The Fraternite, with the two commanders-in-chief, continued to beat against an easterly gale till the 29th, when the wind became fair for the bay.  Standing towards it, she fell in with the Scerola, rase, in a sinking state, with the Revolution, 74, engaged in taking out the people.  She assisted to save them, and the two ships continued their course towards Ireland, hoping to fall in with so many of the fleet as might still enable them to make a descent.  But next day, not having seen any of them, and their provisions becoming short, they steered for France.  On the 8th of January, they were very near eleven of their ships, which they would presently have joined, but that they altered their course to avoid two British frigates, the Unicorn and Doris, which at the time were actually being chased by the French.  Next day they again fell in with the frigates, and on the morning of the 10th they were chased by Lord Bridport’s fleet, from which they narrowly escaped.  On the 14th they entered Rochefort, the last of the returning ships.

Such was the fate of an expedition, in which nothing was neglected which foresight could suggest, and nothing wanting which ability could supply; whose fortune attended it until success might be deemed secure, and whose defeat was attended with circumstances too extraordinary to be referred to common causes.  History records no event, not attended by direct miracle, in which God’s providence is more strikingly displayed.  The forces of atheism and popery had joined to overthrow a nation, the stronghold of Christian truth, and the bulwark of Protestant Europe.  In this, so emphatically a holy war, no earthly arm was allowed to achieve the triumph.  Human agency was put aside, and all human defences prostrated; and then, when the unresisted invader touched the object of his hope, the elements were commissioned against him.  That the vigilance of a blockading force should be so eluded, and that unusual misfortunes should prevent a fleet from sailing till nothing remained for it to do; that the enemy’s two commanders should be separated from their force when it sailed, and afterwards prevented, by so many well-timed casualties, from rejoining it; that when the fleet had actually arrived in the destined port, half should be blown out to sea again before they could anchor, and the rest driven from their anchors before they could land the troops; that the returning ships should be prevented from meeting their commanders; and that every disappointment should just anticipate the moment of success;—­such a combination of circumstances it were folly and impiety to ascribe to anything less than the hand of God.

A victory would have saved the country, but it would not have afforded such ground for assured confidence in her future trials.  This deliverance was a pledge of protection through the terrible struggle of the next twenty years; when, long disappointed in her hopes, and at length deserted by her last ally, England still maintained her good cause with a firmness more honourable to her character than even the unrivalled triumph she achieved.  It remains a pledge, that amidst all dangers she may perform her duty as a Christian country, in full reliance upon God’s blessing:  or, should the greatness of her trials confound all human resources, that she may wait, in quietness and confidence, for God’s deliverance.