not in such perplexity neither, but I asked the old pilot if there was no creek or harbour, which I might put into, and pursue my business with the Chinese privately, and be in no danger of the enemy.  He told me if I would sail to the southward about two-and-forty leagues, there was a little port called Quinchang, where the fathers of the mission usually landed from Macao, on their progress to teach the Christian religion to the Chinese, and where no European ships ever put in:  and, if I thought proper to put in there, I might consider what farther course to take when I was on shore.  He confessed, he said, it was not a place for merchants, except that at some certain times they had a kind of a fair there, when the merchants from Japan came over thither to buy the Chinese merchandises.

We all agreed to go back to this place:  the name of the port, as he called it, I may, perhaps, spell wrong, for I do not particularly remember it, having lost this, together with the names of many other places set down in a little pocket-book, which was spoiled by the water, on an accident which I shall relate in its order; but this I remember, that the Chinese or Japanese merchants we correspond with call it by a different name from that which our Portuguese pilot gave it, and pronounced it as above, Quinchang.

As we were unanimous in our resolutions to go to this place, we weighed the next day, having only gone twice on shore, where we were to get fresh water; on both which occasions the people of the country were very civil to us, and brought us abundance of things to sell to us; I mean of provisions, plants, roots, tea, rice, and some fowls; but nothing without money.

We came to the other port (the wind being contrary) not till five days; but it was very much to our satisfaction, and I was joyful, and I may say thankful, when I set my foot safe on shore, resolving, and my partner too, that if it was possible to dispose of ourselves and effects any other way, though not every way to our satisfaction, we would never set one foot on board that unhappy vessel again:  and indeed I must acknowledge, that of all the circumstances of life that ever I had any experience of, nothing makes mankind so completely miserable as that of being in constant fear.  Well does the Scripture say, “The fear of man brings a snare;” it is a life of death, and the mind is so entirely suppressed by it, that it is capable of no relief; the animal spirits sink, and all the vigour of nature, which usually supports men under other afflictions, and is present to them in the greatest exigencies, fails them here.