In the citadel, of which the King’s Bastion formed the front, there was a large oblong stone building containing the chapel, lodgings for men and officers, and at the southern end the quarters of the Governor.  On the morning after the burning of the ships a shell fell through the roof among a party of soldiers in the chamber below, burst, and set the place on fire.  In half an hour the chapel and all the northern part of the building were in flames; and no sooner did the smoke rise above the bastion than the English threw into it a steady shower of missiles.  Yet soldiers, sailors, and inhabitants hastened to the spot, and labored desperately to check the fire.  They saved the end occupied by Drucour and his wife, but all the rest was destroyed.  Under the adjacent rampart were the casemates, one of which was crowded with wounded officers, and the rest with women and children seeking shelter in these subterranean dens.  Before the entrances there was a long barrier of timber to protect them from exploding shells; and as the wind blew the flames towards it, there was danger that it would take fire and suffocate those within.  They rushed out, crazed with fright, and ran hither and thither with outcries and shrieks amid the storm of iron.

In the neighboring Queen’s Bastion was a large range of barracks built of wood by the New England troops after their capture of the fortress in 1745.  So flimsy and combustible was it that the French writers call it a “house of cards” and “a paper of matches.”  Here were lodged the greater part of the garrison:  but such was the danger of fire, that they were now ordered to leave it; and they accordingly lay in the streets or along the foot of the ramparts, under shelters of timber which gave some little protection against bombs.  The order was well timed; for on the night after the fire in the King’s Bastion, a shell filled with combustibles set this building also in flames.  A fearful scene ensued.  All the English batteries opened upon it.  The roar of mortars and cannon, the rushing and screaming of round-shot and grape, the hissing of fuses and the explosion of grenades and bombs mingled with a storm of musketry from the covered way and trenches; while, by the glare of the conflagration, the English regiments were seen drawn up in battle array, before the ramparts, as if preparing for an assault.

Two days after, at one o’clock in the morning, a burst of loud cheers was heard in the distance, followed by confused cries and the noise of musketry, which lasted but a moment.  Six hundred English sailors had silently rowed into the harbor and seized the two remaining ships, the “Prudent” and the “Bienfaisant.”  After the first hubbub all was silent for half an hour.  Then a light glowed through the thick fog that covered the water.  The “Prudent” was burning.  Being aground with the low tide, her captors had set her on fire, allowing the men on board to escape to the town in her boats.  The flames soon wrapped her from stem to stern; and as the broad glare pierced the illumined mists, the English sailors, reckless of shot and shell, towed her companion-ship, with all on board, to a safe anchorage under Wolfe’s batteries.