Trafalgar

by Nicholas Best

  His servant Smith was impressed by his calmness:

  The Admiral spoke to me about the middle of the action, and again for five minutes immediately after its close; and on neither occasion could I observe the slightest change from his ordinary manner . . . I wondered how a person whose mind was occupied by such a variety of most important concerns could, with the utmost ease and equanimity, enquire kindly after my welfare, and talk of common matters as if nothing of any consequence were taking place.

  Collingwood had plenty to think about. The Royal Sovereign was muzzle to muzzle with the Santa Ana, the two ships firing straight into each other’s portholes, desperate to put each other out of action. Overexposed on the poop, Collingwood dropped down to the quarterdeck to watch the fighting. He was a gunnery expert who had trained the crew of his previous ship to fire three broadsides in three and a half minutes – an achievement rarely emulated, even in the Royal Navy. Ignoring the enemy fire, he strode down the line of guns, looking along every one to make sure it was properly aimed, then stood beside a black seaman as he pumped ten rounds directly into the Santa Ana.

  The Spanish were hard pressed, but still fighting. The Fougueux was coming to their aid, so close to the Royal Sovereign at one point that the ships almost touched. There was little wind to carry the smoke away, so they could hardly see each other in the confusion. It was a question now of holding their nerve and keeping up the pressure until somebody gave in and struck their colours. Collingwood’s flag-captain had already shaken the admiral’s hand and congratulated him on defeating the Santa Ana, but he had been premature. A few Spaniards had taken refuge on the outside of the Santa Ana, the side furthest away from Collingwood’s guns, but most were still fighting. With the Royal Sovereign surrounded by hostile ships, anything could happen yet.

  Almost a mile to the north, the Victory was still short of the enemy line, only just coming into range. The enemy ships in her path included the Santissima Trinidad, the Redoutable and the Bucentaure, Villeneuve’s flagship. To Midshipman Badcock, watching from two ships behind the Victory, the scene was one he would never forget.

  It was a beautiful sight when their line was completed, their broadsides turned towards us, showing their iron teeth, and now and then trying the range of a shot to ascertain the distance, that they might, the moment we came within point blank (about 600 yards), open their fire upon our van ships – no doubt with the hope of dismasting some of our leading vessels before they could close and break their line.

  Some of the enemy’s ships were painted like ourselves – with double yellow sides, some with a broad single red or yellow streak, others all black, and the noble Santissima Trinidad with four distinct lines of red, with a white ribbon between them, made her seem to be a superb man-of-war, which indeed she was.

  Badcock’s ship had already tried to push ahead of the Victory and lead the dash towards the enemy line, only to be pulled up short by the admiral. ‘Poor Lord Nelson himself hailed us from the stern-walk of the Victory and said, “Neptune, take in your stun’sls and drop astern; I shall break the line myself.” ’ The Téméraire was still attempting to overtake the Victory, as ordered, but Nelson would not allow it. As the Téméraire moved up, only a few yards away across the water, Nelson raised his speaking trumpet and hailed the Téméraire’s captain. ‘I’ll thank you, Captain Harvey, to keep in your proper station, which is astern of the Victory.’ Eliab Harvey fell back reluctantly, leaving Nelson’s ship in the lead as they continued towards the enemy.

  The admiral’s starry appearance was still worrying his officers. If he wouldn’t remove his decorations (actually just sequin facsimiles), then at the very least he should cover them with a handkerchief to make himself less conspicuous. William Beatty, the ship’s surgeon, wanted to tell him so, but was advised against it by Nelson’s secretary, John Scott. ‘Take care, Doctor, what you are about. I would not be the man to mention such a matter to him.’ The surgeon persisted nevertheless, waiting around the quarterdeck for an opportunity to make his daily sick report to Nelson and urge him at the same time to cover his decorations. But Beatty was ordered below when the Royal Sovereign came under fire and never got a chance to talk to Nelson.

