Abel’s opinion was loudly echoed by all his hearers. There soon appeared every probability of the wishes of the old Terribles being accomplished. Early on the morning of the 6th of September, the French fleet was discovered at anchor across the Chesapeake, extending in a long line from Cape Henry to the Middle Ground.
The British ships were cleared for action, and stood towards the enemy. When the French perceived them, they also got under weigh and stood to sea, their line being formed as the ships drew from under the land. It was a fine sight to see the two fleets thus approaching each other in battle array. The hearts of the British tars warmed at it—their courage rose.
“We must have Billy up and show it to him!” exclaimed Paul Pringle to Peter Ogle. “Here, boy, you just run below and tell Sam Smatch to come up with the child. The Monsieurs won’t begin to open fire yet, and it will do his heart good to see the sight—that it will.”
Sam in a short time appeared with Billy in his arms on the forecastle.
“You don’t want to keep a baby up here while de enemy is firing at us, Paul?” said Sam, with his teeth giving signs of an inclination to chatter.
“No fear, Sam,” answered Paul with a quizzical look at the black. “We’ll take care that no harm comes to you and the baby.”
He called him the baby; but little True Blue was now able to understand much that was said to him, while he could talk in a fashion of his own. Though his sentences were not very long, his friends understood well enough what he meant to say; and, judging by their shouts of laughter, it might be supposed that his remarks were witty in the extreme.
Paul now lifted him up in his arms, and pointed to the French fleet.
“See here, Billy,” said he, “look out there at the Monsieurs. You must learn to drub them some day, mind you, if we don’t do it just now. You knows what I mean?”
“Ay, ay,” answered Billy, doubling his little fists; “Billy fight en’y—fight Fen!”