much gauled. About two, the wind shifted to the N.W. and by W. and, some little time after that five fresh ships of the enemy's blue squadron came and posted themselves, three a-head of Monsieur Tourville, and two a-stern of him, and fired with great fury, which continued till after three. About four in the evening, there came so thick a fog, that we could not see a ship of the enemy's, which occasioned our leaving off firing for a little time, and then it cleared up, and we could see Monsieur Tourville towing away with his boats to the northward from us; upon which I did the same, and ordered all my division to do the like; and, about half an hour after five, we had a small breeze of wind easterly. I then made the signal for the fleet to chace, sending notice to all the ships about me, that the enemy were running. About this time I heard several broadsides to the westward; and, though I could not see the ships that fired, I concluded them to be our blue, that, by the shift of wind, had weathered the enemy; but it proved to be the rear-admiral of the red, who had weathered Tourville's squadron, and got between them and their admiral of the blue, where they lay firing some time, and then Tourville anchored with some ships of his own division, as also the rearadmiral of the red with some of his. This was the time that Captain Hastings, in the Sandwich, was killed, he driving through those ships, by reason of his anchors not being clear. I could not see this part, because of the great smoke and fog, but have received this information from Sir Cloudesley Shovel since. I sent to all the ships that I could think were near me, to chace to the westward all night; telling them, I designed to follow the enemy to Brest; and sometimes we could see a French ship, two, or three, standing away with all the sail they could make to the westward. About eight, I heard firing to the westward, which lasted about half an hour, it being some of our blue fallen in with some of the ships of the enemy in the fog. It was foggy, and very little wind all night. Friday the twentieth, it was so thick in the morning, that I could see none of the enemy's ships, and but very few of our own. About eight it began to clear up; the Dutch who were to the southward of me, made the signal of seeing the enemy; and, as it cleared, I saw about thirty-two or thirty-four sail, distant from us between two and three leagues, the wind at E.N.E. and they bearing from us W.S.W. our fleet chacing with all the sail they could make, having taken in the signal for the line of battle, that each ship might make the best of her way after the enemy. Between eleven and twelve, the wind came to the S.W. The French plied to the westward with all the sail they could, and we after them. About four, the tide of ebb being done, the French anchored, as also we in forty-three fathom water, Cape Barfleur bearing S. and by W. About ten in the evening, we weighed with the tide of ebb, the wind at S.W. and plied to the westward. About twelve, my fore-topmast came by the board, having received several shot. Saturday the twenty-first, we continued still plying after the enemy, till four in the morning. The tide of ebb being done, I anchored in forty-six fathom water, Cape de Hogue bearing S. and by W. and the island of Alderney S.S.W. By my topmast's going away, the Dutch squadron, and the admiral of the blue, with several of his squadron, had got a great way to windward of me. About seven in the morning, several of the enemy's ships, being far advanced towards the Race, I perceived driving to the eastward with the tide of flood. Between eight and nine, when they were driven so far to the eastward that I could fetch them, I made the signal for the fleet to cut and follow the enemy; which they all did, except the aforementioned weathermost ships, which rid fast, to observe the motion of the rest of the enemy's ships that continued in the race of Alderney. About eleven, I saw three great ships fair under the shore tack and stand to the westward; but, after making two or three short boards, the biggest of them run a-shore, who presently cut his masts away; the other two, being to leeward of him, plied up to him. The reason, as I judge, of their doing this was, that they could not weather our sternmost ships to the westward, nor get out a-head of us to the eastward. I observing that many of our ships hovered about those, I sent to Sir Ralph Delaval, vice-admiral of the red, who was in the rear of our fleet, to keep such a number of ships and fireships with him, as might be sufficient to destroy those of the enemy; and to order the others to follow me, I being then in pursuit of the rest of the enemy. An account of the performing that service I do not trouble your Lordship with, he having given it you already. About four in the afternoon, eighteen sail of the enemy's ships got to the eastward of Cape Barfleur; after which, I observed they hauled in for le Hogue. The rear-admiral of the red, vice-admiral of the blue, and some other ships, were a-head of me. About ten at night, I anchored in the bay of le Hogue, and lay till four the next morning, being Sunday the twenty-second; and then I weighed, and stood in near the land of le Hogue; but, when we found the flood came, we anchored in good sandy ground. At two in the afternoon we weighed again, and plied close in with le Hogue, where we saw thirteen sail of the enemy's men of war hauled close in with the shore. The rear-admiral of the red tells me, that the night before he saw the other five, which made up the eighteen I first chaced, stand to the eastward. Monday the twenty-third, I sent in Vice-admiral Rooke, with seven ral men of war and fireships, as also the boats of the fleet, to destroy those ships; but the enemy had gotten them so near the shore, that not any of our men of war, except the small frigates, could do any service; but that night Vice-admiral Rooke, with the boats, burnt six of them. Tuesday the twenty-fourth, about eight in the morning, he went in again with the boats, and burnt the other seven, together with several transport ships, and some vessels with ammunition, the names of which ships I am not yet able to give your Lordship any other account of, than what I formerly sent you, which are as follow: Guns. 104 104 90 S Mons.Cottologon, Rere- 76 La Magnifique { Blue. Monsieur Beaujeau, As the prisoners report, a three-deck ship burnt by accident, and the following, sunk; how true I do not know. Le Prince, Le St. Paril, Monsieur Bagneuz, 60 60 Tho' these be all the names that I have been able to learn, yet I am sure there are sixteen ships of consequence burnt. Wednesday the twenty-fifth, I sailed from le Hogue, ordering the admiral of the blue, with a squadron of English and Dutch ships under his command, to run along the enemy's coast as far as Havre de Grace, in hopes that some of the before-mentioned five ships, that stood to the eastward, might have been got thither; but he informs me, that, upon his appearing before that place, he could perceive but one or two small vessels. The number of the enemy's