by Roy Adkins
The Orient then blew up, as Willyams graphically described:At thirty-seven minutes past nine the fatal explosion happened. The fire communicated to the magazine, and l’Orient blew up with a crashing sound that deafened all around her. The tremulous motion, felt to the very bottom of each ship, was like that of an earthquake; the fragments were driven such a vast height into the air that some moments elapsed before they could descend, and then the greatest apprehension was formed from the volumes of burning matter which threatened to fall on the decks and rigging of the surrounding ships. Fortunately, however, no material damage occurred . . . An awful silence reigned for several minutes, as if the contending squadrons, struck with horror at the dreadful event, which in an instant had hurled so many brave men into the air, had forgotten their hostile rage in pity for the sufferers.44
The silence did not last. ‘But short was the pause of death;’ Willyams reflected, ‘vengeance soon roused the drooping spirits of the enemy.’45 After the explosion, the ships at the head of the French line were by now out of the battle, and so the British ships did running repairs and then moved down the line to take on fresh opponents. Here the fighting continued until about three in the morning, when there was another lull because both sides needed to pause to patch up their badly damaged ships. When the Goliath ceased firing, John Nicol ‘went on deck to view the state of the fleets, and an awful sight it was. The whole bay was covered with dead bodies, mangled, wounded, and scorched, not a bit of clothes on them except their trowsers. There were a number of French, belonging to the French admiral’s ship, the L’Orient, who had swam to the Goliath and were cowering under her forecastle. Poor fellows, they were brought on board, and Captain Foley ordered them down to the steward’s room, to get provisions and clothing.’46 An experienced seaman who had fought in the American War of Independence, Nicol was struck by the dejection of the prisoners: ‘In the American war, when we took a French ship . . . the prisoners were as merry as if they had taken us, only saying, “Fortune de guerre” - you take me today, I take you tomorrow. Those we now had on board were thankful for our kindness, but were sullen, and as downcast as if each had lost a ship of his own.’47
The battle dragged on fitfully throughout the next day. Although it was obvious who were the victors, the French refused to surrender, and each ship had to be beaten into submission. Rear-Admiral Villeneuve in the Guillaume Tell, though, decided to escape with the remaining intact French ships, and took his ship out of the line, followed by the battleship Généreux and the two frigates Diane and Justice. Because the rigging and masts of the British ships were so badly mauled, there was no chance of catching these relatively undamaged French ships. After firing a few broadsides, they returned their attention instead to the remaining ships that had not surrendered. Willyams described how the last two French ships finally gave up:In the morning of the 3rd of August there remained in the Bay only the Timoleon and Tonnant of the French line that were not captured or destroyed. The former being aground near the coast, the Captain (Trullet) with his crew escaped in their boats after setting fire to her, and in a short time she blew up. A flag of truce had been sent to the Tonnant, but she refused to submit; on which the Theseus and Leander going down to her, and the Swiftsure following, she struck without further resistance. This completed the conquest of the French fleet in the Bay of Aboukir.48
On the British side the initial estimate of casualties was 218 killed and 677 wounded, although men continued to die from their wounds. The number of women killed and wounded was not recorded. The French casualties were far worse, with an estimate of 5235 killed or missing and 3305 taken prisoner, of whom around a thousand were wounded. The Orient had a nominal crew of about one thousand men, but they were not all on board during the battle. Of those that were, the majority lost their lives - the exact casualty figures are unknown. Unable to feed and care for so many prisoners, Nelson returned all but about two hundred to the shore in the days following the battle.
At this time, Napoleon was pursuing a force of Mamelukes on the edge of the Sinai Desert, and news of the defeat did not reach him until 13 August. His private secretary, Bourrienne, recorded that ‘on learning of the terrible catastrophe of Aboukir, the general-in-chief was overwhelmed . . . At a glance, he clearly measured its fatal consequences . . . He quickly recovered his presence of mind that controlled events; that moral courage, that strength of character, that loftiness of thought, which had wavered for a moment beneath the overwhelming weight of this news. He only repeated, in a tone difficult to describe, "Unfortunate Brueys, what have you Done! ”’49 Napoleon and his army were now trapped in Egypt.
