The General scribbled an order and handed it to the birdman.
“Take that to the commander at Fort Hamilton, and report to me at Patchogue, my new headquarters.”
The birdman touched his goggled cap, his assistant started the engines and in a minute the great bird was swinging into the sky. With two graceful circles mounting steadily she straightened her course for the Narrows and Vassar turned to the General.
“You will retreat to Patchogue?”
“There’s no other course possible. We can’t fight the guns of those ships. They can land at their leisure. My hope is that they will be delayed by the weather. God may help us a little if Congress wouldn’t.”
“You want time to intrench?”
“Yes and get our artillery in position. If we can’t get some big guns in place to meet theirs—it’s no use. I’ve asked the forts to send me two battalions of coast artillery organized for the field. We’ll get a battalion of artillery from Virginia by boat tomorrow. Our men are coming as fast as they can get here over hundreds and thousands of miles, with our railroads blocked If the weather delays this landing until we can mass two hundred guns against their four hundred we may make a stand by digging in. I’ll have my mob underground by tomorrow night in some sort of fashion. If they give me a week—it may take some time to smoke me out—”
“It’s breezing up!” Vassar interrupted excitedly.
“And it’s from the right point too, thank God,” the General responded. “I could have shouted when I heard the first strains of that band floating in from sea.”
Already the sea was roaring with a new angry note. The barometers on the armada had given the signal too. The mighty fleet was standing far out to sea now awaiting a more favorable moment to spring on the land that lay at the mercy of their great guns.