Nelson
Page 14
Nelson’s enemy was most probably Plasmodium vivax, the commonest form of malaria in India. Though a ‘benign’ form and rarely deadly, if untreated it is prone to recur for several years and the acute attack can be extremely debilitating. The weakness of Nelson’s limbs may simply have reflected his emaciated condition, or been an indication of additional complications.
He was seen by the surgeon of the Seahorse, David Dalzell, and probably by others too. Captain Clerke of the Dolphin, Lieutenant Mather Fortescue of the Coventry and Marine Lieutenant Evan Evans of the Seahorse were also sick, and we know they were all examined by the surgeons of the naval hospital in Bombay as well as by doctors employed by the East India Company. Given the severity of Midshipman Nelson’s illness, it is to be presumed that he received no less attention.25
Commodore Hughes certainly gave the youth every consideration. On 14 March 1776 he discharged Nelson from the Seahorse. The Dolphin was bound for England. Though about the same age, armament and dimensions as the Seahorse, she was worn out by her eastern service. Even though she had been dry docked in Bombay and the bottom rendered more or less watertight, many of her timbers were much decayed. Captain James Pigott, who was switched to the Dolphin and ordered to take her home, subsequently reported that ‘in bad weather [the ship] complains much in her upper works, her sides and decks being very leaky, notwithstanding she has been twice caulked since she came out of Bombay Dock’. With the ship went some fourteen serious invalids, including Clerke, Fortescue, Evans and Nelson. A return to England was considered essential to their recovery.
Nevertheless, Nelson would lose neither sea time nor pay, for Hughes had him rated midshipman on the Dolphin from 15 March and thereby protected his employment until the ship was paid off in England. Horace always spoke of Hughes with gratitude, and no less affectionately did he remember Pigott, the newly promoted postcaptain who took him home. Pigott’s ‘kindness at that time saved my life’, he said.26
The Dolphin slipped from Bombay on 23 March, victualled for a six-month voyage. Her lieutenant was John Jervis, her master Richard Ogilvie and the surgeon and surgeon’s mate, who tended Horace in his sickness, were respectively Joseph Davis and Bernard Penrose. Of the three other midshipmen – Peter Templeman, Frederick Ross and William Scott – the last, a lad from Ashford, was officially of Nelson’s age. That Horace’s duties aboard the Dolphin were negligible or light is obvious, but over the six-month voyage his health improved, and when he got home he was fit enough to take an immediate position with another ship.
He must have missed the companions with whom he had shared the past two and a half years. He would meet Troubridge again and the two would stand together in brilliant victories and a humiliating defeat.
Thomas Surridge would also flourish. In fact, he sailed for home within months of Nelson, passed his examination for lieutenant in England on 10 September 1777, and had his commission confirmed on 9 June 1779 by an appointment to the Isis. He could easily have remained a lieutenant, and served on several ships in that capacity, but the outbreak of the wars with revolutionary France created more opportunities. Surridge was appointed commander of the Goelan sloop, went to the West Indies, where he transferred to the Alligator, and in 1794 made the key rank of post-captain. In 1804 he commanded his largest ship, the sixty-four-gun Trident, but in retirement with his wife, Mary, he continued to rise in the service, achieving flag rank in 1812 and becoming vice admiral of the blue squadron on 12 August 1819. As if satisfied, he died towards the end of the same year in Chichester, Sussex, at the age of seventy-two, the last surviving mentor of the young Nelson.27
The homeward run of the Dolphin was uneventful. She put into Anjenga roads on 2 April 1776 and then sliced through squally seas and variable weather towards the coast of Africa, which was sighted on 11 May. Ten days later she entered Simon’s Bay, in False Bay at the Cape of Good Hope, controlled by the Dutch. Apart from the three-gabled hospital to the right of the anchorage, the simple settlement consisted of a jetty, magazines, stables, workshops and a few houses, one using a flag to proclaim its status as a command post. Nevertheless, it was a safe haven and a French frigate, a number of Dutch merchantmen and the Prince of Wales, a British Indiaman, enlivened it during the month the Dolphin remained moored. Whether or not Nelson was hospitalised on shore for any time is unknown, but on 20 June his journey continued, and the next day the Dolphin rounded the Cape on large swells.28
