Ned Myers, or, a Life Before the Mast

by James Fenimore Cooper

I had known a good deal of this part of the country when a boy, from the circumstance that Mr. Marchinton had a large farm, near a place called Cornwallis, on the Bay, where I had even spent whole summers with the family. This bridge I recollected well; and I remembered there was a ford a little on one side of it, when the tide was out. The tides are tremendous in this part of the world, and we did not dare to steal a boat here, lest we should be caught in one of the bores, as they are called, when the tide came in. It was now half ebb, and we resolved to wait, and try the? ford.

It was quite dark when we left the bridge, and we had a delicate bit of work before us. The naked flats were very wide, and we sallied out, with the bridge as our guide. I was up to my middle in mud, at times, but the water was not very deep. We must have been near an hour in the mud, for we were not exactly on the proper ford, of course, and made bad navigation of it in the dark. But we were afraid to lose sight of the bridge, lest we should get all adrift.

At length we reached the firm ground, covered with mud and chilled with cold. We found the road, and the village of Horton, and skirted the last, until all was clear. Then we took to the road, and carried sail hard all night. Whenever we saw any one, we hid ourselves, but we met few while travelling. Next morning we walked until we came to a deserted saw-mill, which I also remembered, and here we halted for the day. No one troubled us, nor did I see any one; but Littlefield said that a man drove a herd of cattle past, during his watch on deck.

I told my companions that night, if they would be busy, we might reach Cornwallis, where I should be at home. We were pretty well fagged, and wanted rest, for Jack is no great traveller ashore; and I promised the lads a good snug berth at Mr. Marchinton's farm. We pushed ahead briskly, in consequence, and I led the party up to the farm, just as day was dawning. A Newfoundland dog, named Hunter, met us with some ferocity; but, on my calling him by name, he was pacified, and began to leap on me, and to caress me. I have always thought that dog knew me, after an absence of so many years. There was no time to waste with dogs, however, and we took the way to the barn. We had wit enough not to get on the hay, but to throw ourselves on a mow filled with straw, as the first was probably in use. Here we went to sleep, with one man on the look-out. This was the warmest and most comfortable rest we had got since quitting the island, from which we had now been absent or nine days.

We remained one night and two days in the barn. The workmen entered it often, and even stayed some time on the barn-floor; but no one seemed to think of ascending our mow. The dog kept much about the place, and I was greatly afraid he would be the means of betraying us. Our provisions were getting low, and, the night we were at the farm I sallied out, accompanied by Barnet, and we made our way into the dairy. Here we found a pan of bread, milk, cheese, butter, eggs, and codfish. Of course, we took our fill of milk; but Barnet got hold of a vessel of sour cream, and came near hallooing out, when he had taken a good pull at it. As we returned to the barn, the geese set up an outcry, and glad enough was I to find myself safe on the mow again, without being discovered. Next day, however, we overheard the men in the barn speaking of the robbery, and complaining, in particular, of the uselessness of the dog. I did not know any of these persons, although a young man appeared among them, this day, who I fancied had been a playfellow of mine, when a boy. I could not trust him, or any one else there; and all the advantage we got from the farm, was through my knowledge of the localities, and of the habits of the place.

I had never been further on the road between Halifax and Annapolis, than to Cornwallis. The rest of the distance was unknown to me, though I was familiar with the route which went out of Cornwallis, and which was called the Annapolis road. It was a fine star-light evening, and we made good headway. We all felt refreshed, and journeyed on full stomachs. We did not meet a soul, though we travelled through a well-settled country. The next morning we halted in a wood, the weather being warm and pleasant. Here we slept and rested as usual, and were off again at night. Littlefield pinned three fowls as we went along, declaring that he intended to have a warm mess next day, and he got off without discoverv. About four o'clock in the morning, we fell in with a river, and left the high-way, following the banks of the stream for a short distance. It now came on to blow and rain, with the wind on shore, and we saw it would not do to get a boat and go out in such a time. There was a rising ground, in a thick wood, near us, and we went up the hill to pass the day. We had seen two men pulling ashore in a good-looking boat, and it was our determination to get this boat, and shape our course down stream to the Bay, as soon as it moderated. From the hill, we could overlook the river, and the adjacent country. We saw the fishermen land, take their sail and oars out of the boat, haul the latter up, turn her over, and stow their sails and oars beneath her. They had a breaker of fresh water, too, and everything seemed fitted for our purposes. We liked the craft, and, what is more, we liked the cruise.

We could not see the town of Annapolis, which turned out to be up-stream from us, though we afterwards ascertained that we were within a mile or two of it. The fishermen walked in the direction of the town, and disappeared. All we wanted now was tolerably good weather, with a fair wind, or, at least, with less wind. The blow had driven in the fishermen, and we thought it wise to be governed by their experience. Nothing occurred in the course of the day, the weather remaining the same, and we being exposed to the rain, with no other cover than trees without leaves. There were many pines, however, and they gave us a little shelter.

At dusk, Littlefield lighted a fire, and began to cook his fowls. The supper was soon ready, and we eat it with a good relish. We then went to sleep, leaving Barnet on the look-out. I had just got into a good sleep, when I was awoke by the tramp of horses, and the shouting of men. On springing up, I found that a party of five horsemen were upon us. One called out--"Here they are--we've found them at last." This left no doubt of their errand, and we were all retaken. Our arms were tied, and we were made to mount behind the horsemen, when they rode off with us, taking the road by which we had come. We went but a few miles that night, when we halted.

We were taken the whole distance to Halifax, in this manner, riding on great-coats, without stirrups, the horses on a smart walk. We did not go by Cornwallis, which, it seems, was not the nearest road; but we passed through Horton, and crossed the bridge, beneath which we had Waded through the mud. At Horton we passed a night. We were confined in a sort of a prison, that was covered with mud. We did not like our berths; and, finding that the logs, of which the building was made, were rotten, we actually worked our way through them, and got fairly out. Littlefield, who was as reckless an Irishman as ever lived, swore he would set fire to the place; which he did, by returning through the hole we had made, and getting up into a loft, that was dry and combustible. But for this silly act, we might have escaped; and, as it was, we did get off for the rest of the night, being caught, next morning, nearly down, again, by the bridge at Windsor.

This time, our treatment was a good deal worse, than at first. A sharp look-out was kept, and they got us back to Halifax, without any more adventures. We were pretty well fagged; though we had to taper off with the black hole, and bread and water, for the next ten days; the regular punishment for such misdemeanors as ours. At the end of the ten days, we were let out, and came together again. Our return brought about a great deal of discussion; and, not a little criticism, as to the prudence of our course. To hear the chaps talk, one would think every man among them could have got off, had he been in our situation; though none of them did any better; several having got off the island, in our absence, and been retaken, within the first day or two. While I was in prison, however, I remember but one man who got entirely clear. This was a privateers-man, from Marblehead; who did get fairly off; though he was back again, in six weeks, having been taken once more, a few days out.