by Roy Adkins
The French began taking on stores and refitting with the intention of sailing west into the Atlantic with the first available wind, but on 6 July Saumarez arrived in the Bay of Gibraltar with nine battleships. Captain Pallière asked Cochrane if he thought an attack was imminent, to which Cochrane replied ‘that before night both British and French ships would be at Gibraltar’, adding that, ‘it would give me great pleasure to make him and his officers a return for the kindness I had experienced on board the Desaix!’30 Despite this warning, Pallière resumed his normal routine, inviting Cochrane to breakfast: ‘Before the meal was ended, a round shot crashed through the stern of the Desaix, driving before it a shower of broken glass, the débris of a wine bin under the sofa. We forthwith jumped up from table, and went on the quarter-deck, but a raking shot from Sir James Saumarez’s ship sweeping a file of marines from the poop, not far from me, I considered further exposure on my part unnecessary, and went below.’31
Although outnumbered, the French were in a strong position, being protected by Spanish gunboats and by batteries of guns on the shore. To prevent the British ships sailing between them and the coast, the French ships had begun moving inshore, but they were too slow and so Linois ordered them to cut their cables and run ashore. Being under fire from British ships and prudently taking cover, Cochrane could gain only glimpses of the action. The British ships tried to get in closer, but the 74-gun Hannibal ran aground and sustained heavy fire, which, as Captain Jahleel Brenton of the Caesar noted, resulted in ‘seventy-three killed and sixty-four wounded, - a very unusual proportion, as, in general, the wounded trebles the number of the killed; but this may be accounted for by the Hannibal being so near that the enemy’s shot passed through her sides without making any splinters, to which the greater number of wounds are attributable’.32
With adverse winds, Saumarez decided it was fruitless to continue the attack, and the remaining British ships withdrew to Gibraltar, leaving the shattered Hannibal along with the crew in French hands. The day after this Battle of Algeciras, the British negotiated an exchange of prisoners, including Cochrane and the crew of the Speedy and those on board the Hannibal.
Both the French and British ships were badly damaged, and it was a race to repair them - if the French won, they could escape before the British were ready to attack again, but for added protection they called for reinforcements from the Spanish fleet at Cadiz. Several days later six Spanish battleships under Vice-Admiral Moreno arrived at Algeciras from Cadiz, having evaded the now much-reduced blockade of that port. On the afternoon of 12 July the French and Spanish all sailed together. Though the repairs of the British ships were incomplete, they gave chase, and from Gibraltar Cochrane watched the fighting begin in the Strait:Of the action which subsequently took place I have no personal knowledge, other than that of a scene witnessed by myself from the garden of the commissioner’s house [at Gibraltar], in which I was staying. The enemy were overtaken at dusk, soon after leaving the bay, and when it had become dark, Captain Keats, in the Superb, gallantly dashed in between the two sternmost ships, firing right and left, and passed on . . . The movement was so rapidly executed, that the Superb shot ahead before the smoke cleared away, and the Spanish ships, the Real Carlos, 112 [guns], and the San Hermenegildo, 112 [guns], mistaking each other for the aggressor, began a mutual attack, resulting in the Real Carlos losing her foretop-mast, the sails of which - falling over her own guns - caught fire. While in this condition the Hermenegildo - still engaging the Real Carlos as an enemy - in the confusion fell on board her and caught fire also. Both ships burned till they blew up.33
With expert seamanship, at a cost of two broadsides, Captain Richard Keats had caused the destruction of two of the largest Spanish battleships, and Cochrane recorded that ‘nearly all on board [the Spanish ships] perished; a few survivors only escaping on board the Superb as Captain Keats was taking possession of a third Spanish line-of-battle ship, the San Antonio . . . the remainder of the combined squadron got safely back to Cadiz’.34 As the sight and sound of the fighting disappeared in the distance, Cochrane was left to reflect that his association with the Speedy was at an end. He was subsequently court-martialled on board the Pompee at Gibraltar. This was an automatic proceeding for any officer who had lost his ship, but as Cochrane had done everything possible to save the Speedy, it was no surprise that he was acquitted. In the few months under his command, he claimed the little sloop had captured fifty vessels and 122 guns, as well as taking 534 prisoners. The Speedy was renamed Saint Pierre by the French and was presented by Napoleon to the Pope. Cochrane himself was promoted to captain, but was furious that his first lieutenant was turned down for promotion following the capture of the Gamo. He refused to let the matter rest on his return to England, and Earl St Vincent eventually replied to him that ‘the small number of men killed on board the Speedy did not warrant the application’.35 Cochrane’s bravery and seamanship tended to avoid such casualties, and never afraid to speak out, he retorted that ‘in the battle from which his lordship derived his title there was only one man killed on board his own flagship’.36 This made him a bitter enemy of St Vincent and those around him, but, Cochrane commented, ‘it was a common remark in the Navy that the battle of St. Vincent was gained by the inshore squadron, under Nelson, the commander-in-chief being merely a spectator, at a distance which involved the loss of one man in his own ship’. 37 It would be a long time before Cochrane was given another ship to command.
