Nelson: Britannia's God of War

by Andrew Lambert

  Unlike his predecessors, who commanded from the centre, Nelson would lead. He also massed his heavy ships, as far as their sailing qualities would allow, at the head of his two lines. He had long accustomed his fleets to follow his lead, placing the flagship at the head of the line when sailing. That he placed the flagship third in the line of battle was a concession to his subordinates, not a reflection of his ambition. He would lead, to control the pace and direction of the attack, select the point of impact and complete the vital task of destroying the enemy’s command and control. Furthermore, he would lead by example. With the flagship ahead of them, no officer would have occasion to wonder, as had often happened in the past, what the admiral meant them to do; they could see with their own eyes, and had no harder task than to follow. He was careful to stress that the memorandum was not intended to fetter Collingwood’s judgement, only to guide his thinking. The object was to annihilate the enemy, and get a ‘glorious Peace for our Country’.29 As he told Colonel Stewart, he expected Bonaparte would try an invasion, and only hoped to get at the enemy fleet soon.30

  While Nelson kept his eye on the wind and weather, Collingwood found the inaction of the enemy hard to comprehend. With the war in Italy about to begin, surely this was the time to act? Early on the morning of 19 October, the enemy began to leave Cadiz. Nelson, almost fifty miles to the west, received the news a little over three hours later. Hearing that his relief, Admiral Rosily, was at Madrid, and unable to bear the thought of being superseded, decided to go to sea. News that Louis’s squadron was at Gibraltar completed the picture: with an inferior enemy, he believed only twenty-two ships to his thirty-three, it was time to put to sea. The decision to sail was Villeneuve’s, and Villeneuve’s alone.

  Blackwood’s response demonstrated why Nelson placed such faith in him. He signalled along his chain of ships, and immediately sent off his two sloops, one to Nelson, the other to recall Louis. Nelson was so certain of his judgement that the fleet was already heading to cut Villeneuve off from the Straits before his Combined Fleet had cleared Cadiz harbour. Throughout the day Blackwood was ‘talking to Lord Nelson’ using the Popham telegraph system and the line of frigates.31 By 1 a.m. on 20 October the fleet was in position at the entrance to the Straits. Nelson hoped to see Louis returning on the easterly wind, but that hope was misplaced: Louis was two hundred miles to the east, and did not finish his convoy work until the following day. Nor was the enemy where he had expected: they took so long to leave harbour that they arrived north of Nelson’s position far later than he had anticipated. By mid-afternoon, however, they had been located, and with a strong wind blowing there was an opportunity for battle. Collingwood was summoned on board Victory. He urged immediate engagement, but Nelson was determined to wait. The enemy was too close to Cadiz, and it was too late in the day for a decisive action.

  The enemy had spent much of their time trying to get into a specific formation, a regular line of twenty ships, equal to the force Villeneuve believed Nelson had – the remaining thirteen would be a reserve under Gravina. Gravina’s force could counter any attempt by Nelson to concentrate on part of the main line. It was perhaps the only tactical solution to the threat Villeneuve faced, and may explain why he was prepared to offer battle. The problem for both fleets on 20 October was the shifting and squally wind conditions, which left the skilful British ships in a huddle for two hours, and the less experienced allies in chaos for many more. The telegraph kept up contact with Blackwood. By nightfall the enemy could be seen to the north of the British fleet, close to Cadiz. Nelson then hauled away to the southwest, leaving Blackwood to keep contact during the night, changing back onto a north-easterly course at 4 a.m. on the 21st. At daybreak, shortly before 6, the British fleet was in apparent disorder, just a crowd of ships. The enemy could be seen eight or nine miles to the north-east, heading for the Straits in a rough line. There would be time to fight and win a battle, but not much more, as the weather was going to break within twenty-four hours. Among those watching the events unfold it would appear that only Nelson had been studying the barometer.

