the men saw on it, in white letters, the
dying words of Captain Lawrence, "Don't give up the ship!" Was not that
a grand signal to give? It must have put great spirit into the men, and
made them feel that they would die like the gallant Lawrence before they
would give up their ships. The men on both fleets were eager to fight,
but the wind kept very light, and they came together slowly. It was near
noon before they got near enough for their long guns to work. Then the
British began to send balls skipping over the water, and soon after the
Americans answered back.

Now came the roar of battle, the flash of guns, the cloud of smoke that
settled down and half hid everything. The Americans came on in a long
line, head on for the British, who awaited their approach. Perry's
flagship, the _Lawrence_, was near the head of the line. It soon plunged
into the very thick of the fight, with only two little schooners to help
it. The wind may have been too light for the rest of the fleet to come
up. We do not know just what kept them back, but at any rate, they
didn't come up, and the _Lawrence_ was left to fight alone.

Never had a vessel been in a worse plight than was the _Lawrence_ for
the next two hours. She was half surrounded by the three large British
vessels, the _Detroit_, the _Queen Charlotte_, and the brig _Hunter_,
all pouring in their fire at once, while she had to fight them all. On
the _Lawrence_ and the two schooners there were only seven long guns
against thirty-six which were pelting Perry's flagship from the British
fleet.

This was great odds. But overhead there floated the words, "Don't give
up the ship"; so the brave Perry pushed on till he was close to the
_Detroit_, and worked away, for life or death, with all his guns, long
and short.

Oh, what a dreadful time there was on Perry's flagship during those sad
two hours. The great guns roared, the thick smoke rose, the balls tore
through her sides, sending splinters flying like sharp arrows to right
and left. Men fell like leaves blown down by a gale. Blood splashed on
the living and flowed over the dead. The surgeon's mates were kept busy
carrying the wounded below, where the surgeon dressed their wounds.

Captain Perry's little brother, a boy of only thirteen years, was on
the ship, and stood beside him as brave as himself. Two bullets went
through the boy's hat; then a splinter cut through his clothes; still he
did not flinch. Soon after, he was knocked