[to be continued.]
[BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN.]
BY JAMES BARNES.
The first Thomas Macdonough was a Major in the Continental army, and his three sons also possessed desires for entering the service of their country. The oldest had been a midshipman under Commodore Truxton, but being wounded in the action between the Constellation and L'Insurgent, he had to retire from the navy, owing to the amputation of his leg. But his younger brother, Thomas Macdonough, Jun., succeeded him, and he has rendered his name and that of Lake Champlain inseparable; but his fearlessness and bravery were shown on many occasions long before he was ordered to the Lakes.
In 1806 he was First Lieutenant of the Siren, a little sloop-of-war in the Mediterranean service. On one occasion when Captain Smith, the commander of the Siren, had gone on shore, young Lieutenant Macdonough saw a boat from a British frigate lying in the harbor row up to an American brig a short distance off, and afterwards put out again with one more man in her than she had originally. This looked suspicious, and Macdonough sent to the brig to ascertain the reason, with the result that he found that an American had been impressed by the English Captain's orders. Macdonough quietly lowered his own boat, and put after the heavy cutter, which he soon overhauled. Although he had but four men with him, he took the man out of the cutter and brought him on board the Siren. When the English Captain heard, or rather saw, what had occurred—it was right under the bow of his frigate that the affair took place—he waxed wroth, and, calling away his gig, he rowed to the Siren to demand an explanation.
The following account of the incident is quoted from the life of Macdonough in Frost's Naval Biography:
"The Englishman desired to know how Macdonough dared to take a man from one of his Majesty's boats. The Lieutenant, with great politeness, asked him down into the cabin; this he refused, at the same time repeating the same demand, with abundance of threats. The Englishman threw out some threats that he would take the man by force, and said he would haul the frigate alongside the Siren for that purpose. To this Macdonough replied that he supposed his ship could sink the Siren, but as long as she could swim he should keep the man. The English Captain said to Macdonough:
"'You are a very young man, and a very indiscreet young man. Suppose I had been in the boat—what would you have done?'
"'I would have taken the man or lost my life.'
"'What, sir! would you attempt to stop me, if I were now to attempt to impress men from that brig?'
"'I would; and to convince yourself I would, you have only to make the attempt.'
"On this the Englishman went on board his ship, and shortly afterwards was seen bearing down in her in the direction of the American vessel. Macdonough ordered his boat manned and armed, got into her himself, and was in readiness for pursuit. The Englishman took a circuit around the American brig, and returned again to the frigate. When Captain Smith came on board he justified the conduct of Macdonough, and declared his intention to protect the American seaman."
Although Macdonough was very young, and his rank but that of a Lieutenant, people who knew him were not surprised to hear that he had been appointed to take command of the little squadron on Lake Champlain. These vessels were built of green pine, and almost without exception constructed in a hurried fashion. They had to be of light draught, and yet, odd to relate, their general model was the same as that of ships that were expected to meet storms and high seas.
Macdonough was just the man for the place; as in the case of Perry, he had a superb self-reliance, and was eager to meet the enemy.
Lake Champlain and the country that surrounds it were considered of great importance by the English, and, descending from Canada, large bodies of troops poured into New York State. But the American government had, long before the war was fairly started, recognized the advantage of keeping the water communications on the northern frontier. The English began to build vessels on the upper part of the lake, and the small force of ships belonging to the Americans was increased as fast as possible. It was a race to see which could prepare the better fleet in the shorter space of time.
In the fall of the year 1814 the English had one fair-sized frigate, the Confiance, mounting 39 guns; a brig, the Linnet; a sloop, Chubb, and the sloop Finch; besides which they possessed thirteen large galleys aggregating 18 guns. In all, therefore, the English fleet mounted 95 guns. The Americans had the Saratoga, sloop-of-war, 26 guns; the Eagle, 20; the Ticonderoga, 17; the Preble, 7; and ten galleys carrying 16 guns; their total armament was nine guns less than the British.
By the first week in September Sir George Prevost had organized his forces, and started at the head of fourteen thousand men to the southward. It was his intention to dislodge General Macomb, who was stationed at Plattsburg, where considerable fortifications had been erected. A great deal of the militia force had been drawn down the State to the city of New York, owing to the fears then entertained that the British intended to make an attack upon the city from their fleet. It was Sir George's plan to destroy forever the power of the Americans upon the lake, and for that reason it was necessary to capture the naval force which had been for some time under the command of Macdonough. The English leader arranged a plan with Captain Downie, who was at the head of the squadron, that simultaneous attacks should be made by water and land. At eight o'clock on the morning of September 11 news was brought to Lieutenant Macdonough that the enemy was approaching. As his own vessels were in a good position to repel the attack, he decided to remain at anchor, and await the onslaught in a line formation. In about an hour the enemy had come within gunshot distance, and formed a line of his own parallel with that of the Americans. There was little or no breeze, and consequently small chance for manœuvring. The Confiance evidently claimed the honor of exchanging broadsides with the Saratoga. The Linnet stopped opposite the Eagle, and the galleys rowed in and began to fire at the Ticonderoga and the Preble.
