NEWS OF ABEL.
When Seth Hartley proposed that we set off in search of Abel Grant in
the sloop, holding together as a company rather than sending out one or
two in search of the missing man, the idea struck us very favorably,
because at the moment, so great was our sorrow and so grave our
forebodings, the very peril of the enterprise recommended it.
As we sat there silent and thoughtful, however, each member of the
little party seemingly desirous of viewing the matter in every possible
light, it was much as if the entire scheme had changed in color.
It was easy enough while we lay at anchor within an hundred feet of the
shore, to say that we would sail down past the British fleet in the
night; but to do it was quite another matter, and this we understood
more clearly the longer we speculated upon it.
Seth Hartley had spoken as if believing we could make the venture more
readily because the enemy’s vessels had come up near to Governor’s
Island; but as I pondered over the matter it seemed to me that the
danger was increased thereby. We would most likely find the war
vessels in a cluster close by the town, and if peradventure we were
able to pass them, then would lie in our path all the transports and
store-ships, any one of which must have on board two or three guns at
the very least, the smallest of which would be sufficient to sink us
offhand.
It did not seem to me possible we could make the passage, because
the enemy would be on the alert, and our sloop was not so small but
that she would attract sufficient attention to result in her being
overhauled. It was not probable the Britishers would allow any craft to
sail through their fleet without knowing exactly where she was bound
and what her purpose, therefore would we be stopped, so I figured, even
if they failed of recognizing us as the sloop which had escaped from
the frigate, and this last seemed more than possible.
Luther Stedman and his friend had given information concerning us when
their desire for revenge was slighter than after we had taken one of
them a prisoner for the second time. Luther had then spent considerable
time and labor to bring us to grief, and how much more earnestly would
he have worked to accomplish it again. As I figured it, he had taken
especial pains to spread information concerning us throughout all the
fleet, and the proof that he would strain every effort was shown in his
attack upon us while we lay off the ferry stairs.
Then again, suppose we should succeed in what seemed well nigh like the
impossible, and get into the lower bay, what could that effect?
Abel Grant had landed near our homes on the Wallabout, and if captured,
as appeared to be the fact, it must have been in that vicinity,
therefore to get any trace of him we would be forced to go entirely
across the island, taking all the chances of running upon the Tories,
who by this time must be swarming there like angry bees.
The longer I thought of Seth Hartley’s plan the more impossible of
execution did it appear to be, and I looked around upon my comrades to
learn if their courage remained unshaken.
I fancied it was possible to see an expression of growing distrust on
Abraham’s face while he was apparently studying the situation, and I
asked with a laugh which had in it more of nervousness than mirth:
“Well, Abe, what say you to runnin’ the gauntlet of the fleet in the
Swiftsure, an’ afterward, if so be the little craft remains afloat, go
up across the island, which by this time must be literally crowded with
Tories and red-coats?”
“It may not easily be done,” he said thoughtfully. “To look forward it
seems impossible, an’ yet I would not dwell upon the chances we must
take, but rather as to which would be the more honest, so far as duty
to our comrade is concerned. Whether we are to lay here in safety,
leavin’ him to his fate, or, takin’ our lives in our hands, do what
little we may toward aidin’ him? I am not eager to give up my life, an’
this is not a matter in which the Cause can be benefited by our death.
Yet does it seem to me that we must make an effort, if so be no other
plan presents itself, rather than reproach ourselves durin’ all the
remainder of our days, which havin’ been too cowardly to raise a hand
in behalf of one who would have given up everythin’ to help us.”
Abel spoke so seriously that it was as if he had been reading a sermon,
and I was awed by his tone as well as by the words.
It seemed to me as if he had left us no opportunity for discussion; but
so set it down that it had become our solemn duty, regardless of all
danger, and once more I fell silent.
It appeared very much as if Sam and Seth Hartley had been impressed in
the same way as had I, for we remained there idle, each busied with
his own thoughts, until the noon was near at hand. Then, as if having
forgotten some duty, Sam leaped suddenly to his feet, hauling in on
the cable as if time was precious, and Abe asked curiously what he was
about.
“I’m pullin’ the sloop so far in that I can wade ashore, for a wettin’
is necessary in order to land.”
