He would have been even angrier if he had been aware of Keith’s thoughts which were, ‘There you are, my laddie. For all your baubles and your dukedom, your self-importance and your Jacobin notions of how to handle a fleet, it is I who rule here.’
What Keith said was, ‘My wife is with me aboard Queen Charlotte. She would be mortified if you failed to dine with us tonight.’
5
Nelson returned to the news that Sir William Hamilton had been recalled, that a new ambassador had been appointed and was on his way by frigate from England. This despatch cast gloom over the shared villa, intensified by the February weather and the dour presence of Lord Keith and his equally staid wife.
Sir William felt he had been swindled, never having asked to be retired. He had requested some leave, and failing that the Foreign Office could dispose of his post, but that was not the same thing at all. In his view it was a design to secure a plum post for Sir Arthur Paget, heir to the Earl of Uxbridge.
‘Yet the notion has its attractions, Nelson,’ said Sir William, when his friend had ceased commiserating. ‘It will be of some comfort to treat and deal with people who have only one face instead of several. I have to say these Neapolitans have worn me down with their manoeuvres.’
‘I don’t want to go home,’ said Emma, when she and Nelson were alone. ‘I have become accustomed to life here.’
Home frightened Emma. It was no place of mists and mellow fruitfulness to her but a cold locale that spoke of standards more duplicitous than she had ever encountered in Naples or Palermo.
Nelson had told her many times that one day he, too, would be recalled, indeed he had asked for that on several occasions when the burden of the tasks that faced him grew too wearisome. He was at the disposal of the Admiralty, and no commanding officer was left in place for ever. In London there would be any number of rear admirals pursuing his post and they could not all be denied indefinitely. But when he wondered aloud what was to become of them, Emma had made him concentrate on the delights of the present. And Nelson had not the heart to insist they discuss the matter since it made her so miserable. Now she talked of being in England just long enough for Sir William to see to his affairs, his Welsh estates, collect the money owed to him by the Government, sell his remaining virtu, before they could return.
Sir William was no more insistent than Nelson that Emma look at the realities, but it would be impossible for his successor to feel secure if he was still in the Kingdom: Paget would see him as an alternative source of influence, and what he would make of Emma’s friendship with the Queen did not bear thinking about. He would also struggle, without Government support, to maintain the style in which they had lived. Certainly they would be comfortable, but to a woman who had become accustomed to grand living and to being at the centre of affairs, that might appear as a comedown.
Maria Carolina refused to accept that her, ‘dear Sir William,’ should go home, and sent a messenger to London to request that he be reinstated. When Nelson sailed with Keith to look at the situation in Malta, matters were still at a stand.
The two admirals arrived off Malta to be greeted by the intelligence that the garrison of Valetta, close to capitulation, could only hope for succour from a convoy of supply ships that had already left Toulon. The sole capital ship escorting it was Le Généraux, one of the two line-of-battle ships that had escaped from the Nile. Guillaume Tell was locked up in Valetta harbour, snug under the guns of Fort Ricasoli, but rotting at its moorings and a prime target for a cutting-out expedition to every captain who could see her.
If there were two ships that Nelson longed to see with a British ensign above their colours, they were Guillaume Tell and Le Généraux, because they had fled Aboukir Bay. Objectively, Nelson knew that their captains had chosen wisely in leaving a scene of defeat, saving their ships for the future, but he wanted them badly because then the Nile victory would be total.
If Nelson had any doubts as to how he stood with Lord Keith he was soon disabused of them. Used to independence, it was galling to have to obey orders that he felt to be inappropriate. The landfall for the supply fleet was Valetta: they had nowhere else to go. By standing close to that harbour there was no doubt about the notion of interception, the only caveat being weather so foul that they could sneak in unobserved.
Keith sent Nelson off on a chase to intercept them in open sea, beating into the wind in foul weather. His blood was boiling with the certain knowledge that Keith was about the same sort of business to leeward, leaving the approaches to Valetta harbour unguarded. If the enemy convoy made its landfall, a whole year of siege would go to waste. The French garrison would be supplied with enough to keep them there for two more years.
