The War of Wars (63 page)

The Emperor was now at last diverted that fateful summer from peering hungrily at England. On 3 August he wrote to General Daru:

You will read in the
Moniteur
some articles that will make you think war with Austria is coming. The fact is that this power is arming. I want her to disarm; if she won’t, I shall pay her a little visit with 200,000 men which she will not soon forget. However, if any one asks you, and in your speeches, say that you don’t believe in it, because I have had ample warning. For it would obviously be sheer folly to make war on me. There is certainly not in all Europe a finer army than the one I command today . . . I have made up my mind: I will either attack Austria and reach Vienna before November – to face the Russians, should they put in an appearance; or else my will, and that is the word, is that there should be but one Austrian regiment in the Tyrol. I want to be left to conduct my war against England in quiet.

On 13 August he declared:

My fleet sailed from Ferrol on the 17th with 34 ships of the line; there was no enemy in sight. If my instructions are followed, if it joins the Brest fleet and enters the Channel, there is still time; I am master of England. If, on the contrary, my admirals hesitate, manoeuvre badly, and don’t carry out my plans, all I can do is to await winter and then cross with the flotilla; it’s a risky operation. Such being the state of things, I must attend to the more urgent matter. I can place 200,000 men in Germany, and 25,000 in the kingdom of Naples. I march on Vienna, and do not lay down my arms until Naples and Venice are mine, and I have so increased the electorate of Bavaria that I have nothing further to fear from Austria. I can certainly pacify Austria after this fashion during the course of the winter. I shall not return to Paris until I have touched my goal. My plan is to gain two weeks. I want to get into the heart of Germany with 300,000 men before any one suspects it.

The following day he signalled Villeneuve anxiously: ‘I hope you have reached Brest. Start; lose not a minute and, with my combined fleets, sail up the Channel. England is ours. We are all ready, everything is embarked. Appear here for twenty-four hours, and all is over.’ But to
his anger and astonishment, he learnt that Villeneuve had made for Cadiz, instead of Brest, because he was running short of supplies, and evidently feared running into the British fleet. But Napoleon’s focus of attention had shifted to the east. His huge invasion force for Britain was left stranded like a beached whale.

On 25 August he wrote to Talleyrand:

My movement is begun. You can say that, as my frontiers are exposed I am moving 25,000 men to protect them. Don’t show boldness, but absolute cowardice. It’s a matter of gaining twenty days and of preventing the Austrians from crossing the Inn while I am marching on the Rhine. I did not suppose the Austrians would be so active, but I have made so many mistakes in my life, that I am past blushing for them.

He also raged furiously:

How small England will become when France gets two or three admirals who are willing to face death! . . . Admiral Villeneuve has touched the limit! The thing is unthinkable! Send me a report covering the whole expedition. Villeneuve is a low rascal who must be ignominiously cashiered. Without plans, without courage, he would sacrifice everything to save his skin!

It was almost possible to feel sorry for the Emperor. In those few days the fate of Europe and of Britain was decided. The siege of Britain was lifted. Napoleon’s revenge on Villeneuve was to be the quite unnecessary sacrifice of the French fleet at a time when all hope of invading Britain had ended and it had no need to expose itself to risk.

Nelson, quite unaware of the great victory he had achieved without firing a shot, sought solace with Lady Hamilton. Horatia’s governess spoke of him: ‘Thank God he is safe and well. Cold water has been trickling down my back ever since I heard he had arrived.’ Then he travelled to Piccadilly to another riotous reception by the people. He was a hero such as Britain had never known before.

It was then in the waiting room of the war office that an historic encounter occurred – the only one of its kind. Sir Arthur Wellesley, a young officer recently returned from India with a growing reputation, recounted:

He could not know who I was but he entered at once into conversation with me, if I can call it conversation, for it was almost all on his side and all about himself and, in reality, a style so vain and so silly as to surprise and almost disgust me.

I suppose something that I happened to say may have made him guess that I was somebody and he went out of the room for a moment, I have no doubt to ask the office-keeper who I was, for when he came back he was altogether a different man both in manner and matter. All that I had thought a charlatan style had vanished and he talked of the state of the country and of the aspect and probabilities of affairs on the continent with a good sense and knowledge of subjects both at home and abroad that surprised me equally and more agreeably than the first part of our interview had done; in fact, he talked like an officer and a statesman.

