The English admiral was aware also that his country's fate was in his
hands. It was one of those supreme moments which great men dare to use
and small men tremble at. He had the advantage of the wind, and could
force a battle or decline it, as he pleased. With clear daylight the
signal to engage was flying from the masthead of the 'Formidable,'
Rodney's ship. At seven in the morning, April 12, 1782, the whole fleet
bore down obliquely on the French line, cutting it directly in two.
Rodney led in person. Having passed through and broken up their order he
tacked again, still keeping the wind. The French, thrown into confusion,
were unable to reform, and the battle resolved itself into a number of
separate engagements in which the English had the choice of position.

Rodney in passing through the enemy's lines the first time had exchanged
broadsides with the 'Glorieux,' a seventy-four, at close range. He had
shot away her masts and bowsprit, and left her a bare hull; her flag,
however, still flying, being nailed to a splintered spar. So he left her
unable to stir; and after he had gone about came himself yardarm to
yardarm with the superb 'Ville de Paris,' the pride of France, the
largest ship in the then world, where De Grasse commanded in person. All
day long the cannon roared. Rodney had on board a favourite bantam cock,
which stood perched upon the poop of the 'Formidable' through the whole
action, its shrill voice heard crowing through the thunder of the
broadsides. One by one the French ships struck their flags or fought on
till they foundered and went down. The carnage on board them was
terrible, crowded as they were with the troops for Jamaica. Fourteen
thousand were reckoned to have been killed, besides the prisoners. The
'Ville de Paris' surrendered last, fighting desperately after hope was
gone till her masts were so shattered that they could not bear a sail,
and her decks above and below were littered over with mangled limbs. De
Grasse gave up his sword to Rodney on the 'Formidable's' quarter-deck.
The gallant 'Glorieux,' unable to fly, and seeing the battle lost,
hauled down her flag, but not till the undisabled remnants of her crew
were too few to throw the dead into the sea. Other ships took fire and
blew up. Half the French fleet were either taken or sunk; the rest
crawled away for the time, most of them to be picked up afterwards like
crippled birds.

So on that memorable day was the English Empire saved