” says he, very civilly, “and bring them for you.” “Come away,

then,” says I, and takes him with me.

The people of the inn were in a great hurry, the packet-boat from

Holland being just come in, and two coaches just come also with

passengers from London, for another packet-boat that was going off for

Holland, which coaches were to go back next day with the passengers

that were just landed. In this hurry it was not much minded that I came

to the bar and paid my reckoning, telling my landlady I had gotten my

passage by sea in a wherry.

These wherries are large vessels, with good accommodation for carrying

passengers from Harwich to London; and though they are called wherries,

which is a word used in the Thames for a small boat rowed with one or

two men, yet these are vessels able to carry twenty passengers, and ten

or fifteen tons of goods, and fitted to bear the sea. All this I had

found out by inquiring the night before into the several ways of going

to London.

My landlady was very courteous, took my money for my reckoning, but was

called away, all the house being in a hurry. So I left her, took the

fellow up to my chamber, gave him the trunk, or portmanteau, for it was

like a trunk, and wrapped it about with an old apron, and he went

directly to his boat with it, and I after him, nobody asking us the

least question about it; as for the drunken Dutch footman he was still

asleep, and his master with other foreign gentlemen at supper, and very

merry below, so I went clean off with it to Ipswich; and going in the

night, the people of the house knew nothing but that I was gone to

London by the Harwich wherry, as I had told my landlady.

I was plagued at Ipswich with the custom-house officers, who stopped my

trunk, as I called it, and would open and search it. I was willing, I

told them, they should search it, but husband had the key, and he was

not yet come from Harwich; this I said, that if upon searching it they

should find all the things be such as properly belonged to a man rather

than a woman, it should not seem strange to them. However, they being

positive to open the trunk I consented to have it be broken open, that

is to say, to have the lock taken off, which was not difficult.

They found nothing for their turn, for the trunk had been searched

before, but they discovered several things very much to my

satisfaction, as particularly a parcel of money in French pistoles, and

some Dutch ducatoons or rix-dollars, and the rest was chiefly two

periwigs, wearing-linen, and razors, wash-balls, perfumes, and other

useful things necessary for a gentleman, which all passed for my

husband’s, and so I was quit to them.

It was now very early in the morning, and not light, and I knew not

well what course to take; for I made no doubt but I should be pursued

in the morning, and perhaps be taken with the things about me; so I

resolved upon taking new measures. I went publicly to an inn in the

town with my trunk, as I called it, and having taken the substance out,

I did not think the lumber of it worth my concern; however, I gave it

the landlady of the house with a charge to take great care of it, and

lay it up safe till I should come again, and away I walked in to the

street.

When I was got into the town a great way from the inn, I met with an

ancient woman who had just opened her door, and I fell into chat with

her, and asked her a great many wild questions of things all remote to

my purpose and design; but in my discourse I found by her how the town

was situated, that I was in a street that went out towards Hadley, but

that such a street went towards the water-side, such a street towards

Colchester, and so the London road lay there.

I had soon my ends of this old woman, for I only wanted to know which

was the London road, and away I walked as fast as I could; not that I

intended to go on foot, either to London or to Colchester, but I wanted

to get quietly away from Ipswich.

I walked about two or three miles, and then I met a plain countryman,

who was busy about some husbandry work, I did not know what, and I

asked him a great many questions first, not much to the purpose, but at

last told him I was going for London, and the coach was full, and I

could not get a passage, and asked him if he could tell me where to

hire a horse that would carry double, and an honest man to ride before

me to Colchester, that so I might get a place there in the coaches. The

honest clown looked earnestly at me, and said nothing for above half a

minute, when, scratching his poll, “A horse, say you and to Colchester,

to carry double? why yes, mistress, alack-a-day, you may have horses

enough for money.” “Well, friend,” says I, “that I take for granted; I

don’t expect it without money.” “Why, but, mistress,” says he, “how

much are you willing to give?” “Nay,” says I again, “friend, I don’t

know what your rates are in the country here, for I am a stranger; but

if you can get one for me, get it as cheap as you can, and I’ll give

you somewhat for your pains.”

“Why, that’s honestly said too,” says the countryman. “Not so honest,

neither,” said I to myself, “if thou knewest all.” “Why, mistress,”

says he, “I have a horse that will carry double, and I don’t much care

if I go myself with you,” and the like. “Will you?” says I; “well, I

believe you are an honest man; if you will, I shall be glad of it; I’ll

pay you in reason.” “Why, look ye, mistress,” says he, “I won’t be out

of reason with you, then; if I carry you to Colchester, it will be

worth five shillings for myself and my horse, for I shall hardly come

back to-night.”

In short, I hired the honest man and his horse; but when we came to a

town upon the road (I do not remember the name of it, but it stands

upon a river), I pretended myself very ill, and I could go no farther

that night but if he would stay there with me, because I was a

stranger, I would pay him for himself and his horse with all my heart.

This I did because I knew the Dutch gentlemen and their servants would

be upon the road that day, either in the stagecoaches or riding post,

and I did not know but the drunken fellow, or somebody else that might

have seen me at Harwich, might see me again, and so I thought that in

one day’s stop they would be all gone by.

We lay all that night there, and the next morning it was not very early

when I set out, so that it was near ten o’clock by the time I got to

Colchester. It was no little pleasure that I saw the town where I had

so many pleasant days, and I made many inquiries after the good old

friends I had once had there, but could make little out; they were all

dead or removed. The young ladies had been all married or gone to

London; the old gentleman and the old lady that had been my early

benefactress all dead; and which troubled me most, the young gentleman

my first lover, and afterwards my brother-in-law, was dead; but two

sons, men grown, were left of him, but they too were transplanted to

London.

I dismissed my old man here, and stayed incognito for three or four

days in Colchester, and then took a passage in a waggon, because I

would not venture being seen in the Harwich coaches. But I needed not

have used so much caution, for there was nobody in Harwich but the

woman of the house could have known me; nor was it rational to think

that she, considering the hurry she was in, and that she never saw me

but once, and that by candlelight, should have ever discovered me.