The Duke of York, loath to give in, hastened to the assistance of the English, and courageously continued to fight from his third battered flagship.
But the English were dispirited and weary, and after three broadsides from the advancing Dutch they dispersed in sullen confusion; falling back, with tattered canvas and disabled rigging, on to their own coast.
Banckert, returning from his pursuit of the French, came up with his fleet as evening fell, and his appearance changed the retreat of the English into a flight; nightfall alone saved them from utter destruction.
After twelve hours of fierce and desperate fighting the States General had achieved a glorious victory.
They had destroyed five of the enemy’s finest vessels, including the two flagships, disabled many others, and were themselves the worse only by two frigates and some fire-ships.
The English had lost three thousand men, and a large number had been taken prisoner.
“It is God’s will,” was all Michael de Ruyter said.
He stood beside the heroic Ruard’s chair; his hands clasped behind him, his lips compressed under his pointed moustache.
Cornelius de Witt was very pale; he leant against the back of his chair, and now and then wiped his lips and his brow. But though fatigue and pain drove the colour from his face, nothing could subdue the fire of his eye or the undaunted carriage of his head.