He had such wonderful facility in every character he assumed, 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 waist, 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 have been employed in his Majesty’s yards and ships.” “Well,” says the ’squire, “go in and get some victuals, 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 Devonshireman, 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 shirt, 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 this 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.” “God bless their ladyships,” 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 famishing, 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 to 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 shilling, 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 nobody, 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 astonishment 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 apron, 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 hardships 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 gypsies. He soon became the favourite of their king, who was very old and decrepid, and had always some honourable mark of distinction assigned him at their assemblies.
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 apron 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-assumed those characters again, to their no small mirth and satisfaction.
Carew made King of the Beggars.
On the death of the king of the gypsies, 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 assembly—King of the Gypsies. The public register of their acts being immediately committed to his care, and homage done him by all the assembly, 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 every thing 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.