brigantine trading to the Baltic Sea, in spite of the fact that war
had been declared with France, and the privateers and gun-boats of
that nation hovered in his path, eager and anxious to secure some
English merchant vessel, as a prize.
"I see that these fellows mean to catch me, if they can," said the
keen-witted mariner. "So I intend to be ready for them if I do not
happen to be near an English man-of-warsman when they come sailing
by."
He therefore shipped a number of wooden guns, which were painted
black, so that, at a distance, they looked exactly like the real
thing. Upon his vessel were only six cannon, so when--a short time
afterwards--he was chased by a French privateer off the coast of
Scotland--he had an excellent opportunity to "bluff" the bold
marauder.
As the Frenchman drew near, the vessel which Captain Walker was on
kept steadily upon her way, and, through his glass, the cautious
mariner saw that his pursuer carried fully twenty guns.
"Run out our dummy cannon!" he ordered.
Out were thrust the black, wooden muzzles, twenty-five in number,
and--as the Frenchman was now within shooting distance--the English
boat was luffed into the wind. In a second the British jack, ensign,
and man-of-war's pendant were hoisted, and a gun was fired across the
bow of the arrogant privateer.
"Come on!" shouted bold Walker. "I am waiting for you!"
But the enemy did not come on. Instead of this, she turned tail in a
hurry, filled away, and made off as fast as a freshening breeze would
drive her.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed the genial, English skipper. "Bluffed by a lot
of wooden guns. Ha! Ha! Ha!"
And all of his sailors gave a rousing cheer.
This was indeed good fortune, but Captain Walker was soon to meet
with some fortune which was quite the reverse.
It was the year 1744 and the doughty sailor had accepted the command
of the privateer _Mars_, of twenty-six guns and one hundred and thirty
men, which sailed from London for a cruise in the English channel.
With her was the _Boscawen_, another privateer with about the same
number of guns, but with a crew of fully one hundred and eighty. They
soon had an adventure which was not all to the liking of bold George
Walker.
At midnight, late in December, the two privateers were running near
the coast of France. There was a heavy mist and rain, also a fresh
breeze, so the steersmen could not well see what way they were going.
Suddenly the hulls of two large vessels loomed up in the blackness,
and the twinkling lights from their port-holes shone upon the dripping
sides of the British privateers. Voices came through the mist--French
voices--so it was apparent that the ships were not friends.
"Those fellows are showing much alarm," said Captain Walker, a few
moments later. "I therefore believe that the vessels are full of
treasure. We'll hang on until daylight, at any rate, and see whether
or no we cannot capture a rich cargo."
Next morning, at eight o'clock, the fog suddenly lifted,
disclosing--not two treasure ships--but two French men-of-war; one
bearing seventy-four guns, the other sixty-four.
"Egad!" ejaculated the startled Walker. "We're in a hornet's nest! I
guess we'd better run for it!"
The Frenchmen, however, were both treasure-ships, as well as
men-of-war; both bound from the West Indies, with cargoes worth about
four millions sterling ($20,000,000), which they were carrying into
the harbor of Brest. They were not in good fighting trim, as their
heavy cargoes made them low in the water, and very unwieldy. It is
probable that they would not have attacked the two Englishmen, had not
the captain of the _Boscawen_ turned tail and fled, leaving the _Mars_
all alone.
"Did you ever see such a coward?" cried Captain Walker, with heat.
"Boys! We're in for it now!"
Sure enough, they were: for the Frenchmen saw that only one enemy was
left, and immediately sent the sixty-four gun ship--the _Fleuron_--in
pursuit.
Walker turned his vessel about and clapped on all sail, but the large
gun-boat quickly overhauled him.
"Gentlemen!" said Captain Walker, as she rapidly approached. "I do not
mean to be so rash as to attempt a regular engagement with so superior
a force; all I ask of you is to confide in me and my orders, to get
away--if possible--without striking our flag; and, be assured, I shall
not call upon you to fight unless there is excellent opportunity for
success. The ship which pursues us is certainly the better sailer of
the two French men-of-war; yet, if we have good fortune with our
shots, we may bring down a topmast or yard; or hurt her rigging so as
to retard her pursuit. We may yet get entirely clear. So, my
hearties, do not lose your nerve!"
These wise remarks were greeted with a "Hip! Hip! Hooray!"