  Twenty minutes after the Sovereign went into action, the first shot was fired at the Victory. It came from the Héros and fell short. The Victory was still about 1,000 yards from the enemy, not yet in proper range. The French waited a couple of minutes and fired again. That shot fell alongside. A third went over the ship, as did the next two or three. At length, one tore a hole through the Victory’s main top-gallant sail, the first visible proof to the enemy that they were on target. For a minute or two nothing happened. Then seven or eight French and Spanish ships opened up together, all firing at the Victory in unison. Their purpose was to dismast the British flagship and put her out of action before she came anywhere near their line.

  It could not have happened at a worse moment for the Victory. The wind had dropped away to nothing, leaving the ship to be carried forward by the swell alone. She was helpless on the ocean, a sitting target for her opponents. All she could do was proceed at a snail’s pace, taking hits all over the ship and praying that none of them would disable her before she reached the battle line. It was not an enviable position to be in. More than one officer in Nelson’s column was secretly relieved that it was the Victory bearing the brunt of the onslaught and not his own vessel. On the Britannia, three ships behind, Admiral Lord Northesk openly ordered his flag-captain to reduce sail as they approached the enemy and was later held to have ‘behaved notoriously ill in the Trafalgar action’. At the rear of both columns, other ships also appeared in no great hurry to join the action.

  On the Victory, at least two of the frigate captains were still aboard, waiting in case Nelson had any final orders for the fleet. When the first shots whistled overhead, he summoned Prowse of the Sirius and Blackwood of the Euryalus and told them to instruct the other captains in his column to get into the action any way they could if his own plan proved impractical. Prowse and Blackwood then dispersed to their own ships, Prowse stopping on the way to say goodbye to his nephew Charles Adair, captain of the Victory’s Marines.

  Henry Blackwood shook Nelson’s hand before going over the side. ‘I trust, my Lord, that on my return to the Victory, which will be as soon as possible, I shall find your Lordship well, and in possession of twenty prizes.’

  ‘God bless you, Blackwood.’ Nelson was full of foreboding. ‘I shall never speak to you again.’

  Blackwood pulled away from the Victory and was rowed back to his own ship. Nelson remained on the quarterdeck, enduring the enemy’s fire as the Victory inched forward. With almost 200 guns trained on her, it was only a matter of time before disaster struck. Six hundred yards short of the enemy line, the Victory’s mizen topmast was shot away. A few yards further on, her wheel was smashed as well, blown to pieces by a lucky shot. Her foremast was riddled and her foresail collapsed in tatters across the fo’c’sle. Other sails were pockmarked with holes. But still the Victory pressed on, steered now by an emergency arrangement of rope and tackle, forty sailors hauling on the tiller in response to commands shouted down from above. Although under fire herself, she had yet to return fire. Her gunners were huddled below, grimly waiting for their moment. It would come, but it hadn’t come yet.

  On deck, Nelson’s secretary John Scott was talking to Captain Hardy when a cannon ball spun him round and laid him dead at Hardy’s feet. Captain Adair of the Marines and a seaman hurried to remove the corpse. ‘Is that poor Scott that is gone?’ asked Nelson. Adair nodded. ‘Poor fellow,’ said Nelson, as they threw him overboard.

  He and Hardy were walking on the quarterdeck when a single shot killed eight Marines on the poop. Nelson promptly told Adair to disperse the rest around the ship. Another Marine lost an arm and an Irish able seaman was scalped by a splinter. Other splinters ricocheted between Nelson and Hardy, bruising Hardy’s foot and tearing the buckle from his shoe. Both men stopp
ed and examined each other all over, wondering which of them was hurt. ‘This is too warm work to last long,’ Nelson told Hardy. He added that in all his career he had never seen such ‘cool courage’ as the men of the Victory were displaying that day.

  Already twenty of them were dead and another thirty wounded. The remainder were still at their posts, holding steady as the Victory neared the enemy line. The French and Spanish were packed so tightly that it would be impossible to break right through them. They would have to go alongside one of the enemy ships first. Captain Hardy said as much to Nelson.

  ‘I cannot help it.’ Nelson shrugged. ‘It does not signify which we run on board of. Go on board which you please. Take your choice.’

