Nelson heard the first official report of Craig’s force, which had not sailed as soon as he had feared, shortly before he anchored at Tetuan on 4 May, to obtain water, beef and fuel for a long cruise. When Commissioner Otway at Gibraltar told him that it was generally believed the enemy had gone to the West Indies, he had to weigh uncertainty about their whereabouts against the possibility that they would seize Jamaica and break the vital West Indian economy. He would not act without evidence, and hoped that Parker in the Amazon would bring him answers from Lisbon. By 7 May, he was preparing himself for the cruise to the West Indies. Nervous tension left him tired, unwell, and emotionally drained: ‘But my health, or even my life must not come into consideration at this important crisis; for, howevy be called unfortunate, it never shall be said that I have been neglectful of my duty, or spared myself.’6 Throughout the crisis his main supports were the nearby comfort of Richard Keats, the best and brightest of his captains, and Alexander Davison, his oldest friend. His letters to Emma were largely professional, with a selection of endearments to garnish his continual absence.7 There could be no more powerful demonstration of the division between his public and private lives: he was hers, but only when he was not at work.
Only on 10 May did the situation become clear. Nelson decided to head for the West Indies once he had seen Craig’s army safely into the Mediterranean; he detached Bickerton to command the station in his absence, and left the sluggish Royal Sovereign to reinforce the troop convoy. Samuel Sutton in Amphion told him there was no sign of the French to the north, while William Parker brought more positive news from Lisbon, including reports that the enemy had been sighted far out to sea, with full details of ships and officers. On 11 May Nelson left with ten battleships and three frigates. His choice of route was settled by Richard Hakluyt’s two-hundred-year-old account of the English Atlantic voyages.8 He was not afraid of a stern chase, or being significantly inferior in force. He expected to pick up ships in the West Indies: six of the line under Alexander Cochrane on the Leeward Islands station were the obvious reinforcement. More significantly, a battle would frustrate the French plans, whatever its outcome. Nor was he cutting himself off from the Mediterranean: if he was wrong, he told the Admiralty, he could be back by the end of June. Barham, typically, had reached the same conclusions five days earlier, but his response was overtaken by events.
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Once he knew Villeneuve had got to sea, Bonaparte reviewed his plans, and revived the old idea of the Toulon squadron working round the north of Scotland to open the Dutch ports. Within a few days he had proposed an even more absurd combination that would release the Ferrol force, and then work up to release the Brest fleet by a combined attack on the British from inside and outside the harbour. Such elaborate plans might have worked on land, but at sea, without better means of communication than anyone possessed in 1805, they were absurd. Admiral Ganteaume would never escape from Brest while men like Admiral Lord Gardner or Cornwallis commanded the Grand Fleet. They knew that so long as the main French fleet was kept off the board the game was as good as won.
The Minister of the Marine, Admiral Denis Decrès, understood the realities of naval warfare. He had escaped the Nile, been captured on the Guillaume Tell and dined with Nelson. He warned Bonaparte, but his advice fell on deaf ears. It was the Emperor’s habit to condemn any strategic choices that he had not anticipated as incompetent, inept or stupid. Equally problematic was his inability to take advice on issues that he did not understand. Decrès would have made better use of the French and Spanish fleets without Bonaparte’s interference; he would not have tried to win the war with the sort of knock-out blow that the man of Marengo favoured. Bonaparte would prove, over and over again, that he could achieve the near-perfect synthesis of military triumph and political success, but only on his own element.
By mid-June the British had re-established the blockade of the main French and Spanish ports: Brest, Rochefort, Ferrol and Cadiz were guarded, while Cartagena was neutralised by the squadron off Cadiz and Bickerton’s small force. The only pieces still moving on the global strategic chart were those commanded by Villeneuve and Nelson. It was also highly significant that when Collingwood arrived off Cadiz he instituted a strict blockade to deny the Spanish access to naval stores to fit out their fleet, rather than the more ‘neutral-friendly’ version the Admiralty and Foreign Office preferred.
