The Adventures of Roderick Random

Of my Birth and Parentage The narrator's grandfather, a man of considerable fortune and legal reputation, presided over cases with particular severity toward beggars, for whom he harbored intense dislike. The narrator's father, his youngest son, fell in love with and secretly married a poor relation who served as housekeeper in the grandfather's household. This union produced the narrator as its first fruit. Before the narrator's birth, his mother experienced a disturbing dream foretold by a Highland seer's favorable interpretation. The dream depicted the devil acting as midwife to deliver a tennis ball, which he struck violently away, only for it to return and embed itself in the earth as a flourishing tree covered with blossoms. The seer predicted the child would become a great traveler who would encounter numerous dangers but eventually return to flourish in his native land. When the grandfather learned of the marriage, he angrily expelled his son and daughter-in-law, refusing any assistance based on a prior vow. They found refuge in a humble farmhouse. Near her delivery, the mother went in disguise to the grandfather's house seeking compassion but was immediately dismissed. She went into labor that same day in a garret. Despite her vulnerable condition, she was expelled within three days and the servant who aided her was dismissed. The combination of cold, want, and grief caused her to sicken and die. The father was devastated, losing his sanity for six weeks. The grandfather eventually relented enough to take in the infant, and when the father recovered, he fell into melancholy before mysteriously vanishing, prompting rumors of self-destruction.

The narrator's cousins developed implacable hatred toward him, particularly as his infancy showed promise and he strongly resembled his beloved father. Suspicions existed that his uncles may have been involved in his father's fate, motivated by inheritance concerns, though those suspicions were treated as speculation by judicious observers.

Before reaching six years of age, the narrator's cousins had so effectively blockaded access to his grandfather that he could only see him by stealth—occasionally approaching his chair when the old man supervised his laborers in the field. During these brief encounters, his grandfather would stroke his head, encourage him to be good, and promise to take care of him.

The narrator was sent to a village school where his grandfather held influence, but the grandfather never paid for his board or supplied clothes, books, or other necessaries. His condition became ragged and contemptible, and the schoolmaster, teaching him gratis for fear of his grandfather, gave no concern about his progress—yet despite these difficulties, the narrator became proficient in Latin.

The schoolmaster, fearing his patron's displeasure, pledged to prevent the narrator's future improvement. He fashioned a board with five holes through which he thrust the narrator's right-hand fingers and thumb, fastening it with whipcord to disable his ability to write letters to his grandfather.

Severe and unjust punishments became routine—the narrator was blamed for mischief whose authors remained unknown, convicted of crimes he never committed, and whipped for misfortunes such as nearly drowning or being bitten by a dog. Yet his uncommon genius, combined with guidance from the school usher (who had served his father), enabled surprising progress in classics, writing, and arithmetic.

By age twelve, recognized as the school's best scholar, the narrator leveraged his influence to form a faction of thirty boys and began organizing cabals against his persecutor. They attacked rival apprentices who had claimed their play area, engaged in stone-throwing skirmishes, and became the terror of the village—parties even sought their assistance to sway local conflicts.

The narrator exploited every play-day to approach his grandfather, though access remained difficult due to his numerous female cousins who united against him as their common enemy. The heir, about eighteen and devoted to fox-hunting, inherited his grandfather's antipathy and frequently set his beagles upon the narrator, encouraged by the tutor who sought favor with the rising sun.

Cornered by the tutor and his hounds in a farmer's house where the narrator had sought shelter, he took aim with a large pebble. His marksmanship struck out four of the tutor's foreteeth, incapacitating him from performing parish clerk duties and providing vengeance for years of persecution.

About this time my mother's only brother, a lieutenant of a man-of-war who had been long abroad, arrived in his own country. Informed of the narrator's condition, he came to visit and supplied him with necessaries. The uncle resolved not to leave until he had prevailed upon the grandfather to settle something handsome for the narrator's future. However, this task proved difficult, as the uncle was entirely ignorant of the judge's disposition and the ways of men in general, his education having been entirely at sea.

The uncle is described as a strong-built man, somewhat bandy-legged, with a neck like that of a bull and a weather-beaten face. His attire consists of a soldier's coat altered by the ship's tailor, a striped flannel jacket, red breeches spanned with pitch, clean gray worsted stockings, large silver buckles covering three-fourths of his shoes, a silver-laced hat, a black bobwig in buckle, a check shirt, a silk handkerchief, a hanger with a brass handle girded to his thigh by a furnished lace belt, and a good oak plant under his arm. Thus equipped, he set out with the narrator for the grandfather's house.

The uncle and the narrator, who by his uncle's bounty now made a very decent appearance, departed together for the grandfather's house. Their arrival was marked by an encounter with Jowler and Caesar, two dogs that the young cousin had let loose at their approach.

Being well acquainted with the ferocity of these curs, the narrator was about to flee, but his uncle seized him with one hand, brandished his cudgel with the other, and at one blow laid Caesar sprawling on the ground. Finding himself attacked at the same time in the rear by Jowler, and fearing Caesar might recover, the uncle drew his hanger, wheeled about, and by a lucky stroke severed Jowler's head from his body.

By this time, the young foxhunter and three servants armed with pitchforks and flails came to the assistance of the dogs, whom they found breathless upon the field. The young squire was so provoked at the death of his favorites that he ordered his attendants to advance and take vengeance on their executioner, loading the uncle with all the curses and reproaches his anger could suggest. The uncle stepped forward with an undaunted air, at the sight of whose bloody weapons his antagonists fell back with precipitation.

The uncle addressed the young squire, explaining that the dogs had boarded him without provocation and what he did was in self-defense. He advised the squire to be civil and let them pass. Whether the young squire misinterpreted the uncle's desire of peace or was enraged at the fate of his hounds beyond his usual pitch of resolution is unclear, but he snatched a flail from one of his followers and threatened to assault the lieutenant, who responded with a nautical declaration of his own. The young gentleman's choler was checked when he perceived that his attendants had slunk into the house, shut the gate, and left him to decide the contention by himself.

A parley ensued during which the young squire demanded to know who the uncle was and what he wanted. After a few minutes' pause, they were admitted and conducted to the grandfather's chamber through a lane of relations who honored the narrator with very significant looks as he passed along. The grandfather, laid up with the gout, received this relation after his long absence with coldness of civility.

The uncle, after two or three sea-bows, addressed the grandfather as "father" and explained that the boy with him was Roderick Random, his own nephew and the grandfather's flesh and blood. He demanded that the grandfather do something for the poor boy who had been used at a very unchristian rate. He contrasted this neglect with the favor shown to the young squire, pointing out that the narrator was equally near akin to the grandfather. He rebuked the grandfather for his wrongs to the narrator's father and urged him to make satisfaction before it be too late.

The young ladies, feeling too concerned to contain themselves, raised their voices against the uncle, calling him a scurvy companion, saucy tarpaulin, and rude, impertinent fellow. The judge commanded silence and calmly rebuked the uncle for his unmannerly behavior, which he said he would excuse on account of the uncle's education. He claimed he had been very kind to the boy, having kept him at school seven or eight years, although he had been informed the boy made no progress and was addicted to all manner of vice. The uncle hotly contested these claims, declaring that the narrator was actually the best scholar of his age in all the country, and that he had been left like a wreck at the mercy of the wind and weather by the grandfather's neglect. When the judge offered to bind the narrator apprentice to a tradesman, the uncle roundly refused, saying he would rather see the boy hanged than apprenticed to a tailor.

With defiance, the uncle declared he perceived how the land lay, affirmed that while he had a shilling the narrator should not want a tester, and pronounced the old gentleman bound for the other world but damnably ill-provided for the voyage. Thus ended their visit. They returned to the village, the uncle muttering curses all the way against the old shark and the young fry that surrounded him.

A few weeks after the family's first visit to the ailing judge, he sends for a notary to formalize his will, as his illness has advanced from his legs to his stomach and he is conscious of his impending death.

Per the grandfather's request that all his descendants visit him before he dies, the narrator and his uncle make a second trip to his deathbed, joining a crowd of relations gathered in his chamber. The uncle offers the dying man unorthodox, crude consolation that scandalizes the other attendees, particularly the parish parson.

After the group retreats to another room to escape the uncle's irreverent remarks, a piteous yell from the grandfather's chamber confirms his death. When the group returns to the room, the uncle interprets a recent dream as a portent of the death, making crude comparisons between the grandfather's passing and a dead shark being carried to the bottom of the sea by the devil, which infuriates the parson and sparks a heated argument.

The group confirms the grandfather's death after hearing the distress cries of the young women attending him in his final moments. The family's heir, the young squire, pretends to grief, asking tearfully if his grandfather is truly deceased, and the uncle bluntly confirms the death, further escalating tensions with the outraged parson who condemns his irreverence.

While waiting for the formal will reading scheduled after the grandfather's funeral, family members speculate about the will's contents. Aware the grandfather holds a £700 annual landed estate and £6,000 to £7,000 in interest-bearing funds, guesses include the young squire inheriting all real estate with the personal funds split between the narrator and his five female cousins, or the bulk of the money going to the narrator to atone for the grandfather's mistreatment of his father, with smaller legacies for the granddaughters.

At the appointed time following the funeral, the will is read aloud in front of all the grandfather's living descendants. The attorney announces the young squire is the sole heir to all of the grandfather's real and personal estate, with no additional legacies allocated to any other family members.

The female cousins, who had expected to receive inheritances, react with shock and distress. The eldest and most outspoken of the five faints upon learning there are no legacies whatsoever, while the others display clear signs of indignation and grief at least as genuine as their mourning for their grandfather.

The uncle reacts to the will's terms with furious, crude outrage, insulting the deceased grandfather. The parson confronts him for his irreverence, but the young female cousins side with the uncle against the parson, accusing him of meddling in their grandfather's affairs and spreading false stories that led to their exclusion from the will. The young squire teases the uncle about hunting the parson like a badger, and the frustrated uncle declares he and the narrator will depart immediately.

On the way back to the village, Uncle Bowling remained silent for an hour, whistling continuously while wearing a stern expression. He then hurried ahead before stopping to demand the narrator keep pace. Despite his gruff manner, his good nature prevailed as he announced the schoolmaster was "in hell" and offered to take the boy to sea with him, quoting a sailor's song about fortune. However, when the school usher interjected that it would be a pity to waste the boy's genius, Uncle Bowling generously resolved to provide a university education instead, covering board and expenses at a nearby town famous for its colleges.

Before their departure day, the schoolmaster no longer restrained himself now that the grandfather was deceased. He abused the narrator with gross language, calling him a wicked, profligate, dull, beggarly miscreant taught out of charity. Most grievously, the master bitterly reviled the memory of Judge Random, who had actually arranged his settlement, hinting the old gentleman was damned for not paying for the narrator's education.

This brutal treatment convinced the narrator it was time for revenge. With loyal allies Jeremy Gawky and Hugh Strap committed to stand by him, they plotted: when the usher went out at four o'clock, the narrator would shut the great door to prevent his assistance, then spit in the master's face. Gawky and Strap would drag the tyrant to a bench and birch him thoroughly. If outnumbered, they would call on competitors for support. Gawky owed the narrator for saving his life from drowning and repeatedly rescuing him from consequences through performing his exercises. Strap's devotion stemmed from saving the narrator's life at his own risk and suffering punishments in the narrator's place. Both planned to leave school the next day—Gawky returning to his father, Strap to apprentice with a barber.

Learning of the master's behavior, Uncle Bowling raged and vowed revenge. When the narrator revealed the plot, the uncle approved but questioned their escape plan. "Let me alone for that," he declared—he would handle the getaway. He prepared the instrument of revenge with skill, ordered their baggage packed a day early, and arranged horses for their flight. When the hour came, the uncle seized the opportunity of the usher's absence, bolted in, and secured the door. Though the narrator trembled, he summoned his allies. Strap obeyed immediately while the narrator leapt on the master's back and Strap pulled his leg, bringing the tyrant down as Gawky joined the celebration with a huzza. The uncle bound the master to a post with rope, stripped his back, and administered vigorous punishment with a cat-and-nine-tails, leaving him thrashing and cursing. The usher was bound to his own desk as a spectator while the lieutenant gave the schoolmaster a memorable lesson.

After the ceremony, Uncle Bowling treated the entire company at the public house. He offered to make the usher their ship schoolmaster if he ever commanded a vessel. They parted with many tears and stayed at an inn ten miles short of the university town. Upon arrival the next day, the narrator found satisfactory accommodations with an apothecary who had married a distant relation of his mother. Within days, Uncle Bowling departed for his ship after settling funds for the narrator's maintenance and education.

Progress in Studies and Rising Popularity** Summary:** The narrator, recognizing his precarious situation and sole dependence on his uncle Bowling, applies himself diligently to his studies over three years. He achieves proficiency in Greek, mathematics, moral and natural philosophy, and develops a talent for poetry that gains favorable reception. His attractive appearance and accomplishments earn him the esteem of respectable townspeople and considerable favor with the ladies, which he maintains by lampooning their rivals.

Female Cousins Seek Acquaintance** Summary:** The narrator's two female cousins, who had previously regarded him with contempt, now live in the same town with their mother following their father's death. Their inheritance made them the richest toasts in the area despite not being the most beautiful. Their sudden notice of the narrator, now that his character has attracted attention, is suspected to flow from either hope of making his poetical abilities serve their malice or at least shielding themselves from his satirical attacks.

Rejecting the Cousins' Advances** Summary:** The narrator rejects his cousins' offer of acquaintance with disdain and systematically avoids mentioning their names in his poetry, whether writing satire or panegyric. This neglect mortifies their pride excessively and incenses them to the degree that they resolve to make him repent of his indifference.

Retaliation and an Enraged Lover** Summary:** The cousins first hire a poor collegian to write verses attacking the narrator's poverty and his parents' unfortunate deaths, but the poorly composed piece instead reflects more dishonor on themselves since they and their relations had caused his misfortunes. Finding this plan unsuccessful, they next irritate a young gentleman by falsely telling him the narrator had lampooned his mistress. This enraged lover decides to seize the narrator the following night to have him ducked in the river, despite it being mid-December.

Thwarting the Ducking Ambush** Summary:** The narrator receives advance warning of the ambush and takes an alternate route home. With the assistance of his landlord's apprentice, he discharges a volley from the garret window that inflicts significant harm upon the attackers. The incident becomes a source of mirth at their expense the next day, forcing them to leave town until the adventure is forgotten.

Betrayal by a Confidant** Summary:** Despite twice failing in their schemes, the cousins enlist the narrator's companion and confidant to betray him. This person reveals the details of the narrator's minor romantic affairs to the cousins, who publish them with such exaggerations that the narrator suffers greatly in everyone's opinion and is completely abandoned by the women whose names had been called into question.

Mysterious News from Home** Summary:** While investigating the source of this treachery, the narrator notices his landlady's altered demeanor. She announces she has letters from Mr. Bowling—one enclosed for him—and expresses sorrow about what has happened, suggesting Mr. Bowling's brutal behavior has likely brought him into misfortune. She implies he may be in trouble but deflects personal responsibility, offering only vague sympathy while hinting the narrator should have learned a trade.

Uncle Bowling's Explanation** Summary:** The narrator reads two letters: one from Uncle Bowling to the apothecary explaining that he quit HMS Thunder after being compelled to kill Captain Oakum in self-defense on the beach at Cape Tiberoon in Hispaniola. Bowling is now safely among the French and has sent an account to his landlord in Deal to lay before the king. The second letter is a personal note to the narrator advising him to mind his studies, explaining Mr. Potion will continue caring for him out of friendship, and promising eventual repayment.

Eviction by the Apothecary** Summary:** After reading the letters, the apothecary gives the narrator notice to vacate within the week, claiming hard times, unpaid expenses for the narrator's maintenance, and a need for the apartment for a new apprentice arriving from the country. The narrator, indignant at this mean-spirited response to his reverses, pays his debt to the last farthing from his pocket money and declares he will not stay another night under the apothecary's roof.

False Sympathy from a Pretended Friend** Summary:** The narrator sallies out with only three shillings in his purse, hires a small bedroom at one shilling and sixpence per week paid in advance, and the next morning seeks assistance from a person who had always shown him affection and offered friendship. This man receives him cordially and insists on breakfast, but when the narrator explains his situation, he appears disconcerted. Upon hearing of the narrator's dignified departure from the apothecary's, this pretended friend inexplicably defends the apothecary and demands the narrator never return, which the narrator agrees to, reproaching himself for not having recognized his false character sooner.

Squire Gawky's Indifference** Summary:** The narrator encounters Squire Gawky, whose father had sent him to town for improvement in writing, dancing, fencing, and other fashionable accomplishments. The narrator informs Gawky of his desperate circumstances and requests a small loan. Gawky displays a handful of halfpence with a shilling or two, claiming this is all he has until quarter-day, having lost most of his allowance at billiards the previous night. He expresses neither sympathy for the narrator's mishap nor desire to help, leaving the narrator deeply mortified at this indifference.

Challenging Gawky to a Duel** Summary:** The narrator later discovers that Gawky was the one who betrayed him to his cousins and had also informed them of his forlorn situation, providing them great triumph. Resolving to call him to account, the narrator borrows a sword and writes a challenge requesting Gawky meet him at a certain time and place to answer for his perfidy with his blood. Gawky accepts the invitation. Despite experiencing considerable reluctance to the combat, manifested in cold sweats along the way, the narrator's desire for revenge, shame of retracting, and hope of conquest enable him to appear at the field with good grace.

Gawky's Cowardly Retreat** Summary:** The narrator waits at the appointed place for an hour beyond the scheduled time, pleased to learn Gawky has fled. He goes directly to Gawky's lodgings, discovering that Gawky departed for the country less than an hour after receiving the challenge. The narrator arranges for this story of cowardice to be published in the news, though he must sell his gold-laced hat for less than half-price to pay the expenses and sustain himself.

After the fumes of resentment dissipated and the vanity of success faded, the narrator found himself completely abandoned and facing extreme poverty. Mankind avoided him as if he were a different species, outside Providence's scheme of protection. His despair had left him nearly stupified when he received word that a gentleman wished to see him at a public-house.

The narrator repaired immediately to the public-house where he was introduced to Mr. Launcelot Crab, a surgeon in town. Crab was drinking "pop-in," a concoction of brandy and small beer, with two other companions. Before explaining the reason for the summons, the narrator provides a description of this gentleman to illustrate what follows and account for his behavior.

Mr. Crab was fifty years old, about five feet tall, with a substantial belly. His face resembled a full moon in complexion like a mulberry, and his nose—swollen to an enormous size and covered with carbuncles—resembled a powder-horn. His small gray eyes reflected light so obliquely that when looking directly at someone, one would think he was admiring their shoe buckle. He harbored an implacable grudge against fellow surgeon Potion, who, despite being younger, was better employed and had once performed a cure that disproved Crab's prognosis. Their rivalry had been inflamed beyond reconciliation when their wives quarreled at a christening over precedence, progressing from insults to blows.

After hearing the narrator's account of leaving Potion's service, Crab expressed his malice toward his rival, calling him a "sneaking dog" and "canting scoundrel." The other companions confirmed their low opinion of Potion, who was never known to be drunk except once at a godly meeting where he delivered an hour-long extempore prayer. Crab then offered the narrator employment, claiming to have heard a good character of him. When the narrator inquired about terms, Crab became indignant at the suggestion of maintaining him as a gentleman, but the narrator offered to work in Crab's shop to offset the cost of a journeyman or porter, as he had some knowledge of pharmacy and surgery from his time with Potion. Despite questioning the narrator's learning and declaring he expected little good of him, Crab agreed to take him in "for the sake of charity."

The narrator soon discovered Crab's real motives for receiving him. Beyond the gratification of revenge against Potion and the affectation of generosity, Crab needed a young man who understood the profession to replace his eldest apprentice, recently dead under violent suspicion of foul play from the master's brutality. This knowledge, combined with daily observations of Crab's treatment of his wife and the young apprentice, did nothing to ease the narrator's situation.

The narrator resolved to study Crab's temper with all possible application and address. He discovered a strange peculiarity governing Crab's behavior toward all dependents: when pleased, Crab was such a niggard of his satisfaction that any sign of participation by wife or servants offended him to an insupportable degree, bringing on fury whose effects they invariably felt. Conversely, when his indignation was roused, submission and soothing always exasperated it beyond reason.

When Crab insulted the narrator as an "ignorant whelp" and "lazy ragamuffin," the narrator boldly replied that he was neither ignorant nor lazy, since he understood and performed his business as well as Crab could, and that he was descended from a better family than any Crab could claim alliance with. Crab appeared amazed, shaking his cane over the narrator's head with a diabolical countenance. The narrator, convinced he had gone too far to retract and that this was the critical moment deciding his future lot, snatched up a pestle and declared he would defend himself if struck without cause. Crab remained silent, then declared the narrator would pay for this audacity and retired, leaving the narrator under dreadful apprehensions.

These apprehensions vanished at their next meeting, when Crab behaved with unusual complacency and treated the narrator to a glass of punch. By this conduct, the narrator gained the ascendancy over Crab in a short time and became necessary to him for managing his business while Crab was engaged at the bottle. The narrator maintained good terms with Crab's wife, cultivating her esteem by ridiculing Mrs. Potion and rendering her Christian offices when she sought consolation from her barbarous husband in the dram bottle.

The narrator lived in this manner for two years without hearing from his uncle. He kept little company, having neither the humor to relish nor the capacity to maintain acquaintances. Master Crab allowed no wages, and the small perquisites of his station barely supplied necessaries. The narrator was no longer a pert, giddy coxcomb elevated with the extravagance of hope; misfortune had taught him how little the world's caresses during prosperity are worth. His appearance became austere and slovenly, and he made no attempt to seek satisfaction from Gawky, whose resentment had cooled considerably.

When the narrator deemed himself sufficiently master of his business and began seeking opportunity to launch into the world, a small accident occurred: Crab's maidservant revealed to the narrator that she was pregnant and claimed he was the father. Though the narrator had no reason to question this imputation, he was aware of familiarities between the maid and her master, and he saw an opportunity to shift the burden elsewhere.

The narrator advised the maid that she was not with child but afflicted with a disorder incidental to young women, which he could easily remove. He prescribed medicines that he claimed would procure abortion. However, the maid, having been warned by the narrator of his design and knowing her own true condition, absolutely refused the directions and threatened to publish her situation if Crab did not provide for the occasion. The narrator guessed the result of Crab's deliberation from the latter's subsequent address to him.

Faced with the threat to his reputation—since scandal about uncleanness was particularly damaging in his part of the island and would give his rival Potion a handle for insult and undermining—Crab found himself in a dilemma. He could not simply dismiss the matter, for he knew the pregnancy would provide ammunition against him. His options were limited by the fear of what his rival might do with such damaging information.

Crab addressed the narrator one day, expressing surprise that a young fellow showed no inclination to push his fortune in the world. He suggested the narrator could get aboard a king's ship as surgeon's mate, citing the coming war against Spain as opportunity for practice and prize money. The narrator seized this long-wished-for opportunity but explained he lacked funds for necessaries and the journey to London. Crab offered to lend him money for the journey and maintenance in London until he could procure a warrant for a ship. The narrator accepted, knowing Crab's true motive was to lay the bastard to his charge after his departure. The narrator set out for London with one suit of clothes, half a dozen each of ruffled and plain shirts, two pairs of worsted and threaded stockings, a case of pocket instruments, a small edition of Horace and Wiseman's Surgery, and ten guineas in cash—his whole fortune. Crab took his bond at five percent interest and gave him a letter to a member of parliament.

Roderick completes his journey to Newcastle-upon-Tyne in September 1739, having traveled on a pack-saddle between two baskets carried by the carriers who transport goods on horseback. The tedious and uncomfortable mode of travel leaves him exhausted and benumbed by the cold weather. Determined to proceed no further in such disagreeable conditions, Roderick resolves to continue the remainder of his journey to London on foot rather than endure the difficulty of walking three hundred miles through deep winter roads.

While seeking a barber's services in Newcastle, Roderick encounters Hugh Strap, his old schoolfellow from Scotland, who recognizes him despite the years of separation. The reunion proves emotionally overwhelming for Strap, whose joy at the meeting so discomposes his nerves that he accidentally cuts Roderick three times while shaving. After regaling each other with news of their respective circumstances, they spend the afternoon together, deepening their rekindled friendship.

Strap proposes an alternative to Roderick's planned sea passage, warning against the dangers of a winter voyage along the coast and the uncertainty of winds that might delay him indefinitely. Offering to accompany Roderick on the overland journey, Strap volunteers to carry their baggage and suggests they can take advantage of return horses or wagons along the road for minimal expense. Touched by this generous offer, Roderick accepts warmly, though Strap insists he has saved sufficient funds for his own needs and expects a friend in London to help secure employment for them both.

The two companions set out at daybreak on September 2nd, 1739, each armed with a sturdy cudgel and carrying their supplies in a single shared knapsack. Their money is sewn into the linings and waistbands of their breeches for security, with only loose silver kept accessible for immediate road expenses. They maintain a brisk pace throughout the day but, unfamiliar with the proper stages between towns, find themselves benighted far from any respectable inn.

Compelled by darkness and distance to seek shelter, Roderick and Strap take lodging at a small alehouse situated on a byroad about half a mile from the main highway. Here they encounter a pedlar from Scotland who joins them in a hearty supper of bacon and eggs with good ale before a comfortable fire. The landlord and his buxom daughter Betty entertain them with great good humor, and Roderick feels vain enough to believe he has made some progress in winning the young woman's affection. The three travellers retire for the night to a room furnished with two beds, while the pedlar carefully secures the door with an iron screw and offers prayers before sleeping.

At midnight, Roderick is jolted awake by violent trembling of his bed. His companion Strap is drenched in sweat and trembling through every limb, having discovered that a dangerous highwayman occupies the adjacent room. Strap guides Roderick to a small chink in the board partition through which they can observe a thick-set, brawny fellow with a fierce countenance sitting at a table with Betty, pistols placed before him. The discovery throws both travellers into a state of great alarm.

The highwayman, whose name is Rifle, reveals through his conversation with Betty that he has just missed a substantial prize: four hundred pounds in cash intended to recruit soldiers for the king, along with jewels, watches, swords, and money from passengers. He expresses particular outrage at a coachman named Smack who has betrayed him. Rifle boasts of his other acquisitions that day—a pair of silver-mounted pistols, a gold watch, ten Portugal pieces taken from a Quaker's shoes, and a gold snuffbox with a picture inside, taken from a lady's garment. When the pedlar's loud snoring alerts Rifle to their presence, Betty vouches for the travellers, though Rifle threatens to send them all to destruction before being persuaded to stand down.

Awakened and informed of the danger, the pedlar peeps through the hole in the partition and becomes so terrified that he falls to his knees to pray, promising Heaven to reform his dishonest practices if delivered from present peril. When Rifle and Betty fall asleep and begin snoring in concert, the pedlar quietly unties a rope from his pack, opens the window with great dexterity, and lowers his goods into the yard below. He then bids farewell to Roderick and Strap, bidding them sleep safely and inform the landlord of nothing, before dropping from the window to the ground just a yard below.

The following morning, Betty discovers the pedlar's absence and questions the two remaining guests, who feign ignorance and astonishment while checking their money and the knapsack, finding all secure. Rifle, informed of the escape, dresses in haste and mounts his horse, vowing vengeance against the pedlar for raising the hue and cry against him. Over breakfast, Betty attempts to extract information through cunning questions, but Roderick and Strap maintain their guard. When the sound of horses' feet arrives, the paranoid Strap fears the return of Rifle, though Roderick saves them from suspicion by explaining their timidity as foolish error.

Roderick Random and Strap depart from their hostess, who embraces Roderick tenderly at parting. The pair proceed on their journey, relieved to have escaped their previous troubles. They have walked only about five miles when they spot a horseman approaching rapidly.

The approaching rider reveals himself to be Rifle, the infamous highwayman who has previously vexed them. He demands to know if Roderick recognizes him, but terror has rendered Roderick speechless. Strap falls to his knees in the mud, desperately pleading for mercy while identifying Rifle by name. The highwayman declares that Strap shall never give evidence against him, then fires his pistol at Strap, who drops to the ground. Roderick remains paralyzed with fear as Rifle snaps a second pistol at him.

Before Rifle can prime another shot, a company of armed horsemen in livery appears on the road. Rifle flees on horseback, leaving Roderick standing motionless. The horsemen, led by a captain whose pocket pistols Rifle had stolen the previous day, stop to investigate. The captain discovers Strap's body on the ground and assumes murder has been committed.

When one servant turns Strap's body to examine the wound, he discovers Strap is still warm and breathing. Roderick immediately lets blood from his companion, who revives with great joy, having suffered only a wound inflicted by fear rather than the pistol. Strap can barely stand, so they walk together to an inn about half a mile away, where Strap goes to bed to recover.

The captain, who had pursued the highwayman, soon arrives at the inn after his horse's girth broke during the chase, causing him to fall into the mud. He complains bitterly about his bruises. The servant recommends Roderick, who has medical knowledge, to bleed the captain. Roderick performs this service and is rewarded with half-a-crown.

During the time before dinner, Roderick observes a card game in the inn involving two farmers, an exciseman, and a young curate wearing a rusty gown and cassock. The match is clearly unequal, as the two farmers, who are partners, lose all their cash in short order to what Roderick perceives to be a pair of sharpers. When one farmer questions the game's fairness, the clergyman responds by swearing and asserting his honor.

Roderick is scandalized by the curate's indecent behavior, including his swearing and bawdy songs. To compensate for stripping the farmers, the curate produces a fiddle hidden in his gown lining and plays melodiously while singing. His good humor spreads such glee that the farmers forget their losses, and everyone present begins dancing in the yard.

While dancing, the curate spots a horseman approaching and announces the arrival of "our dog of a doctor." He assists the vicar, a rosy-faced man of about fifty, off his horse with cordial inquiries about his health. The vicar enters the kitchen with great solemnity, calling for ale and a pipe while barely acknowledging the company. When the curate invites him to dinner, the vicar refuses, explaining he must dine at home. After the vicar departs, the curate denounces him as a rascal and complains bitterly about doing all the vicar's work for only twenty pounds yearly while the vicar enjoys two livings worth four hundred pounds per annum.

When dinner is ready, Roderick wakes Strap, and they eat together with the company in great cheerfulness. After the meal, when the reckoning is settled, the curate excuses himself and departs on horseback, leaving the two farmers to satisfy the host as best they can.

The exciseman, who had been silent until now, reveals that Shuffle's trick of departing without paying is well known. He explains that Shuffle acquired scraps of learning while serving young Lord Trifte at university, excels at pimping, and was dismissed for pawning his lordship's clothes. The exciseman, who had been valet-de-chambre to Squire Tattle, helped secure Shuffle's ordination and curacy in exchange for his silence about the lord's conduct. The exciseman admits that Shuffle is a devilish cheat who shifts cards with impossible skill.

When the exciseman departs after paying his own reckoning, the landlord shakes his head and comments that not every sinner receives their deserts. He observes that victuallers must not displease excisemen and suggests that if Parrot Shuffle and the exciseman were weighed together, adding a straw to either scale would tip the balance. He adds that this conversation is "under the rose," meaning it should be kept confidential.

The highwayman Rifle is overtaken by two servants on horseback, his inferior mount having failed him. After discharging his pistols in futile resistance, he is taken prisoner amidst the triumph of country people. At the inn, the once-terrifying Rifle appears pitiful and dejected, filling Strap with enough courage to challenge him to a fight for a guinea—though Roderick dissuades him from this reckless venture.

Despite their desire to depart, Roderick and Strap are detained by the captors to serve as evidence against the imprisoned highwayman. With no alternative but compliance, they join the procession carrying Rifle to a justice of the peace. Their fortunes appear aligned with their intended route as they travel toward the magistrate's village in the twilight hours.

Upon arrival at the justice's residence, they discover the magistrate has departed to visit a gentleman in the country and will not return until morning. Rifle is confined in a garret three stories high, seemingly impossible to escape—yet by morning, the bird has flown. He has emerged through a window onto the roof, traversed the adjoining houses to enter another garret, waited until the household slept, then descended and let himself out through an open street door. The captors' hopes of reward are dashed, but Roderick rejoices at being freed to continue his journey.

Resolving to make amends for their lost time, the travelers push forward with vigor and cover twenty miles before nightfall, reaching a market town without incident. At the inn, Roderick, exhausted from walking, instructs Strap to inquire about carriages bound for London. They learn a Newcastle waggon had passed through two nights prior and can likely be overtaken within a day or two. After a hearty supper of hashed mutton, they retire to a room shared with a recruiting sergeant.

Between two and three in the morning, Roderick is startled awake by a dreadful noise—the sergeant, in his sleep, bellows threats about running halberts through guts and blowing out brains. Strap, bolting from bed in the dark, collides with someone and cries "Fire! murder!"—alarming the entire house. Lights reveal the sergeant, who had dreamed his newly-listed recruits mutinied, lying on the floor in confusion. The commotion brings an absurd assembly: the landlady in her shift and breeches worn backward, her husband wrapped in her petticoat, a drummer with a bolster about his middle, and others draped in blankets and sheets. Order is eventually restored, and the night passes without further disturbance.

Exhausted from their extra exertions, Roderick and Strap arrive at a small village in the twilight and seek lodging. Directed to a humble public-house, they are greeted by a venerable old man with long gray hair, seated by a fire in a neat kitchen. To their surprise, he addresses them in Latin: "Salvete, pueri. Ingredimini." Roderick responds fluently with Horace, delighting their host, who clasps his hand and exclaims "Fili mi dilectissime!"

The host proves to be a schoolmaster whose modest income compels him to keep good liquor for travelers. His daughter, a rosy-cheeked damsel, serves them a bottle of quadrimum—excellent four-year-old ale of the schoolmaster's own brewing. The conversation flows in Latin, and the old man shares his philosophy of life, quoting Horace: he is happiest in the company of his bottle and his beloved Horace edition. His wife rests in heaven, his daughter marries next week, and he has two chief pleasures in life.

The schoolmaster regales his guests with advice and recountings of his own life while his daughter prepares a fowl for supper. They fare sumptuously and drink several bottles of his fine ale, discussing literature and the world. The host assures them they will overtake the London waggon by noon the next day and that sufficient room awaits. Strap, admiring the old man's benevolence, expects their lodging and entertainment will be complimentary—though Roderick, more worldly, reserves judgment until morning.

Morning brings a disappointing reckoning: eight shillings and seven pence. Strap protests the seemingly extortionate bill, but the schoolmaster merely consults his slate and confirms the amount. The itemized bill includes bread, beer, a fowl with sausages, four bottles of quadrimum, fire and tobacco, lodging, and breakfast. When Strap demands a reduction, the daughter slips out and returns with two stout fellows posing as morning patrons but clearly intended to intimidate. Roderick pays the full amount, and departing Strap quotes Horace at the schoolmaster—"Semper avarus eget" (the miser is always wanting)—to which the pedant replies with a malicious smile: "Animum rege, qui, nisi paret, imperat" (rule your passions, for unless they obey, they command).

Strap reproaches the narrator for squandering money, recalling his own hardships as a barber’s boy and boasting that he could have fought the debt collectors. When the narrator offers to bear all expenses alone, Strap is offended, insisting that though he is poor, he has the soul to spend like a gentleman.

After walking all day at a fast pace, the narrator and Strap sight the waggon about a quarter of a mile ahead. Overcome with weariness, they bargain with the driver Joey to ride the remaining distance for a shilling.

As Strap climbs into the waggon, a tremendous voice thunders, “God’s fury! there shall no passengers come here,” freezing both Strap and the narrator with terror.

Terrified by the roar, Strap descends from the waggon with great speed, his face as white as paper, and refuses to re-enter despite Joey’s mocking encouragement.

The narrator enters the dark waggon and takes an empty seat on the straw. Strap follows with the baggage, but a sudden jolt pitches him directly onto the captain’s stomach.

Inside the waggon, the passengers converse in the dark. The captain and his wife lament traveling in such humble conveyance, while Miss Jenny teases them for their affectations and flirts with the old usurer, who responds with a feeble, coughing laugh.

Upon reaching the inn, the passengers alight from the waggon, giving the narrator his first clear view of his fellow travelers.

Miss Jenny is a brisk, airy girl of twenty, wearing a silver-laced hat instead of a cap, a blue riding-suit trimmed with tarnished silver, and carrying a whip.

The old usurer is a limping, decrepit figure in a worsted nightcap and slouched hat, with hollow, gummy eyes and sharp, wrinkled features that meet like nutcrackers when he speaks. He leans on an ivory-headed cane and wears layers of tattered, filthy clothing.

Captain Weazel is revealed to be a small, thin man of forty with a withered baboon-like face, long queue, and disproportionately long legs. Dressed in a bearskin frock, scarlet breeches, and worsted stockings, he carries a sword nearly as long as himself and resembles a spider or grasshopper standing erect.

Captain Weazel demands a private room with a fire for himself and his wife, but the landlord refuses. Miss Jenny objects to his pretensions, suggesting he wait for the other passengers to finish their meal if he insists on dining alone.

Incensed by the captain’s haughty manner, Miss Jenny launches a tirade, calling Mrs. Weazel a “ten-pound sneaker” and “quality-coupler,” and denouncing the captain as a “pitiful, trencher-scraping, pimping curler” who has purchased his commission dishonorably.

After the waggon master mediates the quarrel, the passengers reconcile and sit down to supper together.

At midnight, Strap rises to relieve himself but, in the darkness, mistakes the doors and enters Captain Weazel’s chamber, climbing into what he believes is his own bed.

The captain, having just found a substitute chamberpot and being himself in the dark, mistakes Strap’s rough head for Miss Jenny’s and, scandalized by the perceived assignation, empties the vessel onto the sleeping barber.

Mrs. Weazel, furious at being drenched, strikes the captain repeatedly with the heel of her shoe, berating him as a jealous “man of lath” and a “poor, withered, sapless twig.”

Awakened by the noise, Miss Jenny cries out “Rape! Murder!” accusing the old usurer of attempting to assault her in her sleep, and calling for help.

The servants find the old usurer sprawled on Miss Jenny’s bed, where she holds him by the ears and claims he tried to ruin her. He protests he is innocent, calls her a devil, and threatens to hang himself before she can extort money from him.

The servants arrive with lights to find a diverting tableau: the captain stands shivering in his torn shirt, his wife sobs on the bed covered with the counterpane, the old usurer cowers with his meagre limbs exposed, and Miss Jenny cries violation while holding him fast.

The captain apologizes to his wife, and they are reconciled. Mrs. Weazel is accommodated with Miss Jenny’s bed, the captain sleeps with the waggon master, and the narrator retires to find Strap already gone, having fled in terror during the confusion.

Captain Weazel bursts into the kitchen the next morning with a drawn sword, vowing revenge on whoever attempted to violate his bed. The incensed captain threatens the trembling Strap, who stands behind the narrator. Various attempts at reconciliation fail, and the captain demands either a fight or threatens instant death. When Strap offers to box for a guinea, the captain disdainfully rejects the proposal, insisting it would be beneath a gentleman's dignity to engage in such a manner. Joey interjects, pleading with the captain not to commit murder and suggesting alternatives like cudgeling, which Strap eventually accepts. However, Captain Weazel dismisses this proposal as well, revealing his reluctance to actually fight anyone.

