“Nor is the property of an American citizen, I trust, my lord. Had I used force to regain my ship, and had I thrown the prize-crew into the sea, I conceive I would have been doing no more than was my duty.”

“This is well, sir; and I hope, for your sake, that an English jury will view the affair in the same light.  At present, prepare to go on board the Speedy—­for you must not be separated from the important testimony we can find in that ship.  As for the citizens you mention, they are bound to submit to the decision of the admiralty courts, and not to take the law into their own hands.”

“We shall see, my lord.  When this case reaches my own country, we shall probably hear more of it.”

I uttered this in a sufficiently magnificent manner; and, to own the truth, I felt a little magnificently at the time.  I was then young, not three-and-twenty; and I thought of my country, her independence, her justice, her disposition to do right, her determination to submit to no wrongs, and her disregard of the expedient when principles were concerned,—­much as young people think of the immaculate qualities of their own parents.  According to the decisions of judges of this latter class, there would not be a liar, a swindler, a cheat, or a mercenary scoundrel living; but the earth would be filled with so many suffering saints that are persecuted for their virtues.  According to the notions of most American citizens of my age, the very name they bore ought to be a protection to them in any part of the world, under the penalty of incurring the republic’s just indignation.  How far my anticipations were realized, will be seen in the sequel;—­and I beg the American reader, in particular, to restrain his natural impatience, until he can learn the facts in the regular order of the narrative.  I can safely promise him, that should he receive them in the proper spirit, with a desire to ascertain truth only and not to uphold bloated and untenable theories, he will be a wiser, and probably a more modest man, for the instruction that is to be thus gleaned from the incidents it will be my painful office to record.  As for Lord Harry Dermond, the threatened indignation of the great American nation gave him very little concern.  He probably cared a vast deal more for one frown from the admiral who commanded at Plymouth, than for the virtuous resentment of the President and Congress of the United States of America.  I am writing of the close of the year 1803, it will be remembered;—­a remote period in the history of the great republic; though I will not take it on myself to say things have materially altered, except it be in the newspapers, in this particular interest.  The order to prepare to quit the Briton was repeated, and I was dismissed to the outer cabin, where was Marble, while Mr. Clements attempted to shut the door that separated us, though, from some cause or other, he did not exactly effect his object.  In consequence of this neglect, I overheard the following dialogue: