D'ri and I stood in the squad at the bow gun. D'ri was wearing an
old straw hat; his flannel shirt was open at the collar.

"Ship stan's luk an ol' cow chawin' 'er cud," said he, looking off
at the weather. "They's a win' comin' over there. It 'll give 'er
a slap 'n th' side purty soon, mebbe. Then she 'll switch 'er tail
'n' go on 'bout 'er business."

In a moment we heard a roaring cheer back amidships. Perry had
come up the companionway with his blue battle-flag. He held it
before him at arm's-length. I could see a part of its legend, in
white letters, "Don't give up the ship."

"My brave lads," he shouted, "shall we hoist it?"

Our "Ay, ay, sir!" could have been heard a mile away, and the flag
rose, above tossing hats and howling voices, to the mainroyal
masthead.

The wind came; we could hear the sails snap and stiffen as it
overhauled the fleet behind us. In a jiffy it bunted our own hull
and canvas, and again we began to plough the water. It grew into a
smart breeze, and scattered the fleet of clouds that hovered over
us. The rain passed; sunlight sparkled on the rippling plane of
water. We could now see the enemy; he had hove to, and was waiting
for us in a line. A crowd was gathering on the high shores we had
left to see the battle. We were well in advance, crowding our
canvas in a good breeze. I could hear only the roaring furrows of
water on each side of the prow. Every man of us held his tongue,
mentally trimming ship, as they say, for whatever might come.