When the old tradesman saw me he began to smell a rat, and threatened me with severe punishment.  I shewed him my search-warrant, and asked him if it was a good bill.  After having inspected every part of the house, I departed, leaving the two young cubs half dead with fear.  The next day, a complaint was lodged at the government-house; but investigation is a long word when a man-of-war is ordered on service.  Despatches from Albany reached Quebec, stating that the President of the United States had declared war against England; in consequence of which, our captain took leave of the governor, and dropped down the river with all speed, so I never heard any more of my tradesman.

We arrived at Halifax full manned, and immediately received orders to proceed to sea, “to sink, burn, and destroy.”  We ran for Boston bay, when, on the morning we made the land, we discovered ten or twelve sail of merchant vessels.  The first we boarded was a brig; one of our boats was lowered down; I got into her, and jumped on the deck of the Yankee, while the frigate continued in chase of the others.  The master of the vessel sat on a hen-coop, and did not condescend to rise or offer me the least salute as I passed him; he was a short, thick, paunchy-looking fellow.

“You are an Englishman, I guess?”

“I guess I am,” I said, imitating him with a nasal twang.

“I thought we shouldn’t be long in our waters afore we met some of you old-country sarpents.  No harm in what I’ve said, I hope?” added the master.

“Oh, no,” said I, “not the least; it will make no difference in the long run.  But where do you come from, and where are you bound?”

“Come from Smyrna, and bound to Boston, where I hope to be to-morrow morning, by the blessing of God, and a good conscience.”

From this answer, I perceived that he was unacquainted with the war, and I therefore determined to play with him a little before I gave him the fatal news.

“And pray,” said I, “what might your cargo consist of? you appear to be light.”

“Not so light neither, I guess,” said the man; “we have sweet oil, raisins, and what we calls notions.”

“I have no notion,” said I, “what they might be.  Pray explain yourself.”

“Why, you see, notions is what we call a little of all sorts like.  Some likes one thing, you know, and some another:  some likes sweet almonds, and some likes silk, and some likes opium, and some” (he added, with a cunning grin) “likes dollars.”

“And are these the notions with which you are loaded?” said I.

“I guess they are,” replied Jonathan.

“And what might your outward cargo have been?” said I.

“Salt fish, flour, and tobacco,” was his answer.

“And is this all you have in return?” I asked.  “I thought the Smyrna trade had been a very good one.”

“Well, so it is,” said the unwary Yankee.  “Thirty thousand dollars in the cabin, besides the oil and the rest of the goods, an’t no bad thing.”