Trafalgar

by Nicholas Best

  On the gun decks, the gun captains stood to their weapons and made sure the ammunition racks were full of shot. Extra rounds were brought up from below and stored in a thick coil of rope behind each gun. The cannon were fired by flintlocks, which would not be distributed until just before the action, but there was time now for the gunners to examine the rest of their equipment – sponge, rammer, handspikes, breeching – and satisfy themselves that all was in order.

  On the main-deck, the ships’ bosuns distributed axes and grappling irons and rehearsed their men in the procedure for repairing rigging in a hurry. French tactics were to shoot at a ship’s masts to try to bring them down, so the bosuns sent their men aloft to reinforce the yards with extra chains, to prevent any spars from crashing to the deck. They hung splinter nets between the masts as well, because almost half the casualties in the coming action would be caused by flying wooden splinters.

  Everyone understood the danger of infection from such wounds. It was for this reason that Admiral Collingwood had dressed with such care, putting on his cleanest clothes for the battle. Many of the ordinary sailors preferred to fight naked from the waist up, to reduce the risk of septicaemia from dirty clothing. ‘Take off that shirt, my boy,’ Nelson had advised a powder monkey on the Victory, ‘or you will be in trouble later in the day.’ The sailors were under no illusions about the dangers ahead. Second-Lieutenant Ellis, a Marine officer on the Ajax, was impressed by their thoroughness as they prepared for the fight:

  I was sent below with orders, and was much struck with the preparations made by the bluejackets, the majority of whom were stripped to the waist; a handkerchief was tightly bound round their heads and over the ears, to deaden the noise of the cannon, many men being deaf for days after an action. The men were variously occupied; some were sharpening their cutlasses, others polishing the guns, as though an inspection were about to take place instead of a mortal combat, whilst three or four, as if in mere bravado, were dancing a hornpipe; but all seemed deeply anxious to come to close-quarters with the enemy. Occasionally they would look out of the ports, and speculate as to the various ships of the enemy, many of which had been on former occasions engaged by our vessels.

  On the Revenge, William Robinson was struck by ‘the different dispositions of the British sailor’:

  Some would be offering a guinea for a glass of grog, whilst others were making a sort of mutual verbal will, such as: ‘If one of Johnnie Crapeau’s shots (a term given to the French) knocks my head off, you will take all my effects; and if you are killed and I am not, why I will have all yours’; and this was generally agreed on.

  Aboard the Tonnant, Able Seaman John Cash found the mood less reflective:

  Our good Captain called all hands and said: ‘My lads, this will be a glorious day for us, and the groundwork of a speedy return to our homes for all.’ He then ordered bread and cheese and butter and beer for every man at the guns. I was one of them, and, believe me, we ate and drank, and were as cheerful as ever we had been over a pot of beer.

  On the Minotaur, Captain Charles Mansfield assembled every available man on the quarterdeck after they had cleared for action. He spoke earnestly to them about what lay ahead:

  We are now in the sight of the enemy. I trust that this day, or tomorrow, will prove the most glorious our country ever saw.

  I shall say nothing to you of courage: our country never produced a coward . . . I have only to recommend silence and a strict attention to the orders of your officers. Be careful to take good aim, for it is to no purpose to throw shot away. You will now, every man, repair to your respective stations, and depend, I will bring the ship into action as soon as possible. God save the King!

  On the Bellerophon, Captain Cooke took his second-in-command Lieutenant Cumby aside after breakfast and showed him the Nelson memorandum, the admiral’s strategy for the battle. Cooke wanted Cumby to see it in case he was ‘bowl’d out’ during the fighting and Cumby had to take command. But Cumby thought someone else should see it too:

  I observed that it was very possible that the same shot which disposed of him might have an equally tranquilizing effect upon me and under that idea I submitted to him the expediency of the Master (as being the only officer who in such case would remain on the Quarter deck) being also apprised of the Admiral’s instructions.

  Cooke took the point and showed the memorandum to Ship’s Master Edward Overton as well.

