like apparatus directed against the British West Indies. This failure was less the fault of fortune than of that diversity of interests which too frequently produces a want of harmony between allies; they will not march together towards the same object, and disunited they cannot attain it.

The events we have been relating were succeeded, in the West Indies, by a sort of general truce between the two parties. But though the fury of men was suspended for a while, that of the elements broke out in a manner much more tremendous. It was now the month of October, and the inhabitants of the islands were in the enjoyment of that unexpected tranquillity which resulted from the cessation of arms, when their shores, and the seas that washed them, were assailed by so dreadful a tempest, that scarcely would there be found a similar example in the whole series of maritime records, however replete with shocking disasters and pitiable shipwrecks. If this fearful scourge fell with more or less violence upon all the islands of the West Indies, it no where raged with more destructive energy than in the flourishing island of Barbadoes. It was on the morning of the tenth that the tornado set in, and it hardly began to abate forty-eight hours after. The vessels that were moored in the port, where they considered themselves in safety, were wrenched from their anchors, lanched into the open sea, and abandoned to the mercy of the tempest. Nor was the condition of the inhabitants on shore, less worthy of compassion. In the following night, the vehemence of the hurricane became yet more extreme; houses were demolished, trees uprooted, men and animals tossed hither and thither, or overwhelmed by the ruins. The capital of the island was well nigh rased to a level with the ground. The mansion of the governor, the walls of which were three feet in thickness, was shaken to its foundations, and every moment threatened to crumble in ruins. Those within had hastened to barricade the doors and windows to resist the whirlwinds; all their efforts were of no avail. The doors were rent from their hinges, the bars and fastenings forced; and chasms started in the very walls. The governor with his family sought refuge in the subterraneous vaults; but they were soon driven from that shelter by the torrents of water that poured like a new deluge from the sky. They issued then into the open country, and with extreme difficulty and continual perils repaired under the covert of a mound, upon which the flagstaff was erected; but that mass being itself rocked by the excessive fury of the wind, the apprehension of being buried under the stones that were detached from it, compelled them again to remove, and to retire from all habitation. Happily for them they held together; for, without the mutual aid they lent each other, they must all inevitably have perished. After a long and toilsome march in the midst of ruins, they succeeded in gaining a battery, where they stretched themselves face downward

on the ground, behind the carriages of the heaviest cannon, still a wretched and doubtful asylum, since those very carriages were continually put in motion by the impetuosity of the storm. The other houses in the city being less solid, had been prostrated before that of the governor, and their unhappy inhabitants wandered as chance directed during that merciless night, without shelter and without succour. Many perished under the ruins of their dwellings; others were the victims of the sudden inundation; several were suffocated in the mire. The thickness of the darkness, and the lurid fire of the lightning, the continual peal of the thunder, the horrible whistling of the winds and rain, the doleful cries of the dying, the despondent moans of those who were unable to succour them, the shrieks and wailings of women and children, all seemed to announce the destruction of the world. But the return of day presented to the view of the survivors a spectacle which the imagination scarcely dares to depict. This island, lately so rich, so flourishing, so covered with enchanting landscapes, appeared all of a sudden transformed into one of those polar regions where an eternal winter reigns. Not an edifice left standing; wrecks and ruins every where; every tree subverted; not an animal alive; the earth strown with their remains, intermingled with those of human beings; the very surface of the soil appeared no longer the same. Not merely the crops that were in prospect, and those already gathered, had been devoured by the hurricane; the gardens, the fields, those sources of the delight and opulence of the colonists, had ceased to exist. In their place were found deep sand or sterile clay; the enclosures had disappeared; the ditches were filled up, the roads cut with deep ravines. The dead amounted to some thousands; thus much is known, though the precise number is not ascertained. In effect, besides those whose fallen houses became their tombs, how many were swept away by the waves of the swoln sea and by the torrents, resembling rivers, which gushed from the hills? The wind blew with a violence so unheard of, that if credit be given to the most solemn documents, a piece of cannon which threw twelve-pound balls, was transported from one battery to another at more than three hundred yards distance. Much of what escaped the fury of the tempest fell a prey to the frantic violence of men. As soon as the gates of the prisons were burst, the criminals sallied forth, and joining the negroes, always prepared for nefarious deeds, they seemed to brave the wrath of heaven, and put every thing to sack and plunder. And perhaps the whites would have been all massacred, and the whole island consigned to perdition, if general Vaughan, who happened to be there at the time, had not watched over the public safety at the head of a body of regular troops. His cares were successful in saving a considerable quantity of provision, but for which resource the inhabitants would only have escaped the ravages of the hurricane, to be victims

