while Walker's hopes soared higher and higher. Finally, the
French officer, who was in charge of his own boat--the _Mars_--put his
helm up and ran to leeward, hoping to draw one of the British vessels
after him. He was successful, for a seventy-gun ship made after him,
chased him for several miles, and finally re-captured the English
privateer. The other ships kept on and drew closer and closer.

Seeing that an action would soon take place, the French captain
politely requested Walker and his officers to go below.

"Messieurs!" said he. "There will soon be a leetle affair in which the
balls will fly. You will be better off in the hold, where they cannot
reach you so easily as up here."

"Sir!" replied the English privateer-captain. "I go below with the
greatest of pleasure, for I am now certain of my liberty. Au revoir!"

"Do not count your chickens before they hatch!" cried the Frenchman,
after his retreating form.

The British vessels were the _Hampton Court_ of seventy guns, and the
_Sunderland_ and _Dreadnought_ of sixty each; so, being three to two,
they should have had a fairly easy victory over the Frenchmen. But the
_Sunderland_ lost a spar overboard, and dropped astern; so it left but
two to two: an even affair.

Alas for gallant Captain Walker! Although the Englishmen came near the
two French men-of-war, they hung about without firing a shot; allowed
the Frenchmen to sail on unmolested, and thus carry their
astonishingly rich treasure into Brest, amid wild and enthusiastic
cheering of their crews, and groans of disappointment from the English
prisoners.

Yet these same prisoners had little cause to complain of their
treatment when they arrived at Brest; for they were landed at once,
and the captain and officers were liberated on parole. The French also
treated them very well and invited the valorous George Walker to many
a repast, where they laughed at the narrow shave that he had had from
death,--for they had left the _Fleuron_ none too soon.

On the day following the landing, Captain Walker was seated in the
office of a counting-house, near the dock-end, and was writing a
letter to the captain of the _Fleuron_, requesting him to send him his
letter-of-credit, which was in a tin box in a cabin of the French
man-of-war, when a terrible _Boom!_ sounded upon his ears.

A sailor came running past the open window.

"The _Fleuron_ has blown up!" he cried. "The _Fleuron_ is a total
loss!"

Captain Wal