“Where are you goin’?”
“To get a skiff, since that must be done before we can set off. You
are not minded that we shall sail into the lower bay without means of
landin’ save by runnin’ the sloop ashore?”
This was sufficient proof that Sam believed there was no other course
left us to pursue save that of carrying out Seth Hartley’s plan, and
because I was growing so nervous that action of any kind was preferable
to idleness, I lent a hand until the bow of the sloop grated on the
sand, when Sam started for the shore. He gained it at no other expense
than a partial wetting, which on a day so warm was not to be reckoned
as a disaster, and then, at a rapid pace, set off in the direction of
Master Dyker’s dock.
Now that it seemed as if we were fully committed to the venture our
tongues were loosened, and while he was absent we speculated upon that
which was to be done as if it was no more than an ordinary incident,
instead of a hazard upon which our lives were staked, with the odds in
favor of their being lost.
It was not possible to map out any real plan of action, for we must go
it blindly, trusting to the chapter of accidents, and hoping fortune
would favor; but we all decided upon standing straight across to the
Jersey shore, hugging close under the guns of our batteries until
coming to the North river, and then keeping so far as might be under
the lee of the land, if the wind permitted, until it became necessary
to strike across from Staten Island.
Sam came back with the skiff after having remained absent mayhap an
hour, and as he rowed toward us Abraham asked cheerily, with never a
tremor of the voice to tell of the desperate venture he had in mind:
“Was Master Dyker willin’ to lend a skiff, knowin’ that the chances
were against her bein’ returned?”
“Ay, that he was not,” Sam said with a laugh. “I argued with him and
his son in vain, an’ then dared them to raise a hand toward stoppin’ me
when I took that boat which seemed most nearly fitted to our purpose.”
“Did they make any attempt to stop you?”
“I didn’t give ’em a chance, for two to one were greater odds than
I cared to have against me, therefore, takin’ advantage of the
opportunity when Master Dyker turned his back in anger, I pulled away.”
“But that is neither more nor less than stealin’, Sam Garratt!” I cried.
“Ay, figure it that way if you will; but it was stealin’ to prevent a
friend from bein’ murdered, for such is the danger in which Abel Grant
stands if so be the Tories have him in their power.”
This was an argument which could not be answered, and I remained silent
while Sam came alongside, made the skiff fast, and went into the cuddy.
He came out a moment later with the musket in his hands, and Abe asked
laughingly:
“Are you thinkin’ the Britishers may make an attack?”
“I am of the mind that Master Dyker will come for his skiff, an’ it is
not my intention to let him have her. He has ever claimed to be a good
Whig, but now that the enemy is so near at hand an’ evidently about
to take possession of the town, it looks much as if there was a Tory
love creepin’ into his heart. If I am wrong, he should cheerfully give
his skiff to the Cause; if my suspicions are correct, I will hold her
because we cannot carry out the plan proposed by Seth without a small
boat.”
I know not why, but Sam’s resolute bearing heartened me wondrously; the
idea of his taking forcible possession of Master Dyker’s property in
order that we might set about the work of rescue, and allowing to hold
her at the muzzle of a musket, sent a fellow’s blood tingling through
his veins, and I almost forgot what awaited us once we set off.
Master Dyker did not come, however, perhaps because he was ashamed of
himself for having refused to lend a well nigh worthless skiff for such
a purpose, and again, perhaps, because he suspected what might be the
result if he tried to take her from us.
How the remainder of that day passed I cannot well say; but the hours
dragged as if they would never come to an end, and there were times
when I could have sworn the sun stood still in the heavens. We
were not inclined for conversation; there was nothing with which to
occupy our hands, save we were minded to cook dinner, and under the
circumstances our stomachs revolted at the thought of food.
We moped in the cockpit and in the cuddy like a lot of sick chickens,
and when finally the night shut in, bringing a gusty wind with
scurrying clouds which told of thunder showers, we were more relieved
in mind than I can well describe.
“It seems that we are to have it our way at the start,” Seth Hartley
said as he stood well forward peering into the gathering gloom in the
direction of Governor’s Island. “If the makin’s of this night had been
left to ourselves, we could not have cut out a better one for the
purpose. I’m thinkin’ that a cruise down through the fleet will be
quick an’ easy with all the wind the sloop can stand up under.”