THE BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN.—"SARATOGA" RAKING "CONFIANCE."
Macdonough wrote such a clear and concise account of the action that it is best to quote from it:
".... The whole force on both sides became engaged, the Saratoga suffering much from the heavy fire of the Confiance. I could perceive at the same time, however, that our fire was very destructive to her. The Ticonderoga, Lieutenant-Commandant Cassin, gallantly sustained her full share of the action. At half past ten the Eagle, not being able to bring her guns to bear, cut her cable, and anchored in a more eligible position, between my ship and the Ticonderoga, where she very much annoyed the enemy, but unfortunately leaving me exposed to a galling fire from the enemy's brig.
"Our guns on the starboard side being nearly all dismounted or unmanageable, a stern anchor was let go, the bower-cable cut, and the ship winded with a fresh broadside on the enemy's ship, which soon after surrendered. Our broadside was then sprung to bear on the brig, which struck about fifteen minutes afterwards. The sloop which was opposed to the Eagle had struck some time before, and drifted down the line. The sloop which was with their galleys had also struck. Three of their galleys are said to be sunk; the others pulled off. Our galleys were about obeying with alacrity the signal to follow them, when all the vessels were reported to me to be in a sinking state. It then became necessary to annul the signal to the galleys, and order their men to the pumps. I could only look at the enemy's galleys going off in a shattered condition; for there was not a mast in either squadron that could stand to make sail on. The lower rigging, being nearly all shot away, hung down as though it had just been placed over the mastheads.
"The Saratoga had fifty-nine round shot in her hull; the Confiance one hundred and five. The enemy's shot passed principally just over our heads, as there were not twenty whole hammocks in the nettings at the close of the action, which lasted, without intermission, two hours and twenty minutes.
"The absence and sickness of Lieutenant Raymond Perry left me without the assistance of that able officer. Much ought fairly to be attributed to him for his great care and attention in disciplining the ship's crew, as her First Lieutenant. His place was filled by a gallant young officer, Lieutenant Peter Gamble, who, I regret to inform you, was killed early in the action."
The English had begun the action as if they never doubted the result being to their advantage, and before taking up their positions in the line parallel to Macdonough's Downie had sailed upon the waiting fleet bows on; thus most of his vessels had been severely raked before they were able to return the fire. As soon as Sir George Prevost saw the results of the action out on the water, he gave up all idea of conquest, and began the retreat that left New York free to breathe again. The frontier was saved. The hills and the shores of the lake had been crowded with multitudes of farmers, and the two armies encamped on shore had stopped their own preparations and fighting to watch.
Sir George Prevost had bombarded the American forts from the opposite side of the river Saranac, and a brigade endeavored to ford the river with the intention of attacking the rear of General Macomb's position. However, they got lost in the woods, and were recalled by a mounted messenger just in time to hear the cheers and shouts of victory arise from all about them.
In the battle the Saratoga had twenty-eight men killed and twenty-nine wounded, more than a quarter of her entire crew; the Eagle lost thirteen killed and twenty wounded; the Ticonderoga, six killed and six wounded; the Preble, two killed; and the galleys, three killed and three wounded. The Saratoga was hulled fifty-five times, and had caught on fire twice from the hot shot fired by the Confiance. The latter vessel was reported to have lost forty-one killed outright and eighty-three wounded. In all, the British loss was eighty-four killed and one hundred and ten wounded.
Macdonough received substantial testimonials of gratitude from the country at large, the Legislature of New York giving him one thousand acres of land, and the State of Vermont two hundred. Besides this, the corporations of Albany and New York city made him the present of a valuable lot, and from his old command in the Mediterranean he received a handsome presentation sword.
An English journalist travelling through the United States relates a humorous incident in his experience out West. He was journeying overland on horseback, and one day, after a long spell of desolate travel, he espied a house on the prairie. He rode up to the doorway and accosted the only person around, a long gentleman in boots, these boots seemingly trying to reach the sky, they were perched so high above the owner's head. They came slowly down at the salutation.
