Trafalgar

by Nicholas Best

  The current plan was much the same as the previous one, except that Villeneuve was no longer to sail to South America. He was to head for Cadiz first, to collect a Spanish squadron under Admiral Don Federico Gravina. He would be followed by Vice-Admiral Honoré Ganteaume with six frigates and twenty-one ships of the line from Brest. They were all to cross the Atlantic and link up with Admiral Missiessy off Martinique. This monster force would then turn about and return to Europe under Ganteaume’s command, aiming for the English Channel. Its ultimate destination was top secret, contained in sealed orders that were not to be opened until they were at sea. In fact the destination was Boulogne, where Napoleon would be waiting for them from 10 June onwards. From Boulogne, with a huge armada at his disposal, he would make short work of the final leg of the journey – the hop across the Channel to England.

  But Napoleon was aware that it might not work out exactly as planned. His orders to Ganteaume and Villeneuve contained elaborate instructions as to what to do in Martinique if the other fleets didn’t show up. Essentially they were to wait for a while and then proceed independently back to Europe, doing whatever was necessary to arrive in strength off Boulogne in the middle of June. Arriving off Boulogne in June or early July was the important part to Napoleon. It was the new date he had set for the invasion.

  That was the plan, but neither Ganteaume nor Villeneuve was overwhelmed by it. Napoleon was thinking like a soldier rather than a sailor, in their opinion, running his dividers across a map of the Atlantic and calculating how many leagues his ships could cover each day. It didn’t work like that at sea. Ships were not formations of troops that could be moved across the board at will. They were more complicated altogether.

  Yet the admirals had to make it work somehow. In Brest, Ganteaume dutifully began to prepare for sea. ‘Do not forget the great destinies which you hold in your hands,’ Napoleon wrote to him. If you are not wanting in enterprise, success is certain.’ In reply, Ganteaume telegraphed Paris on 24 March, pointing out that fifteen British warships were lying in wait for him outside Brest harbour. Was he supposed to fight them on his way out?

  ‘Sortez sans combat,’ came Napoleon’s reply. There was nothing to be gained from fighting the British off Brest. Ganteaume agreed, but couldn’t see how to get his fleet out of harbour without a fight. Easier said than done, with the Royal Navy sitting there, watching his every move.

  Villeneuve was little happier. Acutely aware of the need to redeem himself in the Emperor’s eyes, he was determined to make a success of his second escape from Toulon. But the omens were not good. As if anticipating a breakout, Nelson’s fleet had been spotted off the Spanish coast, barring the way to the Atlantic. Villeneuve had been hoping to stick close to a friendly shore, creeping along the coast until making his final dash for the Straits of Gibraltar. Now he would have to go due south instead, around the outside of Majorca and Ibiza – pirate waters, in Villeneuve’s view, no place to be with untrained crews and the Royal Navy prowling the horizon. He would much rather have stuck to the coast.

  In Cadiz, the Spanish commander too was facing problems putting to sea. Admiral Gravina was a forty-nine-year-old aristocrat, so grand that he had the right to keep his hat on in the presence chamber of the king. He had been in the navy since he was twelve and was Spain’s most highly respected sailor. He had fifteen ships in Cadiz, and more at Ferrol and Cartegena. All were nominally available to join the invasion fleet, but in practice Gravina would count himself lucky if half the ships at Cadiz were ready in time. Even with a few renegade Englishmen, the shortage of trained crews was acute.

  ‘Fine and powerful ships,’ Villeneuve said later, when he saw the Spanish fleet, but ‘manned with herdsmen and beggars.’ It was horribly true. They were so short of sailors that the guns were operated by untrained landsmen with little idea of what they were doing. A few artillerymen had been co-opted from the Spanish army, but they were soldiers and had no experience of conditions afloat. The crews were seriously deficient. The Spanish operated the same press-gang system as the Royal Navy, but where the British employed strict discipline and long months at sea to lick unpromising material into shape, the Spanish did not. Some of their sailors hadn’t been to sea for eight years.

