Who lives, and is not weary of a life
Exposed to manacles, deserves them well.

The state that strives for liberty, though foil'd,
And forced to abandon what she bravely sought,
Deserves at least applause for her attempt,
And pity for her loss. But that's a cause
Not often unsuccessful: power usurp'd

Is weakness, when opposed; conscious of wrong,
'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight.

But slaves that once conceive the glowing thought

Of freedom, in that hope itself possess

All that the contest calls for; spirit, strength,

The scorn of danger, and united hearts;

The surest presage of the good they seek."

CHAPTER XVI.

Arrival of Count D'Estaing-Attack by the French Fleet on Newport-Admi ral Lord Howe sails to its Defence-Both Fleets dispersed by a Storm-D'Estaing sails for Boston-American Forces abandon the Enterprise, and retreat-British pursue them-Battle at Quaker Hill-Enemy repulsed-General Clinton arrives for Relief of Newport-Returns to New York.

"List, ye landsmen, all to me."

On the 8th of July, a short time after Lord Howe left the Delaware, the Count D'Estaing, having arrived from France, entered the mouth of the river with a powerful armament, to co-operate with the American army, to destroy both the British army and fleet. Having received intelligence that the enemy was gone, the count put to sea anew, and on the 11th appeared at Sandy Hook, in sight of the British squadron; but, apprehensive that his large ships would not pass over the bar, in the mouth of the bay of New York, he withdrew to the coast of New Jersey, about four miles from Sandy Hook, where he concerted an expedition, with the American generals, against Rhode Island, which had been in possession of the British since December, 1776.

The fleet of D'Estaing consisted of twelve ships of the line; two of eighty guns, six of seventy-four, and four large frigates. After leaving Howe, with an inferior naval force,

for some time in constant apprehension of being attacked, he sailed for Newport, Rhode Island, to act in concert with troops, under General Sullivan, destined for the expedition. The militia of New England were assembled; General Greene was sent to Rhode Island, his native state, to arouse the inhabitants; and an army of 10,000 men was soon ready to attack Newport by land.

In the meantime, General Pigot, who commanded in Rhode Island, was reinforced from New York. His garrison now amounted to 6000 men. The part of the town towards the sea was fortified with great expedition; several vessels of transport were sunk, to obstruct the approaches to the important batteries; while others were burned, to prevent them from falling into the hands of the French.

On the 29th of July, Count D'Estaing anchored about five miles from Newport. General Sullivan not having received all the militia he expected, a delay of some days was occasioned; but, on the 8th of August, the preparations being completed, and the wind favourable, the French squadron entered the harbour of Newport, discharged its broadsides, and received the enemy's fire from their batteries on shore, without much effect on either side. The next day, signals announced the approach of the whole British squadron, under Lord Howe, which, though reinforced, was still inferior to that of the French. The defence of the narrow entrance of the harbour, however, was so formidable, that Howe concluded that it was impossible for him to afford any aid to the besieged army. Every thing promised success to the allies, when Count D'Estaing, whose heart, like Nebuchadnezzar's furnace, was heated seven times hotter than it was wont to be heated, on seeing a British fleet, sailed out of the harbour to attack it. The French admiral having the weather-gage, Howe declined coming to action, and both fleets manœuvred all day-the one to gain, and the other to retain that advantage. On the 11th, the wind still being unfavourable, Howe resolved, notwithstanding, to meet the French. The fleets were disposed in order of battle, ready to commence a close action, when a violent storm arose, which not only separated

the two fleets, but dispersed the ships of each, and almost tore them to pieces. The

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glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests,"

began to heave its bosom like a thing of life, and the waves resumed their sway over the wide waste of waters, and the winds were heard in the distance. The cries of the sailors, the flapping of the sails, the whistling and moaning of the blasts, conspire to make every thing appear dismal in the extreme. You look above, and all is dark and fearful-the clouds roll in swift and heavy masses along the concave, and the sailor, clinging to the sails as he binds them to the quivering yards, seems every moment ready to be shaken from his hold. The waves now swell into billows, threatening to invade the sky. You look around, but the frightfulness of the scene is increased. The dark clouds give an appearance to the sea black as ink. The immense billows, tumbling with a jar against the vessel's side, and with a crash floating over the deck; the staggering, plunging, and rolling motion of the vessel, every moment seeming as if it would drink in the waters and sink; all are alike fearful and sublime.

