“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.”