“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?”