"If Lord Nelson could forget the services of those who have fought under his command, he would ill deserve to be so supported as he always has been." Thus he closed his last letter to the Lord Mayor on this subject, a year after the correspondence began. It was this noble sympathy with all beneath him, the lack of which has been charged against the great Commander of the British Army of this period, that won for Nelson the enthusiastic affection which, in all parts of his command, however remote from his own eyes, aroused the ardent desire to please him. No good service done him escaped his hearty acknowledgment, and he was unwearied in upholding the just claims of others to consideration. In the matter of Copenhagen, up to the time he left the country, eighteen months later, he refused any compromise. He recognized, of course, that he was powerless in the face of St. Vincent's opposition; but, he wrote to one of the captains engaged, "I am fixed never to abandon the fair fame of my companions in dangers. I have had a meeting with Mr. Addington on the subject; I don't expect we shall get much by it, except having had a full opportunity of speaking my mind." The Premier's arguments had been to him wholly inconclusive. Oddly enough, as things were, the Sultan sent him a decoration for Copenhagen. Coming from a foreign sovereign, there was, in accepting it, no inconsistency with his general attitude; but in referring the question to the Government, as was necessary, he told the Prime Minister, "If I can judge the feelings of others by myself, there can be no honours bestowed upon me by foreigners that do not reflect ten times on our Sovereign and Country."[55]
In conformity with this general stand, when it was proposed in June, 1802, to give him the thanks of the City, for taking command of the force destined to defend it against invasion, he wrote to request that the motion might be withdrawn, on the express ground that no thanks had been given those engaged at Copenhagen. "I should feel much mortified, when I reflected on the noble support I that day received, at any honour which could separate me from them." He alleged the same reason, in the following September, for refusing to dine with the Corporation. "Never, till the City of London think justly of the merits of my brave companions of the 2d of April, can I, their commander, receive any attention from the City of London." A like refusal was sent to his invitation for Lord Mayor's day.
After the interview with Mr. Addington, the question of medals was dropped. He had explained his position fully, and felt that it was hopeless to attempt more, so long as the Admiralty was against him; but when the Administration changed, in May, 1804, he wrote to Lord Melville, the new First-Lord, enclosing a statement of facts, including his correspondence with St. Vincent, and requesting a reconsideration of the matter. "The medal," he said, is withheld, "for what reason Lord St. Vincent best knows. I hope," he concluded, "for your recommendation to his Majesty, that he may be pleased to bestow that mark of honour on the Battle of Copenhagen, which his goodness has given to the Battle of St. Vincent, the First of June, of Camperdown, and the Nile." Melville, in a very sympathetic and courteous letter, declined, for a reason whose weight must be admitted: "When badges of triumph are bestowed in the heat and conflict of war, they do not rankle in the minds even of the enemy, at whose expense they are bestowed; but the feeling, I suspect, would be very different in Denmark, if the present moment was to be chosen for opening afresh wounds which are, I trust, now healed, or in the daily progress of being so." So it resulted that for some reason, only dimly outlined, no mark of public recognition ever was conferred upon the most difficult, the most hazardous, and, at the moment, perhaps the most critically important of Nelson's victories; that which he himself considered the greatest of his achievements.
This unfortunate and embittering controversy was the most marked and characteristic incident of his residence at Merton, between October, 1801, when he first went there, and May, 1803, when he departed for the Mediterranean, upon the renewal of war with France. Living always with the Hamiltons, the most copious stream of private correspondence was cut off; and being unemployed after April, 1802, his official letters are confined to subjects connected rather with the past than with the then present time. Upon general naval questions he had, however, something to say. A trip to Wales suggests a memorandum to the Prime Minister concerning the cultivation and preservation of oak timber in the Forest of Dean. He submits to him also his views as to the disposition of Malta, in case the provision of the Treaty of Amiens, which re-established there the Order of the Knights under the guarantee of the six great Powers, should fail, owing to the refusal of Russia to join in the proposed guarantee. At the time he wrote,—December, 1802,—the question was become burning, threatening the rupture of the existing peace between France and Great Britain; a result which, in fact, soon followed, and turned mainly upon this point. The essential aim in the provision, he observed, was that neither of the two countries should have the island. If the Order could not be restored, then it ought to go to Naples, again under the guarantee of the Powers. It was useless to England, for operations against France; and in the hands of the latter was a direct menace to Sicily. This arrangement would accord with the spirit of the treaty; but if it also was impracticable, Great Britain had no choice but to keep Malta herself. It would cost £300,000 annually, but anything was better than to chance its falling again into the hands of France.
