At Albenga, in Piedmont, Jackson arrived one night, tired, hungry,
and drenched with rain. Intending to put up at the 'Albergo di San
Dominico,' which he had been informed was the best inn, he went by
accident to the convent of the same name, and entering, called
loudly to be shewn to a private room. 'Instead of telling me I was
wrong,' he says, 'the young brethren looked waggish, and began to
laugh: when a man is cold and hungry, he can ill brook being the
sport of others;' so accordingly--peppery again--he shook his stick
angrily at the young monks. And at last one of the most courteous
and demure of the number, coming forward, said that although theirs
was not exactly a public-house, still the stranger was heartily
welcome to walk in, rest, and refresh himself. Discovering his
mistake, Jackson of course lost no time in making his bow, his
apologies, and acknowledgments.
He returned to England by way of France, having but six sous in his
pockets when he reached Bordeaux, where an English merchant, a total
stranger, advanced him a few pounds. On the road, he was frequently
taken for an Irishman, and not seldom for an Irish priest; under
which impression, many civilities were paid him by the simple
inhabitants of the country he traversed. Ultimately he landed at
Southampton, with just four shillings in his possession; his once
black coat having turned a rusty brown, his hat shovel-shaped by
ill-usage, and his whole aspect so comical, that the mob hooted him,
under the belief that he was a Methodist preacher.
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