Drake, Nelson and Napoleon

by Baron Walter Runciman Runciman

It was not an exaggeration on the part of the French and Spanish to declare that the British sailors and soldiers were not ordinary men but devils, when the real tussle for mastery began, and when they were even believed to be beaten. The French and Spanish conclusions were right then, and the ruthless Germans, stained with unspeakable crimes, should know they are right now, for they have had many chances in recent days of realizing the power of the recuperating spirit they are up against, just at a time when they have become imbued with the idea that they have beaten our forces on land and destroyed our ships and murdered their crews at sea. The Kaiser and his advisers, military and naval, have made the German people pay dearly for the experiment of stopping our supplies by sea, for the loss of life by the sinking of their own submarines must have been enormous. But only those to whom they belong will ever know that they have not returned, and that they must have been sent to the bottom of the sea.

We can only judge by written records and authoritative paintings or prints of the period what the naval battles of the beginning of the last century were like. But it is only those who have studied minutely the naval battles of St. Vincent, the Nile, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar who can depict the awful character and thrilling nature of these ocean conflicts.

While the author was serving as an apprentice aboard a sailing vessel during the Prussian-Danish war in 1864 a dense fog came on, and continued the whole of one night. When it cleared up the next forenoon we found that the vessel had been sailed right into the centre of the Danish fleet, which had defeated the Prussians and Austrians off Heligoland. There were other merchantmen there, and the cheering as we passed each of the Danish warships was hearty and long, while they gracefully acknowledged by saluting with their flags. I am quite sure there were few British seamen who would not have gladly volunteered to serve in the Danish navy against the Prussians, so universal was their bitter dislike to the Hun bullies who had set themselves to steal by force the possessions to which they had not an atom of right. The sight of these fine frigates and line-of-battle ships manoeuvring to come to grips with their cowardly antagonists who were assailing their national rights has been revivified during a long course of study of Nelson's naval warfare, and makes the awful vision of Trafalgar appear as it really was, and makes me wish that I were gifted with the art of words so that I might describe it in all its gruesome wreckage and magnitude, as the recollection of the majestic sight of the Danish ships before they even went into action makes it appear to me.

My mind's eye pictures one after another of the French and Spanish ships surrendering, the hurricane of cheers that followed their defeat, and the pathetic anxiety of the dying chieftain for the safety of Captain Hardy, who was now in charge of the flagship acting as commander-in-chief. Hardy is long in coming; he fears that he may be killed, and calls out, "Will no one bring Hardy to me?" At last the gallant captain sees an opportunity of leaving the deck, for the Victory is shielded by two ships from the enemy's gunfire. "Well, Hardy," says Nelson to him, "how goes the battle?" "Very well, my Lord," says Hardy; "fourteen or fifteen of the enemy's ships are in our possession." "That is well," said Nelson, "but I bargained for twenty"; and then followed the memorable order, "Anchor, Hardy, anchor." "If I live," he says, "we will anchor"; and in answer to Hardy's supposition that Collingwood should take charge, he impulsively resents the suggestion and expresses the hope that this will not happen while he lives, and urges again on Hardy that the fleet may be anchored, and asks him to make the signal. He hopes that none of our ships have struck, and his devoted friend reassures him that none have and never will. He commissions Hardy to give "dear Lady Hamilton his hair and other belongings," and asks that his "body shall not be thrown overboard." Hardy is then asked in childlike simplicity to kiss him, and the rough, fearless captain with deep emotion kneels and reverently kisses Nelson on the cheek. He then thanks God that he has done his duty, and makes the solemn thoughts that are troubling his last moments manifest in words by informing Doctor Scott, with a vital sailorly turn of speech, that "he had not been a great sinner," and then bids him remember that he leaves Lady Hamilton and his daughter Horatia as a legacy to his country, and that Horatia is never to be forgotten.

Even at this distance of time one cannot help regretting that nature's power did not sustain him to see the total debacle of the enemy fleets. He knew that he had triumphed, and that his task had ended fatally to himself, but his sufferings did not prevent his spirit sallying to and fro, making him feel the joy of living and wish that he might linger but a little longer. He was struck down at a critical stage of the battle, though there was never any doubt as to how it would end, thanks to the adroit skill and bravery of Collingwood and those who served under him. It is a happy thought to know that our hero, even when the shadows were closing round him, had the pleasure of hearing from the lips of the faithful Hardy that fifteen of the enemy ships had struck and not one of ours had lowered a flag. But how much more gladsome would the passing have been had he lived to know that the battle had ended with the capture of nine French vessels and ten Spanish, nineteen in all. He died at 4.30 p.m. on the 21st October, 1805, just when the battle was flickering to an end. Villeneuve had given himself up, and was a prisoner on board the Mars. Dumanoir had bolted with four of the line, after committing a decidedly cowardly act by firing into the captured Spanish ships, the object being to put them out of the possession of the British. They could not succeed in this without killing large numbers of their allies, and this was all they were successful in doing. It was a cruel, clumsy crime, which the Spanish rightly resented but never succeeded in avenging.

Admiral Collingwood

Meanwhile the Spanish Admiral Gravina, who had lost an arm, took command of the dilapidated combined fleets, and fled into Cadiz with five French and five Spanish ships, and by 5 p.m. the thundering of the guns had ceased, and the sea all round was a scene of death, dismasted ships, and awful wreckage. The Rear-Admiral Dumanoir was sailing gaily towards the refuge of Rochefort or Ferrol when he came into view of, and ultimately had to fight on the 4th November, a squadron under Sir Richard Strachan. Dumanoir and his men are said to have fought with great fierceness, but his ships were beaten, captured, and taken in a battered condition, and subsequently sent to England, so that now twenty-three out of the thirty-three that came out of Cadiz with all the swagger of confidence and superiority to match themselves against Nelson and his fiery coadjutors were tragically accounted for.

Collingwood was now the commander-in-chief of the British fleet, and to him fell the task of notifying the victory. I insert the documents in full.