Kitabı oku: «The Boys' Nelson», sayfa 5

CHAPTER VI
Nelson’s First Great Fight: The Battle of Cape St Vincent
(1797)

“To have had any share in it is honour enough for one man’s life, but to have been foremost on such a day could fall to your share alone”

Sir Gilbert Elliot.

Sir John Jervis had concentrated his fleet in Gibraltar Bay. Nelson was making his way from thence to Elba in the Minerve, accompanied by the Blanche, both 32-gun frigates. All went well until late in the evening of the 19th December 1796, when they fell in with two Spanish frigates named the Santa Sabina (40) and the Ceres (40) off Cartagena. The Commodore at once instructed Captain Cockburn to bring the Minerve to close action with the former. The struggle which ensued lasted for nearly three hours. The lengthy resistance of the enemy is proof that there were still gallant officers in the naval service of what was once the mightiest Sea Power in the world, now long since fallen from her high estate. Captain Don Jacobo Stuart fought his ship with praiseworthy calm and daring. Not until 164 of the 286 men who comprised the crew of the Santa Sabina had been killed or wounded did the Don strike his colours. The vessel had then lost both main and fore-masts, and the deck must have resembled a shambles. The Blanche had also behaved well, although the action was trifling compared with the determined encounter between the other vessels. The approach of three additional ships prevented the captain of the Blanche from following up his advantage and capturing the Ceres, which had hauled down her colours and sustained considerable damage to her sails and rigging.

Nelson’s prize was put in charge of Lieutenants Culverhouse and Hardy and taken in tow by the Minerve. They had not proceeded far before a third Spanish frigate came up and engaged the Minerve, necessitating the casting-off of the Santa Sabina, thereby leaving the two young, but able, junior officers to their own resources. The encounter lasted a little over half-an-hour, when the frigate having had enough of Nelson’s pommelling hauled off. The vessels from which Captain D’Arcy Preston of the Blanche had escaped were now approaching, their commanders having been attracted by the sound of distant firing. Dawn revealed them to Nelson as two sail-of-the-line and a frigate. By hoisting English colours above the Spanish flag on the prize the enemy’s Admiral was attracted to her, a ruse which enabled the Minerve and the Blanche to escape, for it would have been foolish for Nelson to run the risk of sacrificing them because of the prize crew. Indeed, the situation was so perilous that Nelson afterwards wrote to Sir Gilbert Elliot, “We very narrowly escaped visiting a Spanish prison.” Neither before nor since have British Tars behaved in finer fashion. They sailed the Santa Sabina until she was practically a hulk, when she was recaptured.

“The merits of every officer and man in the Minerve and her Prize,” Nelson reports to Jervis, “were eminently conspicuous through the whole of this arduous day.” He likewise said the kindest things of his antagonist: “My late prisoner, a descendant from the Duke of Berwick, son of James II., was my brave opponent; for which I have returned him his sword, and sent him in a Flag of truce to Spain … he was reputed the best Officer in Spain, and his men were worthy of such a Commander; he was the only surviving Officer.” He reserved more picturesque details for his brother.

“When I hailed the Don,” he relates, “and told him, ‘This is an English Frigate,’ and demanded his surrender or I would fire into him, his answer was noble, and such as became the illustrious family from which he is descended—‘This is a Spanish Frigate, and you may begin as soon as you please.’ I have no idea of a closer or sharper battle: the force to a gun the same, and nearly the same number of men; we having two hundred and fifty. I asked him several times to surrender during the Action, but his answer was—‘No, Sir; not whilst I have the means of fighting left.’ When only himself of all the Officers were left alive, he hailed, and said he could fight no more, and begged I would stop firing.” Culverhouse and Hardy, after having been conveyed to Carthagena, were subsequently exchanged for the unlucky but brave Don, and returned to the Minerve.

