Trafalgar

by Nicholas Best

  As Collingwood and Nelson talked, other ships’ captains were rowing across to the Victory to meet their new commander. Carrying swords and in their best uniforms, they came aboard one by one and made their way aft to Nelson’s cabin. Only eight of them had previously served with him. The rest knew Nelson solely by reputation and were eager to meet him in the flesh.

  Passing through the dining cabin, the captains gave their names and were announced at the door to Nelson’s day cabin. It lay at the stern of the ship, comfortably furnished with tables and leather armchairs. The captains shook Nelson’s left hand and wished him many happy returns, because he was forty-seven that day. John Cooke of the Bellerophon was among the new arrivals, as was Israel Pellew of the Conqueror. So too were Rear-Admiral the Earl of Northesk, himself a newcomer at Cadiz, Edward Codrington of the Orion and Thomas Fremantle of the Neptune. Nelson had a particular word for these last two.

  ‘Would you have a girl or a boy?’ Nelson asked Fremantle, whose wife was expecting a baby.

  ‘A girl,’ Fremantle replied.

  ‘Be satisfied.’ Nelson gave him a letter announcing the safe delivery of a daughter. He had another letter for Codrington, who hadn’t heard from his wife for some time. ‘He received me in an easy, polite manner,’ Codrington later told her, ‘and on giving me your letter said that being entrusted with it by a lady, he made a point of delivering it himself.’

  Pleasantries over, the conversation swiftly turned to business. Nelson outlined his strategy for bringing the French to battle. It was well received, as he later reported in a letter to Emma:

  I believe my arrival was most welcome, not only to the Commander of the Fleet, but also to every individual in it; and, when I came to explain to them the ‘Nelson touch’, it was like an electric shock. Some shed tears, all approved – ‘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.’ Some may be Judases; but the majority are certainly much pleased with my commanding them.

  Once the discussion was over, the steward poured drinks and the captains relaxed. Nelson invited the fifteen most senior officers to stay on for his birthday lunch and told the rest to come back for lunch next day. They were delighted to do so, because Nelson was a convivial host, unlike dour old Collingwood. Earnest and pious, Collingwood kept a dismal table, although he was perfectly cheerful in private life. He discouraged frivolity and had forbidden his officers to make social visits between ships. They considered him a bore as a result and were pleased Nelson was now in command. The ‘Nelson touch’ was much lighter.

  But there was one officer unhappy at Nelson’s arrival. The Victory had brought newspapers from home, highly critical of Sir Robert Calder’s action against the French. He should have pursued Villeneuve’s fleet to destruction, according to the papers, instead of breaking off the action and running north with his prizes. He should have displayed more courage and daring, instead of concentrating on profit. Calder had let the Royal Navy down, in the press’s opinion, and his country, too.

  Reading the papers aboard his flagship, Calder was outraged. He had done everything that could reasonably have been expected off Finisterre. He had attacked a much larger French fleet, forced it to a halt and come away with a couple of prizes as well. It was the French and Spanish who had done an about-turn at the end of the encounter. Calder had placed his ships between Villeneuve and the invasion of England and stopped it there and then. He had not expected to be vilified for his actions. How many newspapermen, fighting the battle from the safety of their desks, would have done better?

  To make matters worse, Calder had been ordered home by the Admiralty to explain his conduct. After thinking about it overnight, he decided the only way to clear his name was to ask for an official court of inquiry. The facts could be properly assessed at an inquiry and his conduct examined by people who knew what they were talking about. With public opinion against him at home, it was all he could do to save his career.

  Calder wrote to the Admiralty at once, demanding a formal investigation. He had ‘learnt with astonishment yesterday by the ships just arrived, and by letters from friends in England, that there has been a most unjust and wicked endeavour to prejudice the public mind against me as an officer’. He wanted the facts examined immediately.

