“Love of liberty, and self-respect, and abhorrence of insult and tyranny nerved them to it,” said Max. “Do you remember that affair of the Chesapeake and Leopard?”
“Not at all; if I ever heard of it, it must have made but little impression on my mind.”
“Well, I suppose it would naturally make a deeper one on an American boy’s,” said Max.
“It happened in 1807, when we were at peace with England, and it seems to me the most insulting thing ever heard of.
“The Chesapeake, an American man-of-war lying at the navy-yard at Washington, was put in commission and ordered to the Mediterranean to relieve the Constitution.
“It took nearly a month to get her ready, and while that was being attended to the British minister informed our naval authorities that three deserters from His British Majesty’s ship ‘Melampus’ had joined the crew of the Chesapeake, and asked to have them given up.
“Our government was willing to do it, but on inquiring into the matter found that the men were really native-born Americans who had been impressed by the British and forced into their service. They were able to prove it. So, of course, they weren’t given up.
“The facts were stated to the British minister, and as he didn’t protest any further, it was supposed he was satisfied.
“A few weeks after this the Chesapeake left the navy-yard and dropped down the river to Hampton Roads. There she stayed for some days, taking on guns and stores and adding to her crew till she had three hundred and seventy-five men; then she weighed anchor and started on her voyage.
“But she started before she was in really proper condition. A quantity of things, such as stores, ropes, lumber, trunks, and furniture, were piled on the decks, instead of being stowed away in their proper places. Somebody was to blame for that, of course, though papa says it was not Commodore Barron, who was in command, and nobody could have dreamed of the mischief the confusion was to cause, remembering that it was in a time of peace, and right on our own coast.