“Two to one, is too much odds,” cried the English captain, as a boat neared the side of his vessel. “I could have licked either of you, alone.”
And, at this, both of the American privateersmen chuckled.
Old “Si” Talbot was soon in another fight. Three days later he chased another sail, and coming up with her, found his antagonist to be the Betsy: an English privateer of twelve guns and fifty-eight men, commanded by an honest Scotchman.
The Argo ranged up alongside and Talbot hailed the stranger. After a bit of talk he hoisted the Stars and Stripes, crying,
“You must haul down those British colors, my friend!”
To which the Scot replied:
“Notwithstanding I find you an enemy, as I suspected, yet, sir, I believe that I shall let them hang a little longer, with your permission. So fire away, Flanagan!”
“And that I’ll do,” yelled Talbot. “Flanagan will be O’Toole and O’Grady before the morning’s over. For I’ll beat you like an Irish constable from Cork.”
So it turned out. Before an hour was past, the Betsy had struck, the captain was killed, and all of his officers were wounded.
“Old Si”—you see—had had good luck. So well, indeed, had he fought, that in 1780 he was put in command of a good-sized vessel, the General Washington. In her he cruised about Sandy Hook in search of spoil.