Nelson (90 page)

Nelson was a sailor, but his only naval engagement so far, the fight with the French frigate, had been a mediocre stand-off, and his most
newsworthy activities had been ashore in Nicaragua and Corsica, working more as ‘a besieging general’ than an admiral. Yet however unorthodox, he wanted his achievements to be recognised. Privately there was some congratulation. When Admiral Phipps Cosby got home and met Fanny at a ball in Bath he told her that ‘no man in the Mediterranean had done what you [Nelson] had’. Sir William Hamilton wrote agreeably to the man himself, ‘I do not believe that ever man or ship went through so long or so hazardous a service as you both have done.’ But these opinions remained within the private domain, for the public dispatches again glossed over Nelson’s services.
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Hood, who had done Nelson such an injustice in his Bastia dispatch, forwarded two copies of the captain’s Calvi journal to government but left Stuart to make the full report. His own résumé referred vaguely to the captain’s ‘unremitting zeal and exertion’. Stuart acknowledged that the sailors under Nelson and Hallowell had ‘greatly contributed to the success of these movements’ but wrote them out of much of the action. Reading the accounts of the night of 18 July in Stuart’s dispatch and Nelson’s journal one can only conclude that both men were perpetuating prevalent interservice jealousies. Nelson barely mentioned the soldiers who helped him build the new battery outside Fort Mozzello, and Stuart credited the same achievement to three army officers without making any reference to the seamen whatsoever.
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Nelson had left Stuart on good terms and suspected that the general’s dispatch had been influenced as much by his dislike of Hood as a natural wish to serve the army. He still felt hugely cheated. As Lord Radstock, who knew Nelson at this time, testified, his ‘perpetual thirst’ for glory was ‘ever raging within’, and he was bitter that the names of so many nonentities seemed preferred to his. ‘Others have been praised who, at the time, were actually in bed, far from the scene of action,’ he grumbled. Then, as optimism reasserted itself, he would redouble his efforts. ‘Never mind,’ he told his sister, Susanna, ‘I’ll have a
Gazette
of my own [one day].’ One of the most lasting lessons Nelson took from Corsica was the necessity for self-publicity. In the future he would prepare accounts of his own for the press.
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In the meantime he could at least use his improved leverage with Hood to help his followers. ‘I shall be very glad to attend to your wishes in favour of your surgeon’s mate immediately,’ the admiral told him, ‘and if you will send Mr Fellows on board the
Victory
I will
promote him as soon as I can.’ Five days later Hood promoted Lieutenant Hinton of the
Agamemnon
to the flagship.
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Unfortunately, it was not in Nelson’s power to help another who had attracted his attention. Lieutenant James Moutray of the
Victory
, Mary’s only son, fell sick in Calvi and never recovered. The youth had endeared himself to many officers, including the admiral, who described Moutray as ‘universally lamented’. But only one chose to record the fact for the public. A modest plaque could long be seen in the church of St Fiorenzo, a prosaic but sincere tribute from a senior professional to a junior. It read:

Sacred to the memory of Lieutenant James Moutray, R.N., who, serving on shore at the siege of Calvi, there caught a fever of which he died, sincerely lamented, on August 19th, 1794, aged 21 years. This stone is erected by an affectionate friend, who well knew his worth as an officer and his accomplished manners as a gentleman.
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The author placed his initials at the end. They were ‘H.N’.

Awake my muse, assist my lyre,
My feeble untun’d tongue inspire
To sing of glorious deed.
How gallant Hotham did defeat
The French, and made them to retreat
With nimble-footed speed.

