“But I think we ought to give ’em a hint that we’re loaded for bear,” said Whitestone. “What do you say to a shot at the nearest frigate, Mr. Shelby. I think she is within long range.” I approved, and Whitestone fired. In the stillness of a country morning the report was frightfully distinct, and the echo doubling upon and repeating itself seemed to travel both up and down the river. The shot was well aimed. It smashed right into the frigate, and there was confusion on her decks. I fired the second gun, and down came some spars and rigging on the same ship. Whitestone rubbed his hands in glee. I shouted to him to lie close, and obeyed my own command as promptly as he. The frigate was about to return our salute. She swung around and let us have a broadside, which did great damage to the rocks and the shore. But Whitestone and I remained cozy and safe. A large sloop came up closer than the frigate and fired a volley, which sailed peacefully over our heads and made a prodigious disturbance among the trees beyond us. “Can you get at that third gun, Whitestone?” “Nothing easier!” “Then give that spiteful sloop a shot. Teach her it isn’t safe for a sloop to come where a frigate can’t stay.” Whitestone obeyed, and his shot was most glorious. The chunk of lead struck the sloop between wind and water and must have gone right through her, for presently she began to sheer off, the signs of distress visible all over her, as if she were taking in water at the rate of a thousand gallons a minute. I clapped Whitestone on the back and shouted “Hurrah!” But our lucky shot had stirred up the full wrath of the fleet. The ships formed in line of battle and opened their batteries on us, firing sometimes one after the other, and sometimes nearly all together. I dare say the cliffs of the Hudson, in all their long existence, have never received such another furious bombardment. Oh, it was a bad day for the trees and the bushes and the rocks, which were beaten and battered and cut and crushed by eighteen-pound shot and twelve-pound shot and six-pound shot, and the Lord knows what, until the river itself fell into a rage and began to lash its waters into a turmoil! But Whitestone and I, with all this infernal uproar around us, lay in our brave earthworks as snug and cozy as chipmunks, and laughed to think that we were the cause of it all. I rolled over to Whitestone and shouted in his ear: “As soon as the eruption diminishes a little we will try a fourth shot at them!” He grinned, and both of us embraced the earth for some minutes longer. Then the fire of the enemy began to abate. We took the first chance to peep out at them, but the volume of smoke over the river was so great and so dense that we could see the ships but indistinctly.