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Nothing is more common than a Traveller's beginning the Account of
his Voyages with one of his own Family; in which, if he can't boast
Antiquity, he is sure to make it up with the Probity of his Ancestors.
As it can no way interest my Reader, I shall decline following a Method,
which I can't but think ridiculous, as unnecessary. I shall only say,
that by the Death of my Father and Mother, which happen'd while I was
an Infant, I fell to the Care of my Grandfather by my Mother, who was a
Citizen of some Note in _Bristol_, and at the Age of Thirteen sent me to
Sea Prentice to a Master of a Merchant-man.

My two first Voyages were to _Jamaica_, in which nothing remarkable
happen'd. Our third Voyage was to _Guinea_ and _Jamaica_; we slaved, and
arrived happily at that Island; but it being Time of War, and our Men
fearing they should be press'd (for we were mann'd a-peak) Twelve,
and myself, went on Shore a little to the Eastward of _Port Morante_,
designing to foot it to _Port Royal_. We had taken no Arms, suspecting
no Danger; but I soon found we wanted Precaution: For we were, in less
than an Hour after our Landing, encompass'd by about Forty Run-away
Negroes, well arm'd, who, without a Word speaking, pour'd in upon us a
Volley of Shot, which laid Eight of our Company dead, and wounded the
rest. I was shot thro' the right Arm.

After this Discharge, they ran upon us with their Axes, and (tho' we
cried for Mercy) cruelly butcher'd my remaining four Companions.