Trafalgar

by Nicholas Best

  After thirty hours without a break, Bettesworth reached the Admiralty late the following evening. Lord Barham had already gone to bed. His officials stubbornly refused to wake him, despite Bettesworth’s pleading. Invasion fleet or not, it would all just have to wait until tomorrow when Barham was up again.

  The First Lord was furious when he found out. Still in his nightshirt next morning, he gave his officials a stiff reprimand for not waking him at once. Then he hurried to his desk to scribble some instructions for the British squadrons that lay in Villeneuve’s path.

  If the French were heading for the Bay of Biscay, the place to stop them was off Cape Finisterre. Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Calder’s squadron was blockading Ferrol nearby. A few strokes of Barham’s pen sent Calder racing westwards, with reinforcements from other squadrons, to patrol the area out to sea and await the enemy’s arrival. At the same time, the Channel fleet under Admiral Sir William Cornwallis was ordered to cover the area between Finisterre and Ushant, at the approaches to the English Channel. Thanks to Captain Bettesworth’s good sense, any chance of the invasion taking the British by surprise had been lost for ever.

  CHAPTER 20

  CALDER’S ACTION

  As Barham sat in his nightshirt, Napoleon was stealing back to France. He left Turin secretly on 8 July, driving so fast that water had to be thrown onto the wheels at every relay stop to cool them down. Napoleon urged his postilions on, yelling at them not to waste time. He was determined to be back in Paris before anyone knew he had left Italy.

  He travelled incognito, without his usual entourage. It was the ‘Minister of the Interior’ who passed through the Alps at Mont Cenis and took the road for Paris. The journey lasted four days without a break, covering almost ninety miles a day. Napoleon reached Fontainebleau late on the evening of 11 July and went exhausted to bed. He was up again after a few hours, letting his staff know he was back. A mountain of correspondence was waiting for him, including a report from Villeneuve. It detailed his progress in the West Indies, but gave no clue as to his present whereabouts. Villeneuve certainly wasn’t at Boulogne, where he ought to be. Neither was anyone else.

  Napoleon was livid. What was wrong with his admirals? Did they need a fire lit under them? Over the next few days, he dashed off letters to all and sundry, demanding to know what was happening. Minister of Marine Decrès bore the brunt of it, but Villeneuve was in the firing line as well, as were Ganteaume at Brest and Captain Zacharie Allemand at Rochefort, who had replaced Missiessy. All Napoleon wanted from any of them was control of the Channel for a few hours, enough for him to get his army across to the other side. He had set everything in motion, but nothing was happening as it was supposed to. What on earth was the point of hurrying back from Italy in great secrecy if the admirals had sat on their rear ends and done nothing in his absence?

  His mood lightened a few days later when word reached him from Ganteaume that the British squadron blockading Brest appeared to be relaxing its grip. Napoleon clutched at this straw. If the British were withdrawing from Brest, it must surely mean that Villeneuve was in the vicinity. Napoleon replied to Ganteaume at once:

  When you receive this letter, I shall be already at Boulogne in person. All troops will be embarked, and the invasion fleet will be drawn up outside the anchorage. Thus, given control of the sea for three days, and with reasonable weather, I have no doubt whatever of our success. If the enemy has left his position in front of you, it means he thinks our offensive will come from Villeneuve. Confound his calculations by seizing the initiative yourself!

  But the Royal Navy had already reappeared at Brest and Villeneuve himself was nowhere near the port. After two weeks of contrary weather, he was still out in the Atlantic. The Royal Navy squadrons from Ferrol and Rochefort had found him there and were about to bring him to battle.

  The British were commanded by Sir Robert Calder. His squadron blockading Ferrol had been joined by Admiral Stirling’s from Rochefort and further reinforcements from England. Their total force numbered fifteen ships of the line, against Villeneuve’s twenty. Following Lord Barham’s orders, they had sailed west of Finisterre, patrolling a wide area in search of Villeneuve. They found him shortly before noon on 22 July. A heavy sea mist lifted suddenly to reveal the French and Spanish coming towards them in three closely packed columns. As well as sail of the line, the French had seven frigates, two brigs and a captured galleon. All were rapidly bearing down on the British when the mist descended again, making it difficult for ships to signal each other or see what was happening.

