Nelson: Britannia's God of War

by Andrew Lambert

  83 Jervis to Nelson 10.12.1796; Nicolas II p. 311

  84 Jervis to Elliot 10.12.1796; Brenton I pp. 272–4

  85 Spencer to Jervis 16.12.1796 Spencer .II p. 78

  86 Nelson to Jervis 20.12.1796; Nicolas II pp. 312–15

  87 Nelson to Governor of Cartagena 24.12.1796; Nicolas II p. 317

  88 Nelson to Jervis 24.12.1796; Nelson to Elliot 24.12.1796; Nelson to De Burgh 29 and 30.12.1796; Nicolas II pp. 317–24

  PART TWO

  Towards Greatness

  HMS Captain driven against the Sun Nicolas, used as a bridge to board the San Josef beyond

  CHAPTER VII

  Triumph and Disaster 1797

  Lying at Porto Ferraio, far from his admiral, or any other source of support, General De Burgh’s refusal to leave presented Nelson with a serious problem. He had no choice but to embark the naval stores and wait for the battered Minerve to refit. In communication terms he was closer to London than the fleet: he kept Spencer informed of his proceedings through William Wyndham, the diplomat and spymaster temporarily on the island.1

  Elliot’s return from Naples provided an opportunity to discuss the war with a man of real political ability, someone he admired. While he could not persuade De Burgh to leave, the ex-Viceroy remained convinced that a powerful fleet in the Mediterranean would keep the French out of Italy, as the basis of a successful British policy. 2 Much of his case was built on the advice of his friend the Commodore. Nelson’s hopes for an early peace were dashed by Pitt’s additional financial measures, and the obvious disinclination of the French Directory to end a war that was keeping the regime in power. The only way ahead was for the nation to accept the need for a ‘rigorous prosecution of the war which now only can insure an honourable peace’. It seemed that Naples, the last independent state on the mainland, was doomed.3

  After preparing sufficient transports to embark the entire garrison, which he left under Fremantle’s command, Nelson embarked Elliot and left Elba at the end of January. Taking advantage of Jervis’s permissive instructions, he elected to return past Toulon and Cartagena, to look for the Combined Fleet.4 Once again, Nelson had carried out a complex mission requiring independent judgement, with skill and intelligence. He could be certain of a positive response from the admiral – little wonder he left in high spirits.5

  Both Toulon and Cartagena were empty: realising the enemy was at sea, Nelson hastened south to rejoin Jervis in the Straits. He reached Gibraltar on 9 February, recovered his two officers and headed through the Straits, where he was pursued by a Spanish battleship. Passing through their fleet on the night of the 12th, he was fortunate to escape attack, though wholly justified in taking risks to bring vital intelligence to Jervis.

  The enemy fleets were meant to concentrate at Brest. The French squadron, under Rear Admiral Pierre Villeneuve, escaped to Brest, but the Spanish were delayed by the poor condition of their ships and two changes of command in six weeks. When Admiral Cordoba finally got his fleet to sea, under enormous political pressure, he was also charged with assisting the siege of Gibraltar and escorting four vital mercury ships to Cadiz. Attempting two tasks on one cruise was always going to be problematic; to set three for a fleet as inexperienced as Cordoba’s was a recipe for indecision and disaster. It was a mistake the British would have been unlikely to make.

  Cordoba encountered heavy weather off Cadiz, but the need to wait for the mercury ships prevented him sailing for Brest and avoiding Jervis altogether. Instead he rode out the storm in the Atlantic approaches. Jervis had problems of his own: between Gibraltar and Lisbon two seventy-fours had been lost, two had to go home and a second-rate was damaged. Having taken station off Cape St Vincent on 6 February he gleaned enough information to know the Spanish were still near Cadiz. He was rejoined early on the 13th by Nelson, who had passed through the Spanish fleet the previous night. Lieutenants Culverhouse and Hardy, recently prisoners on board Spanish ships, told Jervis about the condition of the enemy. By the end of the day Jervis knew the enemy’s strength, and that they lay to the south-east, heading for Cadiz. All he had to do to force a battle was to place his fleet in their path. The mood that evening was infectious, and Elliot petitioned to stay and watch; Jervis agreed that his frigate could loiter until after the fighting.