It would have been a relief to all of us if we could have set off at
that moment, for the suspense of waiting was far more trying than the
danger of the venture; but yet we know without speculating upon it,
that it would not be well to come upon the fleet in the early evening,
unless peradventure there were signs that the threatening clouds might
be dispersed, and Seth Hartley voiced the opinion of all when he said
in the tone of one who asks a question:
“I’m thinkin’ it will be wiser for us to make a start nearabout
midnight, if so be there is no change in the weather, an’ with this
wind the run from here to whatsoever part of the island you count on
landin’, will be a short one.”
“I see no reason why we should not strike the shore at the first point
where it may be done,” Abe said thoughtfully. “If we could get into
Gowanus cove we might sail up the creek a long distance, an’ thus save
us much foot travel.”
“Ay, an’ the chances are that the king’s ships will be nearabout us,”
Sam suggested, and Seth Hartley replied grimly:
“No more in one place than another, an’ if you who know the island
believe it were better for us to make up the creek, then accordin’
to my mind there is no more danger in that venture than any other.
Therefore let us decide before startin’ that we will put in at the
place you have named.”
The evening passed yet more slowly than had the day; but we gathered
a little hope each moment because the threatening clouds, instead of
dispersing, were gathering more thickly, and the wind came now and then
in such volume as told that before daybreak the craft which ventured
out of the harbor would do so under close-reefed canvas.
Even though we had known our venture was certain to end in death, I
believe of a verity we would still have felt a certain sense of relief
when the moment came for putting the plan into execution, because it
was as if each moment we remained there at anchor the suspense became
greater.
It was not necessary any one give the word for the beginning of the
voyage. When, as nearly as we could judge, it lacked no more than an
hour of midnight, Seth Hartley rose to his feet, for we had all been
sitting in the cockpit, and as he did so we followed his example, each
one doing that which was necessary for getting the sloop under way
without a word having been spoken.
It was not a night on which any one would venture out save of
necessity. There was a reasonably heavy sea in the inner harbor, giving
token of what would be found in more open water, and the fitful wind
tore at the canvas when we loosened it, as if with giant hands. Under
ordinary conditions two of us could readily have made sail; but on this
night all hands were needed before we had the mainsail hoisted with a
single reef.
I went to the helm because no one else offered to do so, and the
Swiftsure darted on like a mad thing when we were come where the full
weight of the wind could be had, sending the spray masthead-high, and
snoring into it like a line-of-battle-ship.
No person hailed us from the shore even when we were passing the
batteries where I had fancied we might be called upon to give an
account of ourselves, and as we stretched across for the Jersey shore,
opening up the water to the westward of Governor’s Island, it was as if
all that portion of the bay was studded thickly with points of light,
telling of the British fleet. One would have said that it would be
impossible to thread our way among them in the darkness, without coming
afoul of one craft or another.
If nothing had depended upon my seamanship, that is to say, had we been
out simply for our own pleasure, or on ordinary business, with little
of importance depending upon the outcome, I should not have distrusted
my ability to handle the sloop, although the weather was what could
truly have been called nasty. But with the lives of all our party
depending upon the skill and ready wit which might be shown, I trembled
for myself, fearing through some blunder my comrades would come to
grief.
“There’s one thing about it,” Abe said as he clawed his way aft while
the Swiftsure danced like a cork upon the heavy swell, “we cannot well
heave to, no matter how many of the king’s officers so command, an’ it
will be a case of the English sailors showin’ what they can do with
oars, if the lobster-backs count on boardin’ us.”
“It would be well if all hands stood on the lookout, for with so much
spray comin’ aboard I’m not havin’ the best chance to see what course
to steer,” I said, not minded to discuss the possibilities just then.
“Sam and Seth Hartley are in the bow, an’ I came aft to trim ship, for
she was too much by the head with all three forward. There’s one thing
certain, we can’t make Gowanus cove without tackin’, an’ that’s likely
to be a nice job with so many vessels in the way.”