The victory at Aboukir Bay was the greatest that had been achieved in the war against France and the first major setback for Napoleon, up to then claimed as invincible in French propaganda. The battle was to mark Nelson’s life as deeply as it marked Napoleon’s, for he became a British national hero. He was heralded as ‘Lord Nelson’ in The Times even before King George III decided to make him a peer. Rather than the Battle of Aboukir Bay, it became known in Britain as the Battle of the Nile, and Nelson became Baron Nelson of the Nile, with an annual pension of £2000. Other gifts and honours were showered on him, ranging from the sublime to the downright unbelievable. The East India Company considered that the immediate threat from Napoleon to its territories in India had been removed and voted Nelson a gift of £10,000, while the Ottoman Sultan Selim III awarded him the Chelengk (Plume of Triumph) - a gaudy, diamond-encrusted ornament, which Nelson sometimes wore on his hat. Probably the strangest gift came from Captain Hallowell of the Swiftsure, who presented Nelson with a coffin. The accompanying letter read: ‘My Lord, Herewith I send you a coffin made of part of L’Orient’s main mast, that when you are tired of this life you may be buried in one of your own trophies - but may that period be far distant, is the sincere wish of your obedient and much obliged servant, Ben Hallowell.’50 For Nelson, Napoleon and many other key players, the Battle of the Nile was the start of a new phase of the war, but for John Nicol, below decks in the Goliath, it was ‘the glorious first of August, the busiest night in my life’.51
THREE
SIEGE OF ACRE
Ten days before the departure of Bonaparte, who was heading towards Egypt and Syria, a prisoner escaped from the Temple who was to contribute so greatly to his reverses. An escape so simple in itself much later was to cause the failure of the most gigantic plans and bold ideas.
Bourrienne, on the consequences of Sir Sidney Smith’s
escape from prison on 24 April 17981
After the Battle of the Nile Nelson sent seven British ships and six French prizes to Gibraltar for repairs, and in the days that followed, the rest of the British ships were made seaworthy and the remaining captured French ships were either repaired or destroyed. At Aboukir, Midshipman Elliot was involved in the attempt to salvage anything useful from the submerged French frigate Sérieuse to refit his own ship, the Goliath:The ship was laying on her side, the upper part of the lower deck hatches under water. Our greatest want was cannons, and I dived . . . in hopes of finding some, expecting to have air enough towards the upper side where it was above water; in this I was right, and I also found much more light than I expected . . .The first thing I met was a dead French marine, swelled up and floating like a cork; he was by no means a pleasant companion where fresh air was scarce, and it was with no little difficulty that I forced him under the beams into the open hatchway. Captain Hardy had come on board to see what was to be had, like myself, and just as he looked down the hatchway up bobbed the marine . . . I got most useful supplies from this ship, which greatly assisted our refit. Hardy mentioned this . . . to Nelson who said no wonder I smelt out a Frenchman in the dark. Poor Nelson had such a horror of all Frenchmen, that I believe he thought them at all times nearly as corrupt in body as in mind.2
At long last, five British frigates found their way to Egypt. Leaving two battleships and three frigates to blockade Alexandria, Nelson took the remaining
ships to Naples. News of the battle had already been brought there by the Mutine, and so boats were ready to welcome Nelson’s ships. An Englishwoman staying at Naples, Cornelia Knight, ‘was with Sir William and Lady Hamilton in their barge, which also was followed by another with a band of musicians on board. The shore was lined with spectators, who rent the air with joyous acclamations, while the bands played “God save the King” and “Rule Britannia.”.’3 Following the barge of the Hamiltons was the King of Naples, Ferdinand IV, but he ‘did not go on board either of the ships, but from his barge saluted the officers on deck. His Majesty had expressed his desire to be incognito, so as not to give the trouble of paying him the usual honours.’4
The British seamen, and especially Nelson, were given a rapturous welcome, and afterwards Nelson wrote home to his wife: ‘Sir William and Lady Hamilton came out to sea, attended by numerous boats, with emblems, &c. They, my most respectable friends, had nearly been laid up seriously ill; first from anxiety, then from joy . . . Alongside came my honoured friends; the scene in the boat was terribly affecting; up flew her ladyship, and exclaiming, “Oh, God! is it possible?” she fell into my arm18 more dead than alive. Tears, however, soon set matters to rights, when alongside came the king.’5