Now was a lively chase. The _Mars_ hoisted the English flag, opened
with her stern guns, and put on all available canvas. But she was not
a fast sailer, and gradually but surely, the _Fleuron_ crept up on one
side, and the other French man-of-war upon the other. She, too, had
entered the chase.
Finally the French vessels had the British privateer directly between
them.
"The jig is up!" cried Captain Walker, sadly. "Gentlemen, we do not
strike to one ship only. Haul down the colors!"
Down came the proud ensign, the sails were lowered, and the gallant
Walker entered a boat, in order that he might be put aboard the
_Fleuron_ and give up his sword. When he arrived on the deck he found
the French captain by no means in the politest of humors.
After receiving the weapon of the vanquished privateersman, the
Frenchman thundered in very good English:
"How dare you fire against a force like mine in so small a ship?
Sirrah, you must be stark mad. I compliment you upon your lack of
judgment."
Captain Walker was nettled.
"Sir," he replied, with warmth, "if you will look at my commission you
will find that I had as good a right to fight as you, yourself, had.
Furthermore, if my force had not been so inferior to yours, I would
have shown you more civil treatment on board my own ship, after I had
captured you."
The Frenchman winced.
"How many of your bushwhackers have I killed?" said he.
"None at all, sir!" replied the Englishman.
"Then, sir, you should be well ashamed of your scurvy fighting. For
you have killed six of my brave men and have wounded several with
pieces of glass. Pray, when, sir, did the rules of war allow glass to
be used as ammunition?"
"You lie," cried Captain Walker. "No glass was used by my men."
The Frenchman curbed his anger.
"Then what was it?" said he.
Here a British seaman interrupted.
"If it would please your French Majesty," he said, with a bow, "I
reckon I know what it was that you took for glass. The captain of one
of our stern guns, when he found out that we must surrender, sir, took
about sixteen shillings from his pocket, saying: 'Sooner than let
these French rascals plunder me of all I've got in the world, I'll see
what a bribe can do!' So he wrapped the money up in a bag, sir,
crammed it into a gun, and let fly at your deck. Faith, your men were
lucky to be struck by good, British coin!"
At this all had a good laugh, and the unpleasantness between the
French captain and George Walker was at an end. The privateersman was
treated with the greatest courtesy and was made as comfortable as
could be.
The action took place on Friday and the ships were headed for Brest,
about three days' sail away. At daybreak on Sunday morning, four large
boats were sighted astern, and it did not take long to realize that
they were coming up pretty fast _and were flying the English colors_.
"Hurray!" shouted Captain Walker. "No French prison for me. Hurray!"
The English squadron gained steadily. The boats grew nearer and
nearer, while Walker's hopes soared higher and higher. Finally, the
French officer, who was in charge of his own boat--the _Mars_--put his
helm up and ran to leeward, hoping to draw one of the British vessels
after him. He was successful, for a seventy-gun ship made after him,
chased him for several miles, and finally re-captured the English
privateer. The other ships kept on and drew closer and closer.
Seeing that an action would soon take place, the French captain
politely requested Walker and his officers to go below.
"Messieurs!" said he. "There will soon be a leetle affair in which the
balls will fly. You will be better off in the hold, where they cannot
reach you so easily as up here."
"Sir!" replied the English privateer-captain. "I go below with the
greatest of pleasure, for I am now certain of my liberty. Au revoir!"
"Do not count your chickens before they hatch!" cried the Frenchman,
after his retreating form.
The British vessels were the _Hampton Court_ of seventy guns, and the
_Sunderland_ and _Dreadnought_ of sixty each; so, being three to two,
they should have had a fairly easy victory over the Frenchmen. But the
_Sunderland_ lost a spar overboard, and dropped astern; so it left but
two to two: an even affair.
Alas for gallant Captain Walker! Although the Englishmen came near the
two French men-of-war, they hung about without firing a shot; allowed
the Frenchmen to sail on unmolested, and thus carry their
astonishingly rich treasure into Brest, amid wild and enthusiastic
cheering of their crews, and groans of disappointment from the English
prisoners.
Yet these same prisoners had little cause to complain of their
treatment when they arrived at Brest; for they were landed at once,
and the captain and officers were liberated on parole. The French also
treated them very well and invited the valorous George Walker to many
a repast, where they laughed at the narrow shave that he had had from
death,--for they had left the _Fleuron_ none too soon.