In like manner he submitted to the Admiralty plans for the more certain manning of the Navy, and for the prevention of desertion. The material conditions of seamen while in the service, the pay and provisions, were, he considered, all that could be desired; but still there was great indisposition to enlist, and the desertions in the last war, 1793-1801, rose to the enormous figure of forty-two thousand. The remedy he outlined was a Registration of seamen, and of certificates to be given them, bearing a personal description by which they could be identified, and on which their character and services would appear. For lack of such papers, seamen by hundreds were in London in distress, although large amounts of money were due them at prize agencies, where the agent feared to pay for want of identification. A certificate showing five years' faithful service should entitle the holder to an annual bounty of two guineas, to be increased by further periods. Such provisions were well calculated to appeal to men accustomed to entertain prudential considerations, and to create gradually a class with whom they would weigh, and who would by them be retained in permanent employment. In meeting the case of desertions, caused by the heedlessness and weakness of seamen, Nelson became more vague. The nature of the trouble he recognized clearly enough, but there is a lack of definiteness in the remedy he proposed to meet an evil which still exists. "The mainspring of all my plan is, that of Certificates fully descriptive of the persons; the very greatest good must result from it. Something should be attempted at these times to make our seamen, at the din of war, fly to our Navy, instead of flying from it." His plan is substantially that now adopted.
Closely connected with the discontent of seamen was the subject of prize-money, in the receipt and distribution of which great irregularities and abuses existed among the agents, to remove which also he made particular and detailed suggestions; and he strongly supported, though with discriminating criticism, the Bill for an Inquiry into Naval Abuses, which embodied the most prominent of St. Vincent's administrative measures while at the head of the Admiralty. But, though thus supporting the Earl in his policy of investigation, and retaining his respect for him as a sea-officer, he was utterly dissatisfied with the general conduct of the Admiralty and with its attitude towards himself in particular. "I attribute none of the tyrannical conduct of the late Board to Lord St. Vincent," he wrote two years later. "For the Earl I have a sincere regard, but he was dreadfully ill-advised, and I fear the Service has suffered much from their conduct." It would seem as if he did not, after the first moments of annoyance, forget the irritation he felt against Troubridge at being retained in the Downs against his will, and, as he thought, without necessity. "I thank you," he wrote to Captain Murray, "for taking the trouble of driving seven miles to make me a visit; for, could you believe it, there are those who I thought were my firm friends, some of near thirty years' standing—who have never taken that trouble!" This may not refer to Troubridge, but the description answers to him, and it appears that in the Nelson-Hamilton circle his name now stood as a type of ingratitude.[56]
Writing to Davison in September, 1802, after a trip of six weeks made to Wales, in company with the Hamiltons, he says: "Our tour has been very fine and interesting, and the way in which I have been everywhere received most flattering to my feelings; and although some of the higher powers may wish to keep me down, yet the reward of the general approbation and gratitude for my services is an ample reward for all I have done; but it makes a comparison fly up to my mind, not much to the credit of some in the higher Offices of the State." He seems to have felt that neither in his influence with the Admiralty, nor in reference to his opinions on foreign topics, did he receive the recognition that his distinguished services, abilities, and experience claimed. "Having failed entirely in submitting my thoughts on three points"—those just cited, manning, desertion, and prize-money—"I was disheartened;" and to this he attributes his not sending in a memoir which he had prepared upon the subject of the Flotilla for Coast Defence.
