Poor Nelson had a terrible time with one and another of them, as they
had with him, if history may be relied on. His periodical defiances
and his contempt for his superiors is quite edifying. He laid down the
law like a bishop when his moods were in full play. The great naval,
commercial, and military figure to which Nelson comes nearest is
Drake, and the nearest to Nelson in versatility is Lord Fisher, who
must have had an engaging time with those who wished to assume
control of the Navy over his level head. I question whether any man
holding a high position in the British Navy, at any time, could
combine naval, military, and administrative genius, together with
sound common sense, as Nelson did. We have devoted so much attention
to the study of his naval accomplishments that many of his other
practical gifts have been overlooked. It is common belief, in civilian
circles at any rate, and there is good ground for it, that both the
naval and military men do not realize how much their existence depends
on a well-handled and judiciously treated mercantile marine. I have
too much regard for every phase of seafaring life to criticize it
unfairly, but, except on very rare occasions, I have found naval and
military men so profoundly absorbed in their own professions that they
do not trouble to regard anything else as being essential.
The present war will have revealed many things that were not thought
of in other days. One of Nelson's outstanding anxieties was lest any
harm should befall our commerce, and he protected it and our shipping
with fine vigilance and with scant support from the then Government,
which would not supply him with ships; this at times drove him to
expressions of despair. Privateering was more rampant then than it is
now, and the belligerents had great difficulty in enforcing neutrals
to observe neutrality. Indeed, the circumstances were such that it
became impossible to prevent leakage. The British Admiral was
continually protesting to the neutrals against the system of
smuggling and privateering, but it was hardly consistent, seeing that
we were obliged to make breaches of neutrality in order to get our
supplies. Small privateers, consisting sometimes of mere longboats,
infested every swatch and corner they could get into on the Spanish
shores, the Ionian Islands, the Barbary coast, the Balearic Islands,
and Sicily. We indicted France for enforcing subsidies from Spain,
compelling the Neapolitans to provide for her soldiers occupying
Neapolitan territory. We, on the other hand, were obliged to make use
of neutral ports for supplies required for the Gulf of Lyons fleet. It
was a curious position, and both France and England were parties to
the anomaly, and each accused the other of the impiety of it. The
British Admiral and his officers never lost an opportunity of
destroying the marauders when caught within neutral limits, and Nelson
never flinched from supporting his officers in the matter. "The
protection," he writes, "given to the enemies' privateers and rowboats
is extremely destructive of our commerce," and then he goes on to give
reasons why these vermin should be shot or captured.
He was driven frantic by the demands made for convoys by captains and
merchants, and his appeals to the Admiralty for more cruisers were
unheeded. He expresses himself strongly averse from allowing even fast
sailing vessels to make a passage unprotected. Perhaps no human mind
that has been given grave responsibilities to safeguard was ever
lacerated as was Nelson's in seeing that our commercial interest did
not suffer, and that on the seas he guarded a free and safe passage
should be assured to our shipping carrying food and other merchandise
to the mother-country. The responsibility of carrying out even this
special work in a satisfactory way was an amazing task, and no
evidence is on record that he left anything to chance. Results are an
eloquent answer to any doubts on that subject. In addition to policing
the seas, he had the anxiety of watching the tricky manoeuvres of the
French fleet, and planning for their interception and defeat should
they weaken in their elusive methods. Of course, they were playing
their own game, and had a right to, and it was for their opponents,
whom Nelson so well represented, to outwit and trap them into
fighting; but as for having any grounds for complaint, it was not only
silly, but inopportune, to give expression to having a grievance
against the French admirals because they cutely slipped out of his
deadly grasp from time to time and made him weary of life! His
grievances were easier to establish against the Board of Admiralty,
who were alternately paying him compliments or insulting him.
Instructions were given that could not be obeyed without involving the
country in certain loss and complication. Officers, his junior in
rank, were given appointments that had the appearance of placing them
independent of his authority. Seniors of inferior capacity were given
control over him which, but for his whimsical magnanimity, might have
cost us the loss of the fleet, their crews, and our high honour and
superb fighting reputation. Take for example Sir Hyde Parker's command
of the Baltic fleet, or Sir John Orde's clumsy appointment to a
squadron in the Mediterranean. Nothing could be so harassing to the
nerves of a man sure of his own superiority as to be burdened, not
only with Orde's arrogance, but his mediocrity. He was obliged to
resort to subterfuge in order to get his dispatches sent home, and
here again the action of the Admiralty compelled him to break naval
discipline by ordering a nephew of Lord St. Vincent, a clever young
captain of a frigate, to whom he was devoted, to take the dispatches
to Lisbon. He told the young captain that Sir John Orde took his
frigates from him, and sent them away in a direction contrary to his
wishes. "I cannot get my dispatches even sent home," he said; adding,
"You must try to avoid his ships." Nelson had not signed his orders,
because Sir John Orde was his superior officer, but should it come to
a court-martial, Hardy could swear to his handwriting, and he gave him
the assurance that he would not be broken. "Take your orders, and
goodbye," said he, "and remember, Parker, if you cannot weather that
fellow, I shall think you have not a drop of your uncle's blood in
your veins." Other Nelsonian instructions were given, and the gallant
captain carried them out with a skill worthy of his ingenious, defiant
chief and of his distinguished uncle.
It was not only a slap in the face to Sir John Orde, but to those
whose patronage had placed in a senior position a man who was not
qualified to stand on the same quarterdeck with Nelson. He smarted
under the treatment, but unhappily could not keep his chagrin under
cover. He was always pouring his soul out to some one or other. His
health is always falling to pieces after each affront, and for this
reason he asks to be relieved. Here is an example of his moods. "I am
much obliged to your Lordships' compliance with my requests," he says,
"which is absolutely necessary from the present state of my health,"
and almost immediately after he tells a friend he "will never quit his
post when the French fleet are at sea as a commander-in-chief once
did." "I would sooner die at my post than have such a stigma upon my
memory." This is a nasty dig at Lord St. Vincent, presumably for
having a hand in the appointment of Sir John Orde. Then he writes to
Elliot that nothing has kept him at his post but the fear of the
French fleet escaping and getting to Naples or Sicily. "Nothing but
gratitude for the good sovereigns would have induced him to stay a
moment after Sir John Orde's extraordinary command, for his general
conduct towards them is not such as he had a right to expect." I have
heard that snobbishness prevails in the service now only in a less
triumphant degree to what it did in Nelson's time. If that be the
case, it ought to be wrestled with until every vestige of the ugly
thing is strangled. The letters of Nelson to personal friends, to the
Admiralty, and in his reported conversations, are all full of
resentment at the viciousness of it, though he obviously struggles to
curb the vehemence of his feelings. No one felt the dagger of the
reticent stabber more quickly and sensitively than he. Invisible
though the libeller might be, Nelson knew he was there. He could not
hear the voice, but he felt the sinister action.
