THE BATTLE OF BOSTON
“We’re stuck!” declared Jack, as they tried to shove off from the bank
now said to be England.
“And every time I push the water comes up over my shoes,” said George,
looking dolefully at his soaked shoes and stockings.
“Let’s pull them off and fling them over on the bank,” suggested Jack.
George, forgetting he was not on dry ground, instantly followed Jack’s
idea and sat down on the raft to remove his shoes. At the same time, Jim
tried to climb aboard from the creek where he had been pushing, and the
result was that the water swept over the top surface of the raft and
submerged everything under six inches of water.
“Ah, say! See what you did to me!” cried George, now soaking wet to the
waistline.
“Quick! Never mind the wet—there go our tea chests!” yelled Jack, trying
to save the drum as it floated away from the raft.
Jim and George, over-anxious to save their cargo, suddenly leaned out to
catch the bobbing cartons and boxes, when the unbalanced raft tilted
treacherously over with the weight of the three boys and shot them all
into the stream.
The screams and shouts of dismay brought the three Americans running to
the Boston port, and as they stood laughing unfeelingly at the scene in
the water, the British declared they’d get even when they landed in
Boston.
“Better get here first!” called Anne.
“We’ll salute you with guns all right!” added John grimly.
“So’ll we! We’ll go back to London and find some guns and shot, too,”
promised George, looking at the Americans and then at Jack, who was
wallowing through the mud to gain the bank again.
“Jim, haul up your ship for us to load with ammunition,” ordered George,
as soon as Jim’s head appeared from under the raft, where he had rolled
when the warship keeled over.
But the clever Yanks kept all news of their ammunition from the eyes and
ears of the British. Then, having found some long sticks that would
answer for guns, the three mariners set sail again on their dangerous
journey across the sea—a distance of thirty feet from bank to bank.
This time the raft was kept balanced, while the three stood hugging each
other in the center of the boards. Their shoes and coats had been left
on the woodpile, so they were not hampered with overmuch clothing.
Now, John had bided his time very patiently, and, feeling that he had
been supplanted in the fun and affections of George by his cousin Jack,
he determined not to wait till the ship came into port, when the boys
could jump from the vessel, to land and find the pyramid of bad apples
ready to fire.
So he waited until the loosely-constructed raft reached midstream, where
the current of the sluggish water turned it partially around so that the
boys faced back at England, and dared not turn about for fear of another
submersion.
Taking careful aim, John threw a large and wonderfully squashy apple at
Jack. It landed on top of his head, and the juicy, brown contents of the
apple-skin ran down over his face, ears and neck.
“Ouch! What’s that?” screamed Jack, the acid of the juice blinding his
eyes. He threw out his hands for help as he cried, and thus catching
Jim, both slid off the raft a second time, as the craft went under on
that side.
George could afford to laugh at the sight, for he still held his footing
on the wet and slippery raft; but he laughed too soon. John took another
aim and fired a second shot. It hit the boards of the raft just back of
George, who was not aware of it, as it simply squashed all over without
making a noise.
He moved back a trifle to gain a surer footing, and that action was his
own undoing. His foot slipped on the slippery mush, and down he came
upon the planks. Again the tipsy raft dove, and again George slid off
into the stream.
The middle of the stream was swollen by the rains to a depth of four
feet, and Jim only being three feet high, could not be seen, but he
could paddle a bit with legs and arms in poor imitation of swimming, so
George and Jack found him wildly kicking and striking the water in a
vain endeavor to float.
John doubled over in glee at his marksmanship, and the two girls,
running to see what the new commotion was about, saw the three boys in
the creek, trying to board the raft. With every pull and extra weight on
the warship, it dipped gracefully and slipped the children’s eager,
clutching hands from its edges.
“You’ll have to wade back to England and sail again,” yelled John
comfortingly.
“You just wait till we get over there!” threatened Jack, who suspected
the power back of that apple.
“We’ll wait all right! Long time comin’, too!” roared John, slapping his
knees.
