active part in the work going on,
and most of us saw more than we chose to speak of; but as much ill-blood
was made on that occasion, and one or two very unpleasant courts-martial
took place, I shall endeavour to confine myself to my own personal
narrative, avoiding anything that may give offence to the parties
concerned. Some days were passed in preparing the fire-ships; and on
the night of the 11th April, 1809, everything being prepared for the
attempt to destroy the enemy's squadron, we began the attack. A more
daring one was never made; and if it partly failed of success, no fault
could be imputed to those who conducted the enterprise: they did all
that man could do.

The night was very dark, and it blew a strong breeze directly in upon
the Isle d'Aix, and the enemy's fleet. Two of our frigates had been
previously so placed as to serve as beacons to direct the course of the
fire-ships. They each displayed a clear and brilliant light; the
fire-ships were directed to pass between these; after which, their
course up to the boom which guarded the anchorage was clear, and not
easily to be mistaken.

I solicited and obtained permission to go on board one of the explosion
vessels that were to precede the fire-ships. They were filled with
layers of shells and powder, heaped one upon another: the quantity on
board of each vessel was enormous. Another officer, three seamen, and
myself, were all that were on board of her. We had a four-oared gig, a
small, narrow thing (nick-named by the sailors a "coffin"), to make our
escape in.

Being quite prepared, we started. It was a fearful moment; the wind
freshened, and whistled through our rigging, and the night was so dark
that we could not see our bowsprit. We had only our foresail set; but
with a strong flood-tide and a fair wind, with plenty of it, we passed
between the advanced frigates like an arrow. It seemed to me like
entering the gates of hell. As we flew rapidly along, and our ships
disappeared in the intense darkness, I thought of Dante's inscription
over the portals:--"You who enter here, leave hope behind."

Our orders were to lay the vessel on the boom which the French had
moored to the outer anchors of their ships of the line. In a few
minutes after passing the frigates, we were close to it; our boat was
towing astern, with three men in it--one to hold the rope ready to let
go, one to steer, and one to bail the water out, which, from our rapid
motion,