The expedition, in effect, was a dress rehearsal for the invasion. Napoleon was literally testing the waters, seeing what the British reaction would be. The Rochefort fleet was to head straight for the West Indies, while the Toulon ships were to raid the coast of South America first. They would then join forces for further operations in the Caribbean before making the long haul back to Rochefort, in the Bay of Biscay, to await the invasion of England. Further orders would follow as and when the situation developed.
The Rochefort fleet was the first to put to sea. With 3,500 troops on board, ten ships under Rear-Admiral Burgues Missiessy nosed out of harbour on 11 January 1805, in the middle of a snowstorm. They had been waiting for bad weather in the hope of slipping out unnoticed by the British blockade. They had almost made it when they were spotted by two Royal Navy vessels, one of which was storm-damaged. Escorted by the other, it limped back towards the British squadron to fetch help, but had to be abandoned on the way. The delay meant that five days had elapsed before the main British force learned what had happened. It was enough for the French to make good their escape and sail unpursued for the West Indies. They arrived off Martinique on 20 February.
The Toulon fleet had less success. Under their new admiral, Pierre Villeneuve (he had dropped the aristocratic ‘de’ after the Revolution), they slipped out of harbour on 18 January, emerging cautiously into a strong north-westerly wind. Lord Nelson’s blockade was nowhere in sight. He had temporarily withdrawn his ships to Sardinia to take on fresh water. Two lookout frigates remained on guard, but they were no danger to Villeneuve’s force. In any case, they disappeared next morning, peeling off to report to Nelson. Villeneuve was free to head for South America.
But he was unable to go anywhere by then. The weather had deteriorated sharply during his first night at sea. A howling gale had torn through a fleet crammed with seasick soldiers and manned by sailors who had scarcely been out of harbour before. The weather was routine for the Royal Navy, but an uncomfortable revelation to the French. They had no idea how to ride it out. By dawn next morning, only four of the eleven ships of the line were still together. The rest were scattered in disarray, picking up the pieces. One had lost her mainmast, another a topmast. Most had decks littered with torn rigging and bits of broken spar. They were in no position to sail for South America. Some would be hard pushed to sail anywhere at all.
Villeneuve took the only sensible decision and ordered them back to port. Reluctantly, they turned about and headed for Toulon, arriving back there only three days after setting out. It was not an impressive start to the invasion of Britain.
CHAPTER 13
LORD NELSON ABOARD
THE VICTORY
Aboard his flagship Victory, Lord Nelson had no idea that Villeneuve’s force had returned to base so quickly. The last his frigates had seen of the French, they appeared to be heading south of Sardinia. Nelson had sent his own ships that way as well, scouring the waters between there and Sicily for a sight of the enemy. He spent weeks chasing all over the Mediterranean, literally worrying himself sick as to where they might have gone – ‘I am in a fever. God send I may find them.’ It wasn’t until 19 February that he reached Malta and learned that the French had been back in harbour all the time – news he greeted with incredulity. ‘Those gentlemen are not accustomed to a Gulf of Lyons gale, which we have buffeted for twenty-one months, and not carried away a spar.’
Nelson himself had not set foot on dry land in all that time. He had been commander-in-chief of the Mediterranean fleet since the resumption of the war in 1803 and had been aboard the Victory ever since. He had spent two unhappy winters at sea – a combination of boredom, ill health and weather of the kind that had defeated Villeneuve – and was longing to go home to his mistress Lady Hamilton. But he could not go home while the Toulon fleet remained a threat. Duty required him to remain where he was.
Nelson had jumped at the command when it was first offered to him. After a year ashore on half-pay, and with seventy-three admirals senior to him on the flag list, he had badly needed to go to war again. His mistress had extravagant tastes, and he had a wife to support as well. The only way he could do so was by taking the admiral’s share of any prize money awarded to the fleet. The war was a commercial proposition for Nelson, as well as a patriotic duty.