Richard Lovat, armourer’s mate

T
HE
fleet felt neglected by the powers at home. It was short of sails, masts, cordage and men, and none of its ships had seen harder service than the
Agamemnon
. Instead of sailing to Gibraltar to refit as planned, she limped towards Leghorn, the nearest suitable port, where she anchored on 30 August, a day ahead of Hood’s
Victory
. Perhaps a dozen men had been killed and wounded in the winning of Corsica, and a few had deserted, but sickness and fatigue had taken the greatest toll of her men. There had been more sad tasks to perform than usual: men to be buried at sea, and their clothes and possessions sold, shared or secured as circumstances demanded. One hundred and fifty of the crew were sick.
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Recovery was slow. Ten days later the fleet physician reported the company much debilitated, and as late as 10 October seventy-seven men were still on the sick list. Again Hood pressed Nelson to leave the broken
Agamemnon
and transfer to a seventy-four-gun ship. Everyone knew that the seventy-four was the line of battle ship par
excellence, the ultimate blend of power, speed and manoeuvrability, but Nelson clung to his beloved sixty-four. ‘I could not bring myself to part with a ship’s company with whom I have gone through such a series of hard service,’ he wrote.
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Some of the men seemed beyond repair, but most slowly returned to duty and Nelson was able to take Josiah and Hoste to Pisa, where the supposedly medicinal waters and the sights seemed to aid convalescence. The
Agamemnon
herself was in such poor shape that Nelson expected to be ordered to sail her to England, perhaps with Lord Hood. The admiral had wanted to go home for a while. Ill and barely able to write, he was still feuding with General Stuart and mired in controversy. Nelson remained unwilling to admit flaws in his hero, and attributed the army’s jealousy to the success at Bastia. Soldiers ‘hate us sailors’, he told Fanny. ‘We are too active for them. We accomplish our business sooner than they like.’ Stuart, he was sure, had ‘deeply imbibed this diabolical leaven’. Irrespective, the upshot was that Hood requested and was granted leave, and Nelson encouraged Fanny with talk about a homecoming and finding ‘some snug cottage’ that would free them from the parsonage. His ambition, in reality, was merely to refit his ship and rest in England, and then to return with his rejuvenated admiral to the Mediterranean. Liberating Corsica had been intoxicating. At last he was at the forefront of military and naval endeavour, winning golden opinions, exalting his station, and – as he saw it – doing something valuable. He wanted more of it. As he shortly said to his wife, ‘not an hour this war will I, if possible, be out of active service’.
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No ship deserved a respite more than Nelson’s leaking sixty-four, but despite the seizure of Corsica the war in the Mediterranean was not going well. French power was growing. Shrugging off the attacks of the hostile coalition in northern and eastern Europe, the republicans went onto the offensive, marching into Spain and squaring up to the Austrians and the smaller powers to the east. Their eyes rested hungrily upon the Italian states and they resented the loss of Corsica, but as long as the British fleet commanded the sea both were difficult to reach. The French fleet was still divided between Toulon and Golfe Jouan, but more ships were being fitted out and its capacity increased. As naval rivalry in the Mediterranean intensified, the consequence of the failure of Hood and Hotham to destroy their opponents in 1793 and 1794 became increasingly evident. In these circumstances every capital ship counted and any plans to withdraw the
Agamemnon
were quickly shelved.

On 18 September, Hood’s most enterprising captain received fresh orders. He was to proceed to the republic of Genoa and deliver a letter to Francis Drake, the British minister plenipotentiary.
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This was an important mission. Genoa was a small power, uncomfortably located between France to the west and the other Italian states to the east, politically neutral but economically bound to the former by trade. It was rumoured that members of the Genoese government were in the pay of the French; certainly, the state had loaned money to their powerful neighbour and expected due returns. Relations between Britain and Genoa had accordingly been less harmonious, and the previous year Hood had become so incensed at the small republic’s failure to prevent French attacks upon British shipping in their territorial waters that he had sent a squadron into the Ligurian Sea. Sweeping aside the niceties of neutrality it had seized a French frigate in Genoa and subjected the port to a spasmodic blockade.

