ut, and
Tordenskjold marched his handful of men in. When he brought the King
the keys of Marstrand, Frederik made him an admiral.

It was while blockading the port of Goeteborg in the last year of the
war that he met and made a friend of Lord Carteret, the English
Ambassador to Denmark, and fell in love with the picture of a young
Englishwoman, Miss Norris, a lady of great beauty and wealth, who,
Lord Carteret told him, was an ardent admirer of his. It was this
love which indirectly sent him to his death. Lord Carteret had given
him a picture of her, and as soon as peace was made he started for
England; but he never reached that country. The remnant of the
Swedish fleet lay in the roadstead at Goeteborg, under the guns of
the two forts, New and Old Elfsborg. While Tordenskjold was away at
Marstrand, the enemy sallied forth and snapped up seven of the
smaller vessels of his blockading fleet. The news made him furious.
He sent in, demanding them back at once, "or I will come after
them." He had already made one ineffectual attempt to take New
Elfsborg that cost him dear. In Goeteborg they knew the strength of
his fleet and laughed at his threat. But it was never safe to laugh
at Tordenskjold. The first dark night he stole in with ten armed
boats, seized the shore batteries of the old fort, and spiked their
guns before a shot was fired. The rising moon saw his men in
possession of the ships lying at anchor. With their blue-lined coats
turned inside out so that they might pass for Swedish uniforms, they
surprised the watch in the guard-house and made them all prisoners.
Now that there was no longer reason for caution, they raised a
racket that woke the sleeping town up in a fright. The commander of
the other fort sent out a boat to ascertain the cause. It met the
Admiral's and challenged it, "Who goes there?"

"Tordenskjold," was the reply, "come to teach you to keep awake."

It proved impossible to warp the ships out. Only one of the seven
lost ones was recovered; all the rest were set on fire. By the light
of the mighty bonfire Tordenskjold rowed out with his men, hauling
the recovered ship right under the guns of the forts, the Danish
flag flying at the bow of his boat. He had not lost a single man. A
cannon-ball swept away all the oars on one side of his boat, but no
one was hurt.

At Marstrand they had been up all night listening to the cannonading
and the crash upon crash as the big ships blew up. They knew that