Authors: John Sugden
It was the friendship of Captain Locker himself, however, that constituted Nelson’s greatest benefit. Hitherto, he had looked exclusively to his uncle to protect and create opportunities for him, but now he felt as secure in Locker’s patronage as if the man had been his own flesh and blood. Locker was not so prominent in the service as Suckling, but he was a respected and popular officer, and his name was capable of opening doors. In him Lieutenant Nelson had found an enduring aid.
One person to whom we can be sure Captain Locker spoke about Nelson was the new commander-in-chief at Jamaica, Rear Admiral Sir Peter Parker. Parker had replaced Admiral Clark Gayton, and Nelson had probably met him for the first time upon returning to Port Royal on 1 March after his first independent cruise with the
Little Lucy
.
Nelson would have seen a portly gentleman of fifty-one. A lady diarist later thought Parker ‘the oddest figure in the world’, but though his active career had not been exceptionally distinguished, he made friends and prospered. A captain since 1747, Sir Peter had served throughout the Seven Years War and been rescued from a Portsmouth guard ship by the outbreak of the rebellion in the American colonies. The experience had been checkered. As commodore Parker had badly bungled an attack on Charleston, losing his breeches (when a magazine exploded), a frigate and heavy casualties. Regaining dignity and credibility under Howe further north, Parker successfully invaded Rhode Island. Newly promoted a rear admiral, he had then come to
Jamaica as commander-in-chief, accompanied by a kind but mothering wife, Lady Margaret, formerly Nugent.
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It was usual to greet a new commander-in-chief with a measure of trepidation, but Nelson was relieved to find Sir Peter already well disposed towards him. In fact, exceedingly so. The immature lieutenant was regularly whisked to the house the Parkers had taken in Kingston, where he listened to stories of the old days, when Sir Peter and Captain Suckling had served together in the Mediterranean. Parker and Suckling had both participated in an engagement off Toulon in 1744, though as junior officers of different ships. Furthermore, the Parkers told Horatio that Suckling had recently approached them on his behalf. The comptroller had given them a letter to deliver to Lieutenant Nelson, and ‘recommended me in the strongest manner to Sir Peter Parker, who has promised me he will make me the first captain’.
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Parker was as good as his word. Sir John Knox Laughton, one of Nelson’s earlier biographers, saw Sir Peter’s patronage as entirely self-serving, and the charge has too often been repeated. It is doubtful if an active flag officer needed to ingratiate himself with the comptroller of the Navy Board, and we should remind ourselves that most of the favours Parker bestowed upon Nelson occurred
after
Suckling’s death. Rather, the Parkers acted out of a genuine friendship for Captain Suckling, and quickly developed their own bonds with a likeable youngster. They called him ‘a son’. Almost a decade later, when Horatio became a battle hero, Lady Parker gushingly assured him that ‘your mother could not have heard of your deeds with more affection’. Nelson acknowledged as much himself. ‘I am sensible as ever,’ he wrote to her, ‘that I owe my present position in life to your and good Sir Peter’s partiality for me, and friendly remembrance of Maurice Suckling.’
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Tangible proof of the Parkers’ goodwill followed quickly, for nepotism came easily to such a practised hand as Sir Peter. The muster of the fifty-gun
Bristol
, Sir Peter’s flagship, was peppered with the names of Parkers and Nugents, all earmarked for advancement. Indeed, it was the promotion of one of them – Lieutenant Charles Nugent – to the post of commander on 1 July 1778 that created the first opening for young Nelson. On the same day the books of the flagship rated Horatio third lieutenant in Nugent’s stead. His first cruise in the new ship began on 4 July and lasted for thirty-three days.
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This was an important step, for although Nelson remained a lieutenant, everyone knew that a flag lieutenancy under the immediate
eye of a commander-in-chief was a special privilege. Such admirals gathered their favourites around them, and when vacancies for promotion occurred they headed the queue.
