Trafalgar

  TRAFALGAR

  THE UNTOLD STORY OF THE GREATEST SEA BATTLE IN HISTORY

  NICHOLAS BEST

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © Nicholas Best 2005, 2018

  First published in 2005 by Weidenfeld & Nicolson

  This edition published in 2018 by:

  Thistle Publishing

  36 Great Smith Street

  London

  SW1P 3BU

  www.thistlepublishing.co.uk

  With thanks to Tom Sharpe,

  who lent me the book that got me started.

  Thanks also to Nancy Sharpe, Tom Pocock,

  Mike Dover, Tim Atkinson, Pam and Cavan Browne,

  Nick and Melanie Marden, Professors Mike Bickle

  and Gareth Roberts, Hazel Bickle, Colin White of

  the National Maritime Museum, and Kay Hoar,

  librarian of the King’s School, Canterbury.

  ‘Trafalgar was not only a great sea battle, it saved Britain from invasion by Napoleon. That is why this book, which rattles along excitingly, gave me fresh appetite for the subject. It sets Nelson’s victory in that context – the risks of 1940 were just as grave in 1805 . . . The battle is grippingly described with a Master and Commander/Patrick O’Brian touch’

  Peter Lewis, Daily Mail

  ‘Nicholas Best uses eyewitness accounts to recreate the tension and uncertainty of the campaign that led to the battle, and to describe the carnage and the glory of Trafalgar itself’

  Church Times

  ‘This gripping book tells the story of Britain’s legendary naval victory on October 21, 1805 in which the national hero, Admiral Lord Nelson, was killed by a French sharpshooter . . . Nicholas Best has done an excellent job describing the build up to the Battle and the primitive conditions on the ships . . . This book is replete with fascinating details’

  Anthony Looch, Glasgow Evening Times

  ‘You can almost smell the whiff of gunsmoke and feel the sweat on both sides as the battle begins. This is history with a page-turning quality’

  Good Book Guide

  ‘A spiffing good read. Unusually for a Trafalgar book it tells you almost as much about the British on land as the Royal Navy at sea and it’s full of interesting period detail about how the British lived in 1805 as they waited for Napoleon’s army to invade’

  Period House

  ‘None is likely to be more comprehensive or gripping than this one, which describes the Royal Navy’s triumph over the French which effectively scuppered Napoleon’s threat to invade Britain . . . He is unsparing in his details of the bloodshed wrought by cannons and cutlass-wielding seamen who boarded the shattered ships’

  Birmingham Post

  ‘Very racy and exciting’

  John Turner, BBC Radio Bristol

  ‘Marvellous. Compulsively readable’

  John Florence, BBC Radio Leicester

  ‘Fascinating insight. Super’

  Mark Seaman, BBC Radio Wiltshire

  Nicholas Best grew up in Kenya and graduated from Trinity College, Dublin before joining the Grenadier Guards. He became a financial journalist after leaving the army and later a full-time author. He has written novels, travel and history books, and was the Financial Times fiction critic for ten years. He lives in Cambridge.

  By Nicholas Best

  Trafalgar: The Untold Story of the Greatest Sea Battle in History

  Happy Valley: The Story of the English in Kenya

  Where Were You at Waterloo?

  Tennis and the Masai

  The Greatest Day in History

  Five Days that shocked the World

  Seven Days of Infamy

  Boulogne, 1805. Napoleon studies Dover Castle through a giant telescope. Behind him stands an army of 167,000 men, superbly trained and itching to invade. Behind them Joseph Fouché, France’s Minister of Police, who attends public executions with human ears dangling from his hat.

  Across the Channel, William Pitt awaits the French with the Cinque Port Volunteers, a ragbag force of 3,000 yokels armed initially with pikes and pitchforks.

  In between sails the Royal Navy, desperately short of ships and men, yet blessed in Lord Nelson with a leader of outstanding ability. All are adamant that English ears must never dangle from Fouché’s hat.

