The third attempt was at Noirmoutier, near the mouth of the river Loire, in La Vendée--a tide harbour. Success at first crowned our exertions; the boats of the squadron, again under Lieutenants Burke, had already burnt three vessels, mounting from 12, 18, to 24 guns, with some small craft, and were thinking of returning, when the ebbing of the tide, which the gallant assailants, carried away by their ardour, had failed to perceive, left all the boats high and dry, exposed to the fire of the French batteries. However, Lieutenants Burke and Thompson, with a part of the men, dragged a large fishing boat and our barge through the mud, and got safe back to the ships, leaving the remainder of the boats, with 76 of our best men and some officers prisoners, besides a few killed and wounded. A poor messmate of mine, a midshipman, named Jago, who was afterwards killed in the Mediterranean on another cutting-out affair, in remembrance of this transaction, called out on that occasion to some of his men who seemed disposed to hang back, “Come, my lads, stick by me now, as you stuck by me in the mud at Noirmoutier.” In consequence of this untoward affair, we sailed for Portsmouth to refit. Previous to sailing, the ship was paid. I was stationed on the starboard gangway to keep off the boats, but leaning too far over the side, fell overboard, and got a good ducking, but fortunately escaped breaking my head against a boat that was alongside by falling between her and the ship. Luckily the people in the boat picked me up immediately, for at that time I could not swim. After the ship had refitted, and obtained a draft of seamen and marines, and new boats in lieu of those we had lost on the coast of France, we joined the fleet again off Brest, under the command of Earl St. Vincent. In August our admiral was detached with a strong squadron to take the naval command of the expedition, under General Sir James Pulteney, against Ferrol. I recollect, on this expedition, two dandy young guardsmen came on board for a passage, and, being too late for dinner in the ward-room, a nice beefsteak and bottle of port wine was given them at a side table. After contemplating it a little while, with a supercilious turn of the mouth and nose, one of them made the sage remark, that “he thought they might be able to rough it pretty well with such fare every day in a campaign; but, really, common port wine, beefsteaks, and potatoes, was not fit food for guardsmen.” I’ll answer for it long before their regiment returned from Egypt they were very glad to get much worse fare, and if either of them lived to serve with the noble Wellington in the Peninsula, their pride of stomach must have had many a fall.