  These were not ideal conditions for a battle, but Calder did not flinch. He knew what was coming towards him – the invasion fleet his country had been expecting for so long. This was his moment and his duty was clear. Even though he was outnumbered, he had to stop the French and Spanish right there and prevent any further advance towards England.

  Calder hoisted the signal for action at midday. An hour later, he ordered line of battle and signalled close order. The British were almost abeam of the enemy by then, about seven miles apart, but the two sides could barely see each other through the haze. Conditions were so bad that Calder had to rely on a frigate to keep him informed.

  He aimed his fleet straight for the centre of the French, but passed them in the mist and found himself opposite the rearguard instead. Villeneuve’s ships were already turning about to avoid being surrounded. Calder did the same, warily circling the French through visibility so poor that Villeneuve could not even tell if the British were to port or starboard.

  About the middle of the afternoon, the two fleets came within range at last and began to fire sporadically at each other whenever a target presented itself. By 6 p.m., most of the Royal Navy ships had found something to shoot at, adding clouds of smoke to the all-pervading mist. Damage was done on both sides. Two dismasted Spanish ships were captured, but Calder’s fleet took casualties as well. With night drawing on, and the fighting inconclusive, he was forced to give the signal to disengage at 8.25 p.m. Several ships failed to see it in the confusion and continued firing for some time. It wasn’t until next morning that they were able to take stock of the situation and find out exactly what was happening.

  The two fleets were seventeen miles apart by then, floating listlessly on a hazy sea with very little wind. The British had lost 198 men killed or wounded, the enemy 647 (the vast majority of them Spanish). Villeneuve had been unaware of the two Spanish ships captured by the British, but he saw them now, being towed away by their captors. With a Royal Navy ship dismasted as well, Calder was repositioning his fleet to protect the crippled vessels from the French.

  Villeneuve misinterpreted this as a British withdrawal and decided to give chase. It took him the whole morning to form his fleet into a line of battle. He ordered his ships forward at 1.30 p.m. and by 3 p.m. the French and Spanish were advancing to the attack. Fifteen minutes later, the wind dropped once more and the attack petered out before it had even begun. Without a breeze, there was no hope of engaging Calder before nightfall.

  Next day, the wind shifted in favour of the British. Abandoning any further plans for attack, Villeneuve decided to break off the action and resume course for Ferrol. Calder considered pursuing him, but judged that he had already done enough. The French were in retreat, heading south, away from England and the Channel. Their attack had been blunted. Calder had done what he had been ordered to do. He turned away instead, heading back towards the Bay of Biscay with his prizes.

  That evening, the weather turned nasty again. One of Villeneuve’s Spanish ships lost its tiller, while others had their sails carried away. Worried that more ships would be dismasted, Villeneuve debated what to do. He was only a few hours from Ferrol, but the port lay the other side of Cape Finisterre and he doubted that his fleet could get round the headland in the weather. He decided to aim for Vigo instead.

  Next day, he changed his mind again and altered course for Cadiz. He had hardly done so when the fleet ran into a storm. Villeneuve’s o
wn ship was struck by lightning and badly damaged. Others suffered damage as well. The wind had turned against them with a vengeance, making Cadiz an impossibility. Villeneuve was forced to change course several more times before turning eventually towards Vigo again. His fleet limped into the bay and dropped anchor on the evening of 27 July, fifty-two days after leaving the West Indies.

  None of this was known to Nelson. He had reached Gibraltar on 19 July and set foot on land next morning for the first time in almost two years. He immediately began reprovisioning his ships and preparing them for sea again, ready for a quick turnaround when he got news of Villeneuve.

  But no word came. Nelson waited three days without hearing anything. Villeneuve clearly wasn’t returning to the Mediterranean, because he would have passed Gibraltar by now. Perhaps he was going to Cadiz instead?

