On the eighth day, being upon a tree, he discovered a lone house, near the skirts of the woods, and saw all the family (as he supposed) going out to hoe tobacco, and the dog following them; this was a joyful sight to him, for he had not, the two preceding nights, met with any cows, and consequently had been without food. As soon, therefore, as the family were out of sight, he came down from the tree, and ventured in the house, where he found not only enough to satisfy his hunger, but what might be deemed luxury in his present condition: for there was a jolly cake, powell, a sort of Indian corn bread, and good omani, which is kidney-beans ground with Indian corn, sifted, then put into a pot to boil, and eat with molasses. Seeing so many dainties, he did not hesitate long, but, hunger pressing, sat down and ate the omani with as much composure as if he had been invited thereto by the owner of it: and knowing that hunger and necessity are bound by no laws of honour, he took the liberty of borrowing the jolly cake, powell, and a leg of fine pork, then hastened back to the tree with his booty. What the people thought when they returned at night with good appetites, and found their dainty omani, their jolly cake, and their pork, all vanished, we know not, but suppose they were not a little surprised.
Being thus stocked with provisions, he made the best of his way to Ogle-town that night, and so to Old-town. In the dawn of the morning of the eleventh day, he came in sight of Duck’s
Creek; but being afraid he might fall into the hands of his pursuers, he struck a great way into the woods towards Tuck Hoe; where staying all the day in a tree, he came again in the middle of the night to Duck’s Creek. As soon as he came here, he ran to the water side to seek for a canoe, but found them all chained; he immediately set himself about breaking the chain, but found it too strong, and all endeavours to break it were in vain. Never was man more thunder-struck than he was now, just at the time when he expected to be out of danger, to meet with so unforeseen and insurmountable an obstacle. He knew there was no way of escaping, but by passing the river Delaware, and could not think of a method of effecting it. Several hours did he pass in this agitation of mind: sometimes he had a mind to try his strength in swimming, but the river being so wide, he thought he could not reach the opposite shore; at last, reflecting what one of his ancestors had done in swimming a horse over Teignmouth bar, and seeing some horses grazing thereabout, he resolved to attempt passing the Delaware in that manner; for, let the worst happen, he thought death preferable to slavery. Being thus resolved, he soon caught one of the horses, and, making a sort of bridle with his handkerchief, brought the horse to the water side; he walked for some time on the banks, looking for a proper place to enter the horse: at last, espying a little stream, which ran into the great river Deleware, he stripped himself, and, tying his frock and trowsers about his shoulders, mounted the horse, and putting him forward a little, the horse soon lost his footing, and the water came
up to Mr. Carew’s middle, who kept his legs as near as possible to the horse, and in this manner launched into the great river Delaware.
The horse snorted and neighed to his companions, but made for the opposite shore with all the strength he could. Mr. Carew did not imagine the horse would be able to reach it, but proposed to save himself by swimming when the horse failed, for the river was three miles over: however the horse reached the shore, but finding no place to land, it being a sandy mud, he was obliged to swim him along the shore, till he came to a little creek, which the horse swimming into, soon got sure footing, to the great joy of Mr. Carew, who, dismounting, kissed the horse, telling him he must now turn quaker as well as himself, and so let him go into the woods.
His clothes were not very wet; however, he staid on the banks some time to dry them with the morning sun, then went up into the country. The first house he came to was a miller’s, whose wife came out and asked him from whence he came? He told her he had been a prisoner some time in the Havannah, from whence he had been released by an exchange of prisoners, and was now going home.
The good woman pitied him much, and told him he looked very melancholy; but her husband coming in, said, he believed he was an Irishman. This he denied, averring he was of the West of England; so they gave him a piece of that country money, and a mug of rum, which he drinking greedily, being very thirsty, it threw him into such a violent fever, that he was obliged to stop at a
neighbouring house, where he lay sick for three or four days. From hence he went to Newcastle, where he raised contributions from several gentlemen, as he had done before, but not under the former name, from hence to Castle, Brandywine Ferry, Chester, and Derby, where he got relief from the same miller that Mr. Whitfield was with when he was there before, and lodged at the same house, but took care to disguise himself so as not to be known: he there got a pass from the justice as a sick man bound to Boston. From hence he proceeded to Brunswick, where he got relief from Mr. Matthews, the miller, who treated him so hospitably the first time he was there, but did not know him again now.
From hence he proceeded to New London, where he chanced to see the captain who had taken him home before, but he avoided him. From New London he proceeded to Groten, where he got a twenty-shilling bill from one Mr. Goyf, and several half-crown bills from other people. He then inquired of his landlord his way to Rhode-island, who accompanied him about two miles of the way, when they chanced to fall into the company of some drovers, who were driving a number of bullocks, for the use of some privateers that lay at Rhode-island; he therefore joined them, and, after about nine or ten miles travelling, they came to a ferry, where they stopped at a public-house for some time, till the bullocks were taken over; but neither the tavern-man nor drovers would suffer him to pay any thing, they pitying his unfortunate condition: and passing over this ferry, they came to Rhode-island.
Rhode-island, by the natives called Aquetnet, near the Narraganset Bay, is fourteen or fifteen miles long, and four or five miles abroad. It was first inhabited by the English in the year 1639. Those that withdrew to this island were such as espoused the covenant of grace, and were under great persecution from them that sided with the covenant of works. There is a very considerable trade from Rhode-island to the sugar colonies for butter and cheese, a sure sign of the fruitfulness and beauty of the place, for horses, sheep, beef, pork, tallow, and timber, from which the traders have been enriched. It is deservedly called the Paradise of New England, for the great fruitfulness of the soil, and the temperature of the climate, which, though it be not above fifty-five miles from Boston, is a coat warmer in winter, and, being surrounded by the ocean, is not so much affected in summer with the hot land-breezes as the towns on the continent. They live in great amity with their neighbours, and, though every man does what he thinks right in his own eyes, it is rare that any notorious crimes are committed by them, which may be attributed in some measure to their great veneration for the Holy Scriptures, which they all read, from the least to the greatest, though they have neither ministers nor magistrates to recommend it to them.