Ronald Morton; or, the Fire Ships: A Story of the Last Naval War

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The shot continued to fall thickly round them, but no one was hit. At last they got beyond the range of fire.

“Avast pulling!” cried Lord Claymore.

The sound of oars was heard on either hand. It would be impossible to fight the enemy with any hope of success. Plight was their only resource. Morton steered for the frigate. The enemy’s boats continued to come after them. Morton kept a look-out for the frigate’s light. The Frenchmen saw at length that the pursuit was useless, and gave it up. No sooner was this ascertained than Lord Claymore began to talk on various subjects with as much composure as if they had not just narrowly escaped losing their lives or liberty.

A strong leading wind was required to execute the project. It came at last. In the afternoon the boats assembled round the various vessels destined for the undertaking, which then proceeded towards the stations allotted to them in readiness for the night, when their operations were to commence.

It was a solemn time even for the thoughtless, and highly exciting to the most phlegmatic. To many the undertaking appeared desperate in the extreme, Ronald had unbounded confidence in the judgment and bravery of their leader. He had himself volunteered to conduct one of the fire-ships. Lord Claymore was to lead in the largest explosion vessel.

Two gun-brigs were stationed at each end of the enemy’s line, and within the distance of two miles. They had lights hoisted to guide their friends, but screened from the enemy. In the centre space between these two vessels the fire-ships were to be conducted. The “Imperious” and three other frigates anchored about a gun-shot and a half from the boom to support the boats accompanying the fire-ships. Five or six sloops-of-war and brigs were placed near the east end of the island to make a diversion, while a bomb-vessel and several small craft, supplied with rockets, took up their stations near the Boyart shoal.

Under the veil of night the vessels took up their stations. The wind, which was increasing, blew directly into the harbour. In the centre of the space formed by the two light-vessels, the frigates, and the boom, were collected the fleet of fire-ships and the explosion vessels.

The awful moment had arrived. The terrific work of destruction was to begin. The darkness was intense. The two lights on either hand were the only guides on which those piloting the vessels had to depend. The explosion vessels led the way, under all sail. Morton stood at the helm of his fireship to guide her course, his heart beating as it had seldom beat before. He was calm and collected, but fully impressed with the awful nature of the work in which he was engaged. The darkness rendered the moment still more solemn. He could not help feeling also that at any instant he and those with him might be launched into eternity.

The train was laid, all was ready; a spark from one of the explosion vessels might ignite it suddenly. He could not see live yards from where he stood. The darkness was oppressive. A single star in the sky above would have been a relief. His ship proceeded under easy sail, to give time for the explosion vessels to produce the intended effect. The eyes of all on board were on the watch for the awful event. They could hear the people of the vessels on either side of them, but could not catch even an outline of their forms. Thus the fleet of fire-ships glided on to their work of destruction.

“The leading explosion vessel must be near the boom,” observed Job Truefitt, who had accompanied him. “Nothing can have gone amiss, I hope.”