  Gravina’s orders were to join Villeneuve and sail for the West Indies with as many ships as possible. Yet the manpower shortage left him little option but to pay off half the ships under his command and use whatever crews he could muster to man the other half. By his calculation, only six or seven ships would be ready for sea by the time Villeneuve reached Cadiz on his way to the Indies. It was a disappointing figure, but the best Gravina could manage in the circumstances. Whatever else happened, he was determined not to disgrace Spain when the ships under his command finally put to sea.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE ENEMY PUT TO SEA

  The breakout was set for the last week in March. Admiral Ganteaume’s Brest fleet was the first to move. Ganteaume had twenty-one fighting ships under his command, but trained crews for only seven. He had been forced to make up the difference with landsmen and soldiers. On 23 March he began loading troops on board, prior to leaving harbour. Next day, he signalled to Napoleon his readiness to sail. All it needed now was a favourable wind and the fleet would put to sea.

  The crews were longing to go. Everywhere there was a keen sense of anticipation, a feeling that at last they were going into action, after so long cooped up in port. The Royal Navy was waiting for them outside, but its ships were thinly spread and heavily outnumbered. There would surely be safety in numbers when the entire French fleet emerged from harbour.

  But the situation changed dramatically on 27 March. Twenty-eight British ships suddenly appeared from nowhere off the Île de Beniguet. Ganteaume counted them with a sinking heart. There was no way he could slip past that many without a fight – and he had strict orders not to fight. It would be foolish even to try.

  Swallowing his disappointment, Ganteaume ordered his ships to stand down. They would try again another day. Meantime, they would just have to remain in harbour, tying up British ships on the blockade that could not be released for anything else. It was not what Ganteaume had intended, but it was better than losing half his force on his first day at sea. No sensible officer would risk his fleet for a fight he could never hope to win.

  In Toulon, Villeneuve was rather luckier in his second attempt at escape. There was a brisk north-easterly blowing on the evening of 29 March, just right for putting to sea. Nelson’s fleet was nowhere to be seen, presumably still off Spain somewhere. Villeneuve gave the order to weigh anchor that evening and began moving his ships out under cover of darkness. By dawn next morning, they had cleared the harbour and were well out to sea, heading south-west for the gap between Minorca and Sardinia. There wasn’t an English sail in sight.

  ‘May fortune fulfil the hopes which the Emperor has founded upon the destination of this squadron,’ wrote Villeneuve, wishing he could believe it. He had the same manpower problems as Gravina at Cadiz and Ganteaume at Brest – too few trained seamen and too many landlubbers who didn’t know what they were doing. He was also carrying thousands of troops, who cluttered the decks and got in the way of the professionals. More than that, he had been saddled with a spy for the voyage as well, an agent of Napoleon’s who had been seconded to the Bucentaure to keep an eye on Villeneuve and report back to his master. It was the ultimate insult for a career naval officer far more competent than Napoleon gave him credit for.

  The spy was General Alexandre de Lauriston, commander of the troops aboard the fleet. He was an aide-de-camp to Napoleon and had direct access to the Emperor. Villeneuve, by contrast, reported only to Admiral Decrès. Lauriston carried the sealed orders containing the expedition’s final destination, which were only to be opened after they had put to sea. But Lauriston already knew the destination because he had been told before they left port. He enjoyed the Emperor’s confidence in a way that Villeneuve never would. He also shared the Emperor�
��s contempt for the navy. His brief was to dine at Villeneuve’s table and report back at every opportunity, confirming Napoleon’s opinion as to the uselessness of his admirals and the navy in general. It did not make for a relaxed atmosphere as the Bucentaure headed southwards for the Minorca – Sardinia gap.

  They were going that way because Villeneuve believed Nelson was somewhere off Barcelona, covering the coastal route to Gibraltar. In fact, Nelson’s fleet had just finished revictualling in Sardinia and Villeneuve was sailing right towards it. Nelson was desperately short of ships, particularly speedy frigates. Unable to keep everything covered, he had sailed to Spain first, making sure his fleet was widely observed on shore and the news passed to Villeneuve. Then he had doubled back towards Sardinia, guessing correctly that Villeneuve would go this way if he broke out. The French were sailing straight into a trap.

