As they fled there was no pursuit, for the trumpet sounded to recal stragglers.
Then we reformed line and wheeled back, to permit the infantry and artillery to pass to the front. After this, our orders were simply to guard and patrol the approaches to St. Solidore, against which our comrades on foot commenced the most active operations.
I have no intention of detailing the whole of these, nor could I do so, perhaps, if willing; but never shall I forget the splendour of the terrible scene which ensued, when the fires of destruction spread along the suburbs of St. Solidore and St. Servand, and all around the harbour of St. Malo.
Through the dark sky we saw the shells fired by our artillery describing long arcs of light, and bursting like fiery stars or flaming comets among the rigging of the ships in the basin, or on the roofs of the stores and houses on the quay. Then the shrieks and cries of the fugitive people came towards us through the still night air, together with the incessant explosion of the hand grenades, which our grenadiers, as they advanced alongside the ships, threw point blank on their decks, and down the open hatchways.
The most deadly missiles were the anchor balls, fired by our artillery.
These were filled with powder, saltpetre, sulphur, resin, and turpentine, and had an iron bar, one half of which was within and the other outside the shell. The latter half was armed with a grappling-hook, which caught the rigging of the ships, or the walls or roofs of houses, as the heaviest end flew foremost, and by these chiefly the whole place was soon sheeted with flaming pyramids, amid which we saw walls crumbling and descending, and masts and yards disappearing amid mountains of sparks and burning brands, while torrents of red fire poured from every door and window round the whole circle of the harbour.
The sky was full of red clouds and sheets of red sparks; the harbour and the bay beyond were all ruddied, as if changed to port wine, and the whole air became filled with roaring flame.
High over all this towered St. Malo on its rock, and on its embattled walls, its gothic spires and storm-beaten cliffs, redly fell the glare of destruction; while at times we heard the barking of the watch dogs, and could see the gleam of arms along the ramparts, for every citizen was in harness, and from mouth to mouth went the cry.
"St. Malo for Brittany! the women to their homes, and the men to their muskets!"
But, though they knew it not, we had no idea then of assailing a place so strong by art and nature.