privateers, that roamed the seas and snapped up
vessels with little regard to law or justice. Hundreds of American
vessels were thus captured; for our trade with France and the French
West Indian colonies at that time was of vast proportions. The ocean
soon became so infested with privateers that every American
merchantman carried cannon, and an array of small-arms that would have
done credit to a sloop-of-war. The New England sailors became able
naval fighters, as well as experienced seamen; for a man shipping for
a voyage knew well that, in addition to battling with the angry
elements, he might be required to sight truly the great "long Tom," or
beat back piratical boarders at the muzzle of the muskets. But even
these heroic remedies could not save many a good ship.

Occurrences such as these fanned into flaming fury the smouldering
fires of the American hatred for Great Britain. The people saw their
old oppressor and enemy engaged in war with their old ally France, and
the popular cry went up for a union of France and the United States
against England. Happily, the statesmen of the time--Washington,
Hamilton, and Jay--were too firm of purpose, and too clear-sighted, to
be led away by popular clamor; and they wisely kept the United States
Government in a position of neutrality between the two nations. Deep
and loud were the murmurs of the people at this action. Could
true-hearted Americans desert their friends in such a manner? Never!
And so, whatever might be the policy of the rulers, the many-headed
people welcomed French ambassadors, feted the officers of visiting
men-of-war, and hung the tricolor and the stars and stripes side by
side on all public holidays.

It was in 1795, while the popular affection for France was at its
height, that a merchant-vessel flying the British flag sailed into
Boston Harbor, and made fast to the Long Wharf. Under her stern
appeared the legend, "The Betsy of St. Croix;" her decks were
littered with poultry and domestic animals, her cordage flapped
loosely in the breeze, and every thing about her bespoke the
merchant-vessel. Her captain, being hailed by the dock-loafers, and
made the victim of the proverbial Yankee inquisitiveness, stated that
he had just come from the West Indies with a load of lignum-vitae,
pineapples, and hides, which he hoped to sell in Boston. The
self-constituted investigating committee seemed satisfied, and the
captain strolled on into the city.

But the Fren