Kitabı oku: «The Boys' Nelson», sayfa 15
On the date just mentioned Nelson joined Collingwood off Cadiz, but no accurate news awaited him. Indeed, the former pinned his faith to an attack on Ireland as the grand finale of Napoleon’s naval manœuvres. At Gibraltar the Admiral went on shore for the first time since the 16th June, 1803—over two years. From thence he proceeded to Cornwallis’s station off Ushant, and received orders from the Admiral to sail with the Victory and the Superb for Spithead. He struck his flag on the 19th August 1805 and set off for Merton.
To what extent had Napoleon’s plans succeeded? Villeneuve had reached Martinique on the 14th May, only to find that Missiessy had not awaited his coming according to instructions. Ganteaume was also unable to carry out his part of the plan, consequently Villeneuve was alone in the West Indies and might become Nelson’s prey at any moment. The prospect did not please him. When he heard that the great British commander had not only arrived at Barbadoes but had been reinforced by Cochrane he set the bows of his ships in the direction of home, contrary to the Emperor’s orders to wait for a stated period for Ganteaume’s arrival. So far from raiding the British West Indies, Villeneuve only succeeded in capturing the Diamond Rock at Martinique and Missiessy in taking Dominica, although the latter had reinforced the French colonies.
After a perilous voyage Villeneuve was approaching Ferrol in thick weather on the 22nd July when he came face to face with the squadron of fifteen battleships and four smaller vessels which had been sent by the Admiralty to await his coming. The action which followed was anything but decisive. The fleet Nelson had longed to annihilate was allowed to escape by Calder, whose only prizes were the Spanish San Rafael (84) and El Firme (74). After leaving three of his less seaworthy ships at Vigo, the French commander eventually reached Coruña.
Another Act of the great Atlantic Drama was over.
CHAPTER XX
Nelson’s Last Command
(1805)
“May the God of Battles crown my endeavours with success.”
Nelson.
In the previous chapter we left Nelson at Portsmouth after having chased the enemy nearly seven thousand miles, and been absent from home twenty-seven months. When “England’s darling” set foot on the landing-stage he received an immense ovation from the crowds of people who had assembled to show their appreciation of his services. “It is really quite affecting to see the wonder and admiration and love and respect of the whole world,” writes Lord Minto, referring to a mob in Piccadilly a little later, “and the general expression of all these sentiments at once, from gentle and simple, the moment he is seen. It is beyond anything represented in a play or poem.”
It was characteristic of the man that, before leaving his ship, he communicated with the Admiralty regarding the companies of the Victory and the Superb. He said they were in “most perfect health, and only require some vegetables and other refreshments to remove the scurvy.” Nelson at once proceeded to Merton, where he lived in quiet retirement with Lady Hamilton, playing with their beloved Horatia, or having a mental tussle with the French as he walked the garden-paths for hours without noticing either the passing of time or the presence of fatigue. Perhaps he pondered over the irony of Fate in giving the allied fleet into the hands of Calder, who had let the golden opportunity slip by him so easily, but more probably he wondered if the fickle goddess would yet allow him to break the yoke of Napoleon on the seas.
The Emperor had made a final effort to unite his scattered ships. When the combined fleet was on its way to Europe the blockades of Rochefort and Ferrol had been abandoned so that Calder might intercept the enemy. He was but partially successful, as already explained. The squadron of five sail-of-the-line at Rochefort, commanded by Allemand, Missiessy’s successor, had taken advantage of the temporary absence of the British squadron and was making its way to Vigo, where there were three sail.66 Villeneuve had put into Coruña with fifteen battle-ships, and found fourteen Spanish and French sail-of-the-line awaiting him. This brought the total of his available resources to thirty-four sail, provided all were united. If Villeneuve were able to join Ganteaume at Brest the number would be fifty-five. Cornwallis, with either thirty-four or thirty-five, was a dangerous menace, but when that commander detached eighteen sail to blockade Ferrol it did not seem insurmountable, even supposing that the five ships under Calder, then stationed off Rochefort, joined him, which they did on the 14th August. After considerable delay Villeneuve weighed anchor on the 13th August 1805, and hoped to reach Brest. He encountered bad weather, mistook Allemand’s ships for the enemy’s vessels, and, to make matters worse, was informed that a large British fleet was on the alert. With this he altered his course and put in at Cadiz a week later. Here he was watched by Collingwood with three sail-of-the-line and two smaller vessels, until the latter was reinforced by twenty-two battleships, four of which were under Sir Richard Bickerton and the remainder under Calder. When Napoleon heard of Villeneuve’s retirement to Cadiz he knew that his gigantic exertions for the invasion of the United Kingdom had been completely shattered. With marvellous facility he shifted his horizon from the white cliffs of England to the wooded banks of the Danube. The so-called Army of England was marched from Boulogne to win fresh conquests in the Austerlitz Campaign and to crush yet another coalition.