As usual, when things were not going as he wished, Nelson spent every waking hour on deck. To the disgust of Tom Allen these were many, for disquiet ensured that Nelson could not sleep. He was jumpy, irritable and frustrated. He developed his usual raft of ailments over the three days and nights as he and the four line-of-battle ships he commanded beat into oblivion. He was close to a human wreck when the distant sound of gunfire came to Foudroyant through the fog.
‘Gunfire, Mr Pasco.’
‘I reckon it so, sir.’
Pasco had developed even in the short time Nelson had known him. His reply, which would have been tremulous a year ago, had been confident. Pasco had heard cannon fire, and he knew of what he spoke.
‘Pray for the Le Généraux, Mr Pasco.’
‘There’s not a Nile veteran that doesn’t every day, sir. We vie with each other to gift you that prize.’
Nelson was touched, and as he stared into the mist, he hoped that the wetness around his eyes was from vapour in the air. He was weary, of course, but he also loved the men with whom he served in a way that he suspected not even perspicacious Emma understood.
‘Do you, Pasco, do you so?’
‘Masthead, ‘what do you see?’
That cry came from Sir Edward Berry, who had replaced Thomas Hardy as flag captain. Keith had put Hardy into another ship, a slack vessel that required his ability in the article of discipline. Berry had been with Nelson at both the battle of St Vincent and the Nile, his knighthood having come from the latter. He was a true fighter, and if there was to be an encounter, and Nelson prayed that there would be, the presence of Berry boded well.
‘Line-of-battle ship, sir, going large on the starboard tack. She has a tricolour aloft. There’s a hint of other ships in the offing but no clear way of saying what they are.’
‘I would like to close with that ship, Sir Edward. I believe I may ask for the signal, general chase.’
‘A signal to Lord Keith, sir?’
Nelson’s mind worked on the relative positions of the two groups of ships, the weather, the wind, a fast piece of triangulation that produced only one answer. The signal could only be got to Queen Charlotte by a repeating frigate: she was too far off to see it in this foul weather.
‘A waste, Sir Edward, we would put him to a chase for no purpose. Keith cannot come up on the enemy before we do.’
Berry didn’t look at Nelson. He did not have to, having seen him many times change from weakling to ardent warrior in the wink of an eye. What he did know from the masthead observations was that the enemy had gone hard about and had put herself before the wind.
‘A chance to show your mettle, so make Foudroyant fly.’ As the mist lifted Nelson made two observations: one that the chase was very likely Le Généraux, the second that HMS Northumberland was in a fair way to head reaching the flagship. ‘We will require to do better, Captain Berry. That ship must strike only to my flag.’
Berry was ruthless. Within minutes he had the fire engine playing to wet the sails, so that they would draw better on the gusting wind. Hammocks were removed from the leeward side and shot put in their place to right the ship. Wedges were knocked from the masts to give them play and finally Berry had the drinking water started over the side to lighten her. And slowly, almost impercepti
bly, Foudroyant began to pull ahead of Northumberland.
Now that he could see her Nelson knew it was Le Généraux, and his blood raced. He was pacing up and down, his short stump working furiously, aware that the Frenchman had a fair chance of escape. Then the masthead called that a strange sail had appeared ahead of the chase.
‘Demand her number!’
The flags flew aloft and were answered. ‘HMS Success, milord.’
‘Signal her to engage.’
‘Tall odds,’ said Edward Berry. ‘Thirty two guns to face eighty.’
‘They will do it, Sir Edward, mark my word.’
The truth of that was clear in ten minutes. The tiny frigate put herself across Le Généraux’s hawse and let fly with a broadside that, aimed high, took out all the canvas above the topsails. But the enemy was not to be tickled, and had let her head fall off just enough to return a compliment in double measure, and with guns of twice the calibre. Hardly an in-drawn breath was expended on Foudroyant’s deck as they saw the French guns belch forth, to envelop Success in a cloud of smoke and spray. When the smoke cleared there was the frigate, battered, but doing all in its power to continue the pursuit.