"Howdy do, stranger? Glad ter see yer. This is Boonville," and with a sweeping gesture he compassed a landscape of grass and wooden stakes. "There's Broadway runnin' down 'tween them stakes, and there's Chicago Avenue, St. Louis Avenue, St. Paul Avenue, and all them are streets staked off'n it. On the lookout for a buildin' site?"
"No," replied the journalist; "I'm just travelling for pleasure, not for investment."
"That's my luck, stranger. Here's this town been er-runnin' full blast with all the offices filled, and I can't get a citizen."
"Where's the Mayor?"
"I'm the Mayor."
"Where are the police, judges, and that sort of thing?"
"I'm all that. Yer see, stranger, I'm everything. I elects myself to all offices; but it's mighty poor payin' ones I'm er-holdin'."
"How do you manage to get along, then?"
"Don't, stranger; that's the puzzle. Yer see, there's only fifty cents in the town treasury, and I've been payin' my rent and taxes with it, and collecting my salary as Mayor and all my other offices from it so long and it's been handled so much that the town books won't balance any more. Yer see, I can't find anything to balance the books with fur the wear of the silver off that coin, and I'm out that much. Now, stranger, if yer not goin' ter invest, and want ter boom the town er little, yer might make up that deficit in the treasury, so's I kin balance them books, and make things square for the next Mayor."
[THE VOYAGE OF THE "RATTLETRAP."]
BY HAYDEN CARRUTH.
IX.
The next day was Sunday, so we did not leave the White River camp till Monday morning. We found Chadron (pronounced Shadron) an extremely lively town in which all of the citizens wore big hats and immense jingling Mexican spurs. We had the big hats, but to be in fashion and not to attract attention we also got jingling spurs.
"I shall wear 'em all night," said Jack, as he strapped his on. "Only dudes take off their spurs when they go to bed, and I'm no dude."
Our next objective point was Rapid City. It was a beautiful morning when we turned to the north. The sand had disappeared, and the soil was more like asphalt pavement.
"The farmers fire their seed into the ground with six-shooters," said a man we fell in with on the road. "Very expensive for powder."
"The soil's what you call gumbo, isn't it?" I said to him.
"Yes. Works better when it's wet. One man can stick a spade into it then. Takes two to pull it out, though."
It was not long before we passed the Dakota line, marked by a post and a pile of tin cans. Shortly before noon Ollie made a discovery.
"What are those little animals?" he cried. "Oh, I know—prairie-dogs!"
There was a whole town of them right beside the road, with every dog sitting on top of the mound that marked his home, and uttering his shrill little bark, and marking each bark by a peculiar little jerk of his tail.
"How do you know they are prairie-dogs?" asked Jack.
"They had some of them in the park at home," said Ollie. "But last fall they all went down in their burrows for the winter, and in the spring they didn't come up. Folks said they must have frozen to death."
"Nonsense," said Jack. "They got turned around somehow, and in the spring dug down instead of digging up. They may come out in China yet if they have good luck."
"I can't hardly swallow that," replied Ollie. "But, anyhow, these seem to be all right."
There must have been three or four hundred of them, and not for a moment did one of them stop barking till Snoozer jumped out of the wagon and charged them, when, with one last bark, each one of them shot down his hole so quick that it was almost impossible to see him move.
"Now that's just about the sort of game that Snoozer likes," exclaimed Jack. "If they were badgers, or even woodchucks, you couldn't drive him at them."
"I don't think there is much danger of his getting any of them," said Ollie.
We called Snoozer back, and soon one of the little animals cautiously put up his head, saw that the coast was clear, gave one bark, and all the rest came up, and the concert began as if nothing had happened.
"I suppose that was the mayor of the town that peeped up first," said Ollie.
"Yes, or the chief of police," answered Jack.
We camped that night by the bed of a dry creek, and watered the horses at a settler's house half a mile away.
"That's the most beautiful place for a stream I ever saw," observed Jack. "If a man had a creek and no bed for it to run in, he'd be awfully glad to get that."
Tho next day was distinctly a prairie-dog day. We passed dozens of their towns, and were seldom out of hearing of their peculiar chirp.
"I wonder," said Ollie, "if the bark makes the tail go, or does the tail set off the bark."
"Oh, neither," returned Jack. "They simply check off the barks with their tails. There's a National Prairie-Dog Barking Contest going on, and they are seeing who can yelp the most in a week. They keep count with their tails."
At the little town of Oelrichs we saw a number of Indians, since we were again near the reservation. One little girl nine or ten years old must have been the daughter of an important personage, since she was dressed in most gorgeous clothes, all covered with beads and colored porcupine-quill-work. And at last Ollie saw an Indian wearing feathers. Three eagle feathers stuck straight up in his hair. He was standing outside of a log house looking in the window. By-and-by a young lady came to the door of the house, and as we were nearer than anybody else, she motioned us to come over.