But, while he resented this neglect, it did not greatly interfere with his happiness, which was at this time well-nigh complete. He complains of ill health, it is true, from time to time, and his means were insufficient duly to keep up the two establishments—Lady Nelson's and Merton—for which he was pecuniarily responsible. Under this embarrassment he chafed, and with a sense of injustice which was not unfounded; for, if reward be proportioned to merit and to the importance of services rendered, Nelson had been most inadequately repaid. For the single victories of St. Vincent and Camperdown, each commander-in-chief had received a pension of £3,000. The Nile and Copenhagen together had brought him no more than £2,000; indeed, as he had already been granted £1,000 a year for St. Vincent, another thousand may be said to have been all he got for two of the greatest victories of the war. In submitting a request for an increase, he asked pertinently, "Was it, or not, the intention of his Majesty's Government to place my rewards for services lower than Lord St. Vincent or Lord Duncan?" There was, of course, the damaging circumstance that the conditions under which he chose to live made him poorer than he needed to be; but with this the Government had no concern. Its only care should have been that its recompense was commensurate with his deserts, and it is revolting to see a man like Nelson, naturally high-toned and always liberal, forced to the undignified position of urging—and in vain—for the equal remuneration that should have been granted spontaneously long before.
In his criticisms of the Admiralty's general course, it does not appear whether Nelson, who was hereafter to be the greatest sufferer from St. Vincent's excessive economies, realized as yet the particular injury being done by them to the material of the Navy. In his passion for reform, the veteran seaman obstinately shut his eyes to the threatening condition of the political atmosphere, and refused to recognize the imminent danger of a renewal of the war, because it necessarily would postpone his projected innovations. Assuming the continuance of peace with all the violence of a prejudice, he permitted the strength and resources of the Navy to deteriorate rapidly, both by direct action and by omission to act. "Lord St. Vincent," wrote Minto in November, 1802, "is more violent than anybody against the war, and has declared that he will resign if ministers dare go to war. His principal reason is, I believe, that the ships are so much out of repair as to be unfit for service." "Lord Nelson," he says at the same period, "has been with me a long time to-day. He seems much of my mind on material points, but especially on the necessity of being better prepared than we now are." The admiral's own letters at this time make little allusion to the measures, or the neglects, which were rapidly undermining the efficiency of the fleet; but a year after leaving England he wrote, "With all my personal regard for Lord St. Vincent, I am sorry to see that he has been led astray by the opinion of ignorant people. There is scarcely a thing he has done since he has been at the Admiralty that I have not heard him reprobate before he came to the Board."
Much as he enjoyed his home and desired peace, Nelson had never felt assured of its continuance. Like Great Britain herself during this repose, he rested with his arms at his side, ready for a call. The Prime Minister, Addington, has transmitted a curious story of the manner in which he exemplified his ideas of the proper mode of negotiating with Bonaparte. "It matters not at all," he said, taking up a poker, "in what way I lay this poker on the floor. But if Bonaparte should say it must be placed in this direction," suiting the action to the word, "we must instantly insist upon its being laid in some other one." At the same time Bonaparte, across the Channel, was illustrating in almost identical phrase the indomitable energy that was common to these two men, the exponents of the two opposing and irreconcilable tendencies of their age. "If the British ministry should intimate that there was anything the First Consul had not done, because he was prevented from doing it, that instant he would do it." "You have proved yourself too true a prophet," wrote an occasional correspondent to Nelson, "for you have said ever since the peace that it could not be of long duration." Jar after jar, as Bonaparte drove his triumphal chariot over the prostrate continent, announced the instability of existing conditions; and the speech from the throne on the 16th of November, 1802, was distinctly ominous, if vague. Nelson then seconded the address in the House of Peers, in words so characteristic of his own temper, and of that then prevailing in the nation, that they serve to explain the strong accord between him and it, and to show why he was so readily and affectionately distinguished as its representative hero. They are thus reported:—