Sunday, Sept. 11th. Lat. 30 deg. 04' N., long. 63 deg. 23' W.; the
Bermudas bearing north-northwest, distant one hundred and fifty miles.
The next morning, about ten o'clock, "Sail ho!" was cried on deck; and
all hands turned up to see the stranger. As she drew nearer, she
proved to be an ordinary-looking hermaphrodite brig, standing
south-southeast; and probably bound out, from the Northern States, to
the West Indies; and was just the thing we wished to see. She hove-to
for us, seeing that we wished to speak her; and we ran down to her;
boom-ended our studding-sails; backed our main topsail, and hailed
her- "Brig, ahoy!"- "Hallo!"- "Where are you from, pray?"- "From New
York, bound to Curacoa."- "Have you any fresh provisions to spare?"-
"Aye, aye! plenty of them!" We lowered away the quarter-boat,
instantly; and the captain and four hands sprang in, and were soon
dancing over the water, and alongside the brig. In about half an hour,
they returned with half a boat-load of potatoes and onions, and each
vessel filled away, and kept on her course. She proved to be the brig
Solon, of Plymouth, from the Connecticut river, and last from New York,
bound to the Spanish Main, with a cargo of fresh provisions, mules,
tin bake-pans, and other notions.
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