The ships had gained the mouth of the estuary during the fight, and there, about four miles out to sea, was the _Leda's_ consort bearing down under full sail to the sound of the guns.

Captain de Milon had done his part for one day, and presently the _Gloire_ was drawing off swiftly to the north, while the _Dido_ was bowling along at her skirts, rattling away with her bow-chasers, until a headland hid them both from view.
But the Leda lay sorely stricken, with her mainmast gone, her bulwarks shattered, her mizzen-topmast and gaff shot away, her sails like a beggar's rags, and a hundred of her crew dead and wounded.

Close beside her a mass of wreckage floated upon the waves.

It was the stern-post of a mangled vessel, and across it, in white letters on a black ground, was printed, "_The Slapping Sal_." "By the Lord! it was the brig that saved us!" cried Mr.Wharton.
"Hudson brought her into action with the Frenchman, and was blown out of the water by a broadside!" The little captain turned on his heel and paced up and down the deck.
Already his crew were plugging the shot-holes, knotting and splicing and mending.

When he came back, the lieutenant saw a softening of the stern lines about his eyes and mouth.
"Are they all gone ?" "Every man.