The naval storehouses, full of sails, ropes, tar, pitch, oil, paint and powder, blazed the whole night, exhibiting every variety of prismatic colours, but ere morning, ships, houses, and magazines were all confounded in one mass of charred and blackened ashes.
We destroyed in the docks and in the harbour thirteen vessels of war, mounting two hundred and thirty-four guns, with seventy-three merchant ships, and £800,000 worth of property, after which we retired with the loss of only twelve men, three of whom were seamen, killed by a single random shot from St. Malo.
During this wild scene, there was something singular, almost touching, in the terror of the poor birds, when the air became alive with soaring and bursting shells, with showers of shot, thick with smoke, laden with the booming of the ordnance and the ceaseless roar of the conflagration.
Crows, larks, pigeons, and sparrows seemed to become paralysed by fear; they fluttered, panted, and grovelled among the long grass and under the hedgerows, in some instances crouching and hiding themselves in little coveys close to the dead and wounded Hussars (who lay where we had charged), as if to rebuke the spirit in man that made of earth a hell!
And so thought I, when weary, wan, and pale, I retired with the troop towards our camp on the hills of Paramé.
CHAPTER XX.
AN EPISODE.
As the column of light cavalry wheeled off by sections to return to the camp and bivouac, a staff officer who was riding hurriedly past in the dark addressed me—
"Young man," said he, "do you see those lights twinkling in the hollow yonder?"
"Yes, sir; the port fires of the artillery."