Read Nelson: Britannia's God of War Online
Authors: Andrew Lambert
If a peace on Napoleon’s terms was not appealing, then nor were the alternatives any more attractive: ‘I yet hope the negotiation is not entirely broken off, for we cannot alter the situation of France, or the Continent, and ours will become a war of defence.’
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This style of war did not match either his preferences or his abilities. Still anxious to attack, Nelson decided that six French and Dutch battleships at Goree were the best target for a boat attack, if the weather was favourable.
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St Vincent was less enthusiastic about the attack: he would not make a final decision until Nelson had spoken to a local expert, Captain Campbell, and ultimately decided that the operation fell into Admiral Dickson’s command. His main preoccupation was peace.
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For all that St Vincent argued the Channel command was not unworthy of an Admiral of the Fleet, Nelson knew that any French move in the Channel would only be a diversion for the main effort to land in Ireland. As the Grand fleet was ready to block this move, he
declared that ‘if the war goes on, I shall hope to be employed against first rates’, having only taken the Channel command ‘at the desire of Mr Addington and Lord St Vincent’.
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By 20 September, Nelson was desperate to leave, especially as Sir William and Emma had gone back to London. However, he decided to scheme one last attempt on Boulogne, with a fireship commanded by Owen’s younger brother, William. Plans were settled on 2 October: Owen would wait for a wind between west-north-west and north, set all sail, run the
Nancy
into the harbour just before high water and set her on fire, relying on wind and tide to take her up the harbour. The crew would get off once they were certain the vessel was on course. Just before the fireship set sail, the preliminaries of peace were signed, and Nelson used the telegraph to seek approval for the attack. The Admiralty demurred, and he lost the chance ‘either to make Owen an Archangel or a post-Captain’.
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On 27 September Parker died, and Nelson confessed, ‘I am almost grieved to death.’ Despite his courage and his powerful sense that sacrifice was essential, he was never comfortable with death at the personal level: he did not like to be reminded of his own mortality, or that of those he loved. Parker had become an intimate, writing to Emma and handling much of the responsibility of the command. At the funeral, Nelson was seen leaning on a tree, sobbing uncontrollably. In a symbolic gesture, he had the dead man’s hair cut off, and insisted that it be buried with him, a stipulation that was fulfilled. No one could replace Edward Parker in his heart – though Samuel Sutton, one of the heroes of Copenhagen, arrived in the
Amazon
to take over as
aide
de
camp
and deal with the routine of command.
Two days after Parker’s death, Nelson turned to other business, reminding St Vincent that he had only taken the post to help the government, and that as no boat invasion was possible it was no longer a vice admiral’s command.
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The Earl decided to postpone offensive operations as soon as the preliminaries of peace were signed.
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Nelson accepted the inevitable: he felt that the only alternative was to cut France off from all external trade, and go to war with all Europe and America to maintain the blockade.
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In this he was absolutely correct. By the middle of 1812 Britain was indeed at war with almost all of Europe, and America, to uphold her economic war against the French Empire. It was a close-run thing, but Britain won through.
St Vincent was anxious to prevent any communication between
Britain and France, other than by official Dover–Calais message boat, and to keep Nelson at hand just in case the French tried any tricks.
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The King agreed, having no faith in the present French government, and urging his ministers to keep up the defences.
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Addington wrote to stress the importance of Nelson’s remaining in post until the peace was settled. Nelson realised that this was ‘to keep the merchants easy till hostilities cease in the Channel’, and was happy to conduct this task: he took tremendous pride in the fact that not one English boat had been captured in the area under his command. Even if invasion was no longer likely, this was a good reason to keep the cruisers at sea. He promised Addington that once released he would get his health back, ready to ‘take up the cudgels again’, and ready for anything but a winter in the North Sea.
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On 14 October Nelson officially asked for permission to go ashore. The following day he learnt from the Admiralty that the preliminaries and a ceasefire had been signed.
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The Earl could no longer refuse him permission to come to town, but until the definitive treaty was signed he must be continued in pay, ‘although we may not have occasion to require your personal services at the head of squadron under your orders’. On 22 October Nelson began paying off his flotilla, and that evening he left for Merton. However, St Vincent was anxious to keep his absence from the public eye, stressing the need to restore his health.
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Addington, by contrast, hoped that Nelson would call at Downing Street. It would give him ‘great pleasure to see, and to converse with [him], after the very interesting occurrences of the last three months’.
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On 26 October he was introduced to the House of Lords in his new rank of Viscount, by Lord Hood, who had specifically requested the honour, and Lord Sydney. Four days later he made his maiden speech, seconding St Vincent’s motion that the thanks of the House be given to Saumarez and his squadron with a short but powerful speech that stressed the importance to the fleet’s success of naval education and sound doctrine.
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Thereafter he made a number of speeches supporting ministerial policy, which were all the more significant because of the government’s relative weakness in the Upper Chamber. On 3 November he upheld the terms of the peace as honourable and advantageous, while on the 13th he supported the Russian Treaty.
As he was still officially on leave, the new Viscount Nelson relied on Sutton at Deal to conduct the business of the squadron, collecting the details of those killed so that the Lloyds patriotic committee could make suitable payments to their families. Typically, his duty to his followers was uppermost in his mind, and perhaps the most outstanding example of this tendency was the Copenhagen medal question. Since 1794 it had become customary for the flag officers and captains at major fleet actions to be awarded a gold medal, specially struck to mark the occasion. Nelson already had a pair, for St Vincent and the Nile. He had moved heaven and earth to ensure Troubridge received the award for the Nile, despite his situation, and was anxious that those who had performed so nobly on 2 April should not be forgotten. He had raised the issue with St Vincent a month earlier: he would not wear his other medals until this injustice had been remedied.
