It sets forth anew the principles of maritime war, which England had then rigidly in force.  Napoleon had declared the whole of the British Islands in a state of blockade.  The British Government replied by blockading de facto the whole of Europe.  This was done by those celebrated orders in council, which, more than anything else, precipitated the downfall of Napoleon.  They threw the trade of the world into the hands of England.  Of course, Russia was deeply affected, so was Spain and all the other maritime states; and they were all, one way or another, in open hostility with this country.  But England laughed all their threats to scorn; and in the whole history of the country, there was not a more brilliant period in her eventful history.  She stood alone against the world in arms.  Even the blusterings of the United States were unheeded, and in no degree disturbed her stern equanimity.  She saw the road to victory, and resolved to pursue it.  But England then had great statesmen, and, of them all, Lord Castlereagh was the greatest, although he served a Prince Regent who cared no more for England or the English people, than the Irish member, who, when reproached for selling his country, thanked God that he had a country to sell.

At length the ill-will of the Americans resolved itself into open warfare, and the United States was numbered with the overt enemies of England.  This resulted in British troops marching up to Washington and burning the Capitol, or Congress House, about the ears of the members who had stirred up the strife.  Meanwhile, all the islands of France in the east and west had been taken possession of; the British flag waved on the Spanish island of Cuba, and in the no less valuable possessions of Holland, in Java.  Everywhere on the ocean England held undisputed sway.  This state of things gave rise to one great evil—­the sea swarmed with cruisers and privateers, English, French, and American; so that no vessel, unless sailing under convoy, heavily armed, or a very swift sailer, but ran risk of capture.

The Mary—­for so Fritz now called the pinnace—­had been ten days at sea, the wind had died away, and for some time scarcely a zephyr had ruffled the surface of the water, the sails were lazily flapping against the mast, and but for the currents, the voyagers would have been almost stationary.  It may readily be supposed that, under such circumstances, their progress was somewhat slow, and, as Jack observed, to judge from their actual rate of sailing, they ought to have started when very young, in order to arrive at the termination of the voyage before they became bald-headed old men.

They prayed for a breeze, a gale, or even a storm; their fresh water was beginning to get sour, and they reflected that, if the calm continued any length of time, their provisions would eventually run short, and the ordinary resource of eating one another would stare them in the face.  Jack, being the youngest, would probably disappear first, next Fritz, then Willis would be left to eat himself, in order to avoid dying of hunger, just as the unfortunate Count Ugolino devoured his own children to save them from orphanage.