The task allotted to Success had been carried out: the chase had been forced to slow, and the damage the Frenchman had sustained aloft meant she could not immediately regain her speed. ‘Success to come under our stern, Sir Edward, she has done well for her size, and the range tells me it would be worthwhile to try our lower-deck cannon.’
They were waiting below, guns loaded and run out, wedges rammed under metal to raise the elevation, the fingers of the gun captains twitching to pull on the lanyard that would fire the lock and send a thirty-two-pounder ball flying towards wood and flesh. Nelson felt the thunder of shot and recoil through his feet as they let fly, then watched as the great black balls flew over the enemy to raise great spouts before her dipping bowsprit, evidence that the range was excellent.
That applied to the Frenchman, too, who opened up on Foudroyant, sending a ball through her mizzen staysail that brought a light to Nelson’s good eye. He called to Pasco to ask him how he rated the music as his ship and Northumberland closed on Le Généraux, who had no alternative now but to fight. Soon both British vessels were raking her with massive broadsides. Berry had gone for masts and yards, his consort for the deck, and both were accurate. The tricolour flag was half way down from the masthead before they could fire again, and Giddings was in a ship’s boat, with Berry, heading for the defeated enemy deck to find a French admiral too wounded to hand over his sword.
‘The convoy is scattered, sir, no more to be, which leaves Valetta in a sorry pass. I reckon we will have Malta complete in a month or two. Added to that, we have a fine large store ship full of everything from meat to brandy, which I suggest be spread through the squadron.’
Keith should have responded to that with appreciation, but he sat there, as he had throughout Nelson’s report, stony-faced and silent. It was that lack of a signal, of course, which would only ever have been a courtesy. There was no way Queen Charlotte could have taken Le Généraux, but he was probably miffed that, out of sight of the capture, the officers and men of his flagship were out of the running for the prize money too. Keith would get his eighth of course, but that signified little in a situation where he felt that it was not a subordinate’s job to assume anything. Nelson had left him out of the only action that was likely to be seen in these waters for quite some time, and pinned another laurel to his already overblown reputation.
‘I said, after the Nile, sir, that should I take Le Généraux and Guillaume Tell I would be content to strike my flag.’
Keith continued to stare at Nelson with what appeared close to loathing. He had enjoyed a good career, if not a spectacularly successful one, yet now he was faced with a man who could toss off a line like that. And why did Nelson have to keep mentioning that infernal Nile battle, as if he was determined to emphasise his superiority?
‘You cannot strike just yet, Nelson,’ Keith said finally. ‘I need you off Valetta. Perhaps with you there the French will give in a little quicker.’
‘Captain Ball, sir …’
Nelson never got a chance to say that Ball deserved whatever honour came from a captured Malta, for Keith interrupted him. ‘I will draw up your orders in writing. And I suggest that there are anchorages better suited to the task at hand than Palermo.’
Any lingering respect for Keith died in Nelson: it was no part of the man’s task as a commander to tell him how to live his private life and his suggested alternatives as anchorages were merely a smokescreen for the intention to keep him apart from Emma. But he stayed silent, leaving Keith to assume that he would be obeyed. In the past he would have spoken up, and damned the consequences.
Troubridge protested furiously when, after only a few days beating to and fro off Valetta, Nelson told him that he intended to sail for Palermo. Keith’s orders had been specific, but he had gone back to Genoa, to take station off a city now under siege.
More worrying to Nelson was the letter from an old naval friend at home, which he read in Palermo. Admiral Goodall sought to tell him that enough people knew of his relationship with Emma for it to be the subject of gossip. He advised Nelson to be content with what he had enjoyed, and draw away from his enchantress. To Nelson, she was that and much more, though less than happy at preparing to surrender her position to another at court. He sent Berry back to Valetta and hoisted his own flag in a transport, which Nelson declared to be about right, given the trust he enjoyed in higher quarters.
