On the first of October all was ready for this audacious squibbing of
the hornet's nest, and the fleet of investment (which kept its distance
according to the weather and the tides) stood in, not bodily so as to
arouse excitement, but a ship at a time sidling in towards the coast,
and traversing one another's track, as if they were simply exchanging
stations. The French pretended to take no heed, and did not call in a
single scouting craft, but showed every sign of having all eyes shut.
Nothing, however, was done that night, by reason perhaps of the weather;
but the following night being favourable, and the British fleet brought
as nigh as it durst come, the four fire-ships were despatched after
dark, when the enemy was likely to be engaged with supper. The sky was
conveniently overcast, with a faint light wandering here and there, from
the lift of the horizon, just enough to show the rig of a vessel and
her length, at a distance of about a hundred yards. Nothing could be
better--thought the Englishmen; and the French were of that opinion too,
especially as Nelson was not there.
Scudamore had nothing to do with the loose adventure of the fire-ships,
the object of which was to huddle together this advanced part of the
flotilla, so that the catamarans might sweep unseen into a goodly
thicket of vessels, and shatter at least half a dozen at once.
But somehow the scheme was not well carried out, though it looked very
nice upon paper.
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