There was little for Pigott to record in his log. Routine discipline had to be maintained and there were fourteen floggings between Bombay and Spithead. A man fell overboard in the North Atlantic, but the boats were able to save him, and in July and August Pigott’s sick list fluctuated between eight and thirteen. It does not appear that Nelson was ever numbered among these invalids, who were most probably the ratings transferred from the hospital in Bombay. When the ship anchored at Spithead on 30 August, eleven of the 145 men on the books were listed as invalids.29
During that long sea voyage on a leaking ship Nelson slowly regained his strength, but there were occasions, no doubt, when the darkest fears gathered around his cot as he hovered between sickness and recovery, perhaps even death and life. According to what he told a friend long afterwards, while walking in the grounds of Downton Castle in Hertfordshire, his determination to survive and distinguish himself rallied in the deepest depths of despair. ‘I felt impressed with an idea that I should never rise in my profession,’ Nelson is supposed to have said. ‘My mind was staggered with a view of the difficulties I had to surmount and the little “interest” I possessed. I could discover no means of reaching the object of my ambition. After a long and gloomy reverie, in which I almost wished myself overboard, a sudden glow of patriotism was kindled within me, and presented my king and country as my patron. My mind exulted in the idea. “Well then,” I exclaimed, “I will be a hero, and confiding in Providence, I will brave every danger.”’30
Although the ascribed words cannot have been accurately remembered, the gist of them may be true. There must have been useless, depressing days on the Dolphin and Nelson’s nature was somewhat volatile. Yet in one sense the Downton Castle anecdote rings false. However bleakly he construed his prospects, Nelson knew that he had more than a ‘little’ interest – much more. In fact, the career of Maurice Suckling had progressed considerably in the years that Horace had been away, and news from home must have alerted him to it.
Young Nelson was probably less aware that his uncle’s success had a black lining, for, though barely middle aged, Captain Suckling was ill. This was probably why in 1775 he applied to the Admiralty for shore-based positions in Newfoundland or Jamaica. By the beginning of 1777 he was ‘in much bodily pain’ for days at a time, and there were fears for his life.31
But as if to compensate for physical infirmity some juicy professional plums had fallen into Suckling’s lap. On 12 April 1775 Lord Sandwich, the first lord of the Admiralty, appointed him to succeed Sir Hugh Palliser as comptroller of the Navy Board, one of the most important positions in the service. It put him at the head of the Navy Office, and responsible for dockyards, ships and such warrant officers as masters, pursers, surgeons and boatswains. The recruitment of dockyard workers themselves was largely in the hands of the dockyard officials, and as the senior board the Admiralty could always impose candidates for warrants upon the Navy Office, but the comptroller was still a man of prestige and patronage. He wielded enough sway over posts and dockyard contracts to reward those befriending him, and made a powerful ally.32
Not only that, but such was Sandwich’s faith in Suckling that on 18 May 1776 he was returned Member of Parliament for Portsmouth. Portsmouth was a corporation borough that confined the franchise to the few members of the civic government. However, the navy’s influence in the town was immense, and the corporation usually returned a nominee of the Admiralty as their Member. The incumbent, therefore, was almost always a parliamentary placeman, approved by the current administration and ready to do its bidding.
Captain Suckling never took his place in the House of Commons, but his ‘election’ increased his influence and his ability to serve expectant protégés.