Nelson’s next target was the position of commander, a halfway step to the most crucial rank of all, that of post-captain. Once Horatio became a post-captain he would be eligible to command a ship of the ‘sixth rate’ or above, carrying twenty or more guns, and take the lion’s share of any prize money. Better still, he would inexorably ascend the captains’ list through a process of seniority, and if he lived long enough become an admiral. To be made ‘post’ was the dream of every ambitious lieutenant, but many never realised it and died lieutenants. Many others who did become post-captains achieved their ranks too late in life to complete the long march to flag rank. Lieutenant John Larmour, ‘sea-daddy’ of the famous Lord Cochrane and ‘a most deserving officer’ in his own right, waited more than sixteen years to be made post. Even the gifted Philip Beaver, reckoned by the poet Wordsworth among the most intelligent men of his time, remained a lieutenant for a score or so years. Neither got any further.
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Nelson had seen too many embittered lieutenants to be complacent about reaching post rank, but Sir Peter’s words and the transfer to the flagship were massively reassuring. The
Bristol
was full of officers up for promotion, including the commander-in-chief’s son, Midshipman Christopher Parker, named for a grandfather who had also been an admiral. The ship’s captain, Toby Caulfield, also had his protégés aboard, and three or four namesakes graced his immediate retinue. Nevertheless, Sir Peter promoted rapidly, creating a quick turnover of faces in the lieutenants’ wardroom, and Nelson’s progress accelerated.
When Nelson joined the
Bristol
he was third to Lieutenants Robert Deans and James Douglas, while the fourth was Acting Lieutenant George Dundas, formerly an able seaman and master’s mate of the
Lowestoffe
and an officer Horatio considered agreeable. After the ship completed a short excursion in August, Sir Peter took his flag ashore and ordered the
Bristol
to join a squadron under Captain Joseph Deane of the sixty-four-gun
Ruby
. Supported also by the
Niger
and
Lowestoffe
frigates and the
Badger
and
Porcupine
sloops, Deane stood off Cape François hoping to intercept traffic between the rebellious American colonies and the French islands. On 4 September, just before sailing, Deans and Douglas were promoted out of the
Bristol
, and Nelson found himself moved up to first and senior lieutenant. To
support him John Packenham and James Macnamara were appointed second and third lieutenants respectively. The latter, transferred from the
Niger
, was twice Nelson’s age but formed an excellent relationship with his youthful superior.
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Under Parker’s patronage, Nelson’s career filled its sails in more respects than one. For the rest of the year he made some prize money from profitable cruises. In July, France had finally declared war on Britain, encouraged by the American victory at Saratoga to believe that the time had come to settle old scores. Thus, Captain Deane’s squadron occupied the busy shipping area around Haiti in search of both French and American prizes.
There followed a brief but exciting period in which the British ships snapped up victims like Humboldt current squid in a nocturnal feeding frenzy. When the squadron returned to Port Royal on 20 October it had fourteen prizes to its credit, nine of them French ships, brigs and snows, and five American brigs and schooners. The
Bristol
had played its part in the harvest, taking a French sloop on 28 September, two French ships and an American schooner two days later, and a final prize on 6 October. Describing the last of these captures, the log reflected the pace and character of the operation. The
Bristol
, it said, was ‘still in chase. Hoisted [out] the boats and sent them manned and armed after two schooners to windward. Saw one of the schooners fire at the boats. Fired a gun and made signal for the boats to return. Brought to a schooner from Virginia loaded with tobacco [and] bound to Cape François. Sent an officer and eight men on board of her.’
The voyage gave Nelson a little of the action he craved and, he estimated, £400 in prize money. After replenishing water and victuals, refitting, and bringing their crews back to strength in Jamaica, the same ships left to return to their station on 8 November. In eager anticipation the men of the
Bristol
were exercised at their great guns, and fired volleys of musketry from the poop, forecastle and fighting tops. At least another seven prizes were taken before the end of the year. The
Bristol
’s tender captured a French schooner on 16 November, and in the first days of the following month Caulfield overtook a Frenchman bound for Cape François and ‘a rebel ship’ that had fired upon the
Badger
.