From a modern perspective, Lady Hamilton’s reactions to the news and meeting Nelson seem hysterical and perhaps insincere, but congratulations similar in tone came from various ladies, including Countess Spencer in London:Joy, joy, joy to you, brave, gallant, immortalized Nelson! May that great God, whose cause you so valiantly support, protect and bless you to the end of your brilliant career! Such a race surely never was run. My heart is absolutely bursting with different sensations of joy, of gratitude, of pride, of everyemotion that ever warmed the bosom of a British woman, on hearing of her Country’s glory - and all produced by you . . . All, all I can say must fall short of my wishes, of my sentiments about you. This moment the guns are firing, illuminations are preparing, your gallant name is echoed from street to street, and every Briton feels his obligations to you weighing him down.6
Nelson, the national hero, now found his fame was rapidly spreading across Europe - not for the strategic significance of the battle, which was important enough, but for the propaganda value. The French had enjoyed a long string of victories on land, and the rising young star, Napoleon, had been hailed as invincible. At sea, the defeat of a French fleet off Cape St Vincent in February 1797, and the defeat of the Dutch, allies of the French, at the Battle of Camperdown in October the same year, had been the only real causes for rejoicing. It did not matter that Napoleon was not on board ship at the time of the battle: his fleet had been decisively defeated, and Nelson was the commander who had led the attack.
When news of Nelson’s victory reached London in October, the immediate reaction of the Foreign Office was to order Captain Sir Sidney Smith to Constantinople (now Istanbul). Both Nelson and Smith were lethal weapons that could be brilliantly effective against the enemy, but were not always controllable. Yet of all the differences between these two naval officers, one stood out: Nelson was very much a warlord, always anxious to go straight for the enemy and defeat them in open battle, whereas Smith was more subtle - a political animal deeply involved with the British Secret Service. Nelson was a fighter with limited diplomatic skills, Smith was a diplomat and spy who could fight.
Although Napoleon’s fleet had been comprehensively defeated, and he himself was stranded in Egypt, a threat still existed to British interests in the eastern Mediterranean and even India, which the French could attack overland, beyond Nelson’s reach. A British military expedition would take time and a great deal of finance to assemble, and if Napoleon moved quickly, as he often did, he could be in India long before the British Army caught up. The answer was to send Sir Sidney Smith to Constantinople, where his younger brother, John Spencer Smith, was the minister-plenipotentiary. When the latter was first appointed to the British Embassy there in 1792, his brother Sidney joined him and was involved in intelligence work. It was France declaring war on Britain early the following year that led to Sidney Smith rescuing and burning the French warships at Toulon that summer. Sir Sidney was now instructed by the Admiralty ‘to put to sea without a moment’s loss of time in the ship you command, and proceed with all possible despatch off Cadiz, and putting yourself under the command of the Earl of St Vincent, admiral of the Blue and commander-in-chief of his majesty’s ships and vessels in the Mediterranean and along the coast of Portugal, follow his lordship’s order for your further proceedings’.7 If St Vincent was not at Cadiz, Smith was to look for him at Gibraltar. The Foreign Office advised the two brothers to sign a treaty with the Turks and Russians to form an alliance to defend the Ottoman Empire, and Sir Sidney was given full powers with his brother. In a letter to Spencer Smith, his role was set out:Your Brother Sir Sidney Smith shall proceed to Constantinople with the 80 Gun Ship the Tigre, to the Command of which he has lately been appointed. His Instructions will empower him to take the Command of such of His Majesty’s Ships as He may find in those Seas, unless . . . it should happen that there should be among them any of His Majesty’s officers of superior Rank, and he will be directed to act with such force in conjunction with the Russian and Ottoman squadrons for the defence of the Ottoman Empire, and for the Annoyance of the Enemy in that quarter.8
Such a dual mission was unusual, and the Admiralty knew that to invest a mere captain with such powers was likely to cause trouble when there were many senior officers available. Indeed, Nelson was to object most strongly. Sir Sidney met up with St Vincent at Gibraltar in December, and St Vincent subsequently responded to the First Lord of the Admiralty:I certainly did conceive it to have been your lordship’s intention, that Sir Sidney Smith should act independent of any other officer in the Mediterranean, except myself, and that he was only put under my orders pro forma; and I clearly understood from his conversation, that the great object of joining him in the commission with his brother, Mr. Spencer Smith, was to give him place [power] over the Turkish and Russian sea-officers serving in the Levant; and he expected, under the rank and precedence arising out of this commission, to command the combined fleets; and I so stated it to Lord Nelson, as the best apology I could make for permitting a captain of Sir Sidney’s standing to pass through his lordship’s district, without putting himself under his [Nelson’s] command.9
While St Vincent knew that Smith was to be given a free hand and had only been put under his command for the sake of appearances, he did not like it any more than he liked Smith himself.
