clawingmywayin

The cold wind blew heavy out of the north under a clear sky as oars, muffled by petticoats, sliced through the water of the Charles River.  The sound of rigging rattling on the nearby British man-of-war echoed across the water, but nary a sound came from the small skiff.  Two lights shown from the tall tower of Christ Church, their glow sporadically dimmed by the flickering of the candles at their source. They were to remain only a minute, just long enough for those keeping watch on the nearby shore of Charlestown to note their presence.  Any longer and the British would spot them.

Inside the small skiff, three men sat huddled in heavy wool capes.  Two were drawing the oars quickly through the water, while the third waited patiently to leap out upon arrival to the shore.  If all went well, there would be an able mount waiting.  Back…