Chapter 13

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!_

The Frenchmen were plying their guns right willingly, but the English sailors could not be stopped, and they neared the vessel under vigorous sweeps of the oars. The lieutenant in command was badly wounded, and was forced to lie in the bottom of his boat, but--in a few moments--the tenders were alongside the merchantman, and the sailors, with a wild yell, were clambering to her deck. There was a fierce hand-to-hand struggle, but nothing would gainsay the rush of the British tars. In twenty minutes the fight was all over and the vessel was towed out of the bay, in triumph, next morning. As she was a smart, little craft she was turned into a privateer in place of the _Prince Frederick_ (which had run aground) and was christened the _Prince George_.

The "Royal Family" continued upon its way, made many captures, and--after eight months--put into the harbor of Lisbon with prizes and prize-money amounting to L220,000 (about $1,100,000). So you can see that privateering was a very lucrative trade in those days, when successfully pursued. Not a single man had been killed aboard the little fleet, but many had been severely wounded. The ships were overhauled, refitted, and, being joined by the _Prince Frederick_, amounted to six in number, for the vessel captured in the harbor of Safia had been converted into a full-fledged privateer. Now was to be one of the most gruelling sea-fights in which George Walker ever engaged.

In the month of October the squadron was cruising off of Lagos Bay, on the coast of Portugal, when a large sail was sighted at about five in the morning. The _Princess Amelia_ was at anchor in the harbor of Lagos, so Captain Walker sent a small sloop (a recent capture) after her to tell her to "Hurry up and get under way," while he gave signal to the other vessels to chase the stranger at once. All started after the foreigner, who stood to the northward and could be seen to be crowding on all possible canvas. There were four ships in this merry little chase, but two of them--the _Duke_ and the _Prince George_--dropped out, after about an hour's run. They either could not get up, or else their captains grew tired of the affair.

On, on, went the other privateers, and--at about noon--Walker drew near the fugitive, in the _King George_. The _Prince Frederick_, with her twenty-six guns, was still some distance away, but Walker kept after the stranger, although he now saw that she was a large vessel,--much more powerful than the _King George_, with her thirty-two guns and three hundred men. He was rapidly nearing the big fellow, when it grew suddenly calm, so that neither could move.

At this moment an ejaculation of astonishment burst from the lips of some of the officers aboard the saucy _King George_.

"She's a seventy-four!" cried several. "We're in a tight hole!"

Sure enough, the pursued hoisted her colors, ran out her guns, and showed herself to be a man-of-warsman carrying seventy-four cannon: over double the amount of armament aboard the plucky _King George_.

"I can't make out whether she's Spanish or Portuguese," said Captain Walker, gazing carefully at her drooping flag.

The colors hung down in the dead calm, and it was impossible to tell whether they were Spanish or Portuguese; for the two ensigns--at that period--were very similar.

The sea-warriors drifted along, eyeing each other, for about an hour, when the stranger ran in her lower deck-guns and closed her port-holes.

"She's a treasure ship," cried a sailor. "And she won't fight if she can avoid it!"

Walker turned to his officers and asked,

"Gentlemen, shall we fight her?"

"Aye! Aye!" came from all. "She's afraid of us!"

The vessel, in fact, was a treasure ship which had been recently chased by some English men-of-war and had already landed her treasure, to the value of about one million sterling (about $5,000,000). A slight breeze sprang up, at about five in the afternoon, and the big ship kept on her course; the gamey _King George_ following, while the white sails of the _Prince Frederick_ were far astern, as the breeze had not yet struck her. So they swashed along, the Englishmen anxious for a fight, and a chance to overhaul the supposed treasure which the stranger was carrying. At eight o'clock the _King George_ was struck by a favorable puff of wind, and came quite close to the seventy-four. It was time for battle.

"What ship is that?" hailed Captain Walker, in the Portuguese tongue. He was cleared for action and his men were all lying down at their quarters. There was no answer to his challenge.

"What ship is that?" he asked again; this time in English.

A voice came back,--also in English,

"And what ship may you be?"

"The _King George_."

