Tough yarns, vol. 2 (of 2) : $b A series of naval tales and sketches to please all hands, from the swabs on the shoulders down to the swabs in the headBarker, M. H. (Matthew Henry)
General
Tough yarns, vol. 2 (of 2) : $b A series of naval tales and sketches to please all hands, from the swabs on the shoulders down to the swabs in the head
Barker, M. H. (Matthew Henry)
Sea stories, English; Seafaring life -- Fiction
“At this moment a noise was heard, like the fall of a firelock on the
pavement, but it passed unnoticed; however, when a short time had
elapsed, it was repeated, and on going to our grating to ascertain
the cause, we saw our faithful old soldier on the post. The rain was
pouring down in torrents, and the weather was excessively cold, so that
most of the other sentinels were glad to keep under shelter. After
taking two or three turns without looking up, he suddenly halted,
raised his bayonet to the window, and we received a small scrap of
paper, which contained these words, written in a hand we did not
remember to have seen before. ‘At ten o’clock to-night, when the relief
comes round, be ready to remove your grating and descend. Upon the
ramparts, under the muzzle of the third gun from the sentry-box, you
will find materials to assist in your descent, and below are disguises
to put on. Be firm and resolute.’
“There was a something in the manner of this note that did not
altogether please me; it raised suspicions I found it difficult to
suppress; but to give any information of this to the grenadier was
impossible; he returned to the spot no more. The next consideration
was, how we were to descend; but that was readily suggested, by tearing
our blankets into slips, and then twisting them together. To tell
you the torturing suspense we endured, while the time passed heavily
on, is beyond my power, but there was a novelty in our situation
which lifted us to hope. Nine o’clock came, and our hearts beat in
tumultuous disorder; we listened to the chiming of the quarters, and
silently prepared for our removal. At last, we heard the first warning
for ten, and we grasped each other’s hand with convulsive agitation.
Every stroke of the sonorous bell vibrated on our hearts with sickly
apprehension; it ceased, and all was silent, except the howling of
the wind and the pelting of the rain. Shortly afterward, the sentinel
challenged the relief, and hope and despair alternately took possession
of my breast, but both urged me on in the same determined course.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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