Breaking the Line

by David Donachie

  Still she insisted on going home, but Keith, who must have had a fair idea of what was going on, sent orders from off Genoa that no British warship was to be employed to transport her. This annoyed Nelson, but sent Emma into a fury that someone who had been so loyal to Britain’s cause could be so treated. Then Keith arrived in person to hold with Nelson another of those cold interviews that was the hallmark of their relationship.

  ‘I have in my charge the best of what represents Naples, sir, and I feel it is certainly my duty, if not that of the nation we both serve, to secure the safety of those royal persons.’

  ‘At the expense of our nation?’

  ‘We stand in no peril at sea.’

  ‘Do we not, Lord Nelson?’ barked Keith, for once stung out of his habitual stony reserve. ‘I would remind you that the enemy still has a powerful fleet.’

  Nelson was equally sharp. ‘In Brest, blockaded, several weeks away even if they could break out.’

  ‘It will not be your reputation that suffers if they do, but I take your point.’

  Nelson rehearsed every argument he had as to why Maria Carolina and her suite deserved British help and Keith refuted each one. Then Keith commanded Nelson to proceed to Spezia, an order which was declined, Nelson asking instead that he be allowed to strike his flag at once, a request which was granted without even the slightest show of reluctance.

  When Nelson left, Lord Keith sat for several minutes, wondering if what he had done had been wise or foolish. Then he slammed his fist down on his desk and declared in a voice that could be heard in the tops, ‘Lady Hamilton has had command of the fleet long enough.’

  Nelson knew that Emma was nervous about going home, but her reluctance to travel by sea mystified him as much as it did her husband. Keith had offered him a frigate, and had accepted that it was only right and proper that a returning ambassador and his wife should share it. Now Emma was refusing point blank to travel by warship and insisted that they go overland, which from someone who was a good sailor was madness.

  Nelson argued, Sir William cajoled, Cornelia Knight begged – the two latter had made that journey and knew how uncomfortable it was in peacetime, let alone in war. They would be obliged to travel through Austria and Germany all the way to the Baltic and take ship there. Only Mary Cadogan stayed silent, with a look on her face that implied to all who examined it that she was privy to information they were not.

  Finally Emma was saved from the need to explain by the news that Maria Carolina and her daughters were to travel to Austria through Tuscany to the Adriatic, thence by ship to Trieste and on to Vienna. Her request for Lord Nelson and his party to accompany her was one that he could not refuse.

  Emma thought she was pregnant. Although she had planned for it, she was shy of telling Nelson, uncertain of how he would react. What had seemed simple in its inception took on a new aspect in reality, and brought home to her once more that they were both married to others. Now, with this journey imminent, he had to be told.

  ‘I wish you to be seated,’ said Emma, when she had found a spot where they could speak, away from chattering princesses, Cornelia Knight and Sir William.

  Nelson obliged, but a shaft of apprehension shot through him. She seemed nervous, twisting her fingers.

  ‘You have said to me many times Nelson, that you long to be a father. I must ask if you still do?’

  Nelson felt the need to be careful in the face of what must either be reluctance or the inability to conceive; he must reassure Emma, without in any way being false. ‘I will not deny to you my desire to be the father of a child, because I would not lie to you. But be assured, my love, I would not press you to any inclination that did not make you happy.’

  ‘Do you think of the problem of a child?’

  Nelson smiled. ‘What problem, Emma? It could only be by you that such a thing could come to pass, and if that happened it must be God’s will. If it was a boy, what joy to take him to sea. If a girl, it must be another Emma. What rapture that would be!’

  ‘Those are men’s words.’

  He looked at her quizzically then, seeking the thought behind the assertion, which could only be reluctance.

  Seeing his crestfallen face, she had to respond. ‘I am … I am near certain, with child.’

  He was on his feet, touching her, before walking away to turn and look at her with amazement. He grabbed her and made her sit down, then knelt at her feet and pronounced himself the happiest man alive.

  ‘You cannot stay here, you cannot go home, you must go back to Palermo,’ he said.

