TRAFALGAR

1805

The closing years of the eighteenth century and the opening years of the nineteenth represent the most splendid period in the annals of the British Navy. Howe destroyed the French fleet in the Atlantic on “the glorious First of June, 1794,” Nelson died in the midst of his greatest victory off Cape Trafalgar on 21 October, 1805. Little more than eleven years separated the two dates, and this brief period was crowded with triumphs for Britain on the sea. The “First of June,” St. Vincent, Camperdown, the Nile, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar are the great names in the roll of victory; but “the meteor flag of England” flew victorious in a hundred fights on all the seas of the world.

Men who were officers young in the service on the day when Rodney broke at once the formal traditions of a century and the battle-line of the Comte de Grasse lived through and shared in the glories of this decade of victory. A new spirit had come into the navy. An English admiral would no longer think he had done his duty in merely bringing his well-ordered line into cannon-shot of an enemy’s array and exchanging broadsides with him at half-cannon range. Nor was the occupation of a port or an island recognized as an adequate result for a naval campaign. The enemy’s fighting-fleet was now the object aimed at. It was not merely to be brought to action, and more or less damaged by distant cannonading. The ideal battle was the close fight amid the enemy’s broken line, and victory meant his destruction.

The spirit of the time was personified in its greatest sailor. Nelson’s battles were fought in grim earnest, taking risks boldly in order to secure great results. Trafalgar the last of his battles, and the last great battle of the days of the sail was also the final episode in the long struggle of Republican and Imperial France to snatch from England even for a while the command of the sea.

When Napoleon assembled the Grand Army at Boulogne, gave it the official title of the “Armee d’Angleterre,” and crowded every creek from Dunkirk to Havre with flat-bottomed boats for its transport across the Channel, he quite realized that the first condition of success for the scheme was that a French fleet should be in possession of the Channel at the moment his veterans embarked for their short voyage. He had twenty sail of the line, under Admiral Ganteaume, at Brest; twelve under Villeneuve at Toulon; a squadron of five at Rochefort under Admiral Missiessy; five more at Ferrol; and in this last port and at Cadiz and Cartagena there were other ships belonging to his Spanish allies. But every port was watched by English battleships and cruisers. The vigilant blockade had been kept up for two years, during which Nelson, who was watching Toulon, had hardly been an hour absent from his flagship, the “Victory”; and Collingwood, in the “Royal Sovereign,” did not anchor once in twenty-two months of alternate cruising and lying to.

Napoleon’s mind was ceaselessly busy with plans for moving his fleets on the sea as he moved army corps on land, so as to elude, mislead, and out-manoeuvre the English squadrons, and suddenly bring a concentrated French force of overwhelming strength into the narrow seas. The first move in these plans was usually assigned to the Toulon fleet. According to one project it was to give Nelson the slip, make for the Straits of Gibraltar, combine with the Cadiz fleet in driving off or crushing the blockading squadron before that port, sail north with the liberated vessels, fall on the blockading ships before Rochefort and Brest, and then sweep the Channel with the united squadrons. In other projects French fleets were to run the blockades simultaneously or in succession, raid the West Indies, draw off a part of the naval forces of England to the other side of the Atlantic, and then come swooping back upon the Channel.

In the plan finally adopted the first move was to be the escape of the Toulon fleet; the second, the threat against the West Indies. Its execution was entrusted to Villeneuve, because Napoleon, ever since the escape of his squadron from the disaster in Aboukir Bay, had regarded him as “a lucky man,” and luck and chance must play a great part in such a project.

Nelson did not keep up a close and continuous blockade of Toulon with his fighting-fleet of battleships. He used Sardinia as his base of supplies, and there were times when all the heavier ships were in Sardinian waters, while his frigates watched Toulon. His previous experiences had led him to believe that if the French Mediterranean fleet came out it would be for another raid on Egypt, and this idea was confirmed by reports that Villeneuve was embarking not only troops, but large quantities of saddlery and muskets. The story of the saddles seemed to indicate an expedition to a country where plenty of horses could be obtained to mount a body of cavalry horses, too, that when they were bought or requisitioned would not have saddles that a European trooper was used to. Nelson did not want to keep the French shut up in Toulon. He was anxious to catch them in the open sea, and with his fleet on the coast of Sardinia and his frigates spread out in a fan to the northwards he counted on bringing Villeneuve to action if he attempted to reach the Levant.

In January, 1805, the frigates brought news that the French were out, and Nelson at once disposed his fleet to intercept their expected voyage to Egypt. He found no trace of them in the direction he expected, and he was greatly relieved on returning from a hurried rush eastward to learn that bad weather had driven Villeneuve back to his port. “These gentlemen,” he said, “are not accustomed to the Gulf of Lyons gales, but we have buffeted them for twenty-one months without carrying away a spar.”

