Nelson (108 page)

Hoste’s uncomplaining and irrepressible optimism, as well as his infatuation for the ship, leap from the vivid snapshots of life aboard that he put into his letters home. They reveal a community very different from the archetypal picture of the harsh man-of-war. Even breaking a leg in a cable scuttle of the prize at Alassio in 1795 barely dented the fifteen-year-old’s verve. As his brother learned:

in a few days [I] shall be as hearty as ever . . . I comfort myself with singing ‘My Dearest Peg’ all weathers, and I assure you . . . if I were to go on board of any ship in the British navy I could not be more happy, nor could I have more care taken of me, since this accident, than has happened on board the
Agamemnon
. Directly I was brought on board, I was carried down into Mr [Lieutenant Maurice William] Suckling’s cabin, where I have remained ever since. Mr Suckling has behaved to me like a father. He has been with me all the while, except when his duty called him away. To add to my misfortunes, my good friend Mr [John] Weatherhead is away. He was sent in a prize to St Fiorenzo. I had a letter from him the other day. He was very well, and desires [me to send] his compliments to my father, &c. As worthy a young man as ever lived. I got up yesterday for the first time, and I think if you were to see poor Billy Shanks [himself] hopping about with two crutches you would split your sides with laughter. Captain Nelson is very well. He often comes down to see me, and tells me to get everything I want from him.
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The families of the Weatherheads, Hostes and Sucklings were acquainted, and the boys compared the local news that reached them in letters from home. They also rallied around Midshipman Hoste during a series of trials. The spring after his accident in the cable scuttle he went down with fever. At the earliest convenience Nelson sent the boy ashore to convalesce with the Pollards in Leghorn at his own expense. There, in a homely cottage where Mrs Pollard, ‘a very pleasant woman’ and ‘good doctor’, reproduced the comforts of her old Sussex home and William enjoyed the care of the inestimable Miss Wood, every officer of the ship came calling at one time or another. ‘The civilities I received . . . are such as I shall never be able to return, but I do every thing in my power to oblige them you may be sure,’ William wrote. But back on board, the boy suffered his last disaster – a fracture of the other leg. Weatherhead, who had ‘nearly made himself ill in attending me’ during previous misfortunes, speedily returned to the task with an astonishing ‘goodness of heart’ that soon had William back on his feet. ‘I have strongly
recommended . . . him not to break any more limbs,’ Nelson observed wryly.
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From the uniform consideration dispensed by Nelson, William never suspected that difficulties were simmering between the captain and his father. Unbeknown to Nelson, the Reverend Dixon Hoste was strapped for money. Financial difficulties had cost him a patrimony, and it was Coke who rescued him with the living of Tittleshall and a residence at Godwick House. Consequently, it was Nelson rather than the reverend who effectively financed the boy’s naval career. He started by improving the allowances William’s rating as a captain’s servant permitted, relying upon the boy’s father to reimburse him according to their arrangement, and even after the youngster’s wages increased with rank the captain continued to cover occasional extraordinary expenses. Months turned into years, but the Reverend Hoste sent Nelson little or no money, despite a reluctant but direct protest. Nelson shielded young William from the truth, declining to embitter his happy progress, but privately confessed to Fanny that he was ‘very angry’.
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Most, if not all, of the young
Agamemnons
of the quarterdeck experienced their commander’s benevolence. Midshipman Bolton was kindly warned about the dangers of putting loose talk into his letters home, and also received generous amounts of money. And Midshipman Charles David Williams, the son of a police magistrate, who had been captured with five men on a voyage from Leghorn to Toulon at the end of 1793, was loaned money to re-equip himself after his release. Nelson was their role model and guardian, and it is not surprising that eleven of them followed him into the
Captain
in June 1796.
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Under Nelson the lieutenants, midshipmen and master’s mates had innumerable opportunities to shine, and he invariably advertised their merits, seeking their promotions as a suitable return upon his own valuable services. Before long commanders-in-chief who felt obliged to him were repeating his assessments in their dispatches. Thus, in September 1796 Jervis drew the Admiralty’s attention to Cockburn, Spicer, Berry and Noble, who ‘expose their persons on all occasions with that cool deliberate courage which forms so prominent a feature in the[ir] commodore’s character, and I beg leave to recommend them to their lordship’s favour and protection’. Jervis’s influence with the board of Admiralty was considerable, but Spencer’s actions also reflected a direct sense of obligation to Nelson himself. In October 1796, for example, they made Berry a commander, ostensibly because
of the capture of Porto Ferraio, but in truth – as Jervis told Nelson – ‘more from a desire to gratify you than on account of his merit’.
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Nelson’s leadership was largely based upon personal affection, professional admiration and self-interest, and conformed to the eighteenth-century ideal of paternalism, with its tradition of service and reward. Those who follow the
Agamemnons
who served with Nelson until the summer of 1797, when their patron eventually left the Mediterranean, will see that no fewer than sixteen lieutenants and young gentlemen benefited from significant promotions during that time. Three (Andrews, Bullen and Berry) made post-captain; four others (Hinton, Spicer, Noble and Nisbet) were promoted commander; and eight (Suckling, Fellows, Summers, Wood, Bolton, Weatherhead, Charles D. Williams and Withers) got their lieutenants’ commissions, with a ninth (Hoste) in the offing.

