You can’t help picturing a different scene: two great fleets of ships, French and British, forming battle lines as they run parallel to each other toward the south. Thousands of guns brought to bear, sailors at battle stations waiting for orders to fire. And then, out of sight of land, but not of hearing, sounds of gunfire roll across the sea like thunder. And the life of a new nation hangs in the balance. 

    This is where the American Revolution was won. This, George Washington said, was the pivot around which the great battle of Yorktown turned. And perhaps the entire tide of war, historians who know far more than I do, contend.

    And yet, the genius of the battle off the Virginia Capes – Adm. Francis Joseph Paul, the comte de Grasse – has largely been forgotten.

    It couldn’t be, could it, that we refuse to acknowledge that the greatest naval battle in American waters was won without the participation of a single American?

    Or because it’s hard enough to acknowledge that Washington was deeply indebted to another Frenchman, named Rochambeau?

    Sure, a couple of American warships were named after de Grasse, the last of which was sunk in target practice last year. A street in Yorktown bears his name.

    And at Cape Henry, standing among vigorously growing trumpet vines and wearing a bronze grimace, is a statue of the admiral, “dedicated in grateful remembrance” by the people of France in 1976.

    Here’s what happened. De Grasse was in the West Indies with a fleet of 24 ships of the line, including his own Ville de Paris, a 104-gun behemoth, when word reached him that Washington and Rochambeau were planning to march from New York to Virginia, along with the suggestion that he might (there never was an order) set sail for the Chesapeake.

    Only he could help save the young American nation, he was advised. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

    De Grasse raised anchor at Cape Francois, Haiti, on Aug. 5, 1781, picked his way through the treacherous Bahamas Channel, captured several British ships en route – so they couldn’t sound the alarm – and arrived at the Capes on Aug. 30.

    While the French and American armies were marching though Philadelphia, Washington heard the news.

    The usually stoic general ran up to Rochambeau with open arms and embraced him. “He’s here! He’s arrived!” he shouted.

    The British, meanwhile, hoping to intercept de Grasse on his way north, set sail from New York with 19 ships of the line. It must have been shocking to see, as they sailed toward the Capes on Sept. 5, a forest of masts where de Grasse and his fleet lay at anchor at Lynnhaven Bay.

    De Grasse had to wait for a favorable tide, and might have been at a disadvantage had British Vice Adm. Thomas Graves not followed the Royal Navy’s playbook: Instead of attacking right away, Graves allowed the French to sail out of the bay and line up ship to ship with the British.

    As it happened, the bigger and faster French ships were matched against the slower and smaller British vessels. After just over two hours of thunderous battle, the two sides withdrew.

    But the French had gotten the better of it, severely damaging some of the enemy’s ships. After several days of shadowing each other, the British returned to the Chesapeake and found that a second French fleet had arrived and sealed off the Bay.

    Not realizing that Washington and Rochambeau were on the march, Graves made the fateful decision to turn back to New York.

    Now, Cornwallis had no hope for resupply or escape.

    The stage was set for Yorktown.