CHAPTER IX.

ANCIENT HISTORY.

It was supper time when the boys arrived in camp, and Ethan and his son at once prepared the evening meal. Strange as it may seem to be, the appetites of the campers were almost as keen as they had been for the dinner at Goose Bay, and a full hour had elapsed before they rose from the table.

As soon as the remains of the feast had been cleared away, that is, if dishes can be called "remains," for little else was left by the hungry lads, Ethan and Tom prepared to depart for home, promising to be back in camp in time for breakfast.

"You won't forget what I told you, Ethan," called Jock, as the men were about to set sail.

"No. I'll go over to the bay [Alexandria Bay, Ethan meant] and stop on my way home. I'll fix you out to-morrow mornin' sure."

"What conspiracy are you up to now, Jock?" inquired Bert.

"That's a secret," replied Jock, laughingly. "If it's a good day to-morrow you'll know all about it. You'll like it, too. I'm sure you will; and it'll leave even the fishing we've had to-day away behind."

"What is it?" persisted Bert. "More fishing?"

"No. You've had enough of that for one day, I should judge by the looks of your face. It'll peel in a day or two."

"I can stand it to have a layer or two drop off. But what is it you and Ethan are going to do to-morrow?"

"Sufficient unto the day is the question thereof," answered Jock. "I shan't tell you, Bert. It's to be a surprise."

"Come up here, you fellows," called Bob from the bank. "We want your valuable assistance. My little body is aweary."

"Since when?" called Jock, as he and his companions started back to camp.

"Since I've been trying to roll these logs into position. Lend a hand, you two. I'm not equal to the task."

The boys all began to labor now, and soon had a great pile of logs in the fireplace in front of the camp, under these some kindlings were placed, and as soon as all things were in readiness, Bob took a match and started a fire. The flames were soon leaping into the air and cast their beams far out over the river. The boys then threw themselves upon the ground in front of the blazing logs, and for a time no one spoke.

The fire roared, and the flames leaped higher into the air. All about them it was as light as day, and the scene was indescribably weird. The great river swept onward in its course, and its waters reflected the light of the blazing camp-fire. The branches of the tall trees in the rear of the camp swayed before the night wind, and increased the wildness of the scene. Bats could be seen circling about in the air, as if they were startled and confused by the strange light. Across the water came the faint and indistinct sounds of a party of young people out for an evening sail. Altogether the experience was so novel that the boys were all impressed by it, but it was impossible for them long to remain silent, and Bob was the first to speak.

"I've been thinking about the history of Goose Bay. It is an historical spot, you know, boys, just as Ethan said it was."

"Suppose you tell us about it, then," said Ben, whose long form had hardly stirred since the fire had been kindled.

"That's just what I was intending to do," replied Bob.

"It'll be a good lullaby," drawled Ben. "If you hear any sound that leads you to suspect that I have fallen asleep, please don't blame me. I always go to sleep when I try to read history."

"As long as there are live coals here, you'd better not go to sleep," warned Bob. "I'll serve you worse than the tithing-men used to serve the old farmers who went to sleep during the sermon."

"Oh, no, you won't. It won't be my fault if you put me to sleep. Did you ever hear what Henry Ward Beecher said about the tithing-man and his pole?"

"No. What did he say?"

"He said if he saw anybody going to sleep when he was speaking, he didn't want any tithing-man to come around with his stick and stir the man up, but he wanted him to take his stick and stir him up, for it was his fault if he let a man go to sleep. See?"

"Yes," replied Bob. "I'll do my best. Listen, then, my children, and you shall hear the wonderful tale of Goose Bay."

"I knew a goose had a tail, but I didn't know Goose Bay had a tail."

"Well, it has," replied Bob, as he pretended to kick a live coal toward the mocker. "This is the tale of Goose Bay. Many years ago, away back in 1813, the British and Americans were at war. I know just how much you know about that, so I'll not go into particulars."

"Don't," drawled Ben. "I'm beginning to feel sleepy already."

"Well," resumed Bob, "it was about the middle of July in that year. Our forces were over at Sackett's Harbor, but they weren't having much excitement, so it was decided to fit out an expedition and come around the lake to Cape Vincent and then go on a cruise down the St. Lawrence, seeking whom they might devour."

"I thought it was a lion, a ro-a-a-ring lion that did that," interrupted Bert.

"So it is sometimes."

"But wasn't it the British lion you were telling about? Now I could understand how a lion, a real genuine British lion, might go roaring around, but when the eagle, the genuine American eagle, starts out on an expedition, I never thought of him as 'roaring.' What is a roaring eagle, Bob? Any relation to a soaring lion?"

"Oh, hold on, Bert, give Bob a chance to tell his story," said Jock.

"Story? Story? What more of a 'story' do you want than that? The American eagle going down the St. Lawrence roaring and seeking whom he might devour. Is that where 'Goose' Bay got its name, Bob?"

"As I was saying, when I was interrupted by this infant crying in the night," resumed Bob, disdainfully, "the expedition was partly national and partly individual, that is to say, it was a privateering trip with government backing. The man who fitted it out was named Gilbert, I believe."

"A kind of patriot for revenue only?" inquired Ben, blandly.

"Precisely. Well, they had two gunboats, the _Neptune_ and _Fox_, and about forty-five or fifty men. They stopped at Cape Vincent and Clayton, or French Creek as they used to call the place then, and then kept on their way rejoicing, until they came to Goose Bay. There they landed and had a parade."

"What did they parade for?" inquired Jock.

"No one knows, or at least I don't. What do they ever parade for?"