  All the ships prepared for action in their different ways – even the little ones, the repeating frigates and attendant vessels whose function was to carry the admiral’s signals rather than attack the enemy. Almost the smallest of all was the Pickle, only fifty-six feet from stem to stern at the waterline. Midshipman Hercules Robinson had a good view of her from the deck of the Euryalus:

  Even the saucy little schooner Pickle – a tiny thing, too small except to make herself useful to Blackwood’s frigates – tried to look fierce and threatening, with a confident assumption ridiculous to witness. She took post between the stately lines of the towering three – and two-deckers, cleared for action fore and aft in ludicrous imitation of them, with her small boarding-nettings triced up, and her four-pounder popguns – about as large and formidable as two pairs of jack-boots – double-shotted and run out.

  A few miles away, similar preparations were taking place among the French and Spanish. Whatever doubts there may have been about their seamanship, there were none as to their courage. They too were eagerly preparing for the fight, now that it could not be avoided.

  They first spotted the British at 6.30 a.m. Thirty minutes later, Villeneuve gave the order to clear for action. Once again, the drummers on the French ships beat the Generale and the crews hurried to their tasks. Much noisier than the British, the French shouted and cheered as they went, crying ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ and ‘Vive le Commandant!’ They were as keen as Villeneuve to redeem themselves after the embarrassment of Calder’s action. Now was their chance, with the British fleet in plain view, forming up against them.

  Peering at the British through his telescope, Villeneuve tried to read Lord Nelson’s mind.

  The enemy’s fleet, which was counted as twenty-seven ships of the line, seemed to be heading en masse for my rear squadron; with the double object, apparently, of engaging it with greatly superior force and cutting our whole fleet off from Cadiz. I therefore signalled the fleet to turn about and form line of battle in reverse order. My chief aim was to prevent the rear squadron from being overpowered by the enemy.

  It was a necessary gamble. All night long, the French and Spanish had been hurrying southwards, desperate to get past Gibraltar and escape into the Mediterranean. But the Mediterranean was beyond their grasp in the faint breeze. The British would almost certainly cut them off before they passed Gibraltar. Villeneuve knew they could not afford to be cut off from Cadiz as well. They needed the port for their crippled ships if there was going to be a battle.

  So he gave the order to turn round and head north again. Cadiz was just twenty-five miles away, the nearest haven for his fleet. It was not an easy decision to take, with the British so close, but Villeneuve could see no realistic alternative. The nearer his fleet was to Cadiz, if battle was unavoidable, the safer he would feel.

  Slowly, awkwardly, the forty ships of the combined fleet acknowledged Villeneuve’s signal and began to turn about. More than one captain had grave misgivings, but it was too late to argue now. The ships did what they were told and struggled to haul round, back the way they had come. It was 8 a.m. when Villeneuve gave the command, but another two hours before they had managed to complete the manoeuvre, and then only approximately. As they faced towards the north again, the ships were still not in line, although the order of battle had been completely reversed. Vessels that had been in the rear of the fleet, following everyone else, now found themselves in the lead. The advance squadron, headed by Admiral Gravina, was now trailing behind. Villeneuve himself remained in the middle, observing operations from the poop of the
Bucentaure.

  Captain Jean Lucas was doing his best to keep up with the others:

  In this new order, the Redoutable’s place was third ship astern of the flagship Bucentaure. I at once made every effort to take station in the wake of the flagship, leaving room between her and myself for the two in front of me. One ship was not very far out of line, but the other showed no sign of trying to get into position. That ship was some way to leeward of the line now beginning to form ahead of the admiral.

  Elsewhere the French and Spanish were bunched side by side, two or three ships together, clumsily attempting to fall in behind each other. The entire fleet was sailing now in a vast crescent formation rather than a straight line. It was all too much for Commodore Cosma de Churruca, watching in despair from what was now the rear of the line. ‘The fleet is doomed,’ he told his second-in-command. ‘The French admiral does not understand his business. He has compromised us all.’