"I wish," she said, "that you'd please go around and ask Big Bear to go away. He keeps looking in the window and bothering the scholars."
We stepped around the corner, and Jack said, "See here, neighbor Big Bear, you're impeding the cause of education."
The Indian looked at him stolidly but did not move.
"TEACHER SAYS VAMOOSE."
"Teacher says vamoose—heap bother pappooses," said Jack.
The Indian grunted and walked away.
"Nothing like understanding the language," boasted Jack, as we went back to the wagon.
At noon we camped beside a stream, but thirty feet above it. There was a clay bank almost as hard as stone rising perpendicularly from the water's edge. With a pail and rope we drew up all the water we needed. In the afternoon we got our first sight of the Black Hills, like clouds low on the northern horizon. About the same time we struck into the old Sidney trail, which, before the railroad had reached nearer points, was used in carrying freight to the hills in wagons. In some places it was half a mile wide and consisted of a score or more of tracks worn into deep ruts. There was a herd of several thousand Texas cattle crossing the trail in charge of a dozen men, and we waited and watched them go by. Ollie had never seen such a display of horns before.
Shortly after this we came upon the first sage-bush which we had seen. It was queer gray stuff, shaped like miniature trees, and had the appearance of being able to get along with very little rain.
Toward night we found ourselves winding down among the hills to the Cheyenne River. They were strange-looking hills, most of them utterly barren on their sides, which were nearly perpendicular, the hard soil standing almost as firm as rock. They were ribbed and seamed by the rain—in fact, they were not hills at all, properly speaking, but small bluffs left by the washing out of the ravines by the rain and melting snows. Just as the sun was sinking among the distant hills we came to the river. It was shallow, only four or five yards wide, and we easily forded it and camped on the other side. The full moon was just rising over the eastern hills. There was not a sound to be heard except the gentle murmur of the stream and the faint rustle of the leaves on a few cottonwood trees. There was plenty of driftwood all around, and after supper we built up the largest camp-fire we had ever had. The flame leaped up above the wagon-top, and drifted away in a column of sparks and smoke, while the three horses stood in the background with their heads close together munching their hay, and the four of us (counting Snoozer) lay on the ground and blinked at the fire.
"This is what I call the proper thing," remarked Jack, after some time, as he rolled over on his blanket and looked at the great round moon.
"Yes," I said, "this will do well enough. But it would be pretty cool here if it wasn't for that fire."
"Yes, the nights are getting colder, that's certain. I was just wondering if that cover will withstand snow as well as it does rain?"
"Why," said Ollie, "do you think it's going to snow?"
"Not to-night," returned Jack. "But it may before we get out of the mountains. The snow comes pretty early up there sometimes. I think I'll get inside and share the bed with the rancher after this, and you and Snoozer can curl up in the front end of the wagon-box. It would be a joke if we got snowed in somewhere, and had to live in the Rattletrap till spring."
"I wouldn't care if we could keep warm," said Ollie. "I like living in it better than in any house I ever saw."
"I'm afraid it would get a little monotonous along in March," laughed Jack. "Though I think myself it's a pretty good place to live. Stationary houses begin to seem tame. I hope the trip won't spoil us all, and make vagabonds of us for the rest of our lives."
We were reluctant to leave this camp the next morning, but knew that we must be moving on. It was but a few miles to the town of Buffalo Gap, and we passed through it before noon.
"There are more varmints," cried Ollie, as we were driving through the town. They were in a cage in front of a store, and we stopped to see them.
"What are they?" one of us asked the man who seemed to own them.
"Bob-cats," he answered, promptly.
"Must be a Buffalo Gap name for wild-cats," said Jack, as we drove on, "because that's what they are."
Ollie had gone into a store to buy some cans of fruit, and when he came out he looked much bewildered.
"KEEP IT, SONNY; I HAVEN'T GOT ANY CHICKENS."
"I think," he said, "that that man must be crazy, or something. There were thirty cents coming to me in change. He tossed out a quarter and said, 'Two bits,' and then a dime and said, 'Short bit—thank you,' and closed up the drawer and started off. I didn't want more than was coming to me, so I handed out a nickel and said, 'There, that makes it right.' The man looked at it, laughed, and pushed it back, and said, 'Keep it, sonny; I haven't got any chickens.' Now, I'd like to know what it all meant."