"For to show brass buttons and for to delight the ladies and small boys. I used to think a drum-major was a bigger man than the President," replied Ben, quickly.

"After they had landed and paraded, they--"

"Went fishing?" inquired Ben.

"They sent a few men down toward Ogdensburg to spy out the land."

"Weren't they roaring and seeking whom they might devour this time?"

"Keep still, Ben, I want to hear about this," said Jock.

"The next afternoon two men, their names were Baldwin and Campbell--"

"Good names!" interrupted Ben, again.

"--came back and reported that a gunboat and fifteen loaded bateaux were coming up the river. The gunboat was the _Spitfire_--"

"That's a good name, too," remarked Ben.

"At once there was great excitement among the American men. They arranged a force to cut off all retreat, and then started for the enemy. Before they fairly knew it they were all taken."

"Who?"

"The British," replied Bob.

"Were they dead? Did they like it?"

"Then the Americans landed at Goose Bay. Oh, I forgot to say that not a shot was fired in the attack on the bateaux and the _Spitfire_."

"That's the way to fight," drawled Ben. "That would suit me exactly. If I could parade and then go out and call names, and then march back in triumph with the haughty foe in chains, I'd like to be a soldier. I wonder why I wasn't born into this world in my proper age."

"Of course our troops were highly elated," resumed Bob, "for the _Spitfire_ was armed with a twelve-pound carronade and fourteen men, and in the bateaux were two hundred and seventy barrels of pork and as many bags of pilot bread."

"Was that where Ethan got the pork we had for dinner to-day?" inquired Bert, innocently.

Not deigning to reply or to notice the laugh which arose at Bert's words, Bob resumed. "The Americans sent sixty-nine prisoners across the country to Sackett's Harbor, and then with the others they waited for the enemy to come."

"Why did they wait? What did they want them to come for? I should think they'd all have gone 'cross lots to Sackett's Harbor," said Jock.

"They wanted to save the gunboat and supplies. The next morning about sunrise the bold and brave foe, to the number of two hundred and fifty, hove in sight. They had four gunboats and two transports and were evidently ready for the fray. Our men had been stationed in detachments along the shore, and soon the action was begun. 'They fit all day and they fit all night,' as the poet says, though I don't know whether that's history or not; but two of the gunboats had soon been so injured by our fire that they had to stuff the holes the shot made with weeds to keep them from sinking."

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" groaned Ben, sitting quickly erect, "I have lived long in this weary world of woe, but that's the worst I ever heard yet. A British gunboat stuffing the holes in its sides with weeds! There's an insane asylum down at Ogdensburg, and either you or I must go there."

"It is a pretty big story, but that's what the book says," protested Bob.

"Go on! go on!" said Ben, eagerly. "After the British had stuffed the gaping wounds with seaweed, and our brave and determined lads, with a fresh supply of spitballs and slingshots--go on! go on!"

"The next morning the redcoats wanted to call it quits, or rather they sent a flag and a demand for our men to surrender 'to save the effusion of blood.' The proud foe was sternly repulsed, and the firing was resumed. It seems all they had expected was to gain time. Trees had been felled across the creek,--Cranberry Creek they called it, I believe,--but the foe managed to get away. They were said to have lost a good many men."

"Did our side lose any?" inquired Bob.

"Three. But reinforcements soon came, and after the boats had been patched up they started up the river again, bound for Sackett's Harbor. Off Tibbet's Point they fell in with the _Earl of Moira_, which chased them, and finally to get away they had to sink the gunboat they had taken and the most of the bateaux, so that the expedition came out about even."

"Bob," demanded Bert, once more sitting erect, "the next time hadn't you just as soon tell us a true story?"

"That's true. I read it in the old histories."

"Do you know any more as 'true' as that?"

"Yes. I've been reading up on the St. Lawrence. I wanted to know something about the region before I came down here. I don't believe you know anything about Cartier, or Frontenac, or any of the early discoverers."

"Carter? Who's Carter?" demanded Ben.

"I didn't say Carter. I said Cartier. He's the discoverer of the St. Lawrence."

"He was, was he? Well, he's the man for me. Just think of it, fellows, we'd never be camping here if this place hadn't been discovered. I move you," he added, "that the professor be invited to resume his falsehoods to-morrow evening, and that whenever we are seated before the embers of our glowing camp-fire, or can't get asleep nights, that he soothe us with his fairy tales."

The boys laughingly agreed to the proposal, and as they rose, Ben said, "I feel a craving in the inner man. Any of you got a 'crave' too?"

All four declared they were in suffering need of food, and at once began to prepare another supper. When their labors were ended, however, the results were far from satisfactory. Somehow the fish did not tempt them, and when Jock opened the coffee-pot he exclaimed: "I thought coffee was a liquid, fellows. Look at this, will you?"

With his fork he lifted from the interior of the pot long, stringy substances, which certainly were not inviting to the sight.

"What do you suppose is the trouble?" said Ben. "There must be something wrong with the coffee. Do you suppose it's poison?"

"I don't know. I'll leave it and ask Ethan in the morning," said Bob. "He'll know all about it."

However, the boys discovered the pies and other viands the boatmen had left in camp, "pies'n things" Bert termed them, mimicking Ethan's dialect, and their immediate wants had, to all appearances, been satisfied when they sought their cots.

So tired were they that even the question of what Jock and Ethan had prepared for the morrow was soon forgotten, and the smouldering camp-fire burned low and lower, while the boys slept the sleep which can only be gained within the sound of the music of the mighty river.