  This is the story of the men and women of many nations who fought at Trafalgar, told in their own dramatic words. It is also the wider story of characters as diverse as Madame Forty Thousand Men, doyenne of the Grand Army’s prostitutes, Captain de l’Ort, Austrian eyewitness at Ulm, and the anonymous but beautiful English blonde who did her best to get Napoleon’s invasion plan out of him at Boulogne. Unaccountably neglected by Trafalgar historians, their tales are all the more fascinating for being very rarely seen in print.

  CONTENTS

  1. Napoleon Reviews the Army of England

  2. Britain Awaits the Invasion

  3. Napoleon Lays His Plans

  4. Britain’s Military Defences

  5. Lord Melville at the Admiralty

  6. The Navy’s Three Lines of Defence

  7. Napoleon Visits Charlemagne’s Tomb

  8. Spying Out the Land

  9. The Boulogne Raid

  10. Spain Enters the War

  11. Napoleon Crowns Himself

  12. Napoleon’s Opening Gambit

  13. Lord Nelson Aboard the Victory

  14. Political Manoeuvres

  15. The Enemy Put to Sea

  16. Napoleon Takes Another Crown

  17. Villeneuve in the West Indies

  18. Preparations Continue on the Home Front

  19. Villeneuve Returns to Europe

  20. Calder’s Action

  21. Napoleon Returns to Boulogne

  22. Lord Nelson Goes Home

  23. Villeneuve Retreats to Cadiz

  24. Napoleon Postpones the Invasion

  25. The Grand Army Crosses France

  26. Nelson Arrives Off Cadiz

  27. Villeneuve Holds a Council of War

  28. Nelson’s Memorandum

  29. Waiting For the Enemy

  30. Last Letters Home

  31. Victory at Ulm

  32. Enemy Sails Off Trafalgar

  33. England Expects

  34. Battle Is Joined

  35. Nelson Hit

  36. The Battle Rages

  37. Nelson Avenged

  38. Villeneuve Surrenders

  39. Gravina Orders a Retreat

  40. Kiss Me, Hardy

  41. The Storm After the Battle

  42. The Bodies Come Ashore

  43. Taking the News to England

  44. A Nation in Mourning

  45. Nelson’s Funeral

  46. The Captains and the Kings Depart

  Epilogue

  Bibliography

  ‘I do not say the French cannot come.

  I only say they cannot come by sea.’

  Admiral St Vincent

  ‘I made a mistake trying to conquer the English.

  They are a brave people.’

  Napoleon Bonaparte

  CHAPTER 1

  NAPOLEON REVIEWS THE ARMY OF ENGLAND

  The Emperor was coming and all of Boulogne was en fête. Along the cliffs north of the town, the men of Napoleon’s army awaited his arrival. Almost 100,000 soldiers – the greatest army France had ever assembled – were gathered for his inspection. There were regiments of Guards drawn up on the slopes of Terlincthun. There were regiments of dragoons and light infantry, companies of Voltigeurs and artillery, rows of prancing horses and squadrons of cavalry in outrageous uniforms. It was not just the French army that was assembled at Boulogne. It was the grandest military spectacle the world had ever seen.

  For many of the troops, fidgeting nervously a
s they waited for Napoleon to arrive, 16 August 1804 was going to be a day they would remember for the rest of their lives. A day their descendants have remembered too, ever since. The day the Emperor embraced them personally and bestowed on them the newly founded Légion d’honneur, France’s highest decoration.

  The ceremony had been planned for months. Boulogne had been specially decorated for the occasion. There were flags at every window and swathes of coloured bunting across the streets. There were triumphal arches, allegorical statues and signs pointing out ‘The Road to England’ towards the harbour. The road was lined with excited crowds, the girls wearing traditional fête costumes and patriotic ribbons, the children clutching tricolours in their hands. In the vale of Terlincthun, the massed bands of sixty regiments were waiting to greet Napoleon. Along the cliff tops, batteries of guns stood ready to fire a salute in his honour. Everything was in place, just waiting for the Emperor to appear.

  In the middle of the vale, where he was to address the troops, a magnificent podium had been erected at the summit of a small rise. The podium was twice the height of a man, approached on either side and from the front by three sets of wooden steps. On top of it stood a splendid throne, said to have been used 1,000 years earlier by Dagobert, the legendary king of the Franks.

