“Let us do the right, and care naught for what may come after,” says she.
“But sure that can’t be the right which should enslave our country, and bring over again the days of Bloody Mary,” says I.
“That can’t be the right which would take part against our lawful king, and set a stranger over us,” says Dorothy.
“Dorothy,” says I, after much further talk, “if you’ll agree, I’ll consent with you to meet you half-way. I won’t offer my sword to King James, but neither will I at present raise a troop for the Prince. Yet if we see the Protestant cause in danger, sure you must even let me go. Are we to have a Bloody Assize throughout all England?”
With this she was forced to be content, and I did my best to be so too, though I had fain joined the Prince’s standard even at Tor Bay, but refrained, being persuaded that I had no right altogether to dispose of myself without my wife’s consent. But by this course I pleased no one, neither the friends that advised me I was playing the part of Meroz in Holy Writ, for not seeking the Prince so soon as he landed, nor Dorothy, that would with the best heart imaginable have packed up for to go into exile with King James. I can only hope that by as much as this middle course was distasteful to me, by so much was it right and profitable, for ’twas altogether abhorrent to me thus to remain idle when I might have borne a part in this, the second and, as it seems to me, the only justifiable revolution of this age; but, as you know, the Protestant cause was saved without my help. But through all this time I was enabled not only to abstain from all wrangling or quarrelling with my wife, knowing that no talking should ever displace that loyalty that was grown up with her growth, and had been nourished in her mind during her lonely youth, but I also strove in all things to show her an increased honour and affection, to the end she might perceive that ’twas no caprice nor unkindness, but love of right, that moved me. For indeed it did cost me much to forsake the old cause, for the which my father and my uncles had fought so long and suffered such grievous loss, and that I myself also had loved so much, and for no other reason could I have done so but for this one—viz., that the safety of the Protestant Religion must be set before the advancement of a party, or even of a royal house. And although I had this grief, namely, to abandon my old party, and not to join myself to that one which did commend itself to me, yet the cause triumphed, and there come no dissension between my wife and myself. For she, perceiving the hardness of my case, came by degrees to respect, though she might not accept, my principle of action, and our opinions did not come between us. Nay, ’tis my belief that now (though no torments should bring her to confess this) she rejoices in the victory of the Protestant cause, though her heart still yearn over the House of Stewart.
Thus, then, I have set before you (as I trust, without malice or colouring) the history of my life, not hiding those things that reflect ill upon myself, but desiring to give a true relation of all that has befell me. Sure if any man had ever cause to render most sincere and hearty thanks to Almighty God for the mercies of a whole lifetime, I have more, for my situation is far above my deserts, and in nothing have I more cause to be thankful than for the dissipation in the course of time of that midsummer madness and raging fever of love that did once consume me for Madam Heliodora, to the temporary, though all too long, obscuration of my true love for her whose faithful spouse and servant I have the happiness to be, and do purpose to remain so long as life shall last,—my dear wife, Dorothy Carlyon.
CHAPTER XX.
A CHAPTER EXTRAORDINARY, ADDED ON THE ADVICE OF THE AUTHOR’S FRIENDS, FOR TO DECLARE HOW IT COME ABOUT THAT THIS BOOK WAS WROTE.
Here then, my relation should have ended, and I had laid down my pen with joy to think that for this book, at least, there should be no further need of mending of quills and of buying fresh paper, when there come upon me those two good friends that stood by me through those troubles I am about to relate, and advised me that beside all I have done already, ’twere well also to set down a true account of the said troubles for the sake of those that shall come after me. Being taught, then, by experience, that my best hope lies in following the counsels of these two persons, I do my best to obey ’em, desiring that it may first be noted that I bear no malice against those that so lightly gave credence to reports to my discredit, for they had much excuse for’t. Nevertheless, I would warn my children to receive a lesson against the too hasty judging any person upon what they may hear said concerning him. But to my tale.
During the first six or seven years of the reign of his present majesty my wife and I lived very quiet and retired, being occupied with the bringing up our two sons, whereof the elder was nine years of age at the time of which I write. But in the year 1695, I was called suddenly to London, that I might give evidence before the Lords’ House of Parliament on the behalf of my old Company, in the matter of a petition brought against ’em by a certain person named Jameson. And in this matter, which did make some noise at the time, my evidence was considered to be of no small moment (insomuch that one of the lawyers present told me I had saved the Company, Jameson’s petition being dismissed), and in some way my name was brought to the king’s notice. His majesty, having been made acquainted also with my work, which I mentioned some while back, ‘An Inquiry into the Present State of East India,’ sent for me and talked with me very graciously, saying that I should by rights hold some office in the Company’s home establishment, having such knowledge of Eastern matters. But for this I had neither favour nor inclination, and so I told his majesty, who said that he would fain do me some pleasure his own self, and thus I did return home, expecting little from this flattering compliment. But the next year I found myself pricked for High Sheriff of the county, and perceived that ’twas this the king had signified when he spake of procuring me some advancement.
Now this honour I was by no means loath to accept, lacking, as I hope, neither the property nor the wit requisite for fulfilling the duties of the office, but I could not feel surprised that many gentlemen among my neighbours looked differently upon the matter. They were wont to regard me extreme distrustfully as a person of outlandish manners and given to innovation, likewise they did consider me to be but a lukewarm and half-hearted Whig (as was indeed the truth, saving only in the cause of the Protestant Faith), and we had also certain differences over the sentences that were wont to be passed by the bench of justices, whereof I was one, and did lean more to the side of mercy than suited with their minds. But that they would make any endeavour to hinder my accepting of the office (and that with a mighty strong show of reason on their side), I had never so much as imagined, and did remain in this secure and careless confidence until the very week when I was to be sworn to the punctual performance of my duties.