We both laughed, and when Jack recovered his composure he said:
"It means simply that we're getting out into the mining country, where no coin less than a dime circulates. He didn't happen to have three dimes, so the best he could do was to give you either twenty-five or thirty-five cents, and he was letting you have the benefit of the situation by making it thirty-five. A bit is twelve and a half cents, and a short bit ten cents. A two-bit piece is a quarter."
"Yes; but what about his not keeping chickens?"
"Oh, that was simply his humorous way of saying that all coins under a dime are fit only for chicken feed."
We camped that night beside the trail near a little log store. "What you want to do," said the man in charge, "is to take your horses down there behind them trees to park 'em for the night. Good feed down there."
"'To park,'" said Jack, in a low voice. "New and interesting verb. He means turn 'em out to grass. We mustn't appear green." Then he said to the man:
"Yes, we reckoned we'd park 'em down there to-night."
The next day was the coldest we had experienced, and we were glad to walk to keep warm. We were getting among the smaller of the hills, with their tops covered with the peculiarly dark pine-trees which give the whole range its name. We camped at night under a high bank which afforded some protection from the chilly east wind. Now that we were all sleeping in the wagon there was no room in it to store the sacks of horse feed which we had, and we knew that if we put them outside that Old Blacky would eat them up before morning.
"There's nothing to do," said Jack, "but to carry them around up on that bank and hang them down with ropes. Leave 'em about twelve feet from the bottom and ten feet from the top, and I don't think the Pet can get them."
We accordingly did so, and went to bed with the old scoundrel standing and looking up at the bags wistfully, though he had just had all that any horse needed for supper. But in the morning we found that he had clambered up high enough to get hold of the bottom of one of the sacks and pull it down and devour fully half of it. He was, as Jack said, "the worst horse that ever looked through a collar."
THE RATTLETRAP IN THE STORM.
But the weather in the morning gave us more concern than did the foraging of the ancient Blacky. It was even colder than the night before, and the raw east wind was rawer, and with it all there was a drizzling rain. It was not a hard rain, but one of the kind that comes down in small clinging drops and blows in your face in a fine spray. Jack got breakfast in the wagon, and we ate the hot cakes and warmed-over grouse with a good relish. Then he loaded in what was left of the horse feed, and started.
It was impossible to keep warm even by walking, but we plodded on and made the best of it. The road was hilly and stony; but by noon we had got beyond the rain, and for the rest of the way it was dry even if cold. The hills among which we were winding grew constantly higher, and the quantity of pine timber upon their summits greater. Just as dusk was beginning to creep down we came around one which might fairly have been called a small mountain, and saw Rapid City spread out before us, the largest town we had seen since leaving Yankton. We skirted around it, and came to camp under another hill and near a big stone quarry a half-mile west of town. There was a mill-race just below us, and plenty of water. We fed the horses and had supper. There was a road not much over a hundred yards in front of our camp, along which, through the darkness, we could hear teams and wagons passing.
"I wonder where it goes to?" said Ollie.
"I think it's the great Deadwood trail over which all the supplies are drawn to the mines by mule or horse or ox teams," said Jack. "There's no railroad, you know, and everything has to go by wagon—goods and supplies in, and a great deal of ore out. Let's go over and see."
The moon was not yet risen and the sky was covered with clouds, so it was extremely dark. We took along our lantern, but it did not make much impression on the darkness. When we reached the road we found that everywhere we stepped we went over our shoe-tops in the soft dust. We heard a deep strange creaking noise mixed with what sounded like reports of a pistol around the bend in the trail. Soon we could make out what seemed to be a long herd of cattle winding toward us, with what might have been a circus tent swaying about behind them.
"What's coming?" we asked of a boy who was going by.
"Old Henderson," he replied.
"What's he got?"
"Just his outfit."
"But what are all the cattle?"
"His team."
"Not one team?"
"Yes; eleven yoke."
"Twenty-two oxen in one team?"
"Yes; and four wagons."
The head yoke of oxen was now opposite to us, swaying about from side to side and switching their tails in the air, but still pressing forward at the rate of perhaps a mile and a half or two miles an hour. Far back along the procession we could dimly see a man walking in the dust beside the last yoke, swinging a long whip which cracked in the air like a rifle. Behind rolled and swayed the four great canvas-topped wagons, tied behind one another. We watched the strange procession go by. There was only one man, without doubt Henderson, grizzled and seemingly sixty years old. The wagon wheels were almost as tall as he was, and the tires were four inches wide. The last wagon disappeared up the trail in the dust and darkness.
"Well," said Jack, "I think when I start out driving at this time of night with twenty-two guileless oxen and four ten-ton wagons that I'll want to get somewhere pretty badly."
Then we went back to the Rattletrap.