I Was In Company With Several Worthy Burghers Of My
Native City.
Our sport was indifferent; the fish did not bite freely;
and we had frequently changed our fishing ground without bettering our
luck.
We at length anchored close under a ledge of rocky coast, on the
eastern side of the island of Manhata. It was a still, warm day. The
stream whirled and dimpled by us without a wave or even a ripple, and
every thing was so calm and quiet that it was almost startling when the
kingfisher would pitch himself from the branch of some dry tree, and
after suspending himself for a moment in the air to take his aim, would
souse into the smooth water after his prey. While we were lolling in
our boat, half drowsy with the warm stillness of the day and the
dullness of our sport, one of our party, a worthy alderman, was
overtaken by a slumber, and, as he dozed, suffered the sinker of his
drop-line to lie upon the bottom of the river. On waking, he found he
had caught something of importance, from the weight; on drawing it to
the surface, we were much surprised to find a long pistol of very
curious and outlandish fashion, which, from its rusted condition, and
its stock being worm-eaten and covered with barnacles, appeared to have
been a long time under water. The unexpected appearance of this
document of warfare occasioned much speculation among my pacific
companions. One supposed it to have fallen there during the
revolutionary war.
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