ess he strikes. She's got more men and guns, but
what care we for that. Take hold, my Hearties, and we'll soon make her
know her master."

The _King George_ seemed to welcome the coming fight; she luffed; lay
to; and her men could be seen standing ready at the polished cannon.
Now was one of the strangest battles of American sea history.

The _King George_ cruised along under a full spread of canvas, jibbed,
came about upon the port quarter of the stranger, and ran up to within
shooting distance, when a broadside was poured into the deck of the
rolling _Argo_. She replied with her own fourteen guns, and, before
they could be reloaded, the _King George_ struck her alongside; the
American seaman swarmed across the rail; and--if we are to believe a
historian of the period--"drove the crew of _King George_ from their
quarters, taking possession of her, without a man on either side being
killed." Hats off to the doughty Silas Talbot for this brave
adventure! Did you ever hear of such a fight with no man ever being
slaughtered?

Again rang the fame of Silas Talbot, but he was not to rest long upon
laurels won. The British privateer _Dragon_--of three hundred tons and
eighty men--was hovering near Providence, Rhode Island, hungry and
eager for unprotected merchantmen.

"I'll have to strike her," said Captain Talbot.

It was a beautiful day in June. As the _Dragon_ drowsed along
listlessly a dozen miles off the shore, her topsails barely filling in
the gentle southerly breeze, the watch suddenly stirred, and sang out
in no gentle tones,

"Sail ho, off the starboard! Looks like Captain Talbot of the _Argo_!"

The captain came bounding from his cabin, glass in hand.

"Sure enough," said he, scanning the white sails upon the horizon.
"It's Talbot and we're in for a tight affair. All hands prepare for
action!"

There was noise and confusion upon the deck of the privateer as the
guns were sponged, charges were rammed home, and all prepared for
battle. Meanwhile, the stranger came nearer, and rounding to within
striking distance, crashed a broadside into the slumbering _Dragon_,
who had not yet shown her fangs.

_Crackle! Crackle! Boom!_

The small arms from the Britisher began to spit at the advancing
privateer, and seven of her fourteen guns rang out a welcome to the
sailors of Rhode Island. The solid shot ploughed through the rigging,
cutting ropes and spars with knife-like precision.

"Round her to on the port qua