_Crash! B-oo-m!_

A thundering broadside belched from the side of the seventy-four, dismounting two guns on the port side of the _King George_, and bringing the main topsail yard crashing to the deck. It was now bright moonlight, and in its radiance the flag of the stranger was seen to blow straight out, disclosing her nationality to be Spanish. She was the _Glorioso_: a strong and powerful vessel, ably officered and ably manned. She towered above the little _King George_ like a church-spire, and her broadsides now sputtered with great regularity.

_Crash! Crash! Crash!_

The sprightly little _King George_ kept after the big warship like a sword-fish chasing a whale. She drew so close that some burning wads from the Spanish guns set fire to her mainsail. Continually hoping that the _Prince Frederick_ would come up, the gallant Walker hammered away at the _Glorioso_ with furious precision, and drove her so near the rocks off Cape Vincent that the castle guns began to play upon the two grappling warriors of the sea. The British sea-captain fought and commanded with "a calmness peculiar to himself" and his example secured order and discipline even in the thickest of the fight, when the mainsail was set on fire. He was magnificent in action.

So the unequal struggle kept on. By half-past ten the _King George_ had been so severely damaged aloft that she could not have escaped if she had tried. All the braces were shot away; the foremast was quite disabled; and the mainmast was badly splintered. Battered, torn, and distressed she kept banging away at the great, towering Spaniard; while the big fellow ceased her fire somewhat, and ever now and again let go a broadside, like the blow from the mouth of a huge whale. It sounded like, _Chu-spow!_

But hurrah! hurrah! The _Prince Frederick_ had at last caught the breeze, and came bouncing by, her little pennons fluttering like so many silk stockings on a clothes-line.

"Are you all well?" shouted her commander, as he neared the splintered _King George_. "You look as if you're sinking."

Captain Walker came to the rail with the speaking-trumpet in his hand.

"One killed and fifteen wounded," he answered. "Now sail after that Spanish villain and take her, in revenge for all the damage that she has done me. She's a treasure ship."

"All right," Captain Dottin called back, and he kept on after the _Glorioso_, which was now rapidly drawing away.

By the bright moonlight it could be seen that the _Duke_ and the _Prince George_ were also approaching. And, when they came close enough to the maimed and battered _King George_, her captain called to them, "to keep on after the Spaniard, and catch the rascal." They continued on their way, and, at daybreak the three vessels could be seen, through the glass, as they closed in upon the Spanish game-cock from three sides. "She'll be ours before nightfall," said Captain Walker, chuckling.

The headmost ship, apparently the _Duke_ under Captain Dottin, could now be seen to hotly engage the _Glorioso_, which greatly displeased the captain of the dismantled _King George_.

"Dottin will fire away all of his cartridges," said he, turning to a few of his officers, who clustered around him. "He will shoot them all off at too great a distance, and will afterwards be obliged to load with loose powder, by which some fatal accident is sure to occur. He's a brave fellow, but a rash one!"

He had scarcely spoken, when a broadside rang out. Simultaneously, with the discharge of the guns, a pillar of smoke and flame shot high into the air.

"Good Heavens, the _Duke_ has blown up!" cried Captain Walker. "Dottin and his brave followers have found a watery grave!"

"It is merely the smoke of a broadside," one of the officers interrupted.

"No! No!" answered Walker, dejectedly. "It's the last that will ever be seen of noble Dottin and his men!"

The smoke now cleared away and no ship was to be seen upon the surface of the water. The _Glorioso_ was still-belching both smoke and flame, and near her were three sails, indistinctly seen through a haze of smoke and fog. Could it not have been the _Duke_, after all? "Vain thought," cried bold Walker, aloud. "Our bravest and best ship has gone to the bottom."

This terrible incident had such an effect upon the seamen of the _King George_ that Captain Walker called the officers aside into the companionway, and there made them a speech.

"My brave men," said he, "you must keep up an air of cheerfulness before these fellows of ours, for, otherwise they will be backward in fighting, and will not have the courage which we desire. Go among them and show no sign that you are lacking in pleasantry."

