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 manoeuvring. 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_.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: "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.
[Illustration: "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."
[Illustration: 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.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
OFFICERS OF THE NATIONAL INTERSCHOLASTIC AMATEUR ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION.
[Illustration: C. BURTON COTTING, President.]
[Illustration: HUGH JACKSON, Vice-President.]
[Illustration: J. DEAN TILFORD, Secretary.]
[Illustration: GEORGE P. SMITH, Treasurer.]
[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]
The papers on the science of football written by Mr. W. H. Lewis, of the
Harvard Football Team of 1893, which have appeared in the last four
issues of this Department, have attracted such general interest among
the football-players of the schools that it has seemed advisable,
inasmuch as the active football season is not yet in full swing, to add
a brief supplementary paper on "Training," from the pen of the same
authority. The advice given here is the result of the best experience,
and any coach or captain who follows it implicitly may confidently look
forward to the best results.
* * * * *
Any correct system of training for a team comprises three separate and
distinct elements--the physical, mental, and moral. An eleven should be
physically fit to play a hard, fast, and aggressive game from start to
finish; and it should be mentally fit in the sense that it thoroughly
knows its own game from beginning to end. Every man should know every
play, and his place in every play. After being _able_ to play the game
both physically and mentally, the next and final thing is to _play_ it.
This brings us to the third element--the moral. By that term is meant
the spirit of the eleven.
It is not our purpose to deal with the subject of diet. In passing it
may, however, be said that the proper diet for a man training is any
plain, wholesome, nourishing food. Highly seasoned foods, sweets, and
all alcoholic stimulants should be avoided. The value of from eight to
ten hours of good, sound, refreshing sleep cannot be overestimated. In
general, one broad, comprehensive rule may be laid down with regard to
training for athletic contests, and that is this: All training must be
adequate to the demands of the particular kind of contest to be entered
into. For light athletic contests, light training; for heavy contests,
heavy training. The same training requisite for baseball would not be
sufficient for rowing; nor can training for track athletics be at all
adequate for football. Different sports make different demands upon the
physical man. And the training for each must be adapted to meet the
demands of each.