While Jack pulled Jim to shallow water, George managed to haul the now
water-logged raft back to the English shore. The pasteboard cartons and
drum were thoroughly soaked by this time and showed signs of collapse,
but the soap-box withstood the elements in a fine manner.
During the third trial to cross the tempestuous seas, the cartons
holding oatmeal and hominy spread out and the cereals floated down on
the face of the creek. The pasteboard sides, now flattened out and
soaked, were of no use, so they were kicked off; but in the sudden
jerking Jack and George clutched each other madly, or they would have
slid into the water for the third time.
“I guess Boston will never get a speck of that cargo!” laughed John,
both hands behind his back holding large-sized decayed cannon-balls from
the apple tree.
“What’ll you bet?” challenged Jack.
“Bet you three shots to your every one that you won’t land it!” taunted
John.
“Take you up! If we land anything we take three shots at you. If you
keep us from landing, you have three at us,” cried George, the fire of
battle shining in his eyes.
“Here, John, you wade out and upset them,” whispered Anne mischievously.
“They won’t count that as fair!” exclaimed Martha.
“I’ve got a better idea. I’ll get up on that tree-trunk leaning out over
the creek and you girls can hand me some heavy clumps of dirt, wood or
rocks. I’ll drop it over on the raft so it will tip and roll off the
rest of the cargo,” whispered John.
The three sailors were fully occupied in balancing and bringing the raft
across the stream where it should go, so they failed to see John scale
the overhanging willow tree and lean down to get the rocks and fragments
of tree-trunks the girls passed up to him. Not until a stone fell upon
the side of the raft where the remaining boxes stood did they dream of
danger from a fort.
“Ah, say, that isn’t fair!” complained Jack, not daring to look up or
around.
“All’s fair in play!” laughed Anne from the bank.
A second rock landed on the edge of the raft, and then a mass of dirt
and dead leaves. After this, the girls assisted in the fusillade, and
the boys were not only kept busy avoiding the ammunition of the
Americans; but they found the raft tilting so dangerously that another
added bit of weight would roll the single remaining soap-box from the
ship.
“Jack, it’s dare or die!” said George, nodding to the débris thrown on
the raft and the slant of the ship under water.
“What do you say?” wondered Jack.
“Jim’s the lightest—he must take the soap-box and try to reach shore
with it while we fight them for a landing out here. If they go for Jim,
we can land, and if they keep up with us Jim can scramble up the bank.”
Jim was willing, and Jack thought it was a fighting chance, so the
captain of the _Dartmouth_ sidled off into the water and grabbed the box
which he had to safely carry up on shore—in the face of the American
cannonading.
Had the creek been clear of mud and roots, the British might have landed
their sea forces, and thus the history of the American colonists might
never have been written as such; but which one of the combating parties
could dream of the unseen menace that took a part in this tragic fight?
The two girls and John saw Jim slide off and push the soap-box in front
of him, but they felt a sympathy for him, for it was apparent that Jack
and George preferred to remain on the raft and let Jim try to land. Then
they would claim the right to fire three shots to one at the Americans.
But the three Americans determined to fire as many of the soft apples at
the two remaining sailors as they could land, so Jack and George were
kept busy ducking and objecting, and Jim had gone half the distance
between the raft and the gnarled root, where he hoped to climb up, when
a blood-curdling yell was heard, which seemed to rise from his very
toes.
British and Yanks alike forgot their enmity and shouted out: “What’s
happened, Jim?”
But the little pickaninny, beating the water frantically with both
hands, while continuing to howl, tried to jump up from the water.
Jack and George, too wet to mind more water, and John, with the two
girls on shore, rushed for the captain to try and save him, for they
firmly believed he was about to yell his last earthly breath.
Jack and George reached him first, and instantly caught his wildly
waving arms to drag him up on shore. They thought that if it was his
time to “climb the golden stairs” he was always singing about, he ought
to begin on dry land.
