With Perry on Lake Erie : $b a tale of 1812Otis, James
History
With Perry on Lake Erie : $b a tale of 1812
Otis, James
United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Juvenile fiction
“Remain at the station to which you have been assigned, dear lad. My
choice would be to have you close by me; but every hand is needed, and
I am certain you and Richard will count as men during the engagement.”
I tried in vain to make a fitting reply, but the words refused to come
when most needed, and it was possible only to press his hand warmly in
token of my good intentions; yet at the same time there was a terrible
fear in my heart lest at the critical moment I might show myself a
coward.
“You can depend upon us both so long as we are alive,” Alec said, in a
tone so solemn that it was as if he had a premonition of sudden death.
“That is my true brother!” the commodore said proudly. “I have
no question but that you will prove yourself worthy to be called
Americans. Now I beg that you seek repose. A brave man cares well for
his body, lest it should be weaker than his will.”
“Have you slept?” Alec asked quickly.
“It would be impossible; and, besides, the belief that we shall soon
meet the enemy has so refreshed me that I no longer need rest.”
“It would be useless for me to lie down, Oliver. How could I sleep when
within a few hours my brother is to show the world that no braver man
than he lives?”
“It is not well that praise be bestowed before having been earned, Alec
dear,” the commodore said, with a low laugh. “I promise to do my best;
and after the victory has been won you shall say what you please.”
Then we three paced to and fro on the quarterdeck, the commodore’s arm
yet around his brother’s neck, and I holding him firmly by the hand,
for in that hearty clasp I found much to give me courage.
It was in this fashion that the light of a new day found us, and I
believe the marines, who paced to and fro guarding the commander’s
quarters, shortened their beats, lest by advancing too near they break
in upon what was neither more nor less than a season of devotion.
As the light grew stronger, from this vessel and from that came signs
of life, until the still air was vibrant with the hum of voices, and it
seemed good to be alive.
I had, for the time being, forgotten that the day was come on which
our people believed we would be brought yard-arm to yard-arm with
the enemy, until startled almost into timorousness by a cry from the
lookout:--
“Sail ho! Sail ho!”
It seemed in the highest degree improbable that the anticipations of
our people were to be so soon realized, and yet I found myself, with
many another, gazing out over the lake in the expectation of seeing our
enemy coming toward us.
Nor were we disappointed.
The morning breeze was feeble and gave indications of soon dying away
entirely, yet Commodore Barclay had at last left his place of refuge,
driven out by lack of provisions, for there on the sparkling waters
could be seen the British squadron heading west by south, making for
the North Foreland in quest of the supplies which the king’s army were
needing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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