The consequences of Suckling’s triumphal march were not long in coming. His oldest Nelson nephew, Maurice, was offered a position as purser of the Swift, but opted instead for a clerkship in the Navy Office, where from November 1775 he busied himself among bills and accounts. Both jobs were within the remit of the Navy Board, but Midshipman Horace looked to the Admiralty for his promotion and was a more difficult problem. Even so, while the boy was sailing eastern seas his uncle was recommending him to Lord Sandwich, and within weeks of reaching England, Nelson reaped the benefit.33
After notifying the Admiralty of his arrival with dispatches from Commodore Hughes, Pigott took the ailing Dolphin to Woolwich. On 18 September she was lashed alongside a sheer-hulk in the dockyard, terminally ill, and on the 24th Nelson and the rest of her complement were paid off. Receiving net wages to the value of £9 17s. 4d., Horace may have pondered anew his good fortune in winning that skirmish at the gaming table.34
Only two days later he received an order from Sir James Douglas, the port admiral of Portsmouth. It appointed him acting lieutenant of the sixty-four-gun Worcester, preparing to sail for Gibraltar.35
VI
LIEUTENANT NELSON
Nelson, who, when cheering out of port in spirit grew
To make one purpose with the wind and tide.
Hilaire Belloc, Ballade of Unsuccessful Men
1
IN 1776 Portsmouth knew the name of Captain Maurice Suckling.
The town’s dockyard, with its sprawling complex of slips, storehouses, jetties, yards, mast houses and ordnance depot, and the chain of formidable fortifications that protected it, underwrote the economy of the entire community. Directly or indirectly it supported artisans, labourers and suppliers of every description, from brewers and bakers to block and instrument makers. The port pulsed with the energy that radiated from its ships. Smoky taphouses heaved with seafarers, carts and wagons choked the streets leading to the dockyard and ebullient hordes of workers streamed through its gate each morning to be mustered by their officers. Although established in his office in London, Captain Suckling’s writ ran far in Portsmouth. He clearly had the ear and confidence of the first lord of the Admiralty, and as comptroller of the Navy Board was ultimately responsible for the dockyard. In 1776 he became the borough’s sitting Member of Parliament.
It was not surprising that many were willing to serve Captain Suckling, either to repay past kindnesses or to bank goodwill in expectation of future favours. The captain was able to trade on that influence to help his nephew. Thus it was that young Horatio Nelson was summoned to serve on the Worcester, a locally built ‘third rate’ ship of the line. The captain of the Worcester was Mark Robinson, whose association with the comptroller of the Navy Board dated back at least as far as the latter’s command in the Medway.1
Robinson’s private journal hints at the hand the comptroller had in Nelson’s promotion to the Worcester. The youth arrived on board on 8 October 1776 with letters of introduction from his uncle, and Captain Robinson wrote to Suckling to notify him the following day. He rated the youngster fourth lieutenant on his ship’s books from the first of the month, and apparently advanced him money. On 1 February 1777, for example, Robinson gave Nelson four guineas for an unstated purpose, and on 29 September following – long after Horace had actually left the Worcester – Robinson noted, ‘Received of Maurice Suckling, Esq., what I paid Mr Dalrymple for Mr Nelson – £1 14s. 6d.’ It would seem proof at least that Robinson accounted to the comptroller in matters concerning the young lieutenant.2
Robinson also took Nelson under his wing. The day after Horace arrived in Portsmouth the ship moved to a mooring in the Solent at nearby Spithead, but Robinson found time to introduce the protégé to Sir James Douglas. On 10 October he invited the acting lieutenant to dine at his table on the Worcester with the mayor of Portsmouth, Philip Varlo, and on two separate days before finally weighing anchor for Gibraltar Robinson went ashore to dine as a guest of Varlo with Nelson by his side. In Portsmouth the nephew of Captain Suckling might have been merely an acting lieutenant but he appeared to have a privileged air.
2
Lieutenants were the most junior of sea officers carrying the king’s commission, but that commission made them ‘gentlemen’ whatever their birth, and solicited respect and status, on shore as well as at sea. A lieutenant might be entrusted with the command of a small vessel, such as a schooner, but most were deputies to captains, acting under their orders and supporting them in the management of a ship. Often they commanded the watches, the shifts into which a crew was divided, and effectively ran the ship during the period of their watch. Some were also assigned additional responsibilities, such as exercising the men in small arms or commanding a section of the gun deck during action. The rank was an essential step towards the captains’ list, and the talk of every lieutenants’ mess was who was or was not likely to be made ‘post’. They knew that many lieutenants, even good ones, never achieved that ambition.