  Behind the throne stood a theatrical backdrop of statues in shining armour and imperial eagles crowned with laurel wreaths. There was also a display of military banners, more than 200 of them, arranged in a fan shape around the podium. The banners were bloodstained and riddled with shot. They had been captured at the battles of Lodi, Arcola, Marengo and a score of other French triumphs. Now they stood fluttering in the breeze of the English Channel, eloquent testimony to the courage of the army that had captured them.

  The army itself stood facing the podium in a giant semicircle. It was a fine sight, the pick of French manhood. Almost all the officers and NCOs had seen active service in recent campaigns, as had more than half the men. Their commanders were Michel Ney, Nicolas Soult and Louis Davout, figures legendary in the annals of war. The army had been camped at Boulogne for more than a year, training furiously for the assault on England. The troops were fully prepared and ready to go. Only a few more days now, they had been promised, just a few more days and then the invasion would begin. Their day of glory would arrive.

  From their vantage points around the valley, some 20,000 citizens of Boulogne watched adoringly as the troops went through their paces. Many of the spectators were women, for Boulogne was a great prostitutes’ town. The army had tried to get rid of them at first, refusing residents’ permits to any who didn’t actually live in Boulogne. But some had been allowed to remain, making fortunes in the process. Chief among them was Madame Forty Thousand Men, an energetic twenty-two-year-old whose chamber pot never stopped ringing to the sound of the écus the troops flung in there. Recent analysis of some skeletons suggests that eighty per cent of the army had syphilis. Madame Forty Thousand was probably in the pay of the English.

  But now here was Napoleon. They could hear the cheers in the distance. Cries of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ and girls strewing flowers in his path. The army stiffened as the cheers drew nearer. The musicians picked up their instruments and the infantry shouldered their muskets. The officers unsheathed their swords, ready for the salute. Thousands of bayonets flashed as the men gripped their weapons, waiting for the order to present arms.

  The Emperor was riding his favourite white horse. He wore the uniform of a Foot Guards general – coat, white waistcoat and breeches, shiny top boots and that famous black hat, the very image of Napoleon. He was accompanied by an escort of 300 glittering horsemen, grouped protectively around their new Emperor. Napoleon had only been an Emperor since May. He hadn’t even been crowned yet.

  A fanfare of trumpets greeted his arrival. Two thousand drummer boys raised their sticks and beat out the urgent rhythm of ‘Aux Champs’ as his entourage galloped at full speed towards the podium. The gun batteries fired their salute and church bells rang out across the town. As one man, the Grand Army crashed to attention and presented arms as Napoleon reined in at the saluting base. They watched with awe bordering on reverence as he dashed up the steps and turned to address them from the great throne of Dagobert on the top.

  He spoke first to the recipients of the Légion d’honneur. There were more than 2,000 of them, almost the first to be awarded France’s most prestigious decoration. One was an admiral, two – Ney and Soult – were marshals of France, and three were bishops. The rest were soldiers of all ranks, officers and men who had distinguished themselves in the service of their country and who now stood waiting to reap their reward.

  Napoleon surveyed them proudly. Then he raised his hand and swore them to be true to the ideals of the Légion:

  Commanders, officers, legionnaires, citizens, soldiers. Swear upon your honour to devote yourselves to the service of the Empire, to the preservation of the integrity of French territory, to the defence of the Emperor, the laws of the Republic, and the property which they have made sacred. Swear to combat, by all the means which justice, reason and the law authorise, any attempt to re-establish the feudal system. In short, swear to concur with all your might in maintaining liberty and equality, the very bedrock of our institutions. Swear!

  The recipients swore. Then Napoleon turned to the rest of the army:

  And you, soldiers, swear to defend with your life the honour of the French name, your country, and your Emperor.

  The soldiers swore, too. Few of them could actually hear what Napoleon was saying, but they took their cue from their officers, who shouted, ‘We swear it!’ with one voice. Then the bands struck up the ‘Song of Departure’ and the distribution of the Légion’s crosses began.

