by Daniel Defoe
Amycould by no means learn how to write to him there, till, by greataccident, an old Dutch skipper, who had formerly served him, coming toRouen, Amy was told of it; and he told her that he lodged in St.Laurence Pountney's Lane, in London, but was to be seen every day uponthe Exchange, in the French walk.
This, Amy thought, it was time enough to tell me of when she came over;and, besides, she did not find this Dutch skipper till she had spentfour or five months and been again in Paris, and then come back to Rouenfor farther information. But in the meantime she wrote to me from Paristhat he was not to be found by any means; that he had been gone fromParis seven or eight years; that she was told he had lived at Rouen, andshe was agoing thither to inquire, but that she had heard afterwardsthat he was gone also from thence to Holland, so she did not go.
This, I say, was Amy's first account; and I, not satisfied with it, hadsent her an order to go to Rouen to inquire there also, as above.
While this was negotiating, and I received these accounts from Amy atseveral times, a strange adventure happened to me which I must mentionjust here. I had been abroad to take the air as usual with my Quaker, asfar as Epping Forest, and we were driving back towards London, when, onthe road between Bow and Mile End, two gentlemen on horseback cameriding by, having overtaken the coach and passed it, and went forwardstowards London.
They did not ride apace though they passed the coach, for we went verysoftly; nor did they look into the coach at all, but rode side by side,earnestly talking to one another and inclining their faces sideways alittle towards one another, he that went nearest the coach with his facefrom it, and he that was farthest from the coach with his face towardsit, and passing in the very next tract to the coach, I could hear themtalk Dutch very distinctly. But it is impossible to describe theconfusion I was in when I plainly saw that the farthest of the two, himwhose face looked towards the coach, was my friend the Dutch merchant ofParis.
If it had been possible to conceal my disorder from my friend the QuakerI would have done it, but I found she was too well acquainted with suchthings not to take the hint. "Dost thou understand Dutch?" said she."Why?" said I. "Why," says she, "it is easy to suppose that thou art alittle concerned at somewhat those men say; I suppose they are talkingof thee." "Indeed, my good friend," said I, "thou art mistaken thistime, for I know very well what they are talking of, but 'tis all aboutships and trading affairs." "Well," says she, "then one of them is a manfriend of thine, or somewhat is the case; for though thy tongue will notconfess it, thy face does."
I was going to have told a bold lie, and said I knew nothing of them;but I found it was impossible to conceal it, so I said, "Indeed, I thinkI know the farthest of them; but I have neither spoken to him or so muchas seen him for about eleven years." "Well, then," says she, "thou hastseen him with more than common eyes when thou didst see him, or elseseeing him now would not be such a surprise to thee." "Indeed," said I,"it is true I am a little surprised at seeing him just now, for Ithought he had been in quite another part of the world; and I can assureyou I never saw him in England in my life." "Well, then, it is the morelikely he is come over now on purpose to seek thee." "No, no," said I,"knight-errantry is over; women are not so hard to come at that menshould not be able to please themselves without running from one kingdomto another." "Well, well," says she, "I would have him see thee for allthat, as plainly as thou hast seen him." "No, but he shan't," says I,"for I am sure he don't know me in this dress, and I'll take care heshan't see my face, if I can help it;" so I held up my fan before myface, and she saw me resolute in that, so she pressed me no farther.
We had several discourses upon the subject, but still I let her know Iwas resolved he should not know me; but at last I confessed so much,that though I would not let him know who I was or where I lived, I didnot care if I knew where he lived and how I might inquire about him. Shetook the hint immediately, and her servant being behind the coach, shecalled him to the coach-side and bade him keep his eye upon thatgentleman, and as soon as the coach came to the end of Whitechapel heshould get down and follow him closely, so as to see where he put up hishorse, and then to go into the inn and inquire, if he could, who he wasand where he lived.
