THE DEEP
There’s beauty in the deep:
The wave is bluer than the sky;
And though the lights shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow
That sparkle in the depths below;
The rainbow tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid.
And sea and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean’s level brine.
There’s beauty in the deep.
There’s quiet in the deep.
Above, let tide and tempest rave,
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;
Above, let care and fear contend
With sin and sorrow to the end:
Here, far beneath the tainted foam
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and walk in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.
There’s quiet in the deep.
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GEORGE WALKER
WINNER OF THE GAMEST SEA FIGHT OF THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
(1727-1777)
“‘War is Hell,’ said General William T. Sherman. But,—better have war than bow to an inferior nation.”—Doctrines of the Strenuous Life.
GEORGE WALKER
WINNER OF THE GAMEST SEA FIGHT OF THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
(1727-1777)
“If Britain can but breed th’ men,
Who are like Walker made,
She’ll have no fear of danger,
When th’ foe starts to invade.
When th’ foe starts to invade, my boys,
An’ creep along th’ shore,
Where th’ curling breakers wash th’ cliffs,
Where th’ breeching combers roar.
Then, lift a glass to Walker,
Of Glorioso fame,
May we ne’er forget his deed lads,
May we ne’er forget his name.”
—Chants from The Channel.—1769.
IT was the year 1739, and the good people of Charleston, South Carolina, were in a great state of agitation. Little knots of merchants, sailors, clerks, and dock-hands clustered about each other in the narrow streets. And, above the hub-bub of many voices, could be heard the solemn sentence, oft repeated:
“The pirate is off the narrows! The pirate will soon be here!”
Then all would gaze seaward with startled faces, and would murmur:
“The pirate—the Spanish pirate will be here.”
As they thus stood irresolutely, a strongly-knit fellow came walking towards the dock-end. He was clad in gray; his face was deeply seamed by long exposure to the elements; and high top-boots of leather encased his lower limbs.
“What ho! Good citizens,” said he. “Do I understand that a Spaniard has frightened you all? Why, where’s your courage?”
“Courage?” answered a rotund-bodied merchant. “Of that we have a plenty. But we have no ship with which to combat this fellow—or fellows—for some of my skippers tell me that there are two of them off the coast, and that they’ve captured twenty trading vessels.”
The newcomer smiled.
“I’ve got a staunch craft here,” said he. “My name is Walker, and I hail from Bristol, England. My ship—the Duke William—mounts but twenty guns, and my crew is but of thirty-two, yet, I know that many of you gentlemen will volunteer your services, particularly if there is to be a nice little battle.”
“Hear! Hear!” came from all sides. “You’re the boy for us! You’re the chap we’ve been looking for! Hear! Hear!”
It did not take long to increase the crew of the Duke William. Several of the wealthy colonists volunteered their services; many sailors were there who had been fighting on the Spanish Main. They were eager and anxious to join. So, before three days were out, the Duke William spread her canvas for the open sea, carrying one hundred men and an additional twenty guns. Now—you see—she could put up an excellent fight with the average pirate-ship which cruised about the low-lying and sandy coast.
Out into the broad expanse of the Atlantic glided the little barque and eagerly the mariners scanned the horizon for some signs of the pirate.
“She’s been hereabouts!” cried one stout seaman. “For several of my mess-mates saw her sails down near the channel islands. And her flag was surely black with th’ skull an’ cross-bones.”
“Must have heard that we were coming, then,” growled Captain Walker, “for there’s nothing in view.”
In an hour’s time he thought differently, for, “Sail ho!” sounded from the forward deck, and there, far off to leeward, was the outline of a long, blackish vessel, bearing no flag at her mizzen or stern.
Crowding on all canvas—for the breeze was light—the Duke William bore away towards her. “It must be the pirate!” said all, for, also crowding on all sail, the vessel headed up the coast, and did her utmost to get away.
On, on, went pursuer and pursued; on, on, and the Duke William began to draw dangerously close to the fleeing vessel, which now could be easily seen. She was a brigantine, carrying about eighteen guns, with a high stern and graceful lines. No flags waved from her mast-heads.
