Again the signal sounded, and all four pried and pushed. Suddenly the weight of the raft carried it forward with great momentum, dislodging the stone upon which Jim stood and pushed with his broomstick. He lost his balance and fell upon the raft just as it submerged in the creek.
Jim went with it, and as the mud that was stirred up from the bottom of the sluggish stream when the heavy corner of the raft dug down through the water immediately clung to him, Jim was an object for pity when he sputtered up from the water.
“Dear me! The first man overboard and neither side ready for the act!” sighed Anne seriously.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Jim, to go and spoil the battle like that?” demanded Martha, justly angry.
“Huccome Ah feel ’shamed? Diden’ dat ole warship give me struggle enough widdout yo’ all blamin’ me fer a wettin’?” cried Jim defensively, trying to rub the mud from his eyes.
“Well, now that you’re wet, you’d better be the captain on the ship. Get the raft back here to shore so we can load her up with tea,” ordered Jack.
“Whose going to be British and who the Yanks?” asked John.
“I’m always George Washington in these fights,” hinted George.
“Then you’re out of this battle, ’cause Washington hadn’t a thing to do with the tea party,” returned Martha.
“You ought to be a Lord Somebody who sailed with the captain on the Dartmouth when that tea was brought over from England,” said Jack.