About Ten Miles
Up The River We Cast Anchor On A Sunday Morning, At An Island Where One
Of Our Sailors Was Buried Who Had Died Of A Fever; And As His Name
Happened To Be Andrew, We Called It The Island Of St Andrew[4].
Leaving this island we proceeded up the river, followed by some of the
Negroes in their almadias, yet always keeping
At a considerable distance.
Our interpreters often hailed them, and shewed them various trinkets,
which were offered for their acceptance, and endeavoured to entice them to
come near, by telling them that we were good-natured civilized people,
from whom they had nothing to fear. Wrought upon by these representations,
the Negroes at length approached, and came up with my caravel; and at last
one of them, who understood the language of our interpreter, came on board.
He was greatly surprized at every thing he saw in and about the caravel,
especially with the sails and rigging, having no other idea of moving a
vessel on the water but by means of oars. He was no less amazed at our
colour and dress, as his nation mostly go stark naked, or with a single
white cotton shirt as their sole dress. We were exceedingly kind and
attentive to this Negro, and made him many presents of trinkets, and other
things of small value, with which he was much delighted. I asked him many
questions respecting the country, through our interpreter, and at length
learnt that we were in the country of Gambia, of which Forosangoli was
chief lord; and, by what we could learn from him, the residence of
Forosangoli was at the distance of nine or ten days journey, in a
direction between the south and the southwest.
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