Night in the Rubber Hold

I marched away from the bucking spring skiff to secure quarters before darkness blanketed the grounds. Half-buried in the turf stood a colossal rubber tire, arching like the hold of an ironclad frigate! Squeezing into the curved inner rim, I discovered a broad sycamore leaf lodged against the tread, curled dry and firm. I jammed my peg leg into a rubber groove for purchase, hauled the leaf level with both hands, and tamped down a handful of dry pine needles underneath. Propping my flintlock pistol against the arched wall, I settled into my suspended berth with a gruff chuckle. Dark, dry, and sheltered from the drafts—our harbor is well secured until daybreak!