“He commanded the American privateer, General Armstrong, which knocked the iver-lasting stuffing out of a British squadron of three vessels and two thousand men, while he had liss than a hundred heroes. Worra, worra, what a shindy that must have been!”
And then Mike impressively repeated the lines that Uncle Elk had taught him:
“Tell the story to your sons
Of the gallant days of yore,
When the brig of seven guns
Fought the fleet of seven score.
From the set of sun till morn, through the long September night—
Ninety men against two thousand, and the ninety won the fight—
In the harbor of Fayal in the Azore.”
By this time, the Scout Master and everyone of the boys were convinced of the truth. They knew the theme that had engaged Uncle Elk and Mike the evening before, and had they felt any doubt on that point it would have been quenched by the sly glances that flitted between the couple.