The boat was commanded by Captain James Ward--was a crazy old thing, with
only a single pine board for a bulwark. The captain was at one oar, and his
nephew, a young man, at the other. Knowing that all depended on reaching
the middle of the stream, the captain used his best exertions to force the
vessel out; but his nephew let go his oar, and took up his gun to fire. As
he did so, he was pierced through with a ball, and fell, mortally wounded.
His oar dropped into the river; and the exertions of the captain only
tended to force the boat nearer the shore. Seeing this, the savages gave a
yell of triumph, and prepared to take possession of the prize. Ward,
however, seized hold of a board, and with it took the place of his nephew,
giving his own oar to one of the men, and made renewed exertions to gain
the current, the enemy, meanwhile, pouring upon the crew an incessant
volley of balls, thick as the falling hail of the storm, which soon riddled
everything above the plank breastwork, and killed or wounded all the horses
on board--seven in number.
During this time most of the crew were too badly frightened to do or be
conscious of anything, excepting danger. One large, fat old Dutchman, in
particular, was so taken aback, he threw himself down flat, with his face
to the deck, hoping thus to escape with his life.
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