On 2 September the peace of Nelson’s domestic household in the country was disrupted by an official arrival: a messenger bearing the news that Villeneuve had moved to Cadiz. What could it mean? Nelson hurried to see Pitt. Neither man could know that Napoleon had already abandoned the whole invasion enterprise.

Pitt’s orders this time were for Nelson to assume the Mediterranean and Atlantic commands and destroy the French fleet. Nelson immediately drew up his battle plan, as usual a departure from convention, to attack in three lines. One of his subordinates recounted:

Nelson explained that to reach a quick decision he would divide his own fleet into three divisions: one, composed of the fastest ships, would be held in reserve; the other two would steer for the enemy line at right angles and in line ahead, although that would render them vulnerable in the final approach. ‘I would go at them at once, if I can, about one-third of their line from their leading ship,’ he went on. ‘What do you think of it? I think it will surprise and confound the enemy. They won’t know what I am about. I will bring forward a pell-mell battle and that is what I want.’

He had a fraught meeting with Emma, ‘who could not eat and hardly drank and was swooning at the table’. She was broken-hearted at his departure ‘as our dear Nelson is immediately going. It seems as though I have had a fortnight’s dream, and am awoke to all the misery of this cruel separation. But what can I do? His powerful arm is of so much
consequence to his country.’ He ordered a coffin already made out of the broken timbers of the French flagship
L’Orient
at the Nile to be prepared for him. He hugged his little daughter Horatia five times before leaving on the night of 13 September.

Nelson’s fatalism and obsession with death were such that he certainly anticipated dying, although he had expected to die many times before. He embarked before a large crowd. Many were in tears, many kneeling and blessing him. His flagship was the
Victory
again, after a twenty-five-day absence. Arriving to join the fleet blockading Cadiz, he showed compassion towards Admiral Calder, who had been relieved, giving him the dignity of a 90-gun ship of the line to take him home, which he could ill-afford to spare.

He received a rapturous welcome from the fleet which he described in his curiously naïve, boyish manner: ‘I believe my arrival was most welcome not only to the commander of the fleet [Collingwood] but also to every individual in it.’ He summoned his captains aboard and set out his plan of action in great detail: its virtue was its simplicity. ‘When I came to explain to them the Nelson touch it was like an electric shock, some shed tears, all approved, it was new, it was singular, it was simple and from admirals downwards it was repeated it must succeed if ever they will allow us to get at them.’

He had decided to attack in two columns, not three as originally intended. The columns would sail in parallel to each other to the centre of and rear of the enemy line and break through, the first column about twelve ships from the rear, the second ten ships from the van. This would effectively cut the French van off from the action, leaving it struggling to go about and come to the aid of those behind: the British would thus have eliminated the French superiority in ships and guns. It was a variation on Howe’s breakthrough in naval tactics on the Glorious First of June and Nelson’s own strategy at the Battle of the Nile.

The captains crowded into the low-ceilinged wood-panelled cabin of the
Victory
were famous names in themselves. Nelson’s second-in-command, Collingwood, was a bluff, uncomplicated man and an unimaginative fighter, but an excellent sailor; there was Nelson’s flag captain Hardy, the legendary Pellew, as well as Fremantle, Blackwood,
Codrington, Duff, Louis and others, all towered over by the giant Captain Hallowell, a striking contrast to the slight, delicate figure before them, towards whom they felt almost protective.

Now there was nothing to do but settle down to the tedious business of blockade, waiting for the French to make their move. If they had any sense, they would make none. For the time being the timorous Villeneuve and his admirals were determined to stay in safety in Cadiz, but the huge thirty-five-strong combined Franco-Spanish fleet was running short of supplies.

For once in his life Nelson seemed calmly resigned to waiting. He watched his sailors perform a play for the amusement of the officers and crew, ordered all his ships to be painted yellow with black stripes like giant wasps, for easy identification in battle and insisted that better provisions were served to his men.

