“I think it is captured,” he said.
“Excuse me,” said I to him, “if I say to you that there was a little temerity in your running the risk of a descent with so small a force. Do you, then, imagine that Cayenne is an Oyapoc?”
“That was far from being my idea,” he answered; “but it is the too great ardor and excessive energy of the boatswain which has caused it. So much the worse for him if he has come to evil! I am, however, sorry for it,” he continued; “for I have a great esteem for him, and he was very necessary to me. He has, without doubt, exceeded my orders; for I had advised him not to land, but only to examine from a short distance as to the most commodious place to disembark.”
After we had thus conferred together for a short time, he caused them to raise the anchor, and approached as near as possible to land and to Macouria. His object was as much to cut off the way for our boats, as to cover his people and shorten the return for them.
Nevertheless, all Sunday passed in great anxiety. Our enemies were aware of the fact that there were three ships in the harbor, because the boats going to Macouria had approached sufficiently near the port to discover them, and they had made the signal agreed upon with Captain Potter. But some had fears lest these vessels might come out and attack the ship during the night. So, about seven o’clock in the evening, they placed two swivel-guns in the windows, besides the twelve which were on deck along the sides of the ship. But the captain was very composed. He told me “that, so far from fearing that they would come and attack him, he, on the contrary, desired it; hoping thus to gain possession of those who should dare to approach him.” He was thoroughly armed as a privateer: sabres, pistols, guns, lances, grenades, balls filled with bitumen and sulphur, grape-shot,—nothing was wanting.
I believe that no one slept that night. However, nothing appeared, either from Macouria or Cayenne, which was the cause of great uneasiness to us all. At length, at eight o’clock in the morning, the captain came to tell me that he had seen a great deal of smoke on the shore at Macouria, and that his people had without doubt set fire to the buildings of Madame Gislet. (This is the name of the lady to whose residence the English had particularly directed their attention.) “I am very sorry,” he added, “for I had expressly forbidden them to burn any thing.” A little while after, they saw from the height of the round-top five canoes or boats, some of which seemed to be pursuing each other. They were our French people, who were giving chase to the English. Captain Potter, an able man in his profession, at once perceived this, and took measures accordingly; for he raised his anchor, and made again a movement to approach them. He called all his people to arms, having at the same time obliged all the prisoners, whether French or English, to descend into the hold. I wished myself to go there also; but he told me I could remain in my cabin, and he would notify me when it was time.
In the midst of this excitement, one of the boats which had come from Macouria drew nigh, as by dint of rowing; and to assure themselves that they were English, those in the vessel raised their pennant and flag and fired a gun, to which the boats having responded by the discharge of a musket, the signal on which they had agreed, tranquillity succeeded this first movement of fear. But there remained as yet one boat behind, which was coming very slowly with the pagaye (a kind of scull, or oar, which the Indians use to row their canoes), and they feared that it would be captured by our boats. No sooner, therefore, had the officer who commanded the first discharged in haste the little they had brought with them, than he hurried back to convoy it. After having conducted it to its destination, and all the little booty they had taken having been embarked in the ship, each one thought of refreshing himself to the utmost for the fatigues of this marauding. Punch, lemonade, wine, brandy, sugar,—nothing was spared. Thus passed the rest of the day and the night of Sunday to Monday.
Among all these successes,—which, however inconsiderable they really might be, were yet occasions of triumph for them,—there remained one great source of chagrin, which was the capture of the long-boat and of the ten men who had landed in it. It became necessary, therefore, to think seriously of some means of rescuing them. For this reason, on Monday morning, after having consulted among themselves and held council after council, they came to find me, to say that, their ship dragging considerably, perhaps on account of the currents, which are very strong in these latitudes, or perhaps because they had only one small anchor remaining, they could not longer hold their anchorage, and they thought, therefore, of going to Surinam, a Dutch colony, twenty-four leagues or thereabouts from Cayenne; but, however, they very much wished to receive first some news of their long-boat and the people who had landed on Saturday.
I told them, in reply, “that this was very easy; that it was only necessary to fit out one of the boats which they had taken from us, and to send it to Cayenne with the proposal for an exchange of prisoners.”
“But would they be willing to receive us?” they asked me; “would they not inflict on us some injury? Would they permit us to return?”