  The Santissima Trinidad was the preferred target, but the gap between her and the Bucentaure, immediately astern, was too narrow for the Victory to force a passage. Hardy decided to go for the Bucentaure’s stern instead, punching a hole between her and the bow of the Redoutable, next in the enemy line. He gave the order and heard it shouted down to the gun deck, where the sailors hauled on the tiller. The Victory swung round and steered for the Bucentaure, with the rest of the British column following closely behind.

  From the Redoubtable’s poop, Captain Jean Lucas had guessed what was about to happen and was already moving up to close the remaining gap between his own ship and the Bucentaure. If the British were going to attack the Bucentaure, Lucas intended to be there too. At all costs, he was determined to protect Villeneuve’s ship from capture and see to it that the admiral’s flag was not taken by the British.

  The Redoutable moved up so close that her bowsprit bumped against the Bucentaure’s taffrail several times. But Lucas was unabashed. A remarkable little man, only four foot nine, he was full of enthusiasm for the fight.

  I laid the Redoutable’s bowsprit against the Bucentaure’s stern, fully resolved to sacrifice my ship in defence of the admiral’s flag. I told my officers and men, who greeted my decision with cries of ‘Vive l’Empereur! Vive l’Amiral! Vive le Commandant!’ repeated a thousand times.

  Preceded by the drums and fifes, I paraded at the head of my officers round the decks. Everywhere I found gallant lads burning with impatience to get at the enemy, many of them saying to me, ‘Captain, don’t forget to board them!’

  Lucas was a highly professional officer who had spent months training his crew for this moment. As the Victory loomed towards them, he sent some of his best men into the rigging, armed with muskets, bayonets and grenades to rain down destruction on to the enemy. Others were equipped with pistols, cutlasses and grappling irons, ready to board the Victory as soon as they came alongside. After endless weeks of sword drill and dummy grenade throwing, they were itching to try the real thing. For all his lack of height, the bellicose Lucas enjoyed the full confidence of the men towering over him. He knew his business and he had seen to it that they knew theirs, too.

  Ahead of them, the Santissima Trinidad lay just in front of the Bucentaure, scarcely moving at all through the water. All three ships were bunched so close together that a collision seemed inevitable as the Victory bore down. By Villeneuve’s account, the Victory was almost within ‘half pistol shot’ when she suddenly veered towards the Bucentaure’s stern. By another French account, Villeneuve immediately seized the Imperial eagle from the foot of the Bucentaure’s mainmast and brandished it in front of his men.

  ‘My friends,’ he told them. ‘I am going to throw this aboard the English ship.’ He gestured towards the Victory, now seconds away from a clash. ‘We will go and fetch it back – or we will die!’

  CHAPTER 35

  NELSON HIT

  Both British columns had now reached the enemy. From his position near the head of the French line, Rear-Admiral Pierre Dumanoir watched the Victory bearing down on the Bucentaure and wondered if he should turn the leading squadron round and hurry back to attack Nelson’s column in the flank. It was the logical thing to do, but there had been no orders from Villeneuve – none that Dumanoir had seen, at any rate. Should he use his own initiative and turn back anyway? Or should he carry on towards Cadiz, leading the French and Spanish back to safety? Dumanoir couldn’t make up his mind.

  There was very little he could do in the short term. Even if he gave the order now, it would take at least an hour to turn his squadron round, and the fight might well have been decided by then. His ships might arrive in time to save the day, or they might arrive in time to be destroyed in their turn. If they continued towards Cadiz, they would escape the carnage and live to fight another time. That was what Villeneuve had done at the Nile, quietly distancing himself from the action when he saw that further resistance was useless. Should Dumanoir do it now?

  A more resolute man would have said no. With the Victory about to ram the Bucentaure, Dumanoir’s duty was clear. He should have turned round at once and sailed back towards the sound of the guns. But Dumanoir had no stomach for the fight and judged it wiser not to get involved. He sailed on instead, turning his back on the battle behind him, apparently pretending to himself that it wasn’t happening. His squadron followed unhappily in his wake.

