Meanwhile, we began to experience the inconvenience of a hot climate. Our men were all covered with blotches or boils, probably occasioned by so sudden a transition from extreme cold to extreme heat. What was worse than this, was the want of a plentiful supply of water. In the absence of this, we were placed on an allowance of two quarts per diem, to each man. This occasioned us much suffering; for, after mixing our Indian for puddings, our cassava for bread, and our whisky for grog, we had but little left to assuage our burning thirst. Some, in their distress, drank large quantities of sea water, which only increased their thirst and made them sick; others sought relief in chewing lead, tea-leaves, or anything which would create moisture. Never did we feel more delighted than when our boat’s crew announced the discovery of a pool of fine clear water. We received it with greater satisfaction than ever prodigal did tidings of the death of some rich old relative, to whose well-laden purse he was undisputed heir. We could have joined in the most enthusiastic cold-water song ever sung by either hermit or Washingtonian.[21]
While cruising along the coast, we one night perceived a large ship lying at anchor near the shore. We could not decide whether she was a large merchantman or a man of war; so we approached her with the utmost caution. Our doubts were soon removed, for she suddenly loosed all her sails and made chase after us. By the help of their glasses, our officers ascertained her to be an English frigate. Of course, it was folly to engage her; so we made all the sail we could carry, beat to quarters, lighted our matches, and lay down at our guns, expecting to be prisoners of war before morning. During the night we hung out false lights, and altered our course; this baffled our pursuer; in the morning she was no more to be seen.
The next sail we made was not so formidable. She was an English vessel at anchor in the Senegal river. We approached her and hailed. Her officer returned an insolent reply, which so exasperated our captain that he passed the word to fire into her, but recalled it almost immediately. The countermand was too late; for in a moment, everything being ready for action, we poured a whole broadside into our unfortunate foe. The current carried us away from the stranger. We attempted to beat up again, but our guns had roused the garrison in a fort which commanded the river; they began to blaze away at us in so expressive a manner, that we found it prudent to get a little beyond the reach of their shot, and patiently wait for daylight.
The next morning we saw our enemy hauled close in shore, under the protection of the fort, and filled with soldiers. At first, it was resolved to man the boats and cut her out; but this, after weighing the subject maturely, was pronounced to be too hazardous an experiment, and, notwithstanding our men begged to make the attempt, it was wisely abandoned. How many were killed by our hasty broadside, we never learned, but doubtless several poor fellows were hurried to a watery and unexpected grave, affording another illustration of the beauty of war. This affair our men humorously styled “the battle of Senegal.”
After visiting Cape Three Points, we shaped our course for St. Thomas. On our way, we lost a prize through a display of Yankee cunning in her commander. We had hoisted English colors; the officer in command of the stranger was pretty well versed in the secrets of false colors, and in return he ran up the American flag. The bait took: supposing her to be American, we showed the stars and stripes. This was all the merchantman desired. It told him what we were, and he made all possible sail for St. Thomas. We followed, crowding every stitch of canvas our brig could carry; we also got out our sweeps and swept her along, but in vain. The merchantman was the better sailer, and succeeded in reaching St. Thomas, which, being a neutral port, secured her safety. Her name was the Jane, of Liverpool. The next morning, another Liverpool merchantman got into the harbor, unseen by our look-out until she was under the protection of the laws of neutrality.
Our next business was to watch the mouth of the harbor, in the hope of catching them as they left port. But they were too cautious to run into danger, especially as they were expecting a convoy for their protection, which might make us glad to trust more to our canvas than to our cannon.
Shortly after this occurrence, we made another sail standing in towards St. Thomas. Hoisting English colors, our officers also donning the British uniform, we soon came near enough to hail her; for, not doubting that we were a British brig, the merchantman made no effort to escape us. Our captain hailed her, “Ship ahoy!”
“Halloa!”
“What ship is that?”