  ‘You would cast me aside.’

  ‘Trust me, Emma, I will never do that. I think only of you, and now of the child within you.’

  ‘Tell me again that you are happy, Nelson.’

  ‘Look at me, Emma, and tell me how you cannot know that I am the happiest man alive.’

  But behind the joy in his eyes lay a hint of anxiety. She had a pregnancy that would need to be disguised, and a birth that would have to take place with the maximum discretion, and it was something she knew as well as he.

  ‘I fear I cannot advise you, my love.’

  ‘I have a notion of what to do,’ said Emma. As usual her mother had come up with the solution. Patiently she explained it to her lover, who nodded with a confidence he did not feel. ‘And that, Nelson, is why we must travel overland.’

  ‘Put both your hands in mine, Emma,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens, that is my child. For the sake of the unborn and you, all discretion must be shown. But should that fail, never fear that I will abandon you, Emma, for I will not.’

  Sir William was angry with Nelson, because he had still hoped to persuade Emma to travel by sea. Now the man he relied on as his ally was waxing lyrical about the benefits of travelling overland: the way they would be greeted at the Austrian court, his desire to visit the states of north Germany, how his health, which had been appalling, would benefit from the numerous spa towns along the way.

  So Sir William found himself buying, albeit with Nelson’s money, a large travelling coach for them, with a lesser conveyance for their attendants, and arranging for possessions they would not need on the journey to be shipped home. Given the size of her party it was necessary for Maria Carolina to travel a good forty-eight hours ahead, otherwise Nelson and the Hamiltons would have shifted to find anywhere decent to lay their heads.

  The Queen had gone and was not a witness to the moment when the most successful admiral Britannia had ever sent into the Mediterranean struck his blue rear-admiral’s flag, to the sound of banging guns and bosun’s whistles, and the very obvious absence of Lord Keith.

  Nelson had a despatch from Lord Spencer in his hand – a reprimand for his decision to quit Malta three months before in flagrant disregard of Keith’s orders. Spencer asserted that he had been ‘inactive at a foreign court,’ and that it would be better if he struck his flag and came home rather than let such a situation continue.

  Giddings had his own dunnage in the barge as he ordered it rowed ashore for the last time, with the shrouds and yards of Foudroyant and all the other British warships in the harbour manned to cheer Nelson on his way. Every officer and midshipman raised his hat, some openly in tears at the departure of one who had brought many of them such glory. Nelson had to struggle for control, but his resolve held until Giddings, ashore and having waved the barge crew back to the ship, handed him a note.

  My Lord,

  It is with extreme grief that we find you are about to leave us. We have been along with you, tho’ not in the same ship, in every engagement your Lordship has been in, both by land and sea, and most humbly beg of your Lordship to let us proceed with you to England as your boat crew in any ship or vessel, or in any way that may seem pleasing to your Lordship.

  My Lord, pardon the rude style of seamen who are but little used to writing and believe us to be my Lord,

  Your most humble and obedient servants,

  Barge crew of the Foudroyant, late of Vanguard.


  ‘Damn the First Lord,’ said a damp-eyed Nelson.

  ‘Amen to that, your honour,’ said Giddings.

  6

  1800

  The sight of the thin strip of land lit by the low eastern sun produced mixed feelings in Nelson’s breast. It was the coast of Norfolk, and wherever he had gone in the world it was a place for which he hankered: nothing had ever stood comparison to his home county. The people were honest, the women fair and faithful, the men bred to the sea, slow to anger, but terriers in a battle. The landscape, be it the flat, dyke-cut marshland or the low hills to the north, entranced him and, like the local food and ales, had a flavour the mere sense of which opened a whole treasure chest of memories. But most of all it was the light, that translucent glow from the setting sun that created mile long shadows across open fields, the light with which he had grown up.

  That he was arriving here in the King George mail packet still rankled. The Admiralty, despite repeated requests, had failed to despatch a frigate to Hamburg to fetch him and the party of the returning Ambassador. It was a slight both to Sir William Hamilton and himself.