At five o’clock on the morning of the 2nd September 1805, Captain Blackwood presented himself at Merton. “I am sure you bring me news of the French and Spanish fleets,” Nelson exclaimed in his eager, boyish way, “and I think I shall yet have to beat them.” Blackwood was the bearer of the important intelligence that Villeneuve, largely augmented, was at Cadiz. For a time it would appear as if Nelson hesitated, not on his own account but because of those whom he loved. His health was bad, he felt the country very restful after his trying cruise, and he disliked to give Lady Hamilton cause for further anxiety. He walked the “quarter-deck” in his garden weighing the pros with the cons, then set off for the Admiralty in Whitehall.
“I think I shall yet have to beat them.” His mistress was apparently no less valiant, at least in her conversation. “Nelson,” she is stated to have said, “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.”
Eleven days after Captain Blackwood’s call Nelson left Merton for ever. It was a fearful wrench, but he was prepared to sacrifice everything to his King and his country. The following night he wrote in his Diary, little thinking that the outpourings of his spirit would ever be revealed in the lurid light of publicity, a prayer which shows very clearly that he had a premonition he would never open its pages again under the roof of Merton Place:
“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 His 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, Amen.”
The Victory, on which he hoisted his flag, had been hastily patched up and put in fighting trim. As her escort went the Euryalus frigate, joined later by the Ajax and Thunderer.
Collingwood and Calder “sat tight” outside Cadiz harbour with one eye on the enemy and the other searching for signs of the British ships, for they had heard that Nelson would be with them ere long. Later, “my dear Coll” received further tidings by the Euryalus requesting that “not only no salute may take place, but also that no colours may be hoisted: for it is as well not to proclaim to the enemy every ship which may join the fleet.” The supreme modesty of Nelson stands out clearly in the last words of the note: “I would not have any salute, even if you are out of sight of land.”
The day before his forty-seventh birthday, Nelson hove in sight of Cadiz and assumed command. On the 29th the officers came to congratulate him. “The reception I met with on joining the fleet,” he declares, “caused the sweetest sensation of my life. The officers who came on board to welcome my return, forgot my rank as Commander-in-chief in the enthusiasm with which they greeted me. As soon as these emotions were past, I laid before them the plan I had previously arranged for attacking the enemy; and it was not only my pleasure to find it generally approved, but clearly perceived and understood.” Again: “Some shed tears, all approved,” he writes, “it was new, it was singular, it was simple; and from Admirals downwards it was repeated, ‘It must succeed if ever they will allow us to get at them! You are, my Lord, surrounded by friends whom you inspire with confidence.’”67 In due course the complete plan of attack was issued.
On October 19th the signal, “The enemy are coming out of port,” flew from the mastheads of the frigates stationed to watch the goings-on in the harbour. Thirty-three ships-of-the-line, with five frigates and two brigs, had passed out by the following day. They were certainly “painted ships,” with their vividly-coloured hulls of red and black, yellow and black, and black and white. Their mission was to support Napoleon’s army in the south of Italy.
Once at sea the combined fleet sailed in two divisions, as had been agreed upon by Villeneuve and Gravina, the commander of the Spanish vessels. The French Admiral’s own squadron, the Corps de bataille, was made up of twenty-one sail-of-the-line, the centre under Villeneuve himself, the van under Alava, and the rear under Dumanoir. The Corps de réserve, or Squadron of Observation, consisted of twelve ships divided into two squadrons of equal strength, each commanded by Gravina and Magon respectively. The duty of the Corps de réserve was to watch the battle and to reinforce any weak point as opportunity occurred.
