Drake, Nelson and Napoleon by Walter Runciman

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This explosion was indicative of bitter disappointment. It is these
outbursts of devotion to a great burning ideal that give an impulse to
the world. His anxiety when he made his landfall and was informed by
scouts sent to meet him that the allied squadrons had not been heard
of was intense. It was not until then that his vigorous mind was
smitten with the possibility of the French having cheated him by going
to Jamaica. Orde had been superseded by Collingwood, and was stationed
off Cadiz, the purpose of which was to watch the entrance to the
Mediterranean. Nelson wrote and sent him the following letter:--

MY DEAR COLLINGWOOD,--I am, as you may suppose, miserable at not
falling in with the enemy's fleet; and I am almost increased in
sorrow in not finding them here. The name of General Brereton
will not soon be forgot. I must now hope that the enemy have not
tricked me, and gone to Jamaica; but if the account, of which I
send you a copy, is correct, it is more than probable that they
are either gone to the northward, or, if bound to the
Mediterranean, not yet arrived.

The vivid symptoms of disquietude in this communication to his old
friend are distinctly pathetic. In parts he is comically peevish and
decidedly restrained. He mixes his fierce wrath against the hapless
General Brereton with the generalizing of essentials, and
transparently holds back the crushing thoughts of misadventure for
which he may be held responsible by the misanthropic, scurrilous,
self-assertive experts. His impassive periods were always associated
with whimsical sensitiveness of being censured if his adventures
should miscarry. No one knew better than he that a man in his position
could only be popular if he continued to succeed. He had many critics,
but always regarded them as inferior to himself, and his record
justified him. What he secretly quaked at and openly defied was a
general outburst of human capriciousness. There are veiled indications
of this in his letter to Collingwood, who replied in well-reasoned
terms, interwoven with that charm of tender sympathy that was so
natural to him.

He says: "I have always had the idea that Ireland was the object the
French had in view," and that he still believes that to be their
destination; and then he proceeds to develop his reasons, which are a
combination of practical, human, and technical inferences. His
strongest point is one that Nelson did not or could not know, though
it may be argued that he ought to have foreseen; even then it is one
expert's judgment against another's. Collingwood affirms that the
Rochefort squadron, which sailed when Villeneuve did in January,
returned to Europe on the 26th May. Collingwood maintains that the
West Indian trip was to weaken the British force on the European side,
and states that the return of Rochefort's squadron confirmed him in
this. He is too generous to his mortified comrade to detract in any
degree from the view that, having escaped from the West Indies, they
would naturally make for Cadiz or the Mediterranean. Here is one of
the many wise sayings of Napoleon: "In business the worst thing of all
is an undecided mind"; and this may be applied to any phase of human
affairs. Nelson can never be accused of indecision. His chase to the
West Indies was a masterpiece of prescience which saved the British
possessions, and, but for the clumsy intelligence he received, the
French would have been a hammered wreck and the projected ruse to
combine it with the Rochefort squadron off Ireland blown sky-high.

The present generation of critics can only judge by the records handed
down to them, and after exhaustive study we are forced to the opinion
that Nelson was right in following Villeneuve to the West Indies, nor
was he wrong in calculating that they were impulsively making their
way back to the Mediterranean. Consistent with his habit of never
claiming the privilege of changing his mind, he followed his settled
opinion and defended his convictions with vehement confidence. He had
not overlooked Ireland, but his decision came down on the side of
Cadiz or Toulon, and there it had to rest, and in rather ridiculous
support of his contention he imputes faulty navigation as the cause of
taking them out of their course, and finding themselves united to the
Rochefort squadron off Cape Finisterre. The bad-reckoning idea cannot
be sustained. The French were no match for the British under Nelson's
piercing genius as a naval strategist, or in the flashes of dazzling
enthusiasm with which he led those under his command to fight, but it
must also be admitted, and has been over and over again, that
Villeneuve was a skilled seaman who was not likely to allow any
amateur navigators in his service, and we shall see that in the plan
of defence this great French Admiral showed that he was fertile in
naval skill when the time came for him to fight for existence against
the greatest naval prodigy in the world.

