After the fight had continued upwards of two hours, the Frenchmen
drew off out of gunshot, and we made what sail we could after them,
but they used all possible shifts to evade fighting, our men
shouting after them derisively as cowardly curs. Darkness put a
stop to the pursuit, but again we hugged the enemy all night,
hoping that next day would see the conclusion of this long-drawn
battle.
When the third morning dawned, we spied the enemy about a mile and
a half ahead. Of our ships the half-crippled Ruby was nearest, the
Falmouth next; the rest were but indifferently near, the Greenwich
indeed lying full three leagues astern, though the admiral had
never struck his signal for battle night or day.
For many hours the wind blew easterly, but at three in the
afternoon it shifted to the south and gave the enemy the weather
gauge. In tacking we fetched within gunshot of the sternmost of
them, and for half an hour or so we kept up a brisk bombardment;
but our line was still much out of order, and some of our ships
being even now three miles astern, nothing more could be done.
And so another day passed. The other vessels had not come within
speaking distance of us, and it seemed that all hope of bringing
the enemy to a decisive engagement must be abandoned.
The dawn of the fourth morning found the Frenchmen six miles ahead,
and one less in number, for the great Dutch ship had separated from
the squadron and was out of sight.
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