The men had already breakfasted, and every ship was ready, cleared for action: the decks were rid of unnecessary gear and sanded down, the yards slung and sheets stoppered, fire screens rigged, the guns cast loose, and run out, the galley fires extinguished and the magazines opened. On board the Formidable during these preliminary moments, Sir Charles Douglas with Captain Symonds went round below and inspected the gun-locks throughout the ship and the supplies of quill priming tubes—eighty tubes with a couple of Kentish flints to each gun.
The Admiral's breakfast party, we are told, sat down in a very cheerful and confident mood. Douglas of course formed one of the party, and Captain Symonds; Paget the admiral's secretary. Dr. Blane, and the flag-lieutenant were the others. One chair was vacant, that of Lord Cranstoun. Lord Cranstoun was remaining behind on deck to watch the movements of the enemy. When the others were half-way through the meal he came hurrying into the cabin with the announcement that the course on which they were standing must carry them through the enemy's line. Everybody glanced at Rodney expecting him to say something;—but the admiral made no remark and calmly went on with his meal.
When they went on deck again after breakfast the enemy had hauled up rather nearer to the wind than before, but were still standing on the port tack and heading to cross the bows of the British fleet. De Grasse's line was not yet formed. The ships farthest off when the French Admiral first made his signal had not yet had time to join, though they were hastening down with all sail set.
The spectacle at every point was inspiring, and was girt round by a magnificent setting. On one hand, right ahead, the Saints' group stretched away to the north-east, islet beyond islet, all showing up clear in the golden sunshine of the cloudless morning against the towering darker background of the Souffrière of Guadeloupe. On the horizon, due east, a faint greyish-blue blur marked the low-lying island of Marie Galante. Away on the starboard beam and not far distant the mountain masses of Dominica, crowned by the jagged volcanic summit of the mighty Diablotin, the loftiest peak of the Antilles, overtopped the scene and closed in the view. 'If superior beings,' wrote Dr. Blane, 'make a sport of the quarrels of mortals, they could not have chosen a better theatre for the magnificent exhibition.'[32]
The fleets in themselves afforded a spectacle in keeping with the surroundings. Nothing could have been finer than the show they made that morning: nearly eighty men-of-war all told, three-deckers, two-deckers, and frigates in battle array, their lofty canvas glinting white in the bright sunshine, with gleaming yellow sides, tiers on tiers of ports, wide open with the red port-lids lashed back showing the brass muzzles of the shotted guns, all gliding forward in stately order across a placid sea of the deepest blue, shimmering under a cloudless sky.
The Blue Ensign led the British line, the colours of Drake's squadron; twelve ships all with blue ensigns at the stern. The White Ensign was in the centre, waving over the Formidable and her division of twelve; Rodney's own colour as admiral of the White. Hood's twelve in rear wore the Red Ensign, Hood being a flag officer of the Red. On the French side, Bougainville led with the 'Escadre Bleue,' De la Clochetterie having the post of honour in the van ship. De Grasse himself, with the 'Cornette Blanche' at the mast-head of the mighty Ville de Paris, was in the centre. De Vaudreuil with the 'Blanche et Bleu' at the fore, the service term for the parti-coloured flag that French seconds-in-command flew, brought up the rear.[33]
After calling in his chasers Rodney closed his fleet to one cable interval all along the line. His van ships continued meanwhile to lead obliquely across the course that the French were steering, making towards the spot where, as both sides could see, the two lines were bound to intersect. The headmost ships of the French fleet passed over the spot first; just, it so happened, as the leading ships of the British fleet came within range. For that the French had been watching. As soon as they saw that their shots could reach the enemy they opened fire.
De Grasse did not intend, if he could help it, to fight a pitched battle. It was not his policy to fight the battle out. Since he must fight he would confine the day's proceedings to a mere passing cannonade, after which he would work to windward and slip away. He knew he had the heels of Rodney; the events of the past two days had shown that. Thus at the last moment De Grasse thought he might snatch a strategical advantage in the great game. His gunners, however, did not shoot straight enough. They failed to do the execution among Rodney's masts and spars that their admiral hoped for. The British fleet came steadily on with little to show by way of damage except a few rope-ends dangling loose and some shot-holes through the sails.
The Marlborough, a powerful 74, one of the finest men-of-war that Deptford dockyard ever sent to sea, led the line. She kept her helm steady and held her way forward without checking for an instant, unswerving, regardless of the storm of shot that hurtled overhead or splashed in the sea alongside. Taylor Penny, the Marlborough's captain, a gallant son of Dorset and a veteran now serving in his third war, was not the man to mind a cannonade. The Marlborough stood on silently until she had come within 150 yards of the French line. Then, when nearly opposite the fifth ship from the enemy's van, her helm went swiftly up and the ship's huge bulk swung round to port. The next minute she began to range along the enemy broadside on, in the opposite direction to that the French were taking. Not a shot had come from the Marlborough's ports all this time. Four French ships in turn passed her and fired at her, but Captain Penny took no notice. The flagship had made no sign. No order to 'commence action' had been given. Every telescope on board was kept fixed on the Formidable, while below the captains of the guns fidgeted impatiently with the firing lanyards. They had to practise patience. Eight bells clanged out on board the silent Marlborough, and still they waited. Then, instantaneously the signal was made. The Formidable's signal halyards were seen to twitch, and a little ball of bunting slid swiftly aloft to the mast-head. There was a jerk, and the next instant the red flag for battle—the 'bloody flag,' as the navy called it—was 'abroad,' flying out upon the breeze. It went up just as the Marlborough came abreast of the French Dauphin Royal, the ninth ship in De Grasse's line, and as the flag 'broke' the Marlborough's opening broadside flashed off with a thundering crash, guns, carronades, and musketry all together.
The British ships nearest astern of the Marlborough opened fire at the same moment. Each in her station, a cable's length apart, they had been following close in the Marlborough's wake, equally ready and eager to begin.