On the day following the landing, Captain Walker was seated in the
office of a counting-house, near the dock-end, and was writing a
letter to the captain of the _Fleuron_, requesting him to send him his
letter-of-credit, which was in a tin box in a cabin of the French
man-of-war, when a terrible _Boom!_ sounded upon his ears.
A sailor came running past the open window.
"The _Fleuron_ has blown up!" he cried. "The _Fleuron_ is a total
loss!"
Captain Walker dashed into the street; to the end of the quay; and
there a sad spectacle greeted his eager gaze. Strewn about upon the
surface of the water were broken spars; pieces of sail; and the debris
of a once gallant man-of-war. The remnants of the _Fleuron_ were
burning brightly.
The captain of the French ship came running by. "Helas!" he wailed. "A
careless gunner has destroyed my gallant vessel. Helas! Helas!"
It was too true. Four or five powder barrels had been left in the
magazine for saluting purposes, and quite a little loose powder had
been allowed to lie upon the floor. Some careless seamen had gone down
into the hold with a decrepit, old lantern. The handle broke, the
flame set fire to the loose powder,--and that was the end of the
gallant ship _Fleuron_. She burned to the water's edge and then went
down to the bottom with a dull, sizzling hiss; while the treasure also
disappeared. Later on, divers secured a part of it, but much that was
of value was never recovered.
Captain Walker did not long grieve over the loss of his
letter-of-credit, left on board the ill-starred _Fleuron_, for he was
exchanged, after a few weeks, and was sent back to England with his
crew. This was in 1745. He lost no time in reporting to the owners of
the _Mars_, and so well did they think of him, that in a short while
they sent him upon another privateering venture aboard the _Boscawen_,
which, as you remember, had run away from the _Mars_, after she had
fallen in with the two French men-of-war. Now occurred his greatest
sea-fight.
The _Boscawen_ had been built in France and had been a prize, taken
at sea. She mounted twenty-eight guns (nine-pounders), but Walker
added two more, and shipped a crew of three hundred and fourteen men.
Without waiting for the _Mars_, the stout sea-dog put out to sea on
April 19th, 1745, steering for the shores of France where cruised the
prize-laden clipper ships, and the unwelcome men-of-warsmen. The
British privateersman cruised about for a whole month without any
luck, and, falling in with the privateer _Sheerness_, joined with her
in a little run in search of inoffensive merchantmen. At daybreak a
cry came from the forward watch,--
"Sails ho! Sails ho! Off the starboard quarter! There're eight o' them
an' heading no' east."
Both the privateers started in pursuit, but the _Sheerness_ was left
far astern, as the _Boscawen_ was a speedy sailer. The latter drew
near the eight scudding sail, which suddenly veered about and formed a
line, awaiting an attack. The _Sheerness_ was way astern. Would
Captain Walker advance?
It was eight against one, and there was no certainty what was the
armament of the vessels now standing in a row, all ready for action.
The faces of the officers on the _Boscawen_ showed anxiety and
suspense, but there was no shadow of fear upon the countenance of
Captain Walker, who now addressed them in the following words:
"Gentlemen, I hope that you do not think the number of prizes before
us too many. Be assured, my good friends, that by their being armed,
they have something on board of them that is worth defending. I take
them to be merchantmen with letters of marque (privateers), and
homeward bound. Without doubt we shall meet with some opposition, in
which I know that you will exhibit your usual courage. We must conquer
these superior numbers by superior skill. Be cool. Be careful that you
aim correctly, for, as we shall be pressed on all sides, let every man
do his best to engage the enemy that he sees before him.
"In a word, Gentlemen, if you will put full confidence in me for
leading you on, I will pawn my life upon the fact that I will bring
you off victorious."
"Hurray! Hurray for Walker!" came the reassuring response.
"Then go to your quarters, my hearties! Fight like Britishers of old,
and all will be well!" cried the brave mariner.
Like a hornet among a group of snap-dragons, the _Boscawen_ now sailed
into the centre of the enemy's line.
"Do not fire until I give the word!" cried Captain Walker, as the salt
spray kicked and splashed about the bow of the on-coming _Boscawen_.
"Then hammer away like anvils on a sledge!"
Sixty men were ill on board the stout little English privateer, but
all save three crawled on deck in order to render what assistance they
could in pointing and handling the guns.
