Artillery in the very act of being
unlimbered. We could distinctly hear the clash of the mounted
artillerymen's sabres against their horses' flanks as they rode to the
rear, their burnished accoutrements glancing at every sparkle of the
musketry.
We pulled like fiends, and being the fastest boat, soon headed the launch
and cutter, who were returning the enemy's fire brilliantly, when crack--a
six--pound shot drove our boat into staves, and all hands were the next
moment squattering in the water. I sank a good bit, I suppose, for when I
rose to the surface, half drowned and giddy and confused, and striking out
at random, the first thing I recollected was a hard hand being wrung into
my neckerchief, while a gruff voice shouted in my ear.
"Rendez vous, mon cher"
Resistance was useless. I was forcibly dragged up the bank, where both
musketry and cannon were still playing on the boats, which had, however,
by this time got a good offing. I soon knew they were safe by the Torch
opening a fire of round and grape on the head of the dike, a contain proof
that the boats had been accounted for. The French party now ceased firing,
and retreated by the edge of the inundation, keeping the dike between them
and the brig, all except the artillery, who had to scamper off, running
the gauntlet on the crest of the embankment until they got beyond the
range of the carronades. I was conveyed between two grenadiers along the
water's edge so long as the ship was firing; but when that ceased, I was
clapped on one of the limbers of the field--guns, and strapped down to it
between two of the artillerymen.
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