Nelson: Britannia's God of War (13 page)

Making the excuse that Hyde Parker was at sea with the fleet, Nelson copied his report to the Admiralty.
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He wanted to make a
name for himself before he got home, and cared little about the protocol. In part, his insubordinate behaviour reflected a promising political opportunity back in England. The offer of a seat in Parliament was in the air, but Nelson would only accept it on certain conditions. He wanted to come in on the Portland interest, the mainstream Whig faction that had come into coalition with Pitt in 1794. He wanted to sit for the same borough as his friend Lord Hugh Seymour-Conway, already a naval lord, ‘where the same Admiralty interest will support us both’.
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Already expecting to be recalled, and well aware that a seat in Parliament was an excellent lever with which to secure a prime appointment, Nelson may have overplayed his hand. He soon had work enough on the Riviera. Just when he thought both armies were going into winter quarters, the French assembled a flotilla of small craft, appearing likely to withdraw. Nelson asked Hyde Parker to come and lead, or at least support, an attack. Instead Parker withdrew the squadron. The French attacked at Voltri on 23 November with their usual vigour and speed; ‘the French, half naked, were determined to conquer or die’. Without his smaller craft, and forced to keep
Agamemnon
in Genoa harbour to stop the French using the ships in harbour to outflank the retreating Habsburg army, there was no effective naval support for De Vins. Well aware that he would be used as a scapegoat for the defeat, Nelson was anxious to set out his version of events.
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He blamed Hyde Parker for failing to come to the bay before the attack, when a suitable force could have stopped the operation.

The Austrians retreated from the coast, allowing the French to reoccupy Vado Bay. Into this unfortunate scene came Admiral Jervis, ‘to the great joy of some and sorrow of others in the fleet’.
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Knowing how important first impressions can be, Nelson quickly provided his new Commander in Chief with a resumé of the Vado Bay campaign, and the politico-military position after the Austrian defeat.
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Still expecting to go home,
Agamemnon
being too rotten to remain, Nelson was looking for peace. He was pleased to hear that Sir Charles Middleton had left the Admiralty over the supercession of an aged and timorous admiral. This suggested that Earl Spencer’s Admiralty was looking for young, aggressive officers.
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Nelson understood that the new type of war would require aggression, insight and resolve, with high political courage and a good relationship with the ministers, both in theatre and at home. However, he
had not yet fully appreciated just how far those half-naked French soldiers had raised the stakes of war, and transformed its methods. Hotham’s timid half-measures had failed; an entirely different approach would be needed if the fleet was to retain any influence in a theatre where land and sea power were evenly matched, by nature and topography. The extent to which the new admiral, Jervis, could replace his old Lord was uncertain

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The degree to which both Hood and Jervis influenced Nelson’s career and thought can hardly be overstated.
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Though Nelson admired many of his captains, fine seamen and brave warriors like William Locker and Peter Parker, it was the great fleet commanders who did most to shape his approach to war. He had consciously sought the patronage of Hood, the leading strategist and tactician in the service, in 1782, before relocating his admiration and ambition onto the more durable figure of ‘Old Jarvie’ in 1796. He thus stepped neatly from one stream of opportunity to the next, changing his methods and sensibilities to match the new mood. Between them, the two men provided him with the practical training and inspiring example necessary to complete his education.

Of the two admirals, Samuel, Viscount Hood
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was the more obvious source of inspiration, and he remained the dominant intellectual influence on Nelson’s professional career. Hood’s patronage nourished his aspirations in 1782, and helped to keep his career afloat during the turbulent years that separated the American War of Independence from the French Revolution. He and Nelson had much in common. Both were the sons of country parsons, reliant on a good start and their own merits to transform a steady career into rank, reward and public fame.

Hood’s perspective on war was invariably offensive, seeking battle through active operations, anxious to engage the enemy wherever encountered, and without hesitation. He understood that battle had many purposes: blocking a superior force, securing trade or possessions or, when the opportunity arose, annihilation. He also saw that any engagement was only part of a campaign, and that it should be exploited to the fullest extent. His greatest achievements at sea – off St Kitts, in Frigate Bay and the Saintes – only hinted at the rich vein of insight and acumen that informed his approach to battle. Whenever the enemy offered the chance he was anxious to attack, to concentrate
force against part of their formation, crush it and move on. He believed in an open blockade, and preferred drawing the enemy out to sea for battle, so that they could be destroyed. Here his ideas were in complete contrast to those of Jervis, whose close blockade proved to be the key to the very different war that emerged after 1795. Hood was an eighteenth-century admiral, ideally suited to limited wars where a single battle could decide the outcome, or at least the terms.

While his tactical and fleet-command skills were outstanding, it was at the highest level of strategic and political direction that Hood proved his greatness. His analytical approach to war, weighing up the options open to the enemy, provided a solid base for a truly remarkable confidence in his own judgement. Offered the keys to Toulon in 1793, he immediately seized an opportunity that would have terrified his contemporaries: he read the situation clearly, weighed up the options and took a wise decision. Despite the ultimate failure of the operation, it was the right move: it broke the strength of the French fleet more severely than the actions of Howe and Bridport combined, because it ruined the arsenal and workforce
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as well as the ships, destroying the essential bond of trust between the Toulonese and the government in Paris.
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Throughout the 1793–4 Mediterranean campaign, he worked tirelessly to fulfil his instructions to impress upon the local states ‘the strength and power of Great Britain’,
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promote the national interest, cripple the French fleet, and exploit opportunities. His capture of Corsica was a wonderful demonstration of talent at all levels of war.

Hood’s leadership style was direct. His concern for drill, exercise and discussion with his subordinates was noteworthy, providing a model for his most famous protégé.
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His plans were carefully explained, and he used frigates to convey his orders to the battle-line. Even in defeat, at Toulon, Hood never lost his optimism, or his ability to think through the problems. And he was equally effective in using intelligence and other assets to further his aims. Above all, he never wasted time, constantly trying to exploit the fleeting chance of victory, and to press on the campaign while the enemy was off balance. Nelson took this to heart, valuing time and timing among the greatest of all assets.

Nor were Hood’s supreme talents unknown to the wider public. As an Irish peer, he was elected MP for Westminster alongside (though in opposition to) Charles James Fox; he held high office as First Naval
Lord at the Admiralty and was widely consulted on naval questions after his dismissal from the Mediterranean. When Hood joined Pitt’s party in 1783 Nelson, too, became a Pitt partisan.
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When Nelson returned to sea in 1793, having been out of favour with Hood, and everyone else in high office, for half a decade, he was desperate to prove himself. Though Hood consistently ignored Nelson’s deeds in his correspondence and dispatches, implying that he was not particularly impressed, his open, free and encouraging conversation brought the two men ever closer as the campaign in Corsica kept them ashore, fighting thick-skulled redcoats as well as the enemy. Nelson valued the praise of Lord Hood above all other currency, just as his followers would esteem his own generosity half a decade later. The confidence he derived from Hood’s praise allowed him to relax and reflect on his profession, rather than desperately seeking some sterile glory in battle.

Nelson did not possess the supreme egotism of which he is often accused: rather, he consciously built his methods and style on the best models and consistently sought the approval of his seniors. His anxiety to have his deeds recorded was part of this process, reflecting his fundamental and recurring insecurity. This trait drove him to excel, to take risks, and publicise his successes. In the same vein every setback was, to his mind, a disaster – the end of his career. He needed to know that his actions were approved, and only then could he relax. He freely acknowledged his need for praise, public applause and the outward show of glory: he lived his life for public service, and public acclaim. To this end he risked his life, because the spirit of the age required him to be personally brave.