of the no less horrible scourge of famine. Nor should it be passed over in silence by a sincere friend of truth and honorable deeds, that the Spanish prisoners of war, at this time considerably numerous in Barbadoes, under the conduct of don Pedro San Jago, did every thing that could be expected of brave and generous soldiers. Far from profiting of this calamitous conjuncture to abuse their liberty, they voluntarily encountered perils of every kind to succour the unfortunate islanders, who warmly acknowledged their services. The other islands, French as well as English, were not much less devastated than Barbadoes. At Jamaica, a violent earthquake added its horrors to the rage of the tornado; the sea rose and overflowed its bounds with such impetuosity, that the inundation extended far into the interior of the island.

In consequence of the direction of the wind, the effects of the seaflood were the most destructive in the districts of Hanover and Westmoreland. While the inhabitants of Savanna la Mer, a considerable village of Westmoreland, stood observing with dismay the extraordinary swell of the sea, the accumulated surge broke over them, and in an instant, men, animals, habitations, every thing, was carried with it into the abyss. Not a vestige remained of that unhappy town. More than three hundred persons were thus swallowed up by the waves. The most fertile fields were left overspread with a deep stratum of steril sand. The most opulent families were reduced in a moment to the extreme of indigence. If the fate of those on shore was deplorable beyond all expression, the condition of those who were upon the water was not less to be pitied. Some of the vessels were dashed upon shoals and breakers, others foundered in the open ocean, a few made their way good into port, but grievously battered and damaged. The tempest was not only fatal to ships under sail; it spared not even those that were at anchor in the securest havens. Some bilged in port, and many were drifted out to sea by the resistless fury of the billows. Among the first was the Thunderer, of seventy-four guns, which sunk with all on board. Several frigates were so shattered that they were not thought worth repairing. The English had to regret, in all, one ship of seventy-four, two of sixtyfour, and one of fifty guns, besides seven or eight frigates.

Amidst so many disasters, they found, at least, some succour in the humanity of the marquis de Bouille. A number of English sailors, the wretched relics of the crews of the Laurel and Andromeda, wrecked upon the coasts of Martinico, fell into the power of that general. He sent them free to St. Lucia, saying, that he would not treat as prisoners men who had escaped the rage of the elements. He expressed a hope that the English would exercise the same generosity towards those Frenchmen whom a similar destiny might have delivered into their power. He testified his regrets that he had only been able to save so few of the English seamen, and that

among them there was not a single officer. He concluded with observing that, as the calamity had been common and general, humanity should be extended alike towards all its victims. The merchants of Kingston, the capital of Jamaica, animated by the most honorable social sentiments, immediately made a subscription of ten thousand pounds sterling for the relief of the sufferers. The parliament, as soon as it was apprised of this catastrophe, voted, notwithstanding the pressure of the expenses of the war, a donation of eighty thousand pounds sterling to the inhabitants of Barbadoes, and another of forty thousand to those of Jamaica. Nor was public munificence the only source of their succours; a great number of private citizens likewise contributed largely to alleviate the distresses of these unfortunate West Indians.