He had been offered the Mediterranean because that was Latouche-Tréville’s beat, the only French admiral capable of meeting Nelson on equal terms. They had fought an elaborate duel for months, Latouche-Tréville in Toulon with his fleet, Nelson patrolling outside, usually so far offshore that there wasn’t a British sail in sight. He had hoped thus to tempt the French out of harbour, drawing them out to sea where the Royal Navy was lying in wait for them. The French had emerged once or twice, but had always scuttled back in as soon as the British reappeared. Latouche-Tréville had written to Napoleon after one of these encounters, boasting that Nelson had run away the moment he saw the French. When Nelson heard about it, he had promised to make Latouche-Tréville eat the letter when he caught up with him.
But now Latouche-Tréville was dead, ‘and all his lies with him’. Villeneuve was the new man in Toulon. He was an unknown quantity to Nelson, although he had been present at the Battle of the Nile in 1798. Villeneuve had been at the rear of the French line on that occasion, powerless to influence the fight one way or the other. He had escaped the general annihilation either because it was the sensible thing to do (Villeneuve’s view) or because he had cut the cables of his ship and run away (the view of many others). Either way, Villeneuve had extracted his ship and lived to fight another day, which was more than could be said for many of his colleagues.
He was not Napoleon’s first choice for the Toulon command. Other, better officers had either just taken command elsewhere or were out of favour with the Emperor. Villeneuve was an able officer, but not an outstanding commander. He himself had had considerable doubts about taking the job, between Napoleon and Nelson, but had allowed ambition to overcome his better judgement. Accepting the appointment, Villeneuve had hoisted his flag aboard the Bucentaure in Toulon.
It was embarrassing to slink back into harbour after only three days at sea. As soon as he was ashore again, Villeneuve lost no time getting his version of events in the post to Admiral Decrès, the Minister of Marine. After less than a month in command, he blamed the debacle on poor equipment and untrained men, rather than himself:
I declare to you that ships of the line thus equipped, short-handed, encumbered with troops, with superannuated or bad materials, vessels which lose their masts or sails at every puff of wind, and which in fine weather are constantly engaged in repairing the damages caused by the wind, or the inexperience of their sailors, are not fit to undertake anything.
Decrès privately agreed. He was an old shipmate of Villeneuve’s and understood only too well the problems he faced. Napoleon, however, did not. He made no attempt to conceal his anger when he heard what had happened:
The great evil of our Navy is that the men who command it are unused to the risks of command. What is to be done with admirals who allow their spirits to sink and resolve to be beaten home at the first damage they suffer?
Napoleon thought hanging might be the answer, although he didn’t mention it to Villeneuve. The English had shot Admiral Byng in similar circumstances.
Villeneuve offered his resignation, but Napoleon declined to accept it. There was no one better to replace him. The wretched admiral would just have to put to sea again, and sooner rather than later. There was no more time to waste if the invasion was to go ahead on schedule. The whole plan depended on the Toulon fleet breaking out and making its way to the West Indies to support Missiessy. Villeneuve must try again, and this time he must succeed. Napoleon was counting on it.
Nelson’s fleet, meanwhile, was back in position off Toulon, waiting for the French to emerge again. Nelson was irritated that he had missed the chance of a fight. As well as the prize money, he would have had a chance to go home i
f the Toulon fleet had ceased to be a threat. On 9 March, he wrote to Lady Hamilton in despair:
I shall ever be uneasy at not having fallen in with them. I know, my dear Emma, that it is in vain to repine; but my feelings are alive to meeting those fellows, after near two years’ hard service. What a time! I could not have thought it possible that I should have been so long absent; unwell, and uncomfortable, in many respects. However, when I calculate upon the French Fleet’s not coming to sea for this summer, I shall certainly go for dear England.
