Poets lose half the praise they would have got,
Was it but known what they discreetly blot."
Nothing appears to be known of George Walker's birth and early training, save that he served in the Dutch Navy, and was involved in some engagement with, probably, Mediterranean pirates.
In 1739 he was commander and part owner of the ship Duke William, trading to Gibraltar and South Carolina; and, with the view of being able to defend himself in case of attack, he obtained a letter of marque, and provided his vessel with twenty guns. His crew numbered only thirty-two: but, with characteristic forethought and resource, he shipped a quantity of seamen's clothing, in order, should occasion arise, to rig up dummies; and this, according to his biographer, he actually did on the approach of a Spanish privateer of superior force, crowded with men: "setting up all the handspikes and other provided utensils, and dressing them in the marine clothes, and also exercising the boatswain's call in the highest notes, as is usual in king's ships." This done, Walker proceeded to prepare for the grim realities of action, should it be forced upon him, he and his crew, as they busied themselves clearing away the guns, etc., going into fits of laughter at the grotesque appearance of the row of dummies, standing stiff and motionless amidships. All being ready, Walker, consistently maintaining his game of bluff, fired a shot across the bows of the Spaniard, which was to windward of him. This invitation to fight was not accepted, and, though the Spaniard hung on for a couple of days, he eventually disappeared; so we must suppose that the toy seamen and the boatswain's whistle carried the day!
Arrived at his destination, Walker, while waiting for a cargo, offered his services to the colonial authorities to put an end to the ravages of two Spanish privateers, which were having it all their own way on the coast of North Carolina. His crew was increased by nearly one hundred men, and several gentlemen volunteered their services. The tidings of an English privateer being abroad appears to have been enough for the Spaniards: "We could fall in with nothing which would stay for us upon the seas"; an English vessel was easily retaken from the enemy, a shore battery destroyed, and there was no more trouble. Walker received a tremendous ovation on the conclusion of this service, all the influential persons in the colony offering to sign a request that he might be given command of a king's ship. Upon his declining this, they tendered him an immense piece of land if he would remain amongst them; but Walker preferred to stick to his ship, and sailed for Barbadoes, and thence for England, in company with three traders who placed themselves under his convoy.
The vessels parted company in a gale, which blew with such violence that the Duke William started some of her planks, and leaked like a sieve. Walker was laid up in his cabin, and was indeed so ill that the surgeon despaired of his life. Things went on from bad to worse: all the guns save two—retained for signalling purposes, by Walker's orders, issued from his bunk—were thrown overboard; the boat was with difficulty preserved from following them, Walker being carried up from below to remonstrate and command; and when a section of the crew, despite his orders, were preparing to desert in the boat—a very desperate venture—a sail appeared; their signals were seen and heard, and she bore down—then, evidently suspecting a ruse by an armed vessel, she hastily hauled off. While the crew were gazing at one another in despair, Walker coolly gave orders to cut away the mizzen-mast instantly; after a momentary hesitation his order was obeyed, and the meaning of it was immediately obvious. Another gun being fired, the stranger, convinced by the crippled condition of the ship, returned to the rescue, and proved to be no stranger, but one of their convoy. The transhipment of Walker and his men was safely effected at immense risk, and they reached home in a sorry plight, this vessel proving almost as unseaworthy as the other. And there Walker was greeted with very unwelcome tidings: he had lost his ship, and his agents had suffered the insurance to lapse; he was a ruined man.
Before entering upon his distinguished career as a privateer captain Walker commanded for eighteen months a vessel trading to the Baltic; and, returning from his last trip in 1744, just after war was declared against the French, he again most successfully adopted a policy of "bluff." Having shipped a number of wooden guns, and otherwise disguised his vessel, being chased off the coast of Scotland by a privateer, and finding she had the heels of him, he tacked, hoisted ensign, jack, and man-of-war's pendant, and fired a gun, as much as to say, "Come on; I'm waiting!" The enemy did not wait, and Walker proceeded quietly upon his homeward voyage.
In this same year, 1744, two fine vessels were equipped as privateers by some London and Dartmouth owners, and Walker was offered command of the Mars, of 26 guns and 130 men, her consort being the Boscawen, a vessel of similar armament, but of larger tonnage and with a more numerous crew.
When two days out from Dartmouth they encountered a French king's ship, of force about equal to the Boscawen, and Walker, of course, immediately engaged her, justly considering that, with his consort, he would soon overpower her; indeed, he would have attacked had he been cruising alone. The captain of the Boscawen, however, was quite a different sort of man, with a strong dislike of hard knocks. Instead of seconding Walker's attack, he held off out of range, letting drive once or twice a futile shot, which dropped far short; so Walker was left to fight alone, and after a severe tussle, he and the Frenchman parted, both ships a good deal knocked about. While his crew were repairing damages Walker went on board the Boscawen to have a little talk with her skipper—whose name is not mentioned—"but was never heard to throw any censure publicly on his behaviour." Walker was always a gentleman, and an instinctive disciplinarian. No doubt he gave the other, in private, a slice of his mind, but, as we shall see, without any good result.
A month later, in December, at midnight, with a fresh breeze and thick rain, they suddenly found themselves close to two large vessels. They could hear the people on board talking excitedly, in French, and apparently in a state of alarm, and, judging from these signs that they were treasure ships, Walker and his consort hung on their heels. At eight o'clock next morning the weather cleared and the two strangers were revealed as French men-of-war, the one of 74 and the other of 64 guns; which was exceedingly awkward for the two Englishmen. The Frenchmen were, however, both treasure-ships as well as men-of-war, being bound from the West Indies with cargoes valued at nearly four millions sterling, were not in good fighting trim, and were very anxious to get into Brest with their treasure, so it is quite probable that they would have gone on their way and left the two privateers alone. The captain of the Boscawen, however, did not wait to see what they would do; directly he realised their force he crowded sail, and disappeared from the scene without even a parting greeting to his consort; and, seeing only one enemy left, and this a small one, the 64-gun ship—the Fleuron—was sent in chase of the Mars, rapidly gaining upon her. "Gentlemen," said Walker, "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; and, be assured, I shall employ your assistance neither in revenge nor vainglory, nor longer than I think it of use to our design. The ship which pursues is certainly the best sailer of the enemy, by being ordered to the chase; if, by good fortune, we bring down a topmast or yard, or hurt her rigging so as to retard her pursuit, we may entirely get clear."
So he hoisted his colours and opened fire with his stern guns, the enemy replying with his bow-chasers by the space of over two hours. The Mars, however, was not a brilliant sailer, and by this time the 74—the Neptune—had crept up, so that she was almost between two fires. There was nothing for it but surrender. "Well, gentlemen," said Walker, smiling, "we don't strike to one ship only—haul down the colours!" And so he went on board the Fleuron to surrender his sword and his privateer commission. The French captain was not as polite as he expected: "How dare you, sir," he asked, in excellent English, "in so small a ship, fire against a force like me?"