  The enemy’s movements were watched closely by Lord Nelson. He had guessed that Villeneuve would turn back for Cadiz, but was not happy about it. The coastal waters between Cape Trafalgar and Cadiz were shallow and treacherous, a death trap for ships disabled in battle, particularly with a heavy swell presaging a storm in the west. Nelson would have much preferred to fight the battle off Gibraltar, the only port available to the British.

  But the choice was not his to make. Trafalgar it would be, although not for some time yet. The wind was still light and the enemy several miles away. On the poop of the Victory, Nelson spent some time chatting to Henry Blackwood, captain of the Euryalus, who had come aboard with the other frigate captains in case Nelson had any last-minute orders for the fleet that couldn’t be sent by signal. Then he left them and went down to his cabin to spend some time alone before the battle.

  Nelson’s chairs had already been cleared away for action, as had the portrait of Lady Hamilton that hung in his cabin (‘Take care of my Guardian Angel,’ he had told the men removing it). But his writing table remained. Kneeling down, Nelson made a note of the enemy fleet’s movements in his diary, then added a short prayer of his own composition:

  May the great GOD whom I worship grant to my Country, and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious Victory, and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it, and may humanity after Victory be the predominant feature in the British Fleet! For myself individually, I commit my life to Him who made me, and may His blessing alight on my endeavours for serving my Country faithfully! To Him I resign myself, and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend. Amen, Amen, Amen.

  Nelson was still on his knees when Lieutenant John Pasco arrived with a message. Pasco was the senior lieutenant on the Victory, but had been ordered to act as signals officer for the battle, a job normally allocated to someone more junior. The appointment would affect his chances of promotion, so he had been waiting for a chance to complain about it to Nelson. But now was clearly not a good time:

  On entering the cabin, I discovered his Lordship on his knees writing. He was then penning that beautiful prayer. I waited until he rose and communicated what I had to report, but could not at such a moment disturb his mind with any grievances of mine.

  Pasco left again and Nelson took a sheet of paper to add a codicil to his will. He was worried about Emma and his daughter – he would not be able to provide for them if he was killed in the battle. Years earlier, Emma had done good work in Naples as the British ambassador’s wife, obtaining supplies for Nelson’s fleet in 1798 and intercepting a letter giving advance warning of Spain’s intention to declare war. Nelson wanted to arrange a government pension for her.

  Could I have rewarded these services I would not now call upon my Country; but as that has not been in my power, I leave Emma Lady Hamilton, therefore, a Legacy to my King and Country, that they will give her an ample provision to maintain her rank in life. I also leave to the beneficence of my Country my adopted daughter, Horatia Nelson Thompson; and I desire she will use in future the name of Nelson only. These are the only favours I ask of my King and Country at this moment when I am going to fight their Battle. May God bless my King and Country, and all those I hold dear. My relations it is needless to mention; they will of course be amply provided for.

  As soon as he had completed the codicil – actually little more than an appeal for help – Nelson called for Captains Hardy and Blackwood to witness his signature. Then he returned to the main-deck. It was time for the crew to take up their battle stations. At Hardy’s order, the drummer beat to quarters and the bosun’s pipe shrilled again. Seconds later, men all over the Victory were running to their posts, some to other tasks but the vast majority to man the ship’s 104 guns and carronades. There were 821 men aboard the Victory and well over 600 of them served the guns. Even so, the crews were short-handed, alternately operating the cannon on both sides of the ship because there weren’t enough people to go round.

  Once at their guns, the men went automatically to work, preparing the weapons for action. Two men removed the tampion plugging each cannon’s mouth while others hauled on ropes to open the port lids and let some daylight into the ship. The powder monkey handed a cartridge to the loader to shove down the gun barrel. The sponger rammed it home and followed it with the shot. Then the guns were run out until their muzzles protruded through the ports. The gun captains primed them with powder and fuse, before standing back smartly and reporting to the officer that they were ready to fire.

