He had his reward, and before he had waited very long. Early in the afternoon two of De Grasse's ships were made out to be in difficulties. They had dropped astern of the French line and to leeward, and were drifting in the direction of the course of the advancing British. During Wednesday night the Zélé, a seventy-four, had collided with another French ship, losing her main-topmast in the collision. Unable to make good her damage, after trying in vain to keep up with her consorts, the unfortunate vessel had dropped gradually to leeward, in company with the Magnanime, also a seventy-four, whose foreyard had been carried away in tacking. The two ships were several miles to leeward of the French fleet when, early in the afternoon, they came under Rodney's attention. At that time they were still a long way to windward of the weathermost of the British fleet, but their situation offered Rodney an opening. Supposing he made a show of trying to cut the two French ships off—how would De Grasse take it? Would he turn back and come to the rescue? Rodney felt sure that he would. De Grasse, he was positive, would never let two of his ships be snapped up by an enemy in full view of his own fleet without making an effort to save them. That being so, there could only be one outcome. 'I flattered myself,' said Rodney, 'he would give me an opportunity of engaging next day.'
The signal to chase the two ships was made at once, and within a few minutes the weathermost of the British ships were drawing out directly towards them. They were Rodney's fliers, and they sailed fast. They 'gained on the French so fast that the two French ships,' according to Sir Charles Douglas, who was watching the chase from the quarter-deck of the Formidable, 'began to make signals for help to three or four of the enemy, all then in sight from the mast-head.' That was just what Rodney wanted. What he hoped for followed. De Grasse could not stand by and see two of his ships cut off. The French admiral, observing the signals of distress, went about and bore down to the rescue under full sail. 'De Grasse,' said Captain Douglas, describing the afternoon's work, 'bore down en corps, our chasers still menacing their game until the Count's headmost ships had got very near them, when they and the rest of the fleet were recalled into close order by signal.'[28] By five o'clock De Grasse had lost all the advantage of position that he had toiled so hard to secure during the past two days. He saved his two ships, and he was still to windward; but it was more than an even chance now that Rodney would be able to force on a battle next day. 'I hope we shall do most effective business to-morrow,' were Hood's words in a note to Rodney that evening.
Rodney made it his business that De Grasse should not have the chance of evading battle on the morrow. With that one aim he issued his orders for the night. He saw his way to outman[oe]uvre the French under cover of the dark. All lights on board every ship were to be dowsed except one lantern at the stern of the America, told off as the 'guide of the fleet.' On a signal, given from the Formidable after dark, the whole fleet, in order of sailing and under press of canvas, was to stand to the south, 'which was away from the French,' until two o'clock in the morning. Then, on a gun signal from the Formidable, all would tack together and beat up until daylight.
Everything turned out exactly as Rodney anticipated. From the British fleet they marked the flashes of De Grasse's signal-guns from time to time during the night, and could guess what he was doing. The French admiral, on the other hand, saw nothing and heard nothing of the British fleet. He had not the least idea of Rodney's whereabouts all the night through, and was immensely surprised when daylight showed up the complete success of Rodney's clever move. 'We had no conception,' said one of De Grasse's officers afterwards, 'that the British fleet could be so near.'
Rodney at daybreak was asleep in his cabin. Having set things in train, he had lain down to get what rest he might before the fateful morrow came. He had not been able to sleep at all for anxiety during the three previous nights. The admiral was sleeping peacefully when, a little before half-past five, Sir Charles Douglas entered the cabin and awoke Rodney with the news that 'God had given him his enemy on the lee bow!'