But Jim’s yells grew more appalling as he was half-carried and
half-dragged out of the water. Just as John and his two confederates ran
up, the cause of all this frenzy was found.
A huge mud-turtle had snapped onto one of Jim’s brown, upcurling toes,
and as resistance was brought to bear against this grip, the turtle held
on the tighter.
George knew what to do, so he quickly broke its shell with a sharp
stone, and Jim almost fainted with relief at his freedom. The girls
tried to pet him and offer sympathies, but Jack and George took
advantage of the situation.
“Ha! We brought meat to shore! We landed all right!” yelled Jack,
dancing like a wild Indian.
“Three-to-one shot,” added George, rushing away to find the ammunition
John had plied so thickly.
But most of the apples had been fired, and Jim whispered: “Ah wan’ t’ go
hum!”
“Ah, don’t go home now! Your toe will soon feel better, and besides,
mammy will ask you where the boxes went from the store-room,” advised
Martha.
Jim looked up at her wistfully and said: “Ah’ll tell her dem British
sunk ’em all!”
“That would be mixin’ American history, ’cause it was us Yanks that sunk
the cargo,” corrected Anne.
“All but the fish!” chuckled Jack, pointing at the turtle.
“If Jim can’t go home, and you girls won’t let us shoot as you agreed,
what shall we do, anyway?” sulked George, who felt it was an unlucky
day, because no more apples could be found.
“Why not play the Battle of Lexington? That’s fun!” suggested Martha.
“We can use the raft to sail up Lake Champlain, where it can be the
first warship of the American navy,” added Anne.
“All right—come on!” declared John, who was glad to postpone his being
shot at by two good aims like George and Jack.
“Here, or on the other side?” asked George.
“Well, here’s a good tree for the earthworks on the hill near Boston,”
ventured John.
“We won’t need it for Lexington or Concord, but we really ought to have
something that would pop like shot, or it won’t seem real,” replied Jack
consideringly.
“Can’t we skip those two first fights, and start right in with the
burning of Charlestown and the fight on the hill? We can build a dandy
bonfire for Charlestown,” said Anne.
“Umm! Never again! We had a fire once when Washington’s homestead burned
down, and Jim’s just raisin’ a new crop of wool since then. My hair was
frizzled to the roots, too, and our eyebrows were all gone. We looked
awfully funny without winkers on our eyes or brows over them,” laughed
George, the memory of his burns too fresh to attempt a second fire even
in play.
“Then we can’t do it! We may as well go home and wait for the automobile
to come back,” said Martha resignedly.
“I don’t see why. We can build earthworks and fight down the British as
they come up the hill, and then the British can win the battle and fight
us all the way back to Charlestown; and General Washington can come
along and pat us on the back for courage and bravery, and then we can
all plan together how to get back at the British,” exclaimed George
eagerly.
“I’m wet and soggy, and Jim’s going to cry all afternoon, so I guess
I’ll go back and change my clothes,” said Jack, suddenly feeling
discouraged over the failure of his nation to win an easy battle.
“If we keep away from the store-room, and creep up the front stairs to
change our clothes, we can be sitting on the lawn under the canopy when
mother gets back,” ventured Martha.
“What about Jim?” worried several voices.
“Let John take him home and dry his clothes, then they both can join us
on the lawn, and sit quietly while the sun sets. Mother says she wants
us to watch the fall sunsets, as they are always so beautiful,” offered
George.
The others stared in unbelief at this daring commander, who suggested
quietly admiring sunsets, but each felt that it would be as well to seem
meek and quiet after the raid on the boxes in the store-room.
So the good advice was followed, but Martha did not dream that Jim had
dumped the washing-soda over the orange pekoe tea, so that it was
impossible to sift or wash it out. Hence, the Parkes had no tea that
afternoon, nor, did the cook have her fragrant beverage at each meal
until the new chest came from Washington.
“Well, didn’t the Yanks sacrifice tea to their patriotism that time in
Boston?” asked Jack of his mother, when the story was told.