  They were already thirty miles out of Toulon before they were spotted by two Royal Navy frigates. HMS Phoebe turned round at once and headed back to Nelson to warn him the French were out. HMS Active stayed with the French, shadowing them all day and watching their every move.

  It took the Phoebe five days to find Nelson. He immediately ordered his own ships westward, into the path of the French. He guessed that Villeneuve was aiming for Egypt, or maybe Sicily or Naples. Nothing in the French fleet’s course suggested that Gibraltar was the real destination.

  But Villeneuve had already changed tack and was heading straight for Gibraltar. A chance meeting with a merchantman had alerted him to Nelson’s true position. Shaking off HMS Active in the darkness, his fleet switched course abruptly and crammed on sail for the Atlantic. When the sun came up next morning, HMS Active was faced with an empty horizon and no idea of where the French had gone.

  Nelson was horrified. He immediately sent ships out in all directions, but there was no sign of Villeneuve anywhere. He decided to position his own fleet between Sardinia and Sicily until he heard something, but he was kicking himself with frustration. His job was to keep the French from breaking out and he had failed again, for the second time in two months. More than that, he didn’t even know where they were now. The whole of the Mediterranean to look in, and Nelson had no idea where to begin.

  In Gibraltar, the frigate HMS Fisgard was refitting after a spell at sea escorting Nelson’s supply ships. Half her gear lay on the quayside, including her launch, barge, anchor and twenty-two tons of water casks. The frigate was commanded by the Marquess of Lothian’s son, Lord Mark Kerr. On 9 April, he was busy with the refitting when he noticed a crowd of sails to the east, coming up past Gibraltar at full speed. A quick count revealed two brigs, seven frigates and eleven ships of the line. It certainly wasn’t Nelson’s fleet. It could only be Villeneuve’s.

  Kerr didn’t waste a moment. His own ship lay in bits, but that didn’t deter him. Quickly hiring a brig, he shoved a lieutenant into it with orders to go and tell Nelson. Then he set his crew to work to put the Fisgard back together, ready for sea. They sailed within four hours, abandoning much of their equipment on the dockside in their haste. Kerr turned at once towards the Atlantic, heading up past Cape Trafalgar in pursuit of Villeneuve. His duty was clear: he had to catch up with the French and see where they were going. Failing that, he would sail for the western approaches, locate the rest of the Royal Navy and warn them that the Toulon fleet was out.

  Aboard the Bucentaure, Villeneuve maintained full speed past Gibraltar, well aware that he had been spotted and would quickly be pursued. His fleet continued headlong towards Cadiz, just up the coast, where it was to join forces with Admiral Gravina’s squadron and proceed without delay to Martinique. Villeneuve had sent a frigate ahead to warn the Spanish he was coming.

  It was getting dark by the time he arrived. The British were nowhere in sight, but they couldn’t be far behind. As soon as the French came into harbour, Villeneuve was informed that the Spanish would have six ships of the line and a frigate ready to sail by midnight. He sent his flag-lieutenant hurrying ashore to remind Gravina that every minute was precious. It was essential to be back at sea before the British appeared from the Mediterranean.

  By 2 a.m. on 10 April, Villeneuve’s ships were under way again, heading for Martinique. The Spanish would follow as soon as they could. When the sun came up, however, only one Spanish ship was in sight – the Argonaute, Gravina’s flagship. Villeneuve reduced sail to let the rest catch up, but only one more Spanish ship appeared in the next twenty-four hours. He gave up waiting after that and set course for the West Indies. His fleet was safely over the horizon before the British knew which way it had gone.

  CHAPTER 16

  NAPOLEON TAKES

  ANOTHER CROWN

  Napoleon, meanwhile, was in Italy. He was on his way to Milan to be crowned. There had not been a king in north Italy for centuries. Napoleon was going to rectify that omission.

  He had offered the Iron Crown of Italy to his brother Joseph first, in return for Joseph resigning his right to succeed him as Emperor of France. But Joseph had declined, so Napoleon was taking the crown for himself. It had belonged to Charlemagne in its time and was said to have been made from the nails that had pinned Jesus to the cross.

