excesses the moment they get on shore. St. Jago is famous for a kind
of liquid fire, called aguadente, which is smuggled on board ship
in the shape of pumpkins and watermelons. These are sold to the
sailors for shirts and clothing; there being nothing so eagerly
sought for by the inhabitants of St. Jago as linen and calico.

Our crew, being thoroughly disgusted with their captain, as indeed
they had some reason to be, and their valour being wondrously excited
by their passionate fondness for water-melons, came to a stern
resolution of spending the remainder of their lives on this agreeable
island; at any rate, they determined to sail no farther in our
company. The captain was ashore, settling his accounts and receiving
his papers; the chief-mate had given orders to loose the fore-topsail
and weigh anchor; and we were all in the cuddy, quietly sipping our
wine, when we heard three cheers and a violent scuffling on deck. In
a few moments down rushed the mate in a state of delirious
excitement, vociferating that the men were in open mutiny, and
calling upon us, in the name of the Queen, to assist the officers of
the ship in bringing them to order. Starting up at the call of our
Sovereign, we rushed to our cabins in a state of nervous
bewilderment, and loading our pistols in a manner that ensured their
not going off, we valiantly hurried on deck in the rear of the
exasperated officer. On reaching the raised quarter-deck of the
vessel, we found the crew clustered together near the mainmast, armed
with hand-spikes, boat-oars, crow-bars, and a miscellaneous
assortment of other weapons, and listening to an harangue which the
carpenter was in the act of delivering to them. They were all
intoxicated; but the carpenter, a ferocious, determined villain, was
the least so.