  Four months was a long time to be unavailable for service, but he had told his superiors that he needed to restore his health, and he had done something beneficial as well in the political sphere. The diplomatic effect of the victor of the Nile turning up in person at the central European courts while Bonaparte was rampant had been of immeasurable importance, but this seemed not to have registered with the Admiralty.

  From the Grand Duke of Tuscany, the Emperor of Austria, the aristocracy of Bohemia, to a raft of German dukes, margraves and electors, he had set out to charm his hosts and encourage them to see that France was not invincible. His visits had been well received, and he looked forward to stressing this to his political masters when he met them. Sir William and Emma, both accomplished in the diplomatic milieu, had aided that cause admirably. And at no time had it seemed to Nelson that their hosts suspected he and Emma were lovers.

  Sir William, with a sharper eye and more experience knew differently. The attentions paid by Nelson to Emma were more evident than the Admiral supposed, not least the open admiration in his look whenever Emma spoke, sang or moved around the room at some distance from him. She would sit with him at the Faro table, playing cards with his money, gifting him her winnings or burdening him with her losses, all the time in such close physical proximity that a blind man would have suspected an association.

  Yet even Sir William had to admit that Emma had handled her pregnancy, which she had never admitted to him, with discretion. She was visiting places where she was known only by reputation as a beauty and a performer of classical attitudes, and in the earlier stages of their travels the bloom of her condition had added to that. In northern Italy and Vienna she had scored no end of triumphs: the elderly genius Joseph Haydn, who had insisted she sing for him, had made it plain that he was prepared to be more than just a distant admirer.

  The only one who seemed oblivious to the true nature of affairs was Cornelia Knight. Emma’s close companion seemed unaware of the affair and its burgeoning consequences. Perhaps it was enough for her to bask in the fame of the man with whom she was travelling: perhaps it was a desire to see nothing but good or simply that Cornelia Knight was unworldy. No great beauty, she was not particularly attractive to the opposite sex and her tendency to gabble and her very strident voice were off-putting too. Sir William had often seen male companions frown when she brayed some remark. When she laughed, which she did frequently, Cornelia could be heard across a crowded room.

  But she clearly loved Emma and admired Nelson, forever penning songs and odes to the hero that she recited at every opportunity, her favourite being the new words she had put to the tune of Rule Britannia. On the road, in the discomfort of a swaying carriage, her enthusiasm for any sight, sound or event that took her eye lifted rather than diminished the spirit. As a travelling companion, Emma claimed she was without peer, given the ease with which she could make her laugh.

  As the journey progressed Emma began to put on weight, but that mattered little; she was amongst strangers or people who had not seen her for years. Nelson watched her closely for any sign of ill health, Sir William with the jaundiced eye of a man who had at one time contemplated fatherhood by the same woman. Emma had the excuse that the endless feasts and balls were ruining her figure, and by constant alteration to her wardrobe she was able to disguise each increase in her waistline.

  From every point of the journey, letters flew back to Naples and on to London, impressions of Nelson and of Sir William and his wife. Most, even couched diplomatically, could not avoid reference to the way the Hero of the Nile fawned over Emma Hamilton. Hosts heard from their servants of nocturnal traversing and morning retching in Emma’s apartments, and while never precise, hints were dropped that the recipients would fully understand.

  Approaching England, Emma was beginning to show the full bloom of her pregnancy. In private it was the start of a bulge that Nelson loved to caress, taut skin to which he put his ear hoping for a heartbeat or a kick. In public it would be hidden under a newly extended set of garments. Nelson hoped that the Hamiltons, while people would be aware of them, would not excite as much attention as he himself would, and thus Emma would escape scrutiny.

  He knew that he was in bad odour in certain quarters, and not only for the extended mode of his travel. There were his relations with Lord Keith to account for, the fact that he had ignored his instructions. The more he thought about it, the more he had concluded that Keith’s orders had been designed for one purpose only: to get him under his personal, close command and curb his independence. In short, Keith had been motivated by jealousy, not sound tactical thinking. So he was not minded to turn up in London and apologise, though that did not prevent him worrying.