Making full allowance for what might be put down to imagination, there
is still an abundance of material to justify the belief that the first
naval authority of his time was the target of snobs, and that, but for
his strong personality and the fact that he was always ready to fight
them in the open, he would have been superseded, and a gallant duffer
might have taken his place, to the detriment of our imperial
interests. It is a dangerous experiment to put a man into high office
if he has not the instinct of judging the calibre of other men. This
applies to every department of life nowadays. Take the Army, the Navy,
departments of State, commercial or banking offices, manufacturing
firms, and the making of political appointments. The latter is more
carelessly dealt with than any other department of life. The public
are not sufficiently vigilant in distinguishing between a mere
entertaining rhetorician and a wholesome-minded, natural-born
statesman. What terrible calamities have come to the State through
putting men into responsible positions they have neither training,
wit, nor wisdom to fill efficiently! Providence has been most
indulgent and forbearing when we have got ourselves into a mess by
wrong-headedness. She generally comes to our aid with an undiscovered
man or a few men with the necessary gifts required for getting us out
of the difficulty in which the Yellow Press gang and their accomplices
may have involved the country. We know something of how the knowledge
of these anomalies in public life chafed the eager spirit of Nelson,
but we can never know the extent of the suffering it caused except
during the Neapolitan and Sicilian days. This lonely soul lived the
life of a recluse for months at a time. The monotony of the weird song
of the sea winds, the nerve-tearing, lazy creak of the wooden timbers,
the sinuous crawling, rolling, or plunging over the most wondrous of
God's works, invariably produces a sepulchral impression even on the
most phlegmatic mind, but to the mystically constituted brain of
Nelson, under all the varied thoughts that came into his brain during
the days and nights of watching and searching for those people he
termed "the pests of the human race," it must have been one long
heartache. No wonder that he lets fly at the Admiralty in some of his
most passionate love-messages to the seductive Emma. His dreary life,
without any exciting incident except the carrying away of sails or
spars, and the irritation of not being able to get what he regarded as
life or death requests carried into effect owing to the slothfulness
or incompetent indifference of the Admiralty was continual agony to
him. He writes in one of his dispatches to the Admiralty: "Were I to
die this moment, _want of frigates_ would be found stamped on my
heart. No words of mine," he continues, "can express what I have
suffered and am suffering for want of them."
No person could write such an unconsciously comic lament to a
department supposed to be administered with proficiency unless he were
borne down by a deep sense of its appalling incompetency. It is quite
likely that the recipients of the burning phrases regarded them in the
light of a joke, but they were very real to the wearied soul of the
man who wrote them. I do not find any instances of conscious humour in
any of Nelson's letters or utterances. It is really their lack of
humour that is humorous. He always appears to be in sombre earnest
about affairs that matter, and whimsically affected by those that
don't. The following lines, which are not my own, may be regarded as
something akin to Nelson's conception of himself. If he had come
across them, I think he would have said to himself, "Ah! yes, these
verses describe my mission and me."
"Like a warrior angel sped
On a mighty mission,
Light and life about him shed--
A transcendent vision.
"Mailed in gold and fire he stands,
And, with splendours shaken,
Bids the slumbering seas and lands
Quicken and awaken."
Nelson never attempted to carry out a mere reckless and palpably
useless feat for the purpose of show. His well-balanced genius of
caution and accurate judgment was the guiding instinct in his
terrific thrusts which mauled the enemy out of action at the Nile, St.
Vincent, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar, and enthralled the world with new
conceptions of naval warfare. He met with bitter disappointments in
his search for the illusive French fleet, which wore him, as he says,
to a skeleton, but never once was he shaken in his vigorous belief
that he would catch and annihilate them in the end. They cleverly
crept out of Toulon, with the intention, it is said, of going to
Egypt. Villeneuve was no fool at evasive tactics. His plan was
practically unerring, and threw Nelson completely off the scent and
kept him scouring the seas in search of the bird that had flown weeks
before. Once the scent is lost, it takes a long time to pick it up.
Villeneuve no doubt argued that it was not his purpose to give the
British Admiral an opportunity of fighting just then. He had other
fish to fry, and if he wished to get away clear from Toulon and evade
Nelson's ships, he must first of all delude him by sending a few ships
out to mislead the enemy's watchdogs or drive them off; if that
succeeded (which it did not), he would then wait for a strong fair
wind that would assure him of a speed that would outdistance and take
him out of sight of the British squadron, and make sure that no clue
to his destination was left. The wind was strong NNW.; the French
fleet were carrying a heavy press of canvas and steering SSW. The
British ships that were following concluded that they were out for
important mischief, and returned to convey the news to Nelson, who
quickly got under weigh and followed them. Meanwhile, Villeneuve's
squadron, after getting from under the shelter of the land into the
open sea, lost some of their spars and sails, and one vessel, it is
recorded, was dismasted, which means, in seafaring interpretation,
that all her masts were carried away; as she succeeded, however, in
getting into Ajaccio, she can only have lost her royal topgallant, and
possibly a topmast or two. If her lower masts had been carried away,
she could not have got into refuge without assistance, and the rest of
the fleet apparently had enough to do in looking after themselves, as
they lost spars and sails too, and became somewhat scattered, but all
appear to have got safely into Toulon again to refit and repair the
damage done by the heavy gale they encountered.