At the other end of the Mediterranean in August 1801, a few weeks after these two battles off Algeciras, the French signed a treaty to leave Egypt: after the assassination of General Kléber the previous year, overall command had passed to General Menou - Jacques Abdallah Menou as he now called himself, for he had married an Egyptian woman and converted to Islam. Unlike Kléber, Menou was not in any hurry to quit Egypt, and he was also eccentric, which made negotiations difficult. To break the deadlock an expeditionary force of British troops was sent to take Egypt by force, and in the autumn of 1800 Admiral Lord Keith was given the task of organising the transportation of this army. The British government had underestimated the strength of the French troops in Egypt and overestimated the efficiency of the Turks, with the result that the force sent out under the command of Lieutenant-General Sir Ralph Abercromby was inadequate. Keith took personal charge of British ships in the eastern Mediterranean, relieving Sir Sidney Smith of his command, so that on the face of it Smith was just another captain of a ship. However, Keith did recognise that Smith had extensive knowledge of the area and found his advice invaluable.
The British expedition assembled in the bay of Marmaris on the southern coast of Turkey, where Abercromby, awaiting supplies, prudently allowed his soldiers to acclimatise while he trained them in the tactics of beach landings. This also gave Abercromby time to gain intelligence about Egypt and to realise that his Turkish allies were likely to prove useless. The French were aware of the preparations for a British invasion well in advance, but Menou failed to reinforce their positions along the coast, so that when the attack came in March 1801, the French were repulsed, despite putting up a stiff resistance. Had Menou counter-attacked immediately with a large force, he would have thrown the British back into the sea, but he delayed, and when he did oppose the British landing at Aboukir, his force was too small. Even so it was a closely fought battle with many casualties on both sides, including Abercromby, who died of his wounds a week later. Menou retreated to Alexandria, and the British, now reinforced by Turks, Mamelukes and Bedouins, gradually pushed inland from the coast. At the end of August 1801 Menou finally signed a treaty allowing him to repatriate his men, which was ratified by Keith on 2 September, at last bringing an end to Napoleon’s expedition to the East.
