Stories of Our Naval Heroes Every Child Can Read

by Unknown

The American ships were drawn up across Plattsburg Bay, and up this bay came the British fleet to attack them, just as Carleton's vessels had come up to attack Arnold forty years before.

At Plattsburg was the British army, and opposite, across Saranac River, lay a much smaller force of American regulars and militia. They could easily see the ships, but they were too busy for that, for the soldiers were fighting on land while the sailors were fighting on water. Bad work that for a sunny September Sunday, wasn't it?

MacDonough had stretched his ships in a line across the bay, and had anchors down at bow and stern, with ropes tied to the anchor chains so that the ships could be swung round easily. Remember that, for that won him the battle.

It was still early in the day when the British came sailing up, firing as soon as they came near enough. These first shots did no harm, but they did a comical thing. One of them struck a hen-coop on the Saratoga, in which one of the sailors kept a fighting cock. The coop was knocked to pieces, and into the rigging flew the brave cock, flapping his wings at the British vessels and crowing defiance to them, while the sailors laughed and cheered.

But the battle did not fairly begin until the great frigate Confiance came up and dropped anchor a few hundred yards from the Saratoga. Then she blazed away with all the guns on that side of her deck.

This was a terrible broadside, the worst any American ship had felt in the whole war. Every shot hit the Saratoga and tore through her timbers, sending splinters flying like hail. So frightful was the shock that nearly half the crew were thrown to the deck. About forty of them did not get up again; they were either killed or wounded. A few broadsides like that would have ended the fight, for it would have left the Saratoga without men.

On both sides now the cannon roared and the shots flew, but the British guns were the best and the Americans had the worst of it. The commodore was knocked down twice. The last time he was hit with the head of a man that had been shot off and came whirling through the air.

"The commodore is killed!" cried the men; but in a trice he was up again, and aiming and firing one of his own guns.

This dreadful work went on for two hours. All that time the two biggest British vessels were pelting the Saratoga, and the other American ships were not helping her much. Red-hot shots were fired, which set her on fire more than once.

At the end MacDonough had not a single gun left to fire back. It looked as if all was up with the Americans, all of whose ships were being battered by the enemy. But Commodore MacDonough was not yet at the end of his plans. He now cut loose his stern anchor and bade his men pull on the rope that led to the bow anchor. In a minute the ship began to swing round. Soon she had a new side turned to the foe. Not a gun had been fired on this side. When the British captain saw what the Americans were doing he tried the same thing. But it did not work as well with him. The Confiance began to swing round, but when she got her stern turned to the Americans she stuck fast. Pull and haul as they might, the sailors could not move her another inch.