Whatever the reason was that caused Villeneuve not to make for the
Mediterranean, it certainly cannot be ascribed to lubberly navigation,
and Nelson should never have tried to sustain his perfectly sound
belief by seeking refuge in that untenable direction. God bless him
all the same.

On his arrival at Gibraltar on the 20th July, 1805, he set foot on
shore for the first time for two years less ten days. This in itself
was a great feat of hard endurance for a man who had to carry so heavy
a burden of continuous physical suffering and terrible anxiety.
Maddened and depressed often, stumbling often, falling often, but
despairing never, sorrow and sadness briefly encompassed him when fate
ordained disappointments. But his heart was big with hope that he
would accomplish complete victory before the sentence of death came,
which he never ceased to forebode. He was a human force, not a
phenomenon. On the 22nd July, Sir Robert Calder and Villeneuve fought
a drawn or indecisive battle. Only two Spanish ships of the line were
taken. The French Admiral put into Vigo on the 28th, and managed to
slip out, and arrived at Ferrol without being intercepted. Nelson
provisioned his ships for four months, and sailed from Tetuan on the
23rd. On the 25th he passed through the Straits with the intention of
going to Ferrol, Ireland, or Ushant, whichever his information and
judgment told him was the best course to pursue. He experienced strong
northerly winds along the Portuguese coast, which prevented him from
joining the Channel Fleet off Ushant until August 16th, and as no news
had been received of the French being in the Bay of Biscay or off the
Irish coast, he was ordered by Cornwallis to Portsmouth, and anchored
at Spithead on the 18th August. His reception from every quarter was
most cordial, as well it might be! But the thought of how much greater
it would have been if he had not been misguided and thereby deprived
of coming to grips with the foe that was still at large and outwitting
every device of bringing them to close quarters, had eaten like a
canker into his troubled mind. In his letters to friends (Davison and
others) his postscripts were for ever being embellished with reference
to it and the darting of an incidental "damn" to General Brereton,
who, it is contended, was himself deceived. But Nelson, generous as,
he always was to people who were encompassed by misfortune, never
would allow that Brereton had any right to allow himself to be misled.
One wonders how the immortal General Brereton worked it out. In any
case, the great Admiral has given him a place in history by his side.

Nelson first heard of Sir Robert Calder's scrap from the Ushant
squadron, and was strong in sympathy and defence against the unworthy
public attacks made on the Admiral for not succeeding as he would. In
writing to Fremantle about Calder, he says, amongst other things: "I
should have fought the enemy, so did my friend Calder; I only wish to
stand upon my own merits, and not by comparison, one way or the other
upon the conduct of a brother officer," etc. This rebuke to a public
who were treating his brother officer ungenerously may be summarized
thus: "I want none of your praises at the expense of this gallant
officer, who is serving his country surrounded with complex dangers
that you are ignorant of, and therefore it is indecent of you to judge
by comparing him with me or any one else. I want none of your praises
at his expense."

This is only one of the noble traits in Nelson's character, and is the
secret why he unconsciously endeared himself to everybody. His comical
vanity and apparent egotism is overshadowed by human touches such as
this worthy intervention on behalf of Sir Robert Calder, who he had
reason to know was not professionally well disposed to him. But his
defence of Calder did not close with Fremantle, for in a letter to his
brother soon after he got home he says, "We must now talk of Sir
Robert Calder. I might not have done so much with my small force. If I
had fallen in with them, you might probably have been a lord before I
wished; for I know they meant to make a dead set at the _Victory_."
These lines alone show how reverently the writer adhered to the
brotherly tie of the profession. He seems to say, "Let us have no more
talk of puerilities. I am the stronger. I have recently been
frustrated myself. I know this business better than Calder's traducers
do, and therefore conceive it my duty to defend him. He also has
rendered great services to his country."

When it was known that he had arrived in England, he was overwhelmed
with generous tokens of affection and gratitude from all classes.
Thousands crowded into Portsmouth to see him land, and the cheering
was long and lusty. In London the mob, drunk with excitement,
struggled to get sight of him, many crushing their way so that they
might shake him by the hand or even touch him. Lord Minto said he met
him in Piccadilly, took him by the arm, and was mobbed also. He goes
on to say: "It is really quite affecting to see the wonder,
admiration, and love for him from gentle and simple the moment he is
seen," and concludes by stating that it is beyond anything represented
in a play or in a poem of fame.