On 30 March Villeneuve came out of Toulon again with eleven ships of the line. This time, thanks to Nelson’s fixed idea about Egypt, he got a good start for the Atlantic. As soon as his frigates brought the news that the French were out, Nelson strung out his ships from the south point of Sardinia to Sicily and the African coast. He thus watched every possible avenue to the Eastern Mediterranean, ready to concentrate and attack the enemy as soon as he got touch of them anywhere. But not a French sail was sighted.

Villeneuve had run down past the Balearic Islands to Cartagena, where Admiral Salcedo was in command of a Spanish squadron. But the Spaniards were not ready for sea, and Villeneuve was anxious to be west of the Straits of Gibraltar as soon as possible, and could not wait for his dilatory allies. On 8 April he passed through the Straits. Then he steered for Cadiz, drove off Sir John Orde’s blockading squadron of six sail, and entered the harbour on the 9th.

At Cadiz there were Admiral Gravina’s Spanish fleet and a French battleship, the “Aigle.” Again the Spaniards were mostly unready for sea, but six of them and the “Aigle” joined Villeneuve when he sailed out into the Atlantic steering for the West Indies, now at the head of eighteen battleships and seven frigates.

Information was difficult to obtain and travelled slowly a hundred years ago. It was not till 11 April that Nelson learned that Villeneuve had passed through the Straits of Gibraltar eight days before. Then, while the French were running down into the trade wind that was to carry them westward, Nelson, still ignorant whether they were raiding the West Indies or Ireland, but anxious in either case to be in the Atlantic as soon as might be, had to work his way slowly towards the Straits against stormy head winds, and then wait wearily at anchor on the Moorish coast for a change of wind that would carry him into the ocean. He was suffering from disappointment, depression, and ill-health. It was not till 7 May that he passed the Straits. He had made up his mind that the French were probably bound for the West Indies, and he followed them. They had a long start, but he trusted to find them among the islands and make the West Indian seas once more famous for a great British victory.

On 4 June he reached Barbadoes, and began his search, only to miss the French, thanks to false information, and learn too late that they were returning to Europe. Villeneuve had paid only a flying visit to the West Indies, leaving Martinique on 5 June, the day after Nelson arrived at Barbadoes, and steering first north, then eastwards across the Atlantic. Nelson followed on 13 June, and reached Gibraltar without once sighting his enemy.

He had, however, taken the precaution of dispatching a fast sailing brig to England with the news that the French fleet was returning to Europe. This ship, the “Curieux,” actually got a glimpse of the enemy far off in mid ocean, and outsailed him to such good purpose that the Admiralty was able to order the squadrons blockading Brest and Rochefort to unite under the command of Sir Robert Calder and try to intercept Villeneuve on his way back. Though inferior in numbers to the allied fleet, Calder brought it to action in thick, foggy weather on 22 July, some ninety miles off the Spanish Cape Finisterre. The battle, fought in semi-darkness, was a desultory, indecisive encounter, and though Calder cut off and took two Spanish ships of the line, the feeling in England, when the news arrived, was not one of satisfaction at his partial success, but of undeserved indignation at his having failed to force the fighting and destroy the enemy’s fleet.

Villeneuve took his fleet into Vigo Bay. According to the plan of campaign, now that he had shaken off Nelson’s pursuit, he should have sailed for the Channel, picking up the Brest and Rochefort squadrons on his way. Napoleon, at Boulogne, was ceaselessly drilling the Grand Army in rapid embarkation and disembarkation, and hoping each day for news of his admiral’s dash into the Channel. But Villeneuve, who knew Keith had a squadron in the Channel, and had a vague dread of Nelson suddenly making his appearance, had a better appreciation of the small chance of the scheme giving any result than the imperious soldier-Emperor, who had come to believe that what he ordered must succeed. From Vigo, Villeneuve wrote to the Minister of Marine, Decres, that his fleet was hardly in condition for any active enterprise. It had met with trying weather in the Atlantic. His flagship, the “Bucentaure,” had been struck and damaged by lightning. All the ships needed a dockyard overhaul. There was sickness among the crews. He had to land hundreds of men and send them to hospital. He wanted recruits badly, and Vigo afforded only the scantiest resources for the refitting of the ships. He was already thinking of going back to Cadiz. He moved his fleet to Corunna, but there he found things in such a condition that he reported that he could not even find hospital room for the sick.

From Napoleon came pressing orders to push on to the Channel at all risks. On 11 August Villeneuve put to sea, picking up a combined French and Spanish squadron from the neighbouring port of Ferrol. He meant to sail to Brest, bring out the squadron there, and call up the ships at Rochefort by sending on a frigate in advance with orders for that port. (The frigate was captured on the way by a British cruiser.) He sent a dispatch overland to Napoleon to say that at last he was coming.

