Ned Myers, or, a Life Before the MastCooper, James Fenimore
History
Ned Myers, or, a Life Before the Mast
Cooper, James Fenimore
Myers, Ned, approximately 1793-1849; Seafaring life
Just after we had anchored, Mr. Bogardus was sent aloft to ascertain if
any enemy were to be seen. At first he found nobody; but, after a little
while, he called out to have my gun fired at a little thicket of
brushwood that lay on an inclined plain, near the water. Mr. Osgood came
and elevated the gun, and I touched it off. We had been looking out for
the blink of muskets, which was one certain guide to find a soldier; and
the moment we sent this grist of grape and canister into those bushes, the
place lighted up as if a thousand muskets were there. We then gave the
chaps the remainder of our broadside. We peppered that wood well, and did
a good deal of harm to the troops stationed at the place.
The wind blew on shore, and began to increase; and the commodore now threw
out a signal for the boats to land, to take care of the batteaux that were
thumping on the beach, and then for their crews to assist in taking care
of the wounded. Of course I went in my own boat, Mr. Bogardus having
charge of her. We left the schooner, just as we quitted our guns, black
with powder, in our shirts and trowsers, though we took the precaution to
carry our boarding-belts, with a brace of pistols each, and a cutlass. On
landing, we first hauled up the boats, taking some dead and wounded men
out of them, and laying them on the beach.
We were now ordered to divide ourselves into groups of three, and go over
the ground, pick up the wounded, and carry them to a large house that had
been selected as a hospital. My party consisted of Bill Southard, Simeon
Grant, and myself, we being messmates. The first man we fell in with, was
a young English soldier, who was seated on the bank, quite near the lake.
He was badly hurt, and sat leaning his head on his hands. He begged for
water, and I took his cap down to the lake and filled it, giving him a
drink; then washing his face. This revived him, and he offered us his
canteen, in which was some excellent Jamaica. To us chaps, who got nothing
better than whiskey, this was a rare treat, and we emptied the remainder
of his half pint, at a pull apiece. After tapping this rum, we carried
the poor lad up to the house, and turned him over to the doctors. We found
the rooms filled with wounded already, and the American and English
doctors hard at work on them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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