Recognizing the captain's bluster, the narrator invokes the code of honor that allows the challenged party to choose weapons. Offering that Strap would fight at sharps—specifically razors, the tool of his barber's trade—the narrator observes the captain's color change dramatically. Strap urgently whispers for the narrator not to make such a bargain. Recovering himself, the captain turns furiously on the narrator, demanding to know who he is and threatening him with the sword. Springing aside from the blade held within half a foot of his breast, the narrator grabs an iron spit from the chimney corner and successfully defends himself, driving the formidable captain into a corner amid the company's amusement. When the captain's wife enters and screams at the sight of her husband's predicament, a cessation is demanded and granted. The standoff ends with Strap kneeling and begging pardon for the innocent mistake, allowing the company to proceed to breakfast without bloodshed.

At breakfast, Miss Jenny and the usurer Isaac are discovered missing from the company. Mrs. Weazel explains that Miss Jenny spent the night groaning and rose too ill to continue her journey. A message arrives summoning the waggoner to Miss Jenny's chamber, where she lamentably claims she fears a miscarriage caused by last night's fright from Isaac's brutality. The ancient usurer is found hiding in the waggon and dragged before her. Miss Jenny threatens to involve a justice unless paid for the potential consequences. Isaac protests his innocence, explaining his presence in her bed resulted from her own invitation, but Miss Jenny demands one hundred guineas for a release. When Isaac protests his poverty, she reveals she knows him as Isaac Rapine, a money-broker in the Minories. After extensive negotiation, she finally accepts five guineas, which he pays reluctantly rather than face prosecution for rape. Immediately recovered, Miss Jenny joins the waggon, and the company travels peacefully with Strap riding Joey's horse while the driver walks.

On the sixth day, the passengers prepare for dinner when the innkeeper informs them that three newly arrived gentlemen have claimed the reserved victuals, declaring the waggon passengers might be damned and suggesting they dine on bread and cheese. The company convenes to remedy this disappointment, and Miss Jenny proposes that Captain Weazel, as a professional soldier, should protect them from insult. To the amazement of all, the captain refuses, swearing he would not be known to have traveled in a waggon for all the world, and claims he would sooner eat his sword than his provisions if he could appear with honor. Miss Jenny immediately snatches his weapon, runs to the kitchen, and threatens the cook with death unless the meals are served. The commotion brings the three strangers downstairs, where one recognizes Miss Jenny as "Jenny Ramper" and she reciprocates by embracing him as "Jack Rattle," declaring she will dine with them instead. The waggon passengers face an uncomfortable meal until Joey enters the kitchen wielding a pitchfork and swearing to defend their provisions, causing the confrontation to escalate with drawn swords on both sides until the landlord intervenes by offering his own dinner to the strangers, which pacifies everyone.

During the morning and afternoon, Captain Weazel entertains the company with accounts of his supposed valor, including knocking down a soldier who mocked him, tweaking a drawer's nose for criticizing his use of a fork, and challenging a cheesemonger rival. Mrs. Weazel confirms all his stories, adding a tale about receiving a love letter from Squire Gobble and falling ill from eating ortolans while her lord noticed her altered complexion. The captain recounts how he made a witty repartee about Lord Diddle's remark that Mrs. Weazel was breeding. Walking with Joey in the afternoon, the narrator learns from the driver that Miss Jenny is a common prostitute who fell in with a recruiting officer, was abandoned in Newcastle when he was arrested for debt, and now travels by waggon. Joey further reveals that one of the strangers' servants recognized Captain Weazel as having served Lord Frizzle as valet-de-chambre until his lady insisted both Weazel and his mistress be dismissed. To reconcile them gracefully, his lordship arranged for Weazel to marry his mistress and secured him an ensign's commission in the army. Recognizing they share the same low opinion of the captain's courage, Joey proposes testing it with a fake highwayman alarm.

As dusk falls, Joey alerts the waggon to the approaching horseman he suspects might be a highwayman. A general consternation erupts: Strap leaps from the waggon and hides behind a hedge, the usurer rustles suspiciously in the straw, Mrs. Weazel wrings her hands with lamentation, and the captain astonishingly begins to snore. Miss Jenny shakes him awake, calling him a coward and ordering him to behave like a soldier. Weazel pretends anger at being disturbed and swears he will have his nap regardless of highwaymen, though he trembles so violently the carriage shakes. Enraged at his cowardice, Miss Jenny leaps out to defend them herself. The horseman, actually a friend of Joey's in on the scheme, approaches and demands to know who is inside. Isaac pleas for mercy, Mrs. Weazel claims to be a sorrowful wife, and when asked about her husband, she explains he was left sick at the last inn. The stranger then claims to smell a befouled lapdog and seizes Weazel's leg, dragging him from under his wife's petticoats where he had hidden. The exposed captain rubs his eyes, pretends to wake from sleep, and the stranger departs with mocking farewell.

The captain attempts to save face by claiming he knew the stranger and merely lacked time to inquire after his lord and lady. Joey exposes this lie by noting the man was christened John Trotter, not Tom Rinser as the captain claimed, and had merely filled wine for him at Lord Trippett's table. The embarrassed captain attempts another excuse about rarely conversing with people of the stranger's station. Isaac then savagely mocks the captain's performance, noting he behaved like a good Christian, arming himself with patience and resignation rather than weapons and working out his salvation with fear and trembling. This satire produces general mirth at Weazel's expense. When the captain threatens to cut Isaac's throat, the usurer calls upon the company to witness that his life is in danger from the bloody-minded officer and demands he be bound over to the peace. Another round of laughter follows, and the captain remains crestfallen for the remainder of the journey.

Returning to their inn after a long journey, Strap falls ill and must rise in the night to use the privy. Carrying a candle, he returns in horror with his hair standing on end, claiming he has seen the devil. The travelers hear bells approaching their chamber, and a monstrous raven with bells at its feet enters and hops upon their bed, striking them through the blankets with its beak before vanishing. Terrified, they commend themselves to heaven's protection. Soon another apparition appears: an old man with a long white beard and wild eyes, dressed in a brown stuff coat and cap, who wrings his hands and asks in a ghastly voice, "Where is Ralph?" After hearing bells in the distance, the figure departs. Strap falls into a fit while Roderick remains paralyzed with fear. Strap interprets the raven as a damned soul and the old man as the ghost of a murder victim who haunts the inn to torment the killer named Ralpho.

The following morning, Strap recounts the night's terrors to Joey, the driver who has accompanied them. Joey bursts into immoderate laughter and explains that the old man is the landlord's father, an idiot who amuses himself with a tame raven that has escaped and wandered to their chamber. The old man was simply searching for his pet, which he calls Ralpho. With this rational explanation, the supernatural terror dissipates.

After several more days of uneventful travel, Roderick and Strap finally reach London and lodge at the inn where their wagon stops. The next morning, they part from fellow passengers and set out to find the member of parliament to whom Roderick carries a letter of recommendation from Mr. Crab. Having already paid their inn bill, Strap shoulders their baggage in his knapsack and follows Roderick into the city streets, preparing to seek their fortune in the great metropolis.

Roderick has dressed himself to his greatest advantage for this important introduction: he wears a clean ruffled shirt and his best thread stockings. His deep red hair hangs lank and straight upon his shoulders like a pound of candles. His coat has skirts reaching to the middle of his leg, with a matching waistcoat and breeches in the same style. His hat resembles a barber's basin in shallowness and narrowness of brim. Strap appears less awkward but wears a short crop-eared wig resembling the character Scrub from a play, and the knapsack on his back combined with his long chin, hook nose, and high cheek bones give him what is called "a queer phiz." Together they make a very whimsical and comical pair in the London streets.

At Roderick's instruction, Strap approaches a carman in the street to ask directions to Mr. Cringer. The carman responds with a blank stare and the word "Anan!" When Roderick tries to clarify, he proves equally unintelligible to the carman, who curses them as a "lousy Scotch guard" and drives away whipping his horses with a "Gee ho!" Strap is nettled to the quick and declares he would fight the man for a farthing even though the carman has already departed.

While they stand debating their next move by the gutter, a hackney coachman notices them and calls out "A coach, master!" With dextrous reinsmanship, he makes his horses stumble in the wet, splashing mud over both travelers from head to foot. He drives on laughing heartily at the prank, and several passersby join in his amusement at their expense. One compassionate stranger advises them to go into an alehouse to dry themselves, advice they gratefully follow.

Entering the suggested alehouse, they call for beer and clean themselves by the fire. A witty fellow at a nearby box, noting their Scottish accent, approaches with mock gravity and asks how long they have been caught, explaining that their "tail" has not yet been cut. He pulls Roderick's hair and winks at the amused company. Roderick is incensed but afraid to resent this treatment, as the man is brawny and the place unfamiliar. Strap, however, confronts the man for his rudeness to his betters. The wit seizes Strap by the chin and shakes it, asking mockingly if his knapsack contains oatmeal or brimstone. Strap breaks free and boxes the man's ear soundly, creating an audience for a fight. Roderick, heated with indignation, strips and declares he will fight the battle himself since the original affront was offered to him. The spectators approve, calling him a brave Scotch boy who shall have fair play. Roderick strikes his pale-looking adversary hard in the stomach, felling him over a bench. He attempts to pin him down Scottish style but is restrained by the crowd. The man pleads that he is not yet recovered from illness and refuses to continue. Roderick dresses, having won the good opinion of all for his bravery, and receives Strap's congratulatory handshake.

After drying their clothes and finishing their pot, they inquire of the landlord about Mr. Cringer, the member of parliament. The landlord denies knowing him, though the travelers imagined he would be conspicuous in London as in his borough. He suggests they might hear of him as they walk. Spotting a footman at a nearby door, they approach him for directions. Surveying them minutely, the footman claims to know Mr. Cringer well and gives elaborate instructions: turn down the first street on the left, then to the right, then to the left again, find a lane, pass through an alley, and locate the sign of the Thistle and Three Pedlars where he lodges. They thank him and proceed, Strap confidently trusting the man's honest face and good manners. They follow the directions precisely—left, right, left—but instead of a lane, find themselves at the riverside, completely lost.

Exhausted and perplexed, they seek refuge in a small snuff-shop nearby, attracted by the sign of the Highland. Roderick discovers the shopkeeper is a fellow Scot, which fills him with inexpressible satisfaction. Upon hearing of their misadventure and the footman's directions, the tobacconist reveals they have been imposed upon and that Mr. Cringer actually lives in the other end of town, already departed for the House of Parliament. He writes a recommendation for them to an acquaintance who keeps a chandler's shop near St. Martin's Lane.

Following the tobacconist's letter, they take a room up two pair of stairs at a chandler's shop, renting for two shillings per week. The room is so small that when the bed is let down, they must carry out every other piece of furniture and use the bedstead by way of chairs. At dinner time, their landlord asks how they propose to live, explaining there are two ways for people of their condition: the creditable but expensive dining houses frequented by well-dressed people, or "diving," practiced by those who must live frugally. He assures them that many creditable, rich, even fine people dive every day, and has seen well-dressed gentlemen with laced waistcoats dine comfortably for three halfpenny before going to coffeehouses to make a figure with lords.

The landlord offers to introduce them to the practice. He leads them to a certain lane, demonstrates by diving into a cellar and vanishing, and tells them to follow. Roderick descends successfully into the middle of a cook's shop, nearly suffocated by steam from boiled beef. The establishment is filled with hackney coachmen, chairmen, draymen, and footmen out of place or on board-wages, eating shin of beef, tripe, cow-heel, or sausages at separate boards with dirty cloths. Roderick stands uncertain whether to stay or leave.

In his descent, Strap misses a step and tumbles headlong into the ordinary, overturning the cook as she carries soup to a guest. The soup scalds a drummer of the foot-guards sitting nearby, who leaps up and delivers a volley of execrations while dancing in agony. The cook curses Strap, who lies under the table, and applies a salt poultice to the burn, stripping the drummer's stocking and pulling off skin in the process. The drummer's yells intensify, and he seizes a pewter pint pot, squeezing it together with a horrible grin. Roderick orders the salt washed off and oil applied, bringing relief. The cook then demands payment for the ruined pot, but the drummer refuses to pay for anything beyond what he ate, threatening prosecution for damages. Fearing responsibility, Strap promises to satisfy the cook and orders gin for the drummer, which composes all animosities. They then sit down and dine deliciously on shin of beef, their reckoning amounting to twopence halfpenny each, including bread and small beer.

In the afternoon, the narrator and Strap visit Strap's Scottish friend who operates a school in London, teaching Latin, French, and Italian, with a particular focus on English pronunciation through an unconventional method. Despite being under forty, the schoolmaster stoops considerably, his face deeply pockmarked, and he speaks in a dialect the narrator finds nearly unintelligible. Dressed in a plaid night-gown with a sergeant's old sash and a periwig fashionable in Charles II's reign, he receives Strap courteously and, upon learning the narrator's identity, reveals he attended school with the narrator's father. He examines the narrator closely, exclaiming at his disheveled appearance and warning that no Christian would admit such a figure into their house.

The schoolmaster promises his assistance through advice and otherwise, then directs the narrator to a nearby periwig warehouse. He insists the narrator not appear before Mr. Cringer until he has discarded his "carroty locks," which he claims would inspire universal antipathy. Before they depart, the schoolmaster calls the narrator back, warning him to deliver Mr. Crab's letter directly into Mr. Cringer's own hand.

Strap boasts about his ability to procure quality wigs and argues with the merchant so persistently that he is repeatedly asked to leave. Eventually the narrator selects a handsome bob wig for ten shillings. Back at their lodging, Strap removes the narrator's objectionable hair immediately.

Arriving early at Mr. Cringer's door, informed that he conducts business by candlelight before attending his lord's levee, Strap enthusiastically operates the door knocker so loudly that he alarms the entire street. A window above discharges a vessel's contents onto Strap, soaking him to the skin, while the narrator escapes. A stern footman demands to know who made such a noise and, upon learning the narrator's business, slams the door in his face, declaring he must learn better manners. Incensed, the narrator rebukes Strap, who responds by hurling a large stone at the offending house's door, smashing the lock and fled. The narrator pursues him until they find themselves at dawn in an unfamiliar street.

A well-dressed stranger stops to pick up a dropped half-crown and insists it belongs to the narrator. After the narrator verifies his money is complete, the stranger declares it a godsend and proposes equal sharing. Despite the narrator's refusal, the stranger invites them for a warming drink on the cold morning, and Strap's whispered insistence leads to compliance. The stranger reveals his Scottish grandmother, praises the Scots as brave, well-educated, and honest, citing his former servant Gregor Macgregor as an example, which deeply moves the narrator and brings Strap to tears.

Entering a public house, the stranger suggests playing cards to stay awake, proposing whist despite claiming rarely to play. A fourth player joins from the fireside, and after cutting for partners, the narrator and this player win steadily against the stranger and Strap for threepence a game. The narrator grows confident as his luck continues, and stakes escalate. Soon the fortune reverses; the narrator and Strap lose their gains plus forty shillings of their own money. When their antagonists kindly offer another chance, Strap wisely advises departure, but the stranger who lost challenges the narrator to piquet for a crown. The narrator accepts, and within an hour loses every shilling he possesses, with Strap refusing to lend him anything.

The remaining gentleman expresses sorrow at the narrator's devastating loss, noting he had tried to signal the narrator to stop but was too absorbed in the game to notice. He questions Strap's honesty based on suspicious behavior but accepts the narrator's defense of his companion's anxiety. After paying the eighteenpence reckoning, the gentleman departs warmly, leaving the narrator bereft of all money and overwhelmed with grief.

On the walk to their lodging, Strap laments their terrible fortune, moralising about the value of prudence, and clarifies that when he earlier referred to a fool, he meant only himself. Once they reach their lodging, Strap, moved by the narrator's despair, gives him his entire life savings (two half-guineas and half a crown) to support him, refusing to take the money back and insisting it is more appropriate for the gentleman narrator to rely on him than the reverse. The narrator is deeply touched by Strap's selfless generosity.

The pair inform their landlord of the robbery they suffered, and he reveals they were targeted by a criminal "money-dropper" and his accomplices, who trick strangers into accompanying them to isolated locations to be robbed, and recounts other cases of similar fraud and violence in London. When they tell the landlord about their failed attempt to seek help from Member of Parliament Mr. Cringer, the landlord explains that MPs require bribes to assist constituents, and their servants expect payment for granting access. He advises the narrator to bribe Cringer's footman a shilling the next time he visits to ensure he is admitted.

The next morning, the narrator follows the landlord's advice, slipping a shilling to Cringer's footman when he presents his letter of introduction from Mr. Crab. The bribe works immediately: the footman lets him in and takes his letter, telling him to wait in a cold side passage for a response. The narrator waits 45 minutes in the unheated space, watching several other Scottish men he knows from home pass freely into Cringer's audience chamber, while he hides his face to avoid being recognised in his shabby, unfashionable clothing.

When Cringer finally emerges, he is greeting the wealthy, well-dressed Squire Gawky warmly, shaking his hand and inviting him to dinner. When he turns to the narrator, he pretends to struggle to remember his name, then dismisses his request for a surgeon's mate warrant by claiming there is already a large crowd of Scottish surgeons waiting at the Navy Office for the next vacancy, and that the commissioners have even requested a guard for protection. He vaguely promises to help when new ships are commissioned, leaving the narrator deeply mortified at the cold, dismissive reception from the former footman of his grandfather's household, who has risen to become a wealthy MP.

When the narrator returns to their lodging after the disappointing meeting with Cringer, he learns that Strap has found paid employment: on the recommendation of his schoolmaster friend, a local periwig-maker has hired Strap, paying him five shillings a week plus room and board.

Over the next fortnight, the narrator continues attending Cringer's morning levees every other day, without making progress on his warrant request. One morning, Cringer greets a visiting gentleman with extreme deference, bowing low, calling him a good friend, and asking after his wife and daughters. After a whispered conversation, Cringer introduces the stranger to the narrator as Mr. Staytape, a person who can assist with his request, gives the narrator Staytape's contact details, and tells him he no longer needs to call at Cringer's house, as Staytape will handle his business.

As the narrator leaves Cringer's house, a fellow Scottish surgeon who also relies on Cringer's patronage approaches him in the street, having overheard their exchange. The man is dressed in very fine, fashionable clothing, and after learning the narrator's situation, offers to give him advice, as he has personal experience navigating the process of securing a Navy surgeon's warrant.

The fellow dependent takes the narrator to a nearby alehouse, where he explains the official process required to obtain a surgeon's mate warrant: first, the applicant must write to the Navy Board requesting a letter directing them to Surgeons' Hall for an examination of their surgical skills. After passing the exam, the surgeons will issue a sealed qualification letter addressed to the Board's commissioners, which the applicant must deliver to the Board's secretary to be opened and read in their presence. The applicant must then use their connections to secure a post as quickly as possible.

The fellow dependent reveals the full cost of his own qualification: 13 shillings for the Surgeons' Hall exam, plus half a guinea and half a crown for the warrant itself, plus a 3-pound, 12-shilling bribe for the Board secretary. The narrator is horrified by this news, as his entire remaining fortune amounts to only 12 shillings, far less than the amount required to proceed.

The fellow dependent offers to lend the narrator the money he needs once he receives his own upcoming payment, and asks the narrator to lend him five shillings for pocket expenses in the meantime. The narrator, grateful for the offer, agrees and empties his entire remaining purse for the stranger. When the narrator later tells Strap about the encounter, Strap expresses reservations about lending money to an unknown stranger given their recent experience with fraud, though he notes that if the man is indeed Scottish, the risk may be lower.

The narrator arrives at the pre-arranged meeting place two hours early and waits two hours in vain for his acquaintance (later identified as Bean Jackson) to arrive. Furious at the broken appointment, he travels alone to London’s Navy Office to seek out Jackson and confront him for his breach of promise.

The narrator enters the Navy Office, where he sees crowds of young men, many with similarly modest appearances to his own. He approaches a young man whose countenance he likes and asks for guidance on the correct format for the letter required to request an examination order from the Navy Board.

The young man, who speaks broad Scots, shows the narrator a copy of a letter he wrote for himself to submit to the Board, created per guidance from someone familiar with the required form. He tells the narrator that if he is quick, he can submit his letter to the Board before it breaks for the day, as the Board does not conduct business in the afternoons.

The Scottish clerk accompanies the narrator to a nearby coffee house, where the narrator writes the required letter. He delivers the letter to the Board’s messenger, who informs him he can expect an official order in response by the same time the following day.

After completing his business at the Navy Office, the narrator thanks the Scottish clerk (identified as Thompson) for his help and agrees to dine with him at the cook’s shop the narrator regularly frequents. On their way to the meal, they stop at the Royal Exchange, where the narrator fails to find Jackson. He shares details of Jackson’s broken appointment with Thompson, who reveals Jackson’s reputation at the Navy Office, where he is nicknamed “Bean Jackson”: he is known as a good-natured but careless man who borrows freely from anyone willing to lend, with most acquaintances believing he has good core intentions but is so extravagant he will likely never be able to prove his honesty. Thompson also discloses that Jackson took out a predatory loan to fund his naval equipment, signing a will that grants the lender access to his wages and inheritance if he dies, with 50% interest on small advances, and his credit is now nearly exhausted. The narrator worries about recovering the five shillings he lent Jackson, but does not give up hope of doing so.

Thompson shares that he passed for third mate of a third-rate warship four months prior, and has attended the Navy Office daily since in hopes of a warrant, after being promised the first available vacancy by a Scottish MP and a Navy Board commissioner, though he has seen six or seven other men appointed to the same role nearly every week. He is now impoverished, and his only hope is a friend’s promised loan to bribe the secretary, as he believes he would otherwise wait a thousand years for a warrant. The narrator feels a strong connection to Thompson due to their similar misfortunes, and they spend the full day together; the narrator invites Thompson, who lives in Wapping, to share his bed that night. The next day, they return to the Navy Office, where the narrator is questioned by the Board about his place of birth and education, then receives an official letter to Surgeons’ Hall after paying a half-crown clerk fee. He delivers the letter to the Surgeons’ Hall clerk, along with a one-shilling registration fee, leaving him with only two shillings total to his name, with no clear way to cover the upcoming examination fees or basic living costs.

With no clear path to cover his costs, the narrator consults Strap, who offers to pawn every item he owns, even his razors, to support the narrator. The narrator rejects this offer, stating he would rather enlist as a soldier than continue being a burden to Strap.

Strap grows pale with fear at the mention of the narrator enlisting as a soldier, and begs on his knees for him to abandon the idea. He delivers an emotional speech arguing that soldiering would risk the narrator being shot by Spanish forces, that a modest, honest life as a barber is far preferable to risking a violent early death for riches and fame, and that if the narrator dies as a soldier, Strap will have both his own blood and the narrator’s to answer for, plus the blood of anyone the narrator kills in battle. He begs the narrator to choose modest peace over despair that would risk both their souls. The narrator laughs at the earnest speech, delivered with tears in Strap’s eyes, and promises he will not enlist as a soldier without Strap’s consent. Strap is comforted, says he will give the narrator his week’s wages when he receives them in a few days, and advises the narrator to search for Jackson to try to recover the five shillings he lent him in the meantime.

The narrator searches for Jackson across London for several days with no success. One day, when he is extremely hungry and drawn by the smell of food from a basement cooking cellar, he goes down for a twopenny portion of beef, only to find Jackson dining there with a footman. Jackson greets him warmly, says he intended to visit the narrator’s lodgings that afternoon, and apologizes for missing their appointment. The narrator, pleased by the warm welcome and apology, forgets his anger, sits down to eat, and hopes to both recover his five shillings and get the loan Jackson previously promised to help him pay his examination fees.

After finishing their meal, Jackson leaves the footman and goes with the narrator to a nearby ale house. He admits his behavior looks bad, but claims he missed the appointment because he received a mandatory summons from a wealthy woman he is secretly engaged to marry, who has a £5,000 fortune plus additional financial expectations. He says he does not know what the woman sees in him, but he does not want to miss such a rare good opportunity. He explains the footman he was dining with introduced him to the woman’s maid, who is the footman’s mistress, and Jackson has given them both money over time. He tells the narrator the wedding date is already set, and shows him a letter from his fiancée to prove his claims.

Jackson shares the love letter from his fiancée, which is written in extremely broken, nonsensical English. The narrator says he cannot determine if the letter is sublime or not, as it is entirely beyond his comprehension, and Jackson laughs, calling the letter both tender and sublime, and praising his fiancée as a divine creature who can recite all English tragedies and loves theater so much she has taken lodgings near a theater to be close to the stage. Jackson then asks the narrator’s advice on whether he should buy a government post to rise in social status or use his wife’s fortune to buy land and retire to the country immediately after the wedding. He also mentions he had planned to visit France before settling down, and wants to take his wife with him on the trip.

Jackson tells the narrator the only obstacle to the wedding is a lack of ready cash: his lender has left town, he missed his pay in Broad Street because he was detained with his fiancée, and his next pay is coming in Chatham the following week, to be collected by a friend he commissioned there. He says he has many rivals who would take advantage of any delay, so he cannot wait even a few days for the money. He asks the narrator if he knows anyone who would lend him a small sum, and when the narrator says he does not, Jackson notices the narrator’s fine linen shirt and asks how many of similar quality he owns. The narrator says he has six ruffled and six plain shirts of that quality, and Jackson claims no gentleman needs more than four, then proposes pawning half of the narrator’s shirts to raise the cash he needs, calculating the pawn value would come to £3 4s, which would be enough. The narrator refuses, demanding Jackson first pay back the crown he owes him before discussing pawning his shirts.

Jackson swears he only has one shilling in his pocket, but will pay the narrator back from the money raised by pawning the shirts. The narrator refuses to pawn any of his shirts, and suggests Jackson pawn his own hanger (sword) instead to raise the money. Jackson initially refuses, saying he cannot appear in public without his hanger, but when the narrator remains inflexible about the shirts, he unbuckles his hanger, shows the pawnbroker’s three blue ball mark, and asks the narrator to pawn it for two guineas. The narrator goes to the pawnbroker, who recognizes the hanger as one he has held before for 30 shillings, but agrees to lend two guineas since he believes the owner will redeem it. The narrator brings the money back to Jackson, and gives him 37 shillings, keeping the remaining five shillings for himself as repayment of the crown Jackson owed him.

Jackson looks at the money, says it is not enough for his needs, and tells the narrator he can take an extra half guinea or full guinea on top of the five shillings he kept as repayment. The narrator initially refuses, saying he has no way to repay the extra money, but Jackson calls him naive for refusing to borrow from a friend in need, says it is a sign of a weak spirit, and insists the narrator take the extra money. The narrator accepts, and Jackson offers to treat him to a play as thanks. The narrator returns to his lodgings with a much better opinion of Jackson than he had that morning.

That night, the narrator tells Strap about his day’s events and the money he received from Jackson. Strap rejoices, and rambles about his own romantic ambitions, saying he once shaved a gentleman whose female companion gave him such adoring looks that his hand shook so much he cut the gentleman’s nose. He compares himself favorably to a journeyman baker who ran away with a wealthy lady and now keeps a coach, saying a barber is a more noble profession than a baker since the head is more important than the belly, and notes he can read, write, and speak Latin unlike the uneducated baker. The narrator teases Strap for his obvious vanity, and Strap insists his good fortune will come to light despite the narrator’s doubt.

The narrator arrives at Surgeons' Hall for his examination with trembling fear. He encounters Mr. Jackson, who explains he is attempting to obtain his qualification as a backup plan while awaiting news from a romantic attachment. The narrator observes nervous candidates emerging from the examination, who gladly recount their experiences. When called before the examiners, the narrator faces Mr. Snarler, who berates him for his Scottish origins and short apprenticeship of only three years. A kind, corpulent gentleman intervenes and examines him on the trepan operation, appearing satisfied with his answers. A witty examiner then asks increasingly absurd questions about amputating a severed head and treating intestinal wounds, leading to a heated dispute between two examiners over medical authority and reason. The narrator receives his qualification, pays his fees, and leaves nearly penniless with only thirteen-pence halfpenny remaining.

After the examination, Jackson has dramatically transformed his appearance. He now wears an old, disheveled wig, a slouched hat, a black crape neck decoration, and a shabby greatcoat. His white silk stockings have been replaced with black worsted hose, and he has painted wrinkles and a beard on his face to appear older and more respectable. He explains that this disguise was designed to attract respect through the appearance of age. However, during his examination, either his peculiar appearance excited excessive curiosity or his behavior did not match his assumed elderly demeanor. The examiners detect that he is an imposter, and he is led away as a prisoner to be sent to Bridewell. Jackson pleads with the narrator and others to witness his identity as John Jackson, former surgeon's second mate on the HMS Elizabeth.

The narrator and his companions successfully plead Jackson's cause with the beadle, who is mollified with a half-crown bribe. Jackson is released and, vowing to spend all his money since the examination board refused it, treats everyone to punch at a friend's tavern. The drinking continues until about ten o'clock at night, when the narrator becomes intoxicated and demands female company. Jackson leads the group to a night-house, where his peculiar dress attracts the attention of several women to whom he treats arrack punch. When the bill arrives, amounting to twelve shillings, Jackson discovers his purse has been stolen.

Upon discovering the theft, Jackson threatens the two women sitting beside him and accuses the landlady, Mrs. Harridan, of robbery. The landlady counters by charging Jackson with scandalizing her reputation and assault. One of the women, offended by the narrator's remarks, declares they are all complicit, and the constable arrests everyone. They are transported to the round-house as prisoners. Jackson reports his robbery to the constable, who reveals that Mrs. Harridan runs a notorious establishment protected by corrupt justices who receive quarterly payments. The constable warns that without settling the matter, they could face hard labor in Bridewell or even trial at the Old Bailey. The constable arranges an arbitration, fining each party three shillings for a bowl of punch that restores peace. When the bowl is finished, the constable explains that only the justice can discharge prisoners.

The group is escorted to a justice's house near Covent Garden at about nine o'clock. The justice immediately assumes they are thieves and greets them with hostility. He mistakes the narrator for a transported criminal named Patrick Gaghagan, despite the narrator's protests. When Jackson attempts to correct the justice, he is threatened with being called a notorious felon. The terrified Jackson falls silent, which the justice interprets as proof of guilt. However, after speaking privately with the constable and learning the truth, the justice adopts a different demeanor. He explains that terrifying young people upon their first appearance before him is his usual practice to deter them from future riot and debauchery. After cloaking his initial error under this pretense of paternal concern, the justice dismisses them all, leaving the narrator immensely relieved.

The narrator accompanies his companions to deliver their qualification letters at the Navy Office before one o'clock. He discovers he is qualified to serve as second mate of a third-rate ship, which pleases him greatly. The group asks the secretary about vacancies, but receives a curt "No!" in response. When the narrator inquires about ships being put in commission soon, the secretary regards him with utter contempt before pushing them out and locking his office door without further comment.

After leaving the Navy Office, the narrator learns that his companions had been recommended to various commissioners and promised first consideration for vacancies. However, they explain that none rely solely on such interest—they have prepared bribes for the secretary, as some commissioners share in these payments. When asked what he intends to give, the narrator faces an uncomfortable situation: he lacks the means to offer anything, having barely enough to survive. He slips away toward his lodging, cursing his grandfather's harshness and his relatives' stinginess that have left him vulnerable to contempt and poverty.

Upon returning to his lodging, the narrator finds his landlord relieved—he had feared some terrible accident. Strap, who visited that morning and learned the narrator had been out all night, was nearly frantic with worry. After obtaining permission from his master, Strap set out to find his friend despite knowing almost nothing about London. The narrator fabricates a story about meeting an acquaintance at Surgeons' Hall to explain his absence. Later that afternoon, Strap arrives at the chamber, having searched Surgeons' Hall, the Navy Office, and 'Change without success before resorting to stopping people on the street to inquire about the narrator.

While Strap desperately asks every passerby about the narrator, he endures mockery and curses. An apprentice blacksmith overhears Strap questioning a porter and asks if the person he seeks is Scottish. Strap eagerly confirms and describes the narrator's brown coat with long skirts. The blacksmith cruelly jokes that he saw this man heading toward Tyburn in a cart, implying he might be hanged. The taunt enrages Strap, who calls the blacksmith a scoundrel and declares he will fight him over a half-farthing wager.

The blacksmith refuses Strap's monetary offer, declaring he will fight him "for love." A crowd quickly gathers around them. Strap removes his outer clothes for safekeeping and attacks with great violence, quickly exhausting himself. The blacksmith withstands the assault calmly before counterattacking with such force that Strap suffers three falls on the hard pavement and concedes defeat. After the victory, the blacksmith suggests they share drinks, but Strap discovers his shirt, neckcloth, hat, and wig have been stolen by onlookers during the fight. He escapes with great difficulty, bloodied and filthy, to find the narrator.

Strap appears before the narrator covered in blood and dirt, having lost his possessions to thieves who took advantage of the fight's distraction. His joy at finding the narrator safe overwhelms any concern for his misfortune, and he nearly suffocates him with embraces. After cleaning up and borrowing one of the narrator's shirts and a woollen nightcap, Strap listens to the narrator's account of the previous night's adventures with amazement. The two share a meager meal of milk and bread, and Strap divides his remaining eighteen-pence with the narrator before leaving to borrow a wig and hat from his friend the schoolmaster.

Alone after Strap departs, the narrator reflects painfully on his dependence on the poor barber's boy. His pride stings him as he reviews possible schemes for self-support. With no hope of succeeding at the Navy Office, he resolves to enlist in the foot-guards the following day, whatever the consequences. The imagined glory of military service pleases him, and he fancies himself charging at the enemy at the head of his regiment, until Strap's return interrupts these martial fantasies.

Strap returns with a gift from the schoolmaster—a wig and an enormous hat that had been reduced to a more manageable size. As Strap works on the garments, he delivers a rambling speech about their respective stations, noting their distant kinship through an amusingly confused genealogical explanation. When the narrator's impatience prompts him to demand the point, Strap reveals that the schoolmaster has spoken on his behalf to a French apothecary seeking a journeyman. The position offers fifteen pounds annually plus room and board. The narrator seizes upon this opportunity immediately, demanding to be taken to the apothecary without delay.

The narrator and Strap find the schoolmaster at a nearby public house with the apothecary himself. The schoolmaster jokes about the narrator's eagerness to escape through the window. The apothecary, Mr. Lavement, is a peculiar figure: a small, withered old man with an extremely low forehead, an upturned nose, prominent cheekbones, and loose, wrinkled skin. His mouth constantly contracts into a grin, revealing only four yellow fangs. Despite these eccentricities, he welcomes the narrator cordially, offers him beer, and tells him to come to his house the next morning.

The narrator visits the apothecary's establishment the following morning, where he accepts the journeyman position with its compensation of fifteen pounds per year plus lodging and meals. He plans to conceal his previously-acquired French language skills, gained while serving under Crab, hoping to overhear potentially useful or amusing information from the French household. The schoolmaster then arranges for a tailor to provide the narrator with clothes on credit and supplies him with a new hat, both to be paid from his first wages.

Strap transports the narrator's belongings to his new quarters: a back room on the third floor. The room contains only a pallet bed, a backless chair, a bottle repurposed as a candlestick, and a small triangular mirror. Its remaining furnishings have been moved to a garret to accommodate an Irish captain's servant on the floor below. Despite the meager accommodations, the narrator looks forward to soon appearing respectably dressed in his new clothes, marking a fresh beginning despite the humble circumstances.

Introduces the core Lavement family dynamics: Mr. Lavement is a French refugee working as an apothecary, married to an English wife of strong, sharp character, and they have a single, well-dressed, attractive daughter set to inherit a large fortune that has drawn many suitors. The family is rife with unspoken tension: Mr. Lavement’s extreme stinginess derailed two of his daughter’s past marriage matches, causing her to withhold filial respect from him; his wife resents his refusal to fund the matches and shares her daughter’s contempt for English people, while also viewing her daughter as a romantic rival, particularly for the affections of Captain O’Donnell, a lodger in the house. Mr. Lavement is privately deeply jealous of his wife’s attentions to the captain.

Covers the narrator’s first interaction with the Lavement daughter, who visits the apothecary shop under the pretense of needing a vial, then gives him a silent look of disdain after observing him. Kitchen maids inform the narrator of her background: her two failed marriage proposals were ruined by her father’s refusal to contribute any money to the matches, which is why she treats her father with little respect. They also reveal her mother is a sharp-tempered matron who abuses her servants, loves social outings, and sees her daughter as a rival, and that the mother’s refusal to support her daughter’s matches is the true reason they fell through. The narrator also notes Mr. Lavement’s strained, resentful grins at his wife and jealous behavior around Captain O’Donnell.

Details the narrator’s changing dynamic with the Lavement daughter. For the first six days of his employment, the narrator is treated as a menial servant, ignored by both the mother and daughter, until he overhears the daughter complain at dinner that her father would hire such an awkward, lowly journeyman. Offended, he dresses in his best new clothes the following Sunday and goes out for leisure. When he returns home, the daughter does not recognize him, curtsies to him, and he returns a deep bow before she realizes her mistake. Embarrassed, she retreats muttering the insult "creature!" but soon begins visiting the shop dozens of times a day under flimsy pretexts, clearly attempting to win his attention. The narrator, however, is hardened by pride and resentment and rejects all her advances. Spurned, the daughter turns hostile, making false complaints to her father and assigning him humiliating tasks; when she orders him to brush her father’s coat and he refuses, she bursts into tears, and her mother sides with the narrator solely to mortify her daughter. The narrator realizes the mother views her daughter as a rival for Captain O’Donnell’s affection.

Describes Mr. Lavement’s work as an apothecary and his failed household proposal. The narrator’s diligence and skill win Mr. Lavement’s approval, with the master often praising him in French as a good young man. Mr. Lavement’s clientele is mostly fellow French refugees, so his profits are modest, but he saves significantly on medicine costs because he is a master of creating cheap substitutes for expensive apothecary preparations: he can turn oyster shells into crab’s eyes, common oil into sweet almond oil, Thames water into cinnamon water, and disguise ordinary medicines with cochineal and clove oil to hide their true nature from patients. He has repeatedly tried to convince his family to adopt a vegetarian diet, arguing for the benefits of vegetables and against meat consumption as both a physician and philosopher, but no one in the household supports the idea, including his wife.

Recounts an outing by Mrs. Lavement that sparks Mr. Lavement’s jealous outburst. One afternoon, while Mr. Lavement is out and his daughter is visiting friends, Mrs. Lavement orders the narrator to hire a hackney coach for her and Captain O’Donnell to go to Covent Garden. She returns late in the evening, and when Mr. Lavement arrives home at 11 PM and learns she has not yet returned, he panics. When a patient’s servant arrives with a prescription, he prepares the medicine himself, and flies into a jealous rage upon learning his wife is out with the captain, smashing a glass mortar to pieces and muttering insults about her treachery. Mrs. Lavement returns shortly after, claiming the captain treated her to a play, and Mr. Lavement quickly switches to polite, formal French to greet the captain to avoid further conflict.

Notes the narrator’s improved standing in the Lavement household. After learning the family’s private secrets, the narrator’s daily life becomes far more pleasant. As he gains more familiarity with London society and polishes his manners, he sheds his earlier awkwardness and earns a reputation as a polite, capable journeyman apothecary.

One night at about twelve o'clock, while returning from visiting a patient at Chelsea, the narrator received a blow on the head from an unseen hand that stretched him senseless on the ground. He was left for dead with three sword stabs in his body. When he recovered, the groans he uttered alarmed the people of a solitary alehouse nearby, who took him in and summoned a surgeon. The surgeon dressed his wounds and assured him they were not mortal. One wound penetrated through the skin and muscles of one side of his belly, another slanted along one of his ribs, and the third, directed to his heart, snapped upon his breastbone with the point remaining sticking in the skin.