Meanwhile, Nelson, in dismay at losing touch with them, searched every
nook and cranny in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and making sure that none of
them were in hiding and that the sea was clear, he proceeded to act on
his fixed opinion that their objective must be Egypt. So to Egypt he
went, and the bitter disappointment at not finding them stunned his
imagination, so sure had he been that his well-considered judgment was
a thing to which he might pin his faith, and that his lust for
conflict with the "pests of the human race" could not escape being
realized in the vicinity of his great victory at the battle of the
Nile. His grievance against Villeneuve for cheating him out of what he
believed would result in the annihilation of the French Power for
mischief on the seas brought forth expressions of deadly contempt for
such astute, sneaking habits! But the Emperor was as much dissatisfied
with the performances of his admirals as Nelson was, though in a
different way. Napoleon, on the authority of the French historian, M.
Thiers, was imperially displeased. He asks "what is to be done with
admirals who allow their spirits to sink _into their boots_ (italics
are the author's) and fly for refuge as soon as they receive damage.
All the captains ought to have had sealed orders to meet at the Canary
Islands. The damages should have been repaired _en route_. A few
topmasts carried away and other casualties in a gale of wind are
everyday occurrences. The great evil of our Navy is that the men who
command it are unused to all the risks of command." This indictment is
to a large extent deserved, and had his fleet been out in the Atlantic
or outside the limits of the vigilance of Nelson's ships, the putting
back to Toulon or anywhere to refit the topmasts, sails, or rigging
would have been highly reprehensible. But in any case, I question
whether the British would have shown the white feather or lack of
resource under any circumstances. On a man-of-war they were supposed
to have refits of everything, and men, properly qualified, in large
numbers to carry out any prodigious feat. On the other hand, the
British have always excelled in their nautical ability to guard
against deficiency in outfit, which was not overtested unless there
were sufficient cause to demand such a risk. This applies especially
to the sailing war vessels in Nelson's time. I think there can be no
question that the French vessels were both badly officered and manned
with incapable sailors and that the damage which led them back to
Toulon was caused by bad judgment in seamanship. What they called a
severe gale would have been regarded by an Australian clipper or
Western Ocean packet-ship in the writer's early days as a hard
whole-sail breeze, perhaps with the kites taken in. It was rare that
these dashing commanders ever carried away a spar, and it was not
because they did not carry on, but because they knew every trick of
the vessel, the wind, and the sea. It was a common saying in those
days when vessels were being overpowered with canvas, "The old lady
was talking to us now," i.e. the vessel was asking to have some of the
burden of sail taken off her. I have known topmasts to be carried
away, but it generally occurred through some flaw in a bolt or unseen
defect in the rigging. So much depends on the security of little
things. But when a catastrophe of this kind occurred on board a
British merchantman or war vessel the men had both the courage, skill,
training, and, above all, the matchless instinct to clear away the
wreck and carry out the refitting in amazingly short time. That was
because we were then, and are now under new conditions, an essentially
seafaring race. And it was this superiority that gave Nelson such
great advantages over the French commanders and their officers and
seamen, though it must be admitted they were fast drilled by the force
of circumstances into foes that were not to be looked upon too
lightly.
The elusive tactics of the French admirals then were in a lesser
degree similar to those practised by the Germans now, if it be proper
to speak or think of the two services at the same time without
libelling them. The French were always clean fighters, however much
they may have been despised by Nelson. They were never guilty of
cowardly revenge. They would not then, or now, send hospital ships to
the bottom with their crews and their human cargoes of wounded
soldiers and nurses. Nor would they indiscriminately sink merchant
vessels loaded with civilian passengers composed of men, women, and
children, and leave them to drown, as is the inhuman practice of the
German submarine crews of to-day.
The French in other days were our bitterest enemies, and we were
theirs. We charged each other with abominations only different from
what we and our Allies the French are saying about Germany to-day, who
was then our ally. We regarded Germany in the light of a downtrodden
nation who was being crushed and mutilated under the relentless heel
of the "Corsican Usurper." "Such is the rancorous hatred of the French
towards us," says Collingwood in January 1798, "that I do not think
they would make peace on any terms, until they have tried this
experiment (i.e. the invasion of England) on our country; and never
was a country assailed by so formidable a force"; and he goes on to
say, "Men of property must come forward both with purse and sword,
for the contest must decide whether they shall have anything, even a
country which they can call their own." This is precisely what we are
saying about Germany with greater reason every day at the present time
(1918).
It has been the common practice for German submarine commanders to
sink at sight British, neutral cargo, and passenger vessels, and
hospital ships loaded with wounded troops and nurses. They have put
themselves outside the pale of civilization since they forced the
whole world into conflict against them. Nothing has been too hideous
for them to do. They have blown poor defenceless fishermen to pieces,
and bombarded defenceless villages and towns, killing and maiming the
inhabitants.
Nelson's ardent soul must have been wearied with the perversity of the
"dead foul winds" (as he described his bitter fate to Ball) that
prevented him from piercing the Straits of Gibraltar against the
continuous easterly current that runs from the Atlantic and spreads
far into the Mediterranean with malicious fluctuations of velocity.
Many a gallant sailing-ship commander has been driven to despair in
other days by the friendly levanter failing them just as they were
wellnigh through the Gut or had reached the foot of the majestic Rock,
when the west wind would assert its power over its feebler adversary,
and unless he was in a position to fetch an anchorage behind the Rock
or in the bay, their fate was sealed for days, and sometimes weeks, in
hard beating to prevent as little ground being lost as possible. But
ofttimes they were drifted as far back as Cape de Gata in spite of
daring feats of seamanship in pressing their vessels with canvas until
every spar, sail, and rope was overstrained. A traditional story of
sailors of that period was that only a fast clipper schooner engaged
in the fruit trade and a line-of-battle ship which fired her lee guns
on every tack was ever known to beat through this channel, which
mystified the sailors' ideas of God. They could not understand how He
could have committed such an error in planning the universe which so
tried the spirits of His loyal believers!
