France.[1] Disease had given a victory to the English which they had no opportunity of winning with their cannon; and the admiral had paid dearly for his ruinous mistake at St Helen's. He had been a month at sea; his soldiers were cooped together in multitudes in the holds of ill-ventilated vessels; their meat was putrid; their water was foul; the plague had broken out among them, and they had perished by thousands. The single hope to save those who remained was to disembark them instantly; and officers and men, terrified at their in visible enemy, had but one desire, to escape from theii prisons, which had become charnel-houses of corruption. The English despatch-boats, which followed them to the mouth of the Seine, watched the wreck of the late magnificent army lifted out upon the shore; and 'there was no manner of courage, nor gladness, nor appearance of comfort in them. Such a number of sick and miserable creatures they never saw.'[2]
This was the disastrous conclusion of the mighty effort which was to lay England prostrate. The resources of France had been concentrated upon one grand experiment, and, from combined misfortune and bad management, it ended in a collapse, which left their rivals, almost without a blow, undisputed masters of the sea. But they were not the only sufferers. In the English fleet, also, disease had appeared in a deadly form. There were complaints of swellings in the legs, and face, and head; the 'bloody flux' was pre-