Nelson was due for a rest. He was forty-six years old, blind in one eye, going blind in the other. He had lost an arm in battle and endured recurring pain in his side from an old stomach wound. His hernia produced a lump the size of his fist every time he coughed. He suffered headaches from a head wound and was prone to regular bouts of fever, toothache and depression. For a man who had been in action 120 times by the age of thirty-nine, Nelson was bearing up well, but he was long overdue for an honourable retirement. It was only the war that kept him at sea.
But there was no rest for Nelson, or anyone else, for that matter. They had all been at sea far too long. Officers and men alike were dreadfully bored, cold and wet for much of the time, overworked and undermanned for the rest. They were longing for the French to come out and fight, so that the issue could be decided once and for all and everyone could go home. It was not an exciting life, constantly patrolling the same monotonous stretch of coastline. For most of them, the world had narrowed to the mastheads, rigging and lower decks of their own ship. They had no life beyond it.
Yet morale was high in the fleet, largely as a result of Nelson’s leadership. He was an inspired commander and everyone under him knew it. The atmosphere was particularly happy aboard the Victory. Most of the crew were from the British Isles, but there were also Norwegians, Germans, Canadians and many other nationalities, including at least one Brazilian and twenty-two Americans. Several were black and one was a woman in disguise. Wherever they came from, they were all delighted to be aboard the flagship, serving under Nelson. He inspired their confidence in a way no other commander did.
Leonard Gillespie, a Scottish physician, spent some time aboard the Victory early in 1805. He was struck at once by the happiness of the crew. A good test of morale was the number of men who had reported sick for one reason or another. Gillespie found only one man confined to his bed aboard the Victory, out of a crew of 840. It was much the same on the other ships as well. They were all in ‘the best possible order as to health, discipline, spirits and disposition towards our gallant and revered commander, Lord Nelson’. In a world where fever and scurvy were still commonplace at sea, it was a remarkable achievement.
Gillespie wrote home to his sister, outlining his daily routine aboard the Victory:
At six o’clock my servant brings a light and informs me of the hour, wind, weather and course of the ship, when I immediately dress and generally repair to the deck . . . Breakfast is announced in the Admiral’s cabin, where Lord Nelson, Rear-Admiral Murray, the Captain of the Fleet, Captain Hardy, Commander of the Victory, the chaplain, secretary, one or two officers of the ship, and your humble servant assemble and breakfast on tea, hot rolls, toast, cold tongue, &c . . . Between the hours of seven and two there is plenty of time for business, study, writing and exercise . . . At two o’clock a band of music plays till within a quarter to three, when the drum beats the tune called ‘The Roast Beef of Old England’, to announce the Admiral’s dinner, which is served up exactly at three o’clock, and which generally consists of three courses and a dessert of the choicest fruit, together with three or four of the best wines, champagne and claret not excepted . . .
Coffee and liqueurs close the dinner about half-past four or five o’clock, after which the company generally walk the deck, where the band of music plays for near an hour. At six o’clock tea is announced, when the company again assemble in the Admiral’s cabin, where tea is served up before seven o’clock, and as we are inclined, the party continue to converse with his lordship, who at this time generally unbends himself, although he is at all times as free from stiffness and pomp as a regard to proper dignity will permit, and is very communicative. At eight o’clock a rummer of punch with cake or biscuit is served up, soon after which we wish the Admiral a good night, who is generally in bed before nine o’clock.
Off Brest at the same time, eleven-year-old midshipmen were eating ship’s biscuit so cold and full of weevils that it reminded them of their mothers’ calves’ foot jelly. Nelson had eaten weevils too, when he was a midshipman. As admiral, though, he had clearly decided that comfort food should be the order of the day.
CHAPTER 14
POLITICAL MANOEUVRES
In London, following his rejection of Napoleon’s peace offer, William Pitt was turning his mind to a military alliance with Russia. It was increasingly important now that Spain was in the war as well. Negotiations were stalled at the moment, but Pitt was optimistic about the eventual outcome. If it came off, Russia would provide the manpower for a new land campaign against Napoleon while Britain would supply the money – £1,250,000 a year for every 100,000 soldiers the Russians put in the field. If the Austrians joined as well, it could amount to half a million men, a formidable alliance against Napoleon. The fighting would all be in mainland Europe, taking the pressure off the English coast. The expense was horrific to a money-minded Prime Minister, but it would be cash well spent if it kept the country from being invaded. Napoleon was not the only one who could employ diversionary tactics to achieve his ends.