ships did not exceed fifty men of war, by the best information, from fifty-six to one-hundred and four guns; and though it must be confessed, that our number was superior to theirs, which probably at first might startle them, yet, by their coming down with that resolution, I cannot think it had any great effect upon them. And this I may affirm for a truth, not with any intention to value our own action, or to lessen the bravery of the enemy, that they were beaten by a number considerably less than theirs; the calmness and thickness of the weather giving very few of the Dutch, or the Blue, the opportunity of engaging; which, I am sure, they look upon misfortune; and, had the weather proved otherwise, I do not see how it was possible for any of them to have escaped us. This is the exactest account that I am able to give you, which, I hope, will prove to your Lordship's satisfaction, Vice-admiral Rooke has given me a very good character of several men employed in the boats, and I have ordered him to give me a list of the names of such persons whose behaviour was remarkable, in order to their reward. I am, My Lord, Your Lordship's most faithful Humble Servant, E. RUSSELL THE CHARACTER OF AN HONEST AND WORTHY PARLIAMENT-MAN. A Folio Half-sheet, no date. HOPE the reader will not be so unwise, as to expect, that I should here entertain him with a pompous enumeration of all those imaginary virtues, wherewith the romantick modellers of a Platonick, or Utopian commonwealth, adorn their paper senators; when the character, even of a real Cato, would be altogether as useless in our times, as it is rarely found to be practised; and, consequently, as little regarded now, as he himself was, by the corrupt age wherein he lived. Not, but that our nation has, of late, produced as great heroes, as any antiquity can boast of, yet it cannot be imagined, that they are to be found in every little town or borrough. As for my honest and worthy parliament-man, all the qualifications, that I desire to find in him, are only such as it would be the greatest affront imaginable to any English gentleman, to think him destitute of; that is, that he should be a man of sense, integrity, and honour. Let him but follow their dictates, and then all the duties which we may reckon, or think of, to be incumbent on him, will be as easily performed by him, as they are demonstrable to be the obvious and natural consequents of such principles. As for his religion, he is a sincere, as well as open professor of that which by our laws is now become essential to his office, I mean that of the Church of England. Nor is he of it, because it is established by law, or that he was bred in it; but, before he settled his opinion, he maturely examined its first principles, and found them agreeable to the Divine Will, and right reason; he discovered the folly and errors of those who oppose any points of its doctrine. And, being thoroughly satisfied in the fundamentals, for its discipline, he intirely submits himself to the judg ment and authority of those, to whose conduct and discretion, the government of the church has been in all ages committed. But though he be a zealous churchman himself, yet he is so far from persecuting those who dissent from the established religion, purely for conscience-sake, that he is ready to pity their weakness, have compassion on their infirmities, and express the greatest tenderness imaginable for their persons, whenever that time shall come, when it will be his chance to meet with those, whose scruples arise rather from a real defect of their understandings, than some worldly interest or desire of filthy lucre, an obstinate, peevish, or self-conceited humour, or the vain-glorious spirit of contradiction. As for his sentiments in state affairs, in which, next to his religion, his greatest desire is to be orthodox; before they fix, he always tries them with the touch-stone of reason; and, consequently, thinks it lawful for him to be a Latitudinarian in judgment, in relation to civil matters: I mean, so far as not to expect to find an infallible judge, amongst either Tories, Whigs, or Trimmers. He takes up opinions upon trust from no party, nor condemns any, because they are of it, who differ from him in other things. And, therefore, he could not but smile, to see, in our late times of dissension, so many, in all outward appearance, honest and thinking men, continually jog on, like a gang of pack-horses, after the leaders of their several parties; and though they wander after these blazing, but deceitful lights, into never so many crooked and bye paths, yet, with an implicit and blind faith, still believe themselves to be in the right way. For his own part, his only aim is at the honour, safety, and interest of his country. On this mark, he keeps his eye constantly fixed; nor can the dreadful frowns of an enraged prince, or the horrid clamours of a possessed multitude, ever be able to remove him from his point. He finds that his beloved virtue brings such solid, though invisible rewards along with her, that he is equally insensible to the promising smiles of fawning great ones that would tempt, and the terrible menaces of the fiercest demagogues, that would force him to forsake her. He can securely, without any fear of infection, deride the folly, and pity the madness of those who forfeit their honesty, to found their happiness upon the unstable basis of court favours, or popular applause. He truly enjoys all that freedom in his actions, which he thinks his duty to procure for, and defend his countrymen in. He is wholly a stranger to the servile ambition of gaining the favourable opinion of others; nor can he tell what it is to fear the censures of any. He is directed, influenced, or byassed by none; and, whilst he is engaged in his country's service, he thinks the most glorious epithets, the world can fix upon him, are those of a rigid, inflexible, ill-natured, honest man. When he discovers that any have designs contrary to the publick good, let their authority and power be never so great, he opposes their opinions, with all the courage and zeal his generous principles can furnish him with, without any respect to their persons. But when the time comes, wherein the right side shall turn uppermost, as after all revolutions it ever will at last, he is then so far from trampling upon his fallen adversaries, that he becomes, I mean, as a private man, most tender of their persons, without any respect to their opinions. He is altogether unacquainted with that base and degenerate passion, called hatred. Yet, there is one sort of men, whom he thinks worthy of the utmost degree of his contempt and scorn; I mean, those false and treacherous friends who have formerly gone along with, nay, much before him, in the same cause; those pretended zealots for their country and religion, who, for their own paultry interest, or some by-ends, made it their business to set us together by the ears, with their noisy clamours against popery and slavery; but, when the danger was become real, and just hanging over our heads, when our church and state were |