“It’s more likely we’ll be overhauled before gettin’ that far,” I
replied, hoping to still his tongue by reminding him of the peril, for
conversing when a fellow feels irritable and nervous is not pleasing.
The sloop dashed on as if eager to come upon the enemy. It seemed
to me that we had never seen her show one-half the speed she did on
this night when we were bearing down upon the king’s fleet, and while
I would not have checked the pace, yet were we moving too swiftly
for comfort, although one having more courage than I, might say that
the quicker the danger was encountered the better, since it saved a
disagreeable time of suspense.
I believed less than half an hour had elapsed from the time we weighed
anchor, before we were running under the quarter of the frigate which
lay nearest the Jersey shore, and those on board may have hailed us a
dozen times without our being aware of the fact, so great was the noise
made by the wind and the water; but when we were come directly astern,
within half a musket-shot, I should say, some one cried out from the
quarter-deck.
“They must be lubbers not to understand that we can’t come about here,”
Abe said angrily, and I replied with a laugh, for courage was returning
as the danger grew thicker:
“It makes no difference what they think, we’re bound to keep movin’
now, or throw the mast out of her. If those lobster-backs count on
stoppin’ her, it’s time they got their firearms ready, else we shall be
out of range.”
It was as if we had no more than passed this ship when we were close
aboard of another, and this time when the wind brought the faintest
echo of some sentinel’s voice, a tiny flash of flame followed, telling
that whosoever was on duty had discharged his musket. But no report was
heard for the wind would have swallowed up even the roar of a cannon,
and as for the missile, it went out to sea, very like.
I had no time to think of what the Britishers might do. It required
all my skill and strength to avoid the numerous craft in the way, and
even when from one ship, after we had passed to windward of her, there
came a crackling of musketry which told that the fellow had fired point
blank at us, I had no time to give heed to it. It was enough that we
were not harmed.
The wind was increasing momentarily, and growing more spiteful all the
while. The sloop pitched and plunged as if she had been in the open
sea, staggering under the weight of canvas that was more than I
would have believed she could have carried, had I given heed to the
matter.
Common prudence should have dictated our reefing close down; but we had
no time to think of it.
It was a case of carrying all and taking the chances, and this we did
in good and plenty during the hour when we threaded our way in and out
among the ships, sometimes hearing the reports of the weapons as the
guard fired in token for us to heave to; again seeing only the flashing
of the muskets, until I came to understand that the many ships at
anchor which had seemed to me would prove so dangerous, was in reality
our safety, for they were anchored so near together that had a heavy
gun been fired at us the chances were more in favor of damage being
done to one of the consorts.
“They do not dare to pitch a heavy shot at us!” Abe said gleefully as
he clung to the rail lest he be washed overboard, for the volume of
water which came across our decks threatened each instant to swamp the
little sloop.
[Illustration: “‘THEY DO NOT DARE TO PITCH A HEAVY SHOT AT US!’”]
It was as if that fever which is said to come upon one during the
excitement of battle had taken possession of me, for I lost all
consciousness of self, and seemed to be only a portion of the gallant
little craft which was struggling so desperately and valiantly to bear
us safely past our enemies. I felt her leap beneath me as I clutched
with all my strength at the tiller to hold her on the proper course,
and there were times when I may have cried aloud in triumph because of
the brave effort which she was making.
That sloop which we had built from keel to masthead was to me on this
night a living thing, and I would have sworn she was conscious of what
depended upon her.
I wish it were possible for me to set down a description of that mad
sail in such words that he who reads would be able to see it as I felt
it. I believe of a verity that we were fired upon by the sentries of
every second vessel in all that fleet, and yet never once did I hear a
missile strike us. We stood up and across twice before making the mouth
of the cove, therefore passed some of the ships three times, so that
their guards had ample opportunity to make ready for us; but the little
Swiftsure danced about so lively that, in the darkness, they might as
well have tried to hit one of the stars.
Just as we entered the mouth of the cove the thunder clouds broke, and
the water seemingly came down in solid sheets, while the wind roared
as if a hurricane was raging. It was the wildest storm I ever saw, and
the small boat that was exposed to its fury must have foundered in a
twinkling.