The timetable was crucial to the British. Much depended on how quickly the Spanish could put to sea. As with Boulogne and the Channel ports, the British had sent spies ashore to find out. The newly knighted Sir John Moore had been one of them. On 18 December 1804, unaware that Spain had already declared war, he had landed near the port of Ferrol with his brother and Admiral Cochrane. With fowling pieces and gundogs, they were ostensibly a shooting party, but their real purpose was to see how the land lay for an attack on Ferrol. They had been spotted before they could learn anything useful and had had to run for the beach to escape back to sea.
The Spanish were certainly mobilising for war, but faced the same problems as everyone else in getting their ships out of harbour. Nothing could be done in a hurry. Like the French and British, they had a manpower shortage that could not be addressed overnight. The Spanish were so short of sailors that they had recruited British seamen who for one reason or another were refugees from the Royal Navy. Lord Nelson had warned his men against this before the Spanish entered the war:
When British Seamen and Marines so far degrade themselves in time of War, as to desert from the Service of their own Country, and enter into that of Spain; when they leave one shilling per day, and plenty of the very best provisions, with every comfort that can be thought of for them – for two-pence a day, black bread, horse beans and stinking oil for their food . . . To put himself under the lash of a Frenchman or Spaniard must be more degrading to any man of spirit than any punishment I should inflict on their bodies.
With no other means of leaving the navy, however, British sailors had continued to desert, so many that Nelson had had to insist on death for any who were recaptured and court-martialled. If they were convicted, there could be no question of their sentences being commuted to any lesser punishment.
The best guess in London was that the Spanish fleet would be ready for war any time from March onwards. After that, there would be nothing to prevent it joining Napoleon’s Channel fleet for an assault on England. If Villeneuve managed to join as well, their combined firepower – perhaps fifty capital ships – would dwarf anything the Royal Navy could produce. It would need a miracle to save the navy from annihilation.
The shore defences were not ready either. Work had begun on the Martello towers, but it would be two years at least before they were completed. The Royal Military Canal had run into trouble too. The task was proving more complex than at first thou
ght and the target dates would not be met. The men digging it did not even know the canal’s true purpose. They thought it was just a communications channel for moving military stores about. The work was under way, but for the moment the Romney Marsh peninsula was still wide open to attack, with nothing to stop the French from landing and proceeding immediately inland. It was not a comfortable thought for William Pitt, conferring with the Duke of York and his other military advisers in Downing Street.
To cap it all, Pitt was about to lose one of his closest allies in the fight against Napoleon. Lord Melville was an efficient First Lord of the Admiralty, but his past was catching up with him. As Treasurer of the Navy, he had years ago allowed one of his officials to use public money for private speculation. Melville himself had not benefited directly, although he had borrowed money from the man. But he had been a party to unacceptable behaviour. A report into the affair had been published on 18 March. It had come down heavily against Melville and the issue was now before Parliament. The indications were that the House of Commons would vote for his impeachment. If it did, Pitt would lose his First Lord of the Admiralty at the worst possible juncture, with the Royal Navy still not up to strength and the French and Spanish poised to invade at any moment. It could hardly have happened at a more awkward time.
At the Tuileries, surrounded by a court that was looking more imperial by the day, Napoleon was putting the finishing touches to his final plan for the invasion. It was his seventh plan, by some estimates. One of the problems his admirals faced was that the plan kept changing from day to day. Napoleon sparked off ideas in all directions, but did not always remember what he had said. He contradicted himself sometimes, or changed the details, or issued orders that were impossible to carry out. It did not make life any easier for his staff.
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