  The ceremony lasted for hours. The men climbed the steps at one side of the podium, bowed to Napoleon, received their cross, then descended the steps the other side, like a school prize-giving. The crosses were distributed from the helmet of Pierre Bayard, the ‘chevalier sans peur’ who had been the saviour of France in the 1520s. The helmet was carried on the shield of Bertrand Du Guesclin, the celebrated Constable of France. The new Emperor saw himself as the heir to these great Frenchmen. Whenever he recognised a soldier he knew, he exchanged a few words with him as he gave him his cross, reminiscing about times past, campaigns they had shared. Napoleon was said to have a gift for remembering the faces of ordinary soldiers. It was why the army loved him.

  They never knew that actually Napoleon remembered very few of them. His aides simply primed him with the relevant information beforehand.

  The afternoon was well advanced by the time all the crosses had been distributed. The weather was still fine, but rain clouds were gathering in the distance and a breeze was whipping up waves in the Channel. During a break in the proceedings, Napoleon took a telescope and turned towards the sea. He trained it on England, the object of his current preoccupations. The white cliffs of Dover were clearly visible in the sunlight, less than thirty miles from Boulogne. Napoleon had long been familiar with the sight:

  I have seen the English coast as clearly as one can see the Calvary [at Fontainebleau] from the Tuileries. One could pick out the houses, and see plenty of movement. The Channel is a mere ditch. It will be crossed as soon as someone is brave enough to try it.

  And who was brave enough? Napoleon, of course. The arrangements were already well in hand. A few more days and everything would be ready for the invasion.

  It had been planned down to the last detail. Julius Caesar had invaded England from Boulogne. His troops had landed somewhere between Walmer and Deal, where the gently shelving beach had made it easy for the legions to swarm ashore. As Caesar had invaded, so would Napoleon. From Deal he would advance to Canterbury, and from there to Chatham, Rochester and London. The English did not possess an army capable of stopping him, any more than their ancestors had been able to stop Caesar.

  The campaign had been planned so meticulously that test dies for a commemor
ative medal had already been made. The medal was a classical affair, with a picture of Napoleon crowned with laurels on one side and one of Hercules on the other, subduing England in the shape of a half-man, half-fish. ‘Descente en Angleterre’, said the medal. ‘Frappée à Londres en 1804’. Not true, of course, but who would ever know?

  Thus would France be avenged. Thus would ten centuries of insult be expunged (Napoleon varied this speech – sometimes he thought it was only six centuries). Several centuries anyway of English tyranny, armies of boorish Anglo-Saxons rampaging unrestrained through the civilisation of France. Hordes of shirtless English peasants, roaring drunk, fighting anyone they met. The embarrassment of Crécy, the cruelty of Henry V, the disrespect of the archers at Agincourt, giving the chivalry of France a two-fingered salute to show that they could still pull their bowstrings. The burghers of Calais, the capture of Boulogne by Henry VIII (the town still had the cannon balls). The loss of Canada and India. The French kings and nobles dragged across the Channel and held captive for years in the Tower of London, some to be heavily ransomed, others to die miserably in that terrible place. All of this and much, much more would be avenged by Napoleon. A calm sea, a few days of good weather, and he would be in London, flying the tricolour from the flagpoles of that same Tower. Then would come the reckoning for all those years of insult.

  Napoleon had already decided what he would do when he had conquered London: ‘With God’s help I will put an end to the future and very existence of England.’ A republic would be proclaimed, with liberty, equality and fraternity for all. King George III would be removed from his throne, although allowed to live on as Citizen Hanover. The nobility would be abolished, along with the House of Lords. Their lands and fine houses would be redistributed among Napoleon’s supporters. The House of Commons would be allowed to remain, but only after major reform. A proclamation would be issued announcing that the French had come as friends, to restore popular government and liberate the common people from a corrupt and wicked aristocracy. There would be democracy and a redistribution of property in favour of the ordinary working man. The treasures and fine arts of the aristocracy would be redistributed, too – taken to France, where they would be far better appreciated by their new owners than a lot of useless English lords.