It was a sad day when Sir William Hamilton came to hand in his letters of recall. Thirty-seven years of diplomacy concluded in a scene where Maria Carolina shed a tear for her ‘brave Chevalier’. This while the King looked vague, as if he could not comprehend a court without the Hamilton presence; hardly surprising since Sir William had been there before he had attained his majority and properly ascended the throne.
Nelson had Foudroyant back, plus the news that, in a hot action, Berry had taken the last French Nile ship, the proof of which was apparent. Part of Guillaume Tell’s figurehead now decorated his great cabin. Nelson knew for certain that his task was complete and that he would now be going home, but to ease matters for Emma and the unemployed Sir William he arranged a cruise that would take in Syracuse and Malta. Sir William loved a ruin, and the old Greek City of Syracuse was filled with traces of three thousand years of classical history. He went off with Cornelia Knight and several other members of the party, leaving Nelson and Emma alone. With the whole of the great cabin to themselves and a lookout who would give them ample warning of the party’s return, it was possible to spend a day in each other’s arms.
Off Valetta, their next port of call, Foudroyant got into a scrape when she dragged her anchor in a storm and found herself under the guns of the French defenders. The crew were treated to the spectacle of their admiral alternately angry and pleading with Lady Hamilton to leave the deck, with her refusing point-blank as his flagship and the enemy traded fire.
Emma did not budge as the cannon boomed and waterspouts soaked the deck. Her hair and face pitted with the burnt grains of powder blown back from the guns, Emma stood rocklike on the quarterdeck, proudly wearing her latest decoration from the Tsar of Russia, a ladylike diamond-studded cross, daring the French to do their worst.
Nelson knew that the island would fall soon and both Troubridge and Ball begged him to stay. He could not, for Ball had been there at the inception, and Nelson knew that if he stayed the capitulation would be credited to him. Let the man who had done the work have the glory, a man who was a friend to both him and Emma. Troubridge would garner some glory, too, and that was only right. But let the name of Alexander Ball forever be associated with the fall of an island that had proved impregnable to most invaders over centuries. Let him rank with Bonaparte.
To wish to go home and achieve it was no easy matter: the Admiralty had to approve, which took weeks. Sir William, lik
ewise, could not just depart: he had an endless series of balls and banquets to attend in which he said farewell to all those whose position demanded it: the King and Queen, of course, but also de Gallo whom he hated, and Acton whom he liked. The latter had just married for the first time, by proxy to a niece not yet fourteen. No doubt the union had been prompted by the need to protect an inheritance than by any carnal passion, but Emma and Nelson spent a happy evening trying to imagine the consummation of such a misalliance.
Maria Carolina was going home too, to Austria, knowing that with her power so diminished in Naples, her presence there would not be missed. It was time, she told Emma, to introduce her younger children to a proper court. Besides, her girls needed husbands and if they stayed here they might end up in the marital bed of some Neapolitan nincompoop. Better to be in Vienna, at a court that knew how to arrange such things. That was not as easy as it looked, given that Bonaparte, now First Consul of the French Republic, was fighting to reverse the gains the Austrians and Russians had made the year before.
Only passage in a British man o’ war offered security to a nervous Queen, although Keith had taken Genoa from the French. As her suite ran into hundreds, Nelson was obliged to send for another warship to transport them all, making swift passage to Leghorn before he went to join his commander-in-chief.
The farewells were attended by many gifts, the most valuable a diamond necklace for Emma. Nelson was unsure whether to be pleased or amused by a miniature of King Ferdinand, the surround for which the Queen had made herself. The parting was postponed after the news of the battle of Marengo, in which Bonaparte had routed the Austrians, forcing them to surrender the whole of northern Italy. The Queen, convinced that the people of Leghorn would take her hostage wanted to return to Palermo. Nelson and Emma persuaded her that they were anti-Jacobins, which was hard, but not as hard as having to disperse a mob that had gathered to defend Maria Carolina and monarchical rule.
Breaking the Line Page 7