Nelson’s force consisted of twenty-seven men-o’-war, four frigates, a schooner, and a cutter. The enemy, therefore, had the advantage as regards heavy ships, of six sail-of-the-line. In armament the combatants were nearly equal,68 as in bravery and daring, but very inferior in seamanship and general morale. It was very necessary to prevent the enemy from entering the Mediterranean, as Napoleon’s orders strictly enjoined them to do, therefore the signal was made for a “general chase S.E.,” namely, towards the Straits of Gibraltar.
Napoleon had resolved to supersede Villeneuve by Rosily. This decision probably carried more weight with the French Admiral than any other, and had determined his course of action, although at a council of war, held before anchors were weighed, a resolution was passed to avoid an engagement with the British if possible. Of personal courage he had no lack, for he wrote to Decrès, the Minister of Marine, “if the French navy has been deficient in nothing but courage, as it is alleged, the Emperor shall soon be satisfied, and he may reckon upon the most splendid success.” His great hope was that he might elude detection and land the troops he had on board at Naples. He was without faith in his ships.
Having seen that his orders were carried out, Nelson went to his cabin and began the last letter he was destined to write to Lady Hamilton. Here it is in full:
“Victory, October 19th 1805. Noon.“Cadiz, E.S.E. 16 Leagues.
“My dearest beloved Emma, the dear friend of my bosom,—The signal has been made that the Enemy’s Combined Fleet are coming out of Port. We have very little wind, so that I have no hopes of seeing them before to-morrow. May the God of Battles crown my endeavours with success; at all events, I will take care that my name shall ever be most dear to you and Horatia, both of whom I love as much as my own life. And as my last writing before the Battle will be to you, so I hope in God that I shall live to finish my letter after the Battle. May Heaven bless you, prays your
“Nelson and Bronté.
“October 20th.—In the morning, we were close to the Mouth of the Straits, but the wind had not come far enough to the Westward to allow the Combined Fleets to weather the Shoals of Trafalgar; but they were counted as far as forty Sail of Ships of War, which I suppose to be thirty-four of the Line, and six Frigates. A group of them was seen off the Lighthouse of Cadiz this morning, but it blows so very fresh and thick weather, that I rather believe they will go into the Harbour before night. May God Almighty give us success over these fellows, and enable us to get a Peace.”
After Trafalgar had been fought and won, the above letter was found open on Nelson’s desk.
The 20th was cold, damp, and miserable, but the fleet had made good speed and was between Capes Trafalgar and Spartel. By noon the Victory was within eight or nine leagues of Cadiz.
Dr Beatty, surgeon of Nelson’s flagship, thus records how the day was spent:
“At 8 o’clock in the morning of the 20th, the Victory hove to, and Admiral Collingwood, with the captains of the Mars, Colossus, and Defence, came on board to receive instructions from his Lordship: at eleven minutes past nine they returned to their respective ships, and the fleet made sail again to the Northward. In the afternoon the wind increased, and blew fresh from the S.W., which excited much apprehension on board the Victory, lest the enemy might be forced to return to port. The look-out ships, however, made several signals for seeing them, and to report their force and bearings. His Lordship was at that time on the poop; and turning round, and observing a group of midshipmen assembled together, he said to them with a smile, ‘This day, or to-morrow, will be a fortunate one for you, young men,’ alluding to their being promoted in the event of a victory. A little before sunset the Euryalus communicated intelligence by telegraph69 that ‘the enemy appeared determined to go to the Westward.’ His Lordship, upon this, ordered it to be signified to Captain Blackwood by signal, that ‘he depended on the Euryalus for keeping sight of the enemy during the night.’ The night signals were so clearly and distinctly arranged by his Lordship, and so well understood by the respective Captains, that the enemy’s motions continued to be known to him with the greatest facility throughout the night: a certain number of guns with false fires and blue lights, announcing their course, wearing and making or shortening sail; and signals communicating such changes were repeated by the look-out ships, from the Euryalus to the Victory.”
CHAPTER XXI
The Rout in Trafalgar Bay
(1805)
“Thank God, I have done my duty.”