We know how catholic Nelson was in his religious views; and his feats
of expressive vocabulary, which was the envy of his class at the time,
became their heritage after he had accomplished his splendid results
and passed into the shadows. Such things as the strength of the
adverse sea winds, his experience of the capriciousness of the
official mind--a capriciousness which might be reflected in the public
imagination were he not to be wholly successful in getting hold of the
French fleet, and the indignity of having a man like Sir John Orde put
over him, all filled his sensitive nature with resentment against the
ordinances of God and man. His complaints were always accompanied with
a devotional air and an avowal of supreme indifference to what he
regarded as the indecent treatment he received at the hands of the
amateurish bureaucrats at the Admiralty. At times they were out of
humour with the great chieftain, and perhaps at no time did they make
him feel their dissatisfaction more than when adverse winds, a crazy
fleet, and deadly current were eating deep into his eager soul at a
time when the genius of seamanship was unavailing in the effort to get
through into the Atlantic in pursuit of the French fleet, which his
instinct told him was speeding towards the West Indies.
Sir John Orde, who was an aversion to him (as well he might be), had
seen the French fleet off Cadiz, and failed to procure him the
information as to their course. Nelson believed, and properly
believed, that an alert mind would have found a way of spying out the
enemy's intentions, but Sir John's resource did not extend to anything
beyond the fear of being attacked and overpowered. He obviously was
devoid of any of the arts of the wily pirate or smuggler. A month
after the French had passed through the Gut, Nelson got his chance. A
change of wind came within five hours after a southerly slant brought
his ships to anchor in Gibraltar bay for water and provisions. He
immediately gave the signal to heave the anchors up, and proceeded
with a fair wind which lasted only forty-eight hours. He anchored his
fleet to the east of Cape St. Vincent, and took on board supplies from
the transports. He received from different sources conflicting
accounts as to the objective of the French, but the predominating
opinion was that they had gone to the West Indies. Nelson was in a
state of bewilderment, but decided to follow his own head, and pinned
his faith on the instinct that told him to follow westward "to be
burnt in effigy if he failed, or Westminster Abbey if he succeeded."
The adventure was daring, both in point of destination and the unequal
strength of the relative fleets. Nelson had ten ships of the line and
three frigates, against Villeneuve's eighteen and two new
line-of-battle ships.
But the British Admiral's genius and the superiority of his
commanders, officers, and men, should they come to battle, would more
than match Villeneuve's superiority in ships. Nelson, always sure of
his own powers, could also depend upon the loyalty of men of every
rank under him. He knew that the terrible spirit which shattered and
scattered Spanish Philip's armada was an inheritance that had grown
deep into every fibre of the generations of seamen that followed
Hawkins and Drake's invincibles. When Nelson delivered himself of
death-or-glory heroics, he did so with the consciousness that _he_ was
the spirit that enthused masses of other spirits to carry out his
dominating will.
On the 14th May, 1805, anchors were picked up and the fleet left Lagos
Bay under full sail for the West Indies. The trade-winds were soon
picked up, and every stitch of canvas that would catch a breath of
wind was spread. The speed ranged from six to nine knots, according to
the strength of the wind, the Admiral taking any available opportunity
of conveying to the commanders the plan of attack and action should
they fall in with the Frenchmen. The task of keeping his own ships
together was not easy, as some were faster than others, and many had
foul bottoms. There was much manipulation of yards and sails in order
to keep the line in order, and Nelson even went out of his way to have
a note of encouragement and kindness sent aboard the _Superb_
(seventy-four guns) for Commander Keats, whose ship had been
continuously in commission since 1801, and was in bad condition. Her
sailing qualities were vexatious. Keats implored that he should not be
disconnected from the main fleet now that the hoped-for battle was so
near at hand, and being a great favourite of Nelson's, he was given
permission constantly to carry a press of canvas; so the gallant
captain carried his studding sails while running before the
trade-winds, but notwithstanding this effort, the lazy, dilapidated
_Superb_ could not keep pace with the others, even though he was
granted the privilege of not stopping when the others did. His urgency
not to be dropped out on this occasion caused him the hard luck of not
being at the battle of Trafalgar.
The British fleet arrived at Barbadoes after a twenty-four days'
passage from Lagos Bay. The French took thirty-four from Cadiz to
Martinique, so that Nelson had a gain of ten days on them, and
although his zeal yearned for better results, he had performed a feat
that was not to be despised, and of which he and his comrades in quest
of battle were deservedly proud. The French had been three weeks in
the West Indies, but had done no further mischief than to take the
Diamond Rock, a small British possession situated off the south end
of Martinique. The whereabouts of the elusive enemy was uncertain.
General Brereton, who commanded the troops at Santa Lucia gave
information that they had passed on the 28th May, steering south. The
admirals decided that they had proceeded to Tobago and Trinidad.
Nelson was doubtful, but was obliged to pay some regard to
intelligence coming from such a quarter. Accurate information received
on the 9th June, 1805, confirmed the Admiral's doubts as to their
objective, for they had passed Dominica on the 6th. Brereton had
unintentionally misled him. Nelson was almost inarticulate with rage,
and avowed that by this slovenly act the General had prevented him
from giving battle north of Dominica on the 6th. "What a race I have
run after these fellows!" he exclaimed, and then, as was his custom,
leaning on the Power that governs all things, he declares, "but God is
just, and I may be repaid for all my moments of anxiety." His belief
in the advent of Divine vengeance on those who doubted or threatened
the awful supremacy of British dominion on land or sea was stimulating
to him. Like the Domremy maiden, who saved her king and country, he
had "visions and heard voices."
Whatever the mission of the French fleet may have been, there was
certainly no apparent lust for aggrandizement. We may be certain that
Napoleon's orders were to carry out vigorous bombardments on British
possessions, and instead of doing so, Villeneuve seems to have been
distractedly and aimlessly sailing about, not knowing what to do or
whither to go. Apparently without any definite object, he arrived off
Antigua on the 9th June, and had the good fortune, whether he sought
for it or not, of capturing fourteen British merchant vessels; but he
would appear to have been quite phlegmatic about making the haul. He
was more concerned about the news the crews were able to give him of
Nelson's arrival at Barbadoes; not that he was constrained to give him
the opportunity of measuring strength with his now twenty-six of the
line, but as a guide to the best means of making his escape; this may
have been a strategical move of wearing down; or he may have been
carrying out a concerted plan for leaving Nelson in bewilderment and
proceeding with all speed to some British European point where
resistance would be less and success assured, since there was no
outstanding naval figure, bar Collingwood, who could stand up against
so powerful a combination of ships of the line. It is questionable
whether Villeneuve ever took this man of great hidden power and
foresight into account. It was Nelson, his chief, who put terror into
the fleet. In any case, whatever his plans may have been, the
intelligence he gleaned from the seized merchant seamen caused him to
make arrangements to sail from Antigua the next day for Europe. The
present writer's opinion is that he may have had secret orders from
Napoleon to make an attack on Ireland, as the Emperor never faltered
in his view that this was the most pregnable spot in which to hazard
an invasion and strike a crushing blow at the main artery. He little
knew the real loyalty of the great mass of Irishmen to their own and
to the motherland, and only realized later that his way to England
was not through Ireland.
