And then there came the greatest incident of this terrible fight. Upon the _Royal George_ there sprang seven great French ships, and they surrounded her while pouring their broadsides out from all their guns, so that those in her consorts, because of the vessels which hedged her round, could do nought to help her--could, indeed, do nought but bewail her sad fate and gnash their teeth with rage. Yet, too, Providence watched over her: the guns that should have sunk her were not well served, the enemy were in a terrible state of discomposure, and the turbulence of the sea was now such as to make their broadsides uncertain. It almost seems a miracle to relate, but of all the balls hurled against her, not more than fifty struck the mark, and not one was below the water-line. But there were others of her own side crowding to her assistance now--amongst them was the _Mignonne_, with her captain shot through the arm, yet giving his orders as calmly from the quarterdeck as though he were upon some tranquil cruise, as well as the _Hero_, the _Mars_, and the _Union_; while, to leave England the conqueror in this great fray, there was something else coming. That something was the night. And the French, taking advantage of it, sheered off--they had had enough! The _Soleil Royal_ soon ran ashore with the _Héros_, when both were burnt. The _Juste_ was on the rocks and overturned; beneath the water were several others, and a dozen more were aground. Well might the ten thousand French spectators ashore who had witnessed the great fight turn white and weep as night closed in on all around. Of our losses the principal were the _Resolution_ and the _Essex_; the remainder were not important. And so the great fleet which was to have invaded England was utterly destroyed, Conflans' threats were idle and empty now, France had received another death-blow to her ambitions, and Hawke's peerage was assured. It was enough. * * * * * * * In the darkness of the November night they called the roll on board all the English vessels and wrote down the names of the dead and dying, as well as of the missing. In the _Mignonne_ they were doing it now, as slowly, with her topmast shot away, she followed in her turn. Two of her lieutenants did not answer to their names--never again would they reply to them!--and her master also was silent. "Mr. Granger," next called out the quartermaster, himself uninjured. But neither to his name was any answer given. "Is he dead or wounded?" asked Sir Geoffrey Barry, pale from his wound. "Who's seen him?" roared the quartermaster. "Has any one seen the master-gunner?" "I saw him," cried a man, himself wounded and bleeding, "not half an hour ago. He was at his post then--where he've been all day." "Call his name again," said Sir Geoffrey. But still no answer was returned, as indeed no answer was returned to over forty names similarly called.