With characteristic skill he kept his fleet well out of sight of Cadiz, some fifty miles to the west, communicating through a small line of signalling ships with a frigate squadron watching the port. With a westerly wind blowing, he knew he would be able to close quickly on Cadiz. If an easterly blew he could take refuge on the African side of the Straits of Gibraltar, which would allow him to remain within striking distance of Cadiz.

Villeneuve received a letter from the Emperor. It proposed to replace him with Admiral Rosally, in the event that his ‘excessive pusillanimity’ kept him at Cadiz. The Emperor ‘counts the loss of his vessels for nothing if he loses them with honour,’ Napoleon declared. This accusation of cowardice was too much for any man of honour to bear. On 19 October Villeneuve decided to take advantage of a light wind from the north-east to carry the fleet south and escape through the Straits of Gibraltar.

The French, after being bottled up in harbour for so long, made their exit clumsily – only twelve ships emerging by nightfall. Villeneuve had ordered a third of his fleet to remain behind, to form a reserve French fleet to come to the aid of the main fleet if attacked. This further complicated the departure and only on 20 October did the remainder emerge, to form five straggling columns nine miles long.

The fleet consisted of eighteen French and fifteen Spanish ships,
mostly of 74 guns, although four possessed more than a 100. The great and sinister red-and-black Spanish
Santissima Trinidad
, the four-deck veteran of the Battle of Cape St Vincent, towered above them all with its 150 guns. The colossal
Santa Anna
was entirely draped in funereal black. To those crowding along the shore of the Spanish mainland to watch, it was a mighty armada of magnificent ships rolling in the high sea like a stately procession of ducks, colourful in plumage, stately in bearing, ragged in line.

On receiving the news from his signal frigates that the French had broken out, Nelson wrote to Emma: ‘My dearest, beloved Emma, dear friend of my bosom, the signal has been made that the enemy’s combined fleet are coming out of port. We have very little wind, so that I have no hopes of seeing them before tomorrow. May the God of Battles crown my endeavours with success . . .’

He sailed slowly towards the shore to cut off the French. The wind changed direction twice, and he twice altered his course accordingly. When Villeneuve saw the British fleet in an orderly line on the horizon on the morning of Monday, 21 October, he realized to his horror that it consisted of twenty-seven ships, not eighteen as he had expected. He considered making a bolt for the Straits and escaping to Toulon, but then decided to go north and make a run back to Cadiz. He abandoned his tactical dispositions and ordered his captains to form a single uneven line.

He issued his last instruction: ‘There is nothing to alarm us in the sight of an English fleet. Their 64-gun ships have not 500 men on board; they are not more brave than we are; they are harassed by a two years’ cruise; they have fewer motives to fight well.’ He then watched through the night as the British frigates signalled the whereabouts of the French fleet to Nelson’s ships, which were waiting like predators on the horizon, with rockets and gunfire.

The day dawned pleasantly, with a soft breeze. Nelson to the west was at ease, touring the gun-decks of his ship where he was cheered by his 1,000 men. He knew he could catch up with the French and put his plans into action at leisure. The prospect of action always seemed to induce in him an unnatural calm.

He sat down to prepare a prayer of moving simplicity:

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 no misconduct in anyone tarnish it, and may humanity after victory be the predominant feature in the British Fleet. For myself individually, 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 me to defend. Amen, amen, amen.

He then issued his famous signal: ‘England expects that every man will do his duty.’ This irritated Collingwood, who believed signals should be reserved for practical instructions.

At the last moment, Nelson seems to have decided to attack at right-angles straight into the French fleet, rather than closing at a more oblique angle, perhaps to present a smaller front to the fire of French ships as his column approached, perhaps out of impatience, although Villeneuve had no prospect of escaping to Cadiz, still some twenty miles away. He had decided to lead the first column himself, Collingwood leading the second. Captain Blackwood who had been ordered aboard the
Victory
to be at his side, urged Nelson to shift his flag to the
Euryalus
, where he could direct the battle from safety. Nelson brusquely refused, and rejected another suggestion that the
Téméraire
under Captain Harvey should lead the attack.