  Nelson was sympathetic. Calder was an old enemy, but Nelson shared his view that he had been unfairly treated. The newspapers were saying that Nelson would have handled the action better, but he wasn’t so sure. ‘I should have fought the Enemy, so did my friend Calder; but who can say that he will be more successful than another?’ War at sea was never as simple as the newspapers imagined.

  Calder’s flagship was the ninety-gun Prince of Wales. He had been ordered to transfer to a frigate for the journey home, but was loath to give up the prestige of his own ship. He asked permission to sail home in the Prince of Wales – a considerable dilemma for Nelson, who could ill afford to lose so many guns at such a critical juncture. Calder also wanted to take several captains with him, to testify in his defence. He asked for the captains of the Ajax, Thunderer and Defiance to leave their ships and return to Britain to help save his career. It was a great deal to ask, with a battle imminent off Cadiz. A bigger man than Calder would have balked at the idea.

  But Nelson sided with Calder. His need to be liked overcame his better judgement. He gave Calder permission to sail home in the Prince of Wales, taking the captains with him. In the event, though, only two of them went. The third, Philip Durham of the Defiance, asked to see the Admiralty order, which said they did not have to go if they were unwilling. Durham chose to remain with the fleet instead.

  ‘I trust that I shall be considered to have done right as a man, and to a Brother Officer in affliction,’ Nelson wrote to Lord Barham. ‘My heart could not stand it, and so the thing must rest.’ But he had not behaved responsibly. He was well aware that he could not spare the Prince of Wales at such a time. It was a very unwise decision, with the French and Spanish poised to emerge from Cadiz at any moment.

  CHAPTER 27

  VILLENEUVE HOLDS A

  COUNCIL OF WAR

  While Nelson celebrated his birthday, General Sir John Moore was 5,000 yards off Boulogne, studying the port’s defences from the deck of the Antelope. He was weighing up the chances of a military raid on the town to seize the invasion barges in the inner harbour and destroy them once and for all.

  The Grand Army’s departure from the coast had not gone unnoticed by the British. Despite Napoleon’s best efforts, word had crossed the Channel almost at once. The Hythe Gazette had reported the story as early as 6 September: ‘All idea of invasion is now at an end. We learn that the camp at Boulogne has been broken up.’ The bulk of the army had certainly gone, but thousands of troops still remained. The question for Sir John was whether a British landing near the town was either feasible or desirable.

  The Antelope had surveyed the coastline from Ambleteuse to Étaples, examining the defences and looking for a potential landing place. At Boulogne, her arrival the day before had been greeted by thirty-two French ships that emerged from the harbour and formed a defensive line off the pier. After dark that night, as the Antelope lay at anchor, a small boat approached from the shore and nosed up alongside. It contained six French soldiers, deserters from the Grand Army. They wanted to come aboard and surrender to the Royal Navy.

  Unbelievably, one of the deserters was a Corsican wagoner who had served with the British in Egypt. He recognised Sir John at once and was delighted to see him. He had tried both armies, he told him, and he preferred working for the British. Morale was poor among the soldiers left behind at Boulogne. They hadn’t been paid for a long time and feelings were running high, particularly among the Italians. There was great discontent in the camps.

  Sir John thought it best not to mention that the crew of the Antelope hadn
’t been paid for eighteen months either. The deserters seemed impressed with the Royal Navy, so much so that one of them wanted to go back ashore to fetch his friend. It appeared that the Italians in the French army might desert en masse with a little encouragement. Most of the rearguard at Boulogne were recent conscripts, according to the deserters, little more than boys. They weren’t seasoned fighting men.

  Sir John got a glimpse of them next day when some 5–6,000 soldiers assembled outside the huts of the right-hand camp and fired a feu de joie into the air. Seasoned or not, there were more than enough of them to make a landing impossible east of Boulogne. A British force would have to land west of the town, if it was to land at all.

