Nelson: Britannia's God of War (2 page)

There are events and individuals in history so far outside the ordinary that a mere record of facts, however detailed, cannot convey their meaning. We do not understand them literally, but at a heightened, spiritual level. Their magic attracts the attention of every generation: they continue to shape our views, mould our actions. Horatio Nelson was one such individual, and the purpose of this book is to ask what he means for us now – at the start of the twenty-first century, in a state increasingly integrated into a pan-European system and spared the horrors of major war for sixty years. Nelson is no longer the national hero celebrated by Churchill in 1940, or the scandalous figure so hotly debated by the Victorians, let alone the granite statue, twice life-size, that stands in Trafalgar Square. Yet all of these incarnations have played a part in the making of our Nelson, removing him from the events of his own life. In an age of cheap celebrity and instant fame it is important to understand the enduring centrality of Nelson. Whatever it means to be British in the twenty-first century, Nelson is part of that identity, as he has been since his first great triumph in 1798.

Nelson remains a national secular deity, the god of war for troubled times, the last resort against overwhelming odds, guardian against tyranny. In life Nelson met and defeated the greatest challenge to the
independence and prosperity of his country, through his genius for war, moral and political courage, and willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice. He lived at a time when his country had need of heroes, and became the central figure in a new national identity. Around him coalesced the very concept of Britain, a state committed to God, King, parliament and liberty, relying on naval power to keep Bonaparte out and the trade routes open. Nelson died in the heroic mould, and was interred as an example to be emulated, at the core of a new national pantheon. His name became the talisman of victory, his ship a shrine.

He was placed on a pedestal at the centre of London to remind his countrymen and women from whence their ‘Wealth, Safety and Strength’
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came, and at what cost. Nelson arrived at a crucial moment in the history of human thought, bridging the gap between the Age of Reason, when man replaced God at the centre of the universe, and the Romantic Age, which challenged the rational, mechanical conception of events, the ‘Newtonian Universe’, with a search for meaning beyond the facts. The search for a higher sensibility led some back to God, or other forms of spirituality – found in art or the notion of a universal hero. The latter role fitted Nelson to perfection. Unlike the military heroes of the age, who destroyed their romantic credibility in government, Nelson’s greatness was entwined with the sea, an alien element, at once threatening, but distant; a theatre for the sublime. With his death and transfiguration Nelson assumed divine status: he was, and is, in Lord Byron’s words, ‘Britannia’s god of war’.

Consequently we all think we know about Nelson: born in a humble parsonage in Norfolk, blinded and mutilated in battle, destroyer of French fleets, conqueror of Copenhagen and lover of Lady Hamilton. Among the most famous men of all time, his image is universally recognised, as picture, statue, caricature or fancy dress, and he has been subjected to more biographies than every other admiral put together. Writers from Robert Southey and Byron onwards have constructed Nelsons to meet their very different political agendas, conservative and radical, and Nelson has been over-painted, well and badly, by every succeeding generation. Yet the modern Nelson remains a patchwork image, reflecting the concerns of different generations and ages: we still know very little of the man.

By separating the events of Nelson’s life from the way in which his myth has been transmitted by subsequent generations, we may hope to distinguish the human core from the heroic legend. To this end, the
chapters of this book that deal with Nelson’s life are based on contemporary evidence, while the judgements of later commentators are dealt with in the context of their own era. By removing posthumous constructs from his life we can separate what we know about Nelson into matters of record and matters of interpretation. The real task of this book is to free Nelson of the distortions, errors and absurdities that have been heaped on his name – most notably, the critical judgement of his conduct at Naples in June and July 1799 – but it will also seek to make him more human, and more relevant. It will focus on the development of his professional skill and assess his debt to his mentors: the flowering of a unique talent is at the core of this book, and it does not diminish Nelson to understand why he was the finest naval commander of all.

Nelson’s private life will be dealt with where relevant, but without either the romantic hyperbole or sanctimonious moral judgements that have characterised those biographies for which this has been the main point of interest. Such approaches are unhistorical. Nelson’s private life was unconventional, but not unusual; it never threatened his employment, or stopped him answering the call of duty. It was also a small part of his life: his time ashore after the spring of 1793 comprised six months to recuperate from the loss of his arm, six weeks at the end of 1800, when his marriage broke up, seventeen months during the Peace of Amiens, and three weeks before Trafalgar. Once at sea his letters were almost always about his work, and his professional concerns. Consequently his private life should be seen as a minor part of the story: he lived for duty.

This is not to say that Nelson’s personality is unimportant to the concerns of this book. On the contrary, his leadership was so much more effective than that of fellow officers because he understood the human condition, and based his command on love, not authority. To work with Nelson was to love him: even the most hard-bitten veterans were unable to resist his courage, commitment and charisma. His colleagues were his friends, and he expected their love and loyalty, not mere service. He did his duty where lesser men just followed their orders. This was why he earned the love of a nation. These were fine qualities on their own – when combined with an unequalled mastery of war, strategy and politics they changed the history of the world.

Nelson’s abilities as a naval commander may justly be described in terms of genius, not merely greatness. To paraphrase a very wise passage
by John Lukacs, great men make the best of the world, men of genius transform it to conform to their own ideas.
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It is a central contention of this book that Nelson transformed the art of war at sea, to render it effective in the titanic struggle of the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars. He used the newly forged instrument to block every extra-European initiative by the French, and he did so in the context of a total British response to the revolutionary era that generated a national identity and a far more powerful state.