In the Bay of Biscay, two days out from Corunna, he was told by a Danish merchant-ship that there was a great fleet of British battleships close at hand to the northward. The news was false. A few hours before the captain of a British cruiser had stopped the Dane and purposely given him this false information, in the hope that it would reach the French and mislead them. Except a few scattered cruisers, there was nothing between Villeneuve and the ports of Brest and Rochefort nothing that could stop his projected concentration. Nelson had waited a few days at Gibraltar, where the news of Calder’s fight had not arrived. He communicated with Collingwood, who was watching Cadiz with six ships, and then, conjecturing that the object of the French expedition might be Ireland, he sailed north and was off the Irish coast on 12 August, the day after Villeneuve left Corunna. Finding no trace of the enemy, he joined the squadron of Cornwallis off Ushant on 15 August, and then, broken in health and depressed at what seemed a huge failure, he went back to England to spend some time with Lady Hamilton at Merton.

Villeneuve had hardly heard of the imaginary fleet when the wind, which had so far been fair, went round to the north. This decided the irresolute admiral. To the dismay of his captains he suddenly altered his course and ran before the wind southward to Cadiz, where he arrived on 22 August, contenting himself with watching the retirement of Collingwood’s six ships and making no effort to envelop and cut them off with his enormously superior force. Collingwood promptly resumed the blockade when the French and Spanish anchored, and deluded Villeneuve into the belief that the blockade was in touch with a supporting fleet by keeping one of his ships well out in the offing, and frequently signalling through her to imaginary consorts below the horizon.

On the very day that Villeneuve anchored at Cadiz, Napoleon sent off from Boulogne this pressing dispatch to him at Brest:

“Admiral, I trust you have arrived at Brest. Start at once. Do not lose a moment. Come into the Channel with our united squadrons, and England is ours. We are all ready. Everything is embarked. Come here for twenty-four hours and all is ended, and six centuries of shame and insult will be avenged.”

When he heard that the admiral had lost heart and turned back he was furious. But he had already formed plans for an alternative enterprise. The English ministry had succeeded in forming a new coalition with Austria and Russia as a means of keeping the Emperor occupied on the Continent. On 27 August Napoleon issued his orders for the march of the Grand Army to the Danube, and on 1 September he started on the career of victory, the stages of which were to be Ulm, Austerlitz, Jena, and Friedland.

To Villeneuve he sent, through Decres, bitter reproaches and new orders for a naval campaign in the Mediterranean. Decres, writing to his old comrade, transmitted the new plan of campaign and softened down the Emperor’s angry words. Villeneuve reported that he could not leave Cadiz for some time. He was doing all that was possible to refit his fleet and find full crews for the French and Spanish ships. For the latter men were provided by pressing landsmen into the service. “It is pitiful,” wrote a French officer, “to see such fine ships manned with a handful of seamen and a crowd of beggars and herdsmen.” In the councils of war held at Cadiz there were fierce disputes between the French and Spanish officers, the latter accusing their allies of having abandoned to their fate the two ships lost in Calder’s action. The jealousy between the two nations rose so high that several French sailors were stabbed at night in the streets.

The English Government knew nothing of the inefficient state and the endless difficulties of the great fleet concentrated at Cadiz, and regarded its presence there as a standing danger. Collingwood was reinforced, and it was decided to send Nelson out to join him, take over the command, blockade the enemy closely, and bring him to action if he ventured out.

Nelson sailed from Spithead on 15 September in his old flagship the “Victory,” accompanied by the “Euryalus,” Captain Blackwood, one of the swiftest and smartest frigates in the navy. Picking up the battleships “Thunderer” and “Ajax” on the way, he joined the fleet off Cadiz on 28 September.

Villeneuve had written to Decres that none of the ships were in really good order, and that the Spanish vessels were “quite incapable of meeting the enemy.” Only a portion of his fleet had had the slight training afforded by the Atlantic voyage. The rest had lain for years in harbour, and many of them had crews chiefly made up of recently enrolled landsmen. Many of the captains held that if there was to be a fight it would be useless to manoeuvre or to attempt an artillery duel, and that the only chance of success lay in a hand-to-hand fight by boarding. But, then, to produce the position for boarding meant being able to manoeuvre. Villeneuve was supported by most of the superior officers of the fleet in the opinion that he had better stay at Cadiz; but from Napoleon there came reiterated orders for the fleet to enter the Mediterranean.

The last hesitation of the unfortunate admiral was ended by the news that Admiral Rosilly was coming from Paris to supersede him. If he did not attempt something, his career would end in disgrace. He held a final council of war, gave his last instructions to his officers, and then wrote to Decres that he would obey the Emperor’s orders, though he foresaw that they would probably lead to disaster.

Contrary winds from the westward delayed his sailing for some days after this decision. Reefs and local currents made it difficult to work a large fleet out of Cadiz without a fair wind. A smaller but better-trained fleet than that of Villeneuve had once taken three days to get out, and a portion of the fleet at sea and unsupported would be in deadly peril. On 17 October the wind began to work round to the eastward. Next day it fell almost to a calm, but it increased towards evening, and Villeneuve, after a conference with his Spanish colleague, Admiral Gravina, signalled that the ships were to weigh anchor at sunrise on the 19th.