Sidney Smith was given the honour of taking dispatches back to Britain, announcing the final removal of the French from Egypt, and he sailed in the frigate Carmen, which was commanded by Captain Selby. It was to be an eventful journey. As they were sailing along the coast
of Libya strong winds almost blew the frigate ashore. Midshipman George Parsons, awakened from his sleep by the noise, heard the master shouting, ‘hold on, lads . . . for here comes a topper’. 38 Parsons recounted that ‘the frigate, from having little way [no speed], had fallen off in the trough of the sea, and a mountainous wave rolling on the beam seemed determined to swamp us; onward it came in its resistless might, breaking over the frigate, and sweeping away the boats and spare spars. “Hold on, good sticks [addressing the masts]”, said Sir Sidney, who, with the captain, being aroused by the concussion, came running on deck . . . “It is Cape Dern [modern Derna],” said Sir Sidney, “and I fear we are embayed. All hands wear ship.”’ 39 As the men struggled to turn the ship Parsons saw that ‘the mainsail blew to ribbons as she came to the wind on the other tack; and, fortunately for the old frigate, it so happened, for we were taken flat aback in a heavy squall, and, had the mainsail still remained set, we most certainly should have gathered stern way, and foundered’.40
Having survived this emergency the frigate continued to battle against unusually rough weather, but it was not seasickness that blunted Parsons’s hunger: ‘Sir Sidney, among many peculiar eccentricities, asserted that rats fed cleaner, and were better eating, than pigs or ducks; and, agreeably to his wish, a dish of these beautiful vermin were caught daily with fish-hooks, well baited, in the provision hold, for the ship was infested with them, and served up at the captain’s table; the sight of them alone, took off the keen edge of my appetite.’41 Smith was right that the rats lived off the best provisions and thus could provide a good meal, and it was not uncommon for seamen to cook and eat rats to supplement their rations: what was unusual was serving them at the captain’s table.
The bad weather of the Mediterranean worsened as soon as they passed the Strait of Gibraltar. In the Bay of Biscay they met a merchant ship flying the American flag upside down as a distress signal. Parsons, with no great regard for Americans and less for their skill at navigation, dubbed the commander of the vessel ‘Captain Corncob’. He hailed the Carmen with the news that they had a leak and were sinking. When he requested a boat, Captain Selby offered to accompany the ship into port, as he thought the sea too rough for a boat. It became clear that the crew were panicking, so Smith volunteered to take a carpenter across in a boat to see what could be done. On boarding the American ship Smith was greeted by the captain, as Parsons sardonically recorded:‘I guess you are the captain of that there Britisher,’ said Jonathan Corncob . . . ‘and I take your conduct as most particularly civil.’ ‘I am only a passenger in yon frigate, and am called Sir Sidney Smith; but let your carpenter show mine where he thinks the leak is, and I shall be glad to look at your chart.’ ‘You shall see it, Sidney Smith (we do not acknowledge titles in our free country);’ - and Jonathan [a name for an American] unrolled a very greasy chart before Sir Sidney. ‘I do not see any track pricked off. What was your longitude at noon yesterday? and what do you think your drift has been since that time?’ ‘Why, to tell you the truth, Sidney Smith, I ’av’n’t begun to reckon yet; but mate and I was about it when the gale came on. I think we are about here.’ And Jonathan Corncob covered many degrees with the broad palm of his hand. ‘Mate thinks we are more to the eastward.’This convinced Sir Sidney, that he rightly guessed, that the man was lost. . . . The carpenter, by this time, had diminished the leak; and Sir Sidney, giving Captain Corncob the bearings and distance of Brest, only a day’s sail dead to leeward, offered to take him and his crew on board the El Carmen, leaving the boat’s crew to run the tarnation leaky hooker into Brest, and claiming half her value as salvage. But Jonathan gravely demurred, and calling to mate, ‘Reverse our stripes, and place our stars uppermost again, where they should be,’ while he kindly slapped Sir Sidney on the shoulder, calling him an honest fellow from the old country; and in the fulness of his gratitude offered him a quid of tobacco and a glass of brandy.42
The Carmen finally reached Portsmouth on 9 November, but the ship carrying duplicate dispatches from Egypt had overtaken them, as The Times reported: ‘Yesterday morning at eight o’clock Sir SIDNEY SMITH arrived at the Admiralty from Portsmouth. The vessel in which he came home having been charged with duplicates of the despatches which have already been published, Sir SIDNEY brings no news: he has, however, brought with him a great number of letters from our countrymen in Egypt, which will no doubt prove highly acceptable to their relatives. Sir SIDNEY was attired in the Turkish dress, turban, robe, shawl, and girdle round his waist, with a brace of pistols, and appeared in good health and spirits.’43 The flamboyant Sir Sidney found that he was also eclipsed by Nelson, who was still being fêted in London after his victory six months earlier at Copenhagen, and that people were now more concerned about the prospect of peace. The heroes were home, Napoleon had gained control of France, though he had lost Egypt, the Armed Neutrality had collapsed and the British controlled the Mediterranean. It was a stalemate, with both Britain and France exhausted by the war effort and desperately needing to recuperate. Because of continual warfare, Britain’s national debt stood at £537 million, causing much suffering as taxes and the cost of living rose steadily. Food prices had nearly doubled, and bad harvests and a reduction in imports brought many of the poor to the edge of starvation. Food riots began to break out across the country in almost every major city, including London. This led to the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, allowing imprisonment of anyone indefinitely, without charge or trial.
