The general served out a small ration of water and rum, every drop of which was precious. Our small store of bread was found soaked, but, laid in the sun, it partly dried, and was, if not palatable, at least a relief to hungry men.
During the next few days the weather was moderate, and we stood to the southward; several sail were in sight, but at a distance. We were anxious to speak one even at some risk, for our supplies were down to a pint of rum in water each day under a tropical sun, with two water-soaked biscuits. On the afternoon of the second day a brig drifted slowly down toward us; we made signals that we wished to speak her, and, getting out our sweeps, pulled for her. As we neared her, the captain hailed and ordered us to keep off. I replied that we were shipwrecked men, and only wanted some provisions. As we rounded to under his stern, we could see that he had all his crew of seven or eight men at quarters. He stood on the taff-rail with a revolver in hand, his two mates with muskets, the cook with a huge tormentor, and the crew with handspikes.
"I tell you again, keep off, or I'll let fly."
"Captain, we won't go on board if you will give us some provisions; we are starving."
"Keep off, I tell you. Boys, make ready."
One of the mates drew a bead on me; our eyes met in a line over the sights on the barrel. I held up my right hand.
"Will you fire on an unarmed man? Captain, you are no sailor, or you would not refuse to help shipwrecked men."
"How do I know who you are? And I've got no grub to spare."
"Here is a passenger who is able to pay you," said I, pointing to the general.
"Yes; I will pay for anything you let us have."