The results of the unfortunate expedition to Ferrol are too well known to need further record; the gallant army, to a man, regretted that their evil genius placed them under the command of such a general, and we, of the navy, lamented our ill-luck that prevented us from taking the beautiful Spanish fleet that lay at anchor in the harbour. It was reported--and, I believe, with truth--that at the very time our troops were being re-embarked, the Spanish governor had even sent out an officer with the keys of the fortress in his hands, and an offer of terms to surrender; but he, seeing how matters stood, returned back to his general, rejoicing, and informed him that the British army was in full retreat, and part were already on board. The Spaniards had laid a strong boom across the harbour, flanked by two very powerful batteries--one on each side of the entrance. Sir James Pulteney promised to take the one on the left, or larboard hand, while the boats, filled with sailors and marines, were to storm the other at the same time. Seven sail of the line were prepared for action, with springs on their cables, and a spare one out of the gun-room stern port, bent to the sheet anchor, ready for bringing up head and stern; in short, everything was in a forward state for the attack, and the _London_ (98 guns) was to break the boom, and the rest of the ships to follow in line of battle. All hearts beat with joyful expectation, when, to our utmost surprise and indignation, a signal was made from the shore that the commander-in-chief of the land forces had given up the idea of attack, and boats were to be sent immediately to embark the troops. The gallant Sir Edward Pellew, who commanded the _Impétueux_ (74), was ready to burst with rage when he found the object of the expedition given up, at a time when it was almost within our grasp, and without making one serious effort to obtain it. It was reported in the squadron that he embarked an ass, and used to go up to it, and take off his hat, and say, “How do you do, Sir James? I hope nothing troubled you in your sleep last night in the way of unpleasant dreams, or that the nightmare did not disturb your rest.” After this sad affair we sailed for Vigo Bay, where our appearance with so large a force put the inhabitants in bodily fear. When we were standing into the bay a large French ship (privateer) was observed to haul under the citadel. At night the boats of the squadron, commanded by the daring Lieutenant Burke, were sent to bring her out, which they most gallantly accomplished, after a severe and desperate struggle. She was called _La Guêpe_, of 18 long nine-pounders, with 244 men, sails bent, and perfectly ready for sea, and was going to look after our homeward-bound West Indiamen, and intended to have sailed the evening of the day of our arrival.