As acting lieutenant Nelson was entitled to sling his cot and stow his chest in one of the small cabins in the ‘wardrobe’, which the lieutenants shared with the master, Kenneth Mackenzie, and the surgeon, George Hair. The weather the Worcester experienced on its voyage was atrocious, but despite his youth Nelson shouldered a fair share of duties. Robinson, whose own son had just qualified as a lieutenant, was encouraging, and entrusted Horace with the command of a watch. He assured the lad that ‘he felt as easy when I was upon deck, as any officer in the ship’.3
Robinson probably recognised Nelson’s exceptional ability, and the senior lieutenants, David Shuckforth, John Robson and George Dunn, may have been jobbing officers with little to mark them out. Shuckforth had been commissioned for twenty-three years and Robson for eighteen; neither they nor Dunn made ‘post’, although Shuckforth was retired as a commander in 1796. By contrast, Captain Robinson was an entirely respectable hero for Nelson. He had stories of the gallant Admiral Hawke, under whom he had been a young officer, and there was a steel core beneath his amiable disposition. Robinson would wear wounds as badges of bravery. Later he participated in two fleet actions against the French and lost a leg. Nelson always remembered him kindly, and spoke of ‘Admiral Robinson, my old captain, with a wooden leg’.4
The Worcester was ordered to take dispatches and a convoy to the British base of Gibraltar, but was two hundred men short of her complement of five hundred. Some men were borrowed from His Majesty’s ships Barfleur, Royal Oak and Egmont, but Robinson had to loose a couple of press gangs on the waterfront on 30 and 31 October. They brought in five men the first night. The problem did not seem to affect morale and discipline adversely, however. There were seven floggings before the ship sailed and rather more on the voyage itself, but considering the pedestrian duties and dirty weather inflicted upon the ship, it was not an unusual number.5
Nelson recalled it as a voyage of dogged duty rather than excitement. Urged on by an impatient Admiralty, Robinson mustered his convoy and sailed on Tuesday 3 December. Three days out two of the convoy collided with the Worcester off Portland, apparently because of the lubberly seamanship of one of their helmsmen. One ship ran upon the Worcester’s hawse (the space between her bow and where her anchor had lodged on the bottom), and entangled its foremast with her jib. The offending vessel was no sooner cut clear than she fell alongside the Worcester and damaged the foreyard. Still, Robinson’s carpenters soon got their ship to rights, and the convoy put into Falmouth the next day to pick up a further detachment of merchantmen. Having done so they headed out into the Atlantic, fifty sail in all.
Horace already knew about convoy work but this voyage was unusually difficult. The outward journey was merely a matter of hard, dull and routine work. The ragged armada was ushered forward, shedding detachments at Oporto, Lisbon and Cadiz, and passing the capes of St Vince
nt and Trafalgar, where Nelson would eventually win glorious victories. On 9 January 1777 the Worcester anchored in the Bay of Gibraltar, near His Majesty’s ship Levant and eight Dutch and Spanish warships.
The next day Nelson went ashore with a letter Robinson wanted to be mailed to Josiah Hardy, the British consul at Cadiz. This was his first opportunity to study the famous gateway to the Mediterranean. To see the ‘apes’ (actually macaque monkeys) scurrying about the rock, or smell the fetid streets of a town humming with men of many hues, where soldiers and sailors jostled with babbling bartering traders; to walk quietly among the prickly pears and pink geraniums of Europa Point; or gaze upon gun-studded ramparts or the brilliant blue waters of the Mediterranean, which he now saw for the first time. Horace was hoping to meet his old messmate, Charles Boyles, who was stationed at Gibraltar, and carried a letter and parcel to deliver to him. Unfortunately, Boyles was nowhere to be found, and after the Zephyr sloop arrived on the 24th Nelson entrusted his mail to one of its officers.6
It was not until 14 February that the winds permitted the Worcester to start the return leg of the voyage. With her went Lieutenant Henry Charles Bridges of the Zephyr, who had developed an eye problem, and a less willing passenger, the supercargo of an American prize taken by the Levant, with a box of papers from the same unfortunate vessel.