  By 22 July, Nelson could bear it no longer. Weighing anchor, he returned to sea and set course for Cadiz, scouring the horizon for any sign of Villeneuve’s fleet. He soon got word that the French had been sighted far to the north, probably with the Channel as their ultimate destination. Nelson promptly followed, praying to God he would not arrive too late.

  CHAPTER 21

  NAPOLEON RETURNS

  TO BOULOGNE

  Unaware of what was happening at sea, yet certain everything was moving in the right direction, Napoleon went to Boulogne on 3 August to take command of the Grand Army for the invasion. Apart from a brief trip the previous November, he hadn’t spent any time with his army since distributing the Légions d’honneur a year earlier.

  He inspected his troops on 4 August. The line of men was nine miles long, presenting arms and cheering for the Emperor from Cape Gris-Nez all the way to Alprech Point. They carried knapsacks, tools, camping equipment and everything else they needed for a landing in England. Some were already living on board ship, ready for the crossing. They were in fine fettle, certain the invasion couldn’t be more than a few days away now. Why else would Napoleon suddenly reappear among them, after such a long absence?

  The army’s numbers had changed since a year ago. There were now about 93,000 soldiers on the Channel coast, with the rest stationed inland – perhaps 167,000 in all. But the men who presented arms and looked Napoleon in the eye were still the finest army in Europe. A few hours’ command of the Channel and they would be on their way to London, presenting the Emperor with the keys to the city as his Mamelukes trotted victoriously up the Mall.

  Napoleon tested their skills soon after he arrived. He ordered a mass embarkation of troops aboard the invasion barges, to see how quickly they could put to sea. The men would have to be fast when it came to the real thing because the tide wouldn’t wait and neither would the Royal Navy. Napoleon wanted to know how fast.

  The embarkation had been rehearsed down to the last detail. Every soldier in every regiment knew exactly which barge was his, right down to the individual seat allocation. In traditional military fashion, it was all done by numbers. The first shot from the signal gun was for the men to fall in, the second for the staff officers to take their posts. The third gave the signal ‘Prepare to embark’ and the fourth ‘Embark’. According to Marshal Ney, a force of 25,000 trained men could embark from the dockside in just over ten minutes flat. As for disembarking, the troops had practised invasion landings on nearby beaches and could be ashore, fully formed up for action, in just under thirteen minutes.

  That was from the dockside. It took longer to get a whole corps afloat from the barrack huts strung out along the cliff tops. Napoleon had his staff time the operation, from the drummer boys beating the Generale in camp to the last man and horse safely aboard the barges two miles away. It took them just over an hour and a half, a creditable performance by any standard. Napoleon was impressed, but ordered the whole exercise to be repeated another day, just to make sure.

  To save time, the men’s rations for the voyage had already been stored aboard the flotilla, along with oats and hay for the horses. Fourteen million cartridges had been stored as well, along with 1,300,000 musket flints, 90,000 artillery rounds, 32,000 reserve muskets, 30,000 separate items of engineering equipment and 11,000 spare saddles and harnesses. It was a mammoth undertaking, the greatest amphibious operation ever contemplated. Napoleon’s staff had been working for over two years to make sure everything proceeded with machinelike precision when the invasion finally went ahead.

  While they waited for the moment to arrive, Napoleon summoned the Vaudeville Theatre to Boulogne to entertain the troops. The theatre put on a good show, packing them in nightly with rude sketches about William Pitt and the Royal Navy. The audience booed and hissed at every mention of Lord Nelson. The theatre company would be following them to London as soon as the English had surrendered.

  Napoleon himself had little time for such frivolity. After reviewing his troops en masse, he also reviewed them in smaller formations, division by division, visiting different regiments every day and talking to them about the fighting that lay ahead. He inspected the flotilla crews as well, and spent long hours closeted with his staff, working on the final preparations for the invasion. His only relaxation was the Italian girl his brother-in-law had recommended in Genoa. Summoned to Boulogne, she duly presented herself at Napoleon’s Pont-de-Briques headquarters. Like all such visitors, she was shown up to his bedroom with instructions to strip naked and wait for the Emperor. The Italian girl came to see him four or five times in his panelled room on the first floor of the chateau.