Even while the fleet had been gathering off Copenhagen in March, the British government had indicated to Napoleon a willingness to negotiate a peace settlement, but as one historian commented a century ago, ‘It fairly took the Ministry by surprise when, on Wednesday, the 30th of September [1801], an answer was received from Napoleon, accepting the English proposals. Previously, the situation had been very graphically, if not very politely, described in a caricature [political cartoon] by Roberts, called “Negotiation See-saw,” where Napoleon and John Bull were represented as playing at that game on a plank labelled, “Peace or War”.’44 For the moment, the see-saw favoured peace.
In October 1801 a provisional peace treaty between Britain and France was signed. There was rejoicing on both sides of the Channel, but it was agreed that Britain would relinquish virtually all overseas territories that had been recently annexed, including Egypt and Malta, and not just those captured from France but also ones taken from Spain and Holland. Even strategically important bases such as the Cape of Good Hope, on the main sea route to the East, were given up. In the Caribbean only Trinidad (previously Spanish) was held, while in the East Indies the former Dutch colony of Ceylon was retained. In return France agreed to recognise the neutrality of states such as Holland and Switzerland in a set of conditions designed both to appease Napoleon and curb French expansion.
In truth it was no more than a respite allowing the two opponents to draw breath before renewing the conflict, and many politicians and military men saw it as such, yet the majority of people genuinely wanted peace, and there was almost every possible shade of opinion about the treaty. For many British naval officers the peace was not welcome, since it meant being cast ashore on half-pay with little prospect of further employment, promotion or prize money, but for many ordinary seamen it was a chance to return home. For John Nicol, who had served at the Battle of the Nile, it was a time of mixed feelings:I was once more my own master, and felt so happy, I was like one bewildered. Did those on shore only experience half the sensations of a sailor at perfect liberty, after being seven years on board ship without a will of his own, they would not blame his eccentricities, but wonder he was not more foolish. After a few days my cooler reason began to resume its power, and I began to think what should be my after pursuits . . . the thoughts of Sarah [a woman he had loved and been forced to leave ten years earlier] had faded into a distant pleasing dream. The violent desire I at one time felt to repossess her was now softened into a curiosity to know what had become of her. As I was now possessed of
a good deal of pay, and prize-money due, when I received it, I went down to Lincoln to make inquiry, but no one had heard of her since I was there myself, nine years before. 45
Finding the quest hopeless because he ‘knew not in what quarter of the globe she was, or whether she was dead or alive’,46 Nicol returned to his native Edinburgh, but he already knew that his father was dead and his brothers had gone, and he found the city changed: ‘I scarce knew a face in Edinburgh. It had doubled itself in my absence. I now wandered in elegant streets where I had left corn growing; everything was new to me . . . I felt myself, for a few weeks after my arrival, not so very happy. As I had anticipated, there was scarcely a friend I had left that I knew again; the old were dead, the young had grown up to manhood and many were in foreign climes...I could not settle to work, but wandered up and down.’47 Yet Nicol was one of the lucky ones, because in the following months he gradually overcame his sense of alienation, found a job and married. Many other seamen spent their money all at once and were reduced to begging, since there was now no call for sailors and few could turn to another trade.
