The French, for their part, were in a straggling line, with irregular gaps between the ships. They comprised the Ville de Paris, originally in the centre but now fallen back to be almost last ship; the Triomphante, De Vaudreuil's flagship; De la Charette's Bourgogne, Macarty Macteigne's Magnifique, De Rions' Pluton, and the Marseillais, commanded by De Castellane-Majastre. All these belonged to De Vaudreuil's squadron, and had rallied with their chief to try and help the admiral. Three of De Grasse's own ships were with them—all that had stood by the chief,—the Languedoc and the Couronne (the Ville de Paris's two 'seconds' in the original line of battle) and the younger De Vaudreuil's Sceptre. Like his brother, that officer was at the post of greatest danger, in accordance with the traditions of his House. The last three had dropped back to join De Grasse about four o'clock. None of Bougainville's ships were near De Grasse; the only one that had tried to reach him had been the Ardent, now, as the result, in Rodney's hands. Round this devoted band of nine ships the British attack concentrated, and for a second time the battle blazed up fiercely. The encounter was, however, too one-sided to endure. Stout-heartedly as they defended themselves, and most of them were fighting both broadsides at once, the French last-hope band were thrown into disorder and broken up.
The British Canada, Cornwallis's hard-hitting seventy-four, fresh from her victorious bout with the French Hector, came on in the forefront of the pursuing British and fastened at once on the Ville de Paris. The French flagship by now had fallen quite to the rear. The Couronne had failed her admiral at the last moment. De Grasse, as he himself reported to Versailles, had personally hailed her just before, and ordered her to keep station close in the flagship's wake. They had answered back, 'Oui, Général!' but as the Canada came up the Couronne shifted out of the way and edged off past the flagship, letting Cornwallis in.[42] Cornwallis knew what he had to do, and pointed his guns high. Stationing the Canada on the quarter of the Ville de Paris, out of direct reach of De Grasse's broadside, he hung on there fixedly, pounding his hardest meanwhile into the French flagship with every gun the Canada could bring to bear, cutting away spars and rigging and holding the great vessel back until other British ships were at hand to take up the task. The Canada then moved off after the other French ships farther on, passing over the work of holding the Ville de Paris to Saumarez of the Russell, the only captain of Admiral Drake's squadron who was 'in at the death'—thanks to his own intelligent anticipation of probable events earlier in the day. The Russell during the afternoon had had a series of long-range encounters with four of the French fleet elsewhere, but she was fresh enough for the business before her. Saumarez pushed in boldly, hauled up under the stern of the Ville de Paris, and gave her a raking broadside that swept the giant three-decker from end to end. After that the Russell placed herself on the lee quarter of the Ville de Paris, to prevent her from edging off after the other French ships of her group, which were now giving way everywhere as the attack on them was being driven home. There she remained until Hood himself with the Barfleur came on the scene.
De Grasse by this had been practically abandoned to his fate. Even De Vaudreuil's devotion could help him no further now. The Languedoc made one despairing attempt to come to her flagship's rescue, but could not get through. Beaten back by the Duke and another ship, she turned away and fled, hoisting all sail. On board the Ville de Paris every spar had been shot down, stripped from the masts, which had themselves been riddled and were tottering. The rudder had been smashed away, and the ship could not be steered; many guns were disabled; one gun had burst, killing sixteen men and injuring thirty. There was hardly a yard of space along her sides that had not a shot-hole through it. From three to four hundred of her crew—the exact numbers were never returned—were dead or in the cockpit. Those who were still at quarters were dead-beat and nearly dropping from exhaustion, having been without food since daybreak. All the cartridges in the magazines were exhausted, and they had to supply the guns by ladling loose powder into them from open barrels brought up on deck. The 'fighting lanterns' between decks were mostly extinguished, the candles burned out; all was dark below, and they waded ankle-deep and stumbled amid the horrible débris of what that morning had been living human beings. Even then De Grasse would not give in; not at least to any British captain. He stoutly resisted until, a little after six o'clock, he caught sight of Hood's flag at the Barfleur's mast-head, showing above the smoke a little way off. He would wait until Hood came up and then surrender. It was a point of honour: his flagship should lower her colours only to a flagship.
ONE OF THE 'FIGHTING LANTERNS' OF THE VILLE DE PARIS
Now in the Museum of the Royal United Service Institution, Whitehall.
As the Barfleur got nearer, De Grasse fired a challenging gun. It was to attract the approaching flagship's attention. Hood marked the gun and understood it. He at once headed the Barfleur directly for the Ville de Paris. 'I concluded,' said Hood, 'the Count de Grasse had a mind to be my prisoner, as an old acquaintance, and therefore met his wishes by looking towards him.' As the Barfleur began to close with the French flagship, De Grasse made a show of opening fire on her, 'which I,' continued Hood, 'totally disregarded till I had proved, by firing a single gun from the quarter-deck, that I was within point blank.'[43] That was the Barfleur's distance. Ranging up to the Ville de Paris Hood greeted the French admiral with one tremendous salvo of round-shot and grape at close quarters that crashed through the sides of De Grasse's doomed flagship as though they were cardboard. That one broadside struck down sixty men. All was over for the French admiral now. In less than ten minutes the end had come. De Grasse stepped to the taffrail, and with his own hand pulled the Ville de Paris's ensign down. The battle of the 'Glorious Twelfth of April' had been fought and won. As the Ville de Paris's ensign dropped the sun's rim touched the sea-line.
There were but three unwounded men on the Ville de Paris's quarter-deck when the admiral hauled down the flag. De Grasse himself was one. More than a third of the flagship's immense company, officers and men, had gone down, while he himself, at the most exposed point of all from the first shot to the last and seeming to court death throughout, had come through the day unscathed, except for a contusion across the loins from a splinter which did not break the skin.