  The Board of Admiralty must have concurred with Lord Spencer before he had sent the admonitory despatch. There were members of that body, and yet more who had the ear of one, who were less than fond of him, officers and officials whom he had offended long before his own exploits had made him a substantial person in the public eye. While proud of his natural inclination to speak the truth, he knew it tended to create enemies. The envy of service superiors, who felt he had been over-indulged and given commands above his rightful station, would be added to that, which left Nelson to conclude that despite his successes, nothing in his future was certain.

  If the Board of Admiralty backed Lord Keith to the hilt it could be very difficult. Suddenly that strip of coastline conjured up a sense of impending danger rather than welcome.

  It was known to all sailors that news, both good and bad, travels faster than the ship carrying it, and the town of Yarmouth had been alerted to the arrival of the nation’s hero well before his merchantman cleared the harbour entrance. The bells of every church rang out, while every window that faced the sea contained a waving flag. The quay and the harbour wall were lined with people, obliging Nelson to move on to the poop to accept the accolade. Sir William, who had joined him on deck, stayed in the waist, alternately grinning at him and at the cheering crowd. The sun, well above the horizon now, seemed especially ordered to illuminate the hero, sparkling off his jewelled orders and the diamonds of the Chelenk that adorned his hat.

  Below decks, preparing to land, Emma’s heart swelled at the sound. Fêted in the Mediterranean, courted throughout the whole of his European journey, Nelson feared that what fame he had achieved might have faded. With what sounded like the whole of Yarmouth yelling his name, how could he feel that now?

  Sent ashore in a boat while the ship edged in, Tom Allen had hired a carriage to supplement the travelling coach, now lashed to the deck, and had booked rooms at a modest inn called the Wrestler’s Arms. By the time the party landed the hired horses had been removed from the shafts and replaced by a dozen sturdy fellows. The leading burghers of the town, the Mayor and Aldermen, formed a double line from the quay edge to the carriage door, behind which there ro
se the one-word clamour for ‘Nelson’. It was difficult to hear the voice of the Mayor, who informed Nelson that a meal had been prepared in his honour at the leading hotel in the town, that he was the honoured guest of Yarmouth, and that a resolution to grant him the freedom of the town had already been passed. The younger men, as a signal mark of honour, had volunteered to pull his coach through the streets.

  Hats were doffed to Lady Hamilton and her mother, and Sir William received hearty slaps of congratulation, blows that were too powerful for his sparse frame. But there was no complaint, just wonder at a reception the like of which he had never seen. Looking into the eyes of those cheering his friend he could see tears of joy and open rejoicing. Not even the lazzaroni of Naples acted with such fervour.

  Though the Royal George was close by it took nearly an hour for the coach to get to it, so thick was the throng. The same dignitaries who had lined the quay, had used the back streets, so were there to greet the Nelson party and to show them to the upstairs room. A table was set, lit by chandeliers and candelabra, sparkling with glasses, crockery and cutlery. A pair of double windows opened on to a balcony, so that Nelson could step out to overlook the main square, full of people, with yet more crowded in to the roads that led to it.

  His name greeted him in various forms: ropes spliced and nailed to a garlanded board; flowers encircling a huge N, banners proclaiming both him and the Nile victory, one arranged like an army battle honour, listing in a scroll his greatest battles: St Vincent, Tenerife, Calvi and Bastia, Toulon and the action off Genoa, all dwarfed by the four huge letters spelling Nile. When he lifted his hat to the crowd they lifted their voices to a deafening pitch, banners and victory talismans bobbing in accolade.

  ‘My dear,’ he said, holding out a hand to Emma. One look from a local worthy caused Nelson to extend the invitation to Sir William, this while he informed the gathering, ‘Gentlemen, rest assured that whatever fame I have garnered for the cause for our nation’s arms, it could not have been achieved without the aid of these, my two closest companions.’