Nelson sent a dispatch to the Admiralty as he passed Madeira on 14 May, the same day that Villeneuve anchored off Martinique. After that point Nelson was necessarily out of touch with London, but he had already sent a frigate ahead to warn Admiral Cochrane of his arrival. He hoped to find six battleships at Barbados, but Cochrane had left all but one of his ships at Jamaica. For Villeneuve, meanwhile, Bonaparte’s orders to be instantly ready to combine with the Brest fleet precluded any major operations against the British islands, so he sent out some cruisers to gather intelligence and cut up the local shipping. New orders to widen the attack on British possessions only revealed Bonaparte’s inability to maintain his focus on the big issues. His new return destination, if the Brest fleet did not arrive, was Ferrol. Villeneuve turned to attack Antigua and Barbuda.
Straining every nerve, and the fabric of his well-worn fleet, Nelson crossed the Atlantic ten days quicker than Villeneuve’s motley armada, reaching Barbados on 4 June. He found Cochrane, and another battleship joined that evening. This gave him twelve of the line: he believed the enemy had eighteen, but the odds were not impossible. He had to act, and the security of the West Indian islands and trade justified the risk – he only had to locate the enemy.
Unfortunately local intelligence misled him. General Brereton on St Lucia reported the enemy had passed on 28 May, and seemed to be headed for Barbados or Trinidad. The latter was a likely option, and although Nelson had anticipated the enemy would be to the north, he felt that such precise intelligence could not be ignored. The clinching fact was that he had known Brereton on Corsica, and trusted him. Embarking two thousand troops from the Barbados garrison, he headed south on 6 June, issuing a new order of battle indicating that he intended attacking in two columns. Confident the enemy was at Trinidad, Nelson sailed into Port of Spain early on 7 June. He must have expected to find the enemy trapped at anchor, their troops ashore, and a new battle of the Nile unfolding before him.
The trans-Atlantic chase (from J.Corbett, The Campaign of Trafalgar, 1910). Nelson’s course is marked by the line originating west of Morocco on 12 May, reaching Trinidad on 7 June, and returning along a course that took him south of the Azores in early July. Villeneuve’s return across the Atlantic is tracked from Martinique on 5 June to Finisterre on 22 July.
Instead he found the port empty. He had been right all along, and bitterly lamented Brereton’s interference. Villeneuve had headed north, and along the way picked up a small convoy from Antigua, which the local merchants had insisted should sail before the island fell, only to run into the allied fleet. Now aware of Nelson’s arrival, Villeneuve hurried back to Martinique, landed most of his troops, and on 10 June headed for the Azores. A combination of fear and the terrible condition of the Spanish crews made battle unthinkable: the only safety lay in flight. On 12 June Nelson was off Antigua, determined not to leave the theatre until he had hard evidence that the enemy had, as he suspected, headed home. Through the disappointment of being misled and missing his battle, he recognised the scale of his achievement: ‘I have saved these colonies and more than 200 sail of sugar-loaded ships.’9 The brig Curieux carried home his analysis that the enemy was heading for Europe; he would pursue them. After landing the troops at Antigua and detaching Cochrane to guard the islands in case he was wrong, he headed off with eleven sail on 13 June, only to receive fresh information that the enemy fleet was larger than he had thought.
The West Indies voyage had been a major success: the enemy had been blocked and driven home after doing trifling damage. With the enemy in full retreat, Nelson planned to fight them in combination with ot
her British forces as they approached Europe, rather than engage in mid-Atlantic with the odds two to one against. However, he would be alive to any opportunity to distress them, and to use his force to confound any other object they might have. He set a course for the Straits, but Villeneuve was bound for Ferrol and they did not meet. Instead the Curieux, heading for England, was soon in the wake of the Franco-Spanish formation, and watched them long enough to be certain of their course.
Barham’s first thoughts, like Nelson’s, were to expect Villeneuve in the Straits, but when the Curieux’s commander arrived on 8 July it was clear that Cape Finisterre was the intended landfall, and opening the blockade of Ferrol the object. Another brilliant example of cruiser work had given the high command priceless intelligence. Barham immediately wrote out new orders to reinforce Sir Robert Calder off Ferrol, both from Cornwallis’s Grand Fleet and by giving up the blockade of Rochefort. Calder would cruise up to a hundred miles due west of Finisterre, Cornwallis could stand to the south-west a similar distance for ten days, while Nelson would deal with Cadiz. This was outstanding strategic insight, overall direction and good sense: it gave the local commanders adequate forces and good advice, and covered all three real options, Brest, Cadiz, and above all Ferrol, yet it left them at liberty to respond to local developments.