Commercial men everywhere passed resolutions of gratitude for the
protection he had secured in their different interests. The West India
merchants sent a deputation to express their never-to-be-forgotten
thanks, and would have loaded him with material tokens of their
goodwill had it been proper to do so. He lost no time in getting to
Merton, which was the thought and happiness of his soul. He was
invited here, there, and everywhere, and always replied that he could
not accept, as all his family were with him. Lord Minto, who was a
devoted friend, visited him on the 15th August, and says that he
"found him in the act of sitting down to dinner with his brother the
Dean, his wife, and their children, and the children of a sister. Lady
Hamilton was at the head of the table, and her mother, Mrs. Cadogan,
at the bottom. His welcome was hearty. Nelson looked well and was full
of spirits. Lady Hamilton," he continues, "had improved, and had added
to the house and place extremely well, without his knowing she was
doing it. She is a clever being, after all the passion is as hot as
ever."

These glad moments of keen rapture, which filled Nelson with a sort of
mystic joy, were soon to be cut short. Swiftly the sweet days were
passing away, and the sombre parting from "dear Merton and loving
hearts for evermore" was drawing near. In his day-dreams he saw more
fame, more professional gladness, more triumph. He saw, too, as he
pensively walked in his garden, the grave nearly ready to receive him
and the day of his glory and brightness coming. These were his abiding
premonitions, which were jerked out to his close friends, and even
during his last sojourn at Merton, to those he loved so well. Even at
this distance of time we cannot think with composure of this
many-sided man declaring sadly that death had no terrors for him, and
that he was ready to face the last great problem in the conflict which
was to break the power at sea of the great conqueror on land. He had
not been long in the plenitude of domestic bliss before Captain
Blackwood called one morning at five o'clock with dispatches sent by
Collingwood for the Admiralty. Nelson was already dressed, and in his
quick penetrating way told him that "he was certain he brought news of
the combined enemy's fleet," and, without waiting for an answer,
exclaimed, "I think I shall have to beat them," and subsequently
added, "Depend upon it, Blackwood, I shall yet give M. Villeneuve a
drubbing." The latter had slipped out of Ferrol and elusively made his
way to Cadiz without having been seen by the British. Nelson's
services were again requested by the Government, and eagerly given,
though he declared that he was in need of more rest and that he had
done enough. But these were mere transient observations, probably to
impress those with whom he talked or to whom he wrote with the
importance of his position with the Cabinet, who now regarded him as
indispensable, which was in reality quite true, though he was none the
less proud of the high confidence they had in him and the popular
approval their selection had with the public. The phrase "Let the man
trudge who has lost his budget" was mere bluff. He wanted to go all
the time, and would have felt himself grievously insulted had the
Government regarded even his health unequal to so gigantic a task or
suggested that a better man could be found.

Nelson, always hungering for approbation, slyly hinted that it would
be a risky thing for the Government's existence had they not placed
full control of the fleet in his hands, so popular a hold had he on
all classes of naval men and the entire public imagination. Nelson was
often exasperated by the dull ignorance of the Government as to how
naval policy should be conducted, and by their combined irresolution
and impatience at critical periods, when success depended upon his
having a free hand to act as circumstances arose. Of course, he took a
free hand and never failed to succeed. But he frequently complained
that he laid himself open to be shot or degraded by doing so, and it
is only one man in a century that is possessed of sufficient audacity
to ignore the authority over him and with supreme skill to carry out
his own plans. In support of the views that were bound to be held by a
man of Nelson's calibre as to the qualities of some of his superiors
in the Government who wished to impose upon him a definite line of
action, we quote a letter written to Captain Keats, which has appeared
in almost every life of Nelson that has been published. It is pregnant
with subtle contemptuous remarks which may be applied to the naval
administration of the present time (March 1918). It is not only a
danger, but a crime, in the process of any war, but especially during
the present, to gamble with the safety of the nation by neglecting to
have at the head of a great department a man who has not only a genius
for administrative initiative in this particular sphere but an
unerring instinct to guide and grapple with its everyday
perplexities. It is colossal aptitude, not mechanicalness, that is
needed.