Perhaps it is also significant that although most of those promoted were fine officers, deserving of further advance, their careers seem to have been so dependent upon Nelson that they stagnated without him. The disappointing fates of Bullen, Hinton and Andrews have already been noted. Spicer, Noble and Compton also failed to maximise their potential. With Nelson’s help they all became commanders, Spicer and Noble in 1797 and Compton two years later. The first two also progressed to the rank of post-captain in 1802, but vegetated thereafter, Noble with the Sea Fencibles in Sussex, and Spicer with the Sea Fencibles and impress services. Spicer finished his war in 1816 with a humiliating ‘out-pension’ from Greenwich Hospital, and died in October 1830. Noble survived longer and received his flag in 1837, but after leaving Nelson’s command he remained unemployed. Compton died a ‘retired captain’ in 1847, having accepted redundancy as a condition of reaching ‘post’ rank.
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Of the commissioned officers and aspirants of the
Agamemnon
, only Berry and Hoste scaled enviable heights, earning knighthoods and places in the naval pantheon of the day. Three of Hoste’s old ship and schoolmates also eventually became post-captains: Bolton, who enjoyed several commands and died a knight of the realm in 1830; Withers, the ex-schoolmaster; and Josiah Nisbet. But Weatherhead died young; Fellows wasted away with the Belfast impress service, and he died a ‘retired commander’ in 1833; Suckling gave up the navy;
and Collett, Williams and Eager never rose above the rank of lieutenant.
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So much for the future, but from the quarterdecks, cockpits and wardrooms of the
Agamemnon
and
Captain
those far-distant clouds were hardly visible. With the resilience, optimism and belief in life eternal that distinguish youth, the protégés still spoke of worlds to conquer in the secure knowledge that Nelson would be their aid and mentor. They loved him for it, and when they began returning to England in 1797 said so loudly and publicly. Fanny found Berry ‘one of the most grateful creatures I ever met’, and saw a man named Brown who had travelled from Bristol to Bath to tell her about the ‘great kindnesses’ he owed her husband. In London, Nelson’s brother Maurice listened to Spicer and Noble speaking ‘in raptures’ about their commander and venerating him ‘as their father’, while Lieutenant Peirson had no sooner put a foot on English soil than he was ‘very desirous of being with you again’.
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As life paled for many of them, the memories of Nelson’s command grew ever more poignant, achieving the status of golden interludes in long and uncertain careers. Sometimes they wrote to him, seeking help or to return to his service. Three such letters, from Andrews in Tiverton, Spicer in Saltash and Noble in Bishop Teignton, reached Nelson shortly before his death. And forty years after that Bullen was still thinking of the late ‘friend’ about whom ‘any thing . . . must ever be dear to me’.
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Growing up, learning and working aboard the
Agamemnon
and
Captain
may have been habitually gruelling and dangerous, but for many it was neither a barren nor loveless experience, but rather a rich personal heritage.

The
Captain
of seventy-four guns was the ship of the line Nelson had always wanted, the ideal compromise between speed, manoeuvrability and punching power. Fourteen years old, she carried an armament of nine-, eighteen- and thirty-two-pounder guns, and the names of 450 men graced her books. The team of officers Nelson had brought from the
Agamemenon
joined newcomers, some already with the
Captain
and others acquired elsewhere. Philip Thomas was master, Thomas Eshelby surgeon and William Williams purser, while Lieutenant John Davies transferred from the
Lively
in August. A commodore was
almost always burdened with diplomatic correspondence, and Nelson now had a secretary, John Philip Castang. The ranks of his junior officers were also reinforced. A sixteen-year-old Scot, George Kippen, was already attached to the
Captain
, but Frederick Ruckhart was brought from the
Vanneau
in October and James Francis Goddench and Thomas Knight, with some old
Agamemnons
, were promoted from the lower deck.