The fellow followed diligently to the gate of an inn in BishopsgateStreet, and seeing him go in, made no doubt but he had him fast; but wasconfounded when, upon inquiry, he found the inn was a thoroughfare intoanother street, and that the two gentlemen had only rode through theinn, as the way to the street where they were going; and so, in short,came back no wiser than he went.
My kind Quaker was more vexed at the disappointment, at least apparentlyso, than I was; and asking the fellow if he was sure he knew thegentleman again if he saw him, the fellow said he had followed him soclose and took so much notice of him, in order to do his errand as itought to be done, that he was very sure he should know him again; andthat, besides, he was sure he should know his horse.
This part was, indeed, likely enough; and the kind Quaker, withouttelling me anything of the matter, caused her man to place himself justat the corner of Whitechapel Church wall every Saturday in theafternoon, that being the day when the citizens chiefly ride abroad totake the air, and there to watch all the afternoon and look for him.
It was not till the fifth Saturday that her man came, with a great dealof joy, and gave her an account that he had found out the gentleman;that he was a Dutchman, but a French merchant; that he came from Rouen,and his name was ----, and that he lodged at Mr. ----'s, on LaurencePountney's Hill. I was surprised, you may be sure, when she came andtold me one evening all the particulars, except that of having set herman to watch. "I have found out thy Dutch friend," says she, "and cantell thee how to find him too." I coloured again as red as fire. "Thenthou hast dealt with the evil one, friend," said I very gravely. "No,no," says she, "I have no familiar; but I tell thee I have found him forthee, and his name is So-and-so, and he lives as above recited."
I was surprised again at this, not being able to imagine how she shouldcome to know all this. However, to put me out of pain, she told me whatshe had done. "Well," said I, "thou art very kind, but this is notworth thy pains; for now I know it, 'tis only to satisfy my curiosity;for I shall not send to him upon any account." "Be that as thou wilt,"says she. "Besides," added she, "thou art in the right to say so to me,for why should I be trusted with it? Though, if I were, I assure thee Ishould not betray thee." "That's very kind," said I, "and I believethee; and assure thyself, if I do send to him, thou shalt know it, andbe trusted with it too."
During this interval of five weeks I suffered a hundred thousandperplexities of mind. I was thoroughly convinced I was right as to theperson, that it was the man. I knew him so well, and saw him so plain, Icould not be deceived. I drove out again in the coach (on pretence ofair) almost every day in hopes of seeing him again, but was never solucky as to see him; and now I had made the discovery I was as far toseek what measures to take as I was before.
To send to him, or speak to him first if I should see him, so as to beknown to him, that I resolved not to do, if I died for it. To watch himabout his lodging, that was as much below my spirit as the other. Sothat, in a word, I was at a perfect loss how to act or what to do.
At length came Amy's letter, with the last account which she had atRouen from the Dutch skipper, which, confirming the other, left me outof doubt that this was my man; but still no human invention could bringme to the speech of him in such a manner as would suit with myresolutions. For, after all, how did I know what his circumstances were?whether married or single? And if he had a wife, I knew he was so honesta man he would not so much as converse with me, or so much as know me ifhe met me in the street.
In the next place, as he entirely neglected me, which, in short, is theworst way of slighting a woman, and had given no answer to my letters, Idid not know but he might be the same man still; so I resolved that Icould do nothing in it unless some fairer opportunity presented, whichmight make my way clearer to me; for I was determined he should have noroom to put
any more slights upon me.
In these thoughts I passed away near three months; till at last, beingimpatient, I resolved to send for Amy to come over, and tell her howthings stood, and that I would do nothing till she came. Amy, in answer,sent me word she would come away with all speed, but begged of me that Iwould enter into no engagement with him, or anybody, till she arrived;but still keeping me in the dark as to the thing itself which she had tosay; at which I was heartily vexed, for many reasons.
But while all these things were transacting, and letters and answerspassed between Amy and I a little slower than usual, at which I was notso well pleased as I used to be with Amy's