Nelson.
The 21st October 1805 is a red-letter day in the history of England. Dawn had scarcely succeeded night ere Nelson was up and doing. He wore his Admiral’s frock-coat, the only decoration being four stars of different Orders which were pinned on his left breast. “In honour I gained them,” he said, “and in honour I will die with them.” He had not buckled on his sword, and this is the only action he fought without it.
The previous night Villeneuve had signalled for the columns of his fighting squadron to form in close line of battle without regard to priority of place, his former intention having been to give the three-deckers the more important positions. Captain Lucas of the Redoutable states that the ships “were all widely scattered” in consequence of this order. “The ships of the battle squadron and those of the squadron of observation were all mixed up,” although the commanders of the latter did their best to get into something approaching order.
Early the following morning—the glorious 21st—the French Admiral signalled to “clear for action!” and in response to the Hermione’s message, “The enemy number twenty-seven sail-of-the-line,” he ordered each ship to leave but one cable’s length between its immediate neighbour. They were now on the starboard tack. Almost before these instructions had been completely carried out Villeneuve decided to alter their position, signalling them to form in line of battle on the port tack. The manœuvre was not easily effected. The wind was light, with a heavy swell, many ships missed their station, and there were several gaps and groups of ships along the line instead of vessels at regular intervals. The newly-formed line was consequently very irregular and almost crescent-shaped. Villeneuve, prudent to a fault, wished to have Cadiz harbour under his lee; he was apparently already lending his mind to thoughts of disaster.
Gravina, with the twelve reserve ships, seems to have pursued his own tactics. Instead of keeping to windward of the line, so that he might bring succour to Villeneuve if need should arise, the Vice-Admiral “moved to the rear to prolong the line”—now extending some five miles—“without having been signalled to do so.” Whether Villeneuve took particular notice of this false move at the time is uncertain, but later, on his attempt to get his colleague to take up the position previously arranged for him and which would have enabled Gravina “to reinforce the centre of the line against the attack of the enemy,” no attention was paid to the command. Never was there a more fatal error of policy. Had the Spanish Admiral been able to bring twelve ships to bear upon the battle when it was at its height he might have rendered valuable assistance.
Scarcely less reprehensible was the behaviour of Rear-Admiral Dumanoir Le Pelley, who with ten ships fell to leeward and formed a rear squadron.70 Not until it was too late did he attempt to take any part in the battle.
The British fleet was formed into two columns, eleven ships following the Victory (100), and fourteen in the rear of the Royal Sovereign (100), under Collingwood. Nelson’s idea was to bear down upon the enemy with these two divisions and break the centre of the combined fleet in two places at once, Nelson leading the weather line, and Collingwood the lee. While Villeneuve was issuing his last order before the struggle, “Every ship which is not in action is not at its post,” the British Commander-in-chief was committing to paper the following prayer:
“May the great God whom I worship grant to my country and for the benefit of Europe in general a great and glorious victory, and may no misconduct in anyone tarnish it; and may humanity after victory be the predominant feature in the British fleet! For myself individually, I commit my life to Him that made me, and may His blessing alight on my endeavours for serving my country faithfully. To Him I resign myself and the just cause which is entrusted me to defend.”
Nelson also made his will, heading it, “October 21st 1805, then in sight of the Combined Fleets of France and Spain, distant about ten miles.” Blackwood and Hardy attached their signatures as witnesses. He left Emma, Lady Hamilton, “a legacy to my King and country, that they will give her an ample provision to maintain her rank in life. I also leave to the beneficence of my country my adopted daughter, Horatia Nelson Thompson; and I desire she will use in future the name of Nelson only.”