As he ceased speaking there was a series of sudden explosions, mingled with cries of alarm.

"Gad zooks! What's happened!" cried all, rushing to the deck.

They found matters in a sorry state, for the crew was in a panic; some clinging outside the ship; some climbing out upon the bowsprit, all ready to jump overboard should the vessel blow up.

Captain Walker was astonished. "Why, men!" said he. "What means this confusion?"

It was easily explained, for the alarm had been caused by a seaman who stepped upon a number of loaded muskets, which had been covered by a sail. One was fired off accidentally, and this exploded some spare ammunition, set the sail on fire, and completely demoralized the crew; who still were thinking of the sad tragedy which they had just witnessed. Order was quickly restored, the blazing sail was torn down and bucketed, and the terrified sailors came back to their posts. When men have their nerves shattered, it is easy to startle them.

But how about the _Glorioso_?

The fair-fighting Spaniard was far out of sight, by now, still whanging away at her many enemies, and still proudly flaunting the flag of Arragon in the faces of the British war-dogs, who were snapping and snarling at her like a wolf pack. What became of her was not known for several days, when the poor, battered _King George_ staggered into a sheltering harbor, there to meet with the _Duke_ herself, which was Dottin's good ship,--the one which all had thought to have exploded and sunk.

"Hurray!" shouted many. "She's afloat after all!"

Eager questioning brought out the fact that it had been the frigate _Dartmouth_ which had exploded; a vessel which had run near the fight in order to see the fun. Some loose powder had set fire to her magazine, and thus she had suffered the same fate as the _Fleuron_, which, as you remember, had blown up, when at anchor in the harbor of Brest. _It's a wise ship that keeps away from a sea battle._

Only seventeen of the crew of this unfortunate craft had been picked up by the boats of the _Prince Frederick_; one of whom was an Irish lieutenant named O'Brien, who was hauled aboard Dottin's vessel, clad only in a night shirt.

"Sirrah!" said he, bowing politely. "You must excuse the unfitness of my dress to come aboard a strange ship, but really I left my own in such a hurry that I had no time to stay for a change." He had been blown out of a port-hole!

An additional vessel, the _Russel_, had aided in the capture of the powerful _Glorioso_, so it had taken four privateers to down the proud Castilian: the _Duke_, the _Prince George_, the _Prince Frederick_, and the _Russel_. Certainly she had put up a magnificent battle and she had completely crippled the stout little craft sailed by Captain Walker, who was now filled with chagrin and mortification, when he found that the treasure (which he had been sure was in the hold) had been safely landed at Ferrol, before he had sighted this valorous man-of-warsman. It was a great blow both to him and to his men, and, upon arriving at Lisbon he was met by one of the owners of his own vessel, who severely reprimanded him for fighting with such a powerful boat.

"Captain Walker," said he, "I fear that your fighting blood is superior to your prudence!"

But to this, the game old sea-dog replied, with considerable heat:

"Had the treasure been aboard the _Glorioso_, as I expected, my dear sir, your compliment would have been far different. Or had we let her escape from us with the treasure aboard, what would you have said then?"

To these sage reflections the owner did not reply.

The honesty and courage of this able seaman were never questioned, and the following incident bears good witness to the first quality. Upon one occasion he was sailing for Lisbon in a well-armed privateer, when a couple of East India trading ships offered him L1,000 ($5,000) if he would act as their guard and protect them from the enemy.

"Gentlemen," said he to the captain of these vessels, "I shall never take a reward for what I consider it my duty to do without one. I consider it my bounden duty to conduct you both safely into port, for you are both British ships, and I am engaged to fight the enemies of our King."

So he convoyed them safely into port and would not take even the smallest present, in recompense for his services.

As a fighter he had no superior. War is simply glorified sport and those who are best trained athletically can usually win upon the battle-field. Did not Wellington say, "The battle of Waterloo was won upon the foot-ball grounds of Eton and Harrow?" Which was another way of saying that the boys who had learned to stand punishment upon the athletic field, could take it manfully and well upon the field of battle.