As a commodore Nelson deployed a squadron of ships, and at different times commanded many of the captains of the Mediterranean fleet. They were a rich crop, perhaps as good as Britain had ever produced, and shared an
esprit de corps
which even such a preoccupied, love-sick teenage observer as Betsy Wynne could feel. In the Mediterranean with her family, she thought the captains of Jervis’s fleet ‘good honest creatures’ who were ‘very kind’ and bound in the common cause. ‘They live like brothers together,’ she wrote, ‘and give all they have.’
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Nelson had fought to be a commodore, but not every captain made the transition from commanding a single ship to managing a squadron or a fleet successfully. There were some truly disastrous failures – and among officers with first-rate abilities. Rodney had been a weak flag officer, alienating superiors and equals with an unpleasant blend of arrogance, spite and untrustworthiness, but his achievement was rivalled by the even more remarkable Lord Cochrane, who eventually rose to become Rear Admiral of England. Cochrane’s brilliant successes were those of a single-ship commander, a creative but restless loner resentful of control or indifference. He inspired immense regard, and sometimes hero-worship, among the crews of the ships he personally commanded, but proved to be unusually inept in charge of a squadron. This weak leadership only surfaced during his command of the Chilean navy between 1818 and 1823. Working with a cabal of favourites, by no means all of them good choices, and indignant at any resistance to his ideas, which he attributed to malice or corruption, he sowed fierce divisions throughout his forces. Estranged, accused and sometimes persecuted, some officers were almost driven to become the enemies Cochrane had imagined them. It was a spectacular failure to build cohesion and team spirit.
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Few captains felt undervalued in Nelson’s command. True, he was by nature a quiet, introspective man, apt to fall into long silences at the dinner table, but he was approachable and easy-mannered, praised openly and earnestly, and on occasion had a most pleasing smile. One
of his attributes, by no means common among men, was inherent sympathy. He was a good listener with an instinct to help, and favours great and small came naturally to him. And since willing horses receive the greatest burdens, diverse problems constantly rapped upon his door. Here we find him shopping for artificial flowers needed by a fellow captain; there, sympathetically aiding and abetting the intrigues of a certain Mrs Wilby, who was distressed that her husband might discover that she had been receiving letters from another man. More often he was approached about promotion, prize money, wages or interpersonal difficulties. People are usually drawn to those who seem to care about them, and Nelson became a resort for the troubled, even among the iron stalwarts of the Mediterranean fleet. In April 1794, for instance, the manly Fremantle, tired of some ‘hectoring’ colleague behaving ‘like a bully of a bawdy house’, turned to Nelson. ‘Write to Nelson in consequence,’ he entered in his diary. ‘He condoles with me, and offers to take day and day about with the
Agamemnon
. Very civil, but decline.’
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A more substantial beneficiary was Ralph Willett Miller, who became one of the ablest captains in the fleet. Another American Loyalist, Miller had left his native New England as a boy and joined the Royal Navy in 1778. Nelson had known him since the beginning of the French war, and noticed the combination of personal piety and professional initiative not unlike his own. When Miller returned from escapades it was his custom to thank God and to pray for his beloved Ann and their two daughters. He was widely admired for his skill and ingenuity. In 1793 Miller ‘very much distinguished himself on many occasions on shore, particularly in burning the ships at Toulon’, and the following year he risked his life in gallant but unsuccessful attempts to destroy the enemy squadron in Golfe Jouan with fireships. Nelson considered Miller to be ‘a most exceeding good officer and worthy man’, and Sir Gilbert Elliot could not praise him too highly. Miller, he said, was ‘a very sensitive character, who I ever venture to assure you is more jealous of his honour than desirous even of advancement. He is really one of the best and most distinguished officers in the fleet, and he is also remarkable for more accomplishment and more taste for other pursuits not merely professional than the greatest number of post-captains.’ Others agreed that Miller was ‘an officer of infinite resource’.
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