Bonaparte, then leaving Turin for Boulogne, had been defeated before he passed the Alps. Even when he knew Cornwallis had moved away, Ganteaume did not try to leave Brest, well aware that he would be spotted and pursued. He rejected the idea of rushing into the Channel out of hand – it was madness, the English would be after him immediately, and in overwhelming force. His twenty-two ships would face thirty or more, and be destroyed, while the invasion required two weeks, not twenty-four hours. For Ganteaume, who had witnessed the Nile from the quarter-deck of L’Orient, the English were an irresistible force. He saw Cornwallis’s move to locate Villeneuve as a trap, not an opportunity. That the invasion force was not ready, either in men or ships, made the idea of leaving harbour absurd. By the time peremptory orders to enter the Channel reached Brest, Cornwallis was back in position.
On 22 July, Villeneuve and Gravina, with twenty battleships, met Calder’s fleet of fifteen off Finisterre. In the fog and confusion, a partial action ensued, negating Calder’s aggressive aim of cutting off the enemy centre and rear. It ended with the capture of two Spanish ships, and extensive damage to the rigging of several British vessels. Villeneuve put into Vigo, but Calder, having started well, so far misunderstood his role as to let him get away. He should have kept contact, ignoring the distant threat from the ships at Ferrol, and pushed his success to a conclusion. For this failure he would be court-martialled, losing his place as a fleet commander.
Hurrying back towards the Straits, Nelson hoped to overtake Villeneuve and engage him off Cape St Vincent, where he arrived on 17 July. He had overtaken them, but on finding the enemy had not passed the Straits or entered Cadiz,10 he held on to meet Collingwood off Cadiz, before going ashore for the first time in two years at Gibraltar. Convinced the French intended concentrating their forces in the Western Approaches, to overwhelm the Grand Fleet and invade, Collingwood did not believe Bonaparte would have moved his ships for any lesser purpose. Nelson was not convinced. He was a Mediterranean man, and viewed the intelligence through a different prism from a Channel fleet veteran like Collingwood. While he waited for news, Nelson demonstrated his mastery of the theatre. Any reduction in ships in the central and eastern Mediterranean would gravely reduce British influence, so he tore up the Admiralty instructions and the existing deployments of Collingwood, Knight and Bickerton. His redistribution of the available forces was ‘absolutely necessary’ to counter the Cadiz and Cartagena squadrons and the privateer threat to trade, while protecting Sardinia, Malta, Sicily and Naples.
Only on 22 July, the day Calder fought his action, did the fleet drop over to the Moroccan port of Tetuan for water, wood and beef. Two days later Nelson had just raised anchor when news arrived from the north: learning of the Curieux’s intelligence windfall, he knew Villeneuve must be headed for the Bay of Biscay. Without wasting a boisterous wind, even to brief Collingwood, he set course for Ferrol. Adverse winds forced him to the west, and ultimately he had to head directly for Cornwallis’s rendezvous. Unaware of Calder’s action he did not know where Villeneuve was, or of the situation off Ferrol. He sent word ahead to the Grand Fleet, and to Ireland, which he thought the most likely point for the French attack. The relaxation of tension led to dark and grave reflections on the failure of his campaign:
But for General Brereton’s damned information, Nelson would have been, living or dead, the greatest man in his Profession that England ever saw. Now, alas! I am nothing – perhaps shall incur censure for misfortunes which may happen, and have happened. When I follow my own head, I am, in general, much more correct in my judgement, than following the opinion of others.11
Such insecurity may appear remarkable, but Nelson’s ambition would be unfulfilled while there was still a war to win and fleets to annihilate. He approached the Grand Fleet rendezvous and home sunk in gloom, uncertain of the reception that would greet his return after a campaign without a battle. It was the very opposite of what one would expect from a man so long at sea, and absent from home, mistress and child. By now certain the enemy had put into a Biscay port, his health concerns began to reappear as he closed on the flag of another old friend, Sir William Cornwallis. He needed rest, and release from the incessant mental anxiety of planning a campaign, out-thinking the enemy and sustaining the logistics, human resources and morale of his squadron.