But here is the matchless sailor's opinion of the situation in this
respect in his day: "The Secretary of State (Lord Castlereagh), which
is a man who has only sat one day in his office, and, of course, knows
but little of what is passed, and indeed the Prime Minister, Pitt,
were all full of the enemy's fleet, and as I am now set up for a
conjurer, and God knows they will very soon find out I am far from
being one, I was asked my opinion, against my inclination, for if I
make one wrong guess the charm will be broken; but this I ventured
without any fear, that if Calder got close alongside their
twenty-seven or twenty-eight sail, that by the time the enemy had
beaten our fleet soundly, they would do us no harm this year."

Though Nelson did not and could not say all that was in his mind, we
can read between the lines that he had no use for the theories of
ministers, and would obviously have liked to have said in brutal
English, "Here I am, gentlemen, do not encumber me with your
departmental jargon of palpable nothings. You continue to trust in
Providence; give me your untrammelled instructions as to what you wish
me to do, and leave the rest to me." Here is another letter from Lord
Radstock: "No official news have been received from Lord Nelson since
July 27th. He then hinted that he might go to Ireland; nevertheless,
we have no tidings of him on that coast. I confess I begin to be
fearful that he has worried his mind up to that pitch, that he cannot
bear the idea of showing himself again to the world until he shall
have struck some blow, and that it is this hope that is now making him
run about, half frantic, in quest of adventure. That such unparalleled
perseverance and true valour should thus evaporate in air is truly
melancholy."

What balderdash to write about a man ablaze with reasoning energy and
genius of the highest order! The noble Lord is disillusioned on his
arrival in Portsmouth, and writes again in another a strain: "He
(Nelson) was received in town almost as a conqueror, and was followed
round by the people with huzzas. So much for a great and good name
most nobly and deservedly acquired"! The previous letter indicates the
mind of a fireside colossus, and shows how dangerously a big man's
reputation may be at the mercy of a little one or a coterie of them.
One can only describe them as portentous human snipes, whose
aggressive mediocrity spreads like an attack of infectious fever,
until the awful will of Heaven, for the safety of humanity, lays hands
on their power for mischief. The popularity of a public servant is
always in danger of a tragical end if he lives long enough. One slip
of inevitable misfortune seals his doom when the pendulum swings
against him. And it is generally brought by a rhetorical smiling Judas
who can sway a capricious public. The more distinguished a popular man
may be, the greater is the danger that the fame and reputation for
which he strove may be swiftly laid low.

"Who has lived as long as he chose?
Who so confident as to defy
Time, the fellest of mortals' foes
Joints in his armour who can spy?
Where's the foot will not flinch or fly?
Where's the heart that aspires the fray?
His battle wager 'tis vain to try--
Everything passes, passes away."

The gallant and strenuous patriot whose fame will pass on to distant
ages is now summoned to fulfil his destiny. He owns that he needs one
more rest, but his "duty was to go forth." He "expected to lay his
weary bones quiet for the winter," but he is "proud of the call," and
all gallant hearts were proud to own him as their chieftain. He
bargains for one of the _Victory's_ anchors to be at the bows before
he arrives at Portsmouth. All his belongings are sent off on the 5th
October. Lord Barham, an aged man of eighty-two years, asks him with
pride to select his own officers. "Choose yourself, my Lord. The same
spirit actuates the whole profession; you cannot choose wrong." He
told the Cabinet what was wanted in the "annihilation of the enemy,"
and that "only numbers could annihilate"--presumably ships and men.
The conversations he had with the authorities and the spoken words and
letters sent to his friends are ablaze with inspiring, sharp-cut
sentences. But those who had intimate knowledge of his tender side
felt he was ill at ease, and not free from heartache at the prospect
of parting. I think, in connection with _this_, Lady Hamilton's
version of what passed between them when he was walking the
"quarterdeck" in his garden may be true in substance, as he was still
madly in love with her, and she knew how to wheedle him into a
conversation and to use words that might serve a useful purpose if
need be. Nor were her scruples so delicate as to prevent suitable
additions being made to suit any emergency that might occur.

