Paul Hamilton smiled.
Off went Stewart to the White House and argued his case so well that the President put the unsigned order in his desk, and told the captain he would consider the matter.
War was declared a few days after that consultation.
Commodore Rodgers was ready to sail, and only awaited official knowledge of the declaration.
The crowd at the Battery held divergent sentiments.
"It's all very well for Rodgers to take his ships out, but kin he bring 'em back," asked an old sailor whose face was tanned by many a summer sun and winter wind; "kin he bring 'em back? That's what I want to know!"
"You're afraid, Sam Buller, that's what's the matter."
"Durn it! I afraid, younker? I hate John Bull like pizen, and but that's no reason why I should go an' get killed and do no good."
"Take no notice of the old grumbler, men. Our commodore will not only come back, but will bring lots of British ships as prizes."
The speaker was a boy—a mere child—for he had only just passed his eleventh birthday; but he was dressed in the full uniform of the United States navy, and ranked as a midshipman.