United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
We were under no little apprehension all the time as to the fate of the
forces on shore, for we could see that a furious attack was being made
by the Spaniards on Governor's Hill, and its result it was impossible to
ascertain. At daylight we once more stood in, when we had the
satisfaction to discover that our forces still held Governor's Hill, and
had thrown up works on it from which they were bombarding the town. As
the wind would not allow us to get in close to the forts, we hove-to
main-topsails to the masts, and employed ourselves in firing random
shots at the enemy's works while the Lowestoffe repaired damages. At
five in the afternoon, seeing a British Union Jack flying close to the
woods at the water's edge, the Porcupine was directed to run in and land
her guns. This was done under a heavy fire from the fort. I was among
those sent on shore, and I was ordered to take fifty men under my
command, and with four guns to lead them up through the town of Omoa to
the top of an exceedingly high hill on the other side of it. The
enterprise was of no slight danger and difficulty, but it pleased me the
more. I had Grampus and Rockets with me. Placing our guns on light
carriages between us, away we rattled as fast as our legs could move.
The faster our speed, the greater would be our safety. Where we were
going the enemy could not guess; they never thought that we were about
to scale the rocky height before us; they did not know what tricks
blue-jackets could play on shore. They kept peppering away at us as we
proceeded, and now and then one of my men was hit; one poor fellow was
killed, three were wounded. A fine fellow, Jackson, who was near me as
we dashed through the town, caught sight of a dog running through the
streets, evidently having lost his master.
"I'll have that 'ere animal," he exclaimed, springing on towards him.
The dog turned tail and ran off, but Jack was too nimble for him, and
catching him up under his arm, and holding his head so that he could not
bite, he was bringing the animal in triumph when a shot struck him on
the arm. He staggered on notwithstanding.
"Jackson, my man, I'm afraid you are badly hurt," I exclaimed, as I saw
the blood streaming down his side.
"Never fear, sir," he answered, "I've got the dog; I wanted him for you.
Take him, sir."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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