While we were tacking to make the cove Abraham said to me, forced to
scream in my ear otherwise I could not have heard the words:
“When we get into the cove it will be a question of takin’ to our
heels, leavin’ the sloop to her fate, for the Britishers will put after
us, knowin’ we are in a trap.”
I felt firmly convinced that such would be the case, and said to myself
that to abandon the Swiftsure after she had borne us so bravely, was
much like turning one’s back on a comrade; but when the storm burst I
knew beyond a peradventure that the British would do no boat-chasing
until we had had time to look after our craft.
As we glided into the comparatively still water of the cove Sam came
aft jubilantly happy, saying as he danced in the cockpit regardless of
the torrents of water which were like to have drowned him:
“It was mighty lucky for us that the ships were anchored so near
together! Seth said they wouldn’t dare to fire anythin’ larger than a
musket ball; but there were times when I held my breath, expectin’ to
see the flash of a big gun.”
“They haven’t got a gunner aboard the fleet who could have hit this
sloop while she was stormin’ along at such a rate!” Abraham cried
triumphantly. “Here I’ve spent nearly the whole day dreadin’ the
venture of runnin’ through the fleet, an’ yet it has been done, because
we own the best boat in the colony, as easy as rollin’ off a log!”
“It isn’t well to crow very much just yet,” I replied, feeling not a
little irritated to hear him speak as if all the danger was passed. “We
are here in the cove where the Britishers can take us when they get
good an’ ready.”
“But we’re not countin’ on stayin’ many minutes.”
“Ay, but then they can work their will on the sloop, an’ after what she
has done this night, I feel toward her as one does toward a comrade
who has stood at his back in a hot fight. Then, when we have left her
to the lobster-backs, we must face both Tories an’ Britishers, who are
coverin’ the land as did the locusts at the time of the plague.”
“Starboard! Starboard unless you’re minded to plump into a mud-bank!”
Seth Hartley cried from his station in the bow, and I put a stopper on
my tongue lest at the very moment when it seemed that we had escaped,
I come to grief by running ashore.
Well, in order to shorten what promises to be an overly long story, I
will content myself by saying only that we ran the full length of the
creek, when we were come to a thicket on both banks, amid the foliage
of which the gallant little sloop would be partially screened from
view, and then we made ready for the tramp, counting that we could not
afford to wait until the storm cleared away, for while it was raging we
might advance with some assurance of being undisturbed.
We lingered only long enough to furl the wet canvas and stop it so far
that the wind could not blow it about. Then we stuffed into our pockets
and the bosoms of our shirts as much of provisions as could be carried
without inconvenience, and Abraham burdened himself with the musket and
ammunition, although I argued that we would be better off without any
weapon, rather than only one among four.
“I’ll take my chances with one, instead of goin’ empty-handed because
all can’t be equipped,” he said grimly. “I don’t count on bein’ made
prisoner by either Britisher or Tory if a stout fight will prevent.”
“Better a live dog than a dead lion,” Seth Hartley said with a grimace.
“If we come upon enemies, an’ you see I’m countin’ the English as much
my foes as yours, it will be in considerable body, an’ it’s better to
submit, in the hope of escapin’ later, than lose a life.”
In this I fully agreed with Seth, but it could be plainly seen that Sam
and Abe feared imprisonment on board a British ship more than they did
death.
There was no indication that the storm was about to abate, when we
stepped from the rail of the sloop to the shore. The rain was coming
down literally in sheets, and even though we had not been drenched
before making the cove, our garments would have been saturated within
three minutes after we came out of the cuddy.
It had already been decided that if we succeeded in passing through the
fleet our efforts should be bent on gaining the shore of Wallabout, for
only in that vicinity could we hope to get any tidings of Abel Grant.
As a matter of course I was familiar with the country hereabout, but
Abe claimed sufficient knowledge to make his way through the swamp,
for, as every one knows, the land bordering the creek is marshy,
therefore he took the lead, we following in single file, never raising
our voices above a whisper after leaving the sloop.
Again did it seem as if our fears during the day just passed were all
in the way of alarm that was like to come during the venture, for we
plodded straight along through the rain without hearing or seeing
any sign of an enemy, and a good hour before daybreak were come to
the shanty in which lived Peter Snyder, an old man who had ever been
friendly to the Cause and us Whigs.