Upon reflection, the narrator could not believe he had been assaulted by a common footpad, since such people typically murder only when they meet resistance, and he found his money safe. He concluded he must have been either mistaken for another or attacked by a private enemy. Remembering no one with cause for complaint except Captain O'Donnell and his master's daughter, his suspicion settled upon them, though he concealed his suspicions to sooner arrive at confirmation.

When the narrator returned home in a chair about ten o'clock in the morning, the chairman supported him into the house, where he met Captain O'Donnell in the passage. The captain started back upon seeing him and displayed evident signs of guilty confusion. The narrator's master had him carried upstairs to bed. Later, while in his chamber, the master's daughter visited, expressing sympathy and asking if he suspected anyone. When he fixed his eyes upon her and answered "Yes," she displayed no confusion but suggested he take out a warrant, even offering to lend him money. Her frankness cured him of suspicion regarding her and staggered his belief concerning the captain. The narrator pretended uncertainty about the identity of his attacker, fearing the captain might flee before he could be in condition to requite him. After two days, he was able to do business again. His first step toward confirming his secret enemy was to examine O'Donnell's sword while the captain was abroad. The broken point of the sword exactly matched the fragment found sticking in his body, leaving no room for doubt. All that remained was to devise a scheme of revenge.

For eight nights and days, the narrator's meditation focused on revenge. He considered killing O'Donnell outright but his honour opposed this as cowardice. He thought of demanding honorable satisfaction but dismissed this due to uncertainty of the outcome and the nature of the injury. At last he determined upon a middle course. Having secured the assistance of Strap and two of his acquaintances, they provided themselves with disguises. The narrator composed a letter signed with the name of an apothecary's wife in Chelsea, of whom O'Donnell was known to be an admirer, inviting him to visit while her husband was away at Bagshot. The letter was delivered by one of their associates in livery on a Sunday evening. Everything succeeded as planned. The captain hastened to the appointed place, where he was encountered at the very spot where he had assaulted the narrator. They rushed upon him together, secured his sword, stripped off his clothes, and scourged him with nettles until he was blistered from head to foot, despite all his tears and supplications. When satisfied with the stripes, they carried off his clothes, hid them in a nearby hedge, and left him naked to find his way home.

The narrator arrived home before O'Donnell. On his way to a friend's lodgings, O'Donnell was picked up by the watch and carried to the round-house, from whence he sent for clothes to his lodgings. The next morning he arrived at the door in a chair, wrapped in a borrowed blanket, his body so sore and swollen that he could not bear wearing his own clothes. He was treated with tenderness by the mistress and her daughter, who vied in their care and attendance. Mr. Lavement could not forbear expressing his joy by malicious grins while ordering the narrator to prepare an unguent for O'Donnell's sores. The story of O'Donnell's attack and stripping appeared in the news, and those who found his clothes retrieved everything except a few letters, including the one the narrator had written in the apothecary's name. These letters, all concerning love, fell into the hands of a female author famous for scandal, who embellished them and published them. The Chelsea apothecary commenced a lawsuit against the printer for defamation. As soon as the pamphlet appeared, the ladies' care of their patient diminished considerably until it ended in total neglect. Conscious of deserving worse than contempt, O'Donnell was glad to come off so cheaply and muttered curses and threats against the apothecary, whom he imagined had taken revenge. By the time he had healed, his character had become so notorious that he decided to decamp. He retreated in one night without announcement, having robbed his own servant of everything belonging to him except the clothes he wore.

A few days after O'Donnell disappeared, Mr. Lavement took custody of a large old trunk O'Donnell had left, which was very heavy. He assumed the contents would indemnify him for what O'Donnell owed for lodging. After a month without news of the adventurer, the master ordered the trunk to be broken open in his presence. The narrator performed this task with the pestle of their great mortar and discovered, to his inexpressible astonishment and mortification, nothing but a heap of stones.

At this time, Strap informed the narrator of an offer to go abroad with a gentleman as a valet de chambre. He assured the narrator that whatever advantage he might propose, he could not bear the thoughts of parting from him, so attached was he to the narrator's fortune. Despite all the obligations the narrator owed to this honest fellow, ingratitude was so natural to his heart that he began to be tired of Strap's acquaintance. Having contracted other friendships that appeared more creditable, he was even ashamed to see a journeyman barber inquiring after him with the familiarity of a companion. On pretense of consulting Strap's welfare, the narrator insisted he accept the proposal. With great reluctance, Strap embraced it and in a few days took his leave, shedding floods of tears that the narrator could not behold without emotion.

Now the narrator began to regard himself as a gentleman in reality. He learned to dance, frequented plays during holidays, became the oracle of an ale-house where every dispute was referred to his decision, and at length contracted an acquaintance with a young lady who made a conquest of his heart. After much attendance and solicitation, he prevailed upon her to give him a promise of marriage. As this beautiful creature passed for a rich heiress, the narrator blessed his good fortune and was actually on the point of crowning all his wishes by matrimony.

When the narrator was actually on the point of crowning his wishes by matrimony, he made a discovery that effectually turned him from his design, and he abandoned all thoughts of marriage for the future.

Squire Gawky takes lodging at Mr. Lavement's house, the apothecary with whom the narrator works. By this time, Gawky has obtained a lieutenant's commission in the army and bears a martial appearance. The narrator recognizes him from a previous encounter in Scotland, where Gawky had broken an appointment with him. However, Gawky shows no sign of recognition at seeing the narrator, who feels relieved but knows that beneath the changed exterior, Gawky remains the same deceitful character.

One night, the narrator returns home late from a patient's house and hears a disturbance in the street. He discovers two gentlemen being held by three watchmen—one appears to be a Scotchman who is badly treated, his hat and wig missing. Driven by patriotism for his native country, the narrator strikes the watchman holding the Scotchman with his cudgel. The man immediately runs away, leaving the narrator to face the consequences alone. The narrator receives a blow to his eye that nearly blinds him. When he reaches home, he learns that Captain Gawky has been robbed and abused by footpads and requires medical treatment.

The narrator realizes that Gawky, who came home without his hat and wig, was the very man he rescued. The next day, after hearing Gawky tell elaborate lies about his own bravery in escaping the footpads, the narrator exposes the truth before Mr. and Mrs. Lavement and their daughter. He produces his bruised eye as evidence and accuses Gawky of cowardice and ingratitude. Gawky is struck speechless, but the mistress reprimands the narrator and threatens to dismiss him. Gawky then recovers his composure and, with pretended magnanimity, forgives the "mistake." The apothecary, more perceptive than his family, privately remarks that his wife and daughter are "diablement sage" while Gawky is merely a braggart.

Miss Lavement skillfully cultivates Gawky's affection as a new lodger, and within a fortnight, they elope together to the Fleet for marriage under the pretense of attending the theatre. They return the next morning to seek their parents' blessing. The prudent apothecary and his wife accept the hasty match: the father is pleased to have his daughter married to a young man of good prospects who says nothing about dowry, while the mother is glad to be rid of a rival and spy.

The narrator's exposure of Gawky's adventure and his accusations have deeply stung Gawky, who bears a grudge and shares his indignation with his new wife. Mrs. Gawky is equally desirous to destroy someone who not only slighted her embraces but also knows damaging particulars about her character. They readily join together in a conspiracy that, had it succeeded, would have brought the narrator to an ignominious death.

Mr. Lavement repeatedly discovers large quantities of medicines missing and accuses the narrator of embezzling them for his own use. When the narrator can offer only his word in defense, the apothecary demands the key to his chest. In a fury, the narrator tears open his eyes weeping, which is taken as a sign of guilt. He surrenders the key, and the apothecary, accompanied by the whole family, opens the chest to find a handful of the missing medicines inside. Everyone present condemns the narrator, and Mrs. Gawky proposes committing him immediately to Newgate.

Despite the narrator's protestations that Gawky has framed him, Mrs. Gawky spits in his face and threatens to leave if her father does not prosecute him. The narrator vows revenge, threatening to slit Gawky's nose when opportunity arises, which so terrifies the household that Gawky and his father-in-law tumble down the stairs together. Mr. Lavement, though unwilling to prosecute due to the cost and trouble, dismisses the narrator from his house. The narrator seeks help from the schoolmaster and other acquaintances, but his story has spread through the servants' gossip, and no one will hear him. He finds himself worse off than ever—his reputation ruined, money gone, friends alienated, and his body afflicted with disease.

The narrator stores his clothes at a former lodging place while he searches for a new position, hoping Mr. Concordance might help clear his name. However, Lavement has anticipated him and poisoned everyone against him. Even the schoolmaster refuses to listen, declaring he will trust no man and will be looked upon as the narrator's accomplice if he associates with him. Unable to vindicate himself, the narrator hires a cheap garret apartment near St. Giles's for ninepence per week.

While sitting alone in his garret contemplating his misfortunes, the narrator hears a groan from the adjacent chamber. He rushes in to find a woman stretched on a miserable truckle bed, apparently lifeless. When he revives her with a smelling bottle, he discovers she is the very lady who once captured his heart and whom he had expected to marry. Her situation is deplorable—she confesses she had a base design against him and is now dying from a dangerous illness that has made her repulsive to herself and others. An advertising doctor has fleeced her of all her money and abandoned her three days ago in worse condition than before. She has pawned or sold everything she owned and now faces being turned out into the street.

The narrator immediately forgives her past intentions against him and pledges to share his last resources with her. He runs downstairs to procure cinnamon water while applying remedies to revive her. She recovers and reveals she has not eaten for forty-eight hours. After restoring her with mulled wine and a toast, he proposes that she lodge in the same room with him to save expense, and he offers to cure her affliction using his own medical knowledge. She accepts with gratitude and proves to be not only an agreeable companion who alleviates his melancholy but also a faithful nurse. When the narrator expresses surprise that a woman of her beauty, sense, and education could fall so low, she replies that these very advantages were the cause of her undoing, prompting the narrator to request the full particulars of her story.

The narrator describes her father as an eminent merchant who suffered considerable losses in trade and retired to a small estate in the country with his wife when she was eight years old. She was left in town with an aunt who was a rigid presbyterian. The aunt confined her closely to religious duties, and she grew weary of these doctrines and developed an aversion to the good books her aunt recommended.

As she grew older and became more attractive, she acquired many acquaintances among women her own age. One friend advised her to abandon the prejudices instilled by her aunt and "think for herself" by reading Shaftsbury, Tindal, Hobbes, and other authors noted for deviating from conventional thinking. She followed this advice, studied these writers with pleasure, and soon became a professed freethinker. Proud of her new philosophy, she argued successfully in company and acquired a reputation as a philosopher, with few daring to dispute with her.

When her aunt wrote to her father about her heresy, he ordered her to the country at age fifteen. She found herself suddenly deprived of town pleasures and initially grew melancholy, though she eventually grew accustomed to solitude. She consoled herself with a good library and divided her time between family management, visiting, and rural diversions. Having more imagination than judgment, she addicted herself too much to poetry and romance, becoming regarded as an extraordinary person by everyone in the neighborhood.

One evening while reading in a wood bordering the high road near her father's house, a drunken squire rode by, perceived her, and alighted to treat her rudely. She shrieked and opposed his violence with all her strength. During this struggle, another horseman came to her assistance, dismounted, and flew to help her.

The squire, maddened by the intervention, drew a pistol and fired at her protector, who suffered no damage. The stranger then struck the squire down with his whip and threatened him with his own second pistol. The narrator interceded and begged for the squire's life, which was granted after he asked pardon and claimed his intention was only to obtain a kiss. The stranger unloaded the remaining pistol before giving him liberty. He then conducted her home.

Her father, learning of the service rendered, loaded the stranger with caresses and insisted he stay the night. The narrator was inspired with gratitude and found him entitled to more. He was about twenty-two, among the tallest of the middle size, with chestnut-colored hair tied in a ribbon, a high polished forehead, an aquiline nose, lively blue eyes, red pouting lips, teeth white as snow, and an open countenance. She noted he was the exact resemblance of her listener, and if she had not known his family and degree, she would have thought them brothers. His conversation was ingenuous, sensible, and uncommon. They learned he was the eldest son of a wealthy local gentleman and had been returning from visiting an acquaintance when her shrieks brought him to her rescue.

That night, her imagination formed a thousand expectations. The knight-errantry of the rescue filled her thoughts with romantic notions drawn from her reading. She envisioned herself as a princess delivered by a generous Oroondates, bound in gratitude to yield her affections. She tried to chasten these thoughts but could not. Dreams showed her hero sighing at her feet as a despairing lover.

After his first visit, her father expressed a desire for further acquaintance, to which the stranger replied with a compliment to her father and a look to her full of eloquence and tenderness. He soon repeated his visit and artfully insinuated himself into her esteem by seeming to contradict her through misapprehension, giving her opportunity to clarify her views and enhance her reputation. Having secured her good opinion, he began showing tokens of a particular passion, praising her mind while admiring her person. When fully persuaded of his conquest, he disclosed his love so ardently and sincerely that she could not disguise her heart's sentiments, and he received her approbation with transport.

They arranged private meetings and enjoyed elevated conversation. He proclaimed honorable intentions and lamented his father's avarice, which had destined him for another match. He vowed eternal fidelity with such candor that she became his dupe. She curses the day she gave away her innocence and peace, her beauty, her education, and her good sense that made her heart susceptible.

After some months, his visits became less frequent and his behavior colder. When she demanded he perform his promise to marry her, he seemed to acquiesce and left on pretence of finding a clergyman, but never intended to return. After waiting a week, a gentleman informed her that Lothario was setting out for London with his bride to buy clothes for their nuptials. She was distracted with rage, then subsided to silent sorrow, then hoped again, but ultimately learned of his marriage. Her horror was inconceivable, and but for her desire of revenge, she would have ended her life.

She furnished herself with money and eloped from her father at night, arriving at a small town where she took a stage coach to London. The spirit of revenge supported her against all other reflections. She hired a lodging under a feigned name and soon found Lothario's house, where she went in a transport of rage.

She demanded admission to Lothario, refusing to send her name. She was conducted to a parlor, where after waiting a quarter hour, a servant said his master was engaged with company. Her temper could hold no longer; she produced a poniard from her bosom and rushed upstairs exclaiming she would plunge it into his false heart. The noise alarmed the household; she was seized and disarmed. In this state she beheld Lothario approaching with his young wife, fell into a severe fit, and lost her senses.

When she recovered, she found herself attended by an old woman in a paltry apartment. She learned Lothario had called her mad and proposed sending her to Bedlam, but his wife believed there was more to her conduct than he wished known. She desired to leave and was conveyed to her lodgings. The agitation of her thoughts produced a fever, which brought on a miscarriage. She confesses that if she had borne a living child, her frenzy might have prompted her to sacrifice the innocent to her resentment.

One day a stranger came saying he was acquainted with her story, having learned it from Lothario himself, and had conceived a detestation for the author of her misfortunes. He offered to espouse her quarrel and take vengeance, provided she would grant him some consideration. She was transported with gloomy joy, made a contract, and he devoted himself to her revenge, undertaking to murder Lothario that very night.

About two o'clock, the man returned and assured her her perfidious lover was no more, having been challenged to the field, upbraided for his treachery, and left weltering in his blood after a few passes. She delighted in this recital, made him repeat the particulars, and feasted her eyes on the blood on his clothes and sword. Her imagination was so engrossed that she dreamed Lothario appeared pale, mangled, and bloody, blaming her rashness, protesting his innocence, and pleading his cause so pathetically that she woke in horror and remorse.

In the morning, perceiving her aversion, the avenger (Horatio) hinted there was possibility of Lothario's recovery—he was wounded but not quite dead. She bade him fly for intelligence. He returned with a letter in Lothario's hand saying the wounds were not mortal. She read it with transport of joy and caressed Horatio, thus won from despair by the menace of a greater misfortune.

The letter that restored her peace soon banished it, for his reproaches recalled her former happiness and filled her soul with rage and sorrow. Horatio endeavored to divert her by treating her to the amusements of the town. She was gratified with every indulgence, introduced to women in her own situation who paid her uncommon deference, and began to lose remembrance of her former condition.

One day, reading newspapers, she found an advertisement describing a young gentlewoman who had disappeared from her father's house, offering reward for information about her, or if she would return, promising tender reception. She resolved to return like the prodigal son, but learned upon inquiry that her father had died a month before, lamenting her absence to his last hour. He had left his fortune to a stranger as a mark of resentment at her undutiful behavior. She sank into profound melancholy, and most of her acquaintances abandoned her when they perceived her change of temper.

Horatio, disgusted at her insensibility or from some other cause, became colder and colder until he abandoned her altogether, making no apology and leaving her without protection against want. She later learned that the quarrel between Lothario and Horatio had been trumped up to rid Lothario of her importunities and give Horatio access to her, which he had desired upon seeing her at Lothario's house.

Cursing her simplicity and uttering horrors against Horatio's treachery, she resolved to be revenged on the sex in general by practicing their own arts upon themselves. An old gentlewoman visited under pretence of sympathy, displayed the art of her occupation by praising her beauty and condemning the wretch who had forsaken her, suggesting she could still make her fortune by her extraordinary qualifications. Understanding her drift, the narrator gave encouragement, and they agreed to divide profits from gallants the woman would introduce. Her first conquest was a certain judge, recommended as an innocent creature just arrived from the country.

The narrator's fellow-lodger Miss Williams is interrupted by a bailiff and his men who burst into the lodging with a writ for her arrest. The bailiff informs her she must come with him, and his followers handle her roughly. The narrator becomes incensed and reaches for a poker to defend her, but Miss Williams calmly begs him not to use violence on her behalf. She examines the writ and declares she is not the person named in it. The bailiff insists they will prove her identity and asks whether she prefers to be taken to his house or to jail. She chooses his house over a common jail, but when she admits her poverty, he calls a coach to take her directly to the Marshalsea. Before departing, Miss Williams tells the narrator not to worry, for she knows how to extricate herself from this difficulty and perhaps gain something by the occasion. Despite being puzzled by her discourse, the narrator offers to accompany her to prison, and after much entreaty, she accepts.

Upon arriving at the Marshalsea, the bailiff presents the writ to the turnkey, who immediately recognizes the name Elizabeth Cary and exclaims how glad he is to see his old acquaintance. However, when he actually observes Miss Williams' face, he starts back in surprise, questioning who she is. The bailiff insists she is indeed Elizabeth Cary, but the turnkey declares he will be hanged if this is Elizabeth Cary and not someone else entirely. Miss Williams points out that the bailiff might have saved them both trouble had he taken her word at first. The bailiff states he requires further evidence of her identity before they part. Miss Williams responds that he shall have further evidence, to his cost. They retire to the lodge, where she writes a note to two acquaintances and requests the narrator to fetch them.

The narrator finds Miss Williams' two acquaintances together at a house in Brydges Street, Drury Lane. They accompany him back in a hackney-coach without hesitation, delighted at the prospect of seeing a bailiff punished. Upon entering the lodge, they embrace Miss Williams affectionately by the name of Nancy Williams and ask how long she has been arrested. They offer to swear before a justice of peace that she is not the person mentioned in the writ, having all known the actual Elizabeth Cary. The bailiff, now convinced of his mistake, declines their offer to swear, saying no harm has been done and suggesting he treat them to another bottle before they part as friends. Miss Williams indignantly refuses this meager recompense, declaring it no compensation for the damage to her character and health from being wrongfully dragged to jail. She warns that at this rate, no innocent person is safe when an officer of justice may injure and oppress through malice, pique, or mistake, and that she knows how to procure redress. The bailiff, finding himself dealing with someone who will not be imposed upon, becomes sullen and perplexed, cursing their landlady for misinforming him.

After much wrangling and swearing, the matter is referred to the turnkey's decision. He calls for another bottle and mulcts the bailiff in all the liquor consumed, coach hire, and a couple of guineas for the plaintiff's use. The money is immediately deposited, and Miss Williams gratifies the two evidences with one half of the guineas while keeping the other for herself. She and the narrator depart in a coach, leaving the bailiff grumbling over his loss but relieved to have so cheaply escaped a business that might have cost him ten times the sum and his position. The guinea proves a seasonable relief, as the narrator has been reduced to great necessity, having pawned or sold six of his shirts and almost all his clothes for their maintenance.

Resenting their landlady's behavior, the narrator and Miss Williams make it their first priority to find another lodging. They remove to their new accommodations the next day, intending to keep themselves as retired as possible until their cure is completed. Once settled in their new habitation, the narrator entreats Miss Williams to finish the story of her life.

Miss Williams recounts that success in deceiving a judge encouraged her and her directress to practice the same deceit on others, but this proved short-lived as her character became known and her directress abandoned her for some new scheme. She then took lodgings near Charing-Cross at two guineas a week and began entertaining company publicly. When her income proved insufficient for her expenses, she entered into articles with tavern porters who found employment for her in exchange for sharing her profits. She was exposed nightly to mortification, danger, and abuse from drunken and brutal patrons. Her aversion to her profession manifested in her gloomy countenance, disgusting her clients and leading to frequent ill-treatment. She was eventually neglected by the porters and reduced to selling her watch, rings, trinkets, and most of her clothes for support. One evening she was summoned to a tavern where she supped sumptuously with a gentleman dressed like an officer. In the morning, she discovered he had escaped through a window, leaving her to be detained as a thief's accomplice and committed to Bridewell, where she was mistreated horrifically. She became so overwhelmed with calamity that she attempted suicide by hanging but was prevented by fellow prisoners. Her subsequent fit of madness lasted three days, after which she resolved to starve herself. On the second day of her fast, a former acquaintance named Mrs. Coupler arrived at Bridewell, having also been committed after her coffee-house venture failed. Mrs. Coupler informed Miss Williams that her accuser had been caught and had confessed the theft, clearing her of any involvement. Miss Williams was immediately discharged and subsequently took lodgings with Mrs. Coupler, whose jealousy of Miss Williams' success eventually ruined her reputation once more. She was again arrested for debt, but a sea-lieutenant generously paid her debt and gave her additional money. When he perished at sea, she found herself in danger of relapsing into necessity and took lodgings elsewhere, assuming the identity of a wealthy heiress in an attempt to entrap a husband.

Miss Williams explains to the narrator how, after being detected and abandoned by the narrator, she was forced to move to lodgings several floors higher. Her companion left her, disappointed in her expectations, leaving her with no resource but to venture forth at night seeking a precarious subsistence. She often wandered between Ludgate Hill and Charing-Cross entire winter nights, exposed to harsh weather and hunger, without meeting a single dupe. She would return to her garret in a deplorable condition, going to bed and attempting to bury her hunger and sorrows in sleep. When she encountered drunk men, she frequently suffered brutal treatment while being obliged to affect gaiety and good humor, though her soul was stung with resentment and her heart loaded with grief. During these nocturnal adventures, she contracted a disease that rendered her the object of her own abhorrence and drove her to the retreat where the narrator's benevolence rescued her from death. Miss Williams allows that despite her misfortunes, she has not been as unlucky as many other prostitutes, having often seen former favorites of the town reduced to rags and filth in dark alleys, though she fears the same fate awaits her.

The narrator reflects on Miss Williams' story with astonishment at the variety of miseries she has endured in just two years, finding her situation a thousand times more wretched than his own. While the narrator has endured hardships throughout his life, he has learned to bear them as they have become habitual, and he retains the dignity to retrieve his character. Miss Williams, by contrast, had known the sweets of prosperity and been raised in comfort by indulgent parents, entertaining expectations of uninterrupted happiness, making her reverse of fortune all the more tormenting and intolerable. The narrator pronounces the profession of a courtesan the most deplorable and Miss Williams the most unhappy of courtesans. Her condition fills the narrator with sympathy and compassion; he reveres her qualifications and regards her as unfortunate rather than criminal. He attends her with such care that in less than two months, both their healths are perfectly re-established. They confer frequently about their mutual affairs and interchange advice, forming a thousand different projects that prove impracticable. Unable to find service without recommendations, they consider an expedient: Miss Williams will procure the garb of a country wench, go to some distant village, and arrive in a waggon as a fresh girl seeking service, thereby obtaining provision more suitable to her inclination than her present way of life.

Miss Williams resolves to better her circumstances by accepting a position as a bar-keeper at an establishment funded by a wine merchant's favor. She departs from her lodgings with tearful farewells and promises to leave when she has accumulated sufficient funds to execute some other plan.

Finding himself starving and with no resources, the narrator abandons his pride and sets out toward Wapping to seek help from a schoolfriend commanding a coastal vessel. On Tower Wharf, however, he is accosted by a press-gang. Despite fighting fiercely and wounding several attackers with his cudgel, he is overwhelmed by reinforcements and suffers severe wounds to his head and cheek before being taken prisoner and dragged aboard a pressing tender.

The narrator is pinioned and confined in the ship's hold among other wretched captives. When he asks a fellow prisoner to use his handkerchief to bind his wounds, the man instead sells it to a bumboat woman for gin. The narrator complains to the midshipman on deck, who responds by spitting tobacco juice at him through the gratings and declaring he cares nothing for his fate. Overcome by blood loss, hunger, and the foul atmosphere, the narrator faints.

A sentinel named Jack Rattlin revives the narrator and promises he will be transferred to HMS Thunder the next day to receive proper care. Upon learning the narrator's connection to Lieutenant Bowling, Rattlin becomes friendly and shares a meal with him. Rattlin recounts the feud between Captain Oakum and Lieutenant Bowling: during a night watch, Bowling discovered three ships offshore and woke the sleeping captain, who flew into a rage and insulted him. They exchanged heated words, leading to a physical confrontation the next morning. When they met ashore for a duel, Bowling wounded Oakum severely and then fled, being subsequently listed as a deserter and losing all his pay.

The narrator and other pressed men are transferred to HMS Thunder at the Nore. After his handcuffs are removed, he is subjected to a barrage of sailors' mockery as he climbs the gangplank, with remarks about his wounds being like uncaulked seams, his bloodied hair resembling red ropes, and his need for iron braces to keep his yards square.

On the middle deck, the narrator encounters the same midshipman who had mistreated him on the tender. When the midshipman demands to know who released the narrator from his chains, the narrator replies with barely concealed resentment. The midshipman beats him severely with a supple jack, then reports him to the commanding officer, resulting in the narrator's immediate imprisonment in irons.

Honest Jack Rattlin alerts the surgeon to the narrator's situation, and Thompson is sent to dress his wounds. The narrator is brought before the first lieutenant for examination, where he recounts his abuse in detail. Jack Rattlin and others testify on his behalf, and the midshipman is proved guilty and punished with confinement in the bilboes.

Through Thompson's favorable representation, the surgeon requests the narrator from the lieutenant to fill the vacancy left by the third mate's death. The narrator is thus exempted from regular duties and assigned to assist in preparing and administering medicines to the sick.

Thompson, the surgeon's mate, reveals his history to the narrator over food and drink in the cockpit. After failing to borrow money in London, he had signed on as mate aboard a Guinea slave trader. Unexpectedly, he received a Navy warrant for second mate of a third-rate warship, though he had only qualified as third mate at Surgeons' Hall. He rushed to the Navy Office and was confirmed in his position just hours before another William Thompson arrived to claim the warrant. Thompson describes his current shipmates: the surgeon is kind but indolent, the first mate is proud and quick-tempered (as Welshmen go), and the captain is too much of a gentleman to even notice the surgeon's mates.

Before Mr. Thompson finishes explaining his situation, a heated dispute erupts on the cockpit ladder. A sailor, speaking in a broad dialect, declares he will not visit the sick until he has eaten something in his belly, regardless of how sick his messmate may be. Someone retorts that the dying man must "part his cable" for want of assistance, and that the doctor ordered the sailor to tend to him. The defiant sailor protests that he has "birth, and education, and... abilities" equal to any gentleman, and refuses to be treated like a horse or goat at the doctor's "will and pleasure." He demands the doctor examine the "tying man" and provide medicine, but insists on satisfying his own "craving stomach" first.

Mr. Thompson reveals the argumentative sailor is Mr. Morgan, the first mate, who has just returned from accompanying sick patients to the hospital. When Morgan enters the berth, he is described as a short, thick man with a face full of pimples, a snub nose turned upward, an excessively wide mouth, and small fiery eyes surrounded by countless wrinkles. Thompson immediately informs Morgan of the narrator's situation.

Morgan regards the narrator with a "lofty look" and discovers, to his great passion, that all the pork in the locker has been consumed. Thompson explains he shared the provisions with the narrator, who arrived half famished, and that he had properly entered him in the mess as Morgan had instructed. Morgan complains that Thompson failed to consult him about this decision, claiming he has been "a man of some weight, and substance, and consideration" who maintained a household, paid taxes, and supported a family. He declares himself Thompson's senior and "petter." Thompson hotly replies that while Morgan may be his elder, he is not his better. The narrator interposes to offer leaving the mess rather than cause discord, but Thompson insists he stay, citing the narrator's birth and talents. This appeals to Morgan's generosity, who explains he loves "a sheltenman in distress" as he loves his own soul, having suffered his own vexations. He shakes the narrator's hand and accepts him into the mess.

Having resolved the dispute, Morgan unties his bundle containing three bunches of onions and a large lump of Cheshire cheese. He shares his humble meal of biscuit with the company, declaring brandy is the "best menstruum for onions and sheese." As his appetite is satisfied, his humor improves. When he learns of the narrator's good family background, he takes a particular liking and traces his own ancestry to Caractacus, King of the Britons, who was prisoner and later friend of Claudius Caesar. Morgan also presents the narrator with two good ruffled shirts, joining two check shirts from Thompson, enabling him to appear with decency.

The sailor Morgan sent to the doctor returns with a prescription. Morgan asks if the sick man is "dead or alive," and the sailor reports they have been "yard-arm and yard-arm these three glasses," with one eye open but "jammed in his head" and the "haulyards of his under jaw" having given way. Morgan exclaims the man is "as pad as one would desire to be" and orders the tar to keep him alive until medicine arrives. The sailor runs to the sick man but returns immediately with a woeful countenance to report his comrade has "struck." Morgan exclaims in horror and asks why the sailor did not stop him. The sailor explains he hailed several times but the man was too far gone and the enemy had taken his "close quarters." Morgan accepts this philosophically, saying "we all owe heaven a teath," and sends the sailor away to take warning and repent.

The boatswain pipes to dinner, and the mess boy retrieves a wooden platter of boiled peas, crying "Scaldings" as he carries it. The cloth is an old piece of sail, covered with three metal plates and three spoons of the same composition, two shortened in the handles and one in the lip. Morgan adds salt butter scooped from an old gallipot, onions, and pounded pepper. The narrator is not tempted by the appearance but his messmates eat heartily, advising him to follow suit since it is "banyan day" with no meat until the next noon. The narrator learns that Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are meatless days called banyan days, named after a sect of devotees in the East Indies who never taste flesh.

After dinner, Thompson leads the narrator on a tour of the ship, showing different parts, describing their uses, and explaining the discipline and economy practiced aboard. Thompson requests a hammock from the boatswain, which is neatly slung by his friend Jack Rattlin. Since the narrator has no bedding, Thompson obtains credit with the purser for a mattress and two blankets. At seven in the evening, Morgan visits the sick and orders appropriate treatment, while the narrator assists Thompson in preparing prescriptions.

When the narrator follows Thompson with medicines into the sick berth, or hospital, he observes conditions that make recovery seem miraculous rather than death. About fifty miserable, distempered wretches hang in rows, huddled so closely that no more than fourteen inches of space is allowed for each person with bed and bedding. They are deprived of daylight and fresh air, breathing only a noisome atmosphere of morbid steams from their own excrements and diseased bodies. They are devoured by vermin hatched in the surrounding filth and lack every convenience necessary for people in such helpless conditions.

A disagreeable accident occurs while the narrator is discharging his duties as an attendant to the sick. The incident involves an unfortunate mishap with a perfume box that diffuses an overwhelming scent throughout the ship, causing discomfort to all who remain on deck. The consequences extend beyond mere smelling, as the narrator suffers in multiple ways from this disgrace.

Mr. Morgan, a Welshman and ship's steward's mate, possesses an exceptionally sensitive nose. As the narrator descends to the cockpit after the incident, Morgan detects the approach of something extraordinary before even seeing anyone, crying out that the enemy has boarded them in a "stinkpot." His sense of smell has already forewarned him of the narrator's unfortunate condition, leading to immediate reproaches directed toward the ship's steward.

A sharp dialogue erupts between Morgan and the steward regarding the origin of the offensive smell. Morgan reprimands the steward for the "freedoms he takes among gentlemen of birth" and threatens to smoke him like a padger with sulphur if he ever presumes to offend his neighbors with such smells again. The steward, conscious of his own innocence, replies heatedly that he knows of no smells but those of Morgan's own making. This exchange introduces a debate about the source of unpleasant odors aboard the ship.

After being warned that entering in his current condition would make him unwelcome, the narrator discovers additional causes of complaint beyond the perfume incident. Some unwanted guests have honored him with their company—unwelcome visitors whose presence he did not think seasonable. These guests have taken possession of his "chief quarters" and feed freely at the expense of his blood. Recognizing that extirpating this "ferocious colony" in its infancy would be easier than dealing with them once multiplied and naturalized, he resolves to take action.

Following the advice of his friend Thompson, who goes always close shaved to prevent such misfortunes, the narrator has the boy of their mess cut off his hair, which had been growing since he left the service of Lavement. The second mate lends him an old bob-wig to supply the loss of that covering. This measure is taken to address the infestation that has colonized his person.

After the hair-cutting affair concludes, Mr. Morgan returns and prepares a dish of salmagundy. He cuts a piece of salt beef from the brine, slices it, and mixes it with an equal quantity of onions. Seasoning with a moderate proportion of pepper and salt, he brings the dish to a consistence with oil and vinegar. Tasting the preparation, Morgan assures his companions it is the best salmagundy he has ever made and recommends it to their palates with such heartiness that the narrator cannot help but do honor to his preparation.

The narrator's hammock hangs parallel to his messmates on the outside of the berth. He watches his companions spring with great agility into their respective nests, where they seem to lie concealed and very much at their ease. However, the narrator can scarcely prevail upon himself to trust his carcase at such a distance from the ground in a narrow bag, imagining he would be apt on the least motion during sleep to tumble down at the hazard of breaking his bones. Despite his apprehensions, he eventually allows himself to be persuaded to attempt entry.

After some fruitless efforts, the narrator finally succeeds in entering his hammock. However, the apprehension of the jeopardy in which he believes himself keeps sleep at bay until toward the morning watch. Eventually, despite his fears, slumber overpowers him—though he does not long enjoy this comfortable situation. He is aroused by a noise so loud and shrill that he believes the drums of his ears have burst, followed by a dreadful summons pronounced by a hoarse voice that he cannot understand.

The narrator observes the difficulty of attendants reaching those who hang on the inside toward the sides of the ship, as they seem barricaded by those who lie on the outside and entirely out of the reach of all visitation. He watches his friend Thompson administer clysters to patients by thrusting his wig in his pocket, stripping himself to his waistcoat, then creeping on all fours under the hammocks of the sick, and forcing his bare pate between two hammocks to keep them asunder with one shoulder until he completes his duty. Eager to learn the service, the narrator requests permission to perform the next operation of this kind.

Following Thompson's example, the narrator undresses and crawls along beneath the hammocks. When the ship rolls, this motion alarms him, and he lays hold of the first thing within his grasp with such violence that he overturns it. By the smell that issues upon him, he soon discovers he has unlocked a box of the most delicious perfume. His nose being none of the most delicate proves fortunate, as he might otherwise have been severely affected by this vapor, which diffuses itself all over the ship to the utter discomposure of everybody who tarried on the same deck.

The narrator pushes his head with great force between two hammocks toward the middle where the greatest resistance exists. He makes an opening but, not understanding the knack of dexterously turning his shoulder to maintain his advantage, finds himself stuck up as it were in a pillory. The weight of three or four people bears on each side of his neck, putting him in danger of strangulation. While in this defenceless posture, a sick man rendered peevish by his distemper is so enraged at the smell the narrator has occasioned and the rude shock received from his elevation that he seizes the narrator by the nose and tweaks it so unmercifully that the narrator roars with anguish.

In his attempt to assist the sick, the narrator finds himself wedged between hammocks with the weight of multiple patients pressing against his neck. Thompson perceives his predicament and orders one of the waiters to his assistance. With much difficulty, the waiter disengages him from this situation and hinders him from taking vengeance on the sick man, whose indisposition would not have screened him from the effects of the narrator's indignation.

After the ministry for the sick concludes, the narrator and Thompson descend to the cockpit. Thompson comforts him with a homely proverb. When they have descended halfway down the ladder, Mr. Morgan, before seeing them, has intelligence by his nose of the approach of something extraordinary. He cries out about the enemy boarding them in a stinkpot and, addressing the steward from whom he imagines the odour proceeds, reprimands him severely for offenses against gentlemen of birth. The steward, conscious of his own innocence, declares he knows of no smells but those of Morgan's own making.

In the subsequent dialogue, Morgan undertakes to prove that though the stench he complains of does not flow from the steward's own body, the steward is nevertheless the author of it by serving out damaged provisions to the ship's company. He particularly blames putrified cheese, affirming that only from the use of such provisions could such unsavoury steams arise. Morgan then launches into the praise of good cheese, giving an analysis of it, explaining the different kinds of that commodity with the methods practiced to make and preserve it, concluding that in yielding good cheese, the county of Glamorgan might vie with Cheshire itself and was much superior to it in the produce of goats and butter.

Mr. Morgan, descending from the role of accuser, returns to his culinary duties. Ordering the boy to bring a piece of salt beef from the brine, he prepares the salmagundy by cutting off a slice and mixing it with an equal quantity of onions. After seasoning with pepper and salt and bringing the dish to consistence with oil and vinegar, he tastes it and assures his companions it is the best salmagundy he has ever made. The narrator does honor to this preparation, though no sooner has he swallowed a mouthful than he thinks his entrails are scorched and endeavors to allay the heat with a deluge of small-beer.

After supper and Morgan's consumption of a couple of pipes and several cans of flip, yawning admonishes the narrator that it is time to repair by sleep the injury he has suffered from want of rest the preceding night. Their hammocks immediately unlash and the narrator beholds his messmates spring with great agility into their respective nests. Though initially reluctant to trust himself in a narrow bag suspended above the ground, the narrator eventually allows himself to be persuaded. Taking a leap to get in, he throws himself quite over with such violence that had he not luckily got hold of Thompson's hammock, he would have pitched upon his head on the other side and in all likelihood fractured his skull.

The narrator remains awake with apprehension until the morning watch when sleep finally overpowers him, but he is soon awakened by a loud and shrill noise followed by a dreadful summons from a hoarse voice. One of the quartermasters passing by with a lantern informs him that the noise was occasioned by the boatswain's mates who called up the larboard watch. He is told to lay his account with such an interruption every morning at the same hour. Being now more assured of his safety, the narrator undresses himself again to rest and sleeps until eight o'clock.

After rising and breakfasting with his comrades on biscuit and brandy, the sick are visited and assisted as before. Thompson then explains and performs another piece of duty to which the narrator remains a stranger. At a certain hour in the morning, the boy of the mess goes round all the decks ringing a small hand-bell and, in rhymes composed for the occasion, invites all those who have sores to repair before the mast, where one of the doctor's mates attends with applications to dress them.

While practicing medicine with his friend, the narrator attracts the notice of the ship's doctor, who examines him on surgery and inquiries about his circumstances. The surgeon takes a particular interest upon learning the narrator is nephew to Lieutenant Bowling, whom he holds in high regard. Through this connection, the surgeon promises to assist in obtaining a warrant for the narrator. Meanwhile, the surgeon reveals his intention to leave Captain Oakum's service, having been treated poorly during the previous voyage.

