It was quite dark, and in our haste we had no time to pick our way. One of my men struck against an obstacle, and stumbling, fell to the ground, pulling the boat and two or three of his companions down upon him. The mishap not only made a noise which reached the ears of the coming squad, but broke the unfortunate fellow’s leg. He struggled vainly to regain his feet, and then sank back with a groan.
But he did not forget the danger we were in. Had he done so, the yells of the red-coats as they quickened their steps to overhaul us, would have reminded him of it. Heroically he cried:
“Leave me, sir! There’s time for you and your men to escape.”
But that was a thing I would not do, even if we were all captured; and to their credit I will say there was not a man among us who would have done it. Instead six, at my order, picked up the boat and hurried to the water with it, while the others raised their injured comrade and hastened after them. I closely followed.
The steps of the coming British sounded dangerously near, but we worked calmly. The yawl was launched; the suffering sailor was laid gently in her; the men took their places; and all but Boatswain Lewis and myself had embarked.
“Step in, sir,” he said. “I’ll push the craft off.”
“No,” I commanded, “get in yourself. It is my place to be the last.”
I said this, for I knew the enemy were almost upon us, and hoped to save my men, if not myself. He obeyed, just as a pair of stout hands clutched my shoulders and their owner cried:
“Not so fast, my young gander; we’ll keep you with us a while longer, I reckon.”
I did not attempt to resist him. I spent all my strength to push off the yawl with my feet. A vigorous kick sent her gliding off from the shore.