“Now, sis,” said Valentine, a big lump in his throat, “we’re in for it. It is sink or swim. It’s not much use to row. You steer and I’ll paddle.”
Sleet looked wildly around. She tossed her head, sniffed the salt, oystery air, and seemed about to plunge overboard.
Anna screamed. Valentine threw down his paddle and dashed himself on the boat’s outermost edge just in time to save it from overturning. Mistress Sleet, disgusted with Fourth of July, had made up her mind to lie down and take a nap. The boat righted and they were safe. Staten Island Sound at this point was narrow, scarcely more than a quarter of a mile in width, and the tide was fast bearing them out.
“Such uncommon good sense in Sleet,” exclaimed the boy. “That cow is worth saving.”
At that moment a dozen Red Coats were at the ferry they had just left. The imperious gentlemen were in a fine frenzy at finding the boat gone.
They shouted to the children to return.
“Steady, steady now,” cried the young captain. His mate was steady at the helm until a musket ball or two ran past them.
“Let go!” shouted the captain. “Swing your 147 bonnet. Let them know you’re a woman and they won’t fire on you.”
The little mate stood erect. She waved her pink flag of a sun-bonnet. Distinctly the soldiers saw the pink frock of Anna Kull; they saw her long hair as the sea breeze lifted it when she shook her pink banner.
A second, two, three went by as the girl stood there, and then a flash was seen on the bank, a musket-ball ran through the bonnet of the little mate, and the waves of air rattled along the shore.