Having overhauled and refitted his ships—now increased to six in number by the addition of the Prince George and the Prince Edward, a vessel purchased at Lisbon—Walker put to sea again on July 10th, 1747 and in October following occurred the most remarkable action in which he was concerned. He had, before this, lost one of his squadron, the Prince Edward, by a very extraordinary accident. Crowding sail to come up with her consorts, being astern, she was suddenly observed to reel, and immediately foundered, going down stern first. The survivors—her captain and two men only—stated that the mainmast had slipped out of the "step" in the bottom of the ship—or more probably had displaced the step by the strain upon it—and the heel of the mast had gone through her bottom, the mast, with all the sails set, falling over the stern.
On October 6th the squadron had been watering in Lagos Bay—that same harbour in which we saw Bernard D'Ongressill so scurvily treated by the Portuguese nearly five hundred years previously—and the King George and Prince Frederick, coming out about five o'clock in the morning, leaving the Princess Amelia still at anchor, saw a large sail standing to the northward. Walker made the signal to chase, and sent a small vessel, a recent prize, into the anchorage to hurry up the Princess Amelia. The Duke and Prince George, having completed their watering earlier, were in sight; but, after chasing for about an hour, for some unexplained reason discontinued—or could not get up.
The chase, seeing she was likely to be hemmed in by the two nearest ships, kept away to the westward, making all sail; and Walker, with his two ships, chased her until noon, when the King George was nearly up with her, the Prince Frederick some distance to the southward. They had not yet disclosed each other's nationality, but Walker realised by this time that the stranger was a very big ship, and he was within gunshot of her, practically alone; and then it suddenly fell a flat calm, and the chase, hoisting her colours, ran out her guns, disclosing herself as a 74-gun ship. The colours, however, hung down in the calm, and it was impossible to tell whether they were Spanish or Portuguese—for the two ensigns were very similar at that time, though they are not so now. After about an hour, during which the Prince Frederick could get no nearer, and Walker and his big opponent were eyeing each other curiously, the latter ran in her lower deck guns, and closed the ports. This looked as though she was a treasure ship, unwilling to fight if she could avoid it; and, as a matter of fact, she was just that; only she had already—after being chased by some English men-of-war—landed her treasure, to the value of some three millions sterling, at Ferrol, and was on her way to Cadiz. However, seeing her somewhat shy, Walker's officers and men were all for fighting; and when a light breeze sprang up about five o'clock, and the big ship again made sail on her original course, the King George at once continued the chase, leaving the Prince Frederick, which did not get the breeze so soon, yet further astern.
At eight o'clock, in bright moonlight, Walker was within speaking distance, cleared for action, his men lying down at their quarters. He hailed in Portuguese: no reply. Then he hailed in English, asking her name; in reply, she asked his name, also in English. "The King George!" replied Walker, and then came a thundering broadside, dismounting two guns and bringing down the maintopsail yard. Walker's men were on their feet and had their broadside in in a few seconds; and then this ridiculously uneven contest went on, the huge Spanish ship—her name, the Glorioso—towering above the other, and both letting drive with guns and small arms for all they were worth. Why the King George was not sunk it is impossible to say. The chronicler of the fight says that the Spaniards did not manage to fire their broadsides regularly but only a few guns at a time, while the King George's men got theirs in with great precision and regularity, and also maintained a very hot fire of musketry, under the control of the Captain of Marines.
This desperate conflict was maintained for three hours, at close range—so close at times that some burning wadding from the Spaniard's guns set fire to the King George's mainsail. The incident, as Sir John Laughton remarks, was unique in naval warfare; there have been instances in which a vessel of vastly inferior force has contrived to maim or delay her big antagonist until assistance arrived, and so to contribute very materially to her capture, advantage being taken of superior speed and handiness, or circumstances of wind and sea, and so on; but for a vessel of the King George's size to maintain a close ding-dong action with a 74-gun ship, in fine weather, for this space of time is entirely unprecedented. Had Walker been in command of a king's ship, he would certainly have been held blameless if he had run away; but running away, even from a vastly superior force, was not, as we have seen, a proceeding which found any favour in the eyes of George Walker; and there was, of course, the strong inducement of the assumed treasure, which, after all, was not there.
The writer attributes their immunity from destruction and their trifling casualties—one killed and fifteen wounded—partly to the very closeness of the action, the Spanish ship's shot not hitting the hull; and also, to the fact that, probably from the overloading of the guns with several shot, in the hope of knocking a huge breach in the King George's side, the shot came with such reduced force that, when they hit, they did not penetrate. Walker's device of high bulwarks of elm planking, before alluded to, he likewise considers had a share in their miraculous salvation.
ACTION BETWEEN THE SPANISH 74-GUN SHIP "GLORIOSO" AND THE "KING GEORGE" AND "PRINCE FREDERICK" OF THE "ROYAL FAMILY" PRIVATEERS
Walker, he says, "fought and commanded with a calmness almost peculiar to himself"; and his high example conduced to order and discipline even in the thickest of the fight. When the mainsail was set on fire he ordered some hands aloft to extinguish it, and when another man was somewhat officiously following, he called him down. "I have sent men enough aloft for the business, in my opinion; if they fail in their duty, I'll send for you"; such an episode, in the thick of a terrible engagement, is significant, indeed, of calmness and absolute self-possession, which is heroic in its measure.