For myself, I was
influenced more by the love of mischief, and a weak desire to have it said
I was foremost in such an exploit, than from any mercenary motive.
Notwithstanding the severity of the orders, and one or two pretty sharp
examples of punishment inflicted by the commodore, the Black Jokers were
not the only plunderers ashore that night. One master's-mate had the
buttons taken off his coat, for stealing a feather bed, besides being
obliged to carry it back again. Of course he was a shipped master's-mate.
I was ashore every day while the squadron remained in the port. Our
schooner never shifted her berth from the last one she occupied in the
battle, and that was pretty well up the bay. I paid a visit to the gun
that had troubled us all so much, and which we could not silence, for it
was under a bank, near the landing-place. It was a long French eighteen,
and did better service, that day, than any other piece of John Bull's. I
think it hulled us several times.
I walked over the ground where the explosion took place. It was a dreadful
sight; the dead being so mutilated that it was scarcely possible to tell
their colour. I saw gun-barrels bent nearly double. I think we saw Sir
Roger Sheafe, the British General, galloping across the field, by himself,
a few minutes before the explosion. At all events, we saw a mounted
officer, and fired at him.
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