The exit of the French was hard fate for Nelson, who had fired his
enthusiasm with the hope of a great conflict and a sure victory. It
was a creeping nightmare to him which was only relieved by his
resolute opinion that his fame and the terror of his name had caused
Villeneuve to fly from inevitable destruction. The idea of strategy
did not enter into his calculations. A further consolation to him was
that his arrival had saved the islands and two hundred ships loaded
with sugar from being captured, so that the gain was all on his side.
So far as the West Indies were concerned, the French expedition ended
not only in a dead loss, but was a humiliating fiasco, unless, as I
have stated before, it was a preconceived decoy for some other
purpose. But whether it were strategy or decoy, it taxes one's
intelligence to conceive why the French fleet did not proceed to
bombard the British possessions on arrival, then steal into safe
obscurity and make their way back to European waters. The evasion of
Nelson's scouts in any case was a matter of adroit cunning. Had a man
of Nelson's nimble wits and audacious courage commanded the enemy's
fleet, the islands would have been attacked and left in a dilapidated
condition. Nelson's opinion was that the Spanish portion of the
expedition had gone to Havana, and that the French would make for
Cadiz or Toulon, the latter he thought most likely, with the ultimate
object of Egypt. And with this vision floating in his mind, he
determined to make for the Straits. On the 13th June, 1805, he sailed
from Antigua, and was almost merry at the thought of getting close at
their heels, and toppling them into ruin before they had got into the
Mediterranean. He regarded them in the light of miserable naval
amateurs that could be whacked, even with the odds against him. Five
days after sailing, one of his scout ships brought the news given by a
vessel they spoke that she had sighted them steering north on the
15th, and as the colours of each dying day faded away and brought no
French fleet in view or intelligence of them, he grew restive and
filled with apprehension. He had no delusions about the accuracy of
his perceptions, or the soundness of his judgment, nor the virtue of
his prudence. Without a disturbing thought he pursued his course
towards the Mediterranean, and unless intelligence came to him that
would justify a diversion, no wild fancies would be permitted to take
possession of him. On the 18th July he sighted Cape Spartel, and any
sailor will say that no grass had been allowed to grow under the
bottoms of the ships that made so quick a passage. But Nelson was
"sorrowful" that no results had accrued. Like a strong man who has
opinions and carries them through to the bitter end, he did not "blame
himself." He blew off some of the pent-up bitterness of an aching
heart by writing to a friend, "But for General Brereton's damned
information, I would have been living or dead, and the greatest man
England ever saw, and now I am nothing and perhaps would incur censure
for misfortunes which may happen and have. Oh! General Brereton!
General Brereton!"
This explosion was indicative of bitter disappointment. It is these
outbursts of devotion to a great burning ideal that give an impulse to
the world. His anxiety when he made his landfall and was informed by
scouts sent to meet him that the allied squadrons had not been heard
of was intense. It was not until then that his vigorous mind was
smitten with the possibility of the French having cheated him by going
to Jamaica. Orde had been superseded by Collingwood, and was stationed
off Cadiz, the purpose of which was to watch the entrance to the
Mediterranean. Nelson wrote and sent him the following letter:--
MY DEAR COLLINGWOOD,--I am, as you may suppose, miserable at not
falling in with the enemy's fleet; and I am almost increased in
sorrow in not finding them here. The name of General Brereton
will not soon be forgot. I must now hope that the enemy have not
tricked me, and gone to Jamaica; but if the account, of which I
send you a copy, is correct, it is more than probable that they
are either gone to the northward, or, if bound to the
Mediterranean, not yet arrived.
The vivid symptoms of disquietude in this communication to his old
friend are distinctly pathetic. In parts he is comically peevish and
decidedly restrained. He mixes his fierce wrath against the hapless
General Brereton with the generalizing of essentials, and
transparently holds back the crushing thoughts of misadventure for
which he may be held responsible by the misanthropic, scurrilous,
self-assertive experts. His impassive periods were always associated
with whimsical sensitiveness of being censured if his adventures
should miscarry. No one knew better than he that a man in his position
could only be popular if he continued to succeed. He had many critics,
but always regarded them as inferior to himself, and his record
justified him. What he secretly quaked at and openly defied was a
general outburst of human capriciousness. There are veiled indications
of this in his letter to Collingwood, who replied in well-reasoned
terms, interwoven with that charm of tender sympathy that was so
natural to him.
He says: "I have always had the idea that Ireland was the object the
French had in view," and that he still believes that to be their
destination; and then he proceeds to develop his reasons, which are a
combination of practical, human, and technical inferences. His
strongest point is one that Nelson did not or could not know, though
it may be argued that he ought to have foreseen; even then it is one
expert's judgment against another's. Collingwood affirms that the
Rochefort squadron, which sailed when Villeneuve did in January,
returned to Europe on the 26th May. Collingwood maintains that the
West Indian trip was to weaken the British force on the European side,
and states that the return of Rochefort's squadron confirmed him in
this. He is too generous to his mortified comrade to detract in any
degree from the view that, having escaped from the West Indies, they
would naturally make for Cadiz or the Mediterranean. Here is one of
the many wise sayings of Napoleon: "In business the worst thing of all
is an undecided mind"; and this may be applied to any phase of human
affairs. Nelson can never be accused of indecision. His chase to the
West Indies was a masterpiece of prescience which saved the British
possessions, and, but for the clumsy intelligence he received, the
French would have been a hammered wreck and the projected ruse to
combine it with the Rochefort squadron off Ireland blown sky-high.
The present generation of critics can only judge by the records handed
down to them, and after exhaustive study we are forced to the opinion
that Nelson was right in following Villeneuve to the West Indies, nor
was he wrong in calculating that they were impulsively making their
way back to the Mediterranean. Consistent with his habit of never
claiming the privilege of changing his mind, he followed his settled
opinion and defended his convictions with vehement confidence. He had
not overlooked Ireland, but his decision came down on the side of
Cadiz or Toulon, and there it had to rest, and in rather ridiculous
support of his contention he imputes faulty navigation as the cause of
taking them out of their course, and finding themselves united to the
Rochefort squadron off Cape Finisterre. The bad-reckoning idea cannot
be sustained. The French were no match for the British under Nelson's
piercing genius as a naval strategist, or in the flashes of dazzling
enthusiasm with which he led those under his command to fight, but it
must also be admitted, and has been over and over again, that
Villeneuve was a skilled seaman who was not likely to allow any
amateur navigators in his service, and we shall see that in the plan
of defence this great French Admiral showed that he was fertile in
naval skill when the time came for him to fight for existence against
the greatest naval prodigy in the world.
Whatever the reason was that caused Villeneuve not to make for the
Mediterranean, it certainly cannot be ascribed to lubberly navigation,
and Nelson should never have tried to sustain his perfectly sound
belief by seeking refuge in that untenable direction. God bless him
all the same.
On his arrival at Gibraltar on the 20th July, 1805, he set foot on
shore for the first time for two years less ten days. This in itself
was a great feat of hard endurance for a man who had to carry so heavy
a burden of continuous physical suffering and terrible anxiety.
Maddened and depressed often, stumbling often, falling often, but
despairing never, sorrow and sadness briefly encompassed him when fate
ordained disappointments. But his heart was big with hope that he
would accomplish complete victory before the sentence of death came,
which he never ceased to forebode. He was a human force, not a
phenomenon. On the 22nd July, Sir Robert Calder and Villeneuve fought
a drawn or indecisive battle. Only two Spanish ships of the line were
taken. The French Admiral put into Vigo on the 28th, and managed to
slip out, and arrived at Ferrol without being intercepted. Nelson
provisioned his ships for four months, and sailed from Tetuan on the
23rd. On the 25th he passed through the Straits with the intention of
going to Ferrol, Ireland, or Ushant, whichever his information and
judgment told him was the best course to pursue. He experienced strong
northerly winds along the Portuguese coast, which prevented him from
joining the Channel Fleet off Ushant until August 16th, and as no news
had been received of the French being in the Bay of Biscay or off the
Irish coast, he was ordered by Cornwallis to Portsmouth, and anchored
at Spithead on the 18th August. His reception from every quarter was
most cordial, as well it might be! But the thought of how much greater
it would have been if he had not been misguided and thereby deprived
of coming to grips with the foe that was still at large and outwitting
every device of bringing them to close quarters, had eaten like a
canker into his troubled mind. In his letters to friends (Davison and
others) his postscripts were for ever being embellished with reference
to it and the darting of an incidental "damn" to General Brereton,
who, it is contended, was himself deceived. But Nelson, generous as,
he always was to people who were encompassed by misfortune, never
would allow that Brereton had any right to allow himself to be misled.
One wonders how the immortal General Brereton worked it out. In any
case, the great Admiral has given him a place in history by his side.
Nelson first heard of Sir Robert Calder's scrap from the Ushant
squadron, and was strong in sympathy and defence against the unworthy
public attacks made on the Admiral for not succeeding as he would. In
writing to Fremantle about Calder, he says, amongst other things: "I
should have fought the enemy, so did my friend Calder; I only wish to
stand upon my own merits, and not by comparison, one way or the other
upon the conduct of a brother officer," etc. This rebuke to a public
who were treating his brother officer ungenerously may be summarized
thus: "I want none of your praises at the expense of this gallant
officer, who is serving his country surrounded with complex dangers
that you are ignorant of, and therefore it is indecent of you to judge
by comparing him with me or any one else. I want none of your praises
at his expense."
This is only one of the noble traits in Nelson's character, and is the
secret why he unconsciously endeared himself to everybody. His comical
vanity and apparent egotism is overshadowed by human touches such as
this worthy intervention on behalf of Sir Robert Calder, who he had
reason to know was not professionally well disposed to him. But his
defence of Calder did not close with Fremantle, for in a letter to his
brother soon after he got home he says, "We must now talk of Sir
Robert Calder. I might not have done so much with my small force. If I
had fallen in with them, you might probably have been a lord before I
wished; for I know they meant to make a dead set at the _Victory_."
These lines alone show how reverently the writer adhered to the
brotherly tie of the profession. He seems to say, "Let us have no more
talk of puerilities. I am the stronger. I have recently been
frustrated myself. I know this business better than Calder's traducers
do, and therefore conceive it my duty to defend him. He also has
rendered great services to his country."
When it was known that he had arrived in England, he was overwhelmed
with generous tokens of affection and gratitude from all classes.
Thousands crowded into Portsmouth to see him land, and the cheering
was long and lusty. In London the mob, drunk with excitement,
struggled to get sight of him, many crushing their way so that they
might shake him by the hand or even touch him. Lord Minto said he met
him in Piccadilly, took him by the arm, and was mobbed also. He goes
on to say: "It is really quite affecting to see the wonder,
admiration, and love for him from gentle and simple the moment he is
seen," and concludes by stating that it is beyond anything represented
in a play or in a poem of fame.
Commercial men everywhere passed resolutions of gratitude for the
protection he had secured in their different interests. The West India
merchants sent a deputation to express their never-to-be-forgotten
thanks, and would have loaded him with material tokens of their
goodwill had it been proper to do so. He lost no time in getting to
Merton, which was the thought and happiness of his soul. He was
invited here, there, and everywhere, and always replied that he could
not accept, as all his family were with him. Lord Minto, who was a
devoted friend, visited him on the 15th August, and says that he
"found him in the act of sitting down to dinner with his brother the
Dean, his wife, and their children, and the children of a sister. Lady
Hamilton was at the head of the table, and her mother, Mrs. Cadogan,
at the bottom. His welcome was hearty. Nelson looked well and was full
of spirits. Lady Hamilton," he continues, "had improved, and had added
to the house and place extremely well, without his knowing she was
doing it. She is a clever being, after all the passion is as hot as
ever."
These glad moments of keen rapture, which filled Nelson with a sort of
mystic joy, were soon to be cut short. Swiftly the sweet days were
passing away, and the sombre parting from "dear Merton and loving
hearts for evermore" was drawing near. In his day-dreams he saw more
fame, more professional gladness, more triumph. He saw, too, as he
pensively walked in his garden, the grave nearly ready to receive him
and the day of his glory and brightness coming. These were his abiding
premonitions, which were jerked out to his close friends, and even
during his last sojourn at Merton, to those he loved so well. Even at
this distance of time we cannot think with composure of this
many-sided man declaring sadly that death had no terrors for him, and
that he was ready to face the last great problem in the conflict which
was to break the power at sea of the great conqueror on land. He had
not been long in the plenitude of domestic bliss before Captain
Blackwood called one morning at five o'clock with dispatches sent by
Collingwood for the Admiralty. Nelson was already dressed, and in his
quick penetrating way told him that "he was certain he brought news of
the combined enemy's fleet," and, without waiting for an answer,
exclaimed, "I think I shall have to beat them," and subsequently
added, "Depend upon it, Blackwood, I shall yet give M. Villeneuve a
drubbing." The latter had slipped out of Ferrol and elusively made his
way to Cadiz without having been seen by the British. Nelson's
services were again requested by the Government, and eagerly given,
though he declared that he was in need of more rest and that he had
done enough. But these were mere transient observations, probably to
impress those with whom he talked or to whom he wrote with the
importance of his position with the Cabinet, who now regarded him as
indispensable, which was in reality quite true, though he was none the
less proud of the high confidence they had in him and the popular
approval their selection had with the public. The phrase "Let the man
trudge who has lost his budget" was mere bluff. He wanted to go all
the time, and would have felt himself grievously insulted had the
Government regarded even his health unequal to so gigantic a task or
suggested that a better man could be found.
Nelson, always hungering for approbation, slyly hinted that it would
be a risky thing for the Government's existence had they not placed
full control of the fleet in his hands, so popular a hold had he on
all classes of naval men and the entire public imagination. Nelson was
often exasperated by the dull ignorance of the Government as to how
naval policy should be conducted, and by their combined irresolution
and impatience at critical periods, when success depended upon his
having a free hand to act as circumstances arose. Of course, he took a
free hand and never failed to succeed. But he frequently complained
that he laid himself open to be shot or degraded by doing so, and it
is only one man in a century that is possessed of sufficient audacity
to ignore the authority over him and with supreme skill to carry out
his own plans. In support of the views that were bound to be held by a
man of Nelson's calibre as to the qualities of some of his superiors
in the Government who wished to impose upon him a definite line of
action, we quote a letter written to Captain Keats, which has appeared
in almost every life of Nelson that has been published. It is pregnant
with subtle contemptuous remarks which may be applied to the naval
administration of the present time (March 1918). It is not only a
danger, but a crime, in the process of any war, but especially during
the present, to gamble with the safety of the nation by neglecting to
have at the head of a great department a man who has not only a genius
for administrative initiative in this particular sphere but an
unerring instinct to guide and grapple with its everyday
perplexities. It is colossal aptitude, not mechanicalness, that is
needed.
But here is the matchless sailor's opinion of the situation in this
respect in his day: "The Secretary of State (Lord Castlereagh), which
is a man who has only sat one day in his office, and, of course, knows
but little of what is passed, and indeed the Prime Minister, Pitt,
were all full of the enemy's fleet, and as I am now set up for a
conjurer, and God knows they will very soon find out I am far from
being one, I was asked my opinion, against my inclination, for if I
make one wrong guess the charm will be broken; but this I ventured
without any fear, that if Calder got close alongside their
twenty-seven or twenty-eight sail, that by the time the enemy had
beaten our fleet soundly, they would do us no harm this year."
Though Nelson did not and could not say all that was in his mind, we
can read between the lines that he had no use for the theories of
ministers, and would obviously have liked to have said in brutal
English, "Here I am, gentlemen, do not encumber me with your
departmental jargon of palpable nothings. You continue to trust in
Providence; give me your untrammelled instructions as to what you wish
me to do, and leave the rest to me." Here is another letter from Lord
Radstock: "No official news have been received from Lord Nelson since
July 27th. He then hinted that he might go to Ireland; nevertheless,
we have no tidings of him on that coast. I confess I begin to be
fearful that he has worried his mind up to that pitch, that he cannot
bear the idea of showing himself again to the world until he shall
have struck some blow, and that it is this hope that is now making him
run about, half frantic, in quest of adventure. That such unparalleled
perseverance and true valour should thus evaporate in air is truly
melancholy."
What balderdash to write about a man ablaze with reasoning energy and
genius of the highest order! The noble Lord is disillusioned on his
arrival in Portsmouth, and writes again in another a strain: "He
(Nelson) was received in town almost as a conqueror, and was followed
round by the people with huzzas. So much for a great and good name
most nobly and deservedly acquired"! The previous letter indicates the
mind of a fireside colossus, and shows how dangerously a big man's
reputation may be at the mercy of a little one or a coterie of them.
One can only describe them as portentous human snipes, whose
aggressive mediocrity spreads like an attack of infectious fever,
until the awful will of Heaven, for the safety of humanity, lays hands
on their power for mischief. The popularity of a public servant is
always in danger of a tragical end if he lives long enough. One slip
of inevitable misfortune seals his doom when the pendulum swings
against him. And it is generally brought by a rhetorical smiling Judas
who can sway a capricious public. The more distinguished a popular man
may be, the greater is the danger that the fame and reputation for
which he strove may be swiftly laid low.
"Who has lived as long as he chose?
Who so confident as to defy
Time, the fellest of mortals' foes
Joints in his armour who can spy?
Where's the foot will not flinch or fly?
Where's the heart that aspires the fray?
His battle wager 'tis vain to try--
Everything passes, passes away."
