“They ’re tired of waiting,” said he; “they ’re looking for business when I come aboard.”

He showed me over the clean decks:  it was all as clean as a Puritan parlor.

“Captain,” said he, “tie yourself to that big bow gun.  It’s the modern sling of David, only its pebble is big as a rock.  Learn how to handle it, and you may take a fling at the British some day.”

He put D’ri in my squad, as I requested, leaving me with the gunners.  I went to work at once, and knew shortly how to handle the big machine.  D’ri and I convinced the captain with no difficulty that we were fit for a fight so soon as it might come.

It came sooner than we expected.  The cry of “Sail ho!” woke me early one morning.  It was the 10th of September.  The enemy was coming.  Sails were sticking out of the misty dawn a few miles away.  In a moment our decks were black and noisy with the hundred and two that manned the vessel.  It was every hand to rope and windlass then.  Sails went up with a snap all around us, and the creak of blocks sounded far and near.  In twelve minutes we were under way, leading the van to battle.  The sun came up, lighting the great towers of canvas.  Every vessel was now feeling for the wind, some with oars and sweeps to aid them.  A light breeze came out of the southwest.  Perry stood near me, his hat in his hand.  He was looking back at the Niagara.

“Run to the leeward of the islands,” said he to the sailing-master.

“Then you ’ll have to fight to the leeward,” said the latter.

“Don’t care, so long as we fight,” said Perry.  “Windward or leeward, we want to fight.”

Then came the signal to change our course.  The wind shifting to the southeast, we were all able to clear the islands and keep the weather-gage.  A cloud came over the sun; far away the mist thickened.  The enemy wallowed to the topsails, and went out of sight.  We had lost the wind.  Our sails went limp; flag and pennant hung lifeless.  A light rain drizzled down, breaking the smooth plane of water into crowding rings and bubbles.  Perry stood out in the drizzle as we lay waiting.  All eyes were turning to the sky and to Perry.  He had a look of worry and disgust.  He was out for a quarrel, though the surgeon said he was in more need of physic, having the fever of malaria as well as that of war.  He stood there, tall and handsome, in a loose jacket of blue nankeen, with no sign of weakness in him, his eyes flashing as he looked up at the sky.

D’ri and I stood in the squad at the bow gun.  D’ri was wearing an old straw hat; his flannel shirt was open at the collar.

“Ship stan’s luk an ol’ cow chawin’ ’er cud,” said he, looking off at the weather.  “They’s a win’ comin’ over there.  It ’ll give ’er a slap ‘n th’ side purty soon, mebbe.  Then she ’ll switch ’er tail ‘n’ go on ’bout ’er business.”

In a moment we heard a roaring cheer back amidships.  Perry had come up the companionway with his blue battle-flag.  He held it before him at arm’s-length.  I could see a part of its legend, in white letters, “Don’t give up the ship.”