"Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!" The sailors on board the _Boscawen_ were fairly jumping for joy. "Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!" they yelled.

And well might they cheer, for had they not won one of the pluckiest sea-fights of all history? The enemy is said to have had one hundred and thirteen killed and drowned, while the casualties of the _Boscawen_ amounted to but one killed and seven wounded. "And this,"

says an old chronicler of the spirited affair, "was due to the fact that the British privateer had a bulwark of elm-planking, man-high, around her deck. It was so fashioned that there was a step on which the marines could mount and fire, and then come down in order to load.

Furthermore, this elm-wood did not splinter; but kept out the bullets, and closed up around the holes made by shot."

At any rate, it was a glorious victory, and when--a few hours later--the _Sheerness_ came back with the other French vessel a prize, the total capture amounted to six vessels: homeward bound traders from Martinique, provided with letters of marque, and with about six guns each. Their crews were undoubtedly undisciplined and ill-used to shooting, else how could they have done so badly with the _Boscawen_?

The prizes were headed for the English coast and arrived at King's Road, Bristol, in a few days, where a swarm of eager sight-seers crowded about the shattered craft.

"My! My!" said many. "This Walker is another Drake. He is a valiant soul!"

And so thought the British Admiralty, for they sent him a letter (upon his reporting to them) which read:

"We cannot too highly congratulate and commend you upon the seamanship and courage which you have displayed in the capture of these French vessels. Your daring and ability should always make your name one to be revered by those Britishers who follow the sea. May your future career upon the ocean but add to the laurels which you have already won!"

And were they not right?

Seldom has such a feat been accomplished, and seldom has one vessel come off victorious against such odds. If you love a game warrior, cheer for George Walker, for he deserves it. If you are an admirer of the fighting quality in a man, give three times three for the privateersman who had the nerve to sail into eight vessels,--and won out.

So much, indeed, did the British owners of the privateer vessels think of Captain Walker, that he was now placed in command of four ships, known as "The Royal Family of Privateers," for each was named after some member of the English royal family. These were the _Princess Amelia_, of twenty-four guns and one hundred and fifty men: the _Prince Frederick_ of twenty-six guns and two hundred and sixty men: the _Duke_ of twenty guns and two hundred and sixty men; and the _King George_, of thirty-two guns and three hundred men. This last boat was commanded by Walker, himself; the _Duke_ by Edward Dottin, a staunch sailor; the _Prince Frederick_ by Hugh Bromedge; and the _Princess Amelia_ by Robert Denham. The entire squadron carried nearly a thousand men and one hundred and two guns, so, you see, that it could do quite a little damage to the enemies of Merrie England.

Sailing in May, 1746, the squadron soon met with hard luck, for the _Prince Frederick_ ran upon a rock in Bristol Channel, and had to be left behind; for she was badly punctured below the water-line. The three others sailed for the coast of France, and--a week later--had a startling little adventure.

A heavy fog lay over the sobbing water, and the three English sea-robbers were gliding along within easy gun-shot of each other, when it was evident that they were near some other vessels. Voices came out of the mist, lights flashed (for it was near the close of day), and the wash of water could be heard, as the waves beat against solid oak planking.

"Egad!" whispered Captain Walker to one of his lieutenants. "Listen, my boy, and tell me whether these voices are French, Spanish, or English."

The lieutenant held a speaking-trumpet to his ear.

The _swish_, _swish_ of water came to the eager senses of the anxious privateersman. That was all!

Captain Walker pa.s.sed the word around among his men to be absolutely silent, and, as he strained his hearing, in order to catch the faintest sound from the strangers, suddenly he heard the sentence,

"Pressy! Chantez une chanson. Je vais me coucher." (Sing a song, Pressy. I am going to bed.)

In a second the gallant Walker knew that, as once before, he was in the midst of some French vessels.

"Caught!" he whispered. "And I believe that they're men-of-warsmen!

Now we're in a pretty pickle!"

His officers scowled.

"I know that they're men-o'-warsmen," said one, "for, just now, the fog lifted for a second, and I could make out--by their lights--that they were large gun-ships."

Captain Walker looked dejected.

"The deuce," said he.

But he soon regained his composure.

"Put every light out on board," he ordered. "These fellows see us, for I hear them bearing over our way."

