"Ready now, sir," was Stewart's answer.
Rodgers was blunt and always spared himself words.
"Do you want to fight on the high seas or skulk like old hulks in the harbor?" he asked, and added quickly: "You need not answer. I know you well. Go back, get ready; we will start within an hour, and once outside the Narrows, no President's order can reach us."
The captains swung themselves over the side and were rowed back to their vessels.
It was a pretty sight. Those "wooden walls" of Columbia, in all the bravery of trimly taut rigging, yards crossed in mathematically precise order, hulls newly painted, ports open to reveal the lines of frowning guns, presented a sight which was enough to rouse the enthusiasm of every patriot on land.
The fleet under the command of Commodore Rodgers consisted of the flagship President, carrying forty-four guns; the Essex, thirty-two, and the Hornet, eighteen.
These three vessels were anchored off the Battery, but they did not comprise the entire fleet, for over against what is now Liberty Island were three more, the United States, mounting forty-four guns, a sister-ship to the President; the Congress, thirty-eight, and the Argus, sixteen.
Fifty minutes only elapsed after the conference on the flagship before the entire fleet was under sail.
"Come, my boys," said Captain Vernon, "we have to overtake the Lively Bee before she reaches the Narrows, and it is a long pull."
Vernon took the helm, young Tempest the bow oar, and a tough old salt the oar next him.