"Pull round, men," said the lieutenant, with great quickness; "pull the
starboard oars; we are in the wrong box; back water the larboard. That's
it! give way, men."
A flash--crack went the sentry's piece, and ping sung the ball over our
heads. Another pause. Then a volley from a whole platoon. Again all was
dark and silent. Presently a field--piece was fired, and several rockets
were let off in our direction, by whose light we could see a whole company
of French soldiers standing to their arms, with several cannon, but we
were speedily out of the reach of their musketry. Several round shots
were now fired, that hissed, recochetting along the water close by us.
Not a word was spoken in the boat all this time; we continued to pull for
the opening in the dike, although, the current being strong against us, we
made but little way; while the chance of being cut off by the Johnny
Crapeau, getting round the top of the embankment, so as to command the gap
before we could reach it, became every moment more alarming.
The messenger was in great tribulation, and made several barefaced
attempts to stow himself away under the stem sheets.
The gallant fellows who composed the crew strained at their oars until
every thing cracked again; but as the flood made, the current against us
increased, and we barely held our own. "Steer her, out of the current,
man," said the lieutenant to the coxswain; the man put the tiller to port
as he was ordered.
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