Suddenly the scudding sea-warrior pointed her nose in-shore, ran around the corner of a sandy island, and bore away into a seemingly large lagoon upon the other side. The Duke William followed, and, as she rounded a jutting sand-spit, there before her lay a little schooner, on the deck of which were seen several sailors, waving and gesticulating frantically. Behind, and on the shore, was an earth-work, from which several cannon pointed their black muzzles. On a flag-pole in the centre, waved a Spanish flag, and, beneath it, a black ensign upon which was the skull-and-cross-bones.
“It’s the pirate stronghold!” cried several, at once. “We’re in for a tight skirmish!”
But Captain Walker only smiled.
The brigantine, which he had been following, now rounded-to, opened her port-holes, and fired a couple of shots toward the pursuing craft. At the same time an English flag was hoisted on the schooner, and a fellow on her deck sang out through a speaking trumpet.
“Thank Heaven you have come! We were only captured two days ago! Hurrah for the English flag!”
The Duke William kept on after the brigantine, her mixed crew yelling with joy, now that they were to have an action.
Bang! Bang!
Her two forward guns spoke, and a shot went ripping through one of the foresails of the pirate.
This was enough for the fighting spirit of those who sailed the Spanish Main. For, putting about, the brigantine scudded through a narrow channel, known only to her skipper (for no one else could have followed without grounding upon a sand-spit), and was soon running away upon the opposite side of a low-lying island, now flaunting the pirate-flag from her halyards.
“She’s gone!” sadly remarked the gallant Captain Walker, “but we can capture the gun-battery. Make ready to go ashore, if needed!”
Steering for the coast, the guns of the Duke William opened upon the sandy barricade, and shot after shot was soon making the dirt and gravel fly in every direction:
Poom! Poom! Cu-poom!
The cannon in the earth-work next began to speak, and, it was apparent, from the strange noises which some of them made, that they were full of rust.
Cu-Poom! Cu-Pow! Chuck-chuck-cu-swash! they roared, and a few balls began to whistle about the spars of the Duke William.
There were some accurate marksmen upon the deck of the British vessel, and, as she lay broadside to the fortification, one well-aimed shot struck a cannon and dismounted it; while another shattered the flag-pole and brought down the flag with a crash.
“Hurrah!” shouted the men from Charleston. “Now we’ll even up with these cursed pirates for all the damage that they’ve done us. Now, we’ll teach them not to ravage our coasts and catch our merchant ships!”
Cu-whow! barked the rust-caked guns of the barricade. “Go-slow! Go-back! Go-home!”
To this a full broadside roared, and the balls tore the top of the earth-work to shreds.
“Now let thirty men take to the boats!” commanded Captain Walker. “Steer for the beach and rush the barricade with pistols and cutlasses. I don’t believe that there are more than a dozen men inside the earth-work.”
“Huzzah!” was the cheerful answer to this order, and, in a few moments, several boats were racing for the beach, each eager to be the first ashore.
As they approached, the antiquated guns on the sand-spit became strangely silent, and, as the eager raiders rushed valiantly upon the pirate fortress, no shots were fired at them to impede their progress. With a wild yell they leaped over the side of the barricade, only to find it deserted; for whatever had been the force that had fired these cannon, it had taken to the brush as the English seamen drew near. Only a few charges of ammunition were there, so it was plainly evident that the pirates (whatever their strength might have been) could only have held out for a few more rounds.
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted the raiders. “The fort is ours!”
“And it’s a sorry victory,” said one of the crew, “for there’s nothing here worth the having, except the cannon, and they couldn’t stand more than two more shots without blowing up. I call it a pretty hollow success.”
In spite of this the men of Charleston were well pleased. They had dispersed the pirates; taken their fort; and had re-captured a schooner which had recently been taken only a few miles from the harbor-mouth of that fair, southern city.
When they sailed into their home port they received a tremendous ovation. The bells were rung in all the churches; shots were fired; trumpets were blown.
“We could fall in with nothing that would stay for us upon the seas,” said Captain Walker, modestly; but, in spite of this, he was treated like a great hero. All the influential persons in the Colony offered to sign a request that he might be given the command of a king’s ship; but this he declined. So they tendered him an immense tract of land if he would remain in that country and drive off the pirates when next they became too bold and daring; but this he also declined, and stuck to his ship. In a few weeks he sailed for the Barbadoes, and then to England, in company with three unarmed trading-vessels which placed themselves under his convoy. The good people of Charleston bade him a sad and affectionate farewell.