Nelson had been watching Cadiz for three weeks, keeping his fleet well out at sea, with his frigates close in to the port, and a chain of ships acting as connecting links with them to pass on information by signalling with flags by day and lanterns by night. The system of signalling had been lately so improved that it was fairly rapid and reliable, and Nelson kept his fleet out of sight, and requested that the names of ships sent to reinforce him should not appear in the papers, as he hoped to delude Villeneuve into a false idea that he had a very inferior force before Cadiz. He feared that if the whole array of his fleet were visible from the look-out stations of the port the allies would remain safe at anchor. During this period of waiting he had had more than one conference with his captains, and had read and explained to them a manuscript memorandum, dated 9 October, setting forth his plans for the expected battle. His plan of battle excited an enthusiasm among them, to which more than one of them afterwards bore testimony. They said that “the Nelson touch” was in it, and it is generally taken for granted that they saw in it something like a stroke of genius and a new departure in tactics. I hope it is not presumption on my part to suggest that their enthusiasm was partly the result of their seeing that their trusted leader was thoroughly himself again and, to use a familiar phrase, meant business, and they had a further motive for satisfaction in seeing how thoroughly he relied on them and how ready he was to give them a free hand in carrying out his general ideas.

The “Nelson touch” memorandum of 9 October and the whole plan of the battle have been, and still are, the subject of acute controversy, the various phases of which it would be far too long to discuss. It is strange that after the lapse of a hundred years and the publication of a vast mass of detailed evidence British, French, and Spanish there are still wide differences of opinion as to how the most famous naval battle in history was actually fought out. There is even much uncertainty as to the order in which the British ships came into action.

The memorandum shows that Nelson originally contemplated a formation in three lines, an advanced division to windward, a main division under his personal command, and a lee division under his second-in-command, Collingwood. The final grouping of the ships in the battle was in two divisions.

This was the fleet that lay off Cape Sta. Maria, some fifty miles from Cadiz, on Saturday, 19 October, 1805, and received from the frigates watching the port the message, passed on by connecting ships, that the enemy was at last coming out.

Villeneuve, like Nelson, had originally divided his fleet into three divisions. On the day of battle it fought in an order which was (as we shall see) partly the result of chance, arrayed in a long double line. He had deliberately mixed together in his array the French and Spanish units of his fleet, to avoid the dangers that might arise from mutual jealousies if they were drawn up in divisions apart. Instead of giving the list of his fleet according to the ordre de bataille drawn up in Cadiz harbour long before the event, it will be more convenient to arrange the list as they actually lay in line from van to rear on the day of battle.

The morning of 19 October was fine and clear with the wind from the shore. So clear was the day that the lookout in the foretop of the “Euryalus” could see the ripples on the beach. As the sun rose the enemy’s ships were seen to be setting their topsails, and one by one they unmoored and towed down towards the harbour mouth. It was a long process working the ships singly out of harbour. Blackwood, of the “Euryalus,” stood close in, and from early morning till near 2 p.m. was sending his messages to the distant fleet.

Hoisted 7.20 a.m. transmitted to the “Victory” soon after
a.m.: “The enemy’s ships are coming out.”

11 a.m.: “Nineteen under sail. All the rest have top-yards
hoisted except Spanish rear-admiral and one line-of-battle
ship.”

About 11.3: “Little wind in harbour. Two of the enemy are at
anchor.”

Noon: “Notwithstanding little wind, enemy persevere to get
outward. The rest, except one line, ready, yards hoisted.”

Just before 2 p.m.: “Enemy persevering to work outward. Seven of
line already without and two frigates.”

When the fleet began to show in force outside, Blackwood drew off to a distance of four miles from the shore and still watched them. He knew the “Euryalus” could outsail the fastest of the enemy if they tried to attack him. His business was to keep them under observation. He could see that for want of wind they were forced to work out ship after ship by towing them with rowing-boats. He knew they could not be all out till the Sunday morning, and he knew also that Nelson had acknowledged his messages and was beating up nearer and nearer to the port, though with the light winds he could only make slow progress. Unless the enemy scuttled back into the harbour a battle was inevitable.

On the Sunday morning (20 October) the wind freshened and enabled Villeneuve to bring out the last of his ships. They were hardly out when the wind changed and blew strong from the south-west, with squalls of rain. The French admiral signalled the order to tack to the southward under shortened sail. The fleet had been directed to sail in five parallel divisions, each in line ahead, but for want of training in the crews the ships lost station, and the formation was very irregular. At four in the afternoon the wind changed again to the north-west, but it was very light and the fleet moved slowly. To the westward all day the “Euryalus” and “Sirius” frigates were seen watching Villeneuve’s progress, and just as darkness was closing in one of the French frigates signalled that there were twenty sail coming in from the Atlantic.

