on purpose to distress and starve
them; things that I had never heard of, and that, indeed, were never all
of them true in fact: but it was so warm in my imagination, and so
realised to me, that, to the hour I saw them, I could not be persuaded
but that it was or would be true; also how I resented it, when the
Spaniard complained to me; and how I brought them to justice, tried them,
and ordered them all three to be hanged. What there was really in this
shall be seen in its place; for however I came to form such things in my
dream, and what secret converse of spirits injected it, yet there was, I
say, much of it true. I own that this dream had nothing in it literally
and specifically true; but the general part was so true--the base;
villainous behaviour of these three hardened rogues was such, and had
been so much worse than all I can describe, that the dream had too much
similitude of the fact; and as I would afterwards have punished them
severely, so, if I had hanged them all, I had been much in the right, and
even should have been justified both by the laws of God and man.

But to return to my story. In this kind of temper I lived some years; I
had no enjoyment of my life, no pleasant hours, no agreeable diversion
but what had something or other of this in it; so that my wife, who saw
my mind wholly bent upon it, told me very seriously one night that she
believed there was some secret, powerful impulse of Providence upon me,
which had determined me to go thither again; and that she found nothing
hindered me going but my being engaged to a wife and children. She told
me that it was true she could not think of parting with me: but as she
was assured that if she was dead it would be the first thing I would do,
so, as it seemed to her that the thing was determined above, she would
not be the only obstruction; for, if I thought fit and resolved to
go--[Here she found me very intent upon her words, and that I looked very
earnestly at her, so that it a little disordered her, and she stopped. I
asked her why she did not go on, and say out what she was going to say?
But I perceived that her heart was too full, and some tears stood in her
eyes.] "Speak out, my dear," said I; "are you willing I should
go?"--"No," says she, very affectionately, "I am far from willing; but if
you are resolved to go," says she, "rather than I would be the only
hindrance, I will go with you: for though I think it a most preposterous
thing for o