“They did, sir; would they had had a better mark.”

“I understand you,” said the lieutenant; “but as you have not served your time, the vacancy would be of no use to you.  I must report the affair to the captain, though I do not think he will take any notice of it; he is too fond of enterprise himself to check it in others.  Besides, a lady is always a justifiable object, but we hope soon to show you some higher game.”

The captain came on board shortly after, and took no notice of my having been absent without leave; he made some remark as he glanced his eye at me, which I afterwards learned was in my favour.  In a few days we sailed, and arrived in a few more in Basque Roads.  The British fleet was at anchor outside the French ships moored in a line off the Isle d’Aix.  The ship I belonged to had an active part in the work going on, and most of us saw more than we chose to speak of; but as much ill-blood was made on that occasion, and one or two very unpleasant courts-martial took place, I shall endeavour to confine myself to my own personal narrative, avoiding anything that may give offence to the parties concerned.  Some days were passed in preparing the fire-ships; and on the night of the 11th April, 1809, everything being prepared for the attempt to destroy the enemy’s squadron, we began the attack.  A more daring one was never made; and if it partly failed of success, no fault could be imputed to those who conducted the enterprise:  they did all that man could do.

The night was very dark, and it blew a strong breeze directly in upon the Isle d’Aix, and the enemy’s fleet.  Two of our frigates had been previously so placed as to serve as beacons to direct the course of the fire-ships.  They each displayed a clear and brilliant light; the fire-ships were directed to pass between these; after which, their course up to the boom which guarded the anchorage, was clear, and not easily to be mistaken.

I solicited, and obtained permission to go on board one of the explosion vessels that were to precede the fire-ships.  They were filled with layers of shells and powder, heaped one upon another:  the quantity on board of each vessel was enormous.  Another officer, three seamen, and myself, were all that were on board of her.  We had a four-oared gig, a small narrow thing (nick-named by the sailors a “coffin"), to make our escape in.

Being quite prepared, we started.  It was a fearful moment; the wind freshened, and whistled through our rigging, and the night was so dark, that we could not see our bowsprit.  We had only our foresail set; but with a strong flood-tide and a fair wind, with plenty of it, we passed between the advanced frigates like an arrow.  It seemed to me like entering the gates of hell.  As we flew rapidly along, and our own ships disappeared in the intense darkness, I thought of Dante’s inscription over the portals:—­“You who enter here, leave hope behind.”