If there had been more wind, Villeneuve might have crowded all sail for the Straits, but he could only creep slowly along. Flashes and flares of light to seaward showed him the British were exchanging night signals in the darkness. He felt he was closely watched, and he was haunted by the memory of the disastrous night battle in Aboukir Bay. Though the wind had gone down the sea was rough, with a heavy swell rolling in from the westward, the well-known sign of an Atlantic storm that might break on the Spanish coast before many hours. The flickering signals of the British fleet seemed to come nearer as the darkness of the moonless autumn night deepened, and about nine a shadowy mass of sails was seen not far off. It was the “Euryalus” that had closed in with every light shaded to have a near look at the enemy.

There was an alarm that the British were about to attack, and Villeneuve signalled to clear for action and form the prescribed double line of battle. The sharp drumbeats from the French ships, the lighting up of open ports, the burning of blue lights, showed Blackwood what was in progress. It was nearly two hours before the lines were formed, and there was much confusion, ships slipping into stations not assigned to them; and Gravina, who had been directed to keep twelve of the best ships as an independent reserve, or “squadron of observation,” placing them in the line instead of forming independently. Then the fleet went about, reversing its order. Villeneuve had given up the idea of reaching the Straits without a battle, and was anxious to have the port of Cadiz under his lee when the crisis came.

Nelson’s fleet, in two columns in line ahead, was drawing nearer and nearer to his enemy. Between the two fleets the “Euryalus” flitted like a ghost, observing and reporting every move of the allies, and sometimes coming quite near them. When the enemy reversed their order of sailing, Blackwood’s ship was for a short time ahead of their double line, and saw the allied fleet looking like “a lighted street some six miles long.”

After midnight the alarm in the Franco-Spanish fleet had passed off, and all the men who could be spared had turned in. At dawn on the Monday the French frigate “Hermione” reported the enemy in sight to windward, and at seven Villeneuve again gave the order to clear for action.

The sight of the allied fleet had called forth a great outburst of exultation on board of Nelson’s ships. “As the day dawned,” wrote one of his officers, “the horizon appeared covered with ships. The whole force of the enemy was discovered standing to the southward, distant about nine miles, between us and the coast near Trafalgar. I was awakened by the cheers of the crew and by their rushing up the hatchways to get a glimpse of the hostile fleet. The delight they manifested exceeded anything I ever witnessed.”

Opposing fleets separated by only nine miles of sea would in our day be exchanging long-range fire after a very few minutes of rapid approach. It was to be nearly six hours before Nelson and Villeneuve came within fighting distance. The wind had become so slight that the British fleet was often moving at a speed of barely more than a knot over the grey-green ocean swells.

Still anxious to fight, with Cadiz as a refuge for disabled ships, Villeneuve presently signalled to his fleet to go about. After they altered their order of sailing and began to sail to the northward, moving very slowly with the wind abeam (close-hauled on the port tack), the course of the “Victory” was a little north of east, directed at first to a point about two and a half miles ahead of the leading ship of the enemy. The “Royal Sovereign,” leading the leeward line on a parallel course, was about a mile to the southward. As the allied fleet was moving so as presently to cross the course of the British, the result would be that at the moment of contact the line led by the “Victory” would come in a little ahead of the enemy’s centre, and the “Royal Sovereign” to the rearward of it. But the courses of the two fleets did not intersect at right angles. Many of the current plans of the battle, and, strange to say, the great model at the Royal United Service Institution (though constructed while many Trafalgar captains were still living), are misleading in representing the British advance as a perpendicular attack in closely formed line ahead.

In the heavy swell and the light wind the allied fleet had succeeded in forming only an irregular line when it went about. There were wide gaps, some of them covered by ships lying in a second line; and the fleet was not in a straight line from van to rear, but the van formed an obtuse angle with the rearward ships, the flat apex towards Cadiz, so that some of Nelson’s officers thought the enemy had adopted a crescent-formed array. At the moment of contact Collingwood’s division was advancing on a course that formed an acute angle of between forty and fifty degrees with the line and course of the French rear. The result would be that the ships that followed the “Royal Sovereign” were brought opposite ship after ship of the French line and could fall upon them almost simultaneously by a slight alteration of the course. But the French van line lay at a greater angle to the windward attack, and here the British advance was much nearer the perpendicular.