He had no family; two cats were his only companions, and some of the
island gossipers declared he was a witch, giving as proof the fact that
he seldom went out fishing without taking the animals with him.
So far as could be told in the darkness and the storm, Peter had
remained undisturbed while the Britishers were over-running the land,
and Sam said to me as we crept cautiously up to the hut:
“It seems that we were born in the woods to be scared by an owl. The
idea that we have spent twenty hours or more shakin’ in our boots
because of the dangers to be encountered, an’ have come thus far as
safely as if there was never a Britisher or Tory in the world, is
something of which to be ashamed.”
“Don’t begin to crow too soon,” I cautioned again, and then Abe, with
his mouth close to the crack of the door, called Peter by name.
The old man could not have been a heavy sleeper, for in considerably
less than five minutes he had admitted us and learned why we were come
at such an hour.
“You had best go back, if so be you can,” Peter said in a sorrowful
tone. “This island is no place for Whigs, though I’m not thinkin’ of
runnin’ away ’cause I’m not of enough account to tempt an attack.”
“But we have come to find some trace of Abel Grant, an’ don’t count on
turnin’ tail till the work has been done,” I said stoutly, for I felt
very brave just then.
“Then there is nothin’ here to keep you, for it’s too late to help
Abel,” the old man said mournfully, as he began using flint and steel
in order to throw a spark on the tinder, that he might light the wick
which floated in a gourd of oil.
“Too late! Is he dead?” Sam cried sharply, and Peter, still striving to
catch a spark, replied:
“It’s worse than that, lad, as I look at it. I was within sight of
Abel when Luther Stedman pointed him out to a squad of red-coats, an’
they made short work of it. Abel was talkin’ with that cousin of his
who married the Tory Simson, never dreamin’ of danger any more than did
I, when who should show up but Luther with a backin’ of Britishers.”
“What did they do with him?” I asked breathlessly.
“Marched the poor fellow off after shacklin’ his hands behind him, an’
if ever a man got a dressin’ down, it was Luther when Abel’s cousin
broke loose on him for what he’d done.”
“But that didn’t mend matters!” Abraham cried impatiently. “Tell us
what became of Abel!”
“He was marched off, as I’ve said, an’ this mornin’ his cousin told
me that Luther was ’round braggin’ ’bout his havin’ been put aboard a
ship that’s lyin’ in Gravesend bay. She ain’t what they call a vessel
of war,” the old man continued as he succeeded in lighting the wick,
thereby bringing to life a flame so feeble that it did little more than
show how dark it was. “Some of the folks say she’s been moored there to
serve as prison ship for the Whigs that were taken durin’ the battle,
an’ I’ve heard there are crowds of our people held by the king’s
troops.”
Surely it seemed to me that we had risked our lives uselessly, for
if Abel was really imprisoned on one of the British ships, the only
hope of his release lay in General Washington’s being able to whip the
enemy offhand, and that, from what I had seen in New York, could not be
dreamed of even by the staunchest Whig that ever drew breath.
“Where is Gravesend bay?” Seth Hartley asked after we four had stood
staring at each other a full minute while old Pete set about building a
fire as if to cook breakfast for us.
But few words were needed to give the information desired, and then Sam
said impatiently:
“No good can come of our standin’ here idle. Shall we try to hunt out
our friends on Wallabout?”
“There’s little use of lookin’ there for Whigs, lad,” old Peter said
sorrowfully. “I’m the only one left on the island, so far as I can make
out; all save the Tories took to their heels when it was known that
General Washington counted on beatin’ a retreat.”
“Do you know where my people went?” I asked eagerly.
“No; but it stands to reason they’re on the New York side somewhere.
Tell me, can our army hold the town?”
Before I could answer the question Seth Hartley said sharply, as if
something had suddenly angered him:
“This is no place for you, lads. If you count on goin’ to Gravesend,
you should make the best speed now while it rains so hard that your
enemies will likely keep under cover.”
“Count on goin’ to Gravesend?” I repeated. “What could we do there?”
“Make a try at freein’ Abel Grant! Surely you don’t reckon on holdin’
back now when you know how sorely he’s needin’ you!”