Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798Reed, Talbot Baines
History
Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798
Reed, Talbot Baines
France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Juvenile fiction; Ireland -- Juvenile fiction
I found myself under orders to sail forthwith to Yarmouth, there to
report myself on board the _Venerable_, the flag-ship of Admiral Duncan
himself.
An Admiralty cutter was just then sailing with despatches for the fleet,
and on it I embarked the same afternoon, and found myself in Yarmouth
Roads next morning.
The admiral's fleet was all in a flutter; for news had only just come
that the Dutch admiral, taking advantage of the temporary withdrawal of
the English ships from the mouth of the Texel (for Admiral Duncan, after
his long cruise there, had been compelled to return to refit his
squadron), was setting sail at last, and determined to venture an
engagement in the open. Our fleet was wild with joy at the news--as
wild as the greyhound who for hours has been straining at his leash with
the hare in view is to feel his collar thrown off.
Signals were flying from every mast-head. The last of the barges and
bumboats were casting loose. The dull thunder of a salute came from the
shore, the yards were manned, sails were unfurling, and the anchor
chains were grinding apeak.
At such a moment it was that the Admiralty cutter hove alongside of the
_Venerable_, and I found myself a few minutes later lending a hand to
haul to the mast-head the blue flag of that most gallant of sea-dogs,
Admiral Duncan.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
THE FAMOUS FIGHT OF OCTOBER THE ELEVENTH.
My readers do not, I hope, expect from me a full, true, and particular
account of the glorious sea-fight of October 11, 1797, off Camperdown;
for if they do, they will be sadly disappointed. Indeed, it seems to
me, the worst person to describe a battle is one who has fought in it.
For if he does his duty, he has no eyes for any business but his own;
and as to seeing what is happening along the entire line at any time, it
would take an eagle poised in mid-air, with eyes that could penetrate a
cloud of smoke, to do it honestly. I am no eagle, and my eyes can carry
no further than those of any other plain mortal. I can tell only what I
saw. For the rest, the eagles have written their story in books, where
any one can read all about the famous victory--and more than all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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