Orders came shortly from the War Department providing a detail to go and help man the guns of Perry at Put-in Bay.  I had the honor of leading them on the journey and turning them over to the young Captain.  I could not bear to be lying idle at the garrison.  A thought of those in captivity was with me night and day, but I could do nothing for them.  I had had a friendly talk with General Brown.  He invited and received my confidence touching the tender solicitude I was unable to cover.  I laid before him the plan of an expedition.  He smiled, puffing a cigar thoughtfully.

“Reckless folly, Bell,” said he, after a moment.  “You are young and lucky.  If you were flung in the broad water there with a millstone tied to your neck, I should not be surprised to see you turn up again.  My young friend, to start off with no destination but Canada is too much even for you.  We have no men to waste.  Wait; a rusting sabre is better than a hole in the heart.  There will be good work for you in a few days, I hope.”

And there was-the job of which I have spoken, that came to me through his kind offices.  We set sail in a schooner one bright morning,-D’ri and I and thirty others,-bound for Two-Mile Creek.  Horses were waiting for us there.  We mounted them, and made the long journey overland-a ride through wood and swale on a road worn by the wagons of the emigrant, who, even then, was pushing westward to the fertile valleys of Ohio.  It was hard travelling, but that was the heyday of my youth, and the bird music, and the many voices of a waning summer in field and forest, were somehow in harmony with the great song of my heart.  In the middle of the afternoon of September 6, we came to the Bay, and pulled up at headquarters, a two-story frame building on a high shore.  There were wooded islands in the offing, and between them we could see the fleet-nine vessels, big and little.

I turned over the men, who were taken to the ships immediately and put under drill.  Surgeon Usher of the Lawrence and a young midshipman rowed me to Gibraltar Island, well out in the harbor, where the surgeon presented me to Perry-a tall, shapely man, with dark hair and eyes, and ears hidden by heavy tufts of beard.  He stood on a rocky point high above the water, a glass to his eye, looking seaward.  His youth surprised me:  he was then twenty-eight.  I had read much of him and was looking for an older man.  He received me kindly:  he had a fine dignity and gentle manners.  Somewhere he had read of that scrape of mine-the last one there among the Avengers.  He gave my hand a squeeze and my sword a compliment I have not yet forgotten, assuring me of his pleasure that I was to be with him awhile.  The greeting over, we rowed away to the Lawrence.  She was chopping lazily at anchor in a light breeze, her sails loose.  Her crew cheered their commander as we came under the frowning guns.

“They ’re tired of waiting,” said he; “they ’re looking for business when I come aboard.”

He showed me over the clean decks:  it was all as clean as a Puritan parlor.

“Captain,” said he, “tie yourself to that big bow gun.  It’s the modern sling of David, only its pebble is big as a rock.  Learn how to handle it, and you may take a fling at the British some day.”

He put D’ri in my squad, as I requested, leaving me with the gunners.  I went to work at once, and knew shortly how to handle the big machine.  D’ri and I convinced the captain with no difficulty that we were fit for a fight so soon as it might come.

It came sooner than we expected.  The cry of “Sail ho!” woke me early one morning.  It was the 10th of September.  The enemy was coming.  Sails were sticking out of the misty dawn a few miles away.  In a moment our decks were black and noisy with the hundred and two that manned the vessel.  It was every hand to rope and windlass then.  Sails went up with a snap all around us, and the creak of blocks sounded far and near.  In twelve minutes we were under way, leading the van to battle.  The sun came up, lighting the great towers of canvas.  Every vessel was now feeling for the wind, some with oars and sweeps to aid them.  A light breeze came out of the southwest.  Perry stood near me, his hat in his hand.  He was looking back at the Niagara.

“Run to the leeward of the islands,” said he to the sailing-master.

“Then you ’ll have to fight to the leeward,” said the latter.

“Don’t care, so long as we fight,” said Perry.  “Windward or leeward, we want to fight.”

