“I don’t care whether it be to windward or to leeward; they shall fight this day!” Then the tiny balls of bunting were run up to the masthead, ordering the other craft to “wear ship,” but before this command could be obeyed the wind suddenly shifted until it came out of the southeast, from which point it was possible for us to keep what is called the “weather-gauge.” “Now we’ve got ’em in proper shape!” I heard old Silas exclaim, and straightway my spirits rose, for it seemed at the moment as if we had secured some great advantage, though I failed to understand what it might be. The crew cheered when our fleet, the _Lawrence_ leading, stood out toward the enemy, a white foam showing under the stem of every vessel, and we went to our guns, which had long since been loaded with the utmost care. It must be admitted that the Britishers presented a noble sight as we bore down upon them. Their vessels, newly painted and with colors flying, hove to in order to meet us, and now the timorous among us, I being of the number, could understand that they were not averse to an encounter. There had been a faint hope in my mind that Commodore Barclay would shun an engagement, but that was dispelled on observing the preparations made to meet us. Nothing short of an interposition by divine Providence could prevent a battle; and my heart sank within me as I realized that very soon many of the eager men who manned the _Lawrence_ would be still in death, or writhing under the surgeon’s knife. The arrangements made for the care of the wounded struck a cold chill to my heart. The ward-room had been cleared that it might be used as a cockpit, and here Dr. Parsons laid out bandages and knives until it seemed as if he expected the entire ship’s company would soon be under his care. Half a dozen of those on the sick-list had been told off as his assistants, and they stood around the hastily constructed tables as if eager to greet such as might need their aid. In all the hours that followed there was nothing more horrible than these preparations for the carving and slashing of those who as yet were sound in limb and body, save it might be when the decks of the brig were wetted and strewn with sand. I did not understand the meaning of this last work, and asked old Silas for an explanation, whereupon he replied, as if speaking of some trifling matter:-- “It won’t be long, lad, before these ’ere white planks will be slippery with the blood of them who are now so eager to be at the Britishers, and it is to soak up that same blood that the sand is strewn around. Presently, when you have occasion to go to port or starboard, you’ll realize how necessary that may be.” I drew away from the old man, sick at heart. Such precaution caused me to be more timid than had all the predictions and conjectures. I had my fill of warfare even before the action began.