  Collingwood had shifted his flag into the newly recoppered Royal Sovereign, as ordered. Although Collingwood’s original flagship, the ninety-eight-gun Dreadnought, was well-manned, and a formidable fighting unit, Nelson wanted his second-in-command in a ship with the speed to lead the line of battle. Nelson was a great believer in the superior fighting power of three-decked ships, but many of them sailed like haystacks. Dreadnought, Rear Admiral Lord Northesk’s Britannia and the Prince were all sluggish performers.32 Fortunately the new ninety-eights, Temeraire and Neptune, were in capable hands, and formed, with Victory, the spearhead of the British attack.

  Nelson had begun a letter to Emma on 19 October, and left it open on the 20th: ‘As my last writing before the Battle will be to you, so I hope in God that I shall live to finish my letter after the Battle.’ He also wrote a note for Horatia.33 These notes, along with the codicil to his will compiled on the morning of the 21st, were sensible precautions, not morbid presentiment, but there can be no doubt that as the enemy line loomed ever closer his thoughts darkened.

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  At daybreak on 21 October, Villeneuve, horrified to find that Nelson had five more ships than he had expected, abandoned his tactical concept of a powerful reserve under Gravina to reinforce the point of attack. He would have to make do with a line of battle, though he knew this formation would allow the full flowering of Nelson’s genius. The light and shifting westerly wind and a heavy Atlantic swell made it difficult to form and hold a line. Nelson made no attempt to follow his memorandum, signalling the fleet to form in the order of sailing, and then to bear up and sail large for the enemy in the wake of the two flagships.

  Over the next two hours, the British ships divided into two groups, gradually coming into line. Villeneuve responded by reversing course, heading north, back towards Cadiz, and ensuring his ships closed up for action. He must have feared an impetuous, unformed chase, the favoured tactic of old masters like Hawke. Nelson now signalled to steer for the centre of the enemy line, to break it in two places as he planned, and annihilate the rear and centre. Villeneuve had played right into his hands. Although Collingwood tried to rearrange his line, the speed of the attack, and Nelson’s insistence on using every stitch of sail, left him leading a second ill-formed column of ships, heading directly for the enemy, about one third in from the rear. The Combined Fleet set no more sail than necessary to keep station: they were not running away, they were waiting to fight.

  Nelson remarked on this fact to Blackwood at about 10 a.m., and Blackwood voiced the opinion of everyone on Victory’s quarter-deck that Nelson should not continue to lead the line, but should command from the Euryalus. When that option was predictably rejected, they argued that he should let the two ships astern pass and revert to the established order of battle. Blackwood took the message to the Temeraire, while Nelson signalled Duff to take the Mars ahead of Collingwood, but without ordering him to shorten sail there was no way Nelson could stop his old friend leading into battle. To make his point Collingwood set Royal Sovereign’s studding sails: extra canvas to widen the sail area, increasing speed. Nelson was delighted – ‘See how that noble fellow Collingwood carries his ship into action!’ – and signalled for all possible sail to be set, hastening the moment of impact, and stretching out both lines, as the slower ships lost ever more ground to the swift.

  In the light airs of that day the British ships closed at between two and three knots, no more than moderate walking pace. In the six hours between daybreak and the fighting, the officers and men of all three fleets had ample opportunity to think about what lay ahead. The ships were already cleared for action, the partitions, furniture and non-essential gear stowed away. The hammocks were up in nettings above the bulwarks, to reduce the danger from splinters. Many ships had musicians, and they played stirring and appropriate tunes as the ships closed: ‘Hearts of Oak’ was a particular favourite, along with ‘Britons
Strike Home’, ‘Rule Britannia’ and ‘The Downfall of Paris’. The sun was shining and the different colour schemes of the enemy ships were easily picked out. The one clear difference between the fleets was that the iron bands around the lower masts were painted black in Villeneuve’s force; Nelson, with typical forethought, ordered his ships to paint the bands yellow, for identification in the smoke of battle.