By the time Smith found St Vincent at Gibraltar, Nelson had been at Naples for some weeks, where he remained for the next few months, but it was not the quiet period of recuperation that he might have wanted. Ferdinand I, King of the Two Sicilies19, was not an intelligent man, and the real power was wielded by Queen Maria Carolina, sister of the guillotined Marie Antoinette. The King and Queen were inspired by Nelson’s success to make a pre-emptive strike against the French, who were working their way south through Italy, and Ferdinand led his army in person, recapturing Rome with little difficulty. He was not prepared for the counterattack, however, and the battle turned into a rout, with the French hard on the heels of the Neapolitans. When the French reached Naples, the liberal Neapolitans, tired of misrule by a hereditary monarchy, rose in revolt and proclaimed a republic. In December 1798 the king and his family were forced to flee, being ferried to Sicily in Nelson’s flagship through an extremely violent storm. Matters were further complicated for Nelson because he had fallen in love with Emma Hamilton, and at Palermo in Sicily they embarked on an affair.
Emma was originally the mistress of Sir William Hamilton’s nephew, who had passed her on to Sir William, against her will, over a decade ago. By then Hamilton had been a widower for some years, after a happy marriage, and was at first uncomfortable with what his scheming nephew had done, but he realised that Emma was not just beautiful, but intelligent and gifted too. Hamilton set about educating her,
noting her flair for languages, singing and drama, and eventually a strong bond formed between them, and they married. In the permissive, hedonistic atmosphere of the Royal Court at Naples, Emma was accepted as a British ambassador’s wife and developed a deep relationship with the Queen that greatly benefited British diplomacy. Nelson believed she had intervened with the Queen to allow his fleet to replenish supplies at Syracuse before the Battle of the Nile, without which he would have been forced to sail even further afield and perhaps have missed the French altogether. For this he remained grateful to Emma until literally his dying day, when he mentioned it in a codicil to his will.
The relationship that developed between them was not a youthful infatuation, for Nelson was forty-three, blind in his right eye, missing his right arm and prey to other ailments, including malaria, while Emma was thirty-three, putting on weight and no longer possessing the fresh-faced beauty of her early portraits. There is no evidence that Emma was previously unfaithful to Sir William, and her involvement with Nelson did not replace her relationship with her husband, but Sir William was sixty-eight and his health was beginning to fail. The result was a three-sided relationship that lasted until Sir William’s death - he was firm friends with Nelson and bequeathed him his favourite picture of Emma.
At this point, enjoying a blossoming love affair, still basking in public adulation and totally immersed in the work that he lived for, Nelson’s pride suffered a severe blow with the arrival of Sidney Smith. On 26 December 1798 Smith entered Constantinople, just as Nelson reached Palermo in Sicily with the royal refugees from Naples. Smith was every bit as active as Nelson, immediately setting in motion his plans to oust the French from Egypt, and by the end of December Nelson learned that Smith had taken command of his own ships that were blockading Alexandria. He immediately wrote a furious letter to St Vincent: ‘I do feel, for I am a man, that it is impossible for me to serve in these seas, with the squadron under a junior officer . . . Never, never was I so astonished as your letter made me. The Swedish knight [Smith], writes Sir William Hamilton, says that he shall go to Egypt, and take Captain Hood and his squadron under his command. The knight forgets the respect due to his superior officer: he has no orders from you to take my ships away from my command . . . Is it to be borne? Pray grant me your permission to retire.’10