Now was a glorious fight.
_Bang! Crash! Z-i-i-p!_
The French privateers were hammering away as the Englishman approached
and their balls cut and tore through the rigging, damaging the mizzen
topsail, and splitting a topmast. Steering straight for the largest
vessel, Walker waited until he was within close range and then gave
the order:
"Fire, and hull her if you can."
_Poof! Cr-a-a-sh!_
A blinding broadside rolled from the port of the _Boscawen_, and the
solid shot bit and tore the stranger like a terrier mouthing a rat.
The valiant little privateer was now in the midst of the enemy. Two
were to right of her; two to the left of her; one across her bow; and
one across her stern. Two of the eight decamped, at this juncture;
making the odds six, instead of eight, to one.
"_Pow! Pow! Cu-boom!_"
The vessel astern was banging away like a Banshee, but a sudden
_crash_ from the stern guns so badly damaged her that she hauled off.
It was now five to one.
"Keep it up, boys!" cried Walker, above the roar and rattle of the
fray. "You're doing splendidly. You all deserve statues in the temple
of fame."
"Huzzah!" shouted his men. "Hurray for the _Boscawen_. Down with the
Frenchmen!"
"_Cu-pow! Boom! Boom!_" roared the cannon, while the broadsides from
the _Boscawen_ were delivered without either confusion or disorder.
The five were sparring gamely, but they were lightly armed, with only
a few guns to each, so the thirty nine-pounders on board the English
privateer were about an equal match for the greater numbers of the
foe.
Thus the fight raged for an hour, when, suddenly, the ensign upon the
mast of the French flagship was seen to flutter to the deck. Ten
minutes later a cry arose from a sailor aboard the _Boscawen_:
"Look, Captain, she's sinking!"
Sure enough, the accurate fire from the British privateer had so
riddled the hull of the Frenchman, that she fast filled with water,
and sank, stern first, her men escaping in their small boats.
"That's one less, anyway," mused Captain Walker.
The remaining four continued the fight, but the little privateer was
too much for them. Around and around she veered, broadsiding with
astonishing accuracy, and knocking the spars about like a foot-ball
team kicking a ball. "_Pow! Pow!_" the guns roared, and the men cried,
"Remember the oath of our captain! Let's take 'em all!"
It began to look as if they would do it, too; for, now upon the
starboard quarter appeared the white sails of a vessel, and, as she
approached, a joyous cheer arose from the deck of the _Boscawen_, for
it was the _Sheerness_.
"Now we'll get 'em! Now we'll get 'em!" yelled the British sailors,
and they plied their guns with renewed activity and care.
Down came the flag upon one of the Frenchmen, and--in a few
moments--down came another. Then, as the _Sheerness_ rolled closer,
two more ensigns fluttered to the deck. There was but one Frenchman
left, and she made off, with the newcomer hot in pursuit.
"Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!" The sailors on board the _Boscawen_ were
fairly jumping for joy. "Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!" they yelled.
And well might they cheer, for had they not won one of the pluckiest
sea-fights of all history? The enemy is said to have had one hundred
and thirteen killed and drowned, while the casualties of the
_Boscawen_ amounted to but one killed and seven wounded. "And this,"
says an old chronicler of the spirited affair, "was due to the fact
that the British privateer had a bulwark of elm-planking, man-high,
around her deck. It was so fashioned that there was a step on which
the marines could mount and fire, and then come down in order to load.
Furthermore, this elm-wood did not splinter; but kept out the bullets,
and closed up around the holes made by shot."
At any rate, it was a glorious victory, and when--a few hours
later--the _Sheerness_ came back with the other French vessel a prize,
the total capture amounted to six vessels: homeward bound traders from
Martinique, provided with letters of marque, and with about six guns
each. Their crews were undoubtedly undisciplined and ill-used to
shooting, else how could they have done so badly with the _Boscawen_?
The prizes were headed for the English coast and arrived at King's
Road, Bristol, in a few days, where a swarm of eager sight-seers
crowded about the shattered craft.
"My! My!" said many. "This Walker is another Drake. He is a valiant
soul!"
And so thought the British Admiralty, for they sent him a letter (upon
his reporting to them) which read:
"We cannot too highly congratulate and commend you upon the
seamanship and courage which you have displayed in the capture of
these French vessels. Your daring and ability should always make your
name one to be revered by those Britishers who follow the sea. May
your future career upon the ocean but add to the laurels which you
have already won!"