  At one point, there had even been an Englishwoman who came to see Napoleon at Pont-de-Briques. She was very beautiful, a blue-eyed blonde of about twenty-five. She had no introduction but claimed to have a special message for the Emperor that she couldn’t give to anyone else. Intrigued, Napoleon sent word for her to visit him next day at his other base, the wooden pavilion near the Tour d’Ordre. Meanwhile he had her investigated, sending people to make inquiries and examine her lodgings in Boulogne.

  They reported that although the woman looked like a princess and claimed to be related to an ambassador, she was probably a British spy. They advised Napoleon against seeing her. But Napoleon overruled them, arguing that the British would laugh at him if they thought he was afraid of a woman. ‘My head is to be taken from the Tour d’Ordre to the Tower of London and exhibited in a glass case,’ he told them. He looked forward to the encounter with interest.

  But it wasn’t his head the woman was after when she advanced on him next day. Napoleon had positioned himself at his desk in the pavilion, with the door open so that his staff in the next room could hear everything. He defended himself with a map as the woman did her utmost to excite his interest. He was determined not to give in. Lesser men might succumb, but not Napoleon. He was a man of iron. If the English thought they could send a coquette to seduce him, they would have to think again. He would show les rosbifs what he was made of. There was triumph in Napoleon’s voice as the woman abandoned the attempt at length and he called for an aide to show her out.

  Yet women were a mere distraction for him at Boulogne. Most of his time was spent waiting for Villeneuve. Everything depended on Villeneuve. Napoleon had left orders for the errant admiral at various ports, instructing him to proceed to Boulogne immediately with all the ships he could muster. Villeneuve must have received the orders by now. He would surely appear at any moment, bringing a large armada with him. When he did, the Royal Navy would be forced to retreat and the way to England would be open at last.

  Villeneuve was in Ferrol, nowhere near Boulogne. He had arrived there from Vigo on 31 July. His ships had already been dropping anchor when a rowing boat came alongside with Napoleon’s orders. On no account was any ship to drop anchor. Instead, Villeneuve was to sail straight on to join forces with the Brest and Rochefort squadrons before proceeding up the Channel to ‘make himself master of the Strait of Dover, if only for four or five days’.

  Oh dear. The orders had been written before Villeneuve’s brush with Calder. The situation was radically
different now. The British knew the French were back from the West Indies. It would be madness to obey Napoleon’s orders with the Royal Navy aware of their return and gunning for them on the open sea.

  If only Villeneuve had managed to defeat Calder in the mist. If he had done that, he could have sailed on to liberate Admiral Ganteaume from Brest and then continued straight up the Channel without stopping for anything. It would all have been very different if only he had been able to beat Calder. Villeneuve said as much in a letter to Admiral Decrès:

  All this should have happened – I do not say with a squadron of fine sailors – but even with very average vessels . . . We have bad sails, bad rigging, bad officers and bad seamen. The enemy have been warned, they have been reinforced, they have dared to attack us with numerically inferior forces, the weather favoured them. With little experience of fighting and battle tactics, each of our captains carried out one rule only in the fog, that of following the next ship ahead; and now we’re the laughing stock of Europe.

  Villeneuve’s account was deliberately pessimistic, designed to help Decrès dissuade Napoleon from pressing ahead with his invasion plan. Both admirals considered it very ill-advised. Their view was shared by the Spanish government, which had secretly ordered Gravina to have nothing to do with any assault on England. He was to play along with the French as far as possible, but if push came to shove he was to refuse to take his ships even as far as Brest. Gravina was sitting on this information, hoping Villeneuve would decide for himself against Brest without forcing Gravina to reveal his hand.

  To add to Villeneuve’s troubles, scurvy and dysentery had left his crews desperately short-handed. Every ship in the Franco-Spanish fleet had at least sixty men sick after the Atlantic crossing, and some many more. The Argonaute had 150 men out of action, the Achille 200. Some of the ships were barely capable of putting to sea.