ed, yet, sir, I
believe that I shall let them hang a little longer, with your
permission. So fire away, Flanagan!"

"And that I'll do," yelled Talbot. "Flanagan will be O'Toole and
O'Grady before the morning's over. For I'll beat you like an Irish
constable from Cork."

So it turned out. Before an hour was past, the _Betsy_ had struck, the
captain was killed, and all of his officers were wounded.

"Old Si"--you see--had had good luck. So well, indeed, had he fought,
that in 1780 he was put in command of a good-sized vessel, the
_General Washington_. In her he cruised about Sandy Hook in search of
spoil.

One hazy day in August, the watch sang out,

"Several sail astern, Sir! Looks like a whole squadron!"

Talbot seized the glass and gazed intently at the specks of white.

"Egad! It _is_ a squadron," said he, at length. "And they're after me.
Crowd on every stitch of canvas and we'll run for it."

So all sail was hoisted, and the _General Washington_ stood out to
sea.

But the sails of the pursuers grew strangely clear. They came closer,
ever closer, and Talbot paced the deck impatiently.

"Gad Zooks!" cried he, "I wish that I could fly like a bird."

He could not fly, and, in two hours' time the red flag on the foremast
of a British brig was clear to the eyes of the crew of the privateer.
When--an hour later--a solid shot spun across his bow, "Old Si" Talbot
hove to, and ran up the white flag. He was surrounded by six vessels
of the English and he felt, for once, that discretion was the better
part of valor.

* * * * *

"Old Si" was now thrown into a prison ship off Long Island and then
was taken to England aboard the _Yarmouth_. Imprisoned at Dartmoor, he
made four desperate attempts to escape. All failed.

In the summer of 1781 he was liberated; found his way home to Rhode
Island; and died "with his boots on" in New York, June 30th, 1813. The
old sea-dogs of his native state still cherish the memory of "Capting
Si;" singing a little song, which runs:

"He could take 'er brig or sloop, my boy,
An' fight her like 'er man.
He could steer 'er barque or barquentine,
An' make her act jest gran!
'Ole Si' wuz 'er rip-dazzler,
His flag wuz never struck,
Until 'er British squadroon,
Jest catched him in th' ruck.

"So drink 'er drop ter 'Ole Si,' Sky-high, Oh my