United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
At length, on the 21st of September, towards three o'clock in the
afternoon, the admiral made the signal for us to weigh. Each man with
alacrity hurried to his quarters. Never was sail more speedily got on
the ship. The Phoenix, Roebuck, Carrisfort, and Rose were seen
spreading their canvas at the same time to a very light air which blew
from the westward. I must try and describe the scene of our operations.
Before us lay a long, narrow strip of land called Manhattan Island,
about thirteen miles long and from half a mile to two wide, on the south
end of which stands the City of New York, while on the north end are
some hills called the Harlem Heights. It is divided from the mainland
on the north by a creek called the Harlem River, over which there is a
bridge called King's Bridge. The west of Manhattan Island is washed by
the River Hudson, which separates it from the New Jersey shore, while
part of the Sound, which is called the East River, runs round it on the
south and east, dividing it from Long Island, till it is joined by the
Harlem River on the north. The Harlem River forms a direct
communication between the Hudson and East River. That part of it
nearest the Hudson was called by the Dutch Spuyten Duyvel Creek, while
the east end, where it joins East River, has the still less pleasant
sounding name of Hell Gate. Near it was a strong battery. Nearly in
the centre of East River, opposite the south point of New York, is
Governor's Island, which was strongly fortified. There were batteries
along the whole line of the shore on Manhattan Island. Slowly and
solemnly our squadron approached the shore. Perfect silence reigned
throughout the ship. For some time not a shot was fired. Captain
Hudson had been keeping a sharp look-out on the enemy's batteries as we
approached.
"Pass the word along the decks that every man and officer is to lie down
at his quarters!" he exclaimed.
The judicious order was at once obeyed. The same precaution was not
used by the other ships. At half-past three, when we were within
pistol-shot of the city, the enemy opened their fire. We were so close
and moved so slowly that scarcely a shot missed us, literally riddling
the ship, as if we had been a butt put up to be fired at.
"How do you like this?" I asked of young Sumner, who was near me.
"Not at all just now," he answered. "I only wish that the captain would
let us get up and fire back on the enemy. I thought that was always
done when people fight."
"Sometimes one has to be battered at as well as to batter, as in the
present instance," I answered. "But depend on it, we shall be allowed
to take our revenge before long."
"Oh, I wish those dreadful cannon-balls would not come so close to one,"
sung out poor Harry, half playfully, half in earnest, as a round shot
came crashing through the bulwark close to where we lay, throwing the
splinters about us, ploughing up the deck, and passing out at a port on
the other side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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