  Fortunately, Jervis had recently been reinforced from the Channel fleet. He had fifteen ships of line: six were powerful three-decked ships, eight were standard seventy-fours, and there was a single sixty-four. Cordoba had twenty-three: seven three-deckers, two eighty-fours, the rest seventy-fours. The four mercury transports – big, armed ships – could be mistaken for ships of the line at a distance; but four battleships had been detached, and took no part in the fighting. In all other respects, the forces were very unequal. The Spanish were short of sea-time, seamen, and fighting experience; the British were all experienced and combat-hardened, the five Channel fleet units performing as well as the veterans. Both sides were well aware of the quality gap, and it would play a key part in the battle.

  Believing Jervis still had only nine ships, Cordoba decided to push through to Cadiz. The absolute failure of Spanish strategic reconnaissance condemned him to detach his heavy ships to report on sightings just when he needed to form a compact, coherent line of battle. This tactic, the basis for fighting an inconclusive linear action, was his only real hope in the face of a more skilful and resolute opponent. Once he realised the British were more numerous than he had anticipated, Cordoba reversed course to cover his merchant ships. In the process a gap opened between the main body and the escort force.

  This was all the encouragement Jervis required. He signalled to form a line of battle in the shortest time on a bearing set by the flagship, and advised the fleet that he meant to pass through the gap in the Spanish fleet. For a man of Nelson’s temperament, either signal would have been a delight; together they confirmed all the hopes he had placed in his admiral. Jervis had abandoned eighteenth-century formalism, and was doing what he thought should have been done on many other occasions. It is hard to believe that Jervis would not have discussed his plans with his most acute subordinate at some stage in the previous fourteen months.

  Jervis’s move speeded up the approach to battle, and his fleet demonstrated remarkable seamanship by rapidly forming a fighting line. Cordoba was clearly unsettled by the speed and precision with which the British shifted formation. Had they moved no faster than his own ships, the Spanish would have been able to reunite their line before the fleets came into contact. Instead Troubridge, leading the line in the Culloden, forced the headmost ship of the smaller Spanish force, the three-decker Principe de Asturias, to sheer off, with two double-shotted broadsides. With the Spanish now divided, Jervis had the fleet tack in succession to engage the main body of the enemy. Having anticipated the order, Troubridge had the answering signal already hoisted and ready to fly before Jervis’s flags appeared. This remarkable concurrence of thinking reflected strong doctrine, excellent communication between admiral and captains, and clearly understood objectives. Nor was Troubridge the only officer to penetrate the admiral’s intentions.

  The battle of Cape St Vincent

  Brave and determined attempts by the detached force to block Jervis’s move were beaten off, but this caused a gap to open between the five headmost ships led by Troubridge and the rest of the British force. Furthermore the wind had shifted, increasing the distance between the two parts of the fleet. Anxious to keep up the tempo of the attack, and ensure the five leading ships were not left exposed, Jervis planned an attack by his centre divisions to double on the Spanish while the Britannia, leading the rear division, would join Troubridge on the opposite side of the Spanish force. Admiral Thompson in the Britannia failed to take in the signal, to Jervis’s mounting displeasure. The gap between the five advanced ships and the rest of the fleet was growing with every minute; Jervis’s hastily modified plans had failed.

  Throughout the opening phases of the battle, Nelson, on board the Cap
tain, had been watching in admiration as Jervis’s plans unfolded. His station near the rear of the British line gave him a good viewpoint, and as a commodore with a captain to command the ship he had the leisure to observe the big picture. He would have been conscious of Troubridge’s exposed position, and read the signals to Britannia that Thompson failed to note. More significantly he had a very good view of Cordoba’s flagship, the massive, unique four-decked Santissima Trinidad, which began to signal furiously. The fleets having passed on opposite courses, the Spanish now overlapped the British rear; Cordoba saw the chance to shift across the rear of the British line to reunite his fleet. When a group of Spanish ships began to move in this direction, Nelson decided to act. Jervis was too far away to see and Thompson had not answered the signal to tack in succession, which had now been overtaken by events. The situation called for action,and he did not hesitate to take it – his courage was born of confidence and a very good knowledge of his Commander in Chief.