Nelson duly anchored at Porto Ferrajo, and met with a lack of co-operation on the part of the military authority similar to some of his previous experiences. Lieutenant-General de Burgh, in command of the troops, declined to evacuate the town. Nelson, having no other alternative, removed the naval stores, left a number of sloops and gunboats for use in emergency, and sailed for Gibraltar, which he reached on the 9th February 1797, having looked into the enemy’s ports of Toulon and Cartagena on the way. Two days later the Commodore again set out in his endeavour to join Jervis, and was chased by two Spanish ships. It was then that a memorable incident occurred in the lives of both Nelson and Hardy, names inseparably associated. A man fell overboard, and Hardy and a crew in the jolly-boat hastened to the rescue. The current was strong, the poor fellow sank, and the boat rapidly drifted in the direction of one of the oncoming vessels, so that Hardy stood a very good chance of again falling into the hands of the enemy. “I’ll not lose Hardy; back the mizen topsail,” shouted Nelson without a moment’s hesitation. This was done, and the lieutenant and his sailors were rescued. The Spaniards were completely put off their guard. Led to imagine by the peculiar manœuvre of the Minerve that other British ships had been sighted, they gave up the chase. No further exciting incidents occurred as the doughty frigate ploughed the blue waters of the Mediterranean, although the Spanish fleet was passed at night. On the 13th Nelson joined Jervis, off Cape St Vincent, and was able to assure him that a battle appeared imminent. “Every heart warmed to see so brave and fortunate a warrior among us,” says Lieutenant G. S. Parsons, then not quite thirteen years of age and a first-class volunteer on board the Barfleur (98). During the succeeding hours of darkness the low and distant rumble of signal guns proved the truth of the Commodore’s assertion. The enemy’s fleet of twenty-seven sail-of-the-line and twelve 34-gun frigates was certainly hastening in the direction of Jervis. It had sailed from Cadiz for a very important purpose. After concentrating with the Toulon fleet the allies were to attempt to raise the English blockade of Brest, thus releasing the important armament there, gain command of the Channel, and invade Ireland. We shall have occasion to notice that in later years Napoleon conceived a similar idea. It is open to question whether Admiral Don Josef de Cordova would have been quite so eager for the fray had he known the full British strength. He believed it to be nine sail-of-the-line, whereas fifteen battleships and seven smaller vessels were awaiting his coming. When the signal-lieutenant of the Barfleur exclaimed of the oncoming leeward line of vessels, “They loom like Beachy Head in a fog! By my soul, they are thumpers, for I distinctly make out four tier of ports in one of them, bearing an admiral’s flag,” he expressed plain, honest fact. “Don Cordova, in the Santissima Trinidad,” Jervis correctly surmised, “and I trust in Providence that we shall reduce this mountain into a mole hill before sunset.” The Spanish flag-ship was the largest vessel afloat, and carried 130 guns. She must have towered above the insignificant Captain (74), to which Nelson had transferred his broad pennant, much like an elephant over a Shetland pony. Nor was the Santissima Trinidad the only vessel built on what was then considered to be colossal lines. No fewer than six of the Spanish three-deckers carried 112 guns each; two of them had 80 guns each, and seventeen were 74-gun ships. England was represented by two sail-of-the-line of 100 guns each, two of 98 each, ten of 74 each, and one of 64.

“The British had formed one of the most beautiful and close lines ever beheld,” Parsons tells us. “The fog drew up like a curtain, and disclosed the grandest sight I ever witnessed. The Spanish fleet, close on our weather bow, were making the most awkward attempts to form their line of battle, and they looked a complete forest huddled together; their commander-in-chief, covered with signals, and running free on his leeward line, using his utmost endeavours to get them into order; but they seemed confusion worse confounded. I was certainly very young, but felt so elated as to walk on my toes, by way of appearing taller, as I bore oranges to the admiral and captain, selecting some for myself, which I stored in a snug corner in the stern-galley, as a Corps de réserve. The breeze was just sufficient to cause all the sails to sleep, and we were close hauled on the starboard tack, with royals set, heading up for the Spanish fleet. Our supporting ship, in the well-formed line, happened to be the Captain, and Captain Dacres hailed to say that he was desired by the vice-admiral to express his pleasure at being supported by Sir Horatio Nelson.”¹⁷

Men famous in British naval annals were present at this memorable contest, fought on St Valentine’s Day, 1797. Jervis was in the Victory (100), Troubridge in the Culloden (74), Collingwood in the Excellent (74), and Saumarez in the Orion (74). Twenty-four years before Troubridge and Nelson had sailed together in the Seahorse; Collingwood was the Commodore’s life-long friend, and Saumarez, whom the great little man did not like, was to become second in command at the battle of the Nile eighteen months later.

