“I’ll take my chances with one, instead of goin’ empty-handed because all can’t be equipped,” he said grimly. “I don’t count on bein’ made prisoner by either Britisher or Tory if a stout fight will prevent.” “Better a live dog than a dead lion,” Seth Hartley said with a grimace. “If we come upon enemies, an’ you see I’m countin’ the English as much my foes as yours, it will be in considerable body, an’ it’s better to submit, in the hope of escapin’ later, than lose a life.” In this I fully agreed with Seth, but it could be plainly seen that Sam and Abe feared imprisonment on board a British ship more than they did death. There was no indication that the storm was about to abate, when we stepped from the rail of the sloop to the shore. The rain was coming down literally in sheets, and even though we had not been drenched before making the cove, our garments would have been saturated within three minutes after we came out of the cuddy. It had already been decided that if we succeeded in passing through the fleet our efforts should be bent on gaining the shore of Wallabout, for only in that vicinity could we hope to get any tidings of Abel Grant. As a matter of course I was familiar with the country hereabout, but Abe claimed sufficient knowledge to make his way through the swamp, for, as every one knows, the land bordering the creek is marshy, therefore he took the lead, we following in single file, never raising our voices above a whisper after leaving the sloop. Again did it seem as if our fears during the day just passed were all in the way of alarm that was like to come during the venture, for we plodded straight along through the rain without hearing or seeing any sign of an enemy, and a good hour before daybreak were come to the shanty in which lived Peter Snyder, an old man who had ever been friendly to the Cause and us Whigs. He had no family; two cats were his only companions, and some of the island gossipers declared he was a witch, giving as proof the fact that he seldom went out fishing without taking the animals with him. So far as could be told in the darkness and the storm, Peter had remained undisturbed while the Britishers were over-running the land, and Sam said to me as we crept cautiously up to the hut: “It seems that we were born in the woods to be scared by an owl. The idea that we have spent twenty hours or more shakin’ in our boots because of the dangers to be encountered, an’ have come thus far as safely as if there was never a Britisher or Tory in the world, is something of which to be ashamed.” “Don’t begin to crow too soon,” I cautioned again, and then Abe, with his mouth close to the crack of the door, called Peter by name. The old man could not have been a heavy sleeper, for in considerably less than five minutes he had admitted us and learned why we were come at such an hour.