Surely, upon the whole, this year 1797 was one of the most eventful in the whole history of this long and bloody war. A dark cloud seemed hanging over our native land, which at any moment might burst into a storm that would end in our utter collapse, if not destruction. And the shadow of this cloud was in every heart. Nor is this to be wondered at. The people were positively an-hungered, the children were crying for bread. Far away in the north, the crops had all but failed, and famine and death stared the people in the face. Britain's best blood was being drained off to the wars; her sturdiest sons--those who ought to have stayed at home to work for the women and children--were "weeded away." Money seemed to have taken unto itself wings and flown off; and in February the Bank of England itself came down with a crash, and closed its doors. Even those who in wild disorderly mobs did not preach anarchy or cry for bread, called aloud for "Peace." Peace, indeed! what would peace have meant at such a time but dishonour and ruin. No, no! peace could not again hover on her white wings over our distracted country for many a day. To make matters worse, Ireland was ripe for rebellion, and our British forces by land had been unsuccessful; for we had been beaten and thrashed by the French in Holland. Is it not a pretty picture? But the darkest hour had yet to come. I have already told you about the combination formed against us. Well, had the Dutch fleet been able to join forces with the French, this brave Britain of ours would no longer have ruled the ocean, and all the horrors of invasion, massacre, and rapine would have been added to our other troubles. We were depending upon our Channel fleet to avert the last and overwhelming calamity, when all at once, to the horror of every one, this fleet mutinied and refused to go to sea. They even seized their officers, and though they lifted no hand against them, they disarmed them, and either made them prisoners or allowed a few, among whom were medical officers, to go on shore. The men demanded increase in pay and other allowances; and it must be confessed that, upon the whole, they had their grievances. It was not before several anxious weeks had gone by that the differences were settled. It was the good old admiral Lord Howe who himself brought the king's free pardon to the men, and the Act of Parliament granting them their just demands. He was a very great favourite, and looked upon as quite a father to the fleet. Then on the 17th of May the ships put to sea. [Illustration: "_Up and down the streets, carrying red flags, his fellows marched._" Page 133.]