The mountain billows are now sweeping around and over us in fearful rapidity, and dashing against the vessel with foaming fury, while the spray begins to fly from her bows, like the foam of a great cataract.

Darkness comes over the scene, and reigns in fearful majesty. The portentous screeching of the sea-birds adds terror to the scene. The rage and fury of the storm increases; the ships are hurled with an appalling velocity through the foaming spray; the rattling of the blocks overhead is blended with the voices of the commanders and sailors; the sails are torn from the ropes and scattered in fragments, the sport of the winds. To these terrors are added the increased roaring and bellowing of the waves, and the howling of the tempestuous winds, like the roaring and howling of ten thousand wild beasts, mingled with the dreadful voices of some mighty spirits ruling the deep. The rain, the hail, the glare of lightning, displaying the flashing crests of foam, and the crashing

peals of thunder, which as the rage of the tempest increases, are heard no more amid the terrible din of the sea, roaring louder than thunder, form a scene, the grandeur and awful sublimity of which no language can paint.

Heaven and earth seem to be at war; the elements of the sky threaten destruction to the sea, and the sea is hurling foaming mountains at the sky. The vessel is borne aloft by one of those mountains of water, lit up by the lightning's glare, which soon break into masses of living fire, revealing all the vast commotion of the elements, startling the mind with terror, astonishment, and admiration-then all is veiled in darkness again. The vessel trembles for a moment upon a fearful height, then plunges down-down into a frightful chasm, in which, for a time, she appears to be engulfed, but, like some huge monster of the deep, she labours, and groans, and leaps upon the billows again. The storm increases. See how the Alpine mountains of water roll on; now we are rising higher and higher, and then again we plunge into a great valley, and the mountains threaten to close over our heads. The masts, with portions of sails torn into ribbons, now come down like an avalanche; the helm is abandoned, and we are hurried on, the sport of the winds and the waves.

Such was the storm that dispersed the two fleets, all except the thunder, which we put in to fill up the picture, as we once had the pleasure to witness it, in a thunder-storm, near the banks of Newfoundland.

However extravagant the description of this storm may appear to those who have not seen a storm at sea, it will soon appear that we have not exaggerated.

The tempest, which had lasted for forty-eight hours, damaged the ships of both fleets so much, that they were compelled to put into port to repair. The French admiral's ship, the Languedoc, one of the largest vessels, lost her rudder and all her masts, and floated entirely at the mercy of the winds and the currents. In this plight, she fell in with an English vessel of the scattered fleet, of only fifty guns, but less damaged. A vigorous attack was made upon the wreck, which would have been captured but for the approach of night. The

following morning a number of French vessels appeared, and gave the British captain chase, without being able to come up with him. The same day another English vessel fell in with a French ship, with only her mainmast standing. They were also separated by the coming of night, and the appearance of several French ships, the next morning, caused the enemy to withdraw. The British vessels returned to Sandy Hook and New York, and the French to the harbour of Newport.

Here Count d'Estaing soon informed General Sullivan that his intentions were to sail to Boston, to repair his injuries, according to his instructions, which were, that if he should meet with any disaster, or if a superior fleet should appear on the coast, he should sail for that port. The late storm, and the approach of Admiral Byron with reinforcements, from England, induced him to take this resolution.

Generals Greene and Lafayette, convinced that his departure would be the ruin of the expedition, made every possible effort to persuade the Count to remain: but all was fruitless. He got under sail on the 22d of August, and was soon anchored in the harbour of Boston.

Finding themselves deserted by their allies, the militia disbanded, until the American army, in Rhode Island, was reduced from 10,000 men to about half that number. The American generals found it necessary to retreat. They were closely pursued by the British and Hessians, who coming up in great force, in the environs of Quaker Hill, a hot contest ensued, in which many fell on both sides, but the enemy were at length repulsed.

The day after the retreat, General Clinton arrived with 4000 men, and a light squadron, for the relief of Newport. Finding the place secure, he returned to New York.