THE MONMOUTH FIGHTING THE FOUDROYANT AT CLOSE QUARTERS. THE FINAL ROUND—1.30 A.M.
'At half past [one] her main-mast was shot away. She then ceased firing' (Log of Lieutenant Carkett of the Monmouth).
It was the beginning of the end. Aided by the clear moonlight,—by half-an-hour after midnight the moon was well up,—the Monmouth's gunners made better practice than before. They redoubled their efforts, as gun after gun in the Foudroyant's ports stopped firing, until, a few minutes after one o'clock, the big vessel ceased resisting altogether, and not a shot came from her. The Foudroyant lay helpless, like a log on the water, dismasted, hammered to a standstill, a silenced and beaten ship.
Lieutenant Carkett in his log thus summarises what passed in the last hour. 'Half-past 12: Our mizen was shot away. At 1 A.M. the enemy's was shot away. Also at half-past her main-mast was shot away. She then ceased firing, having slackened her fire for some time before.'
Still, though, the Foudroyant made no sign of giving in. Lassata, nondum satiata—all was not quite over yet. So the Monmouth continued her cannonade. Until the enemy made the customary sign of surrender, Lieutenant Carkett had no option but to go on firing. Commodore du Quesne was holding out pour l'honneur du pavillon: and also for his own personal credit. He had not long to wait. Within a few minutes of the Foudroyant's fire giving over the Swiftsure arrived on the scene. Ranging up under the Monmouth's stern, she hailed across requesting her to stop her fire.
The Monmouth held her hand. She had done her work, and there was no need to do more now. As the Monmouth's gunner, reporting on the night's expenditure, stated, the ship had fired away no fewer than 80 barrels of gunpowder (about four tons weight of powder), with 1546 round-shot, 540 grape-shot, and 156 double-headed shot.
Then the Swiftsure rounded in to pass between the Monmouth and the Foudroyant. All her batteries were lighted up, showing the men standing ready by the guns. Captain Stanhope as he came abreast hailed the Foudroyant, asking if she had surrendered. Her ensign was down. It had been shot away about the same time that the mizen-mast went. The reply came instantly—two shotted guns in rapid succession, and a sharp crackle of musketry. M. le Marquis's honour was not satisfied yet. What followed was inevitable. The Swiftsure had now to administer the coup de grâce according to the rules of naval war. As the sound of the Foudroyant's defiance died away, the Swiftsure's double tier burst into flame, and the British seventy-four's broadside crashed into the French ship, sweeping her decks from stem to stern. It was enough. The next instant down came the Foudroyant's lights and she called for quarter. The battle was over.
The Marquis du Quesne had refused to surrender to the Monmouth single-handed. It was a point of honour. In the presence of a second British ship and a fresh ship, a seventy-four, his honour was fully satisfied. All the same, when the Swiftsure's officer came on board to receive his sword, he insisted on being taken on board the Monmouth and surrendering it to the commanding officer of that ship, to Lieutenant Carkett, giving it up, we are told, 'with great politeness.' A story was told afterwards that the French commodore expressed himself in bitter terms, and shed tears next morning when in full daylight, at close quarters, he saw the small size of the Monmouth as compared with his own splendid ship. But that is as it may be.
The Hampton Court came up some ten minutes after the Swiftsure had arrived.
It remained now only to count the cost and overhaul damages.