Sketches From My Life: By The Late Admiral Hobart PashaHobart-Hampden, Augustus Charles
History
Sketches From My Life: By The Late Admiral Hobart Pasha
Hobart-Hampden, Augustus Charles
Adventure and adventurers; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Blockades
Now to return to my 'experiences.' As proud as the young sportsman when
he has killed his first stag, I returned, keen as mustard, to my ship,
which I found still cruising near to where I had left her. Some secret
information that I had received while at Rio led me to ask my captain to
again send me away with a force similar to that which I had under me
before (with percussion caps this time), and allow me to station myself
some fifty miles further down the coast. My request was granted, and
away I went. This time, instead of taking shelter under an island, I
ensconced my little force behind a point of land which enabled me by
mounting on the rocks to sweep the horizon with a spy-glass, so that I
could discover any vessel approaching the land while she was yet at a
considerable distance.
There happened to be a large coffee plantation in my immediate
neighbourhood, and I remarked that the inhabitants favoured us with the
darkest of scowls whenever we met them. This made me believe (and I
wasn't far out) that the slave-vessel I was looking out for was bringing
recruits to the already numerous slaves employed on the said plantation.
Two or three mornings after my arrival, I discovered a sail on the very
far horizon; a vessel evidently bound to the immediate neighbourhood I
had chosen as my look-out place. The winds were baffling and light, as
usual in the morning in these latitudes, where, however, there is always
a sea-breeze in the afternoon. So, being in no hurry, I sauntered about
the shore with my double-barrelled gun in my hand, occasionally taking a
look seaward. Suddenly I saw within a hundred yards of me a man leading
two enormous dogs in a leash. The dogs were of a breed well known among
slave-owners, as they were trained to run down runaway slaves. I believe
the land of their origin is Cuba, as they are called Cuba bloodhounds.
Suspecting nothing I continued my lounge, turning my back on the man and
his dogs. A few minutes afterwards I was startled by a rushing sound
behind me. On turning quickly round I saw to my horror two huge dogs
galloping straight at me. Quick as lightning I stood on the defensive,
and when they with open mouths and bloodshot eyes were within five
yards, I pulled the trigger. The gun missed fire with the first barrel.
The second barrel luckily went off, scattering the brains of the nearest
dog, the whole charge having entered his mouth, and gone through the
palate into his brain. This occurrence seemed to check the advance of
the second brute, who, while hesitating for a moment before coming at
me, received a ball in his side from one of my sailors, who fortunately
had observed what was going on and had come to my rescue. Without
waiting an instant to see what had become of the man who had played me
this murderous trick, I called my men together, launched the boats, and
put out to sea.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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