between the British and the transports, were on the far side.  Kempenfelt, an able tactician as well as seaman, seized his advantage, pushed between the men-of-war and the convoy, and carried off fifteen sail laden with military and naval stores, of great money value and greater military importance.  More could not be done without risking a battle with a too superior force.  It was essential, therefore, to apprise the British commander in the West Indies of the approach of the French reinforcements as well as of Kempenfelt’s successes, and the Tisiphone was the same day despatched on this errand.

Although he knew it not, Saumarez was now being borne by the tide which leads on to fortune.  The next step in promotion then fixed, and still fixes, the seniority of a British officer, and the Tisiphone’s mission led him straight to it.  Easily outsailing the unwieldy mass of enemies, he reached Barbados, and there learned that the British fleet, under Sir Samuel Hood, was anchored off the island of St. Christopher, then invaded by a French army supported by De Grasse’s fleet.  The tenure of the island depended upon a fort on Brimstone Hill, still held by the British; and Hood, though much inferior in force, had by a brilliant tactical move succeeded in dislodging De Grasse from his anchorage ground, taking it himself, and establishing there his fleet in such order that its position remained impregnable.  The French, however, continued cruising to the southward, off the adjoining island of Nevis, where they interposed between Hood and Saumarez; and the latter could reach his commander only by threading the reefs lining the passage between the two islands,—­a feat considered hazardous, if not impracticable.  Nevertheless, the Tisiphone effected it by diligent care and seamanship, joining the fleet on January 31st, 1782.

Saumarez now found himself in the midst of the most active operations, at the opening of a campaign which promised to be of singular and critical importance.  But in the midst of his rejoicing at the good fortune which had transferred him from the comparative inactivity of the Channel fleet, a momentary reverse befell.  Called by signal on board the flag-ship, he received a bag of despatches, with orders to sail that night for England.  As he went dejectedly down the ship’s side to his boat and was shoving off, the gig of a post-captain pulled alongside.  “Hallo, Saumarez,” said its occupant, “where are you going?” “To England, I grieve to say.”  “Grieve!” rejoined the other.  “I wish I were in your place.  I have been wanting this long time to go home for my health.  Hold on a moment; perhaps it can be arranged.”  The new-comer, named Stanhope, went at once to the admiral, who a few minutes later sent for Saumarez.  Hood had learned to value the active young officer who had taken a forward part in the guerilla enterprises of the fleet.  “Captain Saumarez,” he said, “you know not how much I wish to serve you.  Captain Stanhope shall go home, as he desires, and you shall have command of the Russell.”  The same night the Tisiphone sailed; Saumarez remaining as an acting post-captain, with a ship of seventy-four guns under him.