Sure enough, from the swashing of water and glimmer of lights in the fog, it could be seen that the great lumbering men-of-war were closing in upon the privateer. But the Frenchmen had a human eel to capture and he was equal to the occasion.

"Bring up a couple of casks from below!" cried Captain Walker. They were soon on deck.

"Now put a lantern in one and lash them together," he continued.

"We'll alter our course and skip, while the Frenchies will follow this light."

The ruse worked magnificently, and, when morning dawned and the bright sun burned off the fog, the French men-of-war found themselves hovering around a couple of old casks with a lantern tied to the top; while Captain Walker in the _King George_ was scudding along the French coast, many miles away. At which the French captain remarked,

"Sapristi! L'oiseau s'est envole." (Egad! The bird has flown!)

Not long after this "The Royal Family of Privateers" took some valuable prizes, and, having chased a small, French merchantman into the bay of Safia, in Morocco, Captain Walker determined to capture her at night, by sending a party against her in the long-boats. A second lieutenant was put in charge of this venture, and, at dark three tenders, crowded with armed seamen and propelled by m.u.f.fled oars, started after the prize. As they neared the merchantman a hail came through the blackness:

"Qui est la?" (Who is there?)

No answer was made to this, but the boats kept straight on.

_Crash! Bang!_

A gun roared in the faces of the privateers, and shots came falling around them like hail-stones,--but still they kept on.

Again _Crash! Crash! Crash!_

The Frenchmen were plying their guns right willingly, but the English sailors could not be stopped, and they neared the vessel under vigorous sweeps of the oars. The lieutenant in command was badly wounded, and was forced to lie in the bottom of his boat, but--in a few moments--the tenders were alongside the merchantman, and the sailors, with a wild yell, were clambering to her deck. There was a fierce hand-to-hand struggle, but nothing would gainsay the rush of the British tars. In twenty minutes the fight was all over and the vessel was towed out of the bay, in triumph, next morning. As she was a smart, little craft she was turned into a privateer in place of the _Prince Frederick_ (which had run aground) and was christened the _Prince George_.

The "Royal Family" continued upon its way, made many captures, and--after eight months--put into the harbor of Lisbon with prizes and prize-money amounting to 220,000 (about $1,100,000). So you can see that privateering was a very lucrative trade in those days, when successfully pursued. Not a single man had been killed aboard the little fleet, but many had been severely wounded. The ships were overhauled, refitted, and, being joined by the _Prince Frederick_, amounted to six in number, for the vessel captured in the harbor of Safia had been converted into a full-fledged privateer. Now was to be one of the most gruelling sea-fights in which George Walker ever engaged.

In the month of October the squadron was cruising off of Lagos Bay, on the coast of Portugal, when a large sail was sighted at about five in the morning. The _Princess Amelia_ was at anchor in the harbor of Lagos, so Captain Walker sent a small sloop (a recent capture) after her to tell her to "Hurry up and get under way," while he gave signal to the other vessels to chase the stranger at once. All started after the foreigner, who stood to the northward and could be seen to be crowding on all possible canvas. There were four ships in this merry little chase, but two of them--the _Duke_ and the _Prince George_--dropped out, after about an hour's run. They either could not get up, or else their captains grew tired of the affair.

On, on, went the other privateers, and--at about noon--Walker drew near the fugitive, in the _King George_. The _Prince Frederick_, with her twenty-six guns, was still some distance away, but Walker kept after the stranger, although he now saw that she was a large vessel,--much more powerful than the _King George_, with her thirty-two guns and three hundred men. He was rapidly nearing the big fellow, when it grew suddenly calm, so that neither could move.

At this moment an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of astonishment burst from the lips of some of the officers aboard the saucy _King George_.

"She's a seventy-four!" cried several. "We're in a tight hole!"

Sure enough, the pursued hoisted her colors, ran out her guns, and showed herself to be a man-of-warsman carrying seventy-four cannon: over double the amount of armament aboard the plucky _King George_.

"I can't make out whether she's Spanish or Portuguese," said Captain Walker, gazing carefully at her drooping flag.

The colors hung down in the dead calm, and it was impossible to tell whether they were Spanish or Portuguese; for the two ensigns--at that period--were very similar.

The sea-warriors drifted along, eyeing each other, for about an hour, when the stranger ran in her lower deck-guns and closed her port-holes.

"She's a treasure ship," cried a sailor. "And she won't fight if she can avoid it!"

Walker turned to his officers and asked,