  Sir John himself was against the whole idea of a landing. He thought it far too difficult. He had never really believed that Napoleon would succeed in invading England because the problems were insurmountable, in his opinion. And what was difficult for the French one way would be just as difficult for the British the other. Previous British attacks on Boulogne had all been costly failures – ‘breaking the windows of the good citizens of Boulogne with English guineas’, as Napoleon had put it. Sir John saw no need for another attack now, when the Grand Army was no longer an immediate threat.

  Back in Kent on 1 October, he penned a report to that effect for the Duke of York:

  I have not a doubt, if proper measures are adopted, and if secrecy is observed, that at present a landing, in spite of the Batteries, may be effected to the westward of Boulogne; but I cannot say whether, when landed, the troops will be able to advance to carry the enemy’s lines and take up a position from whence they can destroy the Flotilla in the Harbour, and afterwards secure their own re-embarkation. This will depend upon the nature of the country, which from the sea cannot be observed, the force which can speedily be assembled against them, and other circumstances of which I have no means of information.

  I have no hesitation to say that no attempt should be made on Boulogne but with a considerable force, and it must be recollected that on that coast, with certain winds, the ships cannot hold their anchorage, and at all events troops cannot be re-embarked from it in bad weather. There will therefore always be a risk, even should troops gain possession of the harbour and destroy the Flotilla, that if by any circumstance of weather their re-embarkation was retarded, they would have to contend with such superiority of numbers as to prevent the possibility of their getting off.

  In short, a raid on Boulogne was a bad idea. Sealing his report, Sir John sent it at once to the duke’s headquarters in London. Then he called for his horse and rode the fourteen miles from Shorncliffe to Walmer Castle to deliver the same message to the Prime Minister. He was worried that William Pitt might approve of another attack on Boulogne. He wanted to see him in person to kill the idea before it ever got off the ground.

  Pitt was looking ill when he arrived – coughing badly and wearing one shoe larger than the other to ease his gout. He was studying the latest dispatches from Vienna and Berlin. They did not make good reading. Prussia was refusing to join the fight against Napoleon, for fear of provoking a French invasion. The Elector of Bavaria had initially pledged his support to Austria, but had now withdrawn his troops without warning. Everything in Europe seemed to be going Napoleon’s way.

  To Sir John’s relief, however, Pitt listened carefully to his report and agreed with his conclusions. There was little point in a land assault on Boulogne harbour. As Sir John said, it was far too risky. The Prime Minister would not give the idea his support.

  In truth, Pitt was always inclined to favour smaller and cheaper operations, rather than lavish ventures involving thousands of troops. He was still listening to Robert Fulton, the American inventor whose torpedoes had performed so dismally at Boulogne a year ago. Techniques had been much improved since then, according to Fulton. He was negotiating to blow up a brig off Deal, to show Pitt just how effective his torpedoes could be if they were handled properly.

  But torpedoes weren’t Sir John Moore’s concern. After seeing the Prime Minister, he paid his compliments to Lady Hester Stanhope – they were popularly supposed to be in love – and set off back to Shorncliffe. He was a happy man as he went. He had achieved his aim in talking Pitt out of an attack on Boulogne, and he had seen with his own eyes that a French invasion of England was no longer an immediate threat. The situation was looking a great deal better than it had a year ago.

  While Sir John was riding home, the French soldiers in Cadiz were busy re-embarking aboard Villeneuve’s fleet for their return to sea.

  Most of the men were infantry, although there were also two troops of Chasseurs without horses. Some were Swiss mercenaries, distinguished by their red coats. A few were foot artillery, complete with field guns and limbers. And some were proud. The two battalions of the 67th Regiment could trace their history of sea service back to Cardinal Richelieu, who had raised the regiment specifically to serve as musketeers in the navy. Their task in a sea battle was to line the shrouds and upper decks as soon as they came within musket range of the enemy, pouring fire into the British as the opposing ships converged.

