Nelson

by John Sugden

  The Admiralty allowed him to choose some officers, and the ship was short of its complement, so Horatio commanded his first substantial powers of patronage. It seemed sensible to offer opportunities to the people at home, strengthening his position in the local community and tapping the existing support of family and friends. His appointment was announced in the Norfolk Chronicle and his brother William was soon offering one man the position of master’s mate, with a volunteer’s bounty of £5 and an additional £2 for every recruit he could raise in Wells and ship to Woolwich. Eventually, some twenty lower-deck volunteers answered Nelson’s call, and a few officers also applied. John Oliver, ‘a very good man’, was provisionally rated a quartermaster, and Valentine Boyles, whose father collected the customs duties at Wells and regularly joined William for cards, apparently sought a lieutenancy. Horatio liked the Boyles family, especially his old shipmate Charles (‘I wish much to meet him’), but on this occasion was unable to oblige; perhaps at that time his lieutenants had already been appointed.27

  For key officers he turned or bowed to naval colleagues. His two lieutenants were ‘very genteel young men’. First Lieutenant Martin Hinton was about Nelson’s age and had gone to sea in 1771 with Captain James Ayscough of the Swan. He had completed his six years of sea time as an able seaman and midshipman on that ship and the Leviathan, serving also under Captains Dewey, Tatty and Tathwell. When Nelson met Hinton in 1784, he was a lieutenant of two years’ standing. Horatio’s second lieutenant, William Osborne, was the son of Admiral Sir Charles Hardy’s secretary. Hardy had been dead a year, but Nelson probably wanted to please one of the late admiral’s friends, since he also took Charles Hardy junior as a captain’s servant and midshipman. Less fortunate than Hinton and Osborne was Horatio’s old friend Joseph Bromwich of the Lowestoffe. Despite his qualities as an officer, Bromwich had slipped and slid on the promotion ladder. He had remained in the Lowestoffe after Christopher Parker succeeded Locker in command, and followed his new captain to the Diamond in 1780, rising to the position of acting lieutenant. But then his diligently acquired knowledge of the Bahama keys proved to be his undoing, for he was asked to surrender his acting lieutenancy in order to pilot Sir John Hamilton’s Hector home. Bromwich arrived in England in June 1781, just in time to sign up with his old messmate on the Albemarle. He had lost sea time, however, and Nelson was obliged to ship him aboard as master’s mate, though he backdated Bromwich’s appointment to 24 June to strengthen his claim to any acting lieutenancy that might arise.28

  On the whole, Nelson was pleased with his efforts. He had a good carpenter, Samuel Innes, transferred from the Hound, and thought his master, a Londoner named Donald Trail, ‘exceeding good’. The surgeon (James Armstrong), purser, boatswain (Joseph Pike) and lieutenant of marines (Charles Stuart) pleased him, while the other marines were ‘likewise old standers’. Cordially Nelson concluded, ‘I have an exceeding good ship’s company. Not a man or officer in her I would wish to change.’29

  The empty spaces among the hands were not filled without difficulty, and the muster bore considerably fewer names than the official complement of two hundred. The ship was only shifted to the Nore on 14 October with the aid of forty retired seamen from Greenwich Hospital and twenty-five yachtsmen sent by the Navy Board. At the Nore recruits being held for him on the Greenwich and Conquistadore and seamen from a recently decommissioned ship replaced the temporary labour, but Nelson remained ready to profit by every opportunity to improve his manpower.30

  A tender hailed the Albemarle with news that some homeward-bound East Indiamen were on their way upriver. It was a chance to press men, but Nelson was warned that the crews on the Indiamen were bragging that the navy would not be allowed on board. He had already prepared himself for such an encounter by enquiring of the local admiral what force he could legitimately use to press men from merchant ships, as well as what inducements were at his disposal. ‘Leave of absence they will want,’ he remarked. Armed with the reply Nelson resolved to halt the Indiamen, but on 28 October he found himself boxed in by them and lost an anchor extricating his ship. Struggling clear, he caught up with the four leading vessels, but they refused to heave to until Nelson fired twenty-six nine-pounders at their masts and rigging. He anchored close to the Haswell, the leading ship, and tried to send a boat across, but her master truculently refused to accept any boarders. It was midnight, so Nelson gave the master until daylight to think it over, and sense prevailed. When the Albermarle ran alongside the Haswell at five in the morning his men boarded without difficulty and recruits were obtained.31