“England,” the Admiral averred, “was in need of a victory,” and he gave her one. Jervis was indeed a doughty champion of his country’s rights at sea. “The British Admiral made the signal to prepare for battle,” says an eye-witness. “As he walked the quarter-deck the hostile numbers were reported to him, as they appeared, by signal. ‘There are eight sail-of-the-line, Sir John.’ ‘Very well, sir.’ ‘There are twenty-five sail-of-the-line.’ ‘Very well, sir.’ ‘There are twenty-seven sail, Sir John,’ and this was accompanied by some remark on the great disparity of the forces. ‘Enough, sir—no more of that: the die is cast; and if there were fifty sail-of-the-line, I would go through them.’” Sir Benjamin Hallowell-Carew, then a supernumerary on the quarter-deck of the Victory, disregarding the austerity of naval etiquette and thinking only of the determined utterance of the grim old veteran, so far forgot himself as to give the Admiral a hearty slap on the back.

The Spanish fleet was in two divisions of twenty-one and six sail-of-the-line respectively, separated by a distance of some miles. Three of the main squadron joined the latter a little later, while one “sailed away.” Jervis’s fleet, in single column, separated the two lines. By a skilful manœuvre he held in check the smaller division and brought his ships to bear on the larger, the Culloden being the first vessel to attack, which elicited warm praise of Troubridge from Jervis. The fight at once became general and was waged for some time without decisive results. Then several of the leading Spanish ships endeavoured to get round the rear of the British. Had they succeeded in doing so it would have enabled them to join the detached leeward division and escape to Cadiz. Nelson at once discerned the project, and without hesitation placed the Captain in the path of the oncoming ships. He “dashed in among the Spanish van,” to quote Parsons, “totally unsupported, leaving a break in the British line—conduct totally unprecedented, and only to be justified by the most complete success with which it was crowned....”

The Captain, the smallest 74 in the fleet, stood a good chance of being annihilated by the oncoming squadron of Spanish ships, which included the Santissima Trinidad, a gigantic four-decker. Lieutenant-Colonel Drinkwater, who was an eye-witness, tells us that for a considerable time Nelson “had to contend not only with her, but with her seconds ahead and astern, of three decks each. While he maintained this unequal combat, which was viewed with admiration, mixed with anxiety, his friends were flying to his support: and the enemy’s attention was soon directed to the Culloden, Captain Troubridge; and, in a short time after, to the Blenheim, of 90 guns, Captain Frederick; who, very opportunely, came to his assistance.

“The intrepid conduct of the Commodore staggered the Spanish admiral, who already appeared to waver in pursuing his intention of joining the ships cut off by the British fleet; when the Culloden’s arrival, and Captain Troubridge’s spirited support of the Captain, together with the approach of the Blenheim, followed by Rear-Admiral Parker, with the Prince George, Orion, Irresistible, and Diadem, not far distant, determined the Spanish admiral to change his design altogether, and to make the signal for the ships of his main body to haul their wind, and make sail on the larboard tack.

“Advantage was now apparent, in favour of the British squadron, and not a moment was lost in improving it. As the ships of Rear-Admiral Parker’s division approached the enemy’s ships, in support of the Captain, and her gallant seconds, the Blenheim and Culloden, the cannonade became more animated and impressive. The superiority of the British fire over that of the enemy, and its effects on the enemy’s hulls and sails, were so evident that there was no longer any hesitation in pronouncing a glorious termination of the contest.

“The British squadron at this time was formed in two divisions, both on the larboard tack¹⁸: Rear-Admiral Parker, with the Blenheim, Culloden, Prince George, Captain, Orion, and Irresistible, composed one division, which was engaged with the enemy’s rear; Sir John Jervis, with the other division, consisting of the Excellent, Victory, Barfleur, Namur, Egmont, Goliath, and Britannia, was pressing forward in support of his advanced squadron, but had not yet approached the real scene of action.

“While the British advanced squadron warmly pressed the enemy’s centre and rear, the Admiral meditated, with his division, a co-operation which must effectually compel some of them to surrender.

“In the confusion of their retreat, several of the enemy’s ships had doubled on each other; and, in the rear, they were three or four deep. It was, therefore, the British admiral’s design to reach the weather-most of these ships; and, then, to bear up, and rake them all in succession, with the seven ships composing his division. His object, afterwards, was to pass on to the support of his van division; which, from the length of time they had been engaged, he judged might be in want of it. The casual position, however, of the rear ships of his van division, prevented his executing this plan. The admiral, therefore, ordered the Excellent, the leading ship of his own division, to bear up; and, with the Victory, he himself passed to leeward of the enemy’s rearmost and leewardmost ships; which, though almost silenced in their fire, continued obstinately to resist the animated attack of all their opponents.