Approximately six weeks after the narrator's arrival, the surgeon summons him to present a warrant appointing him as the ship's third surgeon. This promotion comes courtesy of the surgeor's influence at the Navy Office. The surgeon also secures his own advancement to a second-rate vessel, departing with expressions of mutual esteem. Before departing, he generously bestows upon the narrator a chest of clothes befitting his new elevated station. With his circumstances improved, the narrator determines to uphold the dignity of his position against future affronts.

The narrator's former adversary, the midshipman Crampley, continues his persecution even after the narrator's promotion. During a medical procedure, Crampley sings a song offensive to Scottish honor, prompting the narrator to retort that Scots expect enemies among the ignorant and malicious. This defiance so enrages Crampley that he strikes the narrator in the face. Following Morgan's intervention, the two agree to settle their grievance through boxing. Though Crampley possesses superior technique learned at Hockley-in-the-Hole, the narrator eventually prevails by delivering a powerful combined head, hand, and foot attack that sends Crampley tumbling down the main hatchway. The fall leaves Crampley unconscious with a dislocated shoulder. Morgan pronounces the injury serious but not fatal, and the narrator gains considerable reputation from the twenty-minute bout.

The ship receives sailing orders, and Captain Oakum arrives to assume command, bringing with him a new surgeon named Mackshane. This replacement immediately reveals the magnitude of the loss from Doctor Atkins's departure. The new surgeon proves grossly ignorant, imperiously arrogant, false, vindictive, and unforgiving—a merciless tyrant to subordinates who compensates through abject sycophancy toward superiors.

The first mate presents the sick list to the captain according to custom. Oakum reacts with furious indignation at finding sixty-one sick aboard his vessel, declaring he will suffer no sick men on his ship. When Morgan explains his duty in presenting the list, the captain flings the document at him and declares there shall be no illness while he commands. Morgan's retort that the captain should direct his anger at Providence rather than medical officers provokes further rage, with Oakum threatening to have Morgan pinioned to the deck. The proud Welshman begins to assert his gentle birth in response, but the captain's steward removes him from the cabin before the situation escalates further.

Oakum orders all sick men brought to the quarter-deck for examination, an inhuman decree that shocks the medical staff who know certain patients cannot survive such movement. At the review, the captain derides the patients as worthless idlers eating the king's provisions. Mackshane callously examines each case. A man just recovered from fever is pronounced healthy despite his weakness, then beaten at the gangway for allegedly feigning illness before collapsing. A quartan ague patient in his interval of health is declared fit for duty but dies the following day. Another with pleuritic symptoms and blood-spitting is ordered to exercise at the pump and suffocates from a lung hemorrhage. A fourth with severe dropsy is sent aloft and nearly drowns when he falls from the shrouds. Many feverish patients arrive delirious from the ordeal, some expire on deck, and others assigned to duty soon expire among their shipmates. The sick count drops below a dozen as the captain and surgeon congratulate themselves.

A bound madman sends word begging for release, claiming Morgan's personal grudge motivates his confinement. Morgan urgently warns the captain the man is dangerously insane and should remain restrained, yet Oakum orders him unbound despite warnings of consequences. The madman calmly argues for his sanity so persuasively that witnesses lean toward believing him. Morgan counters with evidence of the man's violent behavior two days prior, corroborated by a waiter who rescued Morgan from the patient's strangling attempt. The man responds by accusing the waiter of being Morgan's creature, revealing Morgan's wife keeps a gin-shop in Ragfair—an anecdote that produces laughter at the Welshman's expense. Oakum orders the man unfettered, threatening to exchange Morgan's position with his. The instant the restraints are removed, the madman attacks both captain and surgeon with fury, declaring himself commander of the vessel. He pummels them mercilessly and wounds numerous sailors who attempt restraint before finally being mastered.

The captain, still enraged from earlier ill-treatment, has the offending madman brought before him and threatens to shoot the man with his own pistol. His fury is intense, and he appears determined to satisfy his revenge immediately.

The first lieutenant intervenes with persuasive arguments, suggesting the madman may not be truly insane but rather a desperate individual hired by one of the captain's enemies. The lieutenant proposes keeping the man in irons until a court-martial can investigate and uncover any deeper conspiracy. Dr. Mackshane supports this opinion, having previously declared the man was not mad. The captain, whose intellect is susceptible to such reasoning, accepts this course of action. Meanwhile, Morgan cannot conceal his pleasure at the outcome and ventures to ask Mackshane whether there are more fools or madmen aboard, a remark the doctor carefully notes for future consideration. Before the ship can depart, the prisoner seizes an opportunity to leap overboard and frustrate the captain's intended revenge.

The vessel weighs anchor and, after a brief stay at the Downs, proceeds to Spithead where it takes on six months' provisions. The ship then sails from St. Helen's with the grand fleet, bound for the West Indies on the memorable expedition to Cartagena. The narrator observes with great mortification that he faces transport to such a distant and unhealthy climate under the command of an arbitrary tyrant, lacking every comfort, but resolves to submit patiently and make the best of circumstances.

After leaving the Channel with favorable winds, the fleet becomes becalmed about fifty leagues west of the Lizard. The calm proves brief as a hurricane soon strikes, splitting the maintop-sail and creating a terrifying commotion aboard. The narrator awakens to a cacophony of gun carriages, cracking cabins, howling wind, confused shouting, boatswain's pipes, trumpets, and chain pumps. Morgan, experiencing his first storm at sea, cries out in terror while Thompson lies trembling in his hammock, praying for their safety. Above deck, the scene proves even more horrifying: waves rise mountain-high, and the ship alternately hangs suspended over the abyss and sinks between threatening walls of water. Of one hundred fifty ships in the fleet, scarce twelve remain visible, all reduced to bare poles and at the mercy of the tempest. One vessel loses its mast, which tumbles overboard with a hideous crash. The crew runs distracted, some clinging to yards to unbend shredded sails while masts quiver like twigs threatening to splinter.

As the narrator observes this terrifying scene, a main brace breaks, flinging two sailors from the yard arm into the sea where they perish. Poor Jack Rattlin is thrown down upon the deck, suffering a broken leg with a splinter of the shin-bone thrusting through the skin. Morgan and the narrator rush to his assistance, and recognizing the seriousness of the injury, the narrator goes below to inform the surgeon and retrieve dressings. He discovers Dr. Mackshane kneeling before something resembling a crucifix, which the narrator declines to confirm, merely noting that common report suggested Mackshane was a member of the Roman Catholic Church. The disturbed doctor quickly conceals the object and prepares to receive word about Rattlin.

When informed of Rattlin's condition, Mackshane refuses to visit the patient on deck, instead ordering the boatswain to have men carry the injured sailor to the cockpit while he directs Thompson to prepare dressings. The boatswain refuses to spare a man from deck, anticipating the mast may soon go overboard. Despite these difficulties, the narrator and Morgan manage to get Rattlin to the lower deck, where Mackshane eventually ventures to examine him. Accompanied by Thompson carrying dressings and his own servant with surgical instruments, the doctor examines the fracture. Observing a livid color extending up the limb, he concludes mortification will ensue and resolves to amputate the leg immediately.

The sentence to lose his leg fills Rattlin with dread. He protests, asking if there is no remedy, if he must be docked, and whether the surgeon cannot splice the limb instead. Morgan immediately opposes the amputation, respectfully suggesting to the surgeon that there is no occasion or necessity to smite off the poor man's leg. Rattlin blesses the Welshman with heartfelt gratitude, wishing him fair winds and an ultimate anchorage in heaven. Incensed by Morgan's open disagreement, Mackshane insists he need not give account of his practice to anyone and peremptorily orders the tourniquet applied. Rattlin starts up in protest, refusing to submit until he understands the reason, and appeals to the narrator for help in saving his precious limb, invoking the memory of Lieutenant Bowling who would never allow Jack Rattlin's leg to be chopped off like old junk. The narrator, moved by this appeal and trusting his own judgment that the discoloration indicates mere inflammation from contusion rather than gangrene, declares his agreement with Morgan. Thompson, however, fearing the surgeon's enmity or speaking from timidity, sides with Mackshane. The surgeon, determining to shield himself from blame while also revenging himself on those who contradicted him, asks if Morgan and the narrator will undertake to cure the leg at their own peril. Morgan refuses to guarantee an outcome belonging only to God, but agrees to treat the patient if Rattlin will submit to their direction. The narrator concurs, and Rattlin, overjoyed, swears nobody else shall touch him and takes responsibility for the outcome upon himself. Mackshane, anticipating their failure, departs and leaves them to manage the case as they see fit.

Morgan and the narrator proceed with the treatment: they saw off the protruding splinter, reduce the fracture, dress the wound, apply the eighteen-tailed bandage, and place the leg in a box secundum artem. Everything succeeds according to their expectations. They not only preserve the poor fellow's leg but also render Dr. Mackshane contemptible among the ship's company, all of whom had watched the course of this cure. The successful treatment is completed in six weeks.

After the storm subsides, the ship enters warm latitudes where the weather becomes intolerable and the crew falls gravely ill. The oppressive heat and sickness create a dire atmosphere aboard the vessel, setting the stage for further conflicts and tensions among the crew.

Doctor Mackshane, motivated by malice toward the Welshman Morgan and the narrator, attempts to gather complaints against them by visiting the sick under pretense of concern. When this scheme fails due to the patients' goodwill toward the two men, the doctor resorts to eavesdropping on their conversations by hiding behind the canvas surrounding their berth. The scheme is discovered when Morgan notices movement outside their hangings, and the narrator hurls a bone at the hidden listener, who tumbles away to his cabin. This retaliation marks the narrator for destruction in the doctor's eyes.

Approximately a week later, the narrator is taken prisoner while making his rounds among the sick and carried to the poop by the master-at-arms. He is loaded with irons and stapled to the deck on the absurd charge of being a spy and conspiring against the captain's life. Despite the ridiculousness of this accusation, the narrator suffers extreme rigors for twelve days—exposed to scorching sun by day and unwholesome damps by night—without being brought to trial or examined regarding the charges. His papers are seized, and he learns from Thompson that Doctor Mackshane has informed against him, prompting his arrest.

Morgan is brought to the poop under guard by two corporals and placed beside the narrator to be pinioned. The narrator nearly laughs at Morgan's countenance as he silently allows his feet to be enclosed in the iron rings. However, when the guards attempt to fasten him on his back, Morgan becomes outrageous, drawing a large knife from his pocket and threatening to rip open the belly of anyone who attempts to treat him so unworthily. The lieutenant intervenes, allowing Morgan to remain as he was, and Morgan creeps toward the narrator, encouraging him to trust in God. Morgan then addresses Thompson, who sits trembling nearby, noting there are two more rings waiting for him.

The doctor intends to make Thompson his drudge in attending the sick and, if possible, to secure his testimony as evidence against the narrator and Morgan. Mackshane approaches Thompson from afar, attempting to corrupt his integrity, but finding Thompson incorruptible, the doctor instead harasses him out of spite. This persecution becomes so severe that the mild-mannered Thompson grows weary of his life, setting the stage for his eventual desperate action.

When Admiral后发现四艘船在顺风处出现并发出追击信号时，船上一切准备就绪以备交战。此时Mackshane预见自己需要多于一名助手，便使Morgan重获自由，而Narrator仍被囚禁在这种悲惨的境况中，暴露于战斗的危险之中。

当夜幕降临时，他们追上最后一名追击者，对方回应说他们是法国军舰。Oakum船长命令对方派小艇过来，但遭到拒绝。战斗以猛烈的炮火开始，Narrator在这种无助的境况下度过了一整夜的恐惧。他看到战友们不断攻击敌人，彼此鼓励，相比之下自己的处境更加悲惨。一位海军陆战队军官的头颅被击中，弹到Narrator脸上，差点让他失明。随后一名鼓手被击中腹部，倒在Narrator胸前。这些事件彻底夺走了他的自制力，他变得疯狂，大声咒骂，直到精疲力竭。

战斗持续到第二天黎明，Oakum船长假装认出了对方旗帜的颜色，声称以为他们是西班牙人。随后海军陆战队前来访问Narrator，Morgan率先爬上来，看到Narrator脸上满是脑浆和血迹，以为他已无生还可能。Morgan情绪激动地叫Thompson上来与他告别，但Narrator很快澄清自己并未受致命伤。他们开始自由地谈论所受的苦难，并畅所欲言地评价导致他们苦难的罪魁祸首。然而哨兵的监听导致Morgan再次被监禁，Thompson也受到警告。

Thompson意识到自己将独自承担照顾伤病员的重担，还要承受Mackshane的残忍对待，绝望之中他用可怕的诅咒诅咒压迫者，宣布宁愿放弃生命，也不愿继续在这些野蛮人的权力下受苦。Narrator和Morgan试图通过比较各自的苦难和宗教劝导来安慰他，但Thompson泪流满面地离开。深夜十一点左右他再次来访，透露自己被医生严重侮辱，指控他与他们串通一气要谋害医生和船长的性命。离开前他紧握Narrator的手说"上帝保佑你们两位"。第二天早上，他被发现失踪了——显然在夜间投海自尽。

The news of Thompson's death profoundly affects both the narrator and Morgan, their fellow prisoner. Thompson had earned their love and esteem through his amiable disposition, and his untimely fate fills them with horror for the villain responsible. Significantly, the person who drove Thompson to his fatal resolution shows no concern for the death, demonstrating his abandoned and merciless character. This event sets the stage for the subsequent persecution the narrator and Morgan will face.

When Morgan is offered his freedom to resume his duties attending to patients, he refuses outright. He insists he will not be released until he knows the reason for his confinement. Morgan declares he will not be a "tennisball, nor a shuttlecock, nor a trudge, nor a scullion" to any captain under the sun. Captain Oakum, recognizing that his ability to exercise tyranny may soon end, demonstrates a token of justice by ordering the prisoners brought before him for examination, ostensibly to explain the charges against them.

Oakum presides over the proceedings from the quarter-deck, seated in state with his clerk on one side and Doctor Mackshane as his counsellor on the other. He threatens the prisoners, declaring that many captains would have them hanged without trial, but claims he possesses good nature by allowing them to make a defence. His crude language and arbitrary exercise of power expose the mockery of justice aboard the ship. The narrator's fellow-sufferer invokes the principle that justice exists, if not on earth, then surely in heaven, demanding to know the crimes charged against him and who accuses him.

Doctor Mackshane steps forward to accuse Morgan after clearing his throat with a prolonged hem. Morgan greets him by calling on God to judge between them, but Mackshane ignores this appeal. He announces that Morgan has spoken disrespectful words against Captain Oakum, whom he describes as the most honorable and generous commander in the king's service. Mackshane presents this as his sole allegation, claiming that information has reached him of Morgan's disloyalty. Oakum immediately interjects that such disrespect constitutes mutiny, punishable by death under the articles of war, and orders witnesses to be called.

The testimony against Morgan comes from witnesses who have been seduced and tutored by Mackshane for the purpose. Mackshane's servant testifies that Morgan, descending the cockpit-ladder, called the captain a savage beast and said he ought to be hunted down as an enemy to mankind. The clerk interprets this as strong presumption of a design against the captain's life, presupposing malice aforethought. A boy from their mess confirms that Morgan called the captain a bear and the surgeon an ass. A sentinel testifies that Morgan prophesied Oakum and Mackshane would "toss upon billows of burning brimstone in hell" for their cruelty. The clerk claims this proves Morgan planned to kill them before they could repent.

When confronted with the testimonies, Morgan acknowledges the words but denies their malicious interpretation. He explains that he spoke by metaphor, parable, comparison, and types, using figures of speech as people traditionally do. He compares his language to how one signifies meekness by a lamb, lechery by a goat, and craftiness by a fox. By the same principle, he likens ignorance to an ass, brutality to a bear, and fury to a tiger. Morgan insists he spoke these words before God and will not unsay them before man, asserting his right to express his sentiments through figurative language rather than literal accusations. Oakum considers this defence insolence and orders Morgan back to confinement.

With Morgan removed, the clerk proceeds to examine the narrator. He asks about the place of the narrator's nativity, and when told it is the north of Scotland, Oakum declares it more likely the north of Ireland. The examination then focuses on religion. When the narrator declares himself a Protestant, Oakum immediately labels him an arrant Roman Catholic. The clerk attempts to make him swear on the sign of the cross, which Oakum forbids as profanation. Questions follow about sacraments; the narrator's correct answer of two (Baptism and the Lord's Supper) is met with accusations that he would reject confirmation and marriage. The examination exposes Oakum's own Roman Catholic background while demonstrating the court's religious prejudice and ignorance.

The examination turns to accusations of espionage and conspiracy against the captain's life. The court claims the narrator entered into a conspiracy with Thompson and others, using sinister means like poison and pistol to destroy Oakum. A ship's boy testifies to overhearing whispered words including "Oakum, rascal, poison, pistol." The court claims Thompson's death proves the conspiracy, suggesting he either felt remorse or feared discovery. The narrator produces Thompson's suicide letter, brought by Jack Rattlin, which explains Thompson's death quite differently. The letter reveals that Thompson was driven to suicide by the fatigue and barbarous usage of Doctor Mackshane, who was bent on destroying both Thompson and the narrator. Upon reading the letter aloud, Mackshane immediately snatches it, tears it into pieces, and declares it a villainous forgery. The captain and clerk support this accusation, though the narrator insists the remains should be compared with Thompson's other writings.

The final accusation concerns a book of "ciphers" found among the narrator's papers. The narrator explains these are simply Greek characters, used to keep a diary of everything remarkable since the voyage began until he was put in irons. Thompson copied this method. Mackshane scoffs at the explanation, demanding what occasion there was for Greek characters if not to hide seditious writings. He claims the characters are not Greek but Chinese. The doctor even produces gibberish that sounds like Irish and passes it off as Greek, supported by the captain's credulity. Morgan is brought back to examine the book and reads an entire page in English, proving the characters are indeed Greek and legible. Rather than concede, Mackshane claims Morgan was in on the deception.

The narrator proposes referring the dispute to any qualified person on board who understands Greek. Oakum orders the entire ship's company, officers and all, summoned to deck. Two foremast men claim skill in Greek acquired during voyages to the Levant among Greeks of the Morea. When tested, one admits he can neither read nor write, while the other produces only barbarous corrupted language. The narrator explains that modern Greek differs from ancient Greek as much as modern English differs from old Saxon. He offers to face Mackshane in conversation with these seamen, but Mackshane instead addresses one of them in Irish, and they conduct a dialogue they claim is Greek. The captain accepts this false testimony and declares the narrator's protestations an imposture. Despite the narrator's offer to translate any passage from the Greek Testament to prove the truth, the court refuses, and Morgan is dismissed to confinement.

The narrator, unable to convince a court so prejudiced with spite and fortified with ignorance against truth, peacefully submits to being reconducted to his fellow-prisoner. Morgan receives the particulars of the trial and responds with silent anguish, lifting his hands and eyes to Heaven and uttering a dreadful groan. Fearing to speak his thoughts aloud lest the sentinel overhear, Morgan instead bursts forth into a Welsh song, accompanied by violent gestures and contortions of face, expressing the depth of his distress at the injustice their captors have inflicted.

A quarrel breaks out between the two Greek witnesses who provided false testimony against the narrator and Morgan. One of the Greeks, seeking revenge against the other, reveals the full details of Mackshane’s plot to frame the pair, exposing the surgeon’s malicious scheme.

After the subornation plot is exposed, the narrator and Morgan are set at liberty and ordered to return to their duties. The narrator eventually persuades the obstinate Morgan to accept this conditional freedom rather than insisting on a court-martial, by appealing to his desire to take personal revenge against Mackshane once they return to England.

The fleet sails to Jamaica, where it anchors at Port Royal for roughly one month. Critics argue the fleet wasted time at Jamaica, rather than joining the pre-positioned West India Squadron at the western end of Hispaniola, which would have allowed them to launch a direct attack on Carthagena before Spanish forces could prepare their defenses.

The fleet departs Jamaica and sails to join the West India Squadron that had received advance notice of their arrival and was waiting at the western end of Hispaniola, with the intention of sailing directly for Carthagena before Spanish forces could prepare for an attack or even learn of the English fleet’s plans.

After taking on water at Hispaniola, the combined fleet sets sail for Carthagena to carry out the planned attack on the Spanish port.

The conflict between the two Greek witnesses leads one of them to disclose the full scope of Mackshane’s plot, including the details of how the surgeon bribed witnesses to provide false testimony against the narrator and Morgan.

The ship’s doctor, aware that the fleet will soon be within reach of Jamaica where the narrator and Morgan can clear themselves at a court-martial and expose Mackshane’s malice and incompetence, successfully intercedes with the captain to secure the pair’s release from confinement.

Despite being freed, the stubborn Morgan initially refuses the conditional release, insisting he will remain in irons until he is formally discharged by a court-martial that he believes will also punish his enemies.

Before the treacherous mess boy is dismissed, he confesses that surgeon Mackshane bribed him to give false testimony against the narrator and Morgan, paying him with a pair of stockings and two old checkered shirts that Mackshane’s servant later stole from the boy.

The narrator and Morgan dismiss the disloyal mess boy from their service, ignoring his tearful pleas and claims of penitence for his role in betraying them.

When the keys to their storage chests are delivered, Morgan discovers that all his Cheshire cheese, brandy, and onions have been stolen. He flies into a rage, threatening to prosecute whoever stole the provisions, before calming down once he realizes the loss can be easily remedied.

Mackshane visits the pair under the pretense of retrieving items from the medicine chest, falsely claiming he worked hard to secure their release and warning them not to give him cause to regret his kindness. The narrator and Morgan do not acknowledge his false generosity, with Morgan hinting that he will eventually repay Mackshane for his wrongs.

The fleet joins a waiting squadron and anchors at Port Royal, Jamaica for approximately one month, during which time some unspecified consequential activity takes place.

Critics argue that the fleet’s delay at Jamaica wasted valuable time, as the West India Squadron had advance notice of the fleet’s arrival and could have joined them at the western end of Hispaniola, allowing them to sail directly for Carthagena before Spanish forces could prepare their defenses or even learn of the planned attack.

The fleet departs Jamaica and sails for 10 to 14 days against the wind to the Isle of Vache, originally intending to attack a French fleet rumored to be anchored at the island.

By the time the fleet arrives at the Isle of Vache, the French fleet has already sailed for Europe, having first sent an advice boat to Carthagena to alert Spanish forces to the English fleet’s presence, strength, and intended destination. The English fleet loiters at the island for several days to take on wood and brackish water, with each sailor restricted to a quart of water per day by order of the admiral.

The fleet sets sail from the Isle of Vache and anchors in a bay to the windward of Carthagena’s harbor, remaining at anchor there for 10 days.

Critics again condemn the leadership’s delay at the Carthagena anchorage, arguing that it wasted precious time ahead of the rainy season and allowed Spanish forces to recover from their initial terror at the arrival of the far larger English fleet to organize their defenses.

The fleet moves closer to the mouth of Carthagena’s harbor and lands marines on the beach, who set up camp despite heavy fire from the nearby Spanish fort that kills a number of the troops.

The choice to land troops under enemy fort fire is widely criticized as a reckless attempt to acclimate inexperienced new recruits—most of whom had been pulled from civilian farm work only a few months prior—to combat, rather than using seasoned veteran troops. Critics argue the government unnecessarily risked raw recruits on the dangerous Carthagena campaign while veteran regiments sat idle at home, though the narrator suggests the leadership may have avoided risking their best troops on the high-risk operation, or that veteran officers declined to embark due to the danger.

Our forces being landed and stationed as I have already mentioned, set about erecting a fascine battery to cannonade the principal fort of the enemy; and in something more than three weeks, it was ready to open. That we might do the Spaniards as much honour as possible, it was determined, in a council of war, that five of our largest ships should attack the fort on one side, while the battery, strengthened by two mortars and twenty-four cohorns, should ply it on the other.

Accordingly, the signal for our ship to engage, among others, was hoisted, we being advertised, the night before, to make everything clear for that purpose. Our ship, with others destined for this service, immediately weighed, and in less than half-an-hour came to an anchor before the castle of Bocca Chica, with a spring upon our cable, and the cannonading (which indeed was dreadful) began. The fire of the Spaniards proceeded from eighty-four great guns, besides a mortar and small arms, in Bocca Chica; thirty-six in Fort St. Joseph; twenty in two fascine batteries, and four men-of-war, mounting sixty-four guns each. This was answered by our land-battery mounted with twenty-one cannon, two mortars, and twenty-four cohorns, and five great ships of seventy or eighty guns, that fired without intermission.

In so doing, a difference happened between Captain Oakum and his well-beloved cousin and counsellor Mackshane, which had well nigh terminated in an open rupture. The doctor, who had imagined there was no more danger of being hurt by the enemy's shot in the cockpit than in the centre of the earth, was lately informed that a surgeon's mate had been killed in that part of the ship by a cannon-ball from two small redoubts that were destroyed before the disembarkation of our soldiers; and therefore insisted upon having a platform raised for the convenience of the sick and wounded in the after-hold, where he deemed himself more secure than on the deck above. The captain, offended at this extraordinary proposal, accused him of pusillanimity, and told him, there was no room in the hold for such an occasion. Fear rendering Mackshane obstinate, he persisted in his demand, and showed his instructions, by which it was authorised; the captain swore these instructions were dictated by a parcel of lazy poltroons who were never at sea. But, before any such measure could be taken, our signal was thrown out, and the doctor compelled to trust his carcass in the cockpit. During the battle, the surgeon, after having crossed himself, fell flat on the deck. The first mate plainly told the surgeon, that if he did not get up immediately and perform his duty, he would complain of his behaviour to the admiral, and make application for his warrant. This remonstrance effectually roused Mackshane, who was never deaf to an argument in which he thought his interest was concerned. Being thus supported, he went to work, and arms and legs were hewed down without mercy. While we were employed in our duties, a shot happened to take us between wind and water, and made a terrible havoc and noise among the jars and bottles in its way, and disconcerted Mackshane so much, that he dropped his scalpel, and falling down on his knees, pronounced his Pater-noster aloud. The captain, finding the surgeon obstinate, suffered himself to be dressed, and swore he would confine Mackshane as soon as the service should be over.

The chaplain and purser, who were stationed with us in quality of assistants, followed the doctor's example of fear, while the Welshman and I sat upon a chest looking at one another with great discomposure, scarce able to refrain from the like prostration. Being thus supported with rum, the fumes of the liquor mounting into the parson's brain, conspired, with his former agitation of spirits, to make him quite delirious; he stripped himself to the skin; and, besmearing his body with blood, could scarce be withheld from running upon deck in that condition. Jack Rattlin, scandalised at this deportment, endeavour to allay his transports with reason; but finding all he said ineffectual, and great confusion occasioned by his frolics, he knocked him down with his right hand, and by threats kept him quiet in that state of humiliation. But it was not in the power of rum to elevate the purser, who sat on the floor wringing his hands, and cursing the hour in which he left his peaceable profession of a brewer in Rochester, to engage in such a life of terror and disquiet. While we diverted ourselves at the expense of this poor devil, a shot happened to take us between wind and water. The chaplain grew so outrageous, that Rattlin with one hand could not keep him under; so that we were obliged to confine him in the surgeon's cabin, where he was no doubt guilty of a thousand extravagancies.

We had not been many minutes engaged, when one of the sailors brought another on his back to the cockpit, where he tossed him down like a bag of oats, and pulling out his pouch, put a large chew of tobacco in his mouth without speaking a word. My fellow mate, snatching up the amputation knife, pursued him half-way up the cock-pit ladder, crying, "You lousy rascal, is this the churchyard, or the charnel-house, or the sepulchre, or the golgotha, of the ship?" Much about this time, my old antagonist, Crampley, came down, with express orders, as he said, to bring me up to the quarter-deck, to dress a slight wound the captain had received by a splinter. At another time, perhaps, I might have disputed this order, to which I was not bound to pay the least regard; but as I thought my reputation depended upon my compliance, I was resolved to convince my rival that I was no more afraid than he of exposing myself to danger. With this view I provided myself with dressings, and followed him immediately to the quarter-deck, through a most infernal scene of slaughter, fire, smoke, and uproar. Captain Oakum, who leaned against the mizen-mast, no sooner saw me approach in my shirt, with the sleeves tucked up to my armpits, and my hands dyed with blood, than he signified his displeasure by a frown, and asked why the doctor himself did not come? I told him that Crampley had singled me out, as if by express command; at which reply he seemed surprised, and threatened to punish the midshipman for his presumption, after the engagement. In the meantime, I was sent back to my station, and ordered to tell Mackshane, that the captain expected him immediately. I got safe back, and delivered my commission to the doctor, who flatly refused to quit the post assigned to him by his instructions.

Jack Rattlin coming towards me, told me, with great deliberation, he was come to be docked at last, and discovered the remains of one hand, which had been shattered to pieces with a grape shot. I lamented with unfeigned sorrow his misfortune, which he bore with heroic courage, observing, that every shot had its commission: "It was well it did not take him in the head! or if it had, what then? he should have died bravely, fighting for his king and country. Death was a debt which every man owed, and must pay; and that now was as well as another time." I was much pleased and edified with the maxims of this sea-philosopher, who endured the amputation of his left hand without shrinking, the operation being performed (at his request) by me, after Mackshane, who was with difficulty prevailed to lift his head from the deck, had declared there was a necessity for his losing the limb. While I was employed in dressing the stump, I asked Jack's opinion of the battle, who, shaking his head, frankly told me, he believed we should do no good: "For why? because, instead of dropping anchor close under shore, where we should have to deal with one corner of Bocca Chica only, we had opened the harbour, and exposed ourselves to the whole fire of the enemy from their shipping and Fort St. Joseph, as well as from the castle we intended to cannonade; that, besides, we lay at too great a distance to damage the walls, and three parts in four of our shot did not take place; for there was scarce anybody on board who understood the pointing of a gun. Ah! God help us!" continued he, "If your kinsman, Lieutenant Bowling, had been here, we should have had other guess work."

Much about this time, my old antagonist, Crampley, came down, with express orders, as he said, to bring me up to the quarter-deck, to dress a slight wound the captain had received by a splinter: his reason for honouring me in particular with this piece of service, being, that in case I should be killed or disabled by the way, my death or mutilation would be of less consequence to the ship's company than that of the doctor or his first mate. At another time, perhaps, I might have disputed this order, to which I was not bound to pay the least regard; but as I thought my reputation depended upon my compliance, I was resolved to convince my rival that I was no more afraid than he of exposing myself to danger. With this view I provided myself with dressings, and followed him immediately to the quarter-deck, through a most infernal scene of slaughter, fire, smoke, and uproar. Captain Oakum, who leaned against the mizen-mast, no sooner saw me approach in my shirt, with the sleeves tucked up to my armpits, and my hands dyed with blood, than he signified his displeasure by a frown, and asked why the doctor himself did not come? I told him that Crampley had singled me out, as if by express command; at which reply he seemed surprised, and threatened to punish the midshipman for his presumption, after the engagement. In the meantime, I was sent back to my station, and ordered to tell Mackshane, that the captain expected him immediately. I got safe back, and delivered my commission to the doctor, who flatly refused to quit the post assigned to him by his instructions; whereupon Morgan, who I believe, was jealous of my reputation for courage, undertook the affair, and ascended with great intrepidity.

After four hours of cannonading and a breach made by land batteries, the Spanish abandoned Bocca Chica fort during the night, allowing soldiers to take the ramparts without resistance. Simultaneously, sailors captured Fort St. Joseph, the fascine batteries, and one Spanish man-of-war, while three other vessels were destroyed by the enemy to prevent capture. This success raised hopes that the town would offer little further resistance, though opportunities to press the advantage were missed due to excessive caution.

The capture of the forts at Bocca Chica gave the expedition control of the outer harbour, producing great rejoicing among the forces. The victory led to expectations of minimal opposition from the town itself, as the Spanish defenses had been the foundation of their confidence.

The provisions available to the soldiers and sailors were described in deplorable terms. Salt beef, nicknamed "Irish horse," was putrid; New England salt pork tasted neither like fish nor flesh; and biscuits from the same origin were infested with insects that caused them to move of their own accord. Butter rationed by the gill tasted of train oil and salt. Each man received three half-quarterns of brandy or rum daily, mixed with water and lacking any sweetener.

Despite adequate water supplies for a six-month voyage at half-a-gallon per person daily, the men endured a ration of just one purser's quart per day during five weeks in the Torrid Zone. This restriction was attributed to either penance, a desire to mortify the crew, or an intent to make soldiers more reckless with their lives. The author disputes claims that mortality resulted from poor provisions and water scarcity.

Following the placement of garrisons in the captured forts, soldiers and artillery were re-embarked after more than a week of this service. The expedition then proceeded toward the inner harbour, where fortifications on both sides of the entrance had been abandoned by the enemy.

Ships managed to open a passage through the blocked harbour—where old galleons and two sunk men-of-war obstructed the channel—to facilitate a second landing at La Quinta near the town. After faint resistance from Spanish militia opposing their disembarkation, the troops established camp with plans to besiege St. Lazar castle.

The castle of St. Lazar, which overlooked and commanded the city, was attacked by musketry alone following a council of war decision, despite lacking proper siege approaches. The assault met with devastating consequences, the enemy providing such fierce resistance that most of the attacking detachment was killed on the spot. The remains of the army subsequently retreated to the ships.

The army that had landed with eight thousand able men near Bocca Chica was reduced to fifteen hundred fit for service following the failed assault. The sick and wounded were squeezed into transport vessels, prompting the author's sardonic commentary on this outcome.

The sick and wounded were crammed into certain vessels called hospital ships, though they lacked adequate surgeons, nurses, or cooks. With insufficient space between decks to sit upright, wounds and amputations became infested with maggots amid the corruption. Though each major ship could have spared a surgeon, neither the general nor the admiral requested such assistance from the other.

The author depicts growing discord between the army general and the naval admiral, comparing their mutual resentment to Caesar and Pompey. The general could not accept a superior while the admiral was impatient of an equal. This division prevented coordination that might have saved lives or secured victory. The author employs a proverb about dropping between two stools to illustrate how their failure to cooperate doomed the enterprise.

The admiral ordered one of the captured Spanish men-of-war equipped with sixteen guns and manned by detachments from the fleet to bombard the town. The vessel was towed into the inner harbour at night and opened fire at dawn from within half a mile of the walls. After six hours under fire from thirty cannon, the crew was forced to set the ship ablaze and escape by boat. This action provoked widespread speculation, with critics suggesting the admiral either lacked strategic sense, was testing enemy strength, or was pursuing personal vendettas at the public's expense. Defenders claimed insufficient water depth for larger ships, though pilots contradicted this assertion.

The expedition's management extended to grim practices: commanders ordered dead bodies thrown overboard without burial or wrappings rather than face burial duties, leading to human remains floating in the harbour until consumed by sharks and birds. The onset of the wet season brought continuous rainfall from sunrise to sunset, followed by ceaseless thunder and lightning that provided enough illumination to read small print.

An epidemic fever rages among the crew, with three-fourths of those infected dying. The bilious fever spreads due to the change of atmosphere, stench, heat, bad provisions, and despair. The conductors decide to abandon their conquests, rendering artillery useless and blowing up walls before returning to Jamaica. The narrator finds himself threatened with the same symptoms and knows he stands no chance of survival in the cockpit's intolerable heat and smell.

Knowing the cockpit will be deadly, the narrator writes a petition to Captain Oakum requesting permission to stay among the soldiers on the middle deck for better air. The captain refuses, ordering him to continue in the surgeon mates' place or remain in the hospital, which is even more offensive and suffocating. Instead of submitting, the narrator prevails upon the soldiers to admit his hammock among them. When Crampley learns of this, he reports the disobedience to the captain, who gives Crampley power to return the narrator to his proper berth.

Enraged by this revenge, the narrator's fever increases violently. While gasping for breath, he is visited by a sergeant whose broken nose he had repaired after a battle. The sergeant offers his berth on the middle deck, enclosed with canvas and aired by a port-hole. The grateful halberdier has no other bed than a hencoop during the passage. The narrator accepts and is treated with tenderness, though his illness continues to worsen and his life is despaired of. Six or seven men die daily and are thrown overboard.

Morgan brings diaphoretic medicines, which the narrator secretly spits out, believing medicine cooperates with the disease rather than fighting it. He seemingly complies to avoid affronting Morgan's professional pride. When the fever reaches its height, Morgan applies a blister to the narrator's neck and summons the chaplain for spiritual consolation. The chaplain arrives and, after feeling the narrator's pulse, begins asking about his soul. He recommends confession of sins, especially "whoredom and adultery," and asks about his religion. The narrator, not fearing death, smiles at the inquiry and declines auricular confession, saying it savors more of the Roman than Protestant church. When the narrator reveals he was bred a Presbyterian and has not taken the oaths or received the sacrament, the chaplain declares he can do no service and leaves.

The fever soon grows outrageous and the narrator begins seeing strange visions, concluding he is becoming delirious. In danger of suffocation, he attempts to plunge into the sea but notices moisture on his thigh, a favorable symptom. He seizes this advantage by tearing off his shirt and sheets, wrapping himself in a thick blanket for a quarter of an hour in intense pain. A profuse sweat follows, relieving his complaints within two hours except for weakness. He enjoys a nap and awakens hungry.

While sleeping, Morgan arrives and, believing the narrator dead, asks the sergeant about him. When informed the narrator has slept peacefully for five hours, Morgan assumes he has died and begins mourning, saying he was a promising youth who paid his debt like an honest man. The sergeant, alarmed, enters the berth but finds the narrator smiling and winking. Morgan approaches with tears to view the body, and the narrator counterfeits death so well that Morgan observes the distortion of his face as evidence of a struggle. When Morgan begins closing the narrator's eyes and mouth, the narrator snaps at his fingers, startling him. Morgan turns pale but the narrator reassures him with hopes of eating salmagundy together in England. Upon feeling the pulse and finding the favorable crisis, Morgan congratulates him, attributing the recovery to the blister he claims to have applied—though the narrator secretly knows the plaster is missing from his back.

Upon recovering, the narrator crawls on deck with a staff and encounters Doctor Mackshane, who passes with disdain and offers no acknowledgment. Crampley follows, confronting the narrator with abusive language about lazy skulking men allowed to lollop while betters do hard duty. The narrator restrains his anger, knowing his feebleness and enemies in the ship could ruin him. He reminds Crampley he has not forgotten the insolence and malice, hoping they will meet on shore. Crampley grins and declares he longs for such an opportunity.

The ship is ordered to be heaved down, victualled, and watered for the return to England. Captain Oakum, finding it inconvenient to revisit his native country, exchanges with another gentleman who desperately wishes to be safe beyond the tropics.

The new commander, Captain Whiffle, takes possession of the ship in a ten-oared barge, appearing in every way the reverse of Oakum. He is a tall, thin young man dressed elaborately: a white hat with a red feather, pink silk coat lined with white, white satin waistcoat embroidered with gold, a garnet brooch on fine cambric shirt edged with Mechlin lace, crimson velvet breeches, silk stockings, blue Morocco shoes with diamond buckles, a steel-hilted sword inlaid with gold, and an amber-headed cane. Remarkably, he wears a mask on his face and white gloves fixed with rings on his little fingers. His ship is impregnated with perfumes, surpassing even Arabia Felix in sweetness, and he is surrounded by attendants of similar disposition.

