But these governments were barbarous, faithless, regardless of humanity and justice. Promises with them were evanescent. As in the days of Charles the Second, treaties were made merely to be broken. They were observed only so long as money was derived under their stipulations. Soon again our growing commerce was fatally vexed by the Barbary corsairs; even the ships of our navy were subjected to peculiar indignities. In 1801 the Bey of Tripoli formally declared war against the United States, and in token thereof "our flag-staff [before the consulate] was chopped down six feet from the ground, and left reclining on the terrace."[125] American citizens once more became the prize of man-stealers. Colonel Humphreys, now at home in retirement, came out in an address to the public, calling again for united action, saying: "Americans of the United States, your fellow-citizens are in fetters! Can there be but one feeling? Where are the gallant remnants of the race who fought for freedom? Where the glorious heirs of their patriotism? _Will there never be a truce between political parties? Or must it forever be the fate of FREE STATES, that the soft voice of union should be drowned in the hoarse clamor of discord?_ No! Let every friend of blessed humanity and sacred freedom entertain a better hope and confidence."[126] Colonel Humphreys was not a statesman only; he was known as poet also. And in this character he made another appeal. In a poem on "The Future Glory of the United States," he breaks forth into indignant condemnation of slavery, which deserves commemoration, and, whatever may be the merits of its verse, should not be omitted here. [125] Lyman's Diplomacy, Vol. II. p. 384. [126] Miscellaneous Works of David Humphreys, p. 75. "Teach me curst slavery's cruel woes to paint, Beneath whose weight our captured freemen faint! * * * * * Where am I? Heavens! what mean these dolorous cries? And what these horrid scenes that round me rise? Heard ye the groans, those messengers of pain? Heard ye the clanking of the captive's chain? Heard ye your freeborn sons their fate deplore, Pale in their chains and laboring at the oar? Saw ye the dungeon, in whose blackest cell, That house of woe, your friends, your children, dwell? Or saw ye those who dread the torturing hour, Crushed by the rigors of a tyrant's power? _Saw ye the shrinking slave, the uplifted lash, The frowning butcher, and the reddening gash? Saw ye the fresh blood, where it bubbling broke From purple scars, beneath the grinding stroke? Saw ye the naked limbs writhed to and fro, In wild contortions of convulsing woe?_ Felt ye the blood, with pangs alternate rolled, Thrill through your veins and freeze with deathlike cold, Or fire, as down the tear of pity stole, Your manly breasts, and harrow up the soul?"[127]