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 cannot describe the sense of abandonment which came over me when
Abraham and his prisoner vanished in the distance. Although I would
have urged the lad to go speedily rather than linger, it was as if he
had forsaken us without warning, and I turned wearily toward the swamp
with a feeling that amid the mud and slime of that pestilential place I
would find my grave.
Seth Hartley must have understood somewhat of that which was in my
mind, for he said in the most friendly of tones as he laid his hand on
my shoulder:
“Now are we prepared for work, lad. Until he had started we could do
nothin’, however favorable a chance might have presented itself. We
must think only of that which we would do to aid Abel Grant.”
“It is a hopeless undertakin’,” I replied disconsolately, and he added
in a tone of reproof:
“So it is indeed, lad, if you give up hope, sayin’ to yourself that the
work can’t be done. He who would succeed must believe that the task is
well within his powers.”
“I’m makin’ an ass of myself!” I cried repentantly, “an’ will strive
not to do so again; but to see Abraham go out into the night to make
his way where enemies are thicker than mosquitoes in the swamp, seemed
much as if we had come to an end of our rope.”
“I grant you that such a partin’ was not good for the nerves; but at
a time like this you must strive to put all disagreeable thoughts from
your mind, to the end that you may be the better fitted for what the
future has in store for us. Now is come the hour when you lads _must_
get some sleep, so lie you down here on the solid ground, an’ I’ll
stand guard till it comes my turn to take forty winks. There is no good
reason why we need go back into the swamp among the mosquitoes before
daybreak.”
It is only doing Seth Hartley barest justice when I set down here that
which I firmly believe: But for him, the Britisher who would not break
his oath to the king, neither of us lads would have come out of that
venture alive, for he soothed our fears, bolstered our courage, and
looked after our bodily comfort all at the same time, giving no heed to
himself.
We strove earnestly to follow the honest fellow’s advice. Sam and I
stretched ourselves out on the solid ground, lying close together for
mutual comfort and the friendly contact of each other’s bodies, and
although it had seemed as if I could never close my eyes until we had
succeeded or failed in our venture, slumber overpowered me even while I
was speculating upon Abraham’s progress.
Nor did I awaken until I had been shaken into consciousness, and,
springing to my feet in alarm, I saw Seth Hartley standing in much the
same position as when I fell asleep.
“The day is beginnin’ to break, lad, an’ it stands us in hand to take
up our quarters with the mosquitoes again, for there’ll soon be more
visitors here than will be pleasin’ or safe.”
“You have stood watch all night while we selfishly slept!” I said
reproachfully.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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