A year on, there were grounds for believing that the Genoese might now be more sensible of the need for better relations with the British and their allies. The war had marched closer. French armies were moving eastwards along the riviera into Genoese territory, and it was thought that General Bonaparte (‘represented to be a man of uncommon capacity and courage, and of a very bold and enterprising spirit’) planned to quarter them in Savona for the winter before loosing them against Genoa and northern Italy the following spring. On the other hand, Britain and her allies, Austria and Sardinia-Piedmont, were poised to interpose themselves between Genoa and the Gallic horde, and an Austrian army was soon advancing to occupy Savona before the French arrived.
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It was time for Britain and Genoa to repair bridges, and Nelson seemed the right man for the job. He had demonstrated some diplomatic talent in Naples and Corsica, and had not been tainted by the previous difficulties with Genoa. Accordingly he was sent ahead of Hood to help restore amicable relations. On 19 September the
Agamemnon
entered Genoa after a short voyage, exchanging generous salutes with the batteries before anchoring near the mole. Nelson noticed two French privateers and some British merchantmen in the harbour, evidence of Genoa’s effort to steer between powerful belligerents, and thought the ‘magnificent’ palaces and buildings comparable to Naples, but briskly buckled down to business. The British consul, Joseph Brame, said that Drake was daily expected from Milan, but in the meantime arranged for Nelson to meet the doge at the Piazza San
Lorenzo on the evening of the 20th. Horatio duly presented himself in full-dress uniform, and was gratified to see the doge advance from a throng in the middle of an opulent room to greet him. The two exchanged pleasantries, but Nelson sensed that while the Genoese understood that the British fleet and Austrian army might protect them they were deeply afraid of provoking the French. The doge munificently received Nelson’s assurances that the Royal Navy would respect Genoa’s neutrality, but declined to enter allied plans to defend Italy.
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To the good, Nelson had broken some ice, and Hood and Drake, who arrived on the 23rd and 24th respectively, got no further. Hood sent notes ashore, offering to use the fleet against the republic’s enemies, only to receive the reply that Genoa had none, and the day Drake reached the city it learned that the French had taken possession of their forts at Vado Bay forty miles to the southwest. The Genoese were too frightened to step one way or the other, and Drake decided that only a successful Austrian counteroffensive would drive the French back.
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The Genoa mission was the last important service Nelson performed for Hood, as the admiral was bound for England – never to return, as it transpired. On 30 September the
Agamemnon
was sent to Golfe Jouan, where the new acting commander-in-chief, Vice Admiral Hotham, was directing a blockade from his three-decked
Britannia
. Disappointed to be leaving his old patron, Nelson dutifully obeyed, seizing a brig from beneath enemy batteries near Cape Martin on 1 October before joining Hotham’s force the following day. He saw Hood again, when the
Victory
came up on the 11th, and then the admiral sailed for Gibraltar.

Nelson and Hood made a good parting. Nothing had diminished Nelson’s regard for Hood as an admiral, not even his failure to destroy the Toulon fleet in 1793 and the damage he had done interservice relations in Corsica. ‘He is the greatest sea officer I ever knew,’ wrote Nelson, ‘and what can be said against him I cannot conceive.’ Hood’s public dispatches had never done justice to Nelson, but privately he knew that he had stumbled upon an officer of exceptional ability, and owed much of his victory in Corsica to him. He had learned to respect his opinions, and loved to read them in retirement. As he wrote to Nelson more than a year later, ‘I flatter myself with the pleasure of a letter from you by every mail, and I entreat you to write as often as you can.’
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Nelson hoped Hood would return, but in the meantime he was stuck with Hotham. A rotund, pot-bellied man of fifty-nine, William Hotham was the third son of a baronet and a convivial, generous, warm-hearted man. He meant well, for which he was popular, but manifestly lacked the ability of Hood. At home disturbing reports of deteriorating discipline rippled into the boardroom of the Admiralty, and Hotham was ordered to ‘re-establish . . . strict subordination and obedience’ in the Mediterranean fleet. Out on station there were doubts whether the new commander-in-chief was up to it. ‘Admiral Hotham is a gentlemanlike man, and would, I am persuaded, do his duty in a day of battle,’ remarked the new viceroy of Corsica. ‘But he is past the time of life for action. His soul has got down to his belly, and never mounts higher now, and in all business he is a piece of perfectly inert formality.’
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Nelson had no illusions about Hotham, who had not been ‘intended by nature for a commander-in-chief, which requires a man of more active turn of mind’. To be sure, the man was beset by unusually intractable problems. ‘Admiral Hotham has had much to contend with,’ Nelson admitted. ‘A fleet half-manned, and in every respect inferior to the enemy; Italy calling him to her defence; our newly-acquired kingdom [Corsica] calling might and main; our reinforcements and convoy hourly expected; and all to be done without a force or any means adequate to it.’ Much of this was beyond the admiral’s control. Unable to refit adequately, the ships were breaking up, and were so short of naval stores that sails and cordage that had been condemned were having to be recycled.
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