  A more satisfying outcome attended Horatio’s efforts to dissuade his brother William from enlisting on the Albemarle as a naval chaplain. After chewing over the unexpected suggestion with Uncle William Suckling, Horatio warned his brother that ‘he thinks as I do that fifty pounds where you are is much more than equal to what you can get at sea’. Although Nelson feared his brother’s obstinacy (‘In that, I know you will please yourself,’ he wrote), he gently weaned him off the idea for the time being. ‘I hope you have lost all ideas of going to sea,’ Horatio said in December, ‘for the more I see of chaplains of men [of] war the more I dread seeing my brother in such a disagreeable station of life.’ Parson Nelson took the hint and deferred his naval service for three more years.32

  In the meantime Nelson’s health had improved, but fears of a relapse continued to overshadow his new command. There were still days when he was confined to bed, and he dreaded being posted to an exacting climate. The East Indies station was his preferred destination, and it was with some mortification that he heard that he was being sent to the North Sea, as if ‘to try my constitution’. When they came the instructions were dated 23 October and confirmed those forebodings. Taking the Argo and Enterprize under his command, Nelson was to collect the homeward-bound merchantmen of the Russia Company at Elsinore in Denmark and bring them to England. Their cargoes of tar, hemp and timber were essential for Britain’s naval dockyards, but it was dull and cold work. Nelson consoled himself with the thought that the Dutch, with whom Britain had just gone to war, might intervene and give him some action, but the greater indications were that the Albemarle would be a cold and unstimulating command.33

  X

  ‘THE POOR ALBEMARLE’

  Each change of atmosphere disdaining

  With scarce the wreck of health remaining

  Never of toil or wound complaining

  Serv’d brave, immortal Nelson

  Anon, Nelson and Collingwood, 1805

  1

  NELSON’S command of the Albemarle spanned the last two years of the American War of Independence. It had developed from a colonial revolt into an international conflict, as first France and then Spain had opportunely attacked Britain, taking advantage of the deployment of her naval and military forces across the Atlantic. Almost twenty years before, Britain had triumphantly emerged from the Seven Years War as the most powerful sea power, with major gains in North America, the West Indies and India, but by 1781 she was visibly paling. Though Canada had remained firm, despite its French tradition, the American colonies looked irretrievably lost. A mere ten or eleven days before Nelson sailed for the Baltic, Lord Cornwallis surrendered a second British army to the rebel forces at Yorktown. At the same time Britain was isolated in Europe. She was not only threatened by a combination of the next two largest naval powers, France and Spain, but had alienated much of the rest of the Continent. In attempts to prevent the Baltic powers from shipping essential naval supplies of timber, hemp, tar, canvas and iron to her enemies, Britain had insisted upon the right to seize neutral ships carrying contraband items. In 1780 Russia, Sweden and Denmark-Norway formed the League of Armed Neutrality to resist British pretensions, and in 1781 Britain attacked the Netherlands in an effort to pre-empt them reinforcing the opposition. Yet the British people were war and tax weary, and as Lord North’s government tottered beneath an avalanche of criticism, it was apparent that a new administration would have
to wash its hands of America in order to settle its more threatening differences in Europe.

  To command a man-of-war during those final years of the conflict undeniably offered opportunities, but the glory and prize money that interested Captain Nelson continued to slip through his fingers. Biographers have generally drawn a veil over what was plainly a frustrating period, and yet the cruises of ‘the poor Albemarle’ were not devoid of interest. Horatio recovered his health, advanced in experience and confidence and widened those all-important contacts to include senior admirals and royalty. He also enjoyed, or suffered, the pangs of first love.

