as she struck the ground, her foremast fell.  The French division joined the enemy’s ships, which ranged along their line on opposite tacks, within pistol-shot, and received their broadsides, which it returned:  they, then, each continued their route.  The division was in sight at sun-set.  Nothing remarkable passed, during the night of the 2d.  The 3d of August, in the morning, the French colours were flying in Le Tonnant and Timoleon.  The English admiral sent a flag of truce to the former, to know if she had struck; and, on being answered in the negative, he directed two ships to go against her.  When they got within gun-shot of her, she struck, it being impossible to defend her any longer.  Le Timoleon was aground, too near in for any ship to approach her.  In the night of the 2d, they sent the greatest part of their ship’s company on shore; and, at noon the next day, they quitted her, and set her on fire.

“Thus ends the journal of the 1st, 2d, and 3d, days of August; which will ever be remembered, with the deepest sorrow, by those Frenchmen who possess good hearts, and by all those true republicans who have survived this melancholy disaster.”

To the above anonymous French account, may be added that of the celebrated scientific traveller, soldier, and artist, Monsieur Denon; who was one of the chief Scavans in the Egyptian expedition, and an anxious spectator of the interesting scene.  It is to be remarked that, though his description of the battle, like that by which it is preceded, has less want of candour than is commonly found in French narratives of this nature, neither of them is altogether free from the characteristic partiality of that boastful nation.  Both of them fail to state the true number of British ships; but, as frequently happens with those who are not remarkably tenacious of truth, though both make the number greater than it actually was, they do not agree with each other any more than with the fact, and thus mutually aid to produce a conviction of their own want of veracity.  Our true force was fifteen sail only.

Denon, in order to gain an accurate view of the expected engagement, hastened to a lofty tower—­

“When,” says he, “we had reached the tower which commands the monastery, we descried a fleet of twenty sail.  To come up, to range themselves in a line, and to attack, were the operations of a minute.  The first shot was fired at five o’clock; and, shortly after, our view of the two fleets was intercepted by the smoke.  When night came on, we could distinguish somewhat better; without, however, being able to give an account of what passed.  The danger to which we were exposed, of falling into the hands of the smallest troop of Bedouins which might come that way, did not draw our attention from an event by which we were so strongly interested.  Rolls of fire, incessantly gushing from the mouths of the cannon, evinced clearly that the combat was dreadful, and supported with an equal obstinacy