When Morgan notices no surgeon among Whiffle's attendants, he decides to solicit the new captain's interest for the vacancy before another surgeon can be appointed. He approaches the cabin in his ordinary, tobacco-scented clothing. Finding Whiffle reposing in fine chintz and muslin, Morgan begins his petition, claiming to be a gentleman born and bred with misfortunes. Whiffle, shocked by the apparition and the tobacco smell, cries out that he is suffocated and orders Morgan away, calling him a monster and a stinkard. Whiffle's servants revive their swooning captain while pushing Morgan out. Morgan returns to where the narrator waits and, according to his custom when enduring indignity he cannot avenge, begins singing a Welsh ditty. When asked about the cause of his agitation, Morgan protests that he is neither monster nor stinkard, affirming his Christian smells except for tobacco, which he declares is a cephalic, aromatic herb. He vows to proclaim before the world that Captain Whiffle is disguised and transfigured with affectation, and more like a monkey than a human being.

Captain Whiffle Summons the Narrator; Crew Disapproves of His Favoritism of Mr. Simper** Captain Whiffle sends for the narrator, who finds the captain languishing on a couch with his valet-de-chambre supporting him. Whiffle examines the narrator from a distance with a spy-glass and approaches cautiously to satisfy his sense of smell before declaring him "tolerable." When the narrator attempts to take the captain's pulse, Whiffle cries out in distress at the rough handling. The captain expresses reluctance to submit to treatment without his own surgeon, Mr. Simper, revealing the crew's unfavorable opinion of their commander's favoritism toward his personal physician.

Mr. Simper Arrives and Prescribes Non-Bleeding Treatment for Captain Whiffle** Mr. Simper arrives—a young man with a delicate complexion and affected languid smile. He embraces the captain warmly and expresses sympathy for his condition. After feeling the captain's pulse through his glove, Simper diagnoses the disorder as entirely nervous and prescribes tincture of castor and liquid laudanum instead of bleeding, reasoning these will compose the fermentation of the captain's bile. The captain is put to bed, and orders are issued that no one walk on the side of the quarter-deck under which he lies. Simper's care makes him so necessary that a cabin is constructed for him contiguous to the captain's state room.

Captain Whiffle Enforces Strict Cabin Etiquette; Crew Spreads Gossip About Him** Upon recovery, Captain Whiffle issues strict regulations requiring lieutenants to appear on deck only with wigs, swords, and ruffles, and prohibiting midshipmen and petty officers from wearing check shirts or dirty linen. He further commands that no one except Simper and his own servants may enter the great cabin without first obtaining permission. These singular regulations do not prepossess the ship's company in his favor; rather, they provide opportunity for scandal to busy itself with his character, accusing him of maintaining an improper correspondence with his surgeon.

Admiral's Surgeon Orders the Detention of a Surgeon's Mate in the West Indies** When the ship receives sailing orders, the narrator hopes to revisit England soon. However, the admiral's surgeon arrives and informs Morgan and the narrator that a great scarcity of surgeons exists in the West Indies. He announces orders to detain one mate from every great ship bound for England, directing them to decide between themselves by the next morning which will stay, or lots will be cast. Thunderstruck by this proposal, Morgan offers to remain only if given a surgeon's warrant immediately, but learns no chief surgeon positions are available. Morgan flatly refuses to quit the ship, leaving the outcome to chance.

Narrator Volunteers to Stay, Exchanges Keepsakes with Morgan, Is Appointed to the Lizard Sloop** Reflecting on his miserable circumstances in England without friends to promote his advancement, and considering the present scarcity of surgeons in the unhealthy West Indies climate, the narrator resolves that success will be more certain by staying. He voluntarily submits to the admiral's pleasure rather than risk losing to chance. His resignation is commended, and that afternoon he receives a warrant as surgeon`s mate of the Lizard sloop-of-war, placing him on equal footing with every first mate in the service. He exchanges sleeve buttons with Morgan as remembrances, takes leave of the sergeant and honest Jack Rattlin, and boards his new vessel.

Narrator Reconnects with Former Acquaintance as the Lizard's Surgeon** On the Lizard, the narrator discovers the surgeon is one of the young fellows with whom he had been confined during their frolic with Jackson. The surgeon receives him with great courtesy and, upon being reminded of their former acquaintance, expresses great joy at the reunion. He assigns the narrator to an excellent mess composed of the gunner and master's mate. This connection provides the narrator with friendly company aboard his new vessel, establishing a foundation of support among the officers.

Narrator Sells His Ticket Ashore and Returns to Find Crampley Is Lieutenant** With no sick patients aboard and having obtained leave, the narrator goes ashore with the gunner, who directs him to a Jew who purchases his ticket at a forty percent discount. Having acquired necessary supplies, the narrator returns to find his old antagonist Crampley walking upon deck. Through connections about the admiral, Crampley has procured a commission as lieutenant aboard the Lizard. This unexpected encounter presents the narrator with a hostile superior officer whose enmity has already manifested on two occasions since Crampley's advancement.

Lizard's Surgeon Warns the Narrator to Show Respect to Crampley** The surgeon Tomlins informs the narrator of Crampley's new position and advises him to behave with some respect toward his superior officer, warning that otherwise Crampley will find a thousand opportunities to use him ill. This advice is bitter medicine for the narrator, whose pride and resentment render him utterly incapable of submission to or reconciliation with the wretch who has treated him so inhumanly on many occasions. Resolving to have as little connection as possible with Crampley, the narrator determines to ingratiate himself with the rest of the officers, whose friendship may shield him from malicious persecution.

Lizard Sloop Captures Spanish and English Prizes on West Indies Cruise** Within a week, the Lizard sails on a cruise and takes a Spanish barcolongo along with her prize—an English ship bound for Bristol that sailed from Jamaica a fortnight before without convoy. All healthy prisoners are put ashore on the north side of the island, while the prizes are manned with English sailors. Command of the barcolongo is given to the narrator's friend the master's mate, with orders to carry both prizes to Port Morant and remain until the Lizard's cruise concludes.

Narrator Is Assigned to Shore Hospital Duty at Port Morant** The narrator is sent with his messmate to attend the sixteen wounded Spaniards and Englishmen, transporting them to a hired storehouse repurposed as a hospital. This assignment pleases him greatly, as it frees him from Crampley's arrogance for some time. His messmate, who resembles his uncle in both figure and disposition, treats him with utmost civility and confidence, making him a present of a silver-hilted hanger and pair of pistols acquired during the plunder. They arrive safely at Morant, establish the hospital with beds and necessaries, and four of the ship's company are assigned to attend the wounded under the narrator's care.

While returning to the ship by moonlight with Brayl, the narrator is alarmed by a familiar voice behind them. Unable to resist an invitation to enter a roadside house, the narrator discovers the horseman is actually Thompson, whom he had mourned as drowned. The emotional reunion overwhelms the narrator, who initially believes himself deceived by a dream. Honest Brayl weeps alongside them and celebrates their happiness.

Thompson explains that despair drove him to leap from the Thunder into the sea. After being thoroughly ducked, he regretted his impulsiveness but swam toward passing ships. Though one vessel threw him an old chest for support, no ship stopped for three hours. Eventually a Rhode Island schooner rescued him. The ship's captain proved to be Thompson's old schoolfellow, who helped him secure a position as surgeon and overseer on a wealthy planter's Jamaica estate, where he has fallen in love with the planter's daughter.

Over ten days together, Thompson lavishes the narrator with poultry, meat, fruit, wine, and rum. Before departing, Thompson forces ten pistoles upon his friend. Upon leaving, he presses four doubloons into the narrator's hand, and later sends a box containing shirts, waistcoats, caps, and stockings. The narrator, now provided with money and fine clothes, feels like "a gentleman of some consequence."

When the narrator transfers to the Lizard, he learns Crampley has spread scandalous stories about him, including false claims of transportation for theft and whipping. The ship's surgeon, having heard the narrator's full account, defends him strenuously and recounts instances of Crampley's malice, satisfying the captain of the narrator's innocence while making Crampley an enemy of the surgeon.

The surgeon visits Thompson primarily from curiosity about his extraordinary fate. Armed with the narrator's letter of introduction, he returns convinced of the narrator's good character, charmed by Thompson's affability. Thompson loads both men with gifts of fresh provisions and liquors before their departure.

Upon arriving at Port Royal, the narrator purchases fine clothes and wins fifty pistoles at hazard. The captain is promoted to a twenty-gun ship, the Lizard is given to an elderly man of eighty who finally rises after twenty-five years as lieutenant, and Brayl is made an officer. The admiral selects their vessel to carry dispatches to England, and the ship is prepared for the voyage home.

Having found himself away from the fatal island, the narrator feels excessive pleasure at the prospect of returning to his native country. He is accommodated with everything to make the passage agreeable, though he knows his enjoyment will be limited by Crampley's presence.

Crampley, acting as an insidious slanderer, has already caused a misunderstanding between the ship's captain and the surgeon. The captain, advanced in age and infirmities, becomes intolerably peevish and develops a particular aversion to young men and surgeons. He refuses to consult the doctor despite suffering from violent gout and gravel attacks, instead relying on Holland gin as his sovereign remedy. Whether from too sparing or an overdose of his "cordial," the captain dies in the night without ceremony and is found stiff the next morning—much to Crampley's satisfaction.

With the captain dead, Crampley succeeds to the command of the vessel. Both the narrator and Mr. Tomlins have no cause to rejoice at this event, fearing their new commander's tyranny will be as unlimited as his power. Their apprehensions prove justified on the very first day of his command.

On the first day of his command, Crampley orders the surgeon's hencoops and all his fowls thrown overboard on the pretense that the decks are too crowded. He also prohibits the surgeon and the narrator from walking on the quarter-deck. When Mr. Tomlins complains of these injuries and speaks hastily during his expostulation, Crampley seizes the opportunity to confine him to his cabin. Within days, for lack of air, Tomlins develops a fever that soon ends his life. Before dying, he makes his will, bequeathing all his estate to his sister and leaving his watch and instruments to the narrator as memorials of friendship. Crampley shows no remorse for his barbarity and even insults the surgeon's memory, accusing him of poisoning himself from fear of a court-martial.

Under Crampley's brutal tyranny, the narrator's life becomes increasingly irksome. Crampley signifies to the narrator's messmates that he wishes him expelled from their society, and they immediately grant his request. The narrator is forced to eat alone for the remainder of the passage.

After seven weeks at sea, the gunner tells the captain that by his reckoning, they must be in soundings and requests that the lead be heaved. Crampley dismisses this concern, swearing they are not within a hundred leagues of soundings and refusing to cast the lead. When the gunner claims to discover Scilly light, Crampley continues to neglect sounding. The gunner formally protests the captain's conduct, for which he is put in confinement.

At three o'clock in the morning, the ship strikes and remains fast on a sand-bank. The crew is alarmed; the boat is hoisted out, but they cannot discern which way the shore lies and must wait for daylight. The wind increases, and waves batter the sloop violently, causing them to expect the vessel will go to pieces. The gunner is released and advises cutting away the mast to lighten the ship, but this proves unsuccessful. Seeing the desperate situation, the sailors begin breaking open officers' chests, dressing in their clothes, drinking their liquors, and drunkenness, tumult, and confusion ensue.

In the midst of the uproar, the narrator goes below to secure his effects and finds the carpenter's mate hewing down the purser's cabin with a hatchet, whistling calmly as he claims he only wants to taste the purser's rum. When the purser arrives and protests this injustice, the plunderer responds with deliberate indifference: "All's one for that, let us live while we can." The purser falls to his knees, begging heaven that they might not all perish for the sake of Jonas.

During this dialogue, the narrator clothes himself in his bed apparel, girds on his hanger, sticks his loaded pistols in his belt, and disposes of all his valuable moveables about his person. He then comes upon deck with a resolution to take the first opportunity to get on shore.

When day breaks, the shore appears at a distance of three miles ahead. Crampley, finding his efforts to get the ship off ineffectual, determines to save himself by entering the boat. The ship's company follows so fast that the boat would have sunk alongside, had not someone wiser cut the rope and put off. The narrator makes several attempts to get into the boat but is always balked by Crampley, who excludes him with singular determination. Enraged at this inhuman partiality and seeing the rope cut, the narrator pulls a pistol, cocks it, and swears to shoot any man who obstructs his entrance. He leaps with full exertion and gets into the boat, though he loses the skin of his shins in the descent. Crampley strikes at him several times with a cutlass and orders the men to throw him overboard, but they are too anxious about their own safety to heed him.

Though the boat is deeply loaded and the sea is terribly high, they manage to reach dry land in less than an hour after parting from the sloop.

As soon as the narrator sets foot on terra firma, his long-boiling indignation against Crampley erupts. He immediately challenges the captain to single combat, presenting his pistols so that Crampley may take his choice of weapons.

Crampley takes one pistol without hesitation and, before the narrator can cock the other, fires in his face and throws the pistol after the shot. The narrator feels himself stunned, imagining the bullet has entered his brain, but discharges his own pistol as quickly as possible so he will not die unrevenged. He then flies upon his antagonist, knocking out several of his fore-teeth with the butt-end of the piece. He would have finished him off, had Crampley not disengaged and seized his cutlass—previously given to his servant. The narrator draws his hanger and closes in fury, thrusting his weapon into Crampley's mouth, enlarging it on one side to his ear. When Crampley staggers back, possibly due to the wound or uneven ground, the narrator follows and cuts the tendons of the back of his hand with one stroke. Crampley's cutlass drops, leaving him defenceless.

The narrator's rage might have driven him to further cruelty had he not been felled to the ground by a blow on the back of his head, depriving him of all sensation. In this deplorable situation, exposed to an incensed barbarian and an inhuman crew, he remains for some time. When he recovers his senses, he finds himself alone in a desolate place, stripped of his clothes, money, watch, buckles, and everything except his shoes, stockings, breeches, and shirt. He had been worth sixty guineas in cash just an hour before.

The narrator curses the hour of his birth, the parents who gave him being, the sea that did not swallow him up, the poniard of the enemy that could not find his heart, and the villainy of those who left him in such a miserable condition. In the ecstasy of despair, he resolves to remain where he is and perish.

Following the ship's destruction, the narrator struggles to stand and discovers contused wounds to both the front and back of the head, likely inflicted by the butt-end of a pistol. Unable to detect any remains of the vessel, the narrator concludes she has foundered with all aboard lost. Making way toward a visible cottage, the narrator acquires a discarded sailor's jacket—comfortably warm but causing reopened wounds as natural heat returns. Exhausted and near collapse in the fields, the narrator spots a barn nearby, staggers inside, and throws down upon straw, hoping for imminent rescue.

The narrator's presence in the barn triggers terror when a countryman armed with a pitchfork nearly impales the straw concealing the prone figure. Upon hearing the narrator's agonizing groan, the peasant freezes in superstitious dread, unable to determine whether the blood-soaked form represents Satan or a deceased person. An elderly father arrives and, despite visual inspection through spectacles, becomes equally panicked, demanding the narrator identify as either the devil or a murdered soul deserving Christian burial. The narrator's failed attempts at speech lead to extended mutual terror until the father proposes closer inspection—but his son refuses, insisting the older man advance first. When the narrator's partial hand-raise produces only straw-rustling, the son bolts through the door, sending his father sprawling, and both retreat mumbling exorcisms.

An old woman of remarkable intrepidity enters the barn with the two frightened men following, immediately advancing to the narrator's position declaring she neither fears the devil nor a corpse. Recognizing the narrator's critical condition, she arranges transport via wheelbarrow to a neighboring farmer named Hodge, arguing he possesses greater means to cover burial costs for vagrants. Upon arrival, the narrator is tumbled unceremoniously from the cart and nearly falls prey to hogs before groaning summons household members. Hodge, resembling the uncharitable Jew rather than the Good Samaritan, forwards the narrator to the parson, who must practice charity rather than merely preach it. The vicar, however, threatens excommunication unless the narrator is immediately removed. Having been passed from door to door throughout the entire village without receiving aid, the narrator finally regains consciousness in the home of an elderly woman locally suspected of witchcraft who, having heard of the distress, took the narrator in, dressed the wounds, and restored consciousness with homemade cordials.

The narrator's benefactress describes her origins as an only child of wealthy parents, heiress to considerable estate, and recipient of numerous addresses from admirers. She fell passionately in love with a young army lieutenant of no fortune, ultimately marrying him privately. When her father learned of the marriage through a letter while she was abroad, he renounced her completely, charging her never to return home and promising inheritance would go elsewhere. Her mother confirmed this rejection in a postscript. Her husband's unconcerned, tender response to this news endeared him further, but he departed soon after for Flanders with his regiment, later learning they were killed in sight of one another at the battle of the Wood. Left in grief and want, the widow and her companion applied for pension, sold their jewels and superfluous clothing, and retired to Sussex where they lived solitarily for many years until her companion's death two years prior. The widow explains her reputation as a witch stems from her intellectual conversation, reclusive habits, acquired medical knowledge, and elderly appearance—reputations furthered by a parish parson who took offense at her and villagers scandalized by her beloved cat wearing a collar, which was her deceased companion's favorite.

The narrator, having recovered strength, seeks the widow's advice regarding future conduct. The narrator initially contemplated traveling to London to recover clothes and pay by returning to the ship, which has safely arrived in the Thames. The widow firmly dissuades this course, cautioning that the narrator risks being treated as a deserter for abandoning the sloop and as a mutineer for assaulting the commanding officer—additionally exposing the narrator to that officer's malicious revenge. The widow instead proposes an alternative arrangement.

The widow promises to recommend the narrator as a servant to a single lady of her acquaintance living in the neighborhood with a wealthy nephew, a young foxhunter. The narrator could be quite comfortable provided tolerance for the mistress's disposition and manners. The widow counsels strongly against revealing the narrator's true story, as knowledge thereof would poison the narrator's reception; the established maxim among people of condition excludes gentlemen from domestic positions, as they may become lazy and insolent. Faced with desperate circumstances, the narrator accepts this humble proposal. Within days, the narrator is hired as a footman, having been represented as a young man pressed into sea service by relatives against his will and possessing such disgust for seafaring following shipwreck that he prefers land service. Before assuming duties, the widow provides a character sketch of the mistress.

The prospective mistress is described as a maiden of forty years, notable not for beauty but for learning and taste, famous throughout the region as a perfect female virtuoso. Her eagerness for knowledge reaches such intensity that she neglects her personal appearance to the point of sluttishness. Her physical neglect combined with contempt for men serves her nephew's interests, as he likely stands to inherit her considerable fortune and therefore permits her eccentric lifestyle. She resides in a private apartment comprising dining room, bedchamber, and study, maintaining her own cook maid, waiting-woman, and footman, rarely dining or conversing with the main family except her niece—a lovely young woman whose frequent late-night company with her aunt damages her own health. The mistress follows Rosicrucian principles, believing invisible beings inhabit earth, air, and sea and can be contacted through chaste living. Upon hearing rumors of the widow and her cat, she visited hoping to meet the cat as a familiar but was disappointed. Her visionary mindset renders her abstract from common worldly affairs, resulting in frequent absences and strange mistakes requiring attentive correction.

The narrator arrives at the lady's residence and is introduced by a waiting-woman. He finds his mistress seated in her study in an eccentric posture, engaged in writing. She appears with disheveled sandy hair, prominent gray eyes, and an aquiline nose, surrounded by books, globes, telescopes, and other scholarly apparatus. After observing the narrator curiously, she asks his name, which he conceals as John Brown. She quizzes him humorously about whether he arrived ashore on a whale or dolphin, and about swimming the Hellespont. Satisfied with his answers, she orders new livery and instructs him in his duties as footman: cleaning knives and forks, laying the cloth, waiting at table, and attending her when she goes abroad.

When dinner is served, the narrator beholds Narcissa, the lady's niece, for the first time. He is immediately captivated by her beauty and grace. She is described as seventeen years old, tall, with jet-black hair falling in ringlets upon her ivory neck, piercing yet tender eyes, and a complexion of delicate health. Her noble and humane aspect is so ravishing that the narrator feels his heart struck with admiration and love at first sight. He curses his servile position that places him beneath her notice while simultaneously blessing his fate for enabling him to see her daily. When Narcissa addresses him, asking about his treatment by robbers, he experiences extreme joy.

Following Mrs. Sagely's counsel, the narrator recounts his story to Narcissa: he was bound apprentice to a ship's master against his inclination, the ship foundered at sea, and he and four others swam to shore where his companions overpowered him, stripped him to his shirt, and left him for dead. He further describes being found in a barn and the inhuman treatment he suffered from local people and a parson. The narrative draws tears from Narcissa's eyes. The mistress remarks approvingly, "Ma foi! le garçon est bien fait!" and Narcissa compliments his understanding in the same language.

The narrator's story and appearance win the approval of both his mistress and Narcissa. The mistress's French compliment on his good looks is echoed by Narcissa, who adds a flattering remark about his understanding in the same language. This approval solidifies his position as a footman in the household.

Conversation at dinner turns to the young squire, whom the mistress calls "the Savage." Narcissa reports that he remains in bed recovering from last night's drinking, preparing for a fox chase the next morning. He is to be joined by Sir Timothy Thicket, Squire Bumper, and other gentlemen of similar character, promising an uproarious dawn for the household. The virtuoso mistress declares she will stuff her ears with cotton and take opium to sleep through the noise.

During dinner, the narrator learns from the kitchen servants that Sir Timothy Thicket is a wealthy local knight. A match has been projected between Sir Timothy and Narcissa by her brother, who in turn would marry Sir Timothy's sister. The fortunes of both families are approximately equal, and the arrangement would provide for both young women while neither brother would be out of pocket. However, both ladies actively disdain the persons allotted to them by this scheme.

This information immediately creates a mortal aversion to Sir Timothy in the narrator's heart, as he now views the knight as his rival for Narcissa's affection. The next morning, the narrator rises early to observe the hunting party and glimpses his competitor. He assesses that Sir Timothy's personal qualities, excluding his estate, are not brilliant enough to cause him serious concern regarding winning Narcissa, whose affection he begins to hope he might gain despite his lowly station.

With his mistress sleeping late after the hunters' disturbance, the narrator seizes the opportunity to examine her study at leisure. He discovers numerous scraps of her own poetry on varied subjects, begun without completion. Notably, not one of her compositions mentions love. He counts fragments of five tragedies: "The Stern Philosopher," "The Double," "The Sacrilegious Traitor," "The Fall of Lucifer," and "The Last Day." Her library contains the best English historians, poets, and philosophers, all French critics and poets, and a few Italian works, primarily poetry including Tasso and Ariosto. She possesses French translations of the classics but no Greek or Latin texts, revealing her ignorance of these languages.

The narrator learns from the maid that his mistress is prone to whimsical fancies and strange delusions. She sometimes imagines herself an animal or a piece of furniture. Recently, in the character of a cat, she attacked the maid and scratched her face. On another occasion, she became convinced the general conflagration was imminent and could only be prevented by her own water, which she retained so long that her life was endangered. The household had to kindle a bonfire under her window to persuade her to evacuate, causing her to release what had caused her distemper. The narrator observes her squatting on the floor like a hare listening to hunters, mistaking him for a beagle. These episodes are cured only by music, which Narcissa administers by playing the harpsichord, her sweet voice producing a calming effect on her aunt's troubled spirits.

To keep his love for Narcissa private, the narrator confines his love poems to his own reading, forgoing public praise for his work. He earns the warm favor of his mistress and Narcissa through diligent, respectful service, and is treated as a gentlemanly, educated figure rather than a common lackey by the two women.

When his mistress and Narcissa are stumped by an obscure passage in Tasso’s *Gierusalem* during dinner, the narrator easily explains the text, stunning both women. He reveals he has basic knowledge of Italian, French, Latin, Greek, philosophy, and mathematics from his earlier education, leaving the pair reserved and surprised for the rest of the meal.

The next day, the narrator’s mistress, an aspiring poet, asks for his opinion on her planned tragedy about a prince murdered at his altar, including a violent regicide’s speech. He flatters her work generously, and when she requests to see his own poetry, he shares two odes he wrote for Narcissa. While his mistress gives a lukewarm compliment to the verses, Narcissa initially declines to comment openly, later expressing private approval to her maid; after the exchange, Narcissa’s behavior toward the narrator becomes more reserved and less cheerful.

While the narrator is entirely focused on his feelings for Narcissa, he inadvertently attracts the romantic interest of the household’s cook and dairymaid. The two women grow fiercely jealous of each other, engaging in frequent public shouting matches and physical fights that expose the narrator’s unintended romantic conquest to the rest of the staff.

The cook and dairymaid’s respective suitors, the coachman and gardener, learn of the narrator’s success with the two women and plot revenge. The coachman, who was educated at the Tottenham Court academy, publicly challenges the narrator to a boxing match for twenty guineas.

The narrator refuses the boxing challenge, stating he will not lower himself to fight like a porter, but threatens to use any weapon from a blunderbuss to a needle if the coachman continues to insult him. The intimidated coachman retreats, and the story of the exchange spreads through the household, earning the narrator the nickname "Gentleman John", a title even used by his mistress and Narcissa after they learn of the incident.

The cook and dairymaid continue to pursue the narrator, each offering flattery and incentives to win his affection: the cook praises his learning and suggests they could run a profitable London eating-house for servants together, while the dairymaid compliments his good nature and notes many local farmers would marry her if not for her preference for him. The narrator remains uneasy with their advances, as his heart is fully devoted to Narcissa, and he refuses to act in any way that would betray his feelings for her.

At regular intervals during his eight months of footman servitude, Roderick's ambition revives: he despises his lowly status, devises fruitless schemes to assume the identity of a gentleman he believes he is entitled to by birth and education, until an unforeseen accident ends his servitude and temporarily dashes his hopes of winning Narcissa's affection.

Narcissa visits Miss Thicket and agrees to walk home in the cool evening accompanied by Sir Timothy, who, emboldened by the solitude of the field they pass through, uses unbecoming familiarity with her that escalates to an attempted violent assault when she rebukes him harshly for his rudeness.

Hearing Narcissa's cries for help, Roderick rushes to her aid; he strikes Sir Timothy's weapon from his hand and beats him unconscious with his cudgel. Finding Narcissa has fainted, he supports her head on his chest and holds her until she revives, and she thanks him as they walk back to the house together. He spots Sir Timothy recovering and walking home, filling him with dread of the rival's revenge, as he knows Sir Timothy is close to their squire and could justify the assault as a romantic advance.

At the house, Narcissa offers to protect Roderick from Sir Timothy and her aunt's anger, and offers him money as thanks for his service, which he refuses to avoid appearing mercenary. He kneels, kisses her hand, and confesses he is a gentleman by birth who loves her desperately, explaining he would not have made the confession while in servitude, and declares his intention to flee her presence and bury his passion forever before leaving before she can respond.

Roderick consults Mrs. Sagely, who warns him Sir Timothy will have him arrested and possibly transported for assaulting a magistrate, gives him two guineas, and urges him to flee. He escapes in the dark to the seaside, where he is surrounded by armed smugglers, bound, and taken aboard their cutter, where they accuse him of being a spy. After a council votes to maroon him in France rather than kill him, he hides six guineas in his sock to avoid being robbed, but is still stripped of his pocket money and hat by a smuggler before being set ashore in Boulogne.

Seeking refreshment at a public house in Boulogne, Roderick spots a disheveled Dutch sailor who, despite his shabby clothes and long beard, he recognizes as his long-lost uncle and benefactor Lieutenant Bowling. He reveals his identity as Roderick Random, and Bowling is overjoyed to see him but deeply distressed by his own destitute condition and inability to offer the younger man any help.

Moved by his uncle's poverty, Roderick gives Bowling five guineas to cover his passage back to London to petition the Admiralty; Bowling initially tries to refuse more than two guineas, but relents after Roderick insists. Roderick immediately orders food and drink for his uncle, who has not eaten in two days after being shipwrecked and abandoned by his former Dutch shipmates.

After eating, Bowling recounts his misadventures since the accident at Cape Tiberoon: he spent his last money at Port Louis, was forced to enlist as a common foremast man on a French king's ship for two years to avoid starving, was promoted to quartermaster on a West Indies voyage under Monsieur D’Antin, left the French service out of guilt for fighting his countrymen, reached Curaçao, tried to work passage to Holland to contact his English friends, but was shipwrecked on the French coast and left destitute until Roderick found him. He also outlines his plan to petition the Admiralty to clear his name and get reinstated, and promises to use his connections to help Roderick become a surgeon's mate.

After finishing their meal, the narrator and his uncle Mr. Bowling walk down to the harbour where they find a cutter sailing for Deal that evening. While waiting, they stroll about the town discussing the narrator's uncertain plans. The narrator reflects on his desperate circumstances—reduced to near poverty among foreigners with no acquaintances to advise him. His uncle offers to take him to England where he might find some provision, but the narrator determines to remain in France at all events.

The narrator views England at this time as the worst country in the universe for a poor honest man to live in, and besides other reasons he has for avoiding that kingdom, he is confirmed in his resolution to stay in France by a reverend priest who happens to pass by and overhears them speaking English.

The priest accosts them in their native language, revealing he is their countryman and offering whatever service he can provide. They invite him to share a glass of wine at a tavern of his recommending. After toasting their healths in good Burgundy, the priest inquires about their origins. When they name their birthplace, he starts up with excitement, wringing their hands and weeping, declaring he comes from the same region and they may be his own relations. The narrator remains initially cautious, recalling a previous adventure with a money-dropper, but when the priest proves knowledgeable about their families and personally knew their grandfather after fifty years' absence from Scotland, his scruples are entirely removed. The narrator discloses his condition without reserve, displaying his talents to such advantage that the old father looks upon him with admiration and assures him he can make his fortune in France.

The uncle grows jealous of the priest's influence and abruptly declares that if the narrator should ever renounce his religion, he will break off all connection and correspondence. He asserts that no honest man would swerve from his principles, whether Turkish, Protestant, or Roman. The affronted priest launches into a long discourse on the danger of obstinacy and shutting one's eyes against the light, citing Scripture and the Fathers to prove the Pope's authority as successor of St. Peter. He declares the Protestant faith an impious heresy and damnable schism. The lieutenant, distracted by his own affairs, dismissively replies that he has no objection to what the priest says, may be either truth or false, and he trusts no creed but the compass, defying the Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender. This gives great offense to the friar, who protests that had Mr. Bowling not been his countryman, he would have him imprisoned for his insolence.

The narrator ventures to disapprove of his uncle's rashness and appeases the old gentleman by assuring him no offense was intended. Mr. Bowling, now sensible of his error, shakes the injured party's hand and asks pardon for his freedom. The matter being amicably compromised, the priest invites them to visit him at his convent that afternoon and takes his leave. The uncle then strongly recommends the narrator persevere in the religion of his forefathers, whatever advantages might be proposed by a change. The narrator assures him no consideration would induce him to forfeit his friendship and good opinion on that score, at which the uncle shows great satisfaction.

They visit the priest at his convent where he treats them with wine and sweetmeats and shows them everything remarkable in the monastery. After being entertained, the narrator promises to see the priest again the next day. When the time fixed for his uncle's embarking arrives, the narrator accompanies him to the harbour and sees him aboard. They part with tears, embracing and wishing one another prosperity. Mr. Bowling requests the narrator write to him often, directing to Lieutenant Bowling at the sign of the Union Flag near the Hermitage, London. The narrator returns to pass a solitary night reflecting on his severe fate and projecting schemes for his future, seeing nothing but insurmountable difficulties and ready to despair.

The narrator visits the priest the next morning, imploring his advice and assistance. The priest receives him kindly and suggests a way of life in which a person of his talents could not fail to make a great figure. The narrator guesses his meaning and firmly declares he is fully determined against any alteration in point of religion, understanding the proposal must concern the church. The priest sighs at this stubborn prejudice and offers instead to procure letters of recommendation to people of rank at Versailles where the narrator might be entertained as a maitre d'hotel. The narrator embraces this offer eagerly, and the priest appoints him to return in the afternoon when he would give him letters and introduce him to a capuchin acquaintance setting out for Paris next morning whose company would save him the expense of one livre during the whole journey.

The capuchin proves to be Frere Balthazar, a merry facetious fellow who, despite his profession and appearance of mortification, loves good eating and drinking better than his rosary and pays more adoration to pretty girls than to the Virgin Mary or St. Genevieve. He is a thick brawny young man with red eyebrows, a hook nose, and a freckled face. His order does not permit him to wear linen, so he seldom undresses and is none of the cleanliest animals, his constitution naturally so strongly scented that the narrator finds it convenient to keep to windward of him. He is perfectly well known on the road, so they fare sumptuously without cost, and their journey's fatigue is much alleviated by his good humour as he sings infinite catches on the subjects of love and wine.

They take their first night's lodging at a peasant's house near Abbeville, where they are entertained with an excellent ragout cooked by the landlord's handsome daughters. After eating heartily and drinking sufficient small wine, they are conducted to a barn with carpets spread upon clean straw. Within half an hour, someone knocks softly at the door and Balthazar lets in the two daughters for private conversation in the dark. The capuchin asks the narrator if he is insensible to love and would refuse a share of his bed with a pretty maid who has a tendre for him. Suffering himself to be overcome by passion, the narrator eagerly seizes the occasion with the agreeable Nanette despite his reason suggesting respect for his dear mistress Narcissa. Early in the morning the kind creatures leave them to rest until eight o'clock, when they are treated at breakfast with chocolate and eau-de-vie by their paramours before taking a tender leave, after which Balthazar confesses and gives them absolution.

During their journey, conversation turns upon the night's adventure. The capuchin asks how the narrator liked his lodging and, when the narrator speaks in rapture of Nanette, Balthazar reveals she was a morceau pour la bonne bouche and boasts he has been pretty fortunate in his amours. The narrator is shocked to learn of his intimacy with her sister, suspecting incest. Balthazar explains he distributes his favours equally between the sisters to preserve peace in the family, and because Nanette had conceived an affection for the narrator, he loved her too well to balk her inclination while obliging his friend at the same time. The narrator thanks him for this instance of friendship while being extremely disgusted at his want of delicacy and cursed the occasion that threw him in his way. Despite his own libertine tendencies, the narrator cannot bear to see a man behave so far from his assumed character. He looks upon Balthazar as a person of very little worth or honesty and would have kept a wary eye upon his pocket had he thought temptation to steal existed, but he cannot conceive the use of money to a capuchin who must appear like a beggar. The narrator proceeds with confidence toward his journey's end.

Near Amiens, the narrator lodges at a house with a fellow traveler—a Capuchin friar—and falls asleep exhausted after a long march. Upon waking the next morning, he discovers the monk has fled with all his money. The friar had departed four hours earlier, having told the innkeepers the narrator was indisposed and should not be disturbed. The monk had claimed he would wait at the Coq d'Or in Noyons.

The narrator pursues the thief to Noyons, arriving faint with weariness and hunger, only to find no trace of the Capuchin. He reveals his deplorable situation to the innkeeper, who expresses sympathy but offers no practical assistance, merely recommending patience before attending to other guests.

While standing dejectedly at the inn, the narrator encounters a richly dressed young gentleman and explains his predicament. The gentleman asks pointlessly, "Well, monsieur, what would you have me do?"—a question that shames the narrator. When ordered to leave by the innkeeper, he suffers a nosebleed from grief and anger. He wanders into the fields, collapsing exhausted under a tree, reflecting bitterly on his misfortunes and questioning divine justice for allowing him to face famine in a foreign land.

The narrator hears a violin and discovers soldiers dancing with their families. Despite their gaunt, ragged appearance, they welcome him cordially. He joins their feast of bread, onions, and cheap wine, then dances with them. The sergeant charms him with descriptions of military life, and weighing his desperate circumstances, the narrator enlists in the Regiment of Picardy—one of Europe's oldest corps. He is fitted with clothes, arms, and accoutrements, sells his livery suit, purchases linen, and applies himself to learning drill, quickly becoming a competent soldier.

Orders arrive to march into Germany to reinforce Marshal Duc de Noailles, who is watching an Anglo-Hanoverian-Austrian-Hessian force under the Earl of Stair along the River Main. The narrator endures extreme hunger, thirst, and fatigue. His plump constitution proves a disadvantage—his thighs and legs become raw and skinned from heat and friction, while his leaner comrades remain unbothered. This physical torment makes him irritable and mortified to see weaker soldiers bear these hardships with apparent ease.

During a halt, the narrator's comrade stays behind to offer "consolation," advising that he will soon be seasoned to military life and praising the honor of serving Louis the Great. The narrator flies into outrage at this reasoning, condemning the absurdity of willingly enduring poverty, oppression, and death merely to satisfy a prince's ambition. The soldier takes offense at this criticism of the king, accusing the narrator of imbibing rebellious English principles.

The political argument intensifies as the narrator argues that English resistance to tyranny was glorious rather than rebellious—protecting the natural right to liberty. When the French soldier provokes him beyond endurance, the narrator clenches his fist to strike him, but the Frenchman parries and declares that a Frenchman never forgives a blow, challenging him to a duel.

They proceed to a nearby field. The narrator despises his opponent's pitiful appearance—a small, decrepit, one-eyed man. However, at the second exchange, the narrator is wounded in his sword hand and immediately disarmed with such force he believes his joint is dislocated. The victor then demands the narrator beg his pardon for insulting his king, which the narrator refuses, threatening to continue the duel with muskets instead.

Following his defeat by the old Gascon soldier, the narrator seeks revenge by learning the art of fencing. An Irish drummer offers to teach him, motivated partly by jealousy over the Frenchman's alleged correspondence with his wife. The narrator accepts and practices diligently, soon believing himself ready to face his conqueror once more.

The regiment marches and arrives at the camp of Marshal the Duc de Noailles the night before the Battle of Dettingen, though the soldiers are exhausted from their fatigue.

The narrator describes how the French forces under the Duc de Grammont take position to block the Allies in a narrow defile, where they would have been forced to surrender from lack of provisions. Lord Stair, though having a reputation as a good general, is overruled and acts in an inferior capacity. Against all expectations, Grammont abandons his advantageous position to attack the English, who are drawn up in order of battle on the plain.

The English severely maul the French forces, and after suffering heavy losses, the French turn and flee with such precipitation that hundreds perish in the river. The enemy shows remarkable generosity by not pursuing them, allowing an orderly retreat. The loss amounts to five thousand men, including many distinguished officers. King George II of Great Britain personally heads the Allies and halts the carnage. The French nevertheless claim victory, and soldiers exaggerate their exploits with Rhodomontades comparing themselves to lions, bears, and desperate stags.

The narrator magnifies English valour and describes French pusillanimity, provoking the old Gascon with irony about his speed in fleeing. The Gascon responds with threats and references to their previous encounter. The narrator answers with a kick that overturns him, and they duel. After receiving only a scratch, the narrator disarms his opponent and demands he beg for his life. The Gascon responds only with a grotesque expression that nearly makes the narrator laugh. To mortify his opponent's vanity, the narrator thrusts the sword into something smoking on the ground and walks away calmly.

The campaign ends with no further significant engagements. The English return to the Netherlands while part of the French army goes to Flanders, and the narrator's regiment is ordered into winter quarters in Champagne, specifically Rheims.

The narrator joins the grenadier company and finds himself in extreme want. His pay of five sols a day barely provides subsistence, and hunger and hard duty reduce him to a meagre condition matching his fellow soldiers. His linen has deteriorated from three tolerable shirts to two pairs of sleeves and necks, the bodies having been converted into spatterdashes. He writes to his uncle in England without much hope, and consoles himself with his imagination's flattering suggestions.

One day while on guard at a general officer's gate, the narrator sees a gentleman in mourning departing from a nobleman's house, to whom the nobleman says "You may depend upon my good offices." The gentleman turns and the narrator recognises the features of his old friend Strap, though Strap is transformed and appears as a gentleman. The Swiss porter reveals that the man is Monsieur d'Estrapes, formerly valet-de-chambre to a deceased English gentleman, and highly regarded by the marquis for his fidelity.