  21 October was a festival day for Nelson – the anniversary of his uncle’s famous battle, and the autumn fair at Burnham Thorpe. Curiously, he forgot to wear his uncle’s sword – the only time he went into battle unarmed. The enemy were little more than three miles away when he wrote out his last thoughts on the world beyond the looming fleet battle:

  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 humanity after Victory be the predominant feature in the British fleet. For myself, I commit my life to Him who made me, and may his blessing light upon my endeavours for serving my Country faithfully. To Him I resign myself, and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend.34

  He then compiled a codicil to his will, leaving his mistress, her claims made clear, and his illegitimate daughter as a legacy for the country to support. Blackwood and Hardy witnessed the paper, but it had no legal force, as he must have known.

  Shortly after completing his prayers and promises Nelson was back on deck. By now it was obvious to everyone that the enemy were going to fight: their bold display required an answer. His thoughts were quick, and to the point. He would use the new talking telegraph to send a personal message to the fleet, the sort of morale-boosting encouragement he had given the crew of Victory earlier in the day by walking about the ship and chatting with the men as they prepared for battle. He asked signal lieutenant John Pasco to send the message that ‘England confides that every man will do his duty.’ The key word was ‘confides’, meaning ‘trusts’: he was not trying to make his men do their duty, but telling them that he had complete faith in them. Nor was England the real basis of the message – in the face of the enemy men need something more immediate, and more personal. The focus of their loyalty that day was nearer at hand, it was the embodiment of England at sea, the deity of the oceans. The meaning was ‘Nelson knows that every man will do his duty.’

  Unfortunately ‘confides’ had not been reduced to a simple flag hoist in Popham’s code, and Pasco suggested substituting ‘expects’, which had. Nelson accepted this change, and the signal entered the record. Collingwood, who lacked the human insight and warmth to see the need, or the opportunity, grumbled that ‘We all know what we have to do.’ He was almost alone in such thoughts, and once he knew the message he changed his mind. Like everyone else Collingwood was struck, exactly as had been intended, by the very personal message, one that touched the heart of every man in the fleet, and gave them a share of the divine magic that only Nelson could bring to the situation. As the message was relayed from the signal officers to the crew, ship after ship burst out in ringing cheers of approval. Nelson followed the message with two signals from the old book: ‘Prepare to Anchor’ and, as ever, No.16, ‘Engage the Enemy more Closely.’ He would send no more.

  Blackwood had been on board the Victory with Captain Prowse of the Sirius from early in the day, their ships running alongside the line. They would carry any last signals for the fleet, and as they were not involved in the fighting, could watch the battle develop. It was typical of Nelson that when fortune threw the hero of the Guillaume Tell action back into his fleet, he was on the most intimate terms with him again in a matter of hours, having absolute confidence in his seamanship, judgement and instinct. However, Blackwood could not get Nelson out of the flagship, nor the flagship out of the lead. Nelson knew the value of his leadership: he had given the men a morale-boosting message, now he would set them a morale-boosting example. In the days and months that followed, the conversations of Blackwood, Hardy, Alexander Scott and Doctor William Beatty were written out in a manner that suggested that Nelson could have avoided an obvious threat. They represented the admiral’s actions as little more than bravado, and give no other purpose to his staying on his flagship, or wearing his own coat.

  But there was no bravado about Nelson in battle. He had a deadly serious purpose in mind, and would not give anyone else the honour or the responsibility of winning the battle at a blow. He had to lead the line, and destroy the enemy flagship. Nor would he take off his coat, which he always wore. It is unlikely he even owned a plain uniform coat, and in any case, to hide from the enemy would be disgraceful. Collingwood was already setting a magnificent example, and it was unthinkable that Nelson should leave his ship, his post of honour or even shift his coat. After all men worshipped Nelson, the hero of a hundred fights, because he shared the dangers with them. How would the men of Victory have felt if he had left them at the last moment? What would the country have said if the battle turned out to be another ‘Lord Howe victory’ while Nelson watched at a safe distance?

