“What was the cause of the explosion, Sir Sidney?” demanded Lieutenant O’Loughlin, giving himself a shake to satisfy himself that he was all right.
“Those accursed Spaniards,” said Captain Smith, “instead of scuttling the Iris frigate, set fire to her, and she had some thousand barrels of gunpowder on board. But make way for the basin; we must complete what those Spaniards have only partly begun.”
The wind had now lulled, but numerous boats took the vessels in tow; but, on again approaching the basin, they found the boom was thrown across the narrow entrance; and such an incessant volley of musketry was kept up, that they were compelled to abandon the enterprise.
As Charles Pole stood beside young Thornton, he received a musket ball in his left shoulder, that threw him on the deck; and as the midshipman stooped to raise him, O’Loughlin, who was standing directly behind him, received a slight wound on the side of the head.
“Bad cess to you,” said the Irishman, as he bound a handkerchief round his head, and assisted William Thornton to raise Charles Pole, whom they wanted to take below; but he would not listen to them. So, stanching the wound as well as they could, he remained on deck.
Having performed all they possibly could, and fired the two seventy-fours, the Hero and the Themistocles, whose flames added to the horrors of the scene, though Sir Sidney humanely landed all their crews, they were now repairing to rejoin the ships outside, when another terrific explosion took place, by the blowing up of the powder vessel, the frigate Montreal. The little Swallow and her boats were at that moment in the midst of a horrible shower of falling timbers, which caused the water surrounding them to foam and boil as if a volcano was beneath; yet, singular to relate, they received not the slightest injury.
The scene at this moment was awfully grand and horrible. The two seventy-fours in the inner road were in a pyramid of flame, which lighted up the shores on each side with a vivid distinctness. The heights were crowded with human beings, and the various forts were blazing away, though doing very little damage.
In the midst of this terrific scene, the troops were rapidly evacuating the town, under the able management of Captain Elphinstone. Numbers of boats were towing out the Courageux, whilst the British ship the Conflagration was set on fire, it being impossible to get her out.
When the unfortunate Royalist inhabitants found that the British were evacuating the town, they deserted their houses and every article they possessed, and a scene commenced which those who witnessed could never forget—a fearful massacre that stained Republican France with shame and reproach to future times. On the way to the shore the wretched fugitives were cut in two by the balls showered after them—mothers, with infants clinging to their breasts, were cut mercilessly to pieces; neither sex nor age were spared by those inhuman butchers. To the honour of our countrymen, let it be remembered that above 5,640 men, women, and children, were received, and every attention paid them, on board the British vessels of war.
Amidst all these horrors, the little Swallow, Sir Sidney Smith’s latine-rigged tender, pursued her way to her anchorage outside, fired upon as it passed by the two forts, Bolognier and Aiguilette; but the shot being ill-directed, did her no mischief.