And were they not right?
Seldom has such a feat been accomplished, and seldom has one vessel
come off victorious against such odds. If you love a game warrior,
cheer for George Walker, for he deserves it. If you are an admirer of
the fighting quality in a man, give three times three for the
privateersman who had the nerve to sail into eight vessels,--and won
out.
So much, indeed, did the British owners of the privateer vessels think
of Captain Walker, that he was now placed in command of four ships,
known as "The Royal Family of Privateers," for each was named after
some member of the English royal family. These were the _Princess
Amelia_, of twenty-four guns and one hundred and fifty men: the
_Prince Frederick_ of twenty-six guns and two hundred and sixty men:
the _Duke_ of twenty guns and two hundred and sixty men; and the _King
George_, of thirty-two guns and three hundred men. This last boat was
commanded by Walker, himself; the _Duke_ by Edward Dottin, a staunch
sailor; the _Prince Frederick_ by Hugh Bromedge; and the _Princess
Amelia_ by Robert Denham. The entire squadron carried nearly a
thousand men and one hundred and two guns, so, you see, that it could
do quite a little damage to the enemies of Merrie England.
Sailing in May, 1746, the squadron soon met with hard luck, for the
_Prince Frederick_ ran upon a rock in Bristol Channel, and had to be
left behind; for she was badly punctured below the water-line. The
three others sailed for the coast of France, and--a week later--had a
startling little adventure.
A heavy fog lay over the sobbing water, and the three English
sea-robbers were gliding along within easy gun-shot of each other,
when it was evident that they were near some other vessels. Voices
came out of the mist, lights flashed (for it was near the close of
day), and the wash of water could be heard, as the waves beat against
solid oak planking.
"Egad!" whispered Captain Walker to one of his lieutenants. "Listen,
my boy, and tell me whether these voices are French, Spanish, or
English."
The lieutenant held a speaking-trumpet to his ear.
The _swish_, _swish_ of water came to the eager senses of the anxious
privateersman. That was all!
Captain Walker passed the word around among his men to be absolutely
silent, and, as he strained his hearing, in order to catch the
faintest sound from the strangers, suddenly he heard the sentence,
"Pressy! Chantez une chanson. Je vais me coucher." (Sing a song,
Pressy. I am going to bed.)
In a second the gallant Walker knew that, as once before, he was in
the midst of some French vessels.
"Caught!" he whispered. "And I believe that they're men-of-warsmen!
Now we're in a pretty pickle!"
His officers scowled.
"I know that they're men-o'-warsmen," said one, "for, just now, the
fog lifted for a second, and I could make out--by their lights--that
they were large gun-ships."
Captain Walker looked dejected.
"The deuce," said he.
But he soon regained his composure.
"Put every light out on board," he ordered. "These fellows see us, for
I hear them bearing over our way."
Sure enough, from the swashing of water and glimmer of lights in the
fog, it could be seen that the great lumbering men-of-war were closing
in upon the privateer. But the Frenchmen had a human eel to capture
and he was equal to the occasion.
"Bring up a couple of casks from below!" cried Captain Walker. They
were soon on deck.
"Now put a lantern in one and lash them together," he continued.
"We'll alter our course and skip, while the Frenchies will follow this
light."
The ruse worked magnificently, and, when morning dawned and the bright
sun burned off the fog, the French men-of-war found themselves
hovering around a couple of old casks with a lantern tied to the top;
while Captain Walker in the _King George_ was scudding along the
French coast, many miles away. At which the French captain remarked,
"Sapristi! L'oiseau s'est envole." (Egad! The bird has flown!)
Not long after this "The Royal Family of Privateers" took some
valuable prizes, and, having chased a small, French merchantman into
the bay of Safia, in Morocco, Captain Walker determined to capture her
at night, by sending a party against her in the long-boats. A second
lieutenant was put in charge of this venture, and, at dark three
tenders, crowded with armed seamen and propelled by muffled oars,
started after the prize. As they neared the merchantman a hail came
through the blackness:
"Qui est la?" (Who is there?)
No answer was made to this, but the boats kept straight on.
_Crash! Bang!_
A gun roared in the faces of the privateers, and shots came falling
around them like hail-stones,--but still they kept on.
Again _Crash! Crash! Crash!_