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The Earl was now caught in a very awkward position. With peace across Europe it was hardly the time to be noticing such services, especially as they were against a country with whom Britain was not officially at war, and in an action where the Commander in Chief had taken no active part. However, Nelson stated that he had been assured that medals would be awarded before he accepted the Channel command. St Vincent backtracked, denied any such promises had been made and reported he had recommended to the King and the Prime Minister that the measure would be inappropriate. Nelson in turn, declared himself ‘thunder-struck’ and ‘truly made ill by your letter’,
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the Earl feared the medal issue would open a Pandora’s box of costly prize claims from the captors of the Danish and Swedish West Indian islands, which had all been returned.
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Addington tried to fob Nelson off with a chat,
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but the issue long outlived all three correspondents. Stewart raised it again with Addington and St Vincent in 1821, while Graham Hamond and other officers continued to question the justice of the decision until they died.
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Not until the 1847 Naval General Service Medal was the event publicly noted with a bar for the battle, but by then there were few survivors, although Hamond used the occasion to resuscitate his claims.
The refusal of medals was indeed a monstrous injustice, inexcusable in a nation that sought to reward its heroes and encourage those who would follow. Nelson was equally offended by the City of London’s failure to offer its customary vote of thanks on the Copenhagen victory: he never again dined with the Lord Mayor and City of London, or
wore his other gold medals. As this refusal shows, his vanity never overrode his commitment to his followers: they had earned these marks of national and Royal approval in the hardest fought battle he had ever seen, and he would not be fobbed off with fine words.
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It is an indication of the astonishing nature of Nelson’s life that the first time he had ever slept in his own house was on his return ashore in October 1801. Nelson’s house was ideally located for a senior naval officer expecting the call of duty in London, or back on the broad oceans. Strategically located at Merton, south-west of London and alongside the Portsmouth Road, it was no more than a modest farmhouse without architectural pretensions, although a stream ran through the grounds. From the start, Nelson wanted it to be his house, and although Sir William and Emma would live with him, neither their furniture nor their servants were admitted. Nelson wisely left the decoration and improvements to Emma; his own taste went no further than battle pictures, portraits and trophies. Unfortunately, Emma’s taste and style of living were far beyond the means of a vice admiral who had given half his pay to his cast-off wife, and a retired ambassador. By March 1803 she was broke. Fortunately Nelson never worried unduly about money: he was a good risk for a loan, as long as he lived to win more victories, and take more prizes. The Hamiltons also kept a house at 23 Piccadilly, doubling their costs for the dubious benefit of advancing Emma’s social ambitions. Nelson had no need of an address in town, taking breakfast with Davison when attending the Admiralty or the House of Lords. Although ashore on leave, he remained on full pay and in command until the definitive peace treaty was signed in April 1803.
Emma assembled a cast of characters to people Nelson’s semiretired life ashore: the Nelson family, minus Fanny and Josiah; naval friends like Ball, Foley, Murray and Sutton; social outcasts including Clarence, who lived with Dorothy Jordan and their prodigious brood of bastards close by at Bushy; painters, musicians and local notables, like the bullion-dealing Goldsmid brothers and James Perry, editor of the
Morning
Chronicle
.
Minto came too, although he was rather censorious. This was enough for Nelson, who loved being surrounded by children and uncomplicated people, acting the genial host, free from the demands of war and strategy.
While Nelson preferred to keep his private life quiet and retired, his
public role remained prominent. In local society Nelson was a charming and attentive host. He spoke to everyone at their own level, be they children, gardeners, city traders, statesmen or officers. Only when his astonishing mind was gripped by an issue of public policy did it slide effortlessly from the humdrum to the heroic. Like all great intellects, his focus and intensity were electric. After a life spent at sea and at war his mind was never disturbed by trifles. Even when describing his ‘retired’ life away from the ‘noise, bustle, and falsity of what is called the great world’, he inevitably slipped into reflections on high policy, statecraft and war.
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Nelson also had a less heroic side in private: he could be very dull company at times, as his friend Minto testified, and he was also a terrible hypochondriac. This was a family trait, one his father had elevated to an art form. Only a man of robust constitution, capable of living to an advanced age, would have survived the catalogue of disease and wounds that punctuated his career. But the bowel complaint that he brought ashore in late 1801 was different. It was alive: Lord Nelson had worms! This complaint did not reappear, however, unlike the mysterious psychosomatic heart spasms (in reality, acute nervous indigestion). Despite these minor ailments, the eighteen months ashore set him up to endure another campaign. Discussions with Dr Baird on the efficacy of lemon juice led him to ensure ensure his men were liberally dosed and able to stay the course as well, avoiding the dreaded scurvy, which affected the judgement as well as loosening the teeth.
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Among Nelson’s domestic concerns, only his mistress and his child ranked above his family. He paid for William’s son to go to Eton, and another £100 a year for his sister’s children to be educated. This turned out to be a wise investment when Tom Bolton became the second Earl Nelson. He pressed the case of Colonel Suckling, secured the promotion of a Bolton cousin and worked endlessly on his political contacts to advance brother William to the bench of bishops.
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In the event the Prime Minister had debts of his own to pay in that area, and too few prelates shuffled off their mortal coil for dull, greedy William to secure such an undeserved prize. While Nelson recognised his brother’s faults, he never stopped trying because he believed the state owed him that much. Old Edmund, meanwhile, died on 26 April 1802, shortly after being reconciled to the life choices of his famous son. Nelson did not attend the funeral, possibly because it coincided
with Emma’s birthday, though Ball excused his actions on the grounds that it would have ‘added considerable distress to his afflicted mind, without answering any one good purpose’.
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