Before the ink was dry on the treaty, Napoleon was busy planning the establishment of a vast colonial empire, and aiming at the downfall of the one power which thwarted him at every turn. The English press bitterly attacked him, coarse and insulting caricatures of him were constantly appearing, and French exiles in England frequently plotted against him. He now demanded the suppression of the hostile newspapers and the expulsion of the plotters, but the British Government refused. Every day the relations between the two countries grew more and more strained, and the breaking-point was not far off.
On May 12, 1803, war was again declared. Napoleon speedily forced Spain to join him, and then began preparations for an invasion of Great Britain. One hundred thousand men were marched to Boulogne, and every road by which the soldiers passed bore the signpost, “To England.” A huge flotilla of flat-bottomed boats was collected, and exercises in embarking and disembarking went on within sight of the white cliffs of Dover. “The Channel,” said Napoleon, “is but a ditch, and any one can cross it who has but the courage to try.” He meant to put his courage to the test as soon as the Channel was clear of the British fleet. From June 1803 to September 1805 his men were waiting the word of command to cross. It was never given.
The prospect of invasion roused every patriotic man in Great Britain. Volunteers flocked to the standards, and soon, out of a nation of fifteen million souls, including the people of Ireland who were not allowed to volunteer, 300,000 men were in arms, besides 120,000 regular troops and 78,000 militia. The dockyards worked night and day, and before the end of the year one hundred and sixty-six new vessels had been added to the fleet. The fortresses were strengthened, martello towers were erected along the coast, and every possible preparation was made. Nevertheless the year 1803 was one of alarm and terror. Next year Napoleon attained the summit of his ambition—he crowned himself Emperor of the French.
Still the projected invasion hung fire, and now Napoleon devised a plan for securing the six hours’ command of the Channel on which the success of his enterprise depended. His fleet was then in the harbour of Toulon, which was being watched by a British fleet, with Nelson in chief command for the first time. Napoleon ordered his ships to slip out of harbour and sail for the West Indies, in order to decoy Nelson away from Europe. Arrived at the West Indies, the French fleet was to put about and return with all speed for Brest, where an attack was to be made on the British squadron blockading that port while Nelson was far away. The defeat of the British squadron at Brest would clear the Channel, and then the grand invasion was to take place.
The plan nearly succeeded. Villeneuve, the French admiral, did slip out of Toulon. Nelson was deceived, and went off on a false scent. When, however, news arrived that the French fleet had sailed for the West Indies, Nelson dashed after it in hot pursuit, and went half-way round the world and back again before he caught it up. Villeneuve had thirty-five days’ start, but Nelson arrived at Gibraltar on the return voyage only three days after the French fleet sighted Cape Finisterre. Here it found a British squadron under Admiral Calder. An indecisive battle took place; and though the result was considered in England as a failure, and almost a disgrace, it ended the grand invasion scheme. Villeneuve was obliged to put into Ferrol to refit, and, meanwhile, Nelson had arrived. Napoleon’s plan had failed, and Britain could breathe freely once more.
In disgust, Napoleon broke up his camp at Boulogne, and rapidly marched his army across France into Germany, where he met the Austrians and Russians, who had formed a new league against him. Now began a series of triumphs which laid the Austrian empire open to the invaders. While Napoleon was rejoicing in his victories, terrible news reached him. The greatest sea-fight in the history of the world had been fought, and the combined fleets of France and Spain were no more. The beginning of the end had arrived for the “terror of Europe.”
Villeneuve, with thirty-three Franco-Spanish vessels, lay in Cadiz harbour, and outside was Nelson with twenty-seven British ships. The French admiral had been stung to the quick by a bitter, taunting letter from the emperor, accusing him of cowardice. To vindicate his courage, Villeneuve gave the order to put to sea. On the morning of October 20, 1805, the fleets came in sight of each other.
“The sun never rose on a grander and more impressive ocean-picture. As the courses and hulls of the hindmost of the British vessels floated up the sea-line, the blue girdle of the deep became a field of ships; giant structures bristling with guns, canvas swelling in clouds to the heavens from their tall sides black with grim and formidable defences, crowds of sailors motionless in expectation, quarter-decks glittering with uniforms, and stillness everywhere, broken only by the creaming wash of the bow-surge as it was shouldered off into yeast by the towering battleships.”
At daybreak, after a night clouded with the presentiment that he would die on the morrow, Nelson arrayed himself in his full admiral’s uniform, and came on deck blazing with orders. Watching the fleet of the enemy forming line of battle, he exclaimed several times, “I’ll give them such a dressing as they never had before.” He advanced in two columns, intending to crash into the enemy’s line, thus breaking it and destroying the ships in the centre before those on the wings could come to their relief. Undoubtedly there was a plan of attack, though modern critics have questioned the fact. The battle perhaps looked like a “heroic scramble,” but behind the apparent confusion there was a subtle, daring, and unexpected plan.
Just before the battle began Nelson went to his cabin, and there on his knees wrote a beautiful and touching prayer. Coming on deck again, he ordered that signal to be made which is his greatest bequest to his country—a signal which stirs the pulses of every true Briton even after the lapse of a century. High above the Victory’s deck flew the colours, and as the words, England expects every man to do his duty, were interpreted, a great huzza rose from the fleet. “Now,” said Nelson, “I can do no more. We must trust to the great Disposer of all events and to the justice of our cause.”