“Captain Collingwood, in the Excellent, in obedience to the admiral’s orders, passed between the two rearmost ships of the enemy’s line; giving to the one most to windward, a 74, so effectual a broadside, in addition to what had been done before, that her captain was induced to submit. The Excellent afterwards bore down on the ship to leeward, a three-decker: but, observing the Orion engaged with her, and the Victory approaching her, he threw into her only a few discharges of musquetry, and passed on to the support of the Captain, at that time warmly engaged with a three-decker, carrying a flag. His interference here was opportune, as the continual and long fire of the Captain had almost expended the ammunition she had at hand, and the loss of her fore-topmast, and other injuries she had received in her rigging, had rendered her nearly ungovernable.

“The Spanish three-decker had lost her mizen-mast; and, before the Excellent arrived in her proper station to open on this ship, the three-decker dropped astern aboard of, and became entangled with, a Spanish two-decker, that was her second. Thus doubled on each other, the Excellent gave the two ships her fire; and then moved forwards to assist the headmost ships in their attack on the Spanish admiral, and the other ships of the enemy’s centre.

“Meanwhile, Sir John Jervis, disappointed in his plan of raking the enemy’s rear ships, and having directed, as before observed, the Excellent to bear up, ordered the Victory to be placed on the lee-quarter of the rearmost ship of the enemy, a three-decker; and having, by signal, ordered the Irresistible and Diadem to suspend their firing, threw into the three-decker so powerful a discharge, that her commander, seeing the Barfleur … ready to second the Victory, thought proper to strike to the British Commander-in-chief. Two of the enemy’s ships had now surrendered; and the Lively frigate, and Diadem, had orders to secure the prizes. The next that fell were the two with which Commodore Nelson was engaged.

“While Captain Collingwood so nobly stepped in to his assistance, as already mentioned, Captain R. W. Miller, the Commodore’s captain, was enabled to replenish his lockers with shot, and prepare for a renewal of the fight. No sooner, therefore, had the Excellent passed on, than the gallant Commodore renewed the battle.

“The three-decker with which he was before engaged having fallen aboard her second, that ship, of 84 guns, became now the Commodore’s opponent. To her, therefore, he directed a vigorous fire; nor was it feebly returned, as the loss on board the Captain evinced, nearly twenty men being killed and wounded in a very few minutes. It was now that the various damages already sustained by that ship, through the long and arduous conflict which she had maintained, appearing to render a continuance of the contest in the usual way precarious, or perhaps impossible, that Commodore Nelson, unable to bear the idea of parting with an enemy of which he had so thoroughly assured himself, instantly resolved on a bold and decisive measure; and determined, whatever might be the event, to attempt his opponent sword in hand. The boarders were accordingly summoned, and orders given to lay his ship, the Captain, on board the enemy.”

“At this time,” says Nelson, “the Captain having lost her fore-topmast, not a sail, shroud, or rope left, her wheel shot away, and incapable of further service in the line, or in chase, I directed Captain Miller to put the helm a-starboard, and calling for the Boarders, ordered them to board. The Soldiers of the 69th Regiment, with an alacrity which will ever do them credit, and Lieutenant Pierson of the same Regiment, were amongst the foremost on this service. The first man who jumped into the Enemy’s mizen-chains was Captain Berry, late my First Lieutenant (Captain Miller was in the very act of going also, but I directed him to remain); he was supported from our spritsail-yard, which hooked in the mizzen-rigging. A soldier of the 69th Regiment having broke the upper quarter-gallery window, jumped in, followed by myself and others as fast as possible. I found the cabin-doors fastened, and some Spanish Officers fired their pistols; but having broke open the doors, the soldiers fired, and the Spanish Brigadier (Commodore with a Distinguishing Pendant) fell, as retreating to the quarter-deck, on the larboard side, near the wheel. Having pushed on the quarter-deck, I found Captain Berry in possession of the poop, and the Spanish ensign hauling down. I passed with my people and Lieutenant Pierson on the larboard gangway to the forecastle, where I met two or three Spanish Officers prisoners to my seamen, and they delivered me their swords.