The fleet of the count de Guichen, and that of admiral Rodney, were not exposed to the hurricane. The first was already departed for Europe, in the month of August, escorting, with fourteen sail of the line, a rich and numerous fleet of merchantmen. In consequence of his departure, and in ignorance of his designs, Rodney, to whom, moreover, the Spanish troops landed at the Havannah gave no little disquietude, detached a part of his force to cover Jamaica, and made sail with the rest for New York. But before he reached the American continent, and even before he departed from the West Indies, there had happened a surprising revolution in public affairs, of which we shall give an account in due time. While men were engaged in so fierce a war upon the continent, and in the islands of America, while they had to combat there the fury of the elements, the belligerent powers were far from remaining inactive in Europe. Greater unity was observable in the counsels of England; but, however excellent her marine, it was inferior in force to that of the allied courts. These, on the other hand, had more ships and more soldiers; but often directed towards very different objects, by opposite interests, they did not obtain the success to which they might have aspired. Thus, for example, the Spaniards, always principally aiming at the conquest of Gibraltar, assembled their forces, and lavished their treasure at the foot of that fortress. From the same motive they kept their ships in the port of Cadiz, instead of joining then with those of France, and attempting in concert to strike a decisive blow at the British power. It followed that France was obliged to send her squadrons into that same port; and, meanwhile, the British fleets were blockading her atlantic ports, intercepting her commerce, capturing her convoys, and the frigates that escorted them.

Admiral Geary, who, on the death of sir Charles Hardy, had been appointed to the command of the channel fleet, bad put to sea with about thirty sail of the line. He fell in, the third of July, with a fleet of French merchantmen, loaded with cochineal, sugar, coffee, and cotton, under the guard of the ship of war Le Fier, of fifty guns.

The English gave chase, and captured twelve sail, and probably would have swept the whole convoy, but for a thick fog and the great proximity of the coasts of France; the rest made their ports in safety. Several other French ships, and even some frigates, fell a short time after, into the power of the English, but not without a gallant resistance. As we cannot go into a narrative of all the encounters that took place, we will not, however, omit the name at least of the chevalier de Kergarion, captain of the Belle Poule, who with that frigate, of only thirty-two guns, defended himself a long time against the Nonesuch man of war, of sixty-four, conimanded by James Wallace. Nor was it till after the death of the intrepid Kergarjon, that his successor, M. de la Motte Tabouret, yielded to the necessity of striking his colors; his frigate was completely dismasted; the greater part of the crew had perished.

The allies made themselves ample amends for these losses on the ninth of August. Towards the latter end of July, a numerous fleet of king's ships and merchantmen, had set sail from the ports of England for the two Indies. Five of the first, besides much of munitions of war, arms and artillery, were loaded with an immense quantity of rigging for the use of the British fleet, stationed in those distant seas. Eighteen others were either victualling ships or transports, carrying military stores and recruits, to reenforce the army of America. The others were vessels of commerce, whose cargoes were extremely valuable. This fleet was escorted by the Romulus ship of the line, and three frigates. It was pursuing its voyage, having in sight, at a great distance, the coasts of Spain, when, in the night of the eighth of August, it fell into the midst of a squadron of the combined fleet, which was cruising upon the accustomed route of ships destined for the East or West Indies. The hostile squadron was commanded by admiral don Lewis de Cordova. The English mistook his lanterns at mast head for those of their own commander, and steered accordingly. At break of day, they found themselves intermingled with the Spanish fleet. Don Cordova enveloped them, and shifted the crews of sixty vessels; the ships of war escaped him. His return to Cadiz was a real triumph. The people flocked to behold the prisoners, and this rich booty; a spectacle the more grateful for being uncommon, and little expected. Near three thousand prisoners were put ashore, of every condition, and of every age. Of this number, were sixteen hundred sailors, a heavy loss for England, and passengers not a few. The English even regretted much less the cargoes of commercial articles than the munitions of war, of which their armies and fleets in both Indies experienced the most pressing need. So brilliant a success was received by the Spanish nation with infinite exultation. The news of it spread, on the contrary, a sort of consternation in Great Britain. The ministers found themselves the object of the bitterest reproaches; the public voice