Rodney was on deck a very few minutes later. It was broad daylight. This is the situation as it presented itself before Rodney's eyes that morning. The British fleet in line ahead, not a ship out of station, was steering east-north-east on the starboard tack. The wind was from the south-east. Right ahead lay the open channel between Dominica and Guadeloupe, divided by the chain of islets known as 'the Saints'—Columbus's name for them in commemoration of their discovery on All Saints' Day. They lay off the south end of Martinique, six miles from shore, with, on the other side, between them and Dominica, a wide space of open water, fifteen miles across—'The Saints' Passage,' as it was called. Prince Rupert's Bay in Dominica lay some miles away on Rodney's starboard beam. The enemy were to the north-east of the British fleet, as Douglas had said, 'broad on the lee bow.' They were out of formation, a straggling array of ships, making towards the south on the port tack and pointing diagonally across the Saints' Passage.[29] The French had had a bad night and were widely separated. Most of their ships were far off on the horizon, nearly twelve miles away. A small group of five or six ships, with a big three-decker in the midst of them, were not more than eight miles from Rodney. That, however, was not all. Rodney, after his first glance ahead, turned his attention in another direction. What he saw was enough to astonish him. There, under his very eyes, by an extraordinary chance, the situation of yesterday afternoon was repeating itself. Dead to leeward of the British fleet, and only five or six miles off, were two isolated French ships. One was a seventy-four, with her foremast down and bowsprit gone. The other was a frigate, which had the crippled ship in tow. The two were going off before the wind, apparently bound for Basse Terre, Guadeloupe.
There had been another collision in the French fleet. The hapless Zélé, whose earlier misfortunes had been the cause of De Grasse turning back on Thursday afternoon, had during the previous night had a second collision. While tacking shortly after midnight, she had blundered clumsily into the Ville de Paris with disastrous consequences. In her present state the Zélé was a danger to his fleet, and De Grasse told off La Pérouse of the Astrée to tow the crippled ship off at once into Basse Terre. It proved, though, for one reason and another, not so easy a thing to do in the dark, and the first streaks of dawn were showing before the towing-cable had been got across. After that, when at length the two moved away they crawled off dead slow, making barely five knots. All the time, ever since midnight, the wind and set of the tide had been carrying not only the Zélé and the Astrée, but also the Ville de Paris and the half-dozen ships with her that were standing by, steadily to leeward, away from the main body of the French fleet, and ever nearer to the course on which Rodney, in the dark, all unknown to De Grasse, was fast approaching. The French had entirely lost touch with Rodney since sunset, owing to his having put out his lights.
From the Formidable's quarter-deck Rodney marked the situation of the Zélé. He saw what it meant. A flutter of signal-flags broke overhead, and within two minutes four of Hood's smartest ships—the Monarch, Valiant, Centaur, and the Belliqueux—were sweeping out of the line with all sail set, heading straight for the Zélé and the frigate. De Grasse saw it. To lose the Zélé like that would be a personal disgrace; but that was not all the mischief. The great De Bouillé himself, Commander-in-Chief of the French army, was on board the Astrée. It was terribly awkward. De Grasse at once signalled to his fleet in the distance to make all sail and close on the Ville de Paris, forming line on the port tack.[30] He himself meanwhile with the ships nearest him bore down towards the British four to frighten them off. That was just the false step that Rodney wanted him to take—the outcome of "an impulse of hasty unbalanced judgment."[31] By another move he might have forced Rodney to recall his chasers before they could reach the Zélé, at the same time also keeping the weather-gage for himself. By hurrying down under sail ahead of his fleet De Grasse not only delayed the formation of his line, as his ships had the farther to go to reach their stations, but he also carried his fleet bodily to leeward and within Rodney's reach. A worse blunder still was the forming line on the port tack—the opposite to that on which Rodney was standing. By continuing on the port tack, the French, after the first exchange of fire in the open channel, could not help running into the belt of calms and variable airs off the coast of Dominica, which would render further man[oe]uvring on their part impossible. It was a glaring blunder, and his own fleet saw it. 'What evil genius,' exclaimed De Vaudreuil's flag-captain, Du Pavillon, who had the reputation of being one of the ablest officers in the French navy, as he read off the flags at the Ville de Paris's mast-head with his glass, 'What evil genius has inspired the admiral!'
When the French had come far enough to leeward to suit his purpose, Rodney recalled his chasing ships and went to breakfast.