Meanwhile, he began to drill the men on deck, assigning officers to duties. He fixed the regimental uniforms; the infantry dress in blue and yellow, the artillery in blue and red; the engineers in blue and black velvet; the riflemen in green; the dragoons in yellow and blue.
From sunrise to sunset there was hustle and bustle on deck. A printing press was set up. At an armourer’s bench a man was repairing old muskets, sharpening bayonets, and cleaning rusty swords. Tailors, sitting cross-legged on the deck, were cutting out and stitching uniforms. A body of raw recruits were drilling under a drill-master who looked as bold as a lion and roared nearly as loud.
There was buzz everywhere, and excitement too, for no one yet knew to what land the ship was going. And George Martin, looking mightily pleased, stood watching everybody and everything, and saying, “We shall soon be ready for the Main.”
Then a day arrived when several hundred proclamations were run off the printing press. They were addressed to the People of South America, painting strongly their hardships and woes, and promising them deliverance from Spain. They were signed, “Don Francisco de Miranda, Commander-in-Chief of the Colombian Army.”
Thereupon George Martin—who was Miranda—announced that he expected soon to land on the coast of Venezuela and strike the first blow against Spain.
Some of the young Americans, who were eager to fight anywhere or anybody, and who longed for the glint of Spanish Gold, cheered loudly. But their mates kept quiet, with heavy hearts, for they had begun to wonder whether after all they were not a band of mere filibusters instead of a noble army, since they were sailing under no protecting flag.
Then, too, rumours were going the round, that if any of the men were captured by the enemy, they would be given short shrift and hanged as pirates.
A few days later General Miranda hoisted for the first time the new Colombian flag of Freedom—a tri-colour, the Red, Yellow, and Blue. And as it floated wide on the southern wind, a gun was fired and toasts drunk to the banner that was long to wave—and is waving to-day—over the Republic of Venezuela.
It was the first Flag of Spanish-American Independence.
After the flag-raising the Leander sped merrily on her way, carrying the raw army of about two hundred men to fight the whole of Spain. While many of them in the gloomy bottoms of their hearts, were heartily wishing that they were safe at home again in the good old City of New York.