  He wore ship, rather than tacked – a quicker manoeuvre although less suitable for a squadron than a ship – then cut back through the British line and took station ahead of Troubridge’s Culloden. The two ships quickly turned the Spanish fleet back onto their old course. The Captain’s approach had exposed her to Spanish fire, but it was here that Nelson’s recent experience of Spanish gunnery and drill paid dividends. The risk was acceptable, but still costly. Nelson was hit in the side by part of a smashed rigging block, and would have fallen had Miller not caught him. The blow left him with a hernia, which would trouble him whenever he coughed. In the heat of the action, however, it did little to damp his enthusiasm, and as there was no open wound it required no treatment.

  The Spanish fleet remained in a state of confusion – more a huddle than a line – throughout the fluid phases of the battle. Cordoba found his flagship under attack, with five other ships in company. Jervis had ordered the rear division into battle, and soon two lines of British ships were chasing the Spanish – one astern the other on the starboard quarter, both closing quickly. Collingwood in the Excellent led the main body, her finely honed gun crews shattering the rearmost Spanish ships as she passed on to attack new targets. Jervis ordered him to relieve the Culloden and the Captain, now closely engaged with several Spanish ships. Captain had been disabled by the loss of her wheel and foretopmast. Jervis flew the signal ‘Engage the Enemy More Closely’ – to Nelson’s admiration, although it was hardly necessary. The speed and accuracy of British gunnery was far superior to the Spanish, enabling seventy-fours to master 112-gun three-deckers. After forcing two ships to surrender, Collingwood ran between Nelson and his opponents, pouring in rapid broadsides at pistol shot. The two Spanish ships collided, while Excellent set off after Cordoba in the Santissima, the ultimate prize.

  Nelson, Troubridge and Collingwood had broken the back of the Spanish fleet, leaving four ships crippled, the rest fleeing in disorder. The eighty-four-gun San Nicolas and the 112-gun San Josef lay close by the Captain, stunned by Collingwood’s fire, and still locked together. As the Captain could take no part in the rest of the battle, which would soon range ahead, Nelson ordered Miller to place her alongside the San Nicolas and prepared to board. He insisted on leading the attack personally, knowing the value of setting an example. Clambering over the cathead, Nelson entered the Spanish captain’s cabin. His supporters quickly burst through onto the quarterdeck, wounding the commodore as they went. There they joined another group, which Berry had led over the bowsprit and across the spritsail yard. The Spaniards on the upper deck surrendered: with a quarter of the crew killed or wounded they had seen enough. Caught alongside, with a commanding view over the newly taken prize’s upper deck, was the three-decker San Josef. She had suffered heavily: the admiral was dying below deck with both legs shot off, while a fifth of her crew were dead or wounded. Even so her crew opened fire with their muskets. Unable to defend themselves where they stood, the British had only two options. Nelson chose to attack. Summoning fresh men from the Captain to guard the hatchways on the San Nicolas, he scrambled up the side of the larger ship, getting a leg up from Berry into the main chains. Once on the Spaniards’ deck, Nelson received her captain’s sword as a token of surrender. He insisted on repeating the ritual with all the officers, passing their swords to William Fearney, one of his barge crew, who stowed them away under his arm like firewood.

  This double success was unique. It was also highly risky, and fortunate. Both Spanish ships were badly battered, and the San Josef was taken while still fighting the Prince George, leaving the upper deck short of men and full of casualties. Both ships were ready to surrender: they had fought well for close on two hours, against far better trained ships, and were hastened in their decision by the sudden arrival of British boarders. Not that they gave up without a fight: a quarter of Captain’s eighty casualties came in this phase of the battle. Two more battleships were taken, and the Santissima probably hauled down her colours, but Jervis called off the attack just before James Saumarez in the Orion could take possession. The Spanish fleet crept away while Jervis’s force secured their prizes and attended to their own damaged ships. This had been a hard fight: the most closely engaged units, revealed by their casualties, were all battered and in need of repair.

  That evening Nelson left Miller to patch up his flagship, and went over to the Victory, where Jervis greeted his grimy and bruised commodore with exactly the sort of praise that he most liked to hear: a thoroughly professional appreciation of his merits. After a brief standoff the following day, Cordoba withdrew. Jervis took his squadron into Lagos Bay, site of a great victory in 1759, to refit.

