heels
of the resolve. Poor man! he was always in want of something to do, and
thus he was too happy to do anything that offered excitement, Monsieur
Messurier was in despair; he prayed and swore alternately, talked about
sacrificing his life for the good of his country; and told us in a
manner that convinced us that he wished us to believe the absurdity,
that honour was the breath of his nostrils. However, the captain was
fully intent upon giving him the glorious opportunity of exclaiming with
effect, _Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_.

Not knowing the strength of the stronghold that it was our intention to
surprise, Captain Reud cruised about for a few days, until he had
collected another frigate, a sloop of war, and two eighteen-gun brigs,
the commanders of all being, of course, his juniors. Having made all
necessary arrangements, one beautiful morning we found ourselves close
off the iron-bound and rocky shores of the east end of Saint Domingo.
We ran along shore for a couple of hours, when we perceived an opening
in the lofty piles of granite, that frowned over the blue ocean. This
was the entrance into the harbour where lay our destined prizes.

Captain Reud taking the responsibility into his own hands, had
determined to lead in. The charts were minutely examined, but they gave
us no hope. The soundings laid down were so shallow and the path so
intricate, that, by them, we wondered much how even a privateer schooner
could make the passage in safety. To a frigate drawing three-and-twenty
feet of water, the attempt seemed only a precursor to destruction.

We hove-to; the captains of the other vessels were signalled on board,
and with them and our first-lieutenant and master, a sort of council of
war was held; and, as everyone present gave his voice against the
attempts our skipper's mind was made up directly. He resolved to go in,
trusting to the chapter of accidents, to a gracious Providence, and
Monsieur Messurier upon the fore-yard, with a seaman with a pistol at
each ear, to scatter his brains the moment the ship struck. The weather
was brilliant, the wind moderate and fair, when we bore up to the mouth
of the passage. It was something at once ludicrous and painful to
witness the agony of our pilot in spite of himself. Between oaths,
protestations and tremors, the perspiration of terror flowing down his
face, mingled with his tears, he conned the ship with a precision that
proved, at least in t