On Wednesday at break of day he was still hard at work. The redoubts were well forward, but the _Royal Charles_ had not been moved. The big Dutch prize was being worked to its place, but it was only to be clumsily stranded on a shoal, and in spite of all Monk's efforts there was still nothing but the chain to protect the hulks and the dock-yard as the tide turned. At ten the Dutch, having cleared the channel in the night, came boldly on with tide and wind, and after a hard struggle seized the guardships that Monk had manned. It was a moment of fearful anxiety as they prepared to charge the boom. A fire-ship led the way. It stuck on the top of it. A larger one followed, and with a crash the chain gave way. Then through the very channel that the Dutch prize should have blocked the enemy came on. In a few minutes two more guardships were on fire, and the grand old _Naseby_ which had been launched twelve years ago, "with Oliver on horseback in the prow trampling six nations under foot;" which with changed name had proudly borne the King from exile to a throne; which not a year ago had wrung from Europe a cry of admiration while Monk's own flag was floating in tatters at its masthead,--was a prize in the hands of the Dutch. "This was all I observed of the enemies' action on Wednesday," wrote the broken-hearted general with pathetic brevity when he reported to Parliament. He turned away--but not to grieve. Resistance and revenge were still his only thoughts. The other three great first-rates he sunk at their moorings, and then the artillery arrived. On the ebb the Dutch fell back with their prize, and all that day and the next morning the work of defence went on. "Courage mounted with occasion." Monk's spirit was upon them, and the fine lords and gentlemen toiled like cattle. They strained at the drag-ropes, they staggered under burdens, and when the hour was come they took their stand with ladle and linstock to work the guns.