  *

  After this escapade, Nelson had earned the right to gather in his laurels, the praise of his peers and the admiration of amateurs like Elliot. Jervis’s brief formal public report did not single out anyone for special notice, but his private letter to the First Lord was a more honest reflection of his views, praising Troubridge, Collingwood and especially Nelson, ‘who contributed very much to the fortune of the day’.6 February he gleaned enough There were no complaints within the fleet, although Jervis was anxious to remove Admiral Thompson.

  On 15 February Nelson wrote to thank Collingwood for his support the previous day, and visited his shattered flagship, where he gave Miller a ring. Elliot, meanwhile, was enraptured by what he had seen – ‘Nothing in the world was ever more noble’ – and he trusted Nelson would ‘enjoy your honours and the gratitude and admiration of your country for many years’.7 In reply Nelson let Elliot know he wanted the Order of the Bath, not a baronetcy.

  Nelson’s fame was further enhanced by printed accounts of the battle. While on HMS Lively in search of Elliot, he had given an impromptu interview to Colonel Drinkwater, already well known for a narrative of the siege of Gibraltar. The resulting account was published, as he had hoped, though it was later replaced in the popular press by Nelson’s own article. A copy of this was sent to Locker at Greenwich, his naval ‘father’ and part-time press agent, with halfhearted instructions to replace the first-person narrative figure with a less personal device – but if Nelson had really wanted this done, surely he would have written it in the second person himself.8 The report duly appeared in the Sun without editing. Fanny, Clarence and Admiral Waldegrave received copies; Nelson kept the original. As expected Fanny showed a copy to Hood, who was in raptures, while Clarence praised him at court.

  The report did not pass unnoticed in the fleet, because it contained a factual error. Nelson claimed to have been in action for an hour without support, but Rear Admiral William Parker publicly challenged this – rightly so, since the time that passed in this perilous situation was only a matter of minutes, and Parker’s flagship had been engaging the San Josef when Nelson boarded her.9 Later editions are slightly amended to say that he thought it was an hour, but was unsure of the real time.

  To cement his fame Nelson now made a typical gesture. Jervis had marked his personal estimation of the day by allowing him to keep
the captured sword of Admiral Winthuysen. This was sent to the Mayor of Norwich, with a copy of his report on the battle. The City responded as he hoped, by giving him its Freedom, placing the sword in a special case in the Guildhall, and commissioning a portrait. The purpose of the gesture was to secure his place in Norfolk society, which he anticipated rejoining in later life.10 In the event his fame soon outgrew the county: he never went back to Norwich or Burnham, and spent but a few hours in Yarmouth in 1800 and 1801. Although Nelson never forgot his home, and always gloried in being a Norfolk man, it quickly became obvious that he had outstripped his birthplace: Norfolk was too distant from the main centres of naval power.

  On 1 April Nelson received his first English mail since the news of the battle had been known. It contained numerous letters of congratulation, newspaper reports and other signs of his hard-won, long-desired, and now very real public fame. He was the hero of the hour, and as he expressly desired, a Knight of the Bath, with a star and a red ribbon, rather than a Baronet with a title but no decoration. At the same time his promotion to Rear Admiral was confirmed, and he acquired a coat of arms which included the stern of the San Josef. These honours were gratefully given, for the success had been a tremendous fillip to domestic morale after years of dismal news. Now it was time to exploit the victory. The only jarring notes were Jervis’s failure to praise him in the public dispatch, and Fanny’s rather nervous plea that he give up boarding and other heroic actions.

  *

  As Jervis refitted his fleet, he reflected on the lessons of the battle. His heroes were Nelson, Troubridge, Hood and Foley, and the first among them needed a new flagship – preferably a large two-decker, should the anticipated flag promotion occur. Spencer agreed, and Nelson even turned down the brand-new 110-gun Ville de Paris, well aware that detached command, his forte, was not given to admirals in such powerful fleet units. Spencer passed on Cabinet thinking that a detachment should be sent into the Mediterranean, to re-establish contact with the Austrians and clear the Adriatic: ‘I suppose you would naturally enough look to Admiral Nelson for this purpose, and possibly detach some [battleships] under him.’11