Nelson had in his memorandum forbidden any time being wasted in forming a regular battle-line. The ships were to attack in the order and formation in which they sailed. If the enemy was to leeward (as was the case now), the leeward line, led by Collingwood, was to fall upon his rearward ships. Meanwhile, the windward line, led by the “Victory,” would cut through the enemy just in advance of the centre, and take care that the attack on the rear was not interfered with. Collingwood was given a free hand as to how he did his work. Nelson reminded the captains that in the smoke and confusion of battle set plans were likely to go to pieces, and signals to be unseen, and he left a wide discretion to every one, noting that no captain could do wrong if he laid his ship alongside of the nearest of the enemy. The actual battle was very unlike the diagram in the memorandum, which showed the British fleet steering a course parallel to the enemy up to the actual attack, and some of the captains thought that in the confusion of the fight Nelson and Collingwood had abandoned the plan. But if its letter was not realized, its spirit was acted upon. Nelson had said he intended to produce a melee, a close fight in which the better training and the more rapid and steady fire of the British would tell. It was a novelty that the two admirals each led a line into the fight. The traditional position for a flagship was in the middle of the admiral’s division, with a frigate near her to assist in showing and passing signals along the line. To the French officers it seemed a piece of daring rashness for the flagships to lead the lines, exposing themselves as they closed to the concentrated fire of several ships. “This method of engaging battle,” wrote Gicquel des Touches, an officer of the “Intrépide,” “was contrary to ordinary prudence, for the British ships, reaching us one by one, and at a very slow speed, seemed bound to be overpowered in detail by our superior forces; but Nelson knew his own fleet and ours.” This was, indeed, the secret of it all. He knew the distant fire of the enemy would be all but harmless, and once broadside to broadside, he could depend on crushing his opponents.

This was why he did not trouble about forming a closely arrayed battle-line, but let his ships each make her best speed, disregarding the mere keeping of station and distance, so that though we speak of two lines, Collingwood’s ships trailed out over miles of sea, and Nelson’s seemed to the French to come on in an irregular crowd, the “Victory” in the leading place, having her two nearest consorts not far astern, but one on each quarter, and at times nearly abreast. Every stitch of canvas was spread, the narrow yards being lengthened out with the booms for the studding-sails. Blackwood had been called on board the “Victory” for a while during the advance. Nelson asked him to witness his will, and then talked to him of the coming victory, saying he would not be satisfied with less than twenty prizes. He was cheerful and talked freely, but all the while he carefully watched the enemy’s course and formation, and personally directed the course of his own ship. He meant, as he had said before, to keep the enemy uncertain to the last as to his attack, and as the distance shortened he headed for a while for the enemy’s van before turning for the dash into his centre. Cheerful as he was, he did not expect to survive the fight. He disregarded the request of his friends to give the dangerous post at the head of the line to another ship, and though it was known that the enemy had soldiers on board, and there would be a heavy musketry fire at close quarters, he wore on his admiral’s uniform a glittering array of stars and orders.

To the advancing fleet the five miles of the enemy’s line presented a formidable spectacle. We have the impressions of one of the midshipmen of the “Neptune” in a letter written after the battle, and he tells how

“It was a beautiful sight when their line was completed, their broadsides turned towards us, showing their iron teeth, and now and then trying the range of a shot to ascertain the distance, that they might, the moment we came within point-blank (about 600 yards), open their fire upon our van ships no doubt with the hope of dismasting some of our leading vessels before they could close and break their line. Some of the enemy’s ships were painted like ourselves with double yellow streaks, some with a broad single red or yellow streak, others all black, and the noble Santissima Trinidad with four distinct lines of red, with a white ribbon between them, made her seem to be a superb man-of-war, which, indeed, she was.”

The Spanish flagship was the largest ship afloat at the time, and she towered high above her consorts. It was not the first time Nelson had seen her in battle, for she was in the fleet that he and Jervis defeated twelve years before off Cape St. Vincent.

As the fleets closed the famous signal, “England expects that every man will do his duty!” flew from the “Victory.” At half-past eleven the “Royal Sovereign,” leading the lee line, was within a thousand yards of the enemy, making for a point a little to rearward of his centre, when the “Fougueux,” the ship for which she was heading, fired a first trial shot. Other ships opened fire in succession, and the centre began firing at the “Victory” and her consorts. Not a shot in reply was fired by the British till they were almost upon the allies. In the windward line the “Victory,” already under fire from eight ships of the allied van, began the battle by firing her forward guns on the port side as she turned to attack the French admiral’s flagship, the 100-gun “Bucentaure.”

Just as the “Victory” opened fire, at ten minutes to twelve, Collingwood, in the “Royal Sovereign,” had dashed into the allied line. He passed between the French “Fougueux” and the “Santa Ana,” the flagship of the Spanish Rear-Admiral Alava, sending one broadside crashing into the stern of the flagship, and with the other raking the bows of the Frenchman. “What would not Nelson give to be here!” said Collingwood to his flag-captain. The hearty comradeship of the two admirals is shown by the fact that at that moment Nelson, pointing to the “Royal Sovereign’s” masts towering out of the dense smoke-cloud, exclaimed, “See how that noble fellow, Collingwood, takes his ship into action!”

