Conflans is busy, at this moment, in the mouth of Quiberon Bay, opening the road for Vannes and the 18,000;--in hot chase, at the moment, of a Commodore Duff and his small Squadron, who have been keeping watch there, and are now running all they can.

On a sudden, to the astonishment of Conflans, this little Squadron whirls round, every ship of it (with a sky-rending cheer, could he hear it), and commences chasing! Conflans, taking survey, sees that it is Hawke; he, sure enough, coming down from windward yonder at his highest speed; and that chasing will not now be one's business!-- "About 11 A.M.Hawke is here; eight of his vanward ships are sweeping on for action.

Conflans, at first, had determined to fight Hawke; and drew up accordingly, and did try a little: but gradually thought better of it; and decided to take shelter in the shoaly coasts and nooks thereabouts, which were unknown to Hawke, and might ruin him if he should pursue, the day being short, and the weather extremely bad.
Weather itself almost to be called a storm.

'Shoreward, then; eastward, every ship!' became, ultimately, Conflans's plan.

On the whole, it was 2 in the afternoon before Hawke, with those vanward Eight, could get clutch of Conflans.