The Arkansas Advocate

A TRUE STORY OF OLD TIMES.
During the revolutionary war, when the British were cruising on the coasts, using every favorable opportunity of landing to destroy property, the militia kept themselves in constant readiness to meet any emergency. A large company was organized at Manomet Ponds a village seven miles from Plymouth. They had frequent trainings, and were often heard to wish for an opportunity of measuring bayonets with John Bull. About this time a crew of Marblehead fishermen landed at Manomet one fine morning to wash out a cargo of cod. A boy residing in the vicinity, spied them standing in the water in their red shirts, and almost dead with fright, ran to the house of the redoubtable Capt. B——, informing him that a regiment of red coats were paraded on the beach. The captain immediately sent his drummers and messengers through the neighborhood, and in fifteen minutes the whole squad was under arms. The gallant Captain harangued his fellow soldiers; he told them that they were now to fight not only for their lives, but for all which makes life desirable; for their sweethearts, their homes, their wives and children. 'Now,' said he, 'is a golden opportunity. Let us show the world the courage and bravery of the people of Manomet Ponds, and posterity shall rise up and call us blessed. Now let us onward, and may the man who first turns his back upon the contest be forever branded as a coward.' This speech was met with a loud murmur of applause; the pieces were charged, the bayonets fixed, and with shouldered arms they marched to the precipitous cliffs which overhung the shore. What were their thoughts and feelings on the march we must leave the reader to conjecture. They doubtless felt the fear which always attends the soldier when going into actual service: they thought of the pain of gun-shot wounds and that some among their number would be cold in the embrace of death ere the sun should reach his meridian. Such thoughts at least revolved in the mind of Captain B.; but whether these outweighed his lofty ideas of the 'pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war,' or whether he doubted the prowess of his troops, we cannot ascertain. Certain it is, however, that on arriving at the cliff, below which the fishermen were quietly pursuing their occupation, he instantly turned upon his heel, exclaiming, 'There are the red coats! let every man take care of himself?' This speech was evidently more welcome than the first; the whole party immediately took to flight, not one venturing to look behind him, until they were snugly intrenched in the mud and bogs of Beaver Dam Swamp.—Old Colony Democrat.