19th.—All the women and children, the negroes and other non-combatants, were sent out of the town to enable us to eke out our not-over-abundant supply of provisions.
20th.—The soldiers engaged in throwing up works, the seamen in cutting down trees and in forming stockades.
21st.—Heavy rain fell, greatly retarding the progress of the works. I was not a little pleased to hear that an attempt was to be made to destroy the French squadron at the mouth of the harbour, and that four fire-ships were to be employed on that service. I immediately offered to command one of them—an offer which was at once accepted. Lieutenants Conway and Symonds were appointed to command two others, and Mr Camel, a lieutenant of a privateer, had charge of the fourth. Our wish was to be under the orders of Captain Palmer of the Vulcan, whose experience and judgment we felt would insure success, but the commodore decided on allowing each of us to trust to our own abilities and to act according to circumstances. The vessels were patched-up schooners and sloops, and fitted in so hurried a way that they were scarcely manageable. The experiment was to have been made that night, but the wind and weather proving unfavourable, Captain Palmer, with whom we consulted, advised us to defer it till the following—
22nd.—The wind being about north-west, it was this evening considered practicable to attack the advanced ships of the enemy, and we accordingly made preparations for our hazardous expedition. The Vulcan and four other vessels were to be employed in the service. I was of course well acquainted with all the risks to be encountered. I knew that I might either be blown up, or, if overtaken by the enemy, cut to pieces without remorse, no quarter being given to people engaged in that sort of work. During the first day after volunteering I had not time to think much about the matter, but four-and-twenty hours spent in comparative inaction enabled me to contemplate the consequences in their true light, and though I felt as resolved and determined as ever, I knew well that this might be the last day of my existence. I did not so much dread the future, I own, as regret all I was leaving behind. I thought over and over again of Madeline—of the happiness I had hoped to enjoy with her—of the grief should I fall, my death would cause her. I thought of my family and of the dear ones still surviving at home who hoped to welcome me when war was over, but would hope in vain. I felt very grave and sad, but not the less resolved or undaunted I may say, and determined to do my duty. The time was approaching for our start. I walked aft and stood looking over the taffrail away from the crew, and there I offered up a deep, earnest prayer for protection for myself and also for my people in the expedition in which we were engaged. Yes, I prayed, and sincerely too, believing that I was praying aright as I stood over all those terrific combustibles which were to bring havoc and destruction among hundreds of our fellow-creatures not more guilty, not more worthy of death than were I and my fellows. I will not stop to moralise on that subject, yet I have often since thought that it is one worthy of deep consideration. Of one thing only I was certain that, as an officer in the Navy, I was doing my duty to my king and country in endeavouring to destroy their enemies, and all the rest I left to the guidance of Him who rules all things for the best. I now feel that there is a purer law, a stricter rule which should prevail instead of those which most men follow, but it would be out of place here to discuss the subject.
The ships in the harbour gave out the hour of midnight. It was the signal agreed on for starting. We made sail, cut our cables, and ran down the river. The wind held fair, the night was dark, and there appeared every probability that our undertaking would succeed. Nol Grampus, Rockets, and four other men were with me to man the boat in which we were to make our escape. Not a word was spoken. Every arrangement had before been made. Having placed our vessels in a position from which they could not fail to drift down on the enemy, we were to set fire to them, and then, jumping into our boats, pull away for our lives. There was not much fear of pursuit if the vessels hit their marks, as we knew that the boats of the squadron would be engaged in endeavouring to clear their ships of the burning craft. If, however, through a change of wind, or any other circumstance, they should drift clear of the ships, it was probable that the boats might come in chase of us to take vengeance on our heads for the injury we had attempted to inflict on them.
There lay the French squadron before us, no one on board dreaming of the havoc and destruction about to be wrought among them. It was just two o’clock in the morning. Our little flotilla of evil was slowly approaching. Evidently no sufficient watch was kept ahead of the French ships. Our success appeared certain. Suddenly a bright light burst forth, revealing our vessels clearly to the enemy, and shedding a lurid glare over their ships which lay sleeping on the calm water ahead. What had happened? There, blazing away on the right of our line, was the fire-ship commanded by Mr Camel, the lieutenant of the privateer. The proceeding was as unaccountable as strange, and I at once suspected that he had thus acted to betray us. I never have had cause to place much confidence in privateer officers, though undoubtedly many brave men are to be found among them. The instant the flames blazed up, the roll of drums was heard on board the French ships beating to quarters. Then a brisk fire from thirty to forty guns was opened on us, and the shot came rattling thickly about our heads. The light had revealed to the Frenchmen our fire-vessels, and they could not tell how many more might be in the rear, so they hurriedly cut their cables, and, in the greatest confusion, endeavoured to make sail to get out of our way. Mr Conway next set fire to his vessel, Symonds following his example, and both taking to their boats. I had still hopes of effecting my purpose, so I stood on. I had not gone far before Grampus exclaimed from forward—
“There, sir; there are the French launches; they are after us!”
Such was the case.
“Haul up the boat, my lads!” I exclaimed. “Jump into her!”
As the men slipped over the side I set fire to the train, and, before I had time to jump into the boat, the vessel was in a blaze from stem to stern. The Vulcan was the last vessel fired. She was, at the time, within her own length of a French twenty-four. What had become of her gallant commander and crew I could not discover. The French launches were after me. My people pulled away with all their might. It was, indeed, a matter of life and death. The other boats were ahead, and I hoped safe. Several bullets came whizzing past us. As I looked astern, my satisfaction was great to see our fire-ships still blazing away, and the Frenchmen drifting, as it appeared, towards the shore. As it afterwards appeared, two of them did drive on shore, and I believe that, had our ships had their guns on board, we might by prompt action have run down and destroyed them before reinforcements could have come to their aid. Happily for me the French launches were recalled to go to the assistance of their ships, and, finding myself no longer pursued, I lay on my oars to try and discover what had become of Captain Palmer. To my great satisfaction, he soon made his appearance, having, at first, wisely pulled across the stream, where he had not been observed. All the boats assembling together, we returned considerably crestfallen and dispirited to our tents. Whether it was treachery, cowardice, or want of consideration induced the privateer’s man to set fire to his vessel I cannot say, but owing to him alone was the failure of our expedition to be attributed.