Blackwood had gone on board the flag-ship at six o’clock in the morning, and found the admiral “in good, but very calm spirits.” He tells us in his “Memoirs” that “during the five hours and a half that I remained on board the Victory, in which I was not ten minutes from his side, he frequently asked me, ‘What I should consider a victory?’ the certainty of which he never for an instant seemed to doubt, although, from the situation of the land, he questioned the possibility of the subsequent preservation of the prizes. My answer was, that considering the handsome way in which battle was offered by the enemy, their apparent determination for a fair trial of strength, and the proximity of the land, I thought if fourteen ships were captured, it would be a glorious result; to which he always replied, ‘I shall not, Blackwood, be satisfied with anything short of twenty.’ A telegraphic signal had been made by him to denote, ‘that he intended to break through the rear of the enemy’s line, to prevent them getting into Cadiz.’ I was walking with him on the poop, when he said, ‘I’ll now amuse the fleet with a signal;’ and he asked me ‘if I did not think there was one yet wanting?’ I answered, that I thought the whole of the fleet seemed very clearly to understand what they were about, and to vie with each other who should first get nearest to the Victory or Royal Sovereign. These words were scarcely uttered, when his last well-known signal was made, ‘England expects every man will do his duty.’ The shout with which it was received throughout the fleet was truly sublime. ‘Now,’ said Lord Nelson, ‘I can do no more. We must trust to the Great Disposer of all events, and justice of our cause. I thank God for this great opportunity of doing my duty.’”
It has been pointed out that Blackwood is wrong in the matter of the cheer “throughout the fleet,” for several of the crews were not informed as to the purport of the signal. The Admiral’s first idea was to flag “Nelson confides that every man will do his duty.” Captain Blackwood suggested “England” in place of “Nelson,” which the Admiral told Pasco, the signal officer, to hoist, adding that he “must be quick” as he had “one more signal to make, which is for close action.”
“Then, your Lordship,” ventured Pasco, “if you will permit me to substitute ‘expects’ for ‘confides’ the signal can be more quickly completed, because we have ‘expects’ in the vocabulary, while ‘confides’ must be spelled.” The code-book therefore won the day, and a message which has inspired the Navy for over a century was soon floating on the breeze.
In this connection there is a tradition that a Scottish sailor complained to a fellow-countryman: “Not a word o’ puir auld Scotland.” “Hoots, Sandy,” answered his comrade, “the Admiral kens that every Scotsman will do his duty. He’s just giving the Englishers a hint.”
To continue Blackwood’s narrative: “The wind was light from the S.W., and a long swell was setting into the Bay of Cadiz, so that our ships, like sovereigns of the ocean, moved majestically before it; every one crowding all the sail that was possible, and falling into her station according to her rate of going. The enemy wore at about seven o’clock, and then stood in a close line on the larboard tack towards Cadiz. At that time the sun shone bright on their sails; and from the number of three-deckers amongst them, they made a most formidable appearance; but this, so far from appalling our brave countrymen, induced them to observe to each other, ‘what a fine sight those ships would make at Spithead.’71 About ten o’clock, Lord Nelson’s anxiety to close with the enemy became very apparent. He frequently remarked to me, that they put a good face upon it; but always quickly added, ‘I’ll give them such a dressing as they never had before,’ regretting at the same time the vicinity of the land. At that critical moment I ventured to represent to his lordship the value of such a life as his, and particularly in the present battle; and I proposed hoisting his flag in the Euryalus, whence he could better see what was going on, as well as what to order in case of necessity. But he would not hear of it, and gave as his reason the force of example; and probably he was right.”
A sailor who rejoiced in the nickname of Jack Nasty-Face gives us an excellent view of the proceedings as the sail-of-the-line were got ready for action: “During this time each ship was making the usual preparations, such as breaking away the captain and officers’ cabins, and sending the lumber below—the doctors, parson, purser, and loblolly men were also busy, getting the medicine chests and bandages and sails prepared for the wounded to be placed on, that they might be dressed in rotation as they were taken down to the after-cockpit. In such bustling, and, it may be said, trying as well as serious time, it is curious to notice the different dispositions of the British sailor. Some would be offering a guinea for a glass of grog, while others were making a sort of mutual verbal will—such as, if one of Johnny Crapeau’s shots (a term given to the French) knocks my head off, you will take all my effects; and if you are killed, and I am not, why, I will have yours; and this is generally agreed to....”