The narrator visits Strap's lodgings, concealing his name and causing Strap considerable fear, imagining he might be connected with the Bastille. When the narrator asks Strap to look at him, he starts back exclaiming impossibility. Only when the narrator speaks English does Strap recognise him, leaping upon him with transport, kissing him and weeping like a schoolboy. Strap expresses grief at finding his friend reduced to a foot soldier and upbraids him for abandoning Strap in London, though he forgives the narrator, acknowledging his lucky ramble abroad.

Strap insists that all he has is at the narrator's disposal and invites him to dinner. The narrator accepts but first requests a shirt, revealing that he has been without one for weeks. Strap, shocked, provides a fine ruffled Holland shirt and cambric neckcloth, revealing he has three dozen of the same kind. Strap provides an excellent dinner of soup, bouilli, pullets, and asparagus, with biscuit and Burgundy, then requests the story of the narrator's fortunes since their parting. The narrator learns Strap's story: he lived a year at Paris with his master, who acquired the language and fashionable exercises, then toured France and Holland where Strap fell ill from excess. He recovered at Montpelier but relapsed at Rheims and died within ten days. Strap was left by will wearing apparel, a gold watch, sword, rings, ready money, and moveables worth three hundred pounds. Strap immediately offers all this to the narrator, but he refuses, reminding Strap that he is a soldier, prompting Strap to insist they must procure his discharge.

Strap suggests that a bold push must be made and proposes the narrator appear as a gentleman and make addresses to a lady of fortune to become independent. He assures the narrator this is both prudent and honourable, promising to provide clothes befitting a duke. Strap plans to serve as the narrator's valet to save expense. The narrator listens with pleasure as the scheme flatters his vanity and indulges his hope of inspiring Narcissa. Strap successfully petitions the marquis and procures the narrator's discharge within a few days.

The narrator reflects on his sudden transition from abject misery to quiet possession, provided with an extensive wardrobe including five fashionable coats, velvet and laced varieties, numerous waistcoats and breeches, silk stockings in abundance, multiple hats, fine shirts and handkerchiefs. Additional possessions include a gold watch with chased case, diamond rings, mourning swords, buckles, silver-mounted pistols, a gold-headed cane, and a tortoiseshell snuff-box with a lady's picture. The narrator also receives over two hundred pounds in cash from the sale of other valuables.

Dressed as a gentleman of figure and attended by Strap as his valet, the narrator visits the Louvre, examines the gallery of Luxembourg, and appears at Versailles where he sees Louis XV eat olives. Over the month at Paris, he goes several times to court, the Italian comedy, opera, and playhouse, dances at a masquerade, and sees everything remarkable in and about the capital.

The narrator and Strap set out for England through Flanders, passing through Brussels, Ghent, and Bruges. They take shipping at Ostend.

From Ostend, they arrive at Deal in fourteen hours, hire a postchaise, and reach London in twelve more hours, having sent their heavy baggage by waggon.

Wagtail brings Random to meet his group of acquaintances at a tavern, where Random immediately recognizes the group as the men whose laughter the night prior had raised his suspicion of the woman he had previously protected. Wagtail formally introduces each member of the circle to Random: Bragwell, Banter, Chatter, Slyboot, and Ranter. Random notices Slyboot sticks his tongue out at him during their handshake, and Ranter mimics his mannerisms, voice, and features, but Random chooses to ignore the slights initially, planning to address the insolence at a more convenient time.

Following the formal introductions, Slyboot, guessing Random is a stranger, asks if he has recently traveled to France and visited the Luxembourg Gallery. When Random confirms he has studied the gallery in detail, the two discuss the artwork, and Random learns Slyboot works as a painter. Shortly after, Banter questions Wagtail about Random’s background; Wagtail boasts Random is a wealthy gentleman from an ancient northern family and a distant relation of his own, while Banter jokes Random is a French valet-de-chambre. Random is offended by the jab but chooses to tolerate the slight to preserve his access to the group’s social connections.

The group moves to a private tavern room, orders French wine and supper, and as drinking progresses, the cruel, mocking nature of Wagtail’s companions becomes clear. The group treats Wagtail as a butt for their jokes to entertain the company: Ranter feigns a set of overlapping ailments to trick Wagtail into delivering an overly long, overly technical medical lecture, then mocks the doctor’s pedantry. The group’s willingness to humiliate Wagtail for their own amusement establishes their selfish, cruel character traits.

As a follow-up to his feigned illness prank, Ranter invents a fictional "tinder water" as a universal cure for all human ailments, claiming it was created by a German monk and shared with Paracelsus. The rest of the group elaborate on the absurd hoax, attributing the cure’s origins to Solomon and a fake Greek manuscript found in Palestine, and describing an absurd process to distill the water that requires a church-sized retort and heat from feverish patients in an infirmary. The gullible Wagtail takes the hoax entirely seriously, praising the "expedient" and expressing interest in putting the fake cure into practice, much to the amusement of the entire company.

After the tinder water prank, Chatter shifts the conversation to the recent Hampstead assembly, noting that Bragwell’s mistress Melinda attended and seemed to miss him. Bragwell brushes off the comment, boasting that he has no interest in socializing with women due to his unruly temper that frequently draws him into duels. He claims he fears no risk in drawing his sword against any opponent, has drawn and shed blood in past duels, and has been trained by his fencing master to disable any adversary without killing them to avoid a Middlesex murder conviction.

Slyboot, a painter, tells Bragwell he is working on a painting of Jesus on the cross at the moment the spear is thrust into his side, and asks Bragwell to allow him to observe Bragwell non-lethally stab someone in the left side so he can capture the natural agony of the moment for his artwork. Wagtail takes the request seriously, offering to explain the anatomy of the chest area to Bragwell to avoid lethal injury. Bragwell initially seems receptive before declining, claiming he only fights when his honor is engaged; the entire exchange is a prank designed to mock Bragwell’s dueling boasts.

As the night wears on and drinking intensifies, a waiter enters to inform Wagtail a woman is waiting below to speak to him. The group pressures Wagtail to let her join them, and Ranter brings a tall sex worker into the room. The woman delivers a dramatic, fabricated speech accusing Wagtail of seducing her, stealing her virginity, fathering her unborn four-month child, and abandoning her to poverty, demanding he marry her to make amends. Wagtail is horrified and denies knowing her, but the group pretends to believe the accusation, mocking him throughout the interaction. Wagtail eventually agrees to pay the woman half a guinea to leave him alone, and when she demands a parting kiss, she bites his cheek hard before leaving the room.

After the woman bites Wagtail’s cheek and leaves, the group pretends the bite is from a rabid person to continue mocking him. Banter suggests branding the wound with a hot poker, Ranter proposes Bragwell stab the affected area with his sword to scoop out the infected tissue, and Slyboot claims to have a surefire cure for mad dog bites. Slyboot pulls out a bladder of black paint and smears it over Wagtail’s cheek and most of his face, leaving him in a frightful state. Terrified and distraught, Wagtail is sent home in a chair at Random’s insistence, out of pity for his extreme distress.

After the prank on Wagtail, Slyboot whispers to Random that Bragwell has been rude to him, prompting Random to publicly rebuke Slyboot and warn both Slyboot and Bragwell that he will not tolerate ill treatment. Ranter, seeking to stir up trouble, lies to Bragwell claiming Random insulted and threatened to beat him. Enraged, Bragwell draws his sword, and Random does the same, demanding Ranter leap over the sword held parallel to the floor three feet off the ground. When Ranter refuses and tries to flee, Bragwell prods him with his sword, forcing him to jump over the sword before he escapes the room.

The night ends near 2 a.m. after the group pays their tab. The painter slips away without saying goodbye, an extremely drunk Chatter is sent to a bagnio, and Bragwell is left asleep on a bench at Moll King’s coffee-house after kicking several sex workers. Random and Banter leave Bragwell and walk toward Charing Cross, where both men live. During the walk, Banter apologizes for the earlier joke he made about Random being a French valet, explaining it was only a joke targeting Wagtail’s excessive seriousness and that he actually formed a favorable impression of Random from their first meeting. The two part as friends, with Banter promising to meet Random at the ordinary the next day.

Strap confides in the narrator that he plans to propose to a nearby tallow chandler’s widow, who he believes runs a profitable trade, owns a well-furnished home, and has expressed interest in marrying him to escape her current circumstances. The narrator agrees to meet the widow first to verify reports of her fortune before giving Strap his full approval. Upon meeting her, the narrator immediately notices her prominently pregnant belly and warns Strap that he is almost certainly being deceived by the friend who introduced them, who is likely trying to pawn the pregnant widow off on Strap to avoid supporting her and her child himself. Strap initially doubts the narrator’s judgment, but the prediction is proven correct within a fortnight: the widow gives birth, her false friend disappears, and her household goods are seized by creditors to settle her debts.

The narrator meets his friend Banter and Mr. Chatter at a public eating house, and accompanies them to the Opera that evening. Chatter points out the popular, wealthy socialite Melinda in a box, and promises to introduce the narrator to her, noting she is a highly sought-after social "toast" with a £10,000 fortune. The narrator eagerly accepts, and Chatter secures Melinda’s agreement to dance with the narrator at the next assembly. Banter later warns the narrator privately that Melinda is a frivolous coquette who grants favors to any attractive young man only to expand her flock of admirers to feed her vanity, claims she is cold and unfeeling, and predicts she will ultimately marry the wealthiest fool who pursues her. The narrator dismisses Banter’s warning as either satire or resentment over a past rejection from Melinda, and is confident his own charms will win her over.

The narrator travels to a Hampstead assembly with Billy Chatter, Lord Hobble, and Doctor Wagtail, where he dances a minuet with Melinda, charmed by her lively, easy manner. Before the country dances begin, he receives a brash message from his rival Bragwell, who is also present: the message states that no one who knows Bragwell will dance with Melinda while he is in attendance, and demands the narrator surrender her so Bragwell can lead a country dance with her. The message is delivered in Melinda’s hearing, and the narrator flatly refuses, instructing the messenger to tell Bragwell he will not yield Melinda, and to bring no more impertinent messages. Melinda feigns confusion and claims she has no connection to Bragwell, and the narrator offers to call Bragwell to account for his insolence, a proposal Melinda declines under the pretense of worrying for the narrator’s safety, though the narrator notes she seems secretly pleased by the prospect of a duel fought over her. The narrator spots Bragwell surrounded by other young men at the other end of the room, confronts him openly, and demands to know if he has anything to say to him; Bragwell sullenly replies he has nothing to say at present and walks away, and the narrator taunts him that he can be found anytime for a duel. The confrontation draws the attention of the entire room, and when the ball ends, the narrator offers to ride on the back of Melinda’s coach to protect her on the road, but she refuses, claiming there is no empty seat inside for him.

The next afternoon, the narrator visits Melinda at her lodgings, accompanied by Chatter, and is politely received by Melinda’s mother, with whom she lives. A group of fashionable young people are present, and after tea, card tables are set up. The narrator plays cards with Melinda for three hours, and loses eight guineas to her. Though he is willing to lose a small sum to win her favor, he grows suspicious that she is cheating him, which damages his opinion of her character. Undeterred, he resolves to be less formal with her, and that night makes a plain declaration of his love. Melinda laughs off the declaration but treats him with such obvious favor that he believes he has won her heart, and returns to the card table after supper, cheerfully losing another ten guineas to her.

The narrator returns to his lodgings very late, and is too excited by the day’s events to sleep. He alternates between fantasizing about marrying Melinda and her £10,000 fortune, and worrying about Banter’s warning about her character, as well as the large sum of money he lost at cards (money that is not even his own). He is plagued by doubts and anxieties about the feasibility of pursuing a courtship that requires such high expenses, and stays awake for most of the night.

The next morning, Strap comes to the narrator’s room to shave him, and the narrator asks his opinion of Melinda, who Strap calls a beautiful, wealthy woman, and laments that the narrator did not insist on riding in her coach. The narrator reveals he spent the entire night before at Melinda’s lodgings, and Strap initially rejoices, assuming the narrator has made a successful match. The narrator then recounts Banter’s warning about Melinda’s character, and Strap reacts by declaring there is no faith in women. The narrator admits he lost eighteen guineas at cards the night before, which shocks Strap so much he drops the shaving basin and is nearly speechless with horror, before he recovers his composure and reassures the narrator of his loyalty. Strap’s steadfast friendship moves the narrator, and he resolves to pursue Melinda seriously to secure a fortune that will let him repay Strap’s loyalty, even as he acknowledges that a few more nights of losses like the last will leave him unable to continue the courtship. Shortly after, Banter visits the narrator, and makes sarcastic remarks about the public scene the narrator made with Bragwell at Hampstead, noting that the whole town is now gossiping about him, with rumors circulating that he is a Jesuit, a Pretender agent, an upstart gambler, or an Irish fortune hunter. Banter confirms his earlier warning, saying Melinda is not a suitable match, and if the narrator does win her, he will only end up with a wife who will spend her entire fortune in a short time. As a "proof of friendship," Banter then borrows five guineas from the narrator, having learned from Tom Tossle that the narrator had just lost eighteen guineas at cards and might be short of cash. Banter also reveals that Melinda is an obvious card cheat whose tricks would only fool a complete novice, news that stings the narrator’s pride, though he resolves not to tolerate insults to Melinda’s character or mockery of his own behavior.

The Custard Spelling Dispute At a coffeehouse, Wagtail and Medlar argue over the correct spelling of "custard." Wagtail insists it should be spelled with a G, citing its derivation from the Latin verb *gustare*, meaning "to taste," while Medlar pushes back by invoking common usage: he notes that following Wagtail's logic would require changing "pudding" to "budding" per its French root *boudin*, and argues that wholesale adoption of foreign orthography and pronunciation would reduce English to a dissonant, unstandardized jargon. The narrator and his companion are asked to adjudicate the dispute; Banter rules in Wagtail's favor despite personally disagreeing with his position, leading the annoyed Medlar to huff "pish!" with great emphasis and move to another table.

Wagtail's Tinder-Water Experiment When asked about his progress on distilling tinder-water, Wagtail explains he has visited every glasshouse in London but found none willing to blow a retort large enough for the full prescribed quantity. He plans to first distill enough to produce five drops to test the substance's properties, then take the project to Parliament. He shares a recent mishap: while reducing rags to tinder, he piled them on his floor and lit them with a candle, assuming fire would not spread upward to the wood, but the floor caught fire violently. He lost his composure and failed to call for help, and the house would have burned down with him if neighbors had not seen the smoke pouring out of the windows and come to assist. He lost a pair of black velvet breeches and a tie-wig in the fire, the rags were ruined by firefighting water, and he had to pay for floor repairs. His landlord thought him mad and evicted him on the spot, but he has since found a more comfortable new lodging with a large paved yard for his tinder work, and hopes to see results from his experiment soon.

Banter Roasts Medlar After visiting an art auction and walking on the Mall, the group goes to a dinner ordinary, where Banter announces he intends to roast Medlar. He begins by feigning concern for Medlar's health, implying he was out late carousing the night before, then spins a fabricated story about finding Medlar dancing bareheaded in a gin house with a group of destitute women at Medlar's expense, warning him his late-night habits will ruin his health in his old age. When Medlar protests, Banter brings up a past humiliation: when Medlar had courted a wealthy Islington widow, a false rumor about his manhood had gotten him discarded, and Banter had fixed the situation by lying to the widow that Medlar had three illegitimate children in the country. The made-up story draws laughter from the whole table and enrages Medlar, who hurls insults at Banter and claims Banter invented the story because Medlar refused to lend him money for his debauched habits. Banter fires back with embarrassing, specific details about Medlar's constant poverty: that he sometimes sleeps 24 hours straight to skip meals, subsists on bread, cheese and small beer, or eats cheap ox cheek in a cellar. Medlar flies into a rage, swears he can always afford to pay Banter's tailor bills, and threatens to sue Banter for defamation, but is so angry he loses his appetite and cannot eat another bite, while Banter mocks him and advises him to stock up food for his upcoming fast.

Medlar Warns Against Banter After dinner, when Banter leaves for an appointment, Medlar pulls the narrator aside to warn him about Banter. He calls Banter a dissolute rake who has already wasted a large fortune and his health on prostitutes, and says Banter has corrupted many young men by introducing them to debauched company and setting lewd examples of vice, warning the narrator that Banter will soon rob him of both his money and his reputation if he is not careful. The narrator thanks Medlar for the warning but privately wishes Medlar had given it earlier, before the narrator lost five guineas to Banter in a recent bet. The narrator suspects Medlar's warning is motivated by revenge for the humiliation Banter inflicted on him at dinner.

Consulting Wagtail on Banter As soon as he can get away from Medlar, the narrator asks Wagtail for his opinion of Banter's character, planning to compare the two conflicting accounts and form his own judgment. Wagtail describes Banter as a well-born, wealthy, charming gentleman, a scholar, wit, and critic who is well-connected in London society, with unassailable honor and courage, though some of his past extravagances and talent for satire have made him enemies and led some people to avoid his company. From the two contrasting descriptions, the narrator concludes Banter is a talented young man who has spent his fortune but kept his vices, and has grown bitter with the world because he can no longer live the lifestyle he wants.

Evening at the Play The narrator goes to the Bedford Coffee-house that evening, meets up with Wagtail and Banter, and the group goes to a theater performance together. After the play, the narrator takes the two men back to his lodgings, where they share a friendly, cheerful supper.

The narrator receives a formal duel challenge from Rourk Oregan, delivered in person, which claims Melinda Goosetrap is already promised to Oregan and demands the narrator meet him at the back of Montague House with pistols to settle the matter, threatening to make the narrator admit he is unworthy of Melinda even after death.

The narrator loads his pistols and travels to the appointed duel location at Montague House, where he finds the shabbily dressed, rough-featured Oregan waiting; Oregan immediately fires a pistol at the narrator without warning before the narrator can return fire.

After the narrator fires a warning shot at Oregan and Oregan’s second pistol misfires, the pair negotiate a truce: the narrator agrees to put in a good word for Oregan with Melinda, and Oregan agrees to stop pursuing her and causing further trouble.

The narrator inspects Oregan’s pistols after the duel is settled, finding one was loaded without being primed and the other primed without a charge, confirming the weapons were too faulty to fire properly and explaining why neither caused injury during the standoff.

Walking with Oregan after the duel, the narrator learns his rival’s life story: Oregan served as a volunteer in the German army fighting the Turks, earned an ensign’s commission for his conduct at the siege of Belgrade, and was later promoted to lieutenant before being forced to flee to England after killing a captain in a duel; his friend Mr. Gahagan advised him to pursue Melinda for her £10,000 fortune.

While the narrator and Oregan walk after their truce, they are surrounded by a file of musketeers led by Strap; Oregan flees the scene and is marked for arrest, while Strap explains he suspected the challenge letter posed a danger and fetched the guard to intervene on the narrator’s behalf.

The narrator is immediately released after explaining the duel is already fully resolved; moments later, Oregan returns with two disheveled companions, introduced as Counsellor Fitzclabber (a historian compiling a history of the kings of Minster) and Mr. Gahagan (a self-proclaimed philosopher and political schemer), who had come to rescue Oregan from arrest.

The narrator invites Oregan and his friends to his lodgings, where he outfits Oregan in decent clothing from his own wardrobe; Grateful, Oregan swears eternal loyalty to the narrator and agrees to recount his full life story at the narrator’s request.

The narrator visits Melinda in the afternoon, and she greets him warmly, laughing excessively at his account of the duel with Oregan; she shares the dozen love letters Oregan had written to her for the narrator’s amusement.

Taking advantage of a moment when Melinda’s mother leaves the room, the narrator declares his love to Melinda and proposes marriage, but she gives no direct answer to his proposal before other company arrives to join them.

Melinda tells the narrator she has no personal objection to him, but will only consider marriage if her mother consents; the narrator formally visits Melinda’s mother to make a solemn request for her daughter’s hand in marriage.

Melinda’s mother questions the narrator about his financial standing and proposed settlement for her daughter; the narrator admits he has no landed estate and cannot produce a full rent-roll, only offering to maintain Melinda as a gentlewoman and settle her existing dowry on her and her heirs, a proposal the mother rejects out of hand.

The narrator returns to Melinda’s home the next day to elaborate on his financial circumstances, only to be turned away by the footman despite spotting Melinda inside the house through a window; the narrator takes the deliberate snub as a full rejection of his courtship from both Melinda and her mother.

The narrator confides the full story of his rejection by Melinda and her mother to Strap, pretending to be furious and vowing to abandon the pursuit, while internally acknowledging his lingering guilt over courting Melinda while still carrying feelings for Narcissa.

The narrator seeks revenge on Melinda with the assistance of Billy Chatter, who maintains a necessary position among the ladies and arranges private dances. Chatter agrees to introduce the narrator to a wealthy partner at the next private assembly. He identifies Miss Biddy Gripewell, an heiress of thirty thousand pounds, whose father was a pawnbroker who died intestate. Despite her great fortune, she was raised poorly and only after her father's death assumed the airs of a fine lady, expecting nothing less than a duke or earl for a husband. She had been neglected by the English quality, though a poor Scottish lord was courting her. The narrator consents to impersonate a French marquis for one night to execute his revenge.

The narrator visits Banter, whose misanthropical temper delights in accounts of female misbehavior. Banter applauds the plan and proposes that the narrator should not only secure a partner but also arrange for Miss Goosetrap to be paired with a ridiculous companion. He suggests his barber, recently returned from Paris, whose absurd affectation would easily pass for fashionable politeness. Banter assures the narrator that it would be simple to convince the barber that Melinda, having seen him by accident, was captivated and desired his acquaintance. The plan is set in motion, with Chatter acting as a gentleman usher to introduce the barber to Melinda.

At the assembly, the narrator appears dressed as a Marquis and opens the ball with Miss Gripewell, who is adorned with prodigious jewels and attracts universal attention. Melinda cannot conceal her envy and astonishment at the narrator's success. The narrator passes by her with only a slight bow, completing his triumph and her indignation—her fan breaks from the fury of her behavior. Meanwhile, the metamorphosed barber takes Melinda out and acts so ridiculously that the whole company laughs at his expense. Miss Gripewell retires in confusion, followed by her gallant who interprets her illness as love. The next day, the barber, in simplicity, reveals himself to Melinda, who is so affronted she hides from public view for weeks. Chatter falls into disgrace with Miss Gripewell, and both men suffer in reputation among the ladies.

Finding his finances diminished by more than half and his project no further advanced than on his first arrival in town, the narrator despairs of success and grows melancholy at the prospect of approaching want. He turns to the bottle and keeps more company than ever, becoming particularly attached to the playhouse, conversing with actors behind the scenes, and growing acquainted with a body of templars. In a short time, he commences a professed wit and critic, though he is better qualified than his companions who are generally the most ignorant and assuming of all creatures. Through these diversions, he masters the art of shoving aside gloomy reflections and calling agreeable reveries to his assistance. This is not the case with Strap, who practices a thousand shifts to conceal his sorrow, which has reduced him to a skeleton.

One day the narrator receives by the penny post a letter written in a woman's hand containing high-flown compliments, warm protestations of love in a poetical style, and earnest desire to know whether his heart is engaged. The letter is signed "Your incognita" and directs an answer to a certain place directed to R. B. The narrator is transported with joy, admiring the letter as a masterpiece of tenderness, and imagines the author as a lady of fortune in the bloom of youth and beauty. He composes an elaborate answer expressing admiration of her wit and imploring the honor of an interview. He sends Strap to deliver the letter at the appointed place, a milliner's house near Bond Street, and instructs him to watch and discover who calls for it.

Strap returns within an hour with joyful news: he saw the letter given to a chairman who carried it to a nearby rich gentleman's house, where a waiting-woman received it. At an alehouse, Strap learned that the gentleman had an only daughter, very handsome, who would inherit his whole estate—the author of the billet. The narrator dresses and passes the house in great state, perceiving a beautiful young creature at the window who observes him with more than common curiosity. He congratulates himself on having made a conquest of such perfection. Early next day, he receives another epistle from his unknown admirer, expressing joy at his response and satisfaction that he values her understanding over external beauty. She promises an interview once satisfied of his honorable intentions and mentions her fortune is independent, being her own without restriction. Strap renews his watch and confirms Miss Sparkle is indeed the correspondent, shut the casement in beautiful confusion upon seeing the messenger arrive.

The narrator composes response after response, launching into encomiums on the dignity of her sentiments, affecting to undervalue external charms and ground his passion on the qualities of her mind. He complains of her rigour in sacrificing his repose to decorum and declares the purity of his designs in solemn vows. A third billet arrives containing expressions of tenderness mixed with affecting doubts about man's artifice and youth's inconstancy, desiring to try him a little longer before declaring herself. These interesting scruples add fuel to his flame, and he presses her to an assignation with such fervent entreaties that she consents to meet him at the milliner's house. During the interval, his pride soars beyond all reason; he loses all remembrance of gentle Narcissa and plans triumphs over the world's malice.

After dinner, the narrator saunters with Dr. Wagtail to the neighborhood of his inamorata. The narrator, acting as a mere register, inquires into the name, character, and fortune of everyone possessing a good house in the area. When Wagtail mentions Sir John Sparkle, he describes him as a man of immense estate but narrow disposition who keeps his only child, a fine young lady, secluded under the strict watch of an old governante. This governess is so honest, envious, or insatiable that nobody has yet gained access to her charge, though many attempt it daily. Wagtail reveals she has a fortune of twelve thousand pounds left by an uncle, which perfectly confirms the intelligence from the morning's letter. The narrator's emotion is visible to any observer except Wagtail, whose attention is too engrossed by contemplation of his own importance.

The narrator returns home and shares his findings with Strap, who is almost choked with transport and weeps with joy. A third billet-doux brings tender expressions mingled with doubts about artifice and inconstancy, requesting the narrator to excuse her testing him longer. These scruples add fuel to his flame, and he presses for an assignation with such entreaties that she consents to meet him at the milliner's house. During the interval, the narrator's pride soars beyond all reason and description, his thoughts wholly employed in planning triumphs over the world's malice and contempt.

The happy hour arrives, and the narrator flies to the rendezvous, conducted into an apartment where he waits in mounting ecstasy. The door opens, a gold brocade petticoat advances, and he springs forward to embrace his charmer—only to find Miss Sparkle is a wrinkled hag turned of seventy. Struck dumb with amazement and petrified with horror, he cannot command himself to behave with common civility. This ancient Urganda seizes his hand, asks if he is indisposed, and acts a thousand amorous coquetries, ogling him with dim eyes, lisping childish questions, giggling to conceal her teeth, sighing piteously, and flinging herself about to show her agility. When she explains she is Miss Withers, governess to Sir John Sparkle's daughter, she had seen him at church, inquired into his character, and yielded to the violence of her inclination. She had written all the letters herself. The narrator considers that by continuing the appearance of an intrigue with the duenna, he might gain access to her ward, Miss Sparkle.

Encouraged by the possibility of meeting the young Miss Sparkle, the narrator's temper grows more serene. He talks en cavalier and makes love to this antiquated coquette, who seems extremely happy and spreads all her allurements. Tea and sweetmeats are served before the matron withdraws, leaving the narrator alone with Miss Withers, who begins talking of matrimony with increasing impatience. Though she promises to invite him to her mistress's apartment where he might converse with the charming ward, the moment she flies upon him and presses her skinny lips to his, the garlic she consumed that morning explodes with such force that human nature cannot endure the shock. The narrator loses all patience, snatches his hat and cane, and runs downstairs as if the devil pursued him. Strap, waiting with impatience, sees him arrive in utmost disorder and dares not inquire the cause. After washing his mouth and recruiting his spirits with wine, the narrator recounts every particular. Strap observes that it is a thousand pities his organs are so delicate as to be offended by garlic, reflecting on his own low birth. When the narrator suggests Strap retrieve his miscarriage, he leaves shaking his head.

Whether the old gentlewoman resented the narrator's abrupt departure so much that her love changed to disdain, or was ashamed to see him on account of her infirmity, is unknown. The narrator is never troubled again with her passion, and this catastrophic discovery banishes all thoughts of matrimony from his mind, concluding the chapter with his complete abandonment of matrimonial ambitions.

After failing repeatedly in his attempts to marry for fortune, Roderick decides to pursue government employment instead. He cultivates the acquaintance of Lords Straddle and Swillpot, whose fathers possess influence at court. He accompanies them on midnight revelries and pays for their tavern dinners, hoping to leverage their connections. When Roderick reveals his desire for a sinecure position, both lords make grand promises—Swillpot pledges his service "by G—" while Straddle swears no man would be prouder to run his errands. When Roderick asks to meet their fathers directly, Swillpot admits he hasn't spoken to his own father in three years, and Straddle explains his father has recently alienated the minister by subscribing to a parliamentary protest. Straddle offers instead to introduce Roderick to Earl Strutwell, who supposedly commands great influence with those who "rule the roast." Roderick accepts gratefully and persists until Straddle finally keeps his word.

Straddle brings Roderick to Earl Strutwell's levee, leaving him among a crowd of fellow-dependents while he receives a private audience. Soon afterward, Straddle returns with the earl, who takes Roderick's hand and assures him of every possible service, inviting him to come often. Roderick is charmed by the earl's reception and perceives sweetness and candor in his countenance, resolving to profit from this acquaintance. On his next visit, he receives a special smile, a squeeze of the hand, and a whispered invitation to private conversation. The earl asks him to come the next morning for chocolate, an invitation that flatters Roderick's vanity immensely.

At the appointed hour, Roderick arrives at the earl's residence and knocks at the gate. The porter blocks his passage like soldiers defending a breach, answering surlily that his lord is not stirring. When Roderick asks when the earl typically rises, the porter closes the door by degrees, insisting he has received no orders about the matter. Recalling himself suddenly, Roderick slips a crown into the porter's hand and begs him to inquire whether the earl is awake. The grim janitor relents at the touch of money, taking it with the indifference of a taxgatherer, and shows Roderick to a parlor. Within ten minutes, a lacquey enters and stares at him without speaking, prompting Roderick to ask his business. The servant makes the same reply and vanishes. Returning later on the pretense of poking the fire, the lacquey looks at Roderick with great earnestness until Roderick perceives his meaning and tips him with half-a-crown, requesting he announce Roderick to the earl. This bounty succeeds, and the lacquey conducts Roderick to a chamber where the earl receives him with great kindness.

After breakfast, the earl engages Roderick in conversation about his travels and examines his understanding at length. Roderick's answers please him greatly; he squeezes Roderick's hand frequently and assures him of his good offices with the ministry. The earl declares that young men of Roderick's qualifications ought to be cherished by every administration and announces his maxim of encouraging merit. He offers Roderick the position of secretary to an embassy abroad, assuring him the business is done and he has such a place in view. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Roderick weeps and speaks of his own unworthiness and the earl's benevolence. The earl catches him in his arms, hugs him, and kisses him with seemingly paternal affection. Confounded by this fondness for a stranger, Roderick rises and takes his leave, receiving assurances that the earl will speak to the minister that very day and instructions to visit three times weekly instead of attending the general levee.

Roderick determines to keep his prospects secret until success is certain. When he returns, the street door opens easily, though the valet-de-chambre casts furious looks at him. The earl greets him with a tender embrace and wishes him joy, explaining that he has succeeded with the Premier despite competition from two other noblemen. The minister has absolutely promised that Roderick shall go to a foreign court as secretary to an ambassador and plenipotentiary who will set out in a few weeks on affairs of vast importance to the nation. Roderick is thunderstruck with joy and kneels to kiss his benefactor's hand, but the earl raises him up, presses him to his breast with emotion, and declares he has taken upon himself the care of making Roderick's fortune. The earl makes light of this favor and changes the subject.

Among other topics, the conversation turns to literature, and the earl demonstrates great taste and erudition, showing intimate knowledge of classical authors. He produces Petronius Arbiter from his bosom, praising its elegance and spirit while acknowledging it may offend narrow minds. When Roderick condemns the author as lewd and indecent, the earl defends the work, citing ancient examples of the same inclinations and arguing that such passion prevails throughout the East and much of Europe, gaining ground in England. He claims it prevents the social problems of illegitimate children, the debauchery of maidens, and the prostitution of wives, besides being less harmful to health. He hints at "exquisite pleasure" as the ultimate motive. Roderick, suspecting the earl is testing whether he has acquired such tastes abroad, argues against the practice with great warmth, calling it unnatural, absurd, and of pernicious consequence. He recites satiric lines condemning it. The earl smiles and expresses satisfaction that their opinions conform, claiming his arguments were only designed to provoke Roderick's response.

During the conversation, Roderick looks at his watch to regulate his movements, and the earl notices the chased case. Asking to examine it, the earl expresses admiration for its beauty and asks where he might obtain another. Considering his obligations to his patron, Roderick offers the watch as a token of gratitude, but the earl peremptorily refuses, saying he is sorry Roderick should entertain such a mercenary opinion of him. He notes it is the most beautiful piece of workmanship he has ever seen and asks about the maker. Roderick apologizes and explains he acquired it by chance in France with no maker's name inside. He again humbly entreats the earl to accept it for his sake. The earl still refuses but thanks him for the generous offer, calling it a present no nobleman need be ashamed of receiving. He insists on knowing what it cost, offering to refund the money to show his disinterestedness. Roderick protests that accepting it would be a mark of distinction, and at last the earl is persuaded to put it in his pocket. Roderick takes his leave after receiving a squeeze of the hand and assurances to depend upon the earl's promise.

Elated by his reception, Roderick gives a guinea to the lacqueys who escort him out. He then flies to Lord Straddle's lodgings, where he forces a diamond ring upon the young lord as acknowledgment for introducing him to Earl Strutwell. From there, he hurries home with the intention of sharing his good fortune with honest Strap, his faithful friend and traveling companion.

Roderick determines to heighten Strap's pleasure by first depressing him. Affecting disappointment and chagrin, he tells Strap abruptly that he has lost both the watch and the diamond. Poor Hugh, already worn to a consumption by such distressing news, cries out with distraction, "God in heaven forbid!" Roderick cannot continue the charade and laughs in Strap's face, revealing everything that has happened. Strap's features immediately relax, and the transition proves so affecting that he weeps with joy. He bestows upon Lord Strutwell the appellations of Jewel, Phoenix, and Rara avis, praising God that some virtue remains among the nobility. Their mutual congratulations complete, they give way to imagination and anticipate future happiness, projecting their success through various steps of promotion until Roderick becomes prime minister and Strap his first secretary.

At the tavern, Roderick meets Banter and confidentially communicates the entire affair, concluding with promises of service. Banter listens patiently, then regards him long with a look of disdain before asking if Roderick truly believes his business is done. When Roderick confirms his belief, Banter declares a halter would do the job more effectually, exclaiming he would tuck himself up rather than be such a gull to two scoundrels like Strutwell and Straddle. Shocked, Roderick asks for explanation. Banter reveals that Straddle is a poor, contemptible wretch who lives by borrowing and pimping for his fellow peers. He has undoubtedly introduced Roderick to Strutwell, who is notorious for unnatural passions—Banter expresses amazement that this character never reached Roderick's ears. Far from possessing influence at court, Strutwell's interest is so low he can barely provide for a superannuated footman once a year in the customs or excise. It is common for Strutwell to amuse strangers, run down by his jackals, with such assurances and caresses until he has stripped them of cash and valuables, often of their chastity, then left them to want and infamy. His servants receive no wages beyond their share of the spoils. The whole conduct toward Roderick follows this pattern exactly, and nobody versed in the ways of the world could have been imposed upon.

Roderick leaves the reader to judge how he relishes this information, which has precipitated him from the highest pinnacle of hope to the lowest abyss of despondence, nearly determining him to follow Banter's advice and end his chagrin with a halter. He has no room to doubt his friend's veracity, for upon recollection he finds every circumstance of Strutwell's behavior exactly tallying with the character described. His hugs, embraces, squeezes, and eager looks are no longer mysterious, nor his defense of Petronius, nor the jealous frown of his valet-de-chambre, who it appears had been the favorite pathic of his lord.

The narrator first attempts to trick Strutwell into returning his diamond by claiming it needs resetting by a Parisian jeweller he knows, but Strutwell sees through the ruse, having already sent the jewel to his own jeweller for repair. He then devises a second scheme to recover his watch: planning to drop it under the pretense of winding it, then insisting on taking it away for repairs to keep it permanently. The plan fails entirely when Strutwell avoids all private meetings with the narrator, only sending word he is too indisposed to receive visitors.

Furious at being duped, the narrator besieges Strutwell at his public levee with repeated demands for his stolen property, though he never receives another private audience with the earl. He hides his growing desperation from Strap, whose mounting impatience is obvious every time the narrator returns home.

When the narrator is reduced to his last guinea, he finally discloses his dire financial situation to Strap, though he tries to soften the news by repeating the empty promises of support he claims to receive from his patron.

Though deeply distressed, Strap complies with the narrator's request to pawn his ornate gold-inlaid steel sword to raise immediate funds, bringing in enough money to cover short-term expenses, even though the sacrifice pains Strap given his frugal, economical nature.

Shortly after, the narrator's landlord demands payment of his 5 guinea rent debt, citing a need to make up a sum of money. Though the narrator can barely afford the payment, his pride leads him to settle the debt in a dismissive, scornful manner, while Strap, aware of the narrator's true financial state, is left horrified and despairing at the hidden strain.

Miserable after the landlord's demand, the narrator goes drinking with acquaintances but remains despondent. Banter, noticing his distress, chides him for being cowardly over losing money to the scoundrel Strutwell. When the narrator reveals he is down to less than two guineas, Banter offers to show him how to make a living in London without a fortune, and leads him to a public gaming house run by a Scottish lord under the Covent Garden piazzas.

Initially horrified by the rough crowd of gamblers, sharpers, and disgraced apprentices at the gaming house, the narrator is persuaded to place a small bet of one shilling, and wins 30 shillings in less than an hour. Convinced the game is fair, he moves to higher stakes, eventually sitting at the gold table overnight, and leaves with a total of 150 guineas in winnings.

As the narrator prepares to leave with his winnings, a losing Gascon gambler furiously demands he refund his losses, supported by a Jew who claims the narrator cheated by wiping grease onto the gaming table. The narrator threatens to sue the Jew for defamation and refuses to refund any money, forcing the accusers to back down and let him leave, after the Jew issues a public apology.

Exiting the gaming house, the narrator accidentally steps on the foot of a rough, fierce-looking man, who hurls insults and demands gentlemanly satisfaction. The narrator challenges him to a duel in the piazzas, but the man refuses, saying he will choose his own time for the confrontation. The narrator retrieves his sword from the doorkeeper, pays the customary guinea tip, and goes home in a state of joy.

Strap, who stayed up all night worrying about the narrator, is overwhelmed with joy when he sees the 150 guineas, dancing ecstatically and repeating the phrase "God be praised!—a white stone!" so wildly that the narrator fears he has gone mad, until Strap explains he is referencing the Roman *fasti* days marked with a white stone.

Shortly after the narrator returns, a shabbily dressed young woman arrives at his rooms, revealed to be Mrs. Gawky (formerly Miss Lavement, the woman who originally framed the narrator). She falls to her knees begging forgiveness for her role in the conspiracy, explaining she was coerced by her husband, who abandoned her after being disowned by his father and cashiered for misconduct at the Battle of Dettingen. She reveals she was turned out of her parents' home after bearing a child four months into her marriage, and has subsisted on charity until her friends refused to help her any longer.

