But there were other matters besides--matters strange and full of significance, to one at least in that ship.
"Lord Glastonbury is dead," Ariadne wrote; "he was found dead and cold in his bed. And, oh! Geoffrey, she is free. Is it wicked of me to write like this, and as though I rejoiced in it? I hope not, yet I think ever of poor Sophy's broken happiness, of Mr. Granger's sad lot. Now they can be--but I will say no more. It is too soon."
The first impulse that rose to Geoffrey Barry's mind was to at once send for Granger and inform him of the tidings that had come. But, then, after a moment's reflection, he decided that it would be best not to do so. To-night, to-morrow, at any moment, they might be in conflict with the enemy, whom all knew now to be in their neighbourhood. After the victory which none doubted they would achieve, it would be time to tell him. Therefore he would not disturb Granger at his duty, nor agitate him with thoughts best not indulged in while there was work to do. So, for the present, he held his peace.
That there was work to do was soon apparent, when, at last, the dawn broke. Some English transports had been fallen in with a day or so before, and from them Hawke learnt that the French squadron of twenty-four sail had been seen several leagues west of Belleisle, and that there could be no doubt that this was the Brest fleet under Conflans. Now, at daybreak, all knew that this information was correct, for, as the full light came, the whole French squadron was observed chasing some English frigates and bomb-ketches in the hopes of destroying them. Then, when the enemy saw the English fleet so near, they desisted from the chase, and, although they formed a line to receive Hawke's attack, a moment later they ran before the wind to seek safety.
In an instant there flew the signal from the Royal George for every ship to make her way towards the enemy, no regard being paid to the line of battle; the first to engage the French being the Warspite and the Dorsetshire, while from almost every vessel might be seen the strange sight of men tossing their caps overboard in defiance of that enemy. And from each ship was heard ringing cheers as the fleets drew near to one another. The battle had begun.
Amidst the tempest and fury, amidst the strife of the elements themselves, that battle commenced, while, so thick was the reek and smoke of the powder, that soon neither the white flag spangled with lilies nor the Union Jack could be distinguished as they flew from their respective masts and staffs. Yet each knew where his enemy was, and towards that enemy each pushed upon the rolling, tossing waves.
Amongst those distinguishing themselves upon this fateful day was that great ship of honoured and long-transmitted name, the Swiftsure. Never did any noble vessel that had served to make England's fame widespread perform greater feats of valour than did she upon this occasion. Forcing her way towards the enemy, she encountered Conflans' flagship, the Soleil Royal--a name of evil omen to France, as some recalled who brought to their recollection another Soleil Royal, crushed and destroyed at La Hogue--attended by two great French seventy-fours; and in an instant the Swiftsure had flown at them as flies the gallant hound at treble the number of wolves. Broadside upon broadside she poured from her seventy guns--above their roaring being heard the ringing cheers from those on board her as well as the howls of contempt and hideous oaths of the British bull-dogs; and so she fought and fought till her guns were almost too hot to touch. Yet still she fought, not with the courage of despair, nor with the doomed energy of one o'ermastered, but with the spirit of some wild and savage tigress, recking neither of death nor wounds nor destruction to herself, so that, amidst them, she tore and mangled and destroyed, while still thirsting for more death and destruction. Tossed on the rolling seas, hurled backwards and forwards as were those other three with whom she strove, she poured forth her deadly venom, until at last, outnumbered, with her main topmast shot through, her main top-gallant mast gone, and her tiller-ropes cut away, she broached-to in the tempest, the three enemies rushing forward to encounter next the English Admiral in his flagship.
That all the rest were fighting with grim determination, be very sure. The Resolution was pouring a terrible cannonade into the Formidable (flagship of the French Rear-Admiral); the Royal George had been laid alongside the Soleil Royal by now; the Torbay was sinking the Thesée--with an awful cry from all on board, the latter went down amidst the turbulent waves! the Magnanime was destroying for ever the Héros. Meanwhile the Royal George was driving the Soleil Royal from out the fray, she being followed by the Tonnant and three others. The Superbe had drawn the Royal George's fire next, receiving the whole of the latter's broadsides, and was sinking close by her victress. And because of how she, this gallant French ship, had fought; because she was a foe worthy of England's best shot and steel; because she bore bravely the hell of fire rained into her by the great English vessel as she went down with her colours flying, there arose from her enemy's decks a long and ringing cheer of applause. She was a conquered foe, but still a noble one, and the hardy British throats could not refuse to her the tribute she had so nobly won.
And then there came the greatest incident of this terrible fight. Upon the Royal George there sprang seven great French ships, and they surrounded her while pouring their broadsides out from all their guns, so that those in her consorts, because of the vessels which hedged her round, could do nought to help her--could, indeed, do nought but bewail her sad fate and gnash their teeth with rage. Yet, too, Providence watched over her: the guns that should have sunk her were not well served, the enemy were in a terrible state of discomposure, and the turbulence of the sea was now such as to make their broadsides uncertain. It almost seems a miracle to relate, but of all the balls hurled against her, not more than fifty struck the mark, and not one was below the water-line. But there were others of her own side crowding to her assistance now--amongst them was the Mignonne, with her captain shot through the arm, yet giving his orders as calmly from the quarterdeck as though he were upon some tranquil cruise, as well as the Hero, the Mars, and the Union; while, to leave England the conqueror in this great fray, there was something else coming.
That something was the night. And the French, taking advantage of it, sheered off--they had had enough! The Soleil Royal soon ran ashore with the Héros, when both were burnt. The Juste was on the rocks and overturned; beneath the water were several others, and a dozen more were aground. Well might the ten thousand French spectators ashore who had witnessed the great fight turn white and weep as night closed in on all around.