avis had
invited applications for letters of marque and reprisal from good
Southerners who were able and willing to fit out armed vessels to prey
upon our commerce. The first one that attracted any attention was the
_Savannah_, which ran out of Charleston on the 2d of June, and was
shortly afterward captured by a ship of war that she mistook for a
merchantman; but she was not the first privateer to operate in Southern
waters. As early as May 7, several light-draught steamers, mounting two
or three guns each, were hastily fitted out at New Orleans, and brought
in prizes that were taken off the mouths of the Mississippi. There were
also some along the coast, principally sailing-vessels, and although
they did not succeed in making a name for themselves or in spreading
much alarm among our merchant marine, they made a few good hauls. One of
them was fitted out in Seven Mile Creek, not more than a mile from Mrs.
Gray's plantation, and, wide-awake as Marcy thought himself to be, he
never knew a thing about it until she was almost ready to sail. Then he
found it out through her owner who came up to see him. He was sitting on
the porch when the man came up the walk, and something told him that he
had come there for no good purpose.

"What in the world does Lon Beardsley want here?" said Marcy to his
mother, who was sitting near by. "He hasn't been to see me since I came
from Barrington, and I don't think he would come now if he wasn't up to
some meanness."

"Don't allow him to throw you off your guard with any of his specious
talk," replied his mother, in a cautious tone. "To quote from Morris, he
is a mighty palavering sort of fellow."

"I'll watch him. Good-afternoon, Mr. Beardsley. Will you come up and
take a chair?" The man was a visitor, and as such was entitled to civil
treatment even if his company wasn't desired.

"Yes, I reckon I'll set while I talk," answered Beardsley, taking
possession of the seat that was placed for him. "Rough times these."

"Yes; and they'll be rougher before we see the end of them," was Marcy's
reply.

"Don't reckon there'll be any fighting, do you?"

The boy said he was sure of it.

"Well, what's one man's pizen is another man's meat," said Mr.
Beardsley, with a wink that no doubt meant a great deal. "By the way,
Marcy, you've been to school and oughter be posted in such things,--what
is a letter of mark-we and reprisal? I've been down to Wilmington a time
or two on business, but I di