George Walker sailed forth smiling, but he was now to have far more trouble than his little affair with the pirates.
When half way to England, a terrific gale struck the Duke William and her convoys, which separated them by many miles, and made this good vessel (which had dispersed the pirates) leak like a sieve. The gale continued in its violence, while Captain Walker was so ill that the ship’s surgeon despaired of his life. But note how grit and nerve pulled him through!
On the second day of the tempest, a sailor rushed into his cabin, crying:
“Captain! Captain! We’ll founder, for the water is pouring into our bottom by the hogshead. We’re gone for unless we take to the boats!”
Captain Walker was not the man to leave his ship in such a crisis.
“Throw all of the guns overboard, but two!” he ordered. “We need those in order to signal for help if a vessel comes near us. That will lighten us so that we can still float awhile.”
This was done, but, as the last cannon shot into the waves, a sailor burst into his cabin with the intelligence that the men had prepared to desert in the tenders.
“Carry me on deck!” roared the resolute captain. “I’ll give these cowards a piece of my mind.”
Three sailors seized him and bore him aloft, where he remonstrated with his men in the strongest language possible. In spite of this, many clustered about one of the boats.
“The ship’s a-sinking,” cried one. “She won’t stand up for an hour.”
As he spoke, the welcome sound of, “Sail ho!” arose, above the wash and roar of the angry water.
Sure enough, a ship was bearing down upon them, but, to the dismay of all, she hastily hauled off again.
Captain Walker was astonished. “She thinks us an armed enemy,” said he. “Fire a gun, men, and cut the mizzen-mast in two, so that it falls overboard. That will show the stranger that we’re a friend in distress.”
His orders were immediately obeyed and the mast came ripping and tearing over the side. A gun also roared, and the stranger, now convinced that the ship was a friend, and not a foe, came bearing down upon the crippled Duke William, to the rescue.
“She’s one of our own convoy!” shouted a seaman, waving his hand joyfully. And such she proved to be. Captain Walker had saved his crew by his foresight and quickness of decision. Had he thrown all of his cannon overboard he would have had no gun with which to hail the stranger, and, had he not cut away his own mast, she would have gone away, fearful that he was an enemy. Three cheers for the brave and thoughtful Captain Walker! He reached England, at last, but he and his men were in a sorry plight, for the vessel which had rescued them was almost as unseaworthy as their own, which sank in a great whirl of eddying foam, not half an hour after they had left her. Thus ended the career of the good ship which had chased all of the pirates away from the harbor of Charleston. A sad fate, indeed, for such a gallant craft.
Captain Walker was not long idle, for he soon took charge of a 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 débris 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 envolé.” (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 £220,000 (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!
ACTION BETWEEN THE “GLORIOSO” AND THE “KING GEORGE” AND “PRINCE FREDERICK” UNDER GEORGE WALKER.
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 £1,000 ($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.
Walker believed in athletic exercise and made his sailors continually practice both gunnery and work with the cutlass. They were always in training and always prepared. That is the reason why they won. As you know, if you want to win in athletics you have to train hard and practice daily. If you want to win at warfare you have to do likewise. The most athletic nation is the nation which will win in the long fight, providing that it has sufficient resources and money to carry out a war, once that it has placed its men in the field. It takes a great deal of money to fight a war, but it takes trained men also, and those who are the most fit will win every time.
The English are an athletic nation, an island nation, and great numbers of her people have had to follow the sea as a matter of course. Hence England has always had a vast quantity of well-trained seamen at her beck and call. For this reason she has been more successful upon the ocean than many of her neighbors. Will she continue to be?
If she continues to breed men like George Walker there is little reason to doubt that she will always be a winner in sea fighting.
As for this famous mariner, little is known of his later life save that he was once imprisoned for debt, but this was no disgrace in those times and I am sure that he was soon liberated. He died September 20th, 1777, but where he was buried is not known, nor is there any record of his marriage. At any rate he has left the reputation of a brave and valiant seaman who was beloved by his men, feared by his enemies, and appreciated by his contemporaries.
“Britannia’s glory first from ships arose;
To shipping still her power and wealth she owes.
Let each experienced Briton then impart,
His naval skill to perfect naval art.”