where he lay, not daring to move, though the pressure of the wretch's
weight who stood upon him was so painful, that he could scarce forbear
crying out. Such seemed his inevitable fate. But he was doomed to
undergo still greater agony. One of the unfortunate men was discovered
and dragged out within a few yards of him. The incarnate demons were a
full hour murdering him, stabbing and hacking him with their pikes and
cutlasses in parts of the body where wounds would be exquisitely painful
but not mortal. The shrieks of the unhappy man were dreadful, the more
so, as every one of his companions expected every moment to share his
fate. The approach of night at length put an end to the dreadful scene,
and the disappointed hell-hounds returned to their ships.
The next morning, the Spanish squadron sailed round the island, pouring
upon every part of it discharges of grape and canister shot, that proved
fatal to several of the unfortunate men concealed upon it. They also
landed again, and attempted to set fire to the vines and dry grass, but
providentially without much effect. They continued, however, to
blockade the little island for two days longer, when they were
compelled, by bad weather, to stand out to sea. Having ascertained that
the Spanish murderers were gone, the miserable remnant of the brig's
crew ventured from their hiding-places, almost exhausted with hunger,
thirst, and terror. The main land was in possession of the Patriot, or
Buenos Ayrean troops, but was more than two miles distant; and they
consequently had no alternative but to swim to it; which they
accordingly attempted, being extremely apprehensive that the Spaniards
would return. The passage across the straits was long and tedious; and
their hopes of ultimate success for a long time doubtful. When about
half way across, one of their number declared that he was too much
exhausted to go any farther, and after a few words of encouragement from
his companions, suddenly exclaimed, "good bye," and sunk for ever. The
rest, five in number, succeeded in reaching the shore, just at sunset.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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