With Porter in the Essex: A Story of His Famous Cruise in the Southern Waters During the War of 1812Otis, James
History
With Porter in the Essex: A Story of His Famous Cruise in the Southern Waters During the War of 1812
Otis, James
United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Juvenile fiction
There was much of truth in what he said. The idea had not come into my
head before, that I might, from some secure spot, see all that was being
done, but now that it had been suggested I was decidedly in favor of the
plan.
True, it would cost us severe labor to climb the mountain-side; but the
descent would be easy, and surely we could well afford to spend some of
our strength in order to witness such a sight as might at this moment be
presented.
"I'm with you," was my reply as I rose quickly to my feet. "Shall we
tell Master Hackett what we propose doing?"
"There's no real need of it, and it would cost us a good half hour's
time to go out to the _Essex_ and back. By hurrying up a bit now, we can
be down here again before he has knocked off work."
"Come on!" I cried gleefully, and we ran forward, following the
footsteps of the war party until we were come to some huge boulders
about two miles from the shore, directly over which the trail seemed to
lead.
"We can afford to go around such a barrier as that," I said lazily, as
we came to a halt. "The savages, accustomed to such climbing, and in
haste to get into position, most likely took the shortest cut."
Phil was of my opinion, and thus each of us proved himself to be a
simple, for we should have realized that the Happars would take the best
course, and if a pile of boulders might be avoided by a slight detour,
they would not hesitate about making it.
We went on our own course, however, and after climbing for half an hour
over the mossy slope which seemed slippery as glass, found the barrier
still on the port side, with no indication of coming to an end.
"It can't make much difference to us," Phil said cheerily. "We're not
bound for the Typee fort; but only ask for a place where we can see what
is being done on the next mountain."
During fully half an hour more we climbed, and then, without warning,
found ourselves in the midst of tall yellow weeds growing together as
thickly as they could stand, and as tough and stubborn as so much iron.
I tried to force them apart with my hands; but such an attempt was
useless, and, half crouching, I brought my shoulder to bear against the
yellow stalks, when I found it possible, by the exercise of all my
strength, to move forward slowly.
We toiled on for thirty minutes more, expecting each instant to come to
the end of the growth, and then Phil threw himself down exhausted.
The reeds closed in upon us as we advanced, and thus we were completely
shut out from any breath of air which might be stirring. The heat was
more intense than I had ever experienced, and it seemed almost
impossible that I could continue the ascent ten minutes longer.
"We'd best put back, and try our luck over the boulders!" Phil said,
panting so heavily that it was only with difficulty he could speak
intelligently.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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