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?"