Then came the signal to change our course.  The wind shifting to the southeast, we were all able to clear the islands and keep the weather-gage.  A cloud came over the sun; far away the mist thickened.  The enemy wallowed to the topsails, and went out of sight.  We had lost the wind.  Our sails went limp; flag and pennant hung lifeless.  A light rain drizzled down, breaking the smooth plane of water into crowding rings and bubbles.  Perry stood out in the drizzle as we lay waiting.  All eyes were turning to the sky and to Perry.  He had a look of worry and disgust.  He was out for a quarrel, though the surgeon said he was in more need of physic, having the fever of malaria as well as that of war.  He stood there, tall and handsome, in a loose jacket of blue nankeen, with no sign of weakness in him, his eyes flashing as he looked up at the sky.

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.  Three men scuffed by, sanding the decks.  D’ri was leaning placidly over the big gun.  He looked off at the white line, squinted knowingly, and spat over the bulwarks.  Then he straightened up, tilting his hat to his right ear.

“They ‘re p’intin’ their guns,” said a swabber.

“Fust they know they’ll git spit on,” said D’ri, calmly.

Well, for two hours it was all creeping and talking under the breath, and here and there an oath as some nervous chap tightened the ropes of his resolution.  Then suddenly, as we swung about, a murmur went up and down the deck.  We could see with our naked eyes the men who were to give us battle.  Perry shouted sternly to some gunners who thought it high time to fire.  Then word came:  there would be no firing until we got close.  Little gusts of music came chasing over the water faint-footed to our decks-a band playing “Rule Britannia.”  I was looking at a brig in the line of the enemy when a bolt of fire leaped out of her and thick belches of smoke rushed to her topsails.  Then something hit the sea near by a great hissing slap, and we turned quickly to see chunks of the shattered lake surface fly up in nets of spray and fall roaring on our deck.  We were all drenched there at the bow gun.  I remember some of those water-drops had the sting of hard-flung pebbles, but we only bent our heads, waiting eagerly for the word to fire.

“We was th’ ones ’at got spit on,” said a gunner, looking at D’ri.

“Wish they’d let us holler back,” said the latter, placidly.  “Sick o’ holdin’ in.”

We kept fanning down upon the enemy, now little more than a mile away, signalling the fleet to follow.

“My God! see there!” a gunner shouted.

The British line had turned into a reeling, whirling ridge of smoke lifting over spurts of flame at the bottom.  We knew what was coming.  Untried in the perils of shot and shell, some of my gunners stooped to cover under the bulwarks.

“Pull ’em out o’ there,” I called, turning to D’ri, who stood beside me.

The storm of iron hit us.  A heavy ball crashed into the after bulwarks, tearing them away and slamming over gun and carriage, that slid a space, grinding the gunners under it.  One end of a bowline whipped over us; a jib dropped; a brace fell crawling over my shoulders like a big snake; the foremast went into splinters a few feet above the deck, its top falling over, its canvas sagging in great folds.  It was all the work of a second.  That hasty flight of iron, coming out of the air, thick as a flock of pigeons, had gone through hull and rigging in a wink of the eye.  And a fine mess it had made.

Men lay scattered along the deck, bleeding, yelling, struggling.  There were two lying near us with blood spurting out of their necks.  One rose upon a knee, choking horribly, shaken with the last throes of his flooded heart, and reeled over.  The Scorpion of our fleet had got her guns in action; the little Ariel was also firing.  D’ri leaned over, shouting in my ear.

“Don’t like th’ way they ‘re whalin’ uv us,” he said, his cheeks red with anger.

“Nor I,” was my answer.

“Don’t like t’ stan’ here an’ dew nuthin’ but git licked,” he went on. “‘T ain’ no way nat’ral.”

Perry came hurrying forward.