Her account is that she saw he was looking downcast, and she told him
so. He smiled, and then said, "No, I am as happy as possible"; he was
surrounded by his family, his health was better since he had "been on
shore, and he would not give sixpence to call the King his uncle." She
replied that she did not believe him, that she knew he was longing to
get at the combined fleets, that he considered them as his property,
that he would be miserable if any man but himself did the business,
and that he ought to have them as the price and reward of his two
years' long watching and his hard chase. "Nelson," said she, "however
we may lament your absence, offer your services; they will be
accepted, and you will gain a quiet heart by it; you will have a
glorious victory, and then you may return here and be happy." He
looked at her with tears in his eyes, and said, "Brave Emma! Good
Emma! If there were more Emmas, there would be more Nelsons."

It puts a heavy strain upon our credulity to believe that such words
were ever used by Nelson, even though we know that he was so
hopelessly enamoured of this untamed creature. That he needed to be
coaxed into offering his services or that he ever demurred at
accepting the distinguished honours the Government had conferred upon
him may be regarded as one of Emma's efforts at triumphant
self-glorification and easy dramatic fibbing. She was ever striving to
thrust her patriotic ardour forward in some vulgar form or other, and
this occasion gave her a chance that could not be resisted. The day
before Nelson's departure for Portsmouth the scalding tears flowed
from her eyes continuously, she could neither eat nor drink, and her
lapses into swooning at the table were terrible. These performances do
not bear out the tale of Nelson's spontaneous and gushing outburst in
the garden at Merton of her bravery and goodness in urging him to "go
forth." It is possible that her resolution and fortitude could not
stand the responsibility of pressing him to undertake a task that
might be fatal to himself and foredoomed to failure. In that case she
does not bear herself like a heroine, and strengthens the suspicion,
as we have said, that the story of pleading with Nelson to offer his
services is an impudent fabrication. Minto says that the tears and
swooning is a strange picture, and assures him as before that nothing
can be more pure and ardent than this flame; and _she_ might have
added that they had in reality exchanged souls.

Napoleon, in conversing on one occasion with his brother Lucien
about one of his love affairs, said "that Madame Walewska's soul
was as beautiful as her face." In nearly all his letters to Lady
Hamilton, Nelson plunged into expressions of love abandonment
only different from those sent by Napoleon to Josephine when he
was commander-in-chief of the army of Italy. Neither of these
extraordinary men could do anything by halves, and we are not left in
doubt as to the seventh heaven of happiness it would have been to the
less flowery-worded sailor had he been given the least encouragement
to pour out his adoration of Emma's goodness and beauty. He would have
excelled Napoleon's picture of Madame Walewska. Amidst the many cares
that surrounded these last active days, when the dockyards were
humming with the work of getting his ships refitted so that they might
be put quickly into commission, he grudged every moment of forced
separation from her while he was in consultation with the Government
and attending to his own private preparations, which were sedulously
attended to. Nothing of moment seems to have been left to chance. Not
even the coffin that Captain Hallowell had given him was overlooked,
for he called to give instructions to the people who had it in safe
keeping, and gave them instructions to have the history of it engraved
on the lid, as he might want it on his return, which is further
evidence that he was permanently impressed with the fate that awaited
him.

The story of this strange incident of the coffin is this: After the
battle of the Nile a portion of the _Orient's_ mainmast was drifting
about, and was picked up by order of Captain Hallowell of the
_Swiftsure_, who had it made into a coffin. It was handsomely
finished, and sent to Admiral Nelson with the following letter:--

Sir,--I have taken the liberty of presenting you a coffin made
from the mainmast of _Orient_, that when you have finished your
military career in this world, you may be buried in one of your
trophies. But that that period may be far distant is the earnest
wish of your sincere friend, Benjamin Hallowell.

Nelson received the weird gift in good spirits, and had it placed in
his cabin. It was hardly a pleasant piece of furniture for his
visitors to be confronted with, so he was prevailed upon to have it
put below until it was required. A few more raging battles, and a few
more years of momentous anxieties, and the prodigious hero was to
become its occupant. It seems to have been landed and put in charge of
a firm of upholsterers.

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