Swinging round on the inside of the “Santa Ana,” Collingwood engaged her muzzle to muzzle. For a few minutes of fierce fighting he was alone in the midst of a ring of close fire, the “Fougueux” raking him astern, and two Spanish and one French ship firing into his starboard side. The pressure on him decreased as the other ships of his division, coming rapidly into action, closed with ship after ship of the allied rear. Further relief was afforded by Nelson’s impetuous attack on the centre.

He was steering the “Victory” to pass astern of the “Bucentaure.” Captain Lucas, of the “Redoutable,” the next in the line, saw this, and resolved to protect his admiral. He closed up so that his bowsprit was almost over the flagship’s stern, and the “Bucentaure’s” people called out to him not to run into them. The “Victory” then passed astern of the “Redoutable,” raking her with a terribly destructive broadside, and then ranged up alongside of her. Lucas had hoped to board the first ship he encountered. He grappled the English flagship, and while the soldiers in the French tops kept up a hot fire on the upper decks, the broadside guns were blazing muzzle to muzzle below, and a crowd of boarders made gallant but unsuccessful attempts to cross the gap between the two ships, the plucky Frenchmen being everywhere beaten back. The “Redoutable’s” way had been checked, and through the gap between her and the “Bucentaure” came the “Neptune” to engage the French flagship, while the famous “fighting ‘Téméraire,’” which had raced the “Victory” into action, passed astern of the “Redoutable” and closed with the Spanish “San Justo.” Ship after ship of both the British divisions came up, though there were long gaps in the lines. The “Belleisle,” second of Collingwood’s line, was three-quarters of a mile astern of the “Royal Sovereign” when the first shots were fired. It was nearly two hours before the rearmost English ships were engaged.

Meanwhile, the leading eight ships of the French van, commanded by Admiral Dumanoir, in the “Formidable,” after firing at the “Victory” and her immediate consorts, as they came into action, had held on their course, and were steadily drifting away from the battle. In vain Villeneuve signalled to them to engage the enemy. Dumanoir, in a lame explanation that he afterwards wrote, protested that he had no enemy within his reach, and that with the light wind he found it impossible to work back, though he used boats to tow his ships round. The effort appears to have been made only when he had gone so far that he was a mere helpless spectator of the fight, and his most severe condemnation lies in the fact that without his orders two of his captains eventually made their way back into the melee and, though it was too late to fight for victory, fought a desperate fight for the honour of the flag they flew.

Dumanoir’s incompetent selfishness left the centre and rear to be crushed by equal numbers and far superior fighting power. But it was no easy victory. Outmatched as they were, Frenchmen and Spaniards fought with desperate courage and heroic determination. Trafalgar is remembered with pride by all the three nations whose flags flew over its cloud of battle-smoke.

There is no naval battle regarding which we possess so many detailed narratives of those who took part in it on both sides, and it would be easy to compile a long list of stirring incidents and heroic deeds. Though the battle lasted till about five o’clock, it had been practically decided in the first hour. In that space of time many of the enemy’s ships had been disabled, two had been actually taken; and, on the other hand, England had suffered a loss that dimmed the brightness of the victory.

In the first stage of the fight Nelson’s flagship was engaged with the “Redoutable” alone, the two ships locked together. Presently the “Téméraire” closed on the other side of the Frenchman, and the “Victory” found herself in action with a couple of the enemy that came drifting through the smoke on the other side of her, one of them being the giant “Santisima Trinidad.” Before the “Téméraire” engaged her, the “Redoutable” had been fearfully damaged by the steady fire of the “Victory,” and had also lost heavily in repeated attempts to board the English flagship. Only a midshipman and four men succeeded in scrambling on board, and they were at once killed or made prisoners. Captain Lucas, of the “Redoutable,” in the report on the loss of his ship, told how out of a crew of 643 officers and men, sailors and soldiers, three hundred were killed, and more than two hundred badly wounded, including most of the officers; the ship was dismasted, stern-post damaged, and steering gear destroyed, and the stern on fire; she was leaking badly, and most of the pumps had been shot through; most of the lower-deck guns were dismounted, some by collision with the enemy’s sides, some by his fire, and two guns had burst. Both sides of the ship were riddled, in several places two or more ports had been knocked into one, and the after-deck beams had come down, making a huge gap in the upper-deck. The “Redoutable,” already in a desperate condition, became a sinking wreck when the “Téméraire” added her fire to that of the flagship.

But the “Victory” had not inflicted this loss herself unscathed. One of her masts had gone over the side, and there had been heavy loss on her upper decks and in her batteries. The wheel was shot away. Several men had been killed and wounded on the quarter-deck, where Nelson was walking up and down talking to Captain Hardy. One shot strewed the deck with the bodies of eight marines. Another smashed through a boat, and passed between Nelson and Hardy, bruising the latter’s foot, and taking away a shoe-buckle. All the while there came a crackle of musketry from a party of sharpshooters in the mizen-top of the “Redoutable,” only some sixty feet away, and Nelson’s decorations must have made him a tempting target, even if the marksmen did not know who he was.

