In a few minutes the advantage which the British commander held in his concentration of power over the scattered weight of the American metal—the gathering of his long guns on the large ships as well—became apparent. For the Lawrence was about as near to the Hunter and the Queen Charlotte as she was to the Detroit, and all three of these ships concentrated their fire upon her, while Perry made sail to close in on the Detroit. Even the Lady Prevost was able to reach out with her three long guns to tear the life out of the Yankee flagship.
How long could the American commander and his ship stand such pelting as that? For more than two hours. At noon his short guns were still unable to reach the Detroit, and he passed the word by trumpet down his line ordering all the vessels to close as rapidly as possible with the enemies to which they had been assigned. Every vessel got this order—Elliott on the Niagara, himself passed it—and every officer except Elliott obeyed it as well as the faint wind would permit.
But as the Americans closed in the three British ships—the Detroit, the Hunter and the Queen Charlotte—formed a crescent around one side and the stern of the American flagship, the Hunter taking a place where she could fairly rake the Lawrence aft and fore, and the Lawrence was supported only by the Ariel and the Scorpion. There were but seven long guns on the three American vessels actually engaged, to thirty-two on the British vessels that were pelting the Yankee flagship. But in spite of such hopeless odds, Perry drove his ship into the thick of it until within half a musket shot of the Detroit, and there worked his guns, both long and short, for life.
“Perry’s Sieg”—A German View of the Victory on Lake Erie.
From an old engraving.
As he stood on the quarter-deck, cheering his men, his little brother of thirteen stood beside him, wholly undismayed. The balls came crashing through the bulwarks, hurling unfortunates as mangled corpses across the deck, and driving the radiating splinters like jagged arrows into those who stood near by. The blood of wounded and dead splashed and flowed across the deck. The men pushed aside the limbs and dismembered bodies of their shipmates when working the guns. The surgeon’s assistants hurried to and fro, carrying the wounded below, while here and there a wounded man with bandage on head or shoulder came up to take again his station. The roar was incessant, the air a grimy cloud filled with the débris of splintered bulwarks and spars and shredded sails and hammocks, and of the down of cat-tails that the crew had gathered and stowed with the hammocks in the bulwarks.
Lieutenant Yarnall, the executive officer, came aft, his face covered with blood and his nose swelled enormously because a splinter had been driven through it.
“All the officers in my division are cut down,” he said. “Can I have others?”
He got others, and went forward. Two musket balls passed through the hat of the lad beside Perry, and then a splinter darted through his clothing, but still the lad did not flinch. And then, suddenly, he was knocked across the deck, and for once the face of Perry paled, for he supposed the boy was killed. As it happened, only a flying hammock had struck him, and he was soon on his feet. At this moment Perry turned once more to greet his first lieutenant. He had been wounded twice since going forward. He was fairly drenched in his own blood now, as well as that of others splashed over him, and the fuzz of the cat-tails had gathered over his face in such masses as to almost conceal his features. He was after more assistants, but Perry could only say: