The Threatened Invasion of England and its Sequel
(1804-1805)
Napoleon’s first thought after he became Emperor was of the army, in
very truth the main support of his throne. He had seen too much of
life to believe that his great commanders lived solely to carry out
his will without reference to personal ambition. Experience had taught
him that “men are fond of toys, and are led by them.” He had remarked
on the fact when opposition had been raised to the institution of the
Legion of Honour in 1802, and he saw no reason to change his opinion.
Now was the moment for him to show that those who had contributed
to the success of his designs upon the Imperial throne were not to
be forgotten. He therefore elevated eighteen generals to the rank
of Marshals of the Empire, namely, Augereau, Bernadotte, Berthier,
Bessières, Brune, Davout, Jourdan, Kellermann, Lannes, Lefebvre,
Masséna, Moncey, Mortier, Murat, Ney, Pérignon, Soult, and Serrurier.
By honouring the heads of the army, Napoleon not only flattered them
and pleased the troops they commanded, but wove a silken cord which he
hoped would bind them to himself. Some failed him in the evil days of
1814-1815, but the majority were worthy of the distinction and of his
confidence.
A host of other dignitaries were created apart from the Bonaparte
family, whose members assumed the title of Imperial Highness, their
mother being called Madame Mère, which was as simple and dignified as
the good soul herself. There was a Grand Elector, Arch-Chancellor of
the Empire, Arch-Chancellor of State, and High Constable, to mention
only a few of the many titles conferred at this time.
Napoleon paid frequent visits to Boulogne, and in August 1804 the
vast camp was the scene of a grand review at which the crosses of the
Legion of Honour were distributed to those who had been awarded this
coveted distinction. The most intense enthusiasm was aroused: the
ancient throne of Dagobert, King of France eleven centuries before,
was used by the Emperor, and the platform on which it stood was gaily
decorated with two hundred flags. Unfortunately a catastrophe marred
the occasion. A flotilla of new boats for the projected invasion was
to arrive from Holland and elsewhere at the height of the proceedings.
Several of them struck a portion of the new harbour-works and were
swamped, causing Napoleon to lose his temper. The enjoyment of the
open-air dinner was also marred by heavy rain.
Arrangements for an even more imposing ceremony were soon proceeding.
This was the coronation of the Emperor, which took place in the
cathedral of Notre Dame on Sunday, the 2nd December 1804, and the Pope,
thinking it prudent to respond to Napoleon’s wish, graced the service
with his presence. As the Emperor crowned both Josephine and himself,
the Sovereign Pontiff had to be content with anointing Napoleon and
blessing the sword and sceptre. “Vive l’Empereur!” thundered through
the magnificently decorated cathedral, cannon were fired, and in the
evening illuminations blazed forth all over Paris. It is said that when
Napoleon retired to his apartment at the end of the day’s proceedings
he exclaimed in tones of scorn worthy of Cromwell on a celebrated
occasion, “Off! Off with these confounded trappings!” His language
always seemed more in keeping with the camp than with the court.
[Illustration: Napoleon giving the Eagles to his Army, December 5, 1804
By L. David]
One of Napoleon’s first acts after his coronation was to write to
George III. on the subject of peace, just as he had done when taking
the reins of office as First Consul; it was his way of throwing dust
in the eyes of the enemy. War had broken out between Great Britain
and Spain at a most inopportune moment, for Pitt, who had again come
into power, had energetically entered into negotiations with some
of the more important European Powers for a third Coalition against
France. In April 1805, Russia signified her assent, and was followed
in August by Austria. Great Britain agreed to replenish the war-chests
of her allies, and, in addition, to furnish men, arms, and ships. The
political chess-board was in active use again, and with his usual
astuteness Napoleon made several moves before his opponents were aware
that the game had begun. On the 26th May he became King of Italy,
placing the crown on his own head in Milan Cathedral, and appointing
Josephine’s son, Eugène Beauharnais, to the important and scarcely
enviable post of Viceroy. Early in June the Ligurian Republic was
united with France, followed later by Parma and Piacenza; and Lucca
and Piombino were created a principality, the Emperor’s sister Élise
being recognised as Hereditary Princess. Napoleon was “consolidating
his interests,” just as Pitt was following the same principle under
somewhat different conditions. These aggressive measures had an
extremely irritating influence on Austria. But although her pride was
severely shaken, she was slow to move. The army was encumbered by
tradition, and the people, having been bitten, were twice shy. The
old proverb, “Better half a loaf than no bread,” fairly summed up the
situation from their point of view. But what if the half loaf were
taken? That side of the question had also to be considered.
Shipbuilding still continued to proceed with unabated vigour along the
coasts of Holland and of Northern France. Three-deckers, gay with new
paint, left the slips and took their first plunge into sea-water. In
the Texel, and at Brest, Rochefort, and Toulon, squadrons came into
being, but, like unfledged birds in a cage, they had little opportunity
to try their wings. The men on England’s floating bulwarks saw to that,
watching every movement. When the various blockading squadrons had to
vacate their station, as occasionally happened, the frigates, “the eyes
of the fleet,” as Nelson happily termed them, were usually present,
although he complained that he had far too few of these useful vessels
at his disposal.
Napoleon never thoroughly understood the difficulties of naval
warfare. He was disposed to think that a naval squadron could carry
out a manœuvre with the almost mathematical exactness of a regiment.
Tides and wind meant little or nothing to him; Sir Neil Campbell, the
Commissioner at Elba for Great Britain during Napoleon’s short-lived
rule of that island, perceived and noted this in his diary. And yet it
must be conceded that the strategy which the Emperor had been secretly
conceiving for the concentration of his scattered fleets was as clever
as it was bold. “The wet ditch that lay around England” was not to be
crossed by the flotilla alone; he had long since abandoned that plan
as impracticable. The navy proper was to have a share in the downfall
of the United Kingdom. By feints in directions calculated to deceive
the enemy as to his real designs he hoped to assemble sufficient ships
to command the Channel, if only for a few days. This would enable him
to slip across with his army, although how he proposed to get out of
England is not quite clear. A sufficient military force was to be left
in France to provide for the possibility that other enemies might take
advantage of so favourable an opportunity to cross the French frontiers.
Napoleon’s general design was changed again and again as circumstances
dictated, and twice an attempt was made to rally the naval forces.
Suffice it to say that Missiessy with the Rochefort squadron eluded the
English fleets and reached the West Indies, where he was to be joined
by Villeneuve, his colleague at Toulon, the idea being that while the
British were chasing them the ships at Brest under Ganteaume should
land a force in Ireland and afterwards return to convoy the flotilla.
Villeneuve, owing to stress of weather, was forced to return to port,
Ganteaume being hemmed in by Cornwallis, a hero who has not had full
justice done to him, largely because the naval annals of the time are
dominated so completely by Nelson. Even the latter was deceived when
he found Toulon empty, and he chased an entirely spectral fleet in the
direction of Egypt, sufficient proof of the cleverness of Napoleon’s
elusive plan.
In the early days of 1805 the Emperor determined to delay no further.
He who said that “God is on the side of the biggest battalions”
probably thought that the same maxim applied to fleets. The Spanish
naval resources were now allied to those of France, making them
numerically stronger than those of the enemy, although decidedly
deficient in fighting qualities and seamanship. In brief, Napoleon’s
last desperate attempt at the invasion of England was as follows:
Villeneuve with the Toulon squadron, after joining that at Cadiz, was
to make for the West Indies, there to be met by Missiessy. Ganteaume,
escaping from Brest, was to call at Ferrol for the vessels lying there
and join the others, making fifty-nine first-class ships in all,
excluding frigates. The combined fleets were then to make a dash across
the Atlantic and appear before Boulogne, where the flotilla would be in
readiness to sail.
Villeneuve carried out his part, but Missiessy and Ganteaume failed,
the latter because he was unable to pierce the British cordon.
Napoleon, not to be discouraged, sent word to Villeneuve to come back,
drive the British from their station off Ferrol, secure the fourteen
ships in that harbour, repeat the operation at Brest, where there were
twenty-one ships, and then make for Boulogne. Nelson had given chase
and been outwitted, but by sending a swift-sailing brig to Plymouth
to inform the authorities of his misfortune and the approach of the
French fleet on its homeward voyage, they were enabled to order the
British ships off Rochefort and Ferrol to leave their position and
intercept Villeneuve. This, under Admiral Calder, they were successful
in doing, two Spanish ships being lost in the action that was fought.
Owing to fog and want of confidence on Calder’s part, however, the
contest was indecisive, and the Frenchman reached the Spanish fort of
Vigo, afterwards creeping into Ferrol, where fourteen sail-of-the-line
awaited him, the total force now being twenty-nine. Meanwhile five
French ships which had been hemmed in at Rochefort, taking advantage
of the absence of the British, were likely to join them, thus placing
thirty-four vessels at Villeneuve’s disposal for a dash to Brest. He
made the attempt and failed, neglected to inform the commander of the
Rochefort squadron, who was vainly searching for him, and retreated to
Cadiz, where six Spanish ships were added to his squadron.
Calder and Collingwood “sat tight” outside the harbour with one eye
on the enemy and the other searching for signs of the British ships
which they knew would be with them before long. Nelson, after spending
a short time in England, hove in sight off Cadiz on the day before
his forty-seventh birthday and assumed supreme command. The officers
trooped into his cabin to congratulate him. “The reception I met with
on joining the fleet,” he declared, “caused the sweetest sensation of
my life.”
On the 19th October the signal, “The enemy are coming out of port,”
flew from the mast-heads of the frigates stationed to watch the
goings-on in the harbour. Thirty-three sail-of-the-line, five frigates,
and two brigs had passed out by the following day. Nelson’s force
consisted of twenty-seven men-of-war, four frigates, a schooner, and
a cutter. The enemy therefore had the advantage as regards numbers
of six first-class ships. In armament the combatants were nearly
equal, as in bravery and daring, but the French were very inferior in
seamanship and general _morale_. The 21st October 1805, on which the
Battle of Trafalgar was fought, is a red-letter day in the history of
the British Empire, perhaps of the world. The story belongs rather to
the life of Nelson than of Napoleon, and as such cannot be dealt with
here. Eleven ships only escaped of the thirty-three which had ventured
to contest England’s command of the sea. The conflict in Trafalgar Bay
was Napoleon’s maritime Waterloo. It cost the life of the greatest
naval commander of modern times, but it sealed the supremacy of his
country on the element which she has made particularly her own. On
land, success still remained with the man whose gigantic schemes for
invasion were so completely shattered; at sea, it was never to attend
his efforts.