erors,
leaving the ships of war in flames, made their way into an inner basin
where many transports lay. Eight of these vessels were set on fire.
Several were taken in tow. The rest would have been either destroyed or
carried off, had not the sea again begun to ebb. It was impossible to do
more, and the victorious flotilla slowly retired, insulting the hostile
camp with a thundering chant of "God save the King."

Thus ended, at noon on the twenty-fourth of May, the great conflict
which had raged during five days over a wide extent of sea and shore.
One English fireship had perished in its calling. Sixteen French men of
war, all noble vessels, and eight of them three-deckers, had been sunk
or burned down to the keel. The battle is called, from the place where
it terminated, the battle of La Hogue. [269]

The news was received in London with boundless exultation. In the fight
on the open sea, indeed, the numerical superiority of the allies had
been so great that they had little reason to boast of their success. But
the courage and skill with which the crews of the English boats had,
in a French harbour, in sight of a French army, and under the fire of
French batteries, destroyed a fine French fleet, amply justified the
pride with which our fathers pronounced the name of La Hogue. That we
may fully enter into their feelings, we must remember that this was
the first great check that had ever been given to the arms of Lewis the
Fourteenth, and the first great victory that the English had gained over
the French since the day of Agincourt. The stain left on our fame by the
shameful defeat of Beachy Head was effaced. This time the glory was all
our own. The Dutch had indeed done their duty, as they have always done
it in maritime war, whether fighting on our side or against us, whether
victorious or vanquished. But the English had borne the brunt of the
fight. Russell who commanded in chief was an Englishman. Delaval who
directed the attack on Cherburg was an Englishman. Rooke who led the
flotilla into the Bay of La Hogue was an Englishman. The only two
officers of note who had fallen, Admiral Carter and Captain Hastings of
the Sandwich, were Englishmen. Yet the pleasure with which the good news
was received here must not be ascribed solely or chiefly to national
pride. The island was safe. The pleasant pastures, cornfields and
commons of Hampshire and Surrey would not be the seat of war. The houses
and gardens, the kitchens a