“Fire!” he commanded, with a quick gesture, and we began to warm up our big twenty-pounder there in the bow.  But the deadly scuds of iron kept flying over and upon our deck, bursting into awful showers of bolt and chain and spike and hammerheads.  We saw shortly that our brig was badly out of gear.  She began to drift to leeward, and being unable to aim at the enemy, we could make no use of the bow gun.  Every brace and bowline cut away, her canvas torn to rags, her hull shot through, and half her men dead or wounded, she was, indeed, a sorry sight.  The Niagara went by on the safe side of us, heedless of our plight.  Perry stood near, cursing as he looked off at her.  Two of my gunners had been hurt by bursting canister.  D’ri and I picked them up, and made for the cockpit.  D’ri’s man kept howling and kicking.  As we hurried over the bloody deck, there came a mighty crash beside us and a burst of old iron that tumbled me to my knees.

A cloud of smoke covered us.  I felt the man I bore struggle and then go limp in my arms; I felt my knees getting warm and wet.  The smoke rose; the tall, herculean back of D’ri was just ahead of me.  His sleeve had been ripped away from shoulder to elbow, and a spray of blood from his upper arm was flying back upon me.  His hat crown had been torn off, and there was a big rent in his trousers, but he kept going, I saw my man had been killed in my arms by a piece of chain, buried to its last link in his breast.  I was so confused by the shock of it all that I had not the sense to lay him down, but followed D’ri to the cockpit.  He stumbled on the stairs, falling heavily with his burden.  Then I dropped my poor gunner and helped them carry D’ri to a table, where they bade me lie down beside him.

“It is no time for jesting,” said I, with some dignity.

“My dear fellow,” the surgeon answered, “your wound is no jest.  You are not fit for duty.”

I looked down at the big hole in my trousers and the cut in my thigh, of which I had known nothing until then.  I had no sooner seen it and the blood than I saw that I also was in some need of repair, and lay down with a quick sense of faintness.  My wound was no pretty thing to see, but was of little consequence, a missile having torn the surface only.  I was able to help Surgeon Usher as he caught the severed veins and bathed the bloody strands of muscle in D’ri’s arm, while another dressed my thigh.  That room was full of the wounded, some lying on the floor, some standing, some stretched upon cots and tables.  Every moment they were crowding down the companionway with others.  The cannonading was now so close and heavy that it gave me an ache in the ears, but above its quaking thunder I could hear the shrill cries of men sinking to hasty death in the grip of pain.  The brig was in sore distress, her timbers creaking, snapping, quivering, like one being beaten to death, his bones cracking, his muscles pulping under heavy blows.  We were above water-line there in the cockpit; we could feel her flinch and stagger.  On her side there came suddenly a crushing blow, as if some great hammer, swung far in the sky, had come down upon her.  I could hear the split and break of heavy timbers; I could see splinters flying over me in a rush of smoke, and the legs of a man go bumping on the beams above.  Then came another crash of timbers on the port side.  I leaped off the table and ran, limping, to the deck, I do not know why; I was driven by some quick and irresistible impulse.  I was near out of my head, anyway, with the rage of battle in me and no chance to fight.  Well, suddenly, I found myself stumbling, with drawn sabre, over heaps of the hurt and dead there on our reeking deck.  It was a horrible place:  everything tipped over, man and gun and mast and bulwark.  The air was full of smoke, but near me I could see a topsail of the enemy.  Balls were now plunging in the water alongside, the spray drenching our deck.  Some poor man lying low among the dead caught me by the boot-leg with an appealing gesture.  I took hold of his collar, dragging him to the cockpit.  The surgeon had just finished with D’ri.  His arm was now in sling and bandages.  He was lying on his back, the good arm over his face.  There was a lull in the cannonading.  I went quickly to his side.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, giving his hand a good grip.

“Nuthin’ t’ brag uv,” he answered.  “Never see nobody git hell rose with ’em s’ quick es we did-never.”