Seeing an opportunity to vindicate his reputation, the narrator agrees to help Mrs. Gawky only if she will swear an oath before a magistrate detailing the full conspiracy against him. Once she signs a written declaration to that effect, he gives her 5 guineas, a sum far larger than she expected.

The narrator sends the signed declaration to Lavement, who immediately recognizes the narrator's innocence. Lavement visits with the schoolmaster Mr. Concordance to apologize for the false accusation, and the narrator pleads Mrs. Gawky's case so effectively that Lavement agrees to pay her a small lifetime annuity, though he refuses to take her home due to his wife's lasting anger toward her.

The narrator sells his old clothes at a loss to buy new suits and a plain gold watch, despairing of recovering the watch he had given to Strutwell. He remains at ease and grows more gay, viewing the gaming-table as a certain resource.

After the ambassador departs with his own secretary, the narrator feels at liberty to write to Strutwell, treating him with great freedom in a letter about amusing the narrator with vain hopes. He reproaches Straddle in person for misrepresenting Strutwell's character, calling it infamous. Straddle seems enraged, talks about quality and honour, makes injurious comparisons, and when demanded an explanation, equivocates and condescends in a manner that leaves the narrator with hearty contempt.

Banter observes a sudden alteration in the narrator's appearance and disposition. When inquired, the narrator invents a story about receiving a small supply from a relation in the country. Banter then proposes another matrimonial scheme involving his kinswoman's daughter, who has a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. The daughter is sickly and decrepit, and her mother manages her fortune. Banter explains a breach between himself and the mother over a borrowed sum and a threatening letter that led to a writ against him. Banter proposes the narrator marry the girl for five hundred pounds to be paid six months after marriage. The narrator accepts these advantageous terms.

Banter gives notice of the time and stage coach in which the travelers will set out. The narrator bespeaks a place in the same convenience and hires a horse for Strap, who is chagrined with the prospect. They set forward for Bath.

Before daybreak, the narrator embarks but cannot see Miss Snapper or perceive the number and sex of fellow travellers until seating himself with difficulty. The coach contains an officer, a lawyer, Miss Snapper, and a grave matron.

The officer, impatient of silence, attempts to engage conversation. Miss Snapper engages in witty repartee with him, comparing his conversation to a meeting of Quakers. When he swears he has got into a meeting of Quakers, she replies that the spirit of folly begins to move. Their sharp dialogue continues with witty exchanges about midwifes and folly, with Miss Snapper landing the final blow that leaves the warrior's powder spent.

The officer, having been smartly handled, changes his battery and begins to expatiate on his own exploits. He recounts being wounded at Dettingen by a pistol ball in the shoulder. He tells of recovering a lost regiment's standard from a French guardsman, shooting the horse, running the man through the body, and being wounded again by a comrade. He tells of the cowardly cornet demanding the standard back and his reply demanding to know where the cornet lost it. Despite this brave deed, he remains no more than a poor lieutenant.

The lieutenant, unwilling to conceal any of his accomplishments, offers to regale the company with a song. He warbles a fashionable air with nonsensical words, perverting the sense with surprising facility. Miss Snapper ascribes this to ignorance and observes that the music and words are much of a piece. The officer takes this as a compliment, believing the words are damnably fine.

The lawyer interposes by telling the officer there are some things he must not speak, and upon being defied, mentions treason and defamation. When the officer declares he dares say anything to any other man, the lawyer responds that the officer dares not call him rogue because he would have good action against him and recover. The officer declares he dares think the lawyer a rogue, accompanying this stroke of wit with a loud laugh of self-approbation that does not affect the audience and silences his antagonist for an hour.

At daybreak, the narrator gets his first clear view of Miss Snapper, finding her less physically unappealing than he had been led to believe. Though her face is hatchet-shaped, her large black eyes are lively, and her prominent front and back balances her body’s proportions, though her curved spine gives her a distinct side-to-side, crablike gait. Concluding he would happily marry her for her £20,000 fortune, he begins mentally devising ways to win her affection, paying so little attention to the rest of the coach’s occupants that he does not hear the wager the soldier and lawyer are debating, leading the soldier to insult him when he fails to respond.

The boisterous soldier, who has bragged repeatedly of his courage and royal military commission, grows enraged when the narrator does not weigh in on his debate with the lawyer. He hurls insults at the narrator, swears he fears no man alive, and brandishes a pair of pistols he claims to have taken from a horse officer at the Battle of Dettingen, promising to protect the coach’s occupants from highwaymen. A prim, severe gentlewoman reprimands him for pulling out weapons in front of ladies, and says she will walk to the next village immediately if he dares to use firearms in her presence. Miss Snapper interjects to defend the soldier’s display of arms as a useful protection against robbers, saying she feels lucky to be in the company of a man brave enough to fend off highwaymen. The severe gentlewoman scoffs that people with little to lose are often the most anxious to protect what they have; Mrs. Snapper retorts that people should be well-informed before speaking slightingly of others’ fortunes, lest they reveal their own envy. Miss Snapper says she does not compete with anyone in wealth, and offers to persuade the captain to surrender if attacked, as long as the severe gentlewoman agrees to indemnify the group for any losses they suffer. The severe gentlewoman dismisses the reasonable proposal with only a scornful glance and a toss of her head.

Strap rides up to the coach in a panic, warning that two men on horseback are approaching on the heath. The coach’s occupants react in terror: Mrs. Snapper screams, Miss Snapper turns pale, the severe gentlewoman clutches her purse, the lawyer’s teeth chatter, and the soldier looks confused. The narrator orders the coach to stop, jumps out, and invites the soldier to join him in defense, but when the soldier hesitates, the narrator takes the soldier’s pistols, gives them to the trembling Strap, mounts his own horse, and faces the two highwaymen alone. The robbers, seeing two armed men ready to fight, ride away. The narrator hires a passing footman to help him pursue the thieves; when the highwaymen fire at them and flee, one thief’s horse stumbles, throwing its rider senseless to the ground, where he is easily captured. The pair secure the thief, who has regained consciousness by this point, and who has the audacity to demand to know by what authority they are treating a gentleman so poorly and threatens them with prosecution for robbery. They soon discover the thief has a stolen £20 canvas bag on his person, identified by a farmer as the proceeds of his robbery of the farmer an hour prior, and turn the thief over to the farmer to take to Hounslow. The narrator returns to the coach, where the soldier and lawyer are attending to the severe gentlewoman, who fainted at the sound of gunfire.

After the narrator returns to the coach, Miss Snapper and her mother compliment him on his courage, and the lawyer jokes that he is legally entitled to a £40 reward for capturing the highwayman. The embarrassed soldier claims he would have caught the robbers easily if the narrator had not acted rashly, and grows furious when the narrator openly says he saw the soldier tremble during the encounter, threatening violence before being humiliated into silence for the rest of the journey. The severe gentlewoman, having recovered from her faint, delivers a scornful soliloquy criticizing men who risk their lives for small sums of money and women who praise such brutality, and vows she will never ride in a stagecoach again if she can afford private transport. Offended by her remarks, the narrator delivers his own soliloquy, criticizing her unreasonable expectation that strangers would let themselves be robbed to spare her fear, and vows that if she is ever attacked again, he will leave her to fend for herself so she can appreciate the value of his protection.

The group stops to eat breakfast. Mrs. Snapper and Miss Snapper withdraw to a private room to eat alone, while the severe gentlewoman chooses to eat with the soldier in a separate private room, leaving the narrator and the lawyer to eat together. The narrator is annoyed by Mrs. Snapper’s cold, distant behavior toward him, while the lawyer complains he has never seen stagecoach etiquette broken so badly before. During the meal, the lawyer teases the narrator about the severe gentlewoman’s attachment to the cowardly soldier, joking that she must admire his legal skill and want him to make a property settlement for her. After paying their bill, the narrator and lawyer bribe the coach driver to rush the rest of the group out of their meal, and when Mrs. Snapper and Miss Snapper arrive at the coach, the two men deliberately refuse to help them board as payback for their rudeness.

The soldier arrives at the coach moments later, furious about being interrupted during breakfast, followed by the severe gentlewoman, who is also disheveled and upset. After the soldier helps her board, he complains about the coachman’s rudeness, and the lawyer teases him by joking that he may have missed a legal opportunity to “join issue” at the next stage. The severe gentlewoman is offended by the lawyer’s suggestive comment, says she would have him punished for obscenity if she were a man, and thanks God she has never been in such coarse company before. The soldier, feeling obligated to defend the woman’s honor, threatens to cut off the lawyer’s ears if he makes any more improper remarks. The lawyer apologizes, and silence falls over the rest of the coach ride.

The protagonist decides to win over the mother of Miss Snapper through respectful behavior and kindness during their journey, believing that securing the mother's approval will give him access to her daughter. He believes he can express his feelings through meaningful glances that convey humanity and love.

During the journey, the travelers discover at their dining stop that all the food has been commandeered by a passing nobleman. The protagonist saves the day by bribing the landlord with wine to carve out a portion of the nobleman's dinner for the ladies, earning their gratitude and an invitation to visit them at Bath.

A captain traveling with them is excluded from the meal due to the nobleman's占有 of the inn's provisions. He is forced to satisfy his hunger with bread, cheese, and brandy eaten in the coach, cursing the nobleman's timing.

The party arrives in Bath, where the protagonist helps the ladies settle into lodgings at a relative's house. He secures his own accommodations nearby and spends the following morning touring the city's attractions with an acquaintance.

Accompanied by Miss Snapper and her mother, the protagonist escorts them to the famous Long Room, a social hub in Bath. The party is immediately subjected to contemptuous stares and whispering from the assembled company, though Miss Snapper maintains astonishing composure throughout.

Beau Nash, the celebrated master of ceremonies, takes it upon himself to amuse the crowd by mocking Miss Snapper. He approaches with exaggerated bows and asks her publicly if she knows the name of Tobit's dog, an insult directed at her perceived provincialism.

Miss Snapper responds with remarkable wit, declaring that Tobit's dog was named Nash and calling him an impudent dog. This unexpected and fitting reply draws universal laughter against Nash, who is forced to retreat in humiliating fashion while Miss Snapper is applauded by the assembly.

That same evening, the protagonist seizes an opportunity to express his romantic feelings to Miss Snapper despite her mother's vigilance. She blushes but gently rebuffs him, reminding him they are strangers and warning him against such unseasonable gallantry that might interrupt their developing acquaintance.

During a whist game, the protagonist learns of an upcoming assembly and begs for the honor of escorting Miss Snapper. She mentions she never dances but expresses a desire to see the company, accepting his offer to squire her while privately relieved to avoid appearing with him in an uncomfortable situation.

At the assembly, the protagonist's world is transformed when a gentleman in a green frock enters leading a young lady—the adorable Narcissa. The sight overwhelms him with immediate and intense emotion, thrusting his imagination into a frenzy of delight as he recognizes her features.

The protagonist is completely overcome upon seeing Narcissa. His heart pounds violently, his vision blurs, ears ring, and he struggles to breathe. Flattering ideas rush upon him as he recalls every engaging quality of the dear creature, though his joy is soon shadowed by the fear she may already be disposed of to another.

While the protagonist remains entranced by Narcissa's presence, Miss Snapper observes his absence of mind and traces his glances to their source. Her interrogation reveals his attachment despite his attempts at disguise, causing her to assume a stateliness of behavior and sit silent for the remainder of the evening.

On their way home, Miss Snapper tells the protagonist she has too great a regard to keep him any longer in torment, clearly sarcastically acknowledging his distracted state. He feigns ignorance of her meaning and deposits her safely at her lodgings before departing in an ecstasy.

The next day, while walking to the Pump Room in hopes of hearing about Narcissa, the protagonist encounters Miss Williams, an old sweetheart. She recognizes him with evident surprise and joy at his improved circumstances, revealing she now serves as a gentlewoman to a young lady.

Miss Williams explains that the lady she serves is Narcissa herself, who has confided in her about the mysterious John Brown. She describes how Narcissa has dwelt upon his story with admiration and expressed tender approbation for his flame, unaware that John Brown is the very man before her.

Miss Williams reveals that Narcissa was overjoyed upon seeing the protagonist at the assembly, recognizing him despite his transformation and transformation. She reports that Narcissa assured herself of his continued passion through his expressive eyes and immediately sent Miss Williams to discover his current name and character.

The protagonist urges Miss Williams to lead him immediately to Narcissa, but she cautions him about propriety, warning that Narcissa would dismiss her as unworthy if she learned of this confidence. They agree that for now Miss Williams will report only his name, with a letter to follow within a day or two.

During their conversation, Miss Williams shares that the protagonist's rival Sir Timothy died five months prior, having drunk himself into an apoplexy. The savage remains unmarried, freeing Narcissa from that particular threat.

Miss Williams explains that Narcissa's aunt developed an unexpected whim and married the parish schoolmaster. This marriage proved detrimental to her health; she has been hectically feverish and dropsical for some time and now takes the waters at Bath, where Narcissa attends her faithfully despite the aunt's past mistake regarding the protagonist.

The protagonist and Miss Williams arrange to meet again the following day. Upon her departure, he shares the entire situation with his servant Strap, who receives the news with a mixture of astonishment and practical reservation, muttering that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

The narrator meets Mr. Freeman at his house in the afternoon, where the squire (Narcissa's brother) soon arrives. The foxhunter takes an immediate liking to the narrator, whom he believes to be a London gentleman traveling from France. The squire asks numerous childish questions about foreign parts and becomes so enamored with the narrator's conversation that he invites both the narrator and Freeman to dinner the following day. The narrator spends a restless night anticipating the happiness to come, and in the morning he meets Miss Williams, who warns him of Narcissa's scruples regarding his true character and situation. Miss Williams advises him to be open and unreserved while trusting to her mistress's affection and good sense.

The narrator accompanies Mr. Freeman to the squire's house at the appointed hour, where they are kindly received. The squire offers them drinks before dinner, which they politely refuse despite the narrator's need for fortification. They engage in conversation for half an hour, during which the narrator's nervousness gradually subsides, though it returns with full force when dinner is announced. As he ascends the staircase, his perturbation becomes barely concealable, and his heart beats with such increased velocity that he nearly questions his resolve to continue.

Upon entering the dining room, the narrator's eyes are immediately greeted by the sight of Narcissa, blushing and adorned with all the graces of meekness, innocence, and beauty. He is seized with giddiness and his knees tremble as he performs the ceremony of salutation. The squire introduces him as "Measure Randan," slapping him on the shoulder. The narrator approaches Narcissa with both eagerness and fear, and in the moment of their embrace, his soul is agonized with rapture. The squire, lacking penetration, encourages the narrator to speak French with his sister, but Narcissa declines this proposal with a sweetness of denial, displaying proper respect for those who would not understand the language. Throughout dinner, the narrator feasts his eyes on Narcissa more than his appetite, though she tempts him with delicious morsels from her fair hand.

After dinner concludes, the squire becomes exceedingly drowsy. After numerous tremendous yawns, he rises, stretches himself, and takes several turns across the room. He then requests permission to take a short nap, placing a strong injunction upon his sister to detain the guests until his return. Without further ceremony, he departs to his repose. The narrator notes that it was a lucky circumstance that the squire lacked uncommon penetration, for the mutual confusion between the narrator and Narcissa was so manifest that Mr. Freeman perceives it. As they walk home later, Freeman congratulates the narrator on his good fortune, though the squire himself remains entirely unsuspecting.

No sooner has the squire departed than Freeman, guessing the situation of the narrator's heart and seeking to do him the greatest favor by leaving him alone with Narcissa, pretends to suddenly recollect himself. He starts up, begs the lady's pardon for half an hour, and explains that he has unfortunately remembered an engagement of some consequence that must be performed immediately. He takes his leave, promising to return in time for tea, and leaves Narcissa and the narrator together in great confusion, both uncertain how to proceed.

Now that the narrator enjoys the opportunity to disclose the sentiments of his soul, he finds himself unable to utilize it. He studies numerous pathetic declarations, but when he attempts to give them voice, his tongue refuses its office. Narcissa sits silent with a downcast look full of anxious alarm, her bosom heaving with expectation. After a long pause, the narrator finally begins with expressions of surprise that love should act so inconsistently as to deprive its votaries of their faculties when they need them most. He declares his passion for the loveliest of her sex, explaining that it took possession of his soul while cruel fate compelled him to wear a servile disguise unsuitable to his birth, sentiments, and deserts. He confesses that this disguise was favorable in one respect, as it furnished him with opportunities to see and adore her perfections, and that her dear idea entered his bosom where it has lived unimpaired amid countless cares and animated him against a thousand dangers and calamities.

Narcissa, while the narrator speaks, conceals her face with her fan. When he finishes, she recovers herself from the most beautiful confusion and tells him she feels very much obliged by his favorable opinion and is very sorry to hear he has been unfortunate. Encouraged by this gentle reply, the narrator proceeds to declare that he is sufficiently recompensed by her kind compassion for what he has undergone and that his future happiness depends solely upon her. She responds that she would be very ungrateful if, after the signal protection he once afforded her, she should refuse to contribute towards his happiness in any reasonable condescension. Transported by this acknowledgment, the narrator throws himself at her feet and begs her to regard his passion with a favorable eye. She is alarmed, entreating him to rise lest her brother discover him in that posture and to spare her for the present upon a subject for which she is altogether unprepared. He rises, assuring her he would rather die than disobey her, and points out how precious the minutes of this opportunity are and what restraint he places upon his inclinations in sacrificing them to her desires.

Narcissa smiles with unspeakable sweetness and tells him there will be no want of opportunities provided he can maintain the good opinion her brother has conceived of him. The narrator, enchanted by her charms, seizes her hand and nearly devours it with kisses, but she checks his boldness with severity of countenance and reminds him not to so far forget himself as to endanger the esteem she holds for him. She emphasizes that they are almost strangers to each other and that she must know him better before taking any resolution in his favor. Her reproof contains so much good sense and complacency that the narrator becomes as much enamored of her understanding as he had been of her beauty. He asks pardon for his presumption with the utmost reverence, which she forgives with her usual affability, sealing his pardon with a look so full of bewitching tenderness that for some minutes his senses are lost in ecstasy. The conversation turns to more indifferent subjects, and Narcissa speaks of her aunt's illness (a combination of dropsy and consumption) and of Mrs. Sagely's good health. She explains how Sir Timothy Thicket had incensed her brother against the narrator and damaged her own character with scandalous insinuations, though Sir Timothy later confessed his brutal design before his death from apoplexy. Every word Narcissa speaks rivets the chains with which she holds him enslaved.

When Freeman returns, the opportunity is destroyed, though this enables the narrator to quell the rising tumult of his passion. Shortly afterward, the squire returns from his nap, rubbing his eyes, and calls for tea, which he drinks from a small bowl qualified with brandy. When Freeman and the narrator propose to take their leave, the foxhunter insists upon their spending the evening at his house with such obstinacy of affection that they are obliged to comply. The narrator would have welcomed the invitation for more of Narcissa's company but fears risking her esteem by entering into a debauch he knows will occur. The squire begins drinking early, ordering the table furnished with liquor immediately after tea, but they absolutely refuse to drink so soon and prevail upon him to play whist for an hour or two. The narrator and the savage become partners at first, and because his thoughts are wholly employed in a more interesting game, he plays so poorly that the squire loses patience, swears bitterly, and threatens to call for wine if they will not grant him another associate. Their wish is gratified, and the narrator is paired with Narcissa. The squire loses again for the same reason that made him lose before. Time passes agreeably until they are told that supper is served in another room.

The squire is enraged to find the evening so unprofitably spent and wreaks his vengeance upon the cards, tearing them and committing them to the flames with many execrations. He threatens to make them redeem their loss with a large glass and quick circulation, and after supper, when Narcissa withdraws, he puts this threat in execution. Three bottles of port are placed before them with as many water glasses, which are filled to the brim and emptied immediately to the best in Christendom. Though the narrator swallows his portion without hesitation or reluctance, he perceives his brain will not bear many more bumpers of this sort. Dreading the perseverance of a champion who began with such vigor, he determines to make up for the deficiency of his strength by a stratagem. When the second course of bottles is called for, he assumes a gay air, entertains the squire with a French catch on the subject of drinking, and asks if he has a bowl or cup that will contain a whole quart of wine. The squire produces a silver candle cup holding exactly that quantity. The narrator bids the squire decant his bottle into it, then nods deliberately and says, "Pledge you." The squire stares in disbelief, but the narrator assures him they will do him justice. The squire applies the cup to his lips and empties it in a breath. The narrator then begins pouring his own bottle into the cup while speaking of drinking with the Cham of Tartary. The squire takes umbrage at these words, and after several attempts to spit, stammers out an indignant reply, declaring himself a freeborn Englishman worth three thousand a-year. He then drops his jaw, fixes his eyes, hiccups aloud, and falls upon the floor as mute as a flounder.

Mr. Freeman, heartily glad at the squire's defeat, assists the narrator in carrying him to bed, where they leave him to the care of his servants. The narrator and Freeman then go home to their respective habitations, congratulating each other on their good fortune. The narrator has successfully avoided intoxication through his clever stratagem and escaped without damaging Narcissa's good opinion of him.

Miss Williams meets R— R— at their usual rendezvous and confirms that Narcissa has expressed warm approval of his behavior toward her brother. She recounts Narcissa's passionate declarations in R— R—'s favor, which exceed his most hopeful expectations. When R— R— offers her a ring as gratitude, she refuses with resentment, feeling insulted that he would think her mercenary. After explaining his intentions and promising to follow her counsel, R— R— learns that Miss Williams can manage a literary correspondence between them by pretending she refused to deliver his letters until she knew Narcissa's sentiments.

Consulting Freeman about reconciling with the offended squire, R— R— is advised that the only way to appease him is through a drinking contest. He hosts a debauch at his own lodgings to avoid being seen by Narcissa in such a state. The squire accepts the invitation and complains of the trick played on him, but R— R— promises to atone. While the squire drinks heavily, R— R— drinks lighter French claret and manages to remain composed, resulting in the squire being carried home drunk. The next day, R— R— obtains the squire's permission to dance with Narcissa at the upcoming ball.

With permission to correspond through Miss Williams, R— R— composes an impassioned love letter expressing his emotions that exceed the power of language to convey. He writes of his wonder at her beauty, ravishment at her understanding, and adoration of her goodness. He pleads for an in-person interview to offer his heart and hear her enchanting voice. He commits the letter to Miss Williams with instructions to support his request.

Miss Williams delivers Narcissa's response, which admits she looks upon him with more than indifference and is pleased with his passion. She expresses confidence in his integrity and her own discretion, declaring she would not hesitate to grant his interview request if not for concern about public gossip. R— R— kisses the letter devoutly, reads it a hundred times, and is overjoyed by her subscription "Your Narcissa." Her warm reception confirms his belief that she shares his passion.

Learning that the squire will be dining abroad, R— R— visits Narcissa in the afternoon. Miss Williams conveniently retires, leaving them alone. R— R— acts on impulse, embraces her, and kisses her lips. Narcissa blushes but forgives him after he falls at her feet to apologize. When the servant arrives with tea, they discuss the ball, and she promises to be his partner. She later rings for her maid as a check upon his vivacity, though with Miss Williams present as their mutual confidante, he can speak freely. The conversation turns to their feelings, and Narcissa lays aside her former reserve, declaring her mutual flame. They embrace tenderly and spend the afternoon exchanging vows of hope while Miss Williams observes, moved to tears by their chaste affection.

At the ball, Narcissa eclipses all competitors with her beauty. After they dance, a prominent nobleman pays them a flattering compliment, but then attaches himself to Narcissa with evident passion. R— R— feels the pangs of jealousy watching his rival's success, dreading his power and address. When the nobleman speaks warmly to Narcissa, R— R—'s heart dies within him. He becomes enraged and assumes a grim demeanor. When the nobleman departs to the other side of the room, Narcissa notices his agitation and changes color with concern, asking what ails him.

Before R— R— can answer Narcissa, the squire pulls him by the sleeve and points out Melinda seated opposite them, accompanied by her mother and an elderly gentleman. The squire expresses admiration for her beauty and contemplates pursuing her. Alarmed that Melinda might revenge herself for his former disgrace by spreading reports against him, R— R— tells the squire that Melinda has a ten-thousand-pound fortune and is promised to a lord who delays marriage until coming of age. The squire dismisses this obstacle, declaring himself as good as any lord and confident a three-thousand-pound-per-year commoner will suit her. R— R— realizes the squire will discover the falsehood and that Melinda's influence may obstruct his own courtship. Narcissa insists on leaving, and as R— R— leads her away, the nobleman directs a languishing bow to her, which stings him to the soul. She asks what troubles him, and he can only exclaim his distraction.

The narrator returns home in a state of frantic agitation following his emotional distress. In a violent outburst, he assaults his loyal servant Strap, pinching his ear so severely that Strap cries out in pain and looks at him with stunned bewilderment. Although the narrator quickly apologizes, Strap weeps at the unkind treatment, causing the narrator to feel intense remorse. His passions continue to rage as he kicks furniture and speaks wildly until exhaustion brings on melancholy silence. In this vulnerable state, he is surprised by Miss Williams, who has been sent by Narcissa, who desires to see him immediately. The mention of Narcissa acts like a charm, and he follows her without hesitation.

The narrator is conducted through a private garden door to Narcissa's apartment, where he finds the beloved woman in tears. For some time they remain silent, both too overwhelmed to speak. Narcissa finally asks with sob in her voice what she has done to displease him. The narrator, upon his knees, declares her all goodness and perfection while expressing his own unworthiness. Narcissa guesses the source of his anxiety, gently reproaches his suspicions, and offers such heartfelt assurances of eternal fidelity that all his doubts and fears vanish, restoring peace and satisfaction to his heart.

After leaving Narcissa at midnight and exiting through the garden gate, the narrator navigates the darkness homeward when he hears a chattering sound behind him. Convinced it is a spy threatening Narcissa's reputation, he draws his sword intending to kill the intruder. However, he discovers the figure is actually Strap, who followed him out of concern. Strap's teeth chatter from the cold, barely able to speak. The relieved narrator laughs at the misunderstanding, asks Strap why he came, and learns that Strap had intended to alarm the neighborhood if the narrator stayed much longer. The narrator warns Strap severely against such rash actions, threatening death if he ever acts so foolishly again, to which Strap replies that the narrator's displeasure alone would suffice.

The following day, whispers circulate about the narrator, whom he suspects Melinda has been slandering. He wins money from his suspected rival at the gaming table and accompanies him to the coffee-house. Lord Quiverwit engages the narrator in friendly conversation while attempting to extract information about his connection with Narcissa, but the narrator deflects with vague responses. Later, the Squire arrives in company with Melinda and her mother, who regard the narrator with disdain. When the narrator approaches the Squire, he receives only a cold "Servant, servant!" instead of his usual warm handshake, delivered with evident indifference or contempt.

Miss Williams finds the narrator in anxious turmoil and reveals that Lord Quiverwit has declared honorable intentions toward Narcissa. She explains that the Squire introduced them while simultaneously repeating Melinda's slander—that the narrator is an Irish fortune-hunter of obscure origin who supports himself through sharp practices. Although the narrator expected such malice, the truth blended with falsehood makes vindication difficult. Nevertheless, Narcissa remains faithful, defending him against the malicious reports by recalling his honorable and disinterested behavior. She admits she has purposely avoided asking about his circumstances and her own fortune, which she now reveals is conditional—dependent entirely on marrying with her brother's consent. This revelation stuns the narrator, causing him to turn pale and tremble. Miss Williams reassures him of Narcissa's constancy and notes that Narcissa's love has only deepened despite knowing his financial difficulties.

Expecting that Melinda's scandals have spread throughout the town, the narrator considers exposing her affair with the Frenchified barber as retaliation. Before going out, he receives a visit from Freeman, who informs him of the defamatory stories circulating. The narrator responds calmly and shares the details of his relationship with Melinda, including the barber incident involving their mutual friend Banter. Freeman becomes convinced of the injury to the narrator's reputation and undertakes to undeceive the town, vowing to redirect the stream of slander back to its source. However, he cautions the narrator against appearing in public until the prejudice against him subsides, warning of potential affronts and their consequences.

Upon arriving at the Long Room, the protagonist is met at the door by a servant who presents an unsigned note stating that his presence is disagreeable to the company and requesting he never return. This peremptory message fills him with indignation. He seizes the messenger by the collar before the entire company and demands to know who sent this insulting communication. The terrified servant reveals on his knees that the message came from Narcissa's brother, who stands at the opposite end of the room conversing with Melinda.

The protagonist approaches Narcissa's brother directly and, in full view of the company, delivers a threatening address. He declares that but for one protecting consideration, he would cane the squire where he stands for sending such scurrilous intimation. He tears the note to pieces and throws it in the squire's face. The brother, whose courage only rises in proportion to the wine he has consumed, fails to respond with honorable satisfaction. Instead, he threatens prosecution for assault and takes witnesses, displaying pusillanimous behavior that disappoints his admirers and establishes the squire as a figure of cowardice rather than honor.

After confronting the squire, the protagonist turns an angry regard upon Melinda, expressing sorrow that she has rendered it impossible for him to compliment her upon her invention, albeit at the expense of her good nature and veracity. This cutting remark provokes a强烈的反应. Melinda, piqued by the squire's cowardly response and enraged at the sarcasm, endeavors to make her grievance a public cause. She weeps aloud with spite and vexation, complaining bitterly of the protagonist's rudeness and declaring that if she were a man, he would not dare to treat her so. The spectacle of a lady in tears draws the attention of all present, and she leverage this sympathy to prejudice the assembly against the protagonist.

The tears of Melinda attract the notice and concern of the spectators, who listen to her bitter complaints against the protagonist's rudeness. Most of the gentlemen, already prejudiced against him, display their offense through their looks. Lord Quiverwit, however, ventures beyond mere disapproval and delivers a cutting remark with a sneer, suggesting the protagonist is right to establish his own character, of which he now has no longer any doubt. This severe equivocation raises laughter at the protagonist's expense. Nettled by this mockery, the protagonist replies with warmth that he is proud of having in that particular gotten the start of his lordship. Quiverwit responds with a contemptuous smile, walks off, and leaves the protagonist in a very disagreeable situation, shunned by all present like a person infected with plague.

Left in mortification and confusion, the protagonist finds relief in thoughts of the ever-faithful and fond Narcissa. He quits the scene of his humiliation and wanders about the town, eventually entering a toy-shop where he purchases a ruby ring shaped like a heart surrounded by diamond sparks for ten guineas, intended as a present for his beloved. At the appointed hour, he is introduced to Narcissa, who, despite having heard reports to his disadvantage, receives him with the utmost confidence and tenderness. She expresses a desire to know the particular circumstances of his life, having already learned the general sketches from Miss Williams.

Narcissa's curiosity about the protagonist's life leads him to recount his experiences with great candor, though he omits certain details he considers improper for her ears. His story consists primarily of misfortunes, and during the entire narration, tears of sympathy cease not to trickle from Narcissa's enchanting eyes. The emotional recounting deepens their bond, and upon its conclusion, she recompenses him with the most endearing protestations of eternal love. She bewails her restricted condition as it retards his happiness and reveals that Lord Quiverwit has visited her that very afternoon with a marriage proposal from her brother, creating tension and urgency in the romantic situation.

Narcissa, seeing the protagonist extremely affected by the revelation of Quiverwit's proposal, offers a convincing proof of her affection by proposing to espouse him privately and leave the rest to fate. Though penetrated by this gesture of regard, the protagonist resists the tempting offer out of consideration for her honor and interest, thereby demonstrating generosity that matches her own. He presents the ruby ring as a pledge of inviolable attachment and, on his knees, invokes Heaven's curses upon his head should his heart ever entertain unworthy thoughts. Narcissa receives this token and gives him her picture in miniature, exquisitely drawn and set in gold. She assumes the same posture and calls Heaven to witness and judge her flame. Their vows being mutually exchanged, confidence of hope ensues, and their mutual fondness becomes as intimate as innocence allows. The protagonist grows insensible to time's progress, and it is morning before he can tear himself from his darling.

The protagonist, sauntering about the town after leaving the Long Room in disgrace, happens upon a toy-shop opposite to which he finds himself. Entering the shop, he purchases a ring featuring a ruby set in the form of a heart, surrounded by diamond sparks, for which he pays ten guineas. He intends this ring as a present for Narcissa, the charmer of his soul, intending it as a symbol of his devotion and commitment during their romantic meeting.

After an intimate evening with Narcissa, the protagonist returns to his lodging and sleeps for about two hours before being awakened by Strap, who informs him that a footman waits below with a letter requiring an immediate answer. The letter, bearing no signature beyond the name Quiverwit, declares that the writer will overlook the privilege of his quality to seek reparation on equal terms for injury to his honor. He cites the protagonist's insolent reply in the Long Room and his presumptive emulation in a more interesting affair—the romantic rivalry with Narcissa—as justification for challenging the protagonist to a duel. The letter demands that if the protagonist has spirit enough to support his assumed character, he follow the bearer immediately to a convenient place where he will be met.

Reluctant yet recognizing the necessity of vindicating his mistress's reputation and asserting his own honor, the protagonist rises hastily, dresses, puts on his sword, and proceeds with his conductor to the appointed place. Strap accompanies him. When within sight of his rival, the protagonist attempts explanation before battle, and Quiverwit confronts him about his presence in Mr. Topehall's garden early that morning. The protagonist's attempt to deflect by claiming an intrigue with a waiting maid fails to convince Quiverwit, who demands he renounce all claim to Narcissa upon oath. Exasperated, the protagonist unsheathes his sword, declaring his right to pursue Narcissa. Both draw, and the protagonist rushes upon Quiverwit with more eagerness than skill, receiving a wound in his neck that redoubles his rage. Quiverwit excels in temper and skill, parrying thrusts calmly while the protagonist exhausts his spirits. When the protagonist begins to flag, Quiverwit attacks fiercely and runs his sword between the protagonist's shirt and skin, appearing over his left shoulder. The protagonist believes the wound mortal.

Determined not to die unrevenged, the protagonist seizes Quiverwit's shell close to his breast before the latter can disentangle his point. Shortening his own sword with his right hand, he intends to run Quiverwit through the heart, but the thrust penetrates Quiverwit's left arm up to the shoulder blade. Disappointed yet fearing death might frustrate his revenge, the protagonist grapples with his opponent and, being much stronger, throws him to the ground. Here he wrests Quiverwit's sword from his hand. In his confusion, instead of turning the point upon his fallen enemy, he strikes out three of Quiverwit's foreteeth with the hilt. Their servants rush up to separate them, but the protagonist is on his feet before their arrival and discovers that his supposed mortal wound is only a slight scratch. Now relieved of danger, he feels a good deal of his resentment diminish.

The protagonist helps Quiverwit's footman raise his master and binds up the wound with his handkerchief, assuring that it is not dangerous. He restores Quiverwit's sword and offers to support him to his house. Quiverwit thanks him with sullen dignity, whispers that the protagonist shall hear from him soon, and departs leaning on his servant's shoulder. The protagonist interprets this promise as a threat. Upon returning home, the protagonist finds his neck wound stiff and uncomfortable, with clotted blood running down his shirt. Strap, upon seeing the blood, cries out in horror and falls senseless to the floor. The protagonist tends to his own slight wound with dry lint and a plaster, cleans himself, and shifts his clothes while Strap remains unconscious at his feet. When Strap recovers and finds the protagonist perfectly well, he can scarcely believe his eyes. Pleased with the outcome, the protagonist hopes the affair will become known and dignify his character, confident that Narcissa will not think the worse of him for demonstrating his worth.

The news of the duel spreads throughout Bath, and Freeman visits Roderick with astonishment, having heard reports that Roderick had fled after wounding Lord Quiverwit fatally. Roderick corrects the misconception and thanks his friend for the good offices he has performed among his acquaintances. Freeman's support proves advantageous, as Roderick is warmly received at the coffee-house by persons who had previously avoided him. The company amuses itself with the scandal of Melinda's French admirer, and Roderick's reputation appears enhanced by the duel.

Lord Quiverwit sends for Roderick, who finds the nobleman confined to his bed. The lord thanks Roderick for his moderation in the encounter and requests forgiveness for any offense committed in anger. He acknowledges his inability to abandon his passion for Narcissa but promises to pursue his suit with justice and honor. More alarmingly, the lord reveals he has informed Narcissa's brother of the suspected romantic connection and warns that Narcissa possesses no independent fortune, rendering her dependent on whatever means Roderick can provide. Roderick is provoked by this revelation and departs in anger.

As Roderick walks homeward, he sees a handkerchief waved from a passing coach-and-six and recognizes the servant on horseback as belonging to the squire. He deduces that Narcissa has been seized by her brother following Lord Quiverwit's warning. Frantic with distress, Roderick rushes to his lodgings, snatches his pistols, and orders Strap to procure post-horses with such agitation that his valet fears another duel.

Freeman intervenes, calming Roderick and persuading him that precipitate action would harm Narcissa's reputation and that waiting for news through her maid represents the wiser course. Roderick composes himself, appears publicly with calm demeanor, and finds society's good opinion restored. Melinda becomes so universally disfavored that she flees to London. However, after several weeks without word from Narcissa, Roderick sinks into despondency. In a fit of despair, he resolves to gamble for a fortune or ruin himself completely. He plays for three days, initially winning a thousand pounds but continuing until he is reduced to five guineas, ashamed to stake the remainder.

The next morning brings violent despair, but Roderick recovers enough to book passage on the stage coach to London. He settles his debts in Bath, which amount to only thirty shillings. Strap accompanies him, finding a return horse for his own transport. During the journey across Bagshot Heath, Roderick briefly contemplates highway robbery but abandons the notion upon considering the infamy of detection. He arrives in London and reoccupies his former lodgings.

Roderick seeks out Banter, who at first receives him cordially, expecting his bond to be discharged. Upon learning of Roderick's losses, Banter's manner changes entirely. He suggests darkly that Roderick should put it out of fortune's power to trick him again, pointing to his own neck in a grim allusion. When Roderick reminds him of the five guineas previously lent, Banter claims the debt is now reversed, insisting Roderick owes him five hundred for lost expectations. Roderick cannot obtain the money but accepts Banter's counsel to seek fortune at the gaming table again, selling his watch to fund another attempt.

Strap pawns Roderick's sword and expresses the deepest concern for his friend's welfare, declaring he can earn a living with his ten fingers but fears for Roderick's future. When Roderick darkly hints he possesses a resource in his loaded pistol, Strap is horrified and pleads with him to avoid such temptation, invoking religious warnings about the soul and the impropriety of despair. He reminds Roderick of his uncle Mr. Bowling, who may be returning home and could arrive shortly. This suggestion rekindles hope, and Roderick promises to take no desperate step until Strap obtains news from Wapping.

During Strap's absence, Banter delivers a letter from Narcissa that Freeman had forwarded. Roderick kisses the superscription and reads her message with transport. Narcissa explains she was carried away by her brother after Lord Quiverwit revealed their correspondence. She warns against further desperate measures on her account, assures him of her constancy, and notes that both she and Miss Williams are well but anxious. The postscript explains that any attempt to communicate would only extend their captivity and implores him to desist from efforts to reach her. The letter provides great consolation, and Banter, upon viewing her portrait, acknowledges her beauty and understanding.

With hope restored regarding his uncle's possible return, Roderick consults Banter about immediate subsistence. Banter advises liquidating several rich suits of clothes by selling them at half-price to a salesman on Monmouth Street, promising that in a few months Roderick can satisfy all debts. Though Roderick initially hesitates, fearing fraud, he is persuaded by the honesty of his intention and the urgency of his need. He learns that his uncle's ship has not yet arrived, puts Banter's scheme into practice, and raises twenty-five guineas, repaying the old debt of five guineas for Banter's advice.

