With Perry on Lake Erie: A Tale of 1812

Perhaps there is no good reason why I should set down here any especial mention of Presque Isle, for every boy knows it is located on the shore of Lake Erie, and, because of the peninsula jutting out from the mainland of the State of Pennsylvania, can boast of an exceedingly good harbor.

It is a lame beginning to the story I want to tell, this opening with the admission that there may be no reason for making a certain statement; but I am not quick at tasks of the kind it is proposed this shall be, and one mistake among the many I shall probably make will not be noticed.

Even now I have failed to begin the yarn to my satisfaction; but I have written and rubbed out so much already, that the lines above must stand as they are set down, else I may never arrive at the beginning of such a tale as few lads can tell of their own experience.

That I am making any attempt at doing what nature fitted me for with such a niggardly hand, is due to Alexander Perry, brother of that Oliver H. Perry who proved himself so great a hero here on the waters of Lake Erie, when he gave the King of England a second and much-needed lesson. He, meaning Alec, and I saw much of service in the war so lately ended with honor to the people of the United States. Although he was but thirteen years of age, and I only two years older, we passed through many adventures together, shared many hardships, and ever remained close comrades from the day of our first meeting.

The war having come to an end, and we about to separate after three years of service, he said to me:—

“Dick, it is for you to set down, in such fair script as you can master, the story of what we have done these many months past, so that in the years to come those who live hereabouts may know we were not idle when the British king provoked this nation past endurance.”

I would have insisted, as is true, that he was better able to perform the task than I, who had learned but little in schools, because there were none hereabouts; but the lad declared I was the one above all others to do the work, and here am I, casting about in my mind as to how the tale can best be set down in readable fashion.

Presque Isle, to hark back to the beginning, was the settlement which my father, Captain Daniel Dobbins, decided upon as the proper place in which to build his home, and within a stone’s throw of the blockhouse erected by General Wayne after he had whipped the Indians in Maumee Valley, I was born. Here I lived while my father sailed on the lake, becoming known far and wide as the most skilful navigator of Erie’s waters, until war was declared, and then I had the satisfaction of calling myself the son of the man who, after having been called to Washington to give advice to the high officials there, was appointed a sailing-master in the navy.