  Similar preparations were taking place all over the ship. In the galley, the fire in the great iron stove was doused, and would not be relit until after the battle. At the gunners’ store, a queue of sailors waited to collect their small arms – pistols, pikes, cutlasses, axes, muskets – for close combat with the enemy. On the quarterdeck, red-coated Marines formed up with bayonets and muskets. At the fore and aft hatches, other Marines were posted as sentries, standing guard over the hatches to make sure no one used them without authorisation. Once the crew were at their posts, only officers, midshipmen and powder monkeys could use the hatches. Anyone else would be regarded as a deserter, and might be shot.

  Nelson toured the ship, rallying the men as they prepared for action. He spoke to each gun deck in turn, urging them not to waste a single round. ‘My noble lads,’ he told them, ‘this will be a glorious day for England, whoever lives to see it. I shan’t be satisfied with twelve ships this day, as I took at the Nile.’ At one gunport, he found an Irishman carving a notch on a gun carriage, next to a row of other notches, each representing a British victory. The Irishman explained that he was carving the latest one now, in case he was killed in the battle. ‘You’ll make notches enough in the enemy’s ships,’ Nelson assured him.

  On deck again, he was an arresting sight in an admiral’s hat, with four glittering orders on his left breast. The Victory would be the first ship of the column to reach the enemy line. It was obvious to his officers that Nelson would be a prime target for the enemy’s sharpshooters. Blackwood had already implored him to transfer his flag to the Euryalus and direct the action more safely from there, but Nelson would have none of it. His place was on the Victory, setting a good example. Blackwood had had better luck persuading him that the Téméraire, Neptune and Leviathan should take the lead instead, allowing Nelson a chance to stand back and observe the developing battle. The Téméraire had been ordered to go ahead if she could, and was now sailing alongside the Victory, doing her best to push in front. Nelson’s response had been to cram all sail on the Victory to prevent any other ship from taking the lead.

  The column was aiming for the head of the enemy line. Nearly a mile to the south, Collingwood’s column was sailing parallel and slightly in front. Nelson was approaching the enemy at right angles, but Collingwood was advancing obliquely into the curve of the crescent. Both columns were advancing at the magnificent speed of one and a half miles per hour. There were 17,000 people aboard the British fleet, including hundreds of young boys and an unknown number of women. All of them were rea
dy for what they had to do, and all were looking to Nelson for direction. Their lives were in his hands, their faith in him absolute. He was the man, if anybody was, to lead them to victory.

  It was just after 11.30 a.m. Ahead of them, the French and Spanish would soon be within range. The sun was shining and the weather was calm. On many ships a band was playing. The tunes were the familiar, reassuring ones of old England – ‘God Save the King’, ‘Hearts of Oak’, ‘Britons, Strike Home’. But there was one tune above all others that everyone recognised as they heard it, either aboard their own ship or from others across the water. Very few of the men could remember the words, but all of them were achingly familiar with the chorus:

  Rule, Britannia; Britannia rule the waves!

  Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!

  The fleet sailed on. The enemy were so close now that their cannon could clearly be seen above the waterline, like rows of iron teeth. In a few minutes, the battle would begin and they would all be fighting for their lives. There was just time for Nelson to send one last message before the holocaust engulfed them all. Turning to Henry Blackwood, he said, ‘I’ll now amuse the fleet with a signal.’ Then he looked round the poop for Lieutenant Pasco, his reluctant signals officer.

  CHAPTER 33

  ENGLAND EXPECTS

  By Pasco’s reckoning, it was 11.45 a.m. when Nelson spoke to him, although others put it earlier.

  His Lordship came to me on the poop, and about a quarter to noon said, ‘Mr Pasco, I want to say to the fleet, “ENGLAND CONFIDES THAT EVERY MAN WILL DO HIS DUTY.” You must be quick, for I have one more to add, which is for close action.’

  I replied, ‘If your Lordship will permit me to substitute expects for confides, the signal will sooner be completed, because the word expects is in the Signal Book, and confides must be spelt.’ His Lordship replied in haste, and in seeming satisfaction, ‘That will do, Pasco: make it directly.’