  Such speculation is unnecessary, for it is based on the wholly erroneous idea that Nelson entered battle with a death wish. This Victorian legend dealt with his ‘shameful’ private life by arguing that he knew that he was living an immoral life, and wished to expiate his crime through a glorious death. It is, like much more of the Victorian Nelson, utter nonsense. Nelson did not go into battle seeking a glorious death as the ultimate finale to his career. Though the idea had occurred to him at a particular time – the turmoil of his private life in late 1800, when he spoke to West at Fonthill, made such a death seem attractive – this mood soon passed. His life had changed by 1805, and he was only too aware of the public fame and private comfort that would await him on his return from another glorious battle. He was already immortal, and had no need of his Wolfe moment. Wolfe was an unknown who achieved fame by the manner of his death; Nelson had become a national deity in life, a hero in the Homeric mould. He was too great to need death as the final distinguishing mark. He acted as he did on 21 October 1805 because it was his duty. He had to lead: the battle could not be controlled from anywhere else. It is highly significant that in the hour before contact he twice changed the attack plan for his line, which he could not have done from anywhere else. By 1805, death in battle was an occupational hazard for Nelson, not an object.

  The battle of Trafalgar (from J. Corbett, The Campaign of Trafalgar, 1910 Positions shown are at the start of the battle on the morning of 21 October.

  With the enemy waiting for his attack, Nelson held on in line ahead, to keep the ultimate point of attack uncertain; this would ensure the enemy could not counter his attack by reversing the van squadron. The two British lines appeared to be on slightly converging courses, while a shift in the wind left the Franco-Spanish force (the ships deliberately intermixed rather than in national formations) sagging in the centre, presenting a concave formation. Nelson aimed for the fourteenth ship in the enemy line, the target given in the memorandum, which was two ships behind Villeneuve’s Bucentaure. However, the French admiral had not shown his flag, making the ship ahead of him, the massive Santissima Trinidad, an obvious target. Misleadingly informed that the enemy admiral was in a frigate, Nelson shifted his plan to cutting through the enemy van, and preventing it from getting into Cadiz, exploiting an opening that had suddenly appeared in the enemy line. Then, as the enemy rear opened fire on Collingwood, Villeneuve and his admirals displayed their flags. Nelson immediately headed for the bow of the enemy flagship; Villeneuve parried by closing on the stern of the Santissima Trinidad. Nelson simply shifted one place down the line, and went under the Frenchman’s stern, despite a brave attempt by the Redoutable to close down the gap.

  When the enemy opened fire on Victory shortly before midday, it was time for Blackwood to leave. As he climbed down the side of the ship, Blackwood tried to sound cheerful, trusting he would return that afternoon to find Nelson had taken the twenty ships he considered a good result. Without hesitation, Nelson cut h
im cold: ‘God bless you, Blackwood: I shall never speak to you again.’ It was a terrible send-off for a devoted follower, and quite out of character. These were not the final words of a man anxious to die, but of a man who knew that he would be surrounded by death within a few minutes.

  Events bore out Nelson’s analysis. As Victory closed on the enemy fleet, several ships were able to fire on her, mostly aiming into her rigging, trying to cripple her forward motion, while she was unable to present a gun for almost half an hour as she passed through the last eight hundred yards. This was the hardest part: to keep calm and endure a beating without the comfort of firing back. Within minutes, round shot were smashing through the flimsy bow of the ship, and the unprotected men on the upper deck. The first to fall was John Scott, Nelson’s Public Secretary, who had been standing on the quarter-decktalking with Hardy when a ball cut him in two. As his mangled remains were heaved overboard, Nelson lamented the passing of a close friend. Soon after, the great ship’s wheel was smashed to atoms, and the ship had to be steered from below decks, with commands relayed by voice. Then a double-headed shot, intended to cripple the rigging, scythed down a file of eight marines on the poop; Nelson quickly ordered Captain Adair to disperse his men, to avoid further heavy losses. Still Nelson and Hardy paced up and down on their chosen ground, the starboard side of the quarter-deck, not a foot from the smashed wheel, with splinters flying around them. One hit Hardy’s shoe, tearing off the buckle. Once he was sure Hardy was not hurt, Nelson observed: ‘This is too warm work to last for long.’ He was right: fifty men had been killed or wounded, and they had yet to open fire. No wonder Nelson was impressed by the cool courage of Victory’s crew.