A Sea-Fight on the Cuban Coast.
By the orders of the British government, I cruised for a season in the Cuban waters, for the express purpose of aiding in the suppression of the slave trade, which, in spite of all treaties and efforts to put an end to it, was still carried on with the most unblushing boldness. I had under my command a small, but well-armed schooner, with a crew of picked men, and sailed for my destination with the most positive orders to sink or capture all suspected vessels. We cruised about for some time without making any prizes, and the weary and monotonous life I led, became almost unbearable to me, driving me from the cabin to the deck, and from the deck to the cabin, seeking in vain for some relief from the ennui I suffered.
One very dark evening, it might have been about eight o’clock, I went on deck depressed in spirits, and completely out of sorts. Here I found Timothy Tailtackle, who had the watch, gazing into the surrounding darkness so intently that he did not perceive me until I was standing close to him.
“Any thing in sight, Master Tailtackle?” asked I, eagerly.
“Not exactly, sir, but I have just been begging for your glass. See there! once, twice; but it is as dark as pitch 92 Pray, sir, tell me how far are we from the Hole in the Wall?”
The Hole in the Wall is a very remarkable rock forming the southern promontory of the island of Abaco, one of the Bahamas. As its name signifies, it resembles, either, from the action of the waves, or from the cannonadings it has received, a perforated wall. It rises some forty feet above the surface of the water.
“We are ten miles distant, at least,” said I.
“Then,” cried Tailtackle, in a sharp tone, “there must be a sail to windward, and not far off either.”
“Where?” asked I, eagerly; “quick, get my glass.”
“Here it is, sir.”