Another intimate word-picture of what happened just before the contest of giants began is furnished by General Sir S. B. Ellis, K.C.B., who was a second lieutenant of Marines in the Ajax. “I was sent below with orders,” he writes, “and was much struck with the preparations made by the bluejackets, the majority of whom were stripped to the waist; a handkerchief was tightly bound round their heads and over the eyes, to deaden the noise of the cannon, many men being deaf for days after an action. The men were variously occupied; some were sharpening their cutlasses, others polishing the guns, as though an inspection were about to take place instead of a mortal combat, whilst three or four, as if in mere bravado, were dancing a hornpipe; but all seemed deeply anxious to come to close quarters with the enemy. Occasionally they would look out of the ports, and speculate as to the various ships of the enemy, many of which had been on former occasions engaged by our vessels.”
At about noon the first shot was fired. It came from the Fougueux, a French ship of 74 guns, under the command of Captain Louis Baudoin.
The Royal Sovereign, with the Belleisle (74), Mars (74), and Tonnant (80) just behind her, forged ahead. Nelson had signalled Collingwood to break the enemy’s line at the twelfth ship from the rear, but on seeing that she was only a two-decker Collingwood changed his course and steered straight for the Santa Ana, a huge Spanish ship of 112 guns, commanded by Vice-Admiral Alava. The Fougueux (74) then came up and endeavoured to prevent Collingwood from getting through the line. This caused the English Admiral to order his captain to make a target of the bowsprit of the Frenchman and steer straight for it. Fortunately for the enemy she altered her course, but although she saved herself she did not prevent the Royal Sovereign from breaking the line.
Collingwood was in his element; his usual silent ways gave place to enthusiasm. “What would Nelson give to be here!” he observed, the while his double-shotted guns were hurling death into the hold of his adversary and raking her fore and aft. A broadside and a half tore down the huge stern gallery of the Santa Ana (112), and killed and wounded a number of her crew, all of whom showed by deed and daring that they were worthy of their famous ancestors.
Both ships were soon in a pitiable condition, but they hugged each other in a last desperate struggle. A terrific cannonade ensued, the Fougueux and the San Leandro (64) raking the Royal Sovereign, and the San Justo (74) and Indomptable (80) lending their assistance some distance away, although it was difficult for them to distinguish between the two chief contestants, so dense was the smoke from the guns. Some fifteen or twenty minutes after Collingwood had maintained the unequal contest alone, several British ships came up and paid attention to those of the enemy which had gone to Alava’s assistance. At about a quarter past two the mammoth Santa Ana struck her flag. On the captain delivering up his sword as deputy for the Vice-Admiral, who lay dreadfully wounded, he remarked that he thought the conquering vessel should be called the Royal Devil!
Nelson, steering two points more to the north than Collingwood, so as to cut off the enemy’s way of retreat to Cadiz, came up about half an hour after the latter had begun his engagement. As the stately flagship entered the zone of fire a number of Villeneuve’s vessels poured a perfect avalanche of shot upon her decks. Down went a score or more of brave fellows, the wheel was smashed, necessitating the ship being steered in the gun-room, and a topmast dropped on the deck from aloft. A shot struck one of the launches, a splinter tearing a buckle from one of the shoes of either Nelson or Hardy, which is not quite clear. “They both,” writes Doctor Beatty, in his “Narrative,” “instantly stopped, and were observed by the officers on deck to survey each other with inquiring looks, each supposing the other to be wounded. His Lordship then smiled and said, ‘This is too warm work, Hardy, to last long’; and declared that, through all the battles he had been in, he had never witnessed more cool courage than was displayed by the Victory’s crew on this occasion.”
Steering for the Santissima Trinidad (130), at that time the biggest floating arsenal ever built in Europe, Nelson sought to engage her, but an alteration in position precluded this, and he tackled the Bucentaure (80), Villeneuve’s flagship. The French Admiral was at last face to face with the man whose spirit had haunted him since he assumed command.
Crash went the 68-pounder carronade into the 80-gun Frenchman, and down came the greater part of the Bucentaure’s stern. The Victory then grappled with the Redoutable, at the same time receiving a hurricane of fire from the French Neptuno (80).
Up in the fighting-tops of the Redoutable (74) were riflemen trying to pick off the officers of the Victory. One marksman, a little keener sighted or more fortunately placed than the others, saw Nelson walking up and down with Hardy. There was a flash of fire, a sharp crack as the bullet sped through the air, and the master mariner of England, of the world, of all time, fell in a heap upon the deck.
