The harbor was formed by the mouth of a small river, which ran down through a very narrow alluvial flat, backed by precipitous rocks.  On the right side of the river on entering, and on the level ground above mentioned, which extended back perhaps two hundred yards, until it was met by the rocky cliffs, was situated the village which, centuries back, must have been the town of Lanion.  It consisted of perhaps one hundred to one hundred and twenty houses, few of them of any size, the major portion with walls built of mud and whitewashed over.  The only remains of the former town were a stone-built market-place, the portion of the Hotel de Ville in which the mayor resided, and the old church, which, although perfect in its walls, was sadly dilapidated in the roof.  It had long been deserted, and a small chapel had been built in lieu of it, in which the only cure of the place performed the service.  The massive stones of which the now neglected pier had once been built proved that at one time considerable expense had been incurred in the formation of this small harbor.

A battery mounting two guns at the end of the pier protected the mouth of the harbor; and there was a guard of a sergeant and twelve invalids, who were stationed there to man the guns upon the approach of an enemy.

It would be difficult to describe the confusion which took place as soon as the two vessels were fairly alongside the wharf, and made fast with hawsers to the massive iron rings which had for centuries been fixed in the ponderous stones of which the pier was composed.  There was the mayor with his cocked hat on, but his leather apron still tied in front, for he had been working at his calling; there was the sergeant of the invalids, who, perhaps, was a greater man than the mayor, all beard and mustachios, but so thin in his person that he looked as if a stout breeze would have blown him away; and there were the soldiers leaning on their muskets.  These were the most important personages, but they were backed by the whole population of the town, amounting to about three hundred men, women, and children, all talking, jabbering, and screaming.  Add to them the captain of the privateer, so important that he could not attend to even the mayor or the sergeant; and the privateer’s men, dressed in every fashion, armed to the teeth, all explaining, or pushing away, or running here and there obeying orders; then the wounded men—­for they had several men killed and others hurt in the conflict with the cutter—­handed up one by one, bandaged here and there, and exciting the compassion and even screams of the women; the prisoners, who had been ordered to come on deck, half dressed and chapfallen; the sails of the vessels only clewed up, and still fluttering; ensigns and pennants hoisted upon every mast, and waving over the heads of the crowd assembled at the pier—­and you may have some idea of the confused and bustling scene.

[Illustration:  THE ARRIVAL OF THE PRIVATEER AT LANION.—­Marryat, Vol.  X., p. 841.]