The Minute Boys of Long Island : $b A story of New York in 1776 as told by Ephraim LyttleOtis, James
History
The Minute Boys of Long Island : $b A story of New York in 1776 as told by Ephraim Lyttle
Otis, James
New York (State) -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Juvenile fiction
I felt firmly convinced that such would be the case, and said to myself
that to abandon the Swiftsure after she had borne us so bravely, was
much like turning one’s back on a comrade; but when the storm burst I
knew beyond a peradventure that the British would do no boat-chasing
until we had had time to look after our craft.
As we glided into the comparatively still water of the cove Sam came
aft jubilantly happy, saying as he danced in the cockpit regardless of
the torrents of water which were like to have drowned him:
“It was mighty lucky for us that the ships were anchored so near
together! Seth said they wouldn’t dare to fire anythin’ larger than a
musket ball; but there were times when I held my breath, expectin’ to
see the flash of a big gun.”
“They haven’t got a gunner aboard the fleet who could have hit this
sloop while she was stormin’ along at such a rate!” Abraham cried
triumphantly. “Here I’ve spent nearly the whole day dreadin’ the
venture of runnin’ through the fleet, an’ yet it has been done, because
we own the best boat in the colony, as easy as rollin’ off a log!”
“It isn’t well to crow very much just yet,” I replied, feeling not a
little irritated to hear him speak as if all the danger was passed. “We
are here in the cove where the Britishers can take us when they get
good an’ ready.”
“But we’re not countin’ on stayin’ many minutes.”
“Ay, but then they can work their will on the sloop, an’ after what she
has done this night, I feel toward her as one does toward a comrade
who has stood at his back in a hot fight. Then, when we have left her
to the lobster-backs, we must face both Tories an’ Britishers, who are
coverin’ the land as did the locusts at the time of the plague.”
“Starboard! Starboard unless you’re minded to plump into a mud-bank!”
Seth Hartley cried from his station in the bow, and I put a stopper on
my tongue lest at the very moment when it seemed that we had escaped,
I come to grief by running ashore.
Well, in order to shorten what promises to be an overly long story, I
will content myself by saying only that we ran the full length of the
creek, when we were come to a thicket on both banks, amid the foliage
of which the gallant little sloop would be partially screened from
view, and then we made ready for the tramp, counting that we could not
afford to wait until the storm cleared away, for while it was raging we
might advance with some assurance of being undisturbed.
We lingered only long enough to furl the wet canvas and stop it so far
that the wind could not blow it about. Then we stuffed into our pockets
and the bosoms of our shirts as much of provisions as could be carried
without inconvenience, and Abraham burdened himself with the musket and
ammunition, although I argued that we would be better off without any
weapon, rather than only one among four.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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