The night, so anxiously expected, came at last, hazy, with here and there a star just visible; the wind moderate, but fair, and enough of it to give the vessels good headway. It was half an hour past midnight when this infernal contrivance glided silently from the harbor and passed the forts,—having the appearance of a blockade runner,—and steered for the centre of the English fleet, followed by the slaver with all her sails set. She, however, hove to, when a short distance from the port, leaving the infernal to proceed alone.
Moments seemed lengthened to hours, as the boys, hanging over the rail, gazed upon the dim outlines of the receding vessel, around which dark shadows were closing fast. Although the distance was not great which separated them from the fire-ship or the fleet, a thin haze, which obscured the light of the stars, completely obstructed the view. With bated breath they listened for some token from the bosom of that misty shroud, which they strove in vain to penetrate.
No sound, save the occasional surge of the helm in the lee becket, or the quiver of a sail, as the vessel came up to or fell off from the wind, disturbed the repose of the night.
"Walter," whispered Ned, "this silence is fearful; they must be almost there."
A pressure of his arm was the mute response. A few moments more of suspense, when a stern hail broke the ominous silence so suddenly that, with a convulsive start, the boys sprang to their feet. There was no reply. Again the summons rose louder on the air, instantly followed by a shot.
"They are discovered," said Ned. But even while the words were issuing from his lips three spirals of bright flame, shooting up from the fire-ship, revealed to the boys—who were looking from darkness towards the light—a scene combining every element, both of the sublime and terrible, and which thrilled them to the heart's core.
The period of French history, during which the events here narrated occurred, abounded in the most startling contrasts. Acts of utter selfishness and the most fiendish cruelty were relieved by others manifesting the purest philanthropy and noble self-sacrifice. The crew of the fire-ship, finding they were discovered, and foreseeing that if they left the vessel to drift down by herself no damage would probably be inflicted upon the enemy, after saying to each other, "We will cover ourselves with glory, lay her alongside an English ship, blow her to atoms, and die for France," kindled the mass of inflammable material on deck in three places, and by this light, which constantly increased in intensity, the boys beheld the black hulls of the English ships, every shroud and rat-line standing out in bold relief against the dark sky, and the boats' crews, who, supposing the vessel a blockade-runner, were pulling from different directions to "board" her; but, when the flames revealed her true character, there was an instinctive pause; they lay upon their oars.
"Give way, my hearts of oak," shouted the officer of the leading boat; "we'll put out their fire and their slow-match."
With an answering shout they dashed the oars into the water again; but the flames burst from the port-holes and over the rail into their very faces, rendering useless all attempts to board, the very purpose for which this mass of material had been prepared and ignited. As, expecting explosion, they pulled rapidly away, a volley from the fire-ship killed the midshipman in charge and two men. The stern of that vessel, where stood the four men, was as yet clear of flame, the wind carrying the fire and smoke forward.
"Why, in the name of Heaven, don't they leave? There's a boat towing astern," cried Ned; "she must blow up soon."