  The bulk of the troops were French, but there were Spanish soldiers aboard the fleet as well. They too had a long history. Just as there had been a Victory among the English ships that defeated the Spanish Armada of 1588, so also some of the Spanish regiments aboard Gravina’s ships had served with the Armada. The forebears of the Regimiento de Africa had been captured by Sir Francis Drake off Torbay. Three thousand men of the Regimiento de Soria had drowned off the Irish coast while trying to flee back to Spain. These were not the happiest of precedents for the battle that lay ahead.

  By the evening of 2 October, all the troops were aboard again and the fleet was ready for sea. But then the weather intervened, as it had so often before. The wind freshened and blew from the west, making it impossible to leave harbour. There was always bad weather off the Andalusian coast at this time of year. Even if the weather improved for a moment, Admiral Gravina and the other Spanish officers were against sailing at once. Far better to wait, they argued, until the two Spanish three-deckers, the Rayo and Santa Ana, were ready to sail. Why not delay for a couple of weeks until their new crew members had settled in, since the weather was unlikely to be favourable anyway? To the Spanish officers, familiar with the conditions along this stretch of coast, it made perfect sense to wait for a while, rather than set out at once.

  But they didn’t have Napoleon for an Emperor. Villeneuve was determined to sail as soon as the wind changed. He was adamant that the fleet must put to sea at the first opportunity. He knew he would be answerable to Napoleon if it did not.

  It was 7 October before the wind finally obliged. It shifted round to the east that morning and blew steadily out to sea. Villeneuve immediately ran up the signal to weigh anchor. Even as he did so, though, the wind changed its mind again and returned to the west. His ships never even left their anchorage.

  Frustrated beyond measure, Villeneuve resigned himself to a few more days in harbour. He took advantage of the delay to hold a meeting with his senior officers, giving them a chance to discuss the situation and air their grievances. They were all aware that the fleet was in bad shape – short of men and poorly equipped. They wanted to put their complaints on record before they left Cadiz.

  The council of war took place aboard the Bucentaure on 8 October. Thirteen very unhappy officers filed into Villeneuve’s cabin and sat around the table. The Spanish had met beforehand to agree a line among themselves. The French were bitterly divided. Rear-Admiral Magon had been so appalled by the French performance against Calder that he had foamed at the mouth and thrown his wig and telescope at Villeneuve’s ship as it passed. Rear-Admiral Dumanoir hadn’t been impressed either.

  Villeneuve opened the proceedings with a summary of his orders from Napoleon. Their combined fleet was to put to sea at the first opportunity and ‘wherever the enemy should be encountered in inferior strength they must be attacked without hesita
tion in order to force them to a decisive action’. The enemy, they now knew, was commanded by Lord Nelson. He had between thirty-one and thirty-three ships of the line under his command, according to their estimates. How should the French and Spanish react to this threat?

  Most of the French were keen to sail at once. They thought they could fight off the British and have an easy run of it to Naples. The Spanish were more cautious. Two of their biggest ships were not yet ready for sea and there was a period of stormy weather ahead. The British could not remain on station much longer without running short of food and water. The storms would break their fleet up, if nothing else did. Why not wait in harbour and let the weather do their work for them, instead of risking their inadequate fleet against a navy that had been continuously at sea since 1793?

  Rear-Admiral Antonio de Escano, the Spanish chief of staff, pointed out that some of the Spanish sailors hadn’t been to sea in eight years and would be no match for the British – ‘Superior orders cannot bind us to attempt the impossible.’ Disaster would be inevitable, in his view, if they left harbour now.

  Rear-Admiral Magon, for the French, didn’t bother to conceal his contempt for such talk. The Spanish weren’t equal to the challenge, in his opinion. Commodore Alcala Galiano leapt to his feet at that and insisted that Magon retract. Magon refused to do anything of the sort. Hands flew to sword hilts and Latin blood boiled. The honour of France was at stake. And of Spain.