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In order to grasp such issues we need to understand the context in which Nelson emerged: we need to know far more about his intellectual and professional origins, his education, and the impact of the wider world on his career and conduct. In the two hundred years that have passed since Nelson’s death, the art of war at sea – the theatre of his genius – has been transformed out of all recognition. Before we consider his life, it is essential that we understand the nature of his profession, the opportunities and the limits that constrained his thinking. We must examine the age in which he lived, and the profession in which he functioned, with the same rigour that other studies have applied to his life.

Nelson’s career coincided with the age of revolution: he saw the world turned upside down, as first the American and then the French Revolutions transformed the relationship between the people and their rulers and shifted war from a limited affair that modified boundaries into a mechanism that could destroy states and transform continents.
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Monarchies were overthrown and republics set up while nation states emerged from the morass of dynastic ties and petty principalities. All of these things would influence Nelson, giving him a foundation for loyalty, a simple patriotism and the task of withstanding a nation seemingly rendered invincible by its transformation. Winning wars in the age of reason had been a matter of persuading the enemy that it was in their best interests to concede some limited loss. This system, which dated back to 1648, had been based on an agreement of mutual convenience among monarchs. It was destroyed by the French Revolution: after 1793 war was about destroying rival states, and imposing onesided treaties – conquer or be conquered!
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The war aims of Republican and Imperial France were inconsistent with a stable European state system. Territorial seizures, plunder and ideological pressures made the country so powerful that ultimately the rest of Europe was forced to
destroy the French state, rebuilding it in a new form as the only guarantee for peace. There could be no lasting peace with a regime that did not accept the rules of the state system. This required a new level of war: the limited, formal engagements of the eighteenth century would no longer suffice – the age of total war had dawned.

Having raised the people to fight for their country – one million Frenchmen were mobilised in 1794 – successive French governments found themselves incapable of controlling the Frankenstein’s monster they had made. War would destroy its begetters, consume its origins and ultimately generate a military superman who could transform it back into a political instrument. France would be led by men who would only survive while they continued to succeed, while the French economy could only function by conquering and plundering other countries, and stationing much of their million-man army abroad. This ‘Jacobin’ system terrified all right-thinking, property-owning members of the British establishment. The French Revolutionary wars changed British society, for although the British did not revolutionise their society, they found ways to mobilise a far greater level of strength, and raise far more revenue to pay for the defence of their interests. The instruments that made this possible were patriotism and loyalty: fear of the French and their revolution made men British, and belligerent. The sense of vulnerability generated by the presence of French armies at Boulogne, and Antwerp, and Brest, made this a question of national survival: for the first time since the Spanish Armada the very idea of England was under threat. Britain mobilised a huge force of militia and volunteer groups that militarised society, but did not leave the country. This released the regular army itself, and the mercenary troops funded by the taxpayer, for service abroad.
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Nelson had the good fortune to serve in the most successful fighting service the world had ever seen, his years of glory illuminating its heroic age. Unlike other great powers, Britain relied on naval power for national security: as an island, her frontier was the shoreline, and her fortresses were floating castles. In truth, the Navy created the modern state, for the cost of maintaining the world’s most powerful fleet forced the state to modernise, to develop the tax-raising, bureaucratic and political structures that define the modern liberal state. Having been persuaded to pay for this powerful instrument of policy to defend the country from invasion, the commercial classes were quick to use it for their own advantage. By the beginning of the eighteenth
century, Parliament was ordering the Royal Navy to devote a fixed proportion of its strength to escort merchant shipping. The City of London – traders, investors and insurers – kept the Navy strong, in peace as well as war. Their support had been crucial to Britain’s victory in the wars of Empire that culminated in 1763. The Royal Navy defeated the French and Spanish fleets, crippled their economies and seized control of India, North America and other key trading posts.

After the humiliation of 1763 France and Spain renewed their alliance, rebuilt their fleets, and waited for the chance to have their revenge. Nelson’s entry into the Navy was occasioned by the first such opportunity, the Falklands Crisis, and although the strength of the Royal Navy on this occasion deterred the allies, they only redoubled their efforts. France backed the American rebels in 1778 because her ministers saw an opportunity to weaken Britain, while Spain wanted to recover Gibraltar. Although they had only limited success in the American war, the French and Spanish continued their naval build-up after 1783, and by 1793 their combined strength of large fighting ships was significantly greater than Britain’s. The imperative need to reduce these massive forces lent a particular character to the naval campaigns of the Revolutionary war. A tactical success, taking a few prizes, was no longer adequate. The Nile becomes more significant when seen against the total naval balance of 1798, since it took the Royal Navy from outnumbered to dominant in one fell swoop.

Nelson’s genius lay in linking the different streams of naval skill that he had mastered with the political imperatives of the age – but like Napoleon, who had a very similar impact on land warfare, he would be fortunate in his opponents. The French Revolution had a devastating impact on the French navy, in marked contrast to her army. The professional skills of the seaman could not be replaced by patriotic zeal and numbers. In twenty-two years of war the French rarely won an action between forces of equal strength, and often needed very heavy odds to defeat inferior forces. Merchant ship captains and over-promoted midshipmen made poor admirals, even if they became good seamen.
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The other major fleet that Nelson fought, the Spanish, had many ships and some brave, capable leaders, but few sailors. For Spain Trafalgar would be the last hurrah of a once-great service, a glorious defeat. The Danes and Russians didn’t even risk going to sea – the quality gap was so great. Against all these opponents, Nelson clearly had an edge, and he used it to the full.