  But if Horatio had been asked for words to describe his first voyage in the Albermarle, he might have chosen ‘cold’, ‘dull’ and ‘drudgery’. It began at twelve noon on 31 October 1781, when one of Nelson’s nine-pounders signalled his departure from the Downs with the Argo (Captain John Butchart) and Enterprize (John Willett Payne). Four days across the North Sea, through the Skagerrak and into the Baltic Sound, brought the trio to Elsinore (Helsingor). Nelson found fifty British merchantmen waiting for him, and heard that twice as many were on their way, so he endured a few more weeks ‘almost . . . froze’, trying to gather as many charges as possible. Showing increasing confidence, young Nelson upbraided a Danish midshipman who came on board to enquire the purpose and strength of his forces. Sensitive to national honour, and incensed that a mere midshipman had been sent to speak to him, Nelson curtly informed the unfortunate Dane that he was at liberty to count the Albemarle’s guns as he went down her side, and to assure his superiors that they would be well served if ever the need arose. Eventually Nelson sent a boat to the castle of Cronenberg, and it was decided that a fifteen-gun salute on the part of both parties would satisfy pride all round.1

  On 19 November the Sampson arrived and her captain, William Dickson, assumed overall command as the senior officer. Nelson gave him a list of fifty-nine sail ready to receive orders, but warned that another fifty sitting in the roadstead wanted to ‘run’ for home and chance the enemy rather than wait for the convoy to be completed. The rebellious skippers complained that some of the Baltic merchantmen would not arrive before Christmas and there was a danger of being iced in. Although their orders required them to wait for the whole of the merchant fleet to assemble, Nelson convinced Dickson that they should leave with the ships they had rather than wait indefinitely for stragglers. But they were anticipated by the master of the twelve-gun Hull merchantman Crow Isle, who cajoled sixty or more of the merchantmen into a sudden departure by promising to act as their escort. The winds were unfavourable, but on 7 December the rebels put to sea, ignoring a warning gun fired by the Sampson.

  The next day Dickson and Nelson followed with their convoy, and soon three warships, the Albemarle, Sampson and Argo, and two hundred and sixty merchantmen were spread across a vast expanse of sea. They were vulnerable, but no enemy ships seemed to be about and apart from bad weather the voyage proceeded quietly. Early on the 13th Nelson pursued a suspicious cutter approaching the convoy but failed to run it down. It was, he fumed, ‘Fall the pirate’, who had recently harassed the Scottish coast under French colours. Most of the time was spent more tediously, shepherding the undisciplined merchantmen forward. ‘Very few of the ships paid the least attention to any signals that were made for the better conducting them safe home,’ he complained.2

  The convoy soon fragmented. Forty-five separated on the 11th, and off the Dogger Bank Captain Payne, who had joined with the Enterprize, led another detachment away towards the northeastern ports. The Argo ran into the Humber with a few of the ships, while the Albemarle and Sampson reached Yarmouth with most of the others on 17 December. Nelson was now bound for the Downs with those ships for the Thames, Portsmouth and Plymouth, but as one year turned into another the weather was fitfully appalling. His frigate was penned in Yarmouth for almost two weeks by fresh southerly gales.

  2

  Captain Nelson spent an unusual Christmas 1781 fretting at his inability to get to sea. There were advantages in being close to home, and his brother William was among several who visited him at Yarmouth, but enforced idleness encouraged dissatisfaction in the crew. Already undermanned, the ship lost more men through desertions and discharges in Elsinore and Yarmouth, including some petty officers. A midshipman deserted at Yarmouth, while an excellent master’s mate recommended by Captain Locker asked for his discharge so that he might join a ship bound for America with Admiral George Rodney. Another midshipman, George Mitchell, also left after difficulties with bills. Nelson had placed the boy with other midshipmen and master’s mates in Bromwich’s mess. Every member of the mess was expected to contribute to its upkeep, but Mitchell soon declared that he was incapable of keeping pace and insisted upon leaving the ship. Nelson was not unsympathetic; indeed, he was advancing money to another youngster (probably John Wood of Yarmouth, a captain’s servant) ‘whose friends are Norfolk people who had not made an allowance for their son’. But he was annoyed to learn that the impecunious ‘middy’ was going around claiming that Nelson had told him that at least £30 a year were needed to maintain a place aboard the Albemarle. ‘What in the name of God could it be to me whether a midshipman in my ship had not a farthing or fifty pounds a year?’ he stormed to Locker.3