The narrator is arrested by his tailor for a bill of fifty pounds after a player reveals the narrator's whereabouts by wearing one of the suits he had sold. Refusing to be taken to a sponging-house, he is conveyed to the Marshalsea prison, where he secures a small bed-chamber for a crown a week and dispatches a message to his servant Strap.

While awaiting Strap's arrival, the narrator receives a visit from Jackson, an old acquaintance from his earlier memoirs. The two men greet each other warmly, and the narrator repays a loan he had previously received from Jackson while inquiring into the internal economy and regulations of the Marshalsea.

Jackson narrates his adventures since their last meeting: deceived into marrying a lady of supposed fortune who proved to be a common woman of the town, he fled to Portsmouth and entered the navy as a surgeon's mate, subsequently becoming surgeon of a sloop. Upon returning to London, he was arrested within a week for his wife's debts and has remained in prison since.

Strap arrives at the prison exhibiting extreme grief at his master's misfortune. Jackson's lighthearted unconcern and joviality gradually dissipate Strap's distress, restoring his composure. The trio shares a meal of boiled beef and greens from a neighbouring cook's shop, accompanied by a bottle of wine that elevates their spirits.

Jackson presents the narrator to Mr. Melopoyn, a destitute but highly educated poet resident in the prison. Melopoyn delivers erudite lectures on genius and taste to the assembled prisoners, receiving voluntary contributions averaging eighteen pence weekly, though his auditors comprehend little of his discourse. He has also composed a tragedy of acknowledged merit and is characterized by infinite learning, impeccable morals, and invincible modesty.

The narrator requests to examine Melopoyn's poetical works and is profoundly affected by an elegy composed in imitation of Tibullus, addressed to Monimia. The poem's despondent tone mirrors the narrator's own romantic disappointments, causing him to identify the subject with Narcissa and plunge into such deep melancholy that he resorts to wine to secure sleep.

Strap announces that he has engaged himself as a journeyman barber, a measure designed to economise on the narrator's expenses during his imprisonment and to earn a subsistence for them both should the narrator's funds be exhausted before relief arrives.

After breakfast, the narrator reads Melopoyn's tragedy with great pleasure and admiration. He finds the fable well chosen and naturally conducted, the incidents interesting, and the characters beautifully contrasted and well supported. The diction strikes him as poetical, spirited, and correct, with the unities of drama maintained with scrupulous exactness. The opening engages gradually, the peripeteia proves surprising, and the catastrophe affects the reader. The narrator judges the work by Aristotle and Horace's standards and can find nothing exceptionable except perhaps slight over-embellishment in places, which Melopoyn justifies through a quotation from Aristotle's Poetics.

The narrator's friend, moved by Melopoyn's gentlemanly distress and Christian condition, agrees to clothe him from their superfluities. The narrator sends Melopoyn a bundle of clothes with his compliments and invites him to dinner. Melopoyn accepts both the gift and invitation, appearing within half an hour in a decent dress that greatly improves his appearance. His countenance reveals a heart overflowing with gratitude, and when the narrator prevents his acknowledgments, Melopoyn bows to the ground with tears in his eyes. The conversation shifts to complimenting his performance. At dinner, the narrator requests that Strap be allowed to sit at table with the company, explaining Strap's importance to him, and the group dines together in harmony.

At the narrator's request, Melopoyn begins recounting his life story. His father was a country curate who, unable to afford university education, took responsibility for his son's instruction himself. The father carefully observed Melopoyn's natural inclinations and discovered an early aptitude for poetry. He guided his son through intensive study of the classics, assisting with paternal zeal and uncommon erudition. After sufficient mastery of the ancients, the father directed studies toward the best modern authors in French, Italian, and English, with particular emphasis on mastering the mother tongue. At eighteen, Melopoyn began planning his tragedy with his father's approval, but before completing four acts, his father died, leaving him and his mother in poverty. A kinsman took them in, and Melopoyn finished his play before his mother also passed away. Afterward, he resolved to travel to London and offer his tragedy to the stage, confident of achieving fame and fortune.

Melopoyn secures passage to London, where he rents a garret apartment to live as frugally as possible. Although confident of a good reception, he seeks to apply promptly to the theatre manager. His landlord, a tallow chandler, cautions him against expecting easy access and explains that delivering his work without proper recommendation would likely go unheeded. The landlord proposes introducing Melopoyn to Father O'Varnish, a Catholic priest who confesses one of the patentee managers named Mr. Supple. The friar approves the tragedy, particularly praising Melopoyn for avoiding religious reflections, and promises to use his influence with his son Supple. He arranges for Melopoyn to visit the manager the next morning using his name for immediate admittance.

Melopoyn presents himself at Mr. Supple's house and mentions Father O'Varnish's name, but the servant reports the master is busy and cannot be seen. When Father O'Varnish accompanies Melopoyn the next time, they gain immediate entry, and the manager receives Melopoyn civilly, promising to read the play soon. Melopoyn returns in a fortnight as appointed but learns the manager is out. A week later, Supple claims illness; another fortnight passes with assurances that fatigue has prevented finishing the reading. When Melopoyn appears again, he discovers Supple confined with gout, who delivers devastating news: his eldest son found the manuscript on the dining-room table, brought it to the kitchen, and the cook-maid mistook it for waste paper, using it to baste fowls on the spit. When Melopoyn protests he has no other copy, Supple is relieved to hear he can rewrite it from memory. Melopoyn completes the recreation in three weeks, but the season has passed, and Supple explains the play would interfere with players' benefit nights if ready by March. Melopoyn must wait until the next season.

By this point, Melopoyn has exhausted nearly all his money, having launched into extravagances based on theatrical expectations. His finances that should have sustained him comfortably for a year are nearly depleted after six months of spending ten guineas, though he blames the temptations of city pleasures. He wrote to his farmer kinsman promising repayment by February, which he now cannot fulfill. He confides his distress to his landlord, who allows him to continue lodging and boarding until fortune changes. Father O'Varnish offers to introduce him to a weekly paper author, but Melopoyn declines upon learning the publication foments political divisions.

Father O'Varnish suggests Melopoyn write poetry to sell to booksellers. Inspired by Pope's success with pastorals, Melopoyn composes six eclogues in six weeks and offers them to a bookseller. The publisher returns them after two days, claiming they won't serve his purpose, though he notes some clever lines. Melopoyn later learns the rejection stemmed from another author's opinion. A second bookseller advises writing satirical or sensational works, recommending titles like *Button Hole* and *The Leaky Vessel*, which advice Melopoyn scorns. A third bookseller deals only in prose adventures like Robinson Crusoe or collections of conundrums for the plantations. Melopoyn then attempts translation work, applying to someone employing many translators, only to be told translations are worthless due to an oversupply of Scottish authors. When he demands half-a-guinea per sheet, the publisher refuses; lowering his price still yields no employment.

Reduced to desperation, Melopoyn approaches vendors of half-penny ballads. The most vociferous ballad-seller directs him to an employer entertaining a crowd with refreshments. Learning Melopoyn's poetic inclination, the proprietor is delighted because his previous poets have gone mad in Bedlam or become drunkards. The agreement proves conditional and poorly compensated, with authors paid proportionally to sales. After being assigned a ballad subject and producing an ode in two hours, Melopoyn faces rejection for being too high-flown. After humbling his style for vulgar comprehension, he earns approximately fourpence halfpenny from the first printing. He diligently masters the Grub Street manner, eventually producing works in great demand among chairmen, draymen, coachmen, footmen, and servant maids. His ballads, adorned with cuts, appear on walls in beer cellars and cobbler stalls, and even reach clubs of substantial tradesmen. However, he discovers that empty praise cannot satisfy hunger; perhaps two of ten songs succeed. Turning to prose, he publishes sensational content—an apparition sustains him a month, monsters and tales of rape provide meals, and well-timed murders become his reliable resource. The constant demands of employers expecting instant prose and verse on any topic, regardless of his inclination, transforms his literary life into a burden.

Mr. Supple introduces Melopoyn to Lord Rattle, a young nobleman of fine taste in dramatic writings who possesses great influence. Lord Rattle assures him that patronage will support his play against envy and ignorance, acknowledging that merit alone will not bring success. Mr. Supple provides a letter of introduction, and Melopoyn's landlord procures new clothes to make him more presentable to the patron. Melopoyn presents his tragedy at Lord Rattle's lodgings and is instructed to return in a week.

Lord Rattle receives Melopoyn courteously and declares it the best coup d'essai he has ever seen, though he marks several places for possible improvement. Melopoyn agrees to be governed by his advice and direction. Upon delivering the revised manuscript, an actor is introduced who reads a scene but makes frivolous objections to words in every page, demanding submission on the grounds of his twenty years' experience. Lord Rattle convenes gentlemen of fortune to hear a full reading, during which the piece is much applauded. The gentlemen promise to support it, and Lord Rattle instructs Melopoyn to make the alterations immediately.

Before Melopoyn can present the new copy, Mr. Supple disposes of his property and patent to one Mr. Brayer, requiring fresh interest to be made with the new manager. Lord Rattle undertakes this task, having some acquaintance with Brayer, and recommends Melopoyn's performance so strongly that it is received.

Melopoyn expects his play to be put in rehearsal but faces continual delay. Lord Rattle excuses Brayer due to multiplicity of business and warns against teasing the patentee. After three more weeks, Lord Rattle informs Melopoyn that Brayer has read the play and acknowledges its indubitable merit, but he is pre-engaged to another author and cannot represent it that season. He invites Melopoyn to reserve it for the next season and make the proposed alterations. Melopoyn is thunderstruck by this disappointment and protests the manager's insincerity, but Lord Rattle reprimands him and insists Brayer is a man of honour whose behavior is merely forgetfulness. Lord Rattle then offers to bring on the play at the other house instead.

Melopoyn eagerly accepts Lord Rattle's offer to approach Mr. Bellower, actor and prime minister to Mr. Vandal at another theatre. He delivers the letter and tragedy but waits an hour in the lobby before being admitted. Bellower says he is extremely busy, promises to peruse it soon, and bids Melopoyn return in a week. Melopoyn is astonished at Bellower's pert and supercilious behavior. Upon returning, he is twice told Bellower is engaged and cannot see him. When finally granted an audience, Bellower claims he has not yet read the play. Nettled by this treatment, Melopoyn demands his manuscript with resentment. Bellower dramatically produces a bundle and throws it on the table, displaying such disorganization that seven plays are spread before him. Melopoyn identifies and retrieves his own tragedy, struck dumb by the number of new plays yearly offered to the stage. Lord Rattle receives his complaint but rebukes him for precipitation, advising he must endure player humours if he intends to write for the stage. The only remedy is to wait for the next season with Brayer.

Melopoyn wrestles with extreme poverty through the eight months until the next season. He approaches Lord Rattle only to learn his lordship is about to go abroad and Mr. Brayer has gone into the country. Lord Rattle writes a strong letter of recommendation to Brayer and reminds him of his promise regarding the play.

Upon learning of Brayer's return, Melopoyn visits his house twice and is told he is gone out, though Melopoyn perceives Brayer observing him through a window. Incensed, Melopoyn sends a letter demanding a categorical answer. Brayer immediately summons him and receives him with profuse compliments and apologies, explaining the servant's mistake. He expresses veneration for Lord Rattle, promises to peruse the play with dispatch, and presents Melopoyn with a general order for the season. Melopoyn avails himself of the privilege to attend performances and converse behind the scenes with Brayer about the play. Despite frequent inquiries, Brayer remains too busy to review it, and the season wastes apace. When another new play appears in the papers—written, offered, accepted, and rehearsed within three months—Melopoyn suspects perfidy. He later ascribes Brayer's behavior to want of memory or judgment rather than malice.

A gentlewoman offers to use her influence on Melopoyn's behalf, knowing someone acquainted with a lady of great interest with a person intimate with Earl Sheerwit, a nobleman of Maecenas character in the nation. Melopoyn accepts eagerly and withdraws the manuscript from Brayer. Within a month the play reaches the earl, who reads and approves it. Despite these hopes, three months pass with no further development, and Melopoyn begins to suspect the intelligence was false.

Lord Rattle writes to a young squire to espouse Melopoyn's cause, particularly to make him acquainted with Mr. Marmozet, a celebrated player of astonishing eclat who wields great influence over his theatre. The squire procures an introduction to Marmozet, who reveals that Earl Sheerwit has spoken highly of the play and sent him the copy with a message expressing desire that he act in it next season. Marmozet praises the piece effusively and agrees to appear in it, provided he is engaged for the season. He requests the manuscript to review in the country, promising to write within ten days with observations. Melopoyn embraces the expectation of seeing his play acted to the greatest advantage.

Six weeks pass without word from Marmozet. He finally writes that he has made remarks and will share them at a meeting, but advises placing the play immediately with the manager having the best company, as he is uncertain whether he will be engaged. Melopoyn's friend warns that this uncertainty is a scandalous evasion—Marmozet is already engaged or in terms with Mr. Vandal, and intends to disappoint Melopoyn in favor of a new comedy he has purchased for his own advantage. Melopoyn suspects prejudice in his friend's account.

Upon Marmozet's return, they discuss the play cordially, though Marmozet's remarks are more unfavorable than expected. Melopoyn answers the objections and believes he has won Marmozet over. However, Marmozet now professes ignorance of Earl Sheerwit's opinion and admits his interest with Vandal is insufficient alone. He advises applying directly to the earl for a message to the manager. Through the gentlewoman's channels, a promise of the message arrives, conditional on assurance of Vandal being unengaged to other writers. Later intelligence reveals that Marmozet had previously informed the earl the play was altogether unfit for the stage. Melopoyn obtains Vandal's assurance that he is free of engagements and receives the play, rehearsing it without delay. When Melopoyn attends at the appointed time, Vandal pronounces the play improper for the stage and rejects it, offering groundless and unintelligible objections. Melopoyn suspects Vandal has not read it at all. He later learns Vandal's judgment has been disordered by superstition and the tyranny of his wife.

Melopoyn entertains doubts of Marmozet's integrity when he compares the circumstances of his conduct. Lord Sheerwit speaks of Marmozet with great contempt, resenting his insolence in opposing the earl's taste. A hot-headed friend visits and affirms that Marmozet is the sole occasion of the disappointment, having acted with perfidious dissimulation. He claims Marmozet employed all his art to prejudice the ignorant manager, motivated by avarice to undermine another author of established reputation whose tragedy might interfere with the comedy Marmozet had purchased to bring on for his own benefit. The friend describes Marmozet as courted for his buffoonery and talent for mimicking, rather than any virtues of the heart. Melopoyn argues against these asseverations but cannot entirely dismiss them, though he dares not doubt Marmozet's innocence given his continued favor with the earl.

Melopoyn despairs of seeing his play acted and considers other employment. His landlord, considerably indebted and expecting payment from third-night profits, makes another effort. Through dint of interest, the landlord procures a message from a lady of fashion to Mr. Brayer, who venerates her. She desires Brayer to set up the play forthwith, promising she and all her friends will support it. She engages his best actors and the play is received again, reviving Melopoyn's hopes. However, Brayer remains so engrossed by business of vast consequence that he cannot find time to read it until the season is far advanced, despite having perused it before.

Brayer favors the play with attention, proposes alterations, and promises on his honour to bring it on next winter, provided the copy is delivered before the end of April. Melopoyn submits to these conditions and performs them accordingly. However, during the summer, Mr. Marmozet becomes joint patentee with Mr. Brayer. When Melopoyn claims performance of the agreement, he is told Brayer can do nothing without his partner's consent, and Marmozet is pre-engaged to another author.

Melopoyn's condition becomes desperate when his good friend and landlord dies. The executors obtain judgment against his effects, seize them, and turn him out into the streets. He is arrested at the suit of his tailor and thrown into prison, where he has lived five weeks on the bounty of fellow prisoners. His life is scarcely tolerable until Random's uncommon benevolence enables him to enjoy it with comfort.

The narrator sinks into profound depression following his imprisonment. Despite the narrator's earlier commentary criticizing his simplicity and lamenting the knavery of those who duped him, he now finds himself consumed by melancholy thoughts of Narcissa. He contemplates her image constantly, weeps over memories of her enchanting features, and curses his fate for separating them. His attempts to find solace through diversions at Jackson's card parties and games prove futile as relentless melancholy takes hold of his soul. He sends Strap daily to inquire at Banter's lodgings in hopes of hearing from his beloved, but each disappointment only deepens his despair.

Over three months of imprisonment, the narrator neglects all personal hygiene and appearance. He stops washing, shaving, or changing clothes. His face becomes gaunt from poor eating, covered in dirt, and his hair grows wild and unkempt. His overall appearance becomes so squalid and frightful that when Strap finally brings him news that someone below wants to speak with him, he rushes downstairs expecting a letter from Narcissa, only to discover a much more welcome visitor who immediately recognizes the deplorable state to which he has fallen.

Strap brings word that a man has arrived wishing to speak with him. The narrator rushes downstairs expecting news from his beloved, but instead discovers his generous uncle, Mr. Bowling. The uncle initially mistakes him for an escaped lunatic, drawing his hanger and demanding the turnkey improve his guard. After the narrator's voice jogs his memory, Mr. Bowling shakes his hand with great affection, expressing concern at finding his nephew in such wretched condition. The uncle has traveled from the Coast of Guinea and, upon learning the particulars of the narrator's circumstances, provides immediate assistance.

Mr. Bowling recounts his recent profitable voyage. He served as mate on a ship attacked by a French privateer during which the captain was killed. Bowling took command, sank the enemy vessel, and subsequently captured a merchant ship from Martinico laden with sugar, indigo, and silver. He carried this prize safely to Kinsale in Ireland where it was condemned as lawful plunder. This exploit earned him both a substantial sum of money and the favor of his owners, who have already promoted him to command a large ship armed with twenty nine-pounders, ready to sail on a lucrative voyage whose destination he cannot yet reveal.

After paying off the narrator's debt to the tailor who had arrested him, Mr. Bowling proposes that the narrator sail with him as his ship's surgeon. He promises this position will enable the narrator to accumulate a fortune within a few years through industry. The uncle further offers to leave him his entire estate upon his death. When the narrator hesitates, expressing concern about abandoning his love for Narcissa, Mr. Bowling dismissively suggests that love stems from idleness and will fade once the narrator becomes occupied with business and money-making.

Piqued by his uncle's insinuation that romantic notions are foolish fantasies fit only for pleasure-seeking idlers, the narrator accepts the offer without deliberation. Mr. Bowling takes him immediately to meet his chief owner where terms are agreed upon. The narrator draws up a medicine list for five hundred men adapted to tropical diseases for an eighteen-month voyage, procures surgical instruments, and selects two fellow countrymen as mates. His uncle gifts him ten guineas initially and later transfers one-third of the three thousand pounds cleared from his voyage, providing additional credit to purchase merchandise suited for their destination.

Before departing, the narrator throws a supper for Mr. Melopoyn and Jackson at his apartment, treating them to good wine and announcing his release, which they genuinely congratulate despite the loss of his company. He presents the poet Melopoyn with a bundle of linen and necessaries plus five guineas, causing the deeply moved man to burst into tears. When the narrator explains Melopoyn's circumstances to Mr. Bowling, the honest seaman is so affected that he adds five more guineas, which the narrator has delivered anonymously through Strap after their departure. At the prison gate, Jackson, whose loose and indifferent nature the narrator finds difficult to pity, calls out for a parting loan. The narrator slips him a guinea, which Jackson receives with astonishment and hearty laughter before releasing the narrator to depart.

The narrator makes arrangements to bid farewell to his friends in another part of town where he had not ventured since his imprisonment. Donning his finest suit after selling other rich clothes per his uncle's advice, he visits the coffee house where he encounters Banter. Banter is confounded by his elegant appearance and initially suspects him of having committed highway robbery. When the narrator demands repayment of the money Banter borrowed, the latter protests about insufficient notice but accepts a direction to a merchant who will accept payment and issue a discharge. The narrator sends cards inviting all friends to a tavern dinner, where he treats them elaborately, and they express both admiration and applause. He endures numerous farewells and affectionate embraces until midnight before departing.

The following day, the narrator departs with Strap in a postchaise for Gravesend. They board the ship, and with favorable wind conditions, they weigh anchor within twelve hours. The vessel sets sail without incident as the narrator leaves England behind.

The ship reaches the Downs without encountering any mishap. However, they are forced to anchor there and wait for an easterly wind that will allow them to navigate out of the Channel and continue their voyage.

Roderick obtains leave from the captain to go ashore, explaining to Strap that he must see Narcissa before leaving England. The two hire horses and set out from Deal, covering thirty miles to Sussex. They halt five miles from the squire's estate and wait for nightfall before proceeding through the darkness to Mrs. Sagely's cottage.

Roderick devises a careful plan to contact Mrs. Sagely without alarming her. Strap approaches the door alone, passing a letter through the threshold. When Mrs. Sagely reads it and recognizes Roderick's voice through the keyhole, she admits him. She reveals that Narcissa has been strictly confined since returning from Bath, particularly after a servant revealed she had sent a letter to Roderick. Mrs. Sagely proposes a dangerous plan to enter the squire's garden and hide until Narcissa comes out for air.

Roderick leaves Strap to return the horses and spends the night at Mrs. Sagely's cottage. Early the next morning, armed with pistols and a hanger, he climbs over the garden wall and conceals himself in a thicket near an alcove where Narcissa often walks. He waits from five in the morning until six in the evening, when at last he sees Narcissa and Miss Williams approaching. He leaves his portrait in miniature on the stone table as an introduction. Narcissa discovers the picture, exclaims at the resemblance, and kisses it tenderly, placing it against her heart. Roderick reveals himself, causing Narcissa to faint, but he revives her with his kisses. During their brief interview lasting about an hour, Roderick convinces Narcissa of the necessity of his departure and they exchange vows of eternal constancy before parting with great sorrow.

Roderick returns through the darkness to Mrs. Sagely's cottage, where she comforts him. He leaves her twenty guineas as a token of gratitude and walks to the inn where Strap awaits in great distress. The two ride to Deal, arriving to find the captain has received his dispatches and must sail with the first fair wind. The next day, a brisk easterly gale arises, and they set sail, clearing the Channel within forty-eight hours.

Two hundred leagues west of Land's End, the captain reveals the true nature of their voyage. The ship is bound for the coast of Guinea, where they will exchange part of their cargo for slaves and gold dust. From there, they will transport the Negroes to Buenos Ayres in New Spain and sell both the slaves and remaining goods for silver, using passports obtained from both the English and Spanish courts. Roderick borrows Spanish language materials from the supercargo and studies the language with such application that he can hold conversations before arriving in New Spain. He also has the ship's company bled and purged as a preventive measure against fevers, which proves beneficial as only one sailor is lost during the passage.

After five weeks at sea, a large ship appears to windward, bearing down with all sail set. The captain orders studding-sails hoisted and the ship cleared for engagement. When the pursuer hoists French colors, the captain orders the sails taken in, guns loaded, and every man to quarters. Strap appears trembling on the quarterdeck and Roderick arranges for him to be stationed below with the surgeon's mates.

The sailors grow fearful, complaining that they would be torn to pieces and that no provision exists for those maimed in service. The captain assembles the crew and delivers an inspiring speech, reminding them that he has gone to sea for thirty years and never seen English sailors afraid. He points out that his cargo is insured, so his own loss would not be great if captured, and promises to compensate any man who is wounded. He denounces the lazy and cowardly, calling on true seamen to stand by him for the honor of Old England. The speech has its effect; the crew cheers three times, receives a dram of brandy, and repairs to their quarters with renewed courage.

As the enemy ship draws near, displaying two tiers of guns and being just two miles astern, the captain is about to give the order to fire when the supposed French vessel hauls down its white pennant and ensign, hoists English colors, and fires a gun ahead. The ship proves to be an English man-of-war of forty guns, commanded by an old messmate of the captain's. The ship had been disguised with white fleur-de-lis and otherwise disguised to decoy French vessels. The captains dine together, and Roderick and the supercargo are also invited and entertained. After keeping company for four days, the ships part, their courses lying in different directions.

Within a fortnight of parting from the English man-of-war, they make the coast of Guinea near the mouth of the River Gambia. Trading along the coast as far south as Angola and Bengula, they dispose of the greatest part of their cargo within six months and purchase four hundred Negroes, with Roderick's adventure laid out in gold dust.

Taking their departure from Cape Negro, they arrive in the Rio de la Plata in six weeks. An epidemic fever, resembling jail distemper, breaks out among the slaves and carries off many of the crew, including one of Roderick's mates, and nearly claims Strap's life. Presenting their passport to the Spanish governor, they are received with courtesy and sell their slaves in a few days, discovering they could have sold five times the number at their own price. The remaining merchandise, consisting of European bale-goods, must be smuggled but is disposed of at great advantage.

Upon unloading the enslaved Africans, the narrator finally breathes freely and enjoys the pleasant climate of Buenos Ayres, which is celebrated as South America's answer to Montpellier. The narrator reflects on his beloved Narcissa, whose image grows more enchanting with distance, and makes grand plans to return to England, purchase a sinecure, and marry Narcissa despite her brother's opposition.

The narrator's devotion to Narcissa intensifies during his stay in this pleasant land. He calculates the profits of his voyage, which exceed expectations, and entertains schemes for their future together—including the possibility of marrying by stealth if her brother remains hostile. He also relies on his uncle's generosity should his family grow.

The Spanish gentlemen of Buenos Ayres frequently entertain the narrator and his uncle with elaborate parties and country excursions. Among these hospitable hosts, Don Antonio de Ribera distinguishes himself through his politeness and the intimate friendship he cultivates with the narrator.

Don Antonio invites the travelers to his country house, promising them the company of an English gentleman who has lived in the region for many years and earned universal respect for his good sense and honorable conduct. The narrator accepts this invitation with anticipation.

At Don Antonio's villa, the narrator meets the mysterious English stranger, Don Rodrigo, a tall, well-formed man of dignified appearance and about forty years old, whose grave countenance reflects Spanish influence. When Don Rodrigo learns they are English, he greets them warmly but sighs deeply when his gaze fixes upon the narrator. The narrator feels an inexplicable attraction and reverence toward this stranger. Don Rodrigo expresses his desire to return to England and proposes traveling with Captain Thoma's ship, contingent upon the governor's approval.

The narrator spends a sleepless night consumed by curiosity about Don Rodrigo's story. The following morning, three richly caparisoned mules arrive bearing an invitation to Don Rodrigo's estate, located about ten miles further into the countryside. The narrator and his companions mount the provided mules and arrive at Don Rodrigo's house before noon, where they receive splendid entertainment.

Throughout the meal, Don Rodrigo shows the narrator particular attention, and the narrator experiences an uncanny attraction toward the stranger. When Don Rodrigo fixes his gaze upon him, the narrator feels an involuntary sympathy and profound emotion that he cannot explain.

After dinner, Don Rodrigo presents the narrator with a beautiful amethyst ring, a local product, remarking with a deep sigh that he once had a son who would have been nearly the narrator's age. This observation deeply affects the narrator, who becomes lost in confused thoughts. When the captain addresses him as "Rory," Don Rodrigo suddenly demands to know his name and his mother's name.

When the narrator reveals his name as Roderick Random and his mother as Charlotte Bowling, Don Rodrigo leaps up exclaiming "My son! My son!" and embraces him with overwhelming emotion. The father and son weep together as Don Rodrigo thanks Providence for this miraculous reunion. He kneels in prayer, praising divine wisdom, and the narrator joins him in silent thanksgiving before receiving his father's blessing.

Don Rodrigo embraces his brother-in-law, Captain Bowling, calling him welcome. He dispatches messengers to announce the reunion and orders celebrations. However, the narrator is so overwhelmed by this sudden and unexpected happiness that he falls ill with a fever and becomes delirious within three hours. The festivities are countermanded, and doctors are summoned. After ten hours, the fever breaks with a critical sweat, and by the next day the narrator has recovered.

During his illness, Don Rodrigo never leaves the narrator's bedside, administering medicines with devoted care while Captain Bowling maintains similar vigil. Upon recovery, the narrator discusses Narcissa with his father, showing her picture. Don Rodrigo approves of the match and promises his support, then asks the narrator to recount his life story. The narrator details his adventures, and his father blessing God for the adversity that has improved his character and prepared him for life's duties.

The narrator sends for his faithful friend Strap. Upon arriving and learning of the narrator's good fortune, Strap initially believes the narrator plans to remain abroad and mourns for Narcissa. Once clarified, Strap expresses wild joy through weeping, laughter, singing, and dancing. Don Rodrigo welcomes Strap warmly, promising future rewards, and the honest servant is treated with great respect by the household major-domo.

An elegant and sumptuous entertainment follows, with rejoicings lasting two days. Don Rodrigo settles his affairs, converts his property to silver and gold, and takes touching leave of his friends, who grieve his departure and honor the narrator with substantial gifts.

With the first favorable wind, the party departs aboard Captain Bowling's ship. Don Rodrigo, who has remitted twenty thousand pounds to Holland and possesses another fifteen thousand, sets sail from Rio de la Plata with his newly found son.

After a two-month voyage, the ship safely anchors in the harbor of Kingston, Jamaica, marking the end of one chapter and the beginning of new adventures for Roderick Random and his father.

Ashore in Jamaica, Roderick locates his old friend Mr. Thompson, who now lives comfortably on his late father-in-law’s estate with his wife and two young children. Thompson warmly welcomes Roderick, Don Rodrigo, and their party, hosting them for a full week; during this visit, Roderick learns Thompson’s former commander Captain Oakum has died after being exposed for stealing prize goods in collaboration with Dr. Mackshane, who is now imprisoned and surviving solely on Thompson’s charity. Roderick sends a private sum of ten pistoles to Mackshane to honor Thompson’s generosity, and Thompson assists the group by arranging secure bills of exchange for Don Rodrigo’s gold and silver, and supplying ample provisions for their voyage home.

The group sets sail from Port Royal for England on June 1st. During the windward leg of the passage, a drunken sailor falls overboard and drowns despite rescue efforts. Hours later, the crew hears a call rising from the sea, and discovers Jack Marlinspike, a sailor who fell overboard 24 hours earlier from the man-of-war *Vesuvio* off Hispaniola, surviving by clinging to a hencoop his ship had tossed to him. They transfer Marlinspike back to the *Vesuvio* two days later after encountering the vessel. After eight weeks of sailing, they make landfall at the Lizard, then are forced to anchor at St. Helen’s rather than the Downs due to shifting winds, where 30 of the ship’s crew are pressed into Royal Navy service.

Roderick and Don Rodrigo go ashore at Portsmouth, leaving Strap and Captain Bowling to care for their belongings and complete loading the ship for its return journey. Impatient to see Narcissa, Roderick receives permission to ride across the country to her brother’s estate in Sussex, while Don Rodrigo hires a post-chaise to wait for him in London.

Roderick stops at the home of Mrs. Sagely, Narcissa’s former guardian, who provides a full update on Narcissa’s situation: her brother, the squire, has been married to Melinda for a year, and Melinda has so alienated the squire’s attention from Narcissa that he now neglects her, citing a clause in his father’s will that would strip Narcissa of her fortune if she marries without his consent. Unhappy with her poor treatment, Narcissa left for London several months prior, lodging with Miss Williams while awaiting Roderick’s return, and had been pestered by the addresses of Lord Quiverwit, who spread false rumors that Roderick was dead before marrying another woman who has since left him. Mrs. Sagely shares a letter from Narcissa confirming her undying love for Roderick, and Roderick promises to provide her with an annual sum of 30 guineas to support her in old age before riding on to Canterbury.

Roderick arrives in Canterbury in the morning and spots a pharmacy with his old messmate Mr. Morgan’s name above the door, confirming Morgan has settled there after marrying an apothecary’s widow and inheriting £3,000. He visits Morgan’s shop while Morgan is working, and after Morgan initially fails to recognize him, the pair reunite joyfully. Morgan updates Roderick on his life since they parted in the West Indies, and Roderick tells him briefly that his circumstances are now prosperous. They exchange warm goodbyes after breakfast, and Roderick takes post-horses to London that night.

Roderick arrives in London and reunites with Don Rodrigo, to whom he relays all he learned about Narcissa’s situation. After resting, he travels the next morning to Narcissa’s lodgings, first speaking with her companion Miss Williams, who is overjoyed to see him. Narcissa soon comes downstairs, and the pair share an ecstatic reunion after 18 months apart, confirming their love for each other remains unchanged. Roderick gives her a valuable diamond and amethyst necklace, and promises to return that afternoon with Don Rodrigo.

Roderick returns home to find Don Rodrigo has transferred a deed to him making him the owner of £15,000, in addition to the £3,000 he has earned from his own trading ventures. After dinner, Don Rodrigo accompanies Roderick to Narcissa’s lodgings, where he is immediately charmed by her beauty and good sense, and approves wholeheartedly of Roderick’s intention to marry her.

Don Rodrigo and Roderick resolve that Don Rodrigo will write to Narcissa’s brother, the squire, to formally request his consent to the marriage, offering a generous settlement to secure Narcissa’s future. They agree that if the squire refuses their proposal, they will move forward with the marriage regardless of his objections.

The narrator’s father presents Narcissa with a £500 bank note as a formal paternal gift, acknowledging her as his future daughter. Narcissa accepts the offer graciously, noting she already views her interests as inseparably linked to the narrator’s, which greatly pleases the father.

Per the narrator’s request, an express letter is dispatched to Narcissa’s brother in Sussex to inform him of the couple’s upcoming marriage plans.

While spending most of his time with Narcissa, the narrator makes time to visit his former acquaintances, who are astonished by the improved grandeur of his circumstances.

Banter is particularly confounded by the narrator’s sudden good fortune, and only understands the cause after the narrator shares the full story of his recent voyage with him. Banter professes satisfaction at the news, and the narrator invites him to dinner. The narrator’s father is so pleased with Banter’s conversation that he offers to lend him money to purchase a military commission. Banter instead requests a small loan of ten guineas, claiming he is on the verge of being reconciled with a wealthy uncle who intends to make him his heir, and declines the army offer, stating he values his independence too highly to serve under men he considers dishonourable. The narrator gives him twenty guineas instead, and takes his note for the debt.

The narrator receives a hostile letter from Narcissa’s brother, Squire Orson Topehall, who refuses to consent to the marriage, threatens to disinherit Narcissa if she marries without his approval, dismisses the narrator’s father’s settlement as a sham, and declares the narrator will never be accepted into their family. The narrator is unbothered by the letter, seeing it as a chance to demonstrate his disinterested love for Narcissa.

The narrator’s uncle arrives in London, and the narrator introduces him to Narcissa. The uncle is immediately struck by her beauty and warm character, and enthusiastically approves of the marriage match. He offers to give Narcissa away at the ceremony, swearing he loves her as his own child, and promises a gift of 2000 guineas for the couple’s first child. Narcissa happily accepts him as her uncle, and the uncle is delighted by her courteous reception.

All arrangements are finalized for a private wedding ceremony at the narrator’s father’s home. On the wedding day, Don Rodrigo and the uncle fetch Narcissa and her companion Miss Williams. The narrator’s servant Strap is awestruck by Narcissa’s beauty when she arrives, and exclaims in Latin at her appearance. The couple is married by a clergyman, with the uncle acting as Narcissa’s father figure. After the ceremony, the narrator presents Narcissa with a legal deed settling all his worldly possessions on her and her heirs in perpetuity. She accepts the gift gratefully, and asks the narrator’s father to hold the document for safekeeping. The couple then retires to their private chambers after the wedding celebration.

A short time after the wedding, the narrator and Narcissa attend a play, where they encounter Squire Topehall and his wife Melinda in the opposite box. Melinda is deeply piqued that Narcissa outshines her in both beauty and dress, and loses all her admirers to the new Mrs. Random. Melinda makes a show of annoyance, flirting with her fan and giggling affectedly, before leaving the theatre long before the play ends, unable to hide her mortification.

Melinda spreads malicious rumours about the narrator and Narcissa’s marriage to damage their reputation. A group of acquaintances who are fond of scandal begin inquiring into the narrator’s fortune, and once they confirm it is fully independent, they abruptly reverse their previous dismissive attitude and begin courting the couple’s acquaintance. Narcissa, however, is too proud to encourage this fickle behaviour, especially from her own relatives who spread false reports about her, and refuses to meet with them.

Don Rodrigo decides to revisit his homeland and pay respects at his late wife's grave. His son and daughter-in-law Narcissa accompany him, while the uncle resolves to return to sea once more and try his fortune. Before departing, the uncle renews his will in favor of the narrator and Narcissa, depositing it with his brother-in-law. Meanwhile, the narrator takes precautions for his own interests by summoning the squire to produce his father-in-law's will at Doctors' Commons and employs a proctor to manage the affair during his absence.

The party departs from London, traveling in easy stages with Don Rodrigo, Narcissa, and Miss Williams in the coach, while Strap and two men in livery ride horseback. Upon arriving in Edinburgh, they rest for several weeks. While there, Don Rodrigo learns that his father's estate has been ruined by a foxhunter and is to be sold at public auction. He determines to repurchase the land where he was born and successfully acquires all the property that belonged to his father.

On their way to take possession of the estate, the party halts at the town where the narrator was educated. He discovers that Mr. Crab has died, pays off his bond with interest to the executor, and retrieves the document. Mr. Potion and his wife attempt to visit the narrator and his father, but the narrator rejects their overtures with disdain, remembering their sordid treatment of him when he was an orphan. A female cousin also appears and greets them familiarly, but the narrator reminds her of how poorly she treated him in childhood, prompting his father to order her away. The narrator later learns she has married an impoverished ensign and her sister has borne a child to a footman now married to her mother.

As they approach the estate, a great multitude of poor tenants—men, women, and children—meet them with loud acclamations of joy. Scottish peasants are notably devoted to their lords, and the crowd's affection nearly overwhelms the party. Many kneel to kiss Don Rodrigo's hand or garment, praying for his prosperity, while others approach Narcissa and the narrator with similar reverence. The touching scene moves all present to tears. Don Rodrigo orders cattle slaughtered and ale tapped to celebrate with the people. The next day, local gentry arrive to pay their respects, including the foxhunter who has been staying with relatives after ruining his estate; the generous Don Rodrigo receives him kindly and promises to purchase a commission in the army for him.

The party visits the village where the narrator attended school, where the schoolmaster Mr. Syntax delivers a Latin oration in their honor. Strap's father and relations honor the honest valet as the foremost gentleman of their family. The narrator leaves forty pounds for the parish poor. That evening, a slightly elevated Strap confesses his affection for Miss Williams and requests the narrator and Narcissa's intercession. When the narrator questions whether Strap knows Miss Williams's history, Strap proves unconcerned about past troubles or worldly judgment. Narcissa successfully petitions on Strap's behalf, and Miss Williams accepts his proposal. Don Rodrigo approves the match, provides five hundred pounds to stock a farm, and appoints Strap as overseer of the estate, while Narcissa gives her maid an equal sum.

The narrator declares his complete felicity, noting that his passionate love has matured into tranquil, enduring fondness rooted in virtuous wedlock. Fortune appears determined to compensate for past cruelty. His proctor writes that despite the clause on which the squire bases his claim, the narrator will recover his wife's fortune due to a codicil specifying that the restriction applies only until age nineteen, after which she had full disposal of her inheritance. The narrator wishes to return to London immediately but cannot leave Narcissa, who is expecting a child, in such an interesting situation.