Some time after this, he took his passage at Folkstone, in Kent, for Boulogne, in France, where he arrived safe, and proceeded to Paris, and other noted cities of that kingdom. His habit was now tolerably good, his countenance grave, his behaviour sober and decent—pretending to be a Roman Catholic, who had left England, his native country, out of an ardent zeal for spending his days in the bosom of the Catholic church. This story readily gained belief: his zeal was universally applauded, and handsome contributions made for him. But, at the time he was so zealous a Roman Catholic, with a little change of habit, he used to address those English he heard of in any place, as a protestant, and shipwrecked seaman; and had the good fortune to meet with an English physician at Paris, to whom he told this deplorable tale, who not only relieved him very handsomely, but recommended him to that noble pattern of unexhausted benevolence, Mrs. Horner, who was then on her travels, from whom he received ten guineas, and from some other company with her five more.
It was about this time he became acquainted with the Hon. Sir William W——m, in the following manner:—Being at Watchett, in Somersetshire, near the seat of that gentlemen, he resolved to pay him a visit. Putting on, therefore, a jacket and a pair of trousers, he made the best of his way to Sir William’s seat, and luckily met Sir William, Lord Bolingbroke, and several other gentlemen and clergy, with some commanders of vessels, walking in the park. Carew approached Sir William with a great deal of seeming fearfulness and respect; and with much modesty acquainted him he was a Silverton man, that he was the son of one of his tenants named Moore—had been to Newfoundland, and in his passage homeward, the vessel was run down by a French ship in a fog, and only he and two more were saved; but being put on board an Irish vessel, were carried into Ireland, and from thence landed at Watchett. Sir William hearing this, asked him a great many questions concerning the inhabitants of Silverton, who were most of them his own tenants, and of the principal gentlemen in the neighbourhood; all whom Carew was well acquainted with, and therefore gave satisfactory answers. Sir William at last asked him, if he knew Bickley, and if he knew the parson thereof? Carew replied, that he knew him very well, and so indeed he might, as it was no other than his own father! Sir William then enquired what family he had, and whether he had not a son named Bamfylde, and what became of him. “Your honour,” replied he, “means the beggar and dog-stealer—I don’t know what has become of him, but it is a wonder if he is not hanged by this time.” “No, I hope not,” replied Sir William, “I should be glad, for his family’s sake, to see him at my house.” Having satisfactorily answered many other questions, Sir William generously relieved him with a guinea, and Lord Bolingbroke followed his example; the other gentlemen and clergy contributed according to their different ranks. Sir William then ordered him to go to his house, and tell the butler to entertain him, which he accordingly did, and set himself down with great comfort.
Having heard that young Lord Clifford, his first cousin, (who had just returned from his travels abroad,) was at his seat at Callington, about four miles from Bridgewater, he resolved to pay him a visit. In his way thither resided parson C——, who being one whom nature had made up in a hurry without a heart, Mr Carew had never been able to obtain any thing of him, even under the most moving appearance of distress, but a small cup of drink. Stopping now in his way, he found the parson was gone to Lord Clifford’s; but being saluted at the door by a fine black spaniel, with almost as much crustiness as he would have been had his master been at home, he thought himself under no stronger obligation of observing the strict laws of honour, than the parson did of hospitality; and therefore soon charmed the crossness of the spaniel, and made him follow him to Bridgewater.
Having secured the spaniel, and passed the night merrily at Bridgewater, he set out the next morning for Lord Clifford’s, and in his way called upon the parson again, who very crustily told him he had lost his dog, and supposed some of his gang had stolen him: to which Mr. Carew very calmly replied, What was he to his dog, or what was his dog to him? if he would make him drink it was well, for he was very dry: at last with the use of much rhetoric, he got a cup of small drink; then, taking leave of him, he went to the Red-Lion, in the same parish, where he staid some time. In the mean time, down ran the parson to my Lord Clifford’s, to acquaint him that Mr. Carew was in the parish, and to advise him to take care of his dogs; so that Mr. Carew, coming down immediately after, found a servant with one dog in his arms, and another with another: here one stood whistling and another calling, and both my lord and his brother were running about to seek after their favourites.
Mr. Carew asked my lord what was the meaning of this hurry, and if his dogs were cripples, because he saw several carried in the servant’s arms; adding, he hoped his lordship did not imagine he was come to steal any of them. Upon which his lordship told him, that parson C—— had advised him to be careful, as he had lost his spaniel but the day before. “It may be so,” replied he, “the parson knows but little of me, or the laws of our community, if he is ignorant that with us ingratitude is unknown, and the property of our friends always sacred.” His lordship, hearing this, entertained him very handsomely, and both himself and his brother made him a present.
On his return home, he reflected how idly he had spent the prime of life; and recovering from a severe illness, he came to a resolution of resigning the Egyptian sceptre. The assembly finding him determined, reluctantly acquiesced, and he departed amidst the applause and sighs of his subjects.
Our adventurer, finding the air of the town not rightly to agree with him, and the death of some of his relations rendering his circumstances quite easy, he retired to the western parts, to a neat purchase he had made, and there he ended his days, beloved and esteemed by all; leaving his daughter (his wife dying some time before him) a genteel fortune; who was married to a neighbouring young gentleman.
ANECDOTES.