The gallant and strenuous patriot whose fame will pass on to distant
ages is now summoned to fulfil his destiny. He owns that he needs one
more rest, but his "duty was to go forth." He "expected to lay his
weary bones quiet for the winter," but he is "proud of the call," and
all gallant hearts were proud to own him as their chieftain. He
bargains for one of the _Victory's_ anchors to be at the bows before
he arrives at Portsmouth. All his belongings are sent off on the 5th
October. Lord Barham, an aged man of eighty-two years, asks him with
pride to select his own officers. "Choose yourself, my Lord. The same
spirit actuates the whole profession; you cannot choose wrong." He
told the Cabinet what was wanted in the "annihilation of the enemy,"
and that "only numbers could annihilate"--presumably ships and men.
The conversations he had with the authorities and the spoken words and
letters sent to his friends are ablaze with inspiring, sharp-cut
sentences. But those who had intimate knowledge of his tender side
felt he was ill at ease, and not free from heartache at the prospect
of parting. I think, in connection with _this_, Lady Hamilton's
version of what passed between them when he was walking the
"quarterdeck" in his garden may be true in substance, as he was still
madly in love with her, and she knew how to wheedle him into a
conversation and to use words that might serve a useful purpose if
need be. Nor were her scruples so delicate as to prevent suitable
additions being made to suit any emergency that might occur.
Her account is that she saw he was looking downcast, and she told him
so. He smiled, and then said, "No, I am as happy as possible"; he was
surrounded by his family, his health was better since he had "been on
shore, and he would not give sixpence to call the King his uncle." She
replied that she did not believe him, that she knew he was longing to
get at the combined fleets, that he considered them as his property,
that he would be miserable if any man but himself did the business,
and that he ought to have them as the price and reward of his two
years' long watching and his hard chase. "Nelson," said she, "however
we may lament your absence, offer your services; they will be
accepted, and you will gain a quiet heart by it; you will have a
glorious victory, and then you may return here and be happy." He
looked at her with tears in his eyes, and said, "Brave Emma! Good
Emma! If there were more Emmas, there would be more Nelsons."
It puts a heavy strain upon our credulity to believe that such words
were ever used by Nelson, even though we know that he was so
hopelessly enamoured of this untamed creature. That he needed to be
coaxed into offering his services or that he ever demurred at
accepting the distinguished honours the Government had conferred upon
him may be regarded as one of Emma's efforts at triumphant
self-glorification and easy dramatic fibbing. She was ever striving to
thrust her patriotic ardour forward in some vulgar form or other, and
this occasion gave her a chance that could not be resisted. The day
before Nelson's departure for Portsmouth the scalding tears flowed
from her eyes continuously, she could neither eat nor drink, and her
lapses into swooning at the table were terrible. These performances do
not bear out the tale of Nelson's spontaneous and gushing outburst in
the garden at Merton of her bravery and goodness in urging him to "go
forth." It is possible that her resolution and fortitude could not
stand the responsibility of pressing him to undertake a task that
might be fatal to himself and foredoomed to failure. In that case she
does not bear herself like a heroine, and strengthens the suspicion,
as we have said, that the story of pleading with Nelson to offer his
services is an impudent fabrication. Minto says that the tears and
swooning is a strange picture, and assures him as before that nothing
can be more pure and ardent than this flame; and _she_ might have
added that they had in reality exchanged souls.
Napoleon, in conversing on one occasion with his brother Lucien
about one of his love affairs, said "that Madame Walewska's soul
was as beautiful as her face." In nearly all his letters to Lady
Hamilton, Nelson plunged into expressions of love abandonment
only different from those sent by Napoleon to Josephine when he
was commander-in-chief of the army of Italy. Neither of these
extraordinary men could do anything by halves, and we are not left in
doubt as to the seventh heaven of happiness it would have been to the
less flowery-worded sailor had he been given the least encouragement
to pour out his adoration of Emma's goodness and beauty. He would have
excelled Napoleon's picture of Madame Walewska. Amidst the many cares
that surrounded these last active days, when the dockyards were
humming with the work of getting his ships refitted so that they might
be put quickly into commission, he grudged every moment of forced
separation from her while he was in consultation with the Government
and attending to his own private preparations, which were sedulously
attended to. Nothing of moment seems to have been left to chance. Not
even the coffin that Captain Hallowell had given him was overlooked,
for he called to give instructions to the people who had it in safe
keeping, and gave them instructions to have the history of it engraved
on the lid, as he might want it on his return, which is further
evidence that he was permanently impressed with the fate that awaited
him.
The story of this strange incident of the coffin is this: After the
battle of the Nile a portion of the _Orient's_ mainmast was drifting
about, and was picked up by order of Captain Hallowell of the
_Swiftsure_, who had it made into a coffin. It was handsomely
finished, and sent to Admiral Nelson with the following letter:--
Sir,--I have taken the liberty of presenting you a coffin made
from the mainmast of _Orient_, that when you have finished your
military career in this world, you may be buried in one of your
trophies. But that that period may be far distant is the earnest
wish of your sincere friend, Benjamin Hallowell.
Nelson received the weird gift in good spirits, and had it placed in
his cabin. It was hardly a pleasant piece of furniture for his
visitors to be confronted with, so he was prevailed upon to have it
put below until it was required. A few more raging battles, and a few
more years of momentous anxieties, and the prodigious hero was to
become its occupant. It seems to have been landed and put in charge of
a firm of upholsterers.
Before leaving his home he went to the bedside where his child Horatia
lay sleeping, and offered up a heart-stirring prayer that those who
loved him should be a guardian spirit to her, and that the God he
believed in should have her in His holy keeping. On the 13th
September, 1805, he writes in his private diary:--
At half-past ten, drove from dear, dear Merton, where I left all
which I hold dear in this world, to go to serve my King and
country. May the great God whom I adore enable me to fulfil the
expectations of my country; and if it is His good pleasure that
I should return, my thanks will never cease being offered up to
the throne of His mercy. If it is good Providence to cut short
my days upon earth, I bow with the greatest submission, relying
that He will protect those so dear to me that I may leave
behind. His will be done. Amen, Amen.
No more simple, fervent, and touching appeal and resignation to the
will of Him Who governs all things has been seen in the English
language. It is quite unorthodox in its construction, and impresses us
with the idea that he is already realizing the bitterness of death,
and that he is in the presence of a great Mystery, speaking to his own
parting soul. The desire to live is there, but he does not ignore the
almost unutterable submission of "Thy will be done."