brass. Pretty as a plum. She's called a Brown Bess. All the British soldiers carry her into battle."
He took aim at a seagull that was hovering overhead.
"Comes with a nice brass chain, prickers, and brush for cleaning touchhole and pan."
He handed the musket over. "Take care she's primed."
I held the gun to my shoulder and sighted away at nothing. It felt heavy at first. Then I thought of how if I pressed the curled-up trigger a ball would go flying out faster than ever the eye could see. Suddenly the musket felt light in my hands.
"Everything," the ferryman said. "Brown Bess, prickers and brush, flint and patches, all for the small sum of two pounds, six. And I'll throw in a bag of powder to boot."
"I have one pound and five shillings in English money. The rest's in Continental paper."
"Let's see the paper."
I took it out and laid it in his hand.
"This five-dollar certificate for the support of the Continental troops issued in Georgia is worthless. I have a pailful of them. But I'll take the one printed in August of this year by the convention of New York, to be paid in ten Spanish-milled dollars. At some discount, of course. If you'll kindly give over the English pound, we have struck a bargain."
I had little left now of the money I'd saved at the Lion and Lamb, but I would be able to earn more as I went along. The ferryman had called the Brown Bess a "good companion." That was the way I looked at the musket nowâas a companion.
"Have you ever shot a gun?" the ferryman asked.
"No."
"I'll teach you. I'll set the tiller. The breeze is light.
We still have an hour before we reach shore. I'll empty her and we'll start from the beginning, one step at a time."
He glanced around for the gull. It was out of sight, so he fired into the air. He showed me how to hold the musket under my arm, pour the powder into the barrel and tamp it down.
"Gently but firm," he cautioned me. "Now you put in a patch, like this. Now place the butt against your foot. Press down with the ramrod. Now comes the ball. Good. Now a little powder in the pan. Good. You're ready to shoot."
I aimed at another log we were passing.
"Squint," he said. "You see better if you squint. And hold your breath as you pull the trigger."
To my surprise the powder exploded. It set me back on my heels. My ears rang. I had missed the log by a mile, but the ferryman patted me on the shoulder anyway.
"You'll be a sharpshooter before the year's out," he said.
We nosed up to the Connecticut shore at noon. We had passed boats going over to Long Island, but I had seen none sailing in our direction.
"If anyone comes asking for me," I said. "If they come here or over on Long Island, will you tell them that you haven't seen me?"
"Who would this be?"
"Two men. A sergeant named McCall and a Hessian.
Two King's men. Sergeant McCall is wearing a green uniform."
I told him what had happened to me.
"I wouldn't worry," he said. "The British have a bloody war on their hands. They're far too busy to be running around looking for a girl."
"But you'll say you haven't seen me, if they do come?"
"I'll watch for them," the ferryman said. "Where will you be, in case?"
"I don't know where," I said and took the road that led northward in the direction of White Plains. The musket I carried on my shoulder.
18
T HE G OLDEN A RROW was about fifteen miles north of the ferry. There was a lot of travel on the road, especially from Long Island and the Sound. Whenever I heard horsemen approaching from that direction, I got off the road and hid in the trees until they passed.
The tavern was owned by a Mr. Cochran. I looked for him to turn me down when I walked into the tavern and asked for work. He was playing billiards with a man in a brown wig.
"I've had experience," I told Mr. Cochran. "Over on Long Island at the Lion and Lamb."
"What kind?"
"In the kitchen. I make bread and other things."
"How are you as a table wench?"
"I do that, too. But I'd prefer to work in the
He took aim at a seagull that was hovering overhead.
"Comes with a nice brass chain, prickers, and brush for cleaning touchhole and pan."
He handed the musket over. "Take care she's primed."
I held the gun to my shoulder and sighted away at nothing. It felt heavy at first. Then I thought of how if I pressed the curled-up trigger a ball would go flying out faster than ever the eye could see. Suddenly the musket felt light in my hands.
"Everything," the ferryman said. "Brown Bess, prickers and brush, flint and patches, all for the small sum of two pounds, six. And I'll throw in a bag of powder to boot."
"I have one pound and five shillings in English money. The rest's in Continental paper."
"Let's see the paper."
I took it out and laid it in his hand.
"This five-dollar certificate for the support of the Continental troops issued in Georgia is worthless. I have a pailful of them. But I'll take the one printed in August of this year by the convention of New York, to be paid in ten Spanish-milled dollars. At some discount, of course. If you'll kindly give over the English pound, we have struck a bargain."
I had little left now of the money I'd saved at the Lion and Lamb, but I would be able to earn more as I went along. The ferryman had called the Brown Bess a "good companion." That was the way I looked at the musket nowâas a companion.
"Have you ever shot a gun?" the ferryman asked.
"No."
"I'll teach you. I'll set the tiller. The breeze is light.
We still have an hour before we reach shore. I'll empty her and we'll start from the beginning, one step at a time."
He glanced around for the gull. It was out of sight, so he fired into the air. He showed me how to hold the musket under my arm, pour the powder into the barrel and tamp it down.
"Gently but firm," he cautioned me. "Now you put in a patch, like this. Now place the butt against your foot. Press down with the ramrod. Now comes the ball. Good. Now a little powder in the pan. Good. You're ready to shoot."
I aimed at another log we were passing.
"Squint," he said. "You see better if you squint. And hold your breath as you pull the trigger."
To my surprise the powder exploded. It set me back on my heels. My ears rang. I had missed the log by a mile, but the ferryman patted me on the shoulder anyway.
"You'll be a sharpshooter before the year's out," he said.
We nosed up to the Connecticut shore at noon. We had passed boats going over to Long Island, but I had seen none sailing in our direction.
"If anyone comes asking for me," I said. "If they come here or over on Long Island, will you tell them that you haven't seen me?"
"Who would this be?"
"Two men. A sergeant named McCall and a Hessian.
Two King's men. Sergeant McCall is wearing a green uniform."
I told him what had happened to me.
"I wouldn't worry," he said. "The British have a bloody war on their hands. They're far too busy to be running around looking for a girl."
"But you'll say you haven't seen me, if they do come?"
"I'll watch for them," the ferryman said. "Where will you be, in case?"
"I don't know where," I said and took the road that led northward in the direction of White Plains. The musket I carried on my shoulder.
18
T HE G OLDEN A RROW was about fifteen miles north of the ferry. There was a lot of travel on the road, especially from Long Island and the Sound. Whenever I heard horsemen approaching from that direction, I got off the road and hid in the trees until they passed.
The tavern was owned by a Mr. Cochran. I looked for him to turn me down when I walked into the tavern and asked for work. He was playing billiards with a man in a brown wig.
"I've had experience," I told Mr. Cochran. "Over on Long Island at the Lion and Lamb."
"What kind?"
"In the kitchen. I make bread and other things."
"How are you as a table wench?"
"I do that, too. But I'd prefer to work in the
Similar Books