Hearing of Calder’s action and Villeneuve’s arrival at Coruna, Barham agreed with Nelson, and on 3 August ordered a concentration off Ushant. This was not a simple defensive measure: Barham properly left Cornwallis at liberty to detach forces to exploit any opportunity the enemy offered for a counter-stroke. To prove the point the fleet that fought the decisive battle of the campaign would be a detachment from the Grand Fleet.
Villeneuve left Coruna on 10 August, planning to head for Brest or Cadiz as circumstances dictated. It took another three days for his fleet, now raised to twenty-nine battleships, to get to sea. Half of them had not been at sea for years, if at all; the rest, while improved in skill and battle-hardened, were hardly in first-class order. The Rochefort division of five was at sea, but could not be found. On 14 August Calder joined Cornwallis, and Nelson arrived late the following day. Cornwallis had instructions to send Nelson home: he, his flagship and the shaky Superb needed refitting. This left Cornwallis with thirty-six battleships, ten of them three-decked ships ideal for close-quarters battle. No combination of French and Spanish ships could defeat Cornwallis, the acknowledged master of the tactical defensive.
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Bonaparte’s many and complex plans were in ruins: his squadrons were no closer to Boulogne, barred by the solid mass of the Grand Fleet, while Keith’s reinforced North Sea fleet was ready to annihilate the invasion shipping gathered around Boulogne, if it dared to put to sea. Now the game was shifting. In a campaign that reflected the nature of the war, the British had blocked every offensive move the French had attempted; now they were concentrated and ready for a telling counterattack. By early August Foreign Minister Talleyrand knew the game was up, warning Bonaparte not to attempt the invasion.
On 13 and 14 August Bonaparte shifted his focus to the growing threat of an Austro-Russian attack, planning the campaign that culminated at Austerlitz. Yet rather than hold to the simple comfort of a massive concentration off Brest, Cornwallis immediately split his fleet. The day after Nelson arrived, he detached Calder south with eighteen battleships, including many from Nelson’s fleet, to look for Villeneuve at Ferrol and stop him putting to sea. He knew the enemy might have over thirty ships, but this was all he could spare. He retained eighteen ships off Brest, including no fewer than ten three-deckers. It was a powerful force.
Bonaparte raged at Cornwallis’s stroke of genius, som
ething he had not anticipated, condemning it as a strategic blunder that risked everything. It was no such thing, as Barham acknowledged by ordering the same division, although he did not wish Calder to command. Cornwallis was in easy communication with the detached force, which was still under his orders, and Calder knew well enough what to do if he met the enemy, or heard of their whereabouts. The main threat that Villeneuve now posed was to the Anglo-Russian plans to attack in the Mediterranean, where Craig’s army and a larger Russian force were assembling. The main British counter-attack depended on cooperation with Russia, and this would be impossible if the enemy commanded the Mediterranean. Villeneuve was also ideally placed to attack the immense homebound convoys from the East and West Indies. The loss of a major convoy would have ruined the economy, brought down the Ministry and possibly bankrupted the state. After an invasion this was the gravest danger that Britain faced, and was never far from the minds of all her great strategists, especially Barham, Nelson and Cornwallis.
The knowledge that Nelson was at sea, hard on his heels, had broken Villeneuve’s spirit. Setting sail from Coruna on 13 August, he told Decrès: ‘I do not hesitate to say … I should be sorry to meet twenty of them. Our naval tactics are antiquated. We know nothing but how to place ourselves in line, and that is just what the enemy wants.’12 By 19 August Cornwallis knew the enemy was heading south, and sent fresh instructions to Calder, confident they lacked the stores for a long cruise, the troops for a landing, or any object beyond reaching the Mediterranean. Two days later Ganteaume came out of Brest Roads, and anchored under the batteries. Cornwallis had a major decision to make. Should he pull back, let the enemy out to sea and annihilate them, or drive them back into Brest? While he was desperate for a great battle, his response was determined by the strategic context. The next morning he led his fleet in. Although driven off by storm of fire from the shore batteries, his attack forced Ganteaume to scramble for safety, and made him unlikely to venture out again.
Nelson: Britannia's God of War Page 39
