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His bo't's fo' sale, an' he'll take $75 cash, for everything, ropes, anchor, stoves, a brass bedstead, an' everything and I said hit's reasonable. Hit's a pine boat, built last fall, and the hull's sound, with oak framing. Co'se, hit's small, 22 foot long an' 7 foot wide, but hit's cheap." "I'll take it, then," Nelia nodded. "You can come look it over," the man declared.
He had, however, resolved and planned not only upon taking Detroit, but, if need be, the pursuit and capture of Hull's entire army, compelling him to either stand and fight or surrender. With habitual prescience he had weighed well the issues and chosen the lesser alternative. His own defeat and possibly his death, on the one hand, against the probable salvation of half a continent on the other.
Coinciding as the tidings did with the mortification of Hull's surrender at Detroit, they came at a moment which was truly psychological. Bowed down with shame at reverse where only triumph had been anticipated, the exultation over victory where disaster had been more naturally awaited produced a wild reaction. The effect was decisive.
A brother of mine had gone with them, and I had made him a visit. I thought then, and think now, that there is no region on which the sun shines, more desirable to live in than the region of the Cumberland Mountains. At Crab Orchard I found a man that was born in the State of New York. He had been a soldier at Hull's surrender, at Detroit, in the war of 1812, with Great Britain.
It was in one of these attacks that the first scalp in the war of 1812 was taken not by one of Brock's terrible Indians, whose expected excesses had been referred to by Hull, but by a captain of Hull's spies.
The armored bands of overdrive-coil shielding were massive. The Sylva, in fact, looked more like a service ship than either a commercial vessel or a yacht. It was obviously unarmed, but it had the look of a craft that could go very nearly anywhere. "You'll find the Talents a bit odd," said Gwenlyn, as they drove up under the hull's wide bulge. "When they meet new people they like to show off.
We outspanned here for an hour, as I found riding very severe toil after my late kicking. I named this secluded but pretty little spot, Glen Helen. It was very rough travelling ground worse than on the northern side of the range. Three miles farther, we crossed another running water, and called it Edith Hull's Springs.
Weldon did not hesitate, but asked Captain Hull to take her on board to bring her back to San Francisco she, her son, Cousin Benedict, and Nan, an old negress who had served her since her infancy. Three thousand marine leagues to travel on a sailing vessel! But Captain Hull's ship was so well managed, and the season still so fine on both sides of the Equator!
The rat-a-tat-tat of the kettle-drums, the clear-cut whistle of the fifes, the resonant roll of the big drums, the steady tramp, tramp of armed men and the human machine was in motion. The long grim guns on Fort Detroit and Hull's field-pieces pointed their black muzzles at the column. Up and down, in front of his men, rode Isaac Brock. Now this was more than some flesh and blood could stand.
"Much damage?" "What didn't go in the storm was carried off by Giddings when he abandoned the ship. But the hull's there and oh, I'll get her off and fix her up all right." "Always knew Giddings was a rascal. He oozes piety and respectability. That's the worst kind you have down-town.
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