“May the God of Battles crown my endeavours with success.”
Nelson.
In the previous chapter we left Nelson at Portsmouth after having chased the enemy nearly seven thousand miles, and been absent from home twenty-seven months. When “England’s darling” set foot on the landing-stage he received an immense ovation from the crowds of people who had assembled to show their appreciation of his services. “It is really quite affecting to see the wonder and admiration and love and respect of the whole world,” writes Lord Minto, referring to a mob in Piccadilly a little later, “and the general expression of all these sentiments at once, from gentle and simple, the moment he is seen. It is beyond anything represented in a play or poem.”
It was characteristic of the man that, before leaving his ship, he communicated with the Admiralty regarding the companies of the Victory and the Superb. He said they were in “most perfect health, and only require some vegetables and other refreshments to remove the scurvy.” Nelson at once proceeded to Merton, where he lived in quiet retirement with Lady Hamilton, playing with their beloved Horatia, or having a mental tussle with the French as he walked the garden-paths for hours without noticing either the passing of time or the presence of fatigue. Perhaps he pondered over the irony of Fate in giving the allied fleet into the hands of Calder, who had let the golden opportunity slip by him so easily, but more probably he wondered if the fickle goddess would yet allow him to break the yoke of Napoleon on the seas.
The Emperor had made a final effort to unite his scattered ships. When the combined fleet was on its way to Europe the blockades of Rochefort and Ferrol had been abandoned so that Calder might intercept the enemy. He was but partially successful, as already explained. The squadron of five sail-of-the-line at Rochefort, commanded by Allemand, Missiessy’s successor, had taken advantage of the temporary absence of the British squadron and was making its way to Vigo, where there were three sail.[66] Villeneuve had put into Coruña with fifteen battle-ships, and found fourteen Spanish and French sail-of-the-line awaiting him. This brought the total of his available resources to thirty-four sail, provided all were united. If Villeneuve were able to join Ganteaume at Brest the number would be fifty-five. Cornwallis, with either thirty-four or thirty-five, was a dangerous menace, but when that commander detached eighteen sail to blockade Ferrol it did not seem insurmountable, even supposing that the five ships under Calder, then stationed off Rochefort, joined him, which they did on the 14th August. After considerable delay Villeneuve weighed anchor on the 13th August 1805, and hoped to reach Brest. He encountered bad weather, mistook Allemand’s ships for the enemy’s vessels, and, to make matters worse, was informed that a large British fleet was on the alert. With this he altered his course and put in at Cadiz a week later. Here he was watched by Collingwood with three sail-of-the-line and two smaller vessels, until the latter was reinforced by twenty-two battleships, four of which were under Sir Richard Bickerton and the remainder under Calder. When Napoleon heard of Villeneuve’s retirement to Cadiz he knew that his gigantic exertions for the invasion of the United Kingdom had been completely shattered. With marvellous facility he shifted his horizon from the white cliffs of England to the wooded banks of the Danube. The so-called Army of England was marched from Boulogne to win fresh conquests in the Austerlitz Campaign and to crush yet another coalition.
At five o’clock on the morning of the 2nd September 1805, Captain Blackwood presented himself at Merton. “I am sure you bring me news of the French and Spanish fleets,” Nelson exclaimed in his eager, boyish way, “and I think I shall yet have to beat them.” Blackwood was the bearer of the important intelligence that Villeneuve, largely augmented, was at Cadiz. For a time it would appear as if Nelson hesitated, not on his own account but because of those whom he loved. His health was bad, he felt the country very restful after his trying cruise, and he disliked to give Lady Hamilton cause for further anxiety. He walked the “quarter-deck” in his garden weighing the pros with the cons, then set off for the Admiralty in Whitehall.
“I think I shall yet have to beat them.” His mistress was apparently no less valiant, at least in her conversation. “Nelson,” she is stated to have said, “however we may lament your absence, offer your services; they will be accepted, and you will gain a quiet heart by it; you will have a glorious victory, and then you may return here, and be happy.”
Eleven days after Captain Blackwood’s call Nelson left Merton for ever. It was a fearful wrench, but he was prepared to sacrifice everything to his King and his country. The following night he wrote in his Diary, little thinking that the outpourings of his spirit would ever be revealed in the lurid light of publicity, a prayer which shows very clearly that he had a premonition he would never open its pages again under the roof of Merton Place:
“May the great God, whom I adore, enable me to fulfil the expectations of my Country; and if it is His good pleasure that I should return, my thanks will never cease being offered up to the Throne of His Mercy. If it is His good Providence to cut short my days upon earth, I bow with the greatest submission, relying that He will protect those so dear to me, that I may leave behind. His will be done. Amen, Amen, Amen.”
The Victory, on which he hoisted his flag, had been hastily patched up and put in fighting trim. As her escort went the Euryalus frigate, joined later by the Ajax and Thunderer.