well, do as you like,” he replied almost casually. He did not make the mistake of leaving his “line ahead” signal aloft but hauled it down, substituting the signal for “close action.” As the bows of the Formidable slowly swung to starboard, midshipmen scurried to warn gunners to be ready to fire from the outer side. While Rodney watched in suspense to the stern, he saw the next five ships in his line follow him cleanly through the gap in the French line. The Formidable’s main topsail was in rags, an accompanying battleship, the Prince George, had lost its foremast, another was taking on water by three feet an hour, two others had spent their gunpowder, but French decks, equally mauled and crowded with troops, were piled with dead. In red turmoil in the water sharks lunged around the ship, viciously snatching at the bodies of dead sailors thrown overboard. With torn rigging and fallen masts, many of the French ships were motionless in the water, allowing other gaps to appear. English captains caught in the excitement of their Admiral’s purpose, seized their chance. They luffed and, with sails flapping, made their way through gaps in three places. Now broken, the French line was rounded and brought under fire from both sides. Catching wisps of wind through the gathering dusk, the French pointed their heads southward to flee, hotly engaged by the English in pursuit. One by one the French struck their colors, abandoning the mighty Ville de Paris, on which de Grasse, throwing towlines to the disabled, was striving to rally his fleet. His giant figure was seen on deck standing alone. Too closely pursued by the English to take time for repairs, the French ships were overtaken. The Ville de Paris, deserted by her consorts, was raked by the British Russell, then hit broadside by a tremendous cannon blast from Hood’s ship, the Barfleur, while the surrounding British concentrated their fire on the huge flagship. Her decks were ablaze; she had lost rigging, sail and rudder. After nine and a half hours of battle since the moment when Rodney had steered his prow to penetrate the line, de Grasse’s flag fluttered down. Simultaneously, the flag of France came down from the ensign staff. English officers rowed over to accept the surrender.
On the Formidable, an armchair was brought to the quarterdeck, where Rodney sat in the moonlight contemplating his colossal prize and expressing from time to time murmurs of self-appreciation of his success in breaking the line. When day broke, de Grasse himself was accompanied aboard the Formidable to surrender in person and “is at this moment sitting in my stern galley,” Rodney wrote in his reports of victory to Admiralty and family. “His Majesty’s arms have proved victorious over the enemy’s,” he wrote to his son. “Jamaica will be saved by it. The French fleet have met with total defeat and I believe will not give us battle again in this war and are now so much shattered that it will be impossible for them to repair their losses.”
So much was the fact, though it came too late to save the loss of America six months before. That had been, as Hood wrote in a letter reporting the news to a correspondent, “the most melancholy news Great Britain ever received.” The shock of the event had caused political turmoil and would bring the fall of the government in England. London had learned the news of Yorktown from France on November 25, five weeks after the surrender. Rochambeau had dispatched two messengers—the Duc de Lauzun and Comte de Deux-Ponts, who had led the hard and bloodied French capture of Redoubt Nine—in two separate frigates to carry the announcement to the French King. It was received on the same day as another omen of joy, the birth of a dauphin to Marie Antoinette, assuring, as it seemed, the royal succession. But the baby boy was never to see his throne, and the King and Queen within ten years were to lose both their throne and their heads. For all the nearly 1.5 billion livres that Louis XVI had spent to support the American rebellion against the British Crown, success of the Revolution was