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To cap these successes, Nelson returned to Port Royal on 20 December to be discharged from the
Bristol
. Sir Peter had promised to make him a commander as soon as a ship became available and he had kept his word. On 8 December 1778, while Horatio was still
at sea, he had been commissioned master and commander of the
Badger
sloop. After eight years in the service, he had a ship of his own.
But there was a bittersweet poignancy in this latest promotion, for shortly after Nelson had returned from the first spell of prize-taking on the
Bristol
in October a letter arrived for him from England. The handwriting on the envelope was his father’s. Inside Horatio found a letter dated the previous July. It told him that Captain Maurice Suckling was dead.
Nelson was a commander, only a short step from becoming a postcaptain, but the man to whom he owed almost everything – who had managed his career, planned every move and cleared away every obstacle – was gone. All Horatio’s professional life, Uncle Maurice had been there to guide, advise and protect. Now, suddenly, the world seemed a lonelier, less friendly place.
It had happened on 14 July 1778 about two weeks after Nelson’s official enrolment on the
Bristol
. Captain Suckling had been ill for a long time. He attended his last meeting at the Navy Board on 4 March and died in London at the age of fifty-two. He was taken home to be buried near his parents in their beloved Barsham.
Horatio had known about his uncle’s illness. Suckling had mentioned its persistence in a letter he had written in the spring, but the admiring nephew had entertained hopes of a recovery, and the sudden loss of his ‘dear good uncle’ fell ‘very heavy’ upon him. It stirred deep insecurities. Nelson knew his swift and seamless promotion had been due to his uncle. To the end Captain Suckling had served him. He had asked Sir Peter Parker to intervene, and reminded Lord Sandwich that the youth was his nephew and that any assistance given him would be counted a personal favour. Horatio’s future, which seemed so bright, suddenly clouded over.
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For the past two years Nelson had cultivated the habit of writing letters. Most were informal, confiding in William and other members of the family, and such close friends as Captain Locker, whose ‘goodness’ continued to be ‘more than ever I expected’. The relationship with Captain Suckling appears to have been less casual, however. Horatio still addressed his uncle as ‘Dear Sir’. But for all that Uncle Maurice had been his principal counsellor.
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The man was gone, but his legacies remained and still propelled Horatio forward. The captain’s will, completed four years before,
bequeathed £1,000 upon every Nelson niece and £500 upon each of the boys. Apparently Suckling also wanted Horatio to have his sword, for William Suckling gave it to him when the young officer next visited London in 1781. The heirloom was rumoured to have once belonged to Captain Suckling’s great uncle, the naval hero Galfridus Walpole. If so, it fittingly passed to the youngest member of the family to seek his fortune upon the sea.
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Somewhere in his sea chest Nelson already had other valuable mementos of his uncle’s stewardship. There was a volume on navigation the captain had given him, and six sheets of paper in his uncle’s hand, providing advice on all aspects of managing a ship. They prescribed respect for superiors and dwelt upon simple but effective means of keeping a ship ‘in very high order’. Captain Suckling had always paid attention to detail, and his advice ranged from the stowing of hammocks to the raising of sails (‘always be particular in working . . . sails together, for nothing is so lubberly as to hoist one sail after another’); from fixing days for washing clothes and decks to stipulating that provisions be issued at five in the morning and four in the afternoon; and from safeguarding the keys of storerooms to basic security in the magazine. As Horatio prepared to command his first ship and read those notes, he may have drawn consolation from knowing that his uncle was still at his elbow, guiding his hand.
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Two legacies of Captain Suckling were especially important. One was the residue of goodwill he had left behind, goodwill such as Parker’s that could still be tapped. The other was a tradition of service. Suckling had taught Horatio that duty came before financial self-interest, and that in the end it would bring its own reward. It was an optimistic philosophy perhaps, but one calculated to stimulate effort. Eight years later Nelson wistfully recalled this greatest of all his uncle’s legacies. ‘I feel myself to my country his heir,’ he wrote. ‘And it [England] shall, I am bold to say, never lack the want of his counsel. I feel he gave it to me as a legacy, and had I been near him when he was removed, he would have said, “My boy, I leave you to my country. Serve her well, and she’ll never desert, but will ultimately reward you.”’
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