“At this moment, a fire of pistols or muskets opened from the Admiral’s stern gallery of the San Josef, I directed the soldiers to fire into her stern; and, calling to Captain Miller, ordered him to send more men into the San Nicolas, and directed my people to board the First-rate, which was done in an instant, Captain Berry assisting me into the main chains. At this moment a Spanish Officer looked over the quarter-deck rail, and said—‘they surrendered;’ from this most welcome intelligence it was not long before I was on the quarter-deck, when the Spanish Captain, with a bow, presented me his Sword, and said the Admiral was dying of his wounds below. I asked him, on his honour, if the Ship were surrendered? he declared she was; on which I gave him my hand, and desired him to call to his Officers and Ship’s company, and tell them of it—which he did; and on the quarter-deck of a Spanish First-rate, extravagant as the story may seem, did I receive the Swords of vanquished Spaniards: which, as I received, I gave to William Fearney, one of my bargemen, who put them with the greatest sangfroid under his arm.”

Nelson afterwards went on board the Irresistible. It was then late in the afternoon, and he did not think it advisable to take possession of the Santissima Trinidad because he was convinced that “a night Action with a still very superior Fleet” must inevitably follow. Jervis received the Commodore with great affection and was not sparing with well-deserved praise. The hero of the day was no less generous in acknowledging the services of Collingwood. He described his conduct as “noble and gallant.” Nelson had no truer friend than the commander of the Excellent, whose admiration for the Commodore’s genius knew no bounds. “The highest rewards are due to you and Culloden:” Collingwood replied, “you formed the plan of attack—we were only accessories to the Dons’ ruin; for had they got on the other tack, they would have been sooner joined, and the business would have been less complete.”

While the interest of the fight centres about the Captain, each ship contributed to the victory. In addition to Nelson’s vessel, the Colossus and Culloden were badly battered but fortunately the loss in men was remarkably small. Four prizes fell to the British fleet on St Valentine’s Day, 1797.

To his wife, Nelson confesses that “the more I think of our late action, the more I am astonished; it absolutely appears a dream.... The Spanish war will give us a cottage and a piece of ground, which is all I want. I shall come one day or other laughing back, when we will retire from the busy scenes of life: I do not, however, mean to be a hermit; the dons will give us a little money.” This must not be taken too seriously, for within forty-eight hours of the battle he had confided to Sir Gilbert Elliot that “to take hereditary Honours without a fortune to support the Dignity, is to lower that Honour it would be my pride to support in proper splendour.” He did not wish a “baronetage,” but on the other hand, “There are Honours, which die with the possessor, and I should be proud to accept, if my efforts are thought worthy of the favour of my King.” George III. created him a Knight of the Bath; Jervis became Earl of St Vincent. Six days after the battle Nelson was promoted to the rank of Rear-Admiral of the Blue, not as a reward for his meritorious conduct but as his due according to seniority.

A beautiful gold casket containing the much-coveted Freedom of the City and a sword of honour was given to Sir Horatio, as we must now call him, by the Corporation of London, and Norwich, where some of his school days were spent, likewise conferred its Freedom upon him. Nelson on his part presented the county town of Norfolk with the sword of the Spanish Rear-Admiral who had died of his wounds on board the San Josef. Other cities extended “the right hand of friendship” to the hero, including Bath and Bristol. Nelson’s father was overcome when he heard of his son’s brilliant success: “The height of glory to which your professional judgment, united with a proper degree of bravery, guarded by Providence, has raised you, few sons, my dear child, attain to, and fewer fathers live to see. Tears of joy have involuntarily trickled down my furrowed cheek. Who could stand the force of such general congratulation? The name and services of Nelson have sounded throughout the City of Bath, from the common ballad-singer to the public theatre. Joy sparkles in every eye, and desponding Britain draws back her sable veil, and smiles.”

Although he had clearly disobeyed Jervis’s order for the ships to attack in succession, the Commodore’s daring action had rendered the battle decisive. Sir Robert Calder, the Captain of the Fleet, is said to have protested against Nelson’s conduct, but the Admiral’s reply, “If you ever commit such a breach of orders I will forgive you,” was entirely worthy of the stern old disciplinarian. Jervis was not one of those officers who bestow praise on every possible occasion, both in and out of season. He was just, and therefore recognised the extremely valuable service which Nelson had rendered to him. We shall have occasion to see how Calder himself behaved at a certain critical period, when a stroke of genius such as had been displayed at St Vincent would have robbed Nelson of the glory of Trafalgar.¹⁹