  Napoleon left Paris at the end of March, accompanied by a large retinue and his wife Josephine. He intended to be away two or three months, long enough for Villeneuve and the other admirals to sail to the West Indies and back for their rendezvous off Boulogne. It was a carefully calculated move. The British would be lulled into a false sense of security if they knew Napoleon was in Italy. They would think he had forgotten about the invasion. But nothing could be further from the truth. Far from forgetting the invasion, Napoleon was planning to return unexpectedly and catch the British by surprise, popping up in Boulogne to mastermind the assault on England while they thought he was still sunning himself across the Alps. It was a clever idea, just the kind of outflanking manoeuvre Napoleon delighted in.

  He travelled to Italy via Brienne and Troyes. As the newly crowned Emperor of France, it was his first tour of the provinces and he was wondering how he would be received by ordinary people. In the event, all went well. No one booed as he passed and his carriage was cheered at Lyon. People seemed to approve of their new Emperor. Ever sensitive to popular opinion, Napoleon took the cheers as a good omen.

  In Italy, he stayed in Turin for several days before taking Josephine to see the battlefield of Marengo, where he had defeated the Austrians in 1800. He put on his old uniform for the occasion and wore the same cavalry sword and decaying lace hat that he had at the battle. Thirty thousand soldiers were on parade when he arrived, ready for a re-enactment of their triumph. Josephine did her best to look fascinated as Napoleon took her through it blow by blow, explaining in lavish detail how the French had been outnumbered two to one and by his account had retreated four times before he rallied them to victory. Then he inspected the troops and distributed Légions d’honneur before laying the foundation stone for a memorial to the fallen.

  From Marengo he continued to Milan, where he stayed for a month. He was crowned in the cathedral there on 26 May 1805, with Josephine watching from the side. Napoleon marched up the aisle with the Iron Crown under his arm and put it on his own head after the archbishop had blessed it. Fluent in Italian, Napoleon repeated the inscription on the crown to the congregation: ‘God gave it to me. Woe to him who touches it.’ Napoleon hoped it would be prophetic.

  That night he chased Josephine around their apartments, repeating the words on the crown and tickling her until she begged him to stop. The ceremony had gone well and Napoleon was pleased. As a gesture of goodwill, he had decided to finance the completion of the cathedral’s western façade, with a tasteful statue of himself on the roof.

  But others were less happy. A few days after Napoleon had crowned himself, the little republic of Genoa was coerced into joining his ever-expanding empire. It was this that finally persuaded the Czar of Russia that Napoleon’s ambition knew no bounds. The man was insatiable. He
would keep going until he was stopped. It would take a war to stop him, in the Czar’s sober assessment. And that, for the Russians, meant an urgent alliance with England.

  In London, Lord Melville was fighting for his political life. The report into his conduct as Treasurer of the Navy was being debated in Parliament. A motion of censure had been tabled in the House of Commons. Preliminary soundings by the party managers suggested the vote could go either way.

  The motion was discussed on 8 April. The House was packed for the occasion, as was the strangers’ gallery. The Prince of Wales sat watching, along with half of fashionable London. Melville had many enemies in the Commons, but he had friends as well, notably William Pitt. The Prime Minister was not going to desert him in his hour of need. Pitt’s advisers had urged him to abandon Melville, but he would do no such thing. Melville may have been negligent in handling the navy’s money but he had not been corrupt. He had served the country faithfully for many years without profiting himself and he had been a staunch ally of Pitt’s in times of stress. Pitt wouldn’t disown him now.

  But the opposition was determined to bring Melville down. The motion was proposed by Samuel Whitbread, a nonconformist brewer’s son and a lifelong opponent of corruption. He was supported by Charles James Fox and other leading MPs. The debate began at 9 a.m. and raged for twenty hours while Pitt sat on the government benches, grey with fatigue. From time to time his people whispered in his ear, still counting heads. The vote could still go either way.

  At 4 a.m. on 9 April, the great anti-slavery campaigner William Wilberforce rose to speak. Wilberforce was a principled man. He spoke and voted according to his conscience and was highly respected in the House of Commons. Members on both sides craned forward to hear what he had to say.