“Sail ho! Sail ho!”
It seemed in the highest degree improbable that the anticipations of our people were to be so soon realized, and yet I found myself, with many another, gazing out over the lake in the expectation of seeing our enemy coming toward us.
Nor were we disappointed.
The morning breeze was feeble and gave indications of soon dying away entirely, yet Commodore Barclay had at last left his place of refuge, driven out by lack of provisions, for there on the sparkling waters could be seen the British squadron heading west by south, making for the North Foreland in quest of the supplies which the king’s army were needing.
In a twinkling, as it were, Commodore Perry forgot all else save that the fleet for which he had waited so long was in sight. Wresting himself free from us two lads, he was on the instant transformed from the loving brother and dear friend into the eager, valiant commander.
Hurriedly, speaking so quickly that one order was almost merged into the other, he gave the word for signals to be hoisted, and within three minutes from the time the lookout reported a sail, our bunting was flying.
“Enemy in sight!”
“Get under way!”
These commands were given by the tiny flags which floated from the Lawrence, and in a twinkling every vessel in the fleet was alive with hurrying, eager men, rushing here and there like unto a swarm of bees.
The premonitions of the previous night had not been vain; at last the enemy for which we searched was in full view, and now nothing save rank cowardice could prevent an encounter.