calling into the cockpit.

"Can any wounded man below there pull a rope?" he shouted.

D'ri was on his feet in a jiffy, and we were both clambering to the
deck as another scud of junk went over us. Perry was trying, with
block and tackle, to mount a carronade. A handful of men were
helping him, D'ri rushed to the ropes, I following, and we both
pulled with a will. A sailor who had been hit in the legs hobbled
up, asking for room on the rope. I told him he could be of no use,
but he spat an oath, and pointing at my leg, which was now
bleeding, swore he was sounder than I, and put up his fists to
prove it. I have seen no better show of pluck in all my fighting,
nor any that ever gave me a greater pride of my own people and my
country. War is a great evil, I begin to think, but there is
nothing finer than the sight of a man who, forgetting himself,
rushes into the shadow of death for the sake of something that is
better. At every heave on the rope our blood came out of us, until
a ball shattered a pulley, and the gun fell. Perry had then a
fierce look, but his words were cool, his manner dauntless. He
peered through lifting clouds of smoke at our line. He stood near
me, and his head was bare. He crossed the littered deck, his
battle-flag and broad pennant that an orderly had brought him
trailing from his shoulder. He halted by a boat swung at the
davits on the port side--the only one that had not gone to
splinters. There he called a crew about him, and all got quickly
aboard the boat--seven besides the younger brother of Captain Perry
--and lowered it. Word flew that he was leaving to take command of
the sister brig, the _Niagara_, which lay off a quarter of a mile
or so from where we stood. We all wished to go, but he would have