  At the other end of the line, about half a mile south of Villeneuve, Admiral Gravina could see both Collingwood and Nelson attacking the combined fleet but could do nothing about it. A solid wall of French and Spanish ships stood between him and the British, preventing his squadron from bringing their guns to bear. All Gravina could do was pace the deck and curse, watching helplessly as other ships engaged the enemy while his own squadron looked on, idle and useless.

  It was Gravina’s own fault. He commanded the observer squadron, sailing independently of the main body. He was supposed to be to windward, nearer the British, in order to strengthen the centre of Villeneuve’s line if necessary. But Gravina had ignored Villeneuve’s orders when the fleet turned about that morning. He had attached his squadron to the rear of the line instead, ending up parallel to the rear squadron but on the side away from the enemy. Gravina may have been positioning himself to attack the British when they broke through, but it was not what Villeneuve had asked of him. If Gravina’s squadron had been in the centre of the line, to windward, it would have been ideally placed to break up both Collingwood and Nelson’s columns before they could reach the combined fleet. Gravina had been given some of the fleet’s best fighting ships for that very purpose. The situation would be looking radically different now if he had only done what he was told – and no one can have realised it more than Gravina.

  But it was too late now. In the middle of the line, the men of the Bucentaure were bracing themselves for a collision as the Victory came on. The French had grappling hooks in their hands, ready to bind the two ships together the moment they touched.

  At the last minute, however, the Victory suddenly veered to starboard, narrowly avoiding a collision as she passed under the Bucentaure’s stern. She sailed so close that her yardarm tangled with the French rigging and her shrouds brushed against the huge tricolour hanging down over the taffrail. A man on the Victory’s gangway could have reached out and grabbed the flag if he had had the presence of mind. From a distance of only a few feet, French and English stared open-mouthed at each other for a moment, as if frozen in a tableau. Then they all remembered where they were and sprang into action as the English guns began to fire.

  This was the gunners’ moment. The Bucentaure had already loosed off four broadsides at the Victory, but the Victory had fired none in return. Advancing at an angle to the enemy, she had had little chance to retaliate before. But she could retaliate now.

  The first shot came from the carronade on the Victory’s port fo’c’sle. Loaded with one 68-pound shot and a keg of 500 musket balls, the carronade fired straight through the windows of the Bucentaure’s upper cabin, spraying death and destruction the length of the ship. It was followed in sequence by the fifty broadside guns on the Victory’s port side, each firing in turn as the Bucentaure’s stern loomed into view. The effect was devastating. The Frenc
h were cut down in droves, some torn in half, some blinded and maimed, others mutilated beyond all recognition. Those not killed outright screamed in fear and pain as the destruction hit home. They screamed so loudly that their cries were heard aboard the Victory by men whose hearing was already dulled by the noise of the guns. The British had problems of their own, half-suffocated by the smoke of their own weapons, which had come billowing back into the ship. They were so close to the enemy that Nelson and Hardy were covered in dust from the Bucentaure’s stern, which had erupted in a shower all over them as the guns did their work.

  The moment passed and the Victory swept on. Behind her, twenty of the Bucentaure’s guns had been destroyed and upwards of 100 of her crew disabled (it seemed like 400 to her officers at the time). The Victory was now in clear water on the other side of the enemy line. She came under fire immediately from the French ship Neptune (there were three Neptunes at Trafalgar, one for each nation). The Victory’s foremast and bowsprit were hit and her bows holed in several places. But nothing could be done about it. The Victory was under fire from the Redoutable as well, some distance away to starboard. Hurriedly sizing up the situation, Captain Hardy decided to board the Redoutable and silence her guns before they could do any serious damage. He gave the order for the Victory to run alongside.

  Captain Lucas was ready for him. He fired one broadside at the Victory and then ordered the Redoutable’s lower gunports to be closed, to prevent a boarding party from climbing through. The anchors of the two ships clanged into each other as they met, and they would have bounced apart again if their sails hadn’t become entangled. As it was, they were hooked together instead, so close that the muzzles of the Victory’s lower-deck guns were actually touching the Redoutable’s hull.