  With the Argo, Sampson and Preston (Captain Patrick Leslie) Nelson finally got the convoy free of Yarmouth on New Year’s Eve, and made a difficult run into the Downs, which he entered on the night of 1 January 1782 with up to forty merchantmen and naval store ships in company. The commanding officer in the Downs, Baronet Sir Richard Hughes, rear admiral of the blue squadron, detailed the Argo and Preston to chaperone the ships bound for the western ports, but kept Nelson awaiting the Admiralty’s pleasure. Unfortunately, the weather deteriorated and the Albemarle was imprisoned again. For a month the gales drove his ship ‘from one end of the Downs to the other’ and strewed the coast with wrecks. Off Yarmouth alone thirteen sail were on shore in the middle of January. Ravaged by the raw winds, Nelson fell so sick that he believed the doctor saved his life, and realised that Captain Locker’s misgivings about the Albemarle had been justified.4

  The ship embroiled Nelson in a short-tempered exchange with his superior officer. Sir Richard Hughes was in his fifties and came from a naval family. Both his father and grandfather had been commissioners of the navy at Portsmouth, and though Hughes himself had served in all the principal theatres of naval operations his services had been routine rather than distinguished and administrative rather than active. For many years he commanded guard ships at Plymouth and Portsmouth, and prior to his appointment to the Downs had served as naval commissioner at Halifax in Nova Scotia. A sightless eye suggested a little colour to his career, perhaps, but Hughes had sustained the injury at the table, not in battle. In his twenties he had accidentally pierced an eyeball with a dining fork.5

  Scholars have missed Nelson’s brief falling out with Hughes in 1782. It was insignificant in itself, but generated bad blood between the two men that affected subsequent and more notable altercations. The pitiable state of the Albemarle was the root of the problem. As Locker had foreseen, she sailed ‘exceedingly crank’. The Albemarle was no purpose-built warship: she was a merchantman, captured a couple of years before and converted for naval use. Before Nelson assumed command a report had noted her poor sailing and steering qualities, and on the voyage from Elsinore her new captain was forced to acknowledge that the masts were too long, and took a topgallant down to give the ship more stability in violent weather. The tempestuous journey from Yarmouth to the Downs confirmed that the frigate was dangerously top-heavy, and upon arrival Nelson applied for fifteen tons of iron ballast so that he could create additional buoyancy by packing the keelson at the bottom of the ship. Soon afterwards he wrote to Hughes again, this time in search of an anchor and cable to replace one ripped from the Albemarle by a gale that swept the Downs on 9 January.6

  Nelson had inconvenienced Hughes from the beginning. When his convoy had fi
rst been spotted beating towards the Downs in foul weather, Hughes doubted that the ships were English, and dithered over whether to risk sending out help. In the event, wind and tide precluded the attempt, but Hughes started complaining about the need for convoys to identify themselves more clearly. Now, writing from his flagship, the Dromedary, Hughes replied artlessly to Nelson’s request for an anchor and cable. The demand for both had been so great, he said, that few were left, and he had to issue them sparingly. Nelson was instructed to use his ‘utmost endeavors to sweep [recover] the end of the cable that you parted in the last gale of wind’, a task Hughes supposed easy since the position of the sunken anchor had been marked by a buoy and the weather had moderated. ‘It is at least necessary that you should make every possible effort to perform this service,’ Hughes went on, ‘as I cannot direct you to be supplied with any anchor or cable from hence.’7

  Hughes did Nelson less than justice, as the logs of the Albemarle demonstrate. The weather remained poor for a day or two after the frigate lost its anchor, but as soon as it moderated on 11 January Nelson had indeed searched for the missing equipment, if without success. Nothing irritated him more than to be undervalued or presumed negligent.

  To some officers, Hughes’s letter would have prompted little more than suppressed annoyance, but Horatio Nelson was always a deeply sensitive man, badly scorched by slights, however small. Moreover, intelligent and capable, he was increasingly confident and outspoken, proud not only of his independence of mind but also the fearlessness with which he expressed it. Strength and authority had begun to ooze from his assertions. When his brother reported local animosity to an officer of Nelson’s acquaintance, he rose powerfully to his defence. ‘Whatever may be the opinion of the Wells people respecting Captain [Alan] Gardner’s behaviour . . .,’ he wrote, ‘I will answer he was right. There is not a better officer, or more of a gentleman this day in the service.’ With all the assurance and ideals of intemperate youth, Nelson was already viewing himself a champion of the true purposes and interests of the service, and reacted badly to criticism.8