Just then we heard the voice of Perry.  He stood on the stairs 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 only sound men; there were not a dozen on the ship who had all their blood in them.  As they pulled away, Perry standing in the stern, D’ri lifted a bloody, tattered flag, and leaning from the bulwarks, shook it over them, cheering loudly.

“Give ’em hell!” he shouted.  “We ‘ll tek care o’ the ol’ brig.”

We were all crying, we poor devils that were left behind.  One, a mere boy, stood near me swinging his hat above his head, cheering.  Hat and hand fell to the deck as I turned to him.  He was reeling, when D’ri caught him quickly with his good arm and bore him to the cockpit.

The little boat was barely a length off when heavy shot fell splashing in her wake.  Soon they were dropping all around her.  One crossed her bow, ripping a long furrow in the sea.  A chip flew off her stern; a lift of splinters from an oar scattered behind her.  Plunging missiles marked her course with a plait of foam, but she rode on bravely.  We saw her groping under the smoke clouds; we saw her nearing the other brig, and were all on tiptoe.  The air cleared a little, and we could see them ship oars and go up the side.  Then we set our blood dripping with cheers again, we who were wounded there on the deck of the Lawrence.  Lieutenant Yarnell ordered her one flag down.  As it sank fluttering, we groaned.  Our dismay went quickly from man to man.  Presently we could hear the cries of the wounded there below.  A man came staggering out of the cockpit, and fell to his hands and knees, creeping toward us and protesting fiercely, the blood dripping from his mouth between curses.

“Another shot would sink her,” Yarnell shouted.

“Let ’er sink, d-n ‘er,” said D’ri.  “Wish t’ God I c’u’d put my foot through ‘er bottom.  When the flag goes down I wan’t’ go tew.”

The British turned their guns; we were no longer in the smoky paths of thundering canister.  The Niagara was now under fire.  We could see the dogs of war rushing at her in leashes of flame and smoke.  Our little gun-boats, urged by oar and sweep, were hastening to the battle front.  We could see their men, waist-high above bulwarks, firing as they came.  The Detroit and the Queen Charlotte, two heavy brigs of the British line, had run afoul of each other.  The Niagara, signalling for close action, bore down upon them.  Crossing the bow of one ship and the stern of the other, she raked them with broadsides.  We saw braces fly and masts fall in the volley.  The Niagara sheered off, pouring shoals of metal on a British schooner, stripping her bare.  Our little boats had come up, and were boring into the brigs.  In a brief time-it was then near three o’clock-a white flag, at the end of a boarding-pike, fluttered over a British deck.  D’ri, who had been sitting awhile, was now up and cheering as he waved his crownless hat.  He had lent his flag, and, in the flurry, some one dropped it overboard.  D’ri saw it fall, and before we could stop him he had leaped into the sea.  I hastened to his help, tossing a rope’s end as he came up, swimming with one arm, the flag in his teeth.  I towed him to the landing-stair and helped him over.  Leaning on my shoulder, he shook out the tattered flag, its white laced with his own blood.

“Ready t’ jump in hell fer thet ol’ rag any day,” said he, as we all cheered him.

Each grabbed a tatter of the good flag, pressing hard upon D’ri, and put it to his lips and kissed it proudly.  Then we marched up and down, D’ri waving it above us-a bloody squad as ever walked, shouting loudly.  D’ri had begun to weaken with loss of blood, so I coaxed him to go below with me.

The battle was over; a Yankee band was playing near by.

“Perry is coming!  Perry is coming!” we heard them shouting above.

A feeble cry that had in it pride and joy and inextinguishable devotion passed many a fevered lip in the cockpit.

There were those near who had won a better peace, and they lay as a man that listens to what were now the merest vanity.

Perry came, when the sun was low, with a number of British officers, and received their surrender on his own bloody deck.  I remember, as they stood by the ruined bulwarks and looked down upon tokens of wreck and slaughter, a dog began howling dismally in the cockpit.