'The Adventures of Captain Greenland,' an anonymous novel published in 1752, is avowedly 'written in imitation of all those wise, learned, witty, and humorous authors who either have or hereafter may write in the same style and manner.'
The story, divided over a tedious number of books—like the high-flown romances of the 'Grand Cyrus' order—also resembles those antiquated and unreal elaborations in the astonishing intrepidity of its professed hero, Sylvius, who, however, engages, like his model 'Joseph Andrews,' in situations generally described as menial. Captain Greenland himself, denuded of his powerful swearing propensities, might be regarded at this date as an interesting curiosity, a British commander of the true-blue salt type. A parson, and other characters suggestive of the acquaintances we make in 'Joseph Andrews,' contribute to swell the 'dramatis personæ.' A portion of the adventures, which are neither new nor startling, consists of escapes from Spanish convents, and complications connected with the Romanist faith, not unlike somewhat kindred allusions in Richardson's 'Sir Charles Grandison.'
A stage-coach journey occupies ten chapters of one book; and the travellers relieve this lengthy travel (from Worcester to London) by unfinished anecdotes. Captain Greenland relates an adventure with a highwayman who once stopped his coach. The 'gentleman of the road' bade the driver 'unrein.' The captain seized his blunderbuss and 'jumped ashore,' thinking it a scandal that a gentleman who had the honour of commanding one of His Majesty's ships of war should suffer himself to be boarded and plundered by a single fellow. Being a little warm and hasty, he salutes his enemy with, '"Blank my heart, but you are a blank cowardly rascal, and a blank mean-spirited villain! You scoundrel, you! you lurk about the course here to plunder every poor creature you meet, that have nothing at all to defend themselves; but you dare not engage with one that is able to encounter with you. Here, you rascal! if you dare fight for it, win it and wear it." With that I pulled out my purse and money, and flung it to the ground between us; but the faint-hearted blank durst as well be blank'd as come near me. So after I had swore myself pretty well out of wind (judging from the captain's ordinary vernacular, the strongest lungs could not have held out long), I ran towards him with my cock'd blunderbuss ready in my hand; but he at that very moment tacked about, and sheer'd off. I now picked up my purse, and went aboard the coach; but, blank my heart! I can't forgive myself for not saluting the rascal with one broadside.'
At the conclusion of ten chapters of stage-coach journeying, the author brilliantly observes, 'He has cooped up his readers for a considerable time,' and the captain swears the coach is somewhat 'over-manned.'
'At night they were all exceedingly merry and agreeable; and the generous captain again insisted upon paying the bill himself, which he found no matter of fault with, but in the customary article (at that place) of sixpence a head for firing; which he swore was as much as could have been demanded if they had supp'd at an inn in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.'
The next day's journey being happily concluded, without any extraordinary occurrences, they arrived about six o'clock in the afternoon at the 'Blue Boar Inn, in Holborn, where they all agreed to sup together, and to lie that night.'