ven back from to leeward, as by its own rebound,
leaving no breathing time to meet it. The effect was completely to
silence her own fire; for what between the power of the raging elements,
and the destruction of the shot, a species of wild and blood-fraught
confusion took the place of system and order. Her decks were covered
with killed and wounded, among the latter of whom was the Comte de
Chelincourt, while orders were given and countermanded in a way to
render them useless, if not incoherent. From the time when the
Plantagenet fired her first gun, to that when the Warspite fired her
last, was just five minutes by the watch. It seemed an hour to the
French, and but a moment to their enemies. One hundred and eighty-two
men and boys were included in the casualties of those teeming moments on
board the Scipio alone; and when that ship issued slowly from the scene
of havoc, more by the velocity of her assailants in passing than by her
own, the foremast was all that stood, the remainder of her spars
dragging under her lee. To cut the last adrift, and to run off nearly
before the wind, in order to save the spars forward, and to get within
the cover of her own fleet, was all that could now be done. It may as
well be said here, that these two objects were effected.

The Plantagenet had received damage from the fire of her opponent. Some
ten or fifteen men were killed and wounded; her main-top-sail was split
by a shot, from clew to earing; one of the quarter-masters was carried
from the poop, literally dragged overboard by the sinews that connected
head and body; and several of the spars, with a good deal of rigging,
required to be looked to, on account of injuries. But no one thought of
these things, except as they were connected with present and pressing
duties. Sir Gervaise got a sight of la Victoire, some hundred and twenty
fathoms ahead, just as the roar of the Carnatic's guns was rushing upon
his ears. The French commander saw and understood the extreme jeopardy
of his consort, and he had already put his helm hard up.

"Starboard--starboard hard, Bury!" shouted Sir Gervaise from the poop.
"Damn him, run him aboard, if he dare hold on long enough to meet us."

The lieutenant signed with his hand that the order was understood, and
the helm being put up, the ship went whirling off to leeward on the
summit of a hill of foam. A cheer was heard struggling in the tempest,
and glancing over his left shoulder, Sir Gervaise perce