At twenty minutes past one he was hit in the left shoulder, the bullet plunging downwards and backwards into his body. He fell on his face, and Hardy, turning, saw some of the men picking him up. “They have done for me at last, Hardy,” he said. “I hope not,” said the captain. And Nelson replied: “Yes, my backbone is shot through.” But he showed no agitation, and as the men carried him below he covered his decorations with a handkerchief, lest the crew should notice them and realize that they had lost their chief, and he gave Hardy an order to see that tiller-lines were rigged on the rudder-head, to replace the shattered wheel.

His flag was kept flying, and till the action ended the fleet was not aware of his loss, and looked to the “Victory” for signals as far as the smoke allowed. He had not been ten minutes among the wounded on the lowest deck when the cheers of the crew, following on a sudden lull in the firing, told him that the “Redoutable” had struck her colours.

Twenty minutes later the “Fougueux,” the second prize of the day, was secured. She had come into action with the “Téméraire” while the latter was still engaged with the “Redoutable.” On the surrender of the latter the “Téméraire” was able to concentrate her fire on the “Fougueux.” Mast after mast came down, and the sea was pouring into two huge holes on the water-line when the shattered ship drifted foul of the “Téméraire,” and was grappled by her. Lieutenant Kennedy dashed on board of the Frenchman, at the head of a rush of boarders, cleared her upper decks, hauled down her flag, and took possession of the dismasted ship.

Between two and three o’clock no less than nine ships were taken, five Spanish and four French. Villeneuve’s flagship, the “Bucentaure,” was one of these. She struck a few minutes after two o’clock. At the opening of the battle she had fired four broadsides at the approaching “Victory.” Nelson gave her one shattering broadside in reply at close quarters, as he passed on to attack the “Redoutable.” As this ship’s way was stopped, and a space opened between her and the French flagship, Captain Fremantle brought his three-decker, the “Neptune,” under the “Bucentaure’s” stern, raking her as he passed through the line and ranged up beside her. Then Pellew brought the “Conqueror” into action beside her on the other side, and as chance allowed her guns to bear the “Victory” was at times able to join in the attack. French accounts of the battle tell of the terrible destruction caused on board the “Bucentaure” by this concentrated fire. More than two hundred were hors de combat, most of them killed. Almost every officer and man on the quarter-deck was hit, Villeneuve himself being slightly wounded. The men could hardly stand to the guns, and at last their fire was masked by mast after mast coming down with yards, rigging and sails hanging over the gun muzzles. Villeneuve declared his intention of transferring his flag to another ship, but was told that every boat had been knocked to splinters, and his attendant frigate, which might have helped him in this emergency, had been driven out of the melee. As the last of the masts went over the side at two o’clock, the “Conqueror” ceased firing, and hailed the “Bucentaure” with a summons to surrender. Five minutes later her flag, hoisted on an improvised staff, was taken down, and Captain Atcherley, of the “Conqueror’s” marines, went on board the French flagship, and received the surrender of Admiral Villeneuve, his staff-officer Captain Prigny, Captain Magendie, commanding the ship, and General de Contamine, the officer in command of the 4000 French troops embarked on the fleet.

Next in the line ahead of the “Bucentaure” lay the giant “Santisima Trinidad,” carrying the flag of Rear-Admiral Cisneros. As the fleets closed, she had exchanged fire with her four tiers of guns with several of the British ships. When the melee began she came drifting down into the thick of the fight. For a while she was engaged with the “Victory” in the dense fog of smoke, where so many ships were tearing each other to pieces in the centre. The high-placed guns of the “Trinidad’s” upper tier cut up the “Victory’s” rigging and sent down one of her masts. The English flagship was delivered from the attack of her powerful antagonist by the “Trinidad” drifting clear of her. By this time Fremantle was attacking her with the “Neptune,” supported by the “Colossus.” At half-past one a third ship joined in the close attack on the towering “Trinidad,” which every captain who got anywhere near her was anxious to make his prize. This new ally was the battleship “Africa.” During the night she had run out to the northward of the British fleet. Nelson had signalled to her early in the day to rejoin as soon as possible, but her captain, Digby, needed no pressing. He was crowding sail to join in the battle. He ran down past Dumanoir’s ships of the van squadron, putting a good many shots into them, but receiving no damage from their ill-aimed fire. Then he steered into the thick of the fight, taking for his guide the tall masts of the “Trinidad.” At 1.30 he opened fire on her. At 1.58 all the masts of the “Trinidad” came down together, the enormous mass of spars, rigging, and sails going over her side into the water as she rolled to the swell. She had already lost some four hundred men killed and wounded (Admiral Cisneros was among the latter). Many of her guns had been silenced, and the fall of the masts masked a whole broadside. She now ceased firing and surrendered. In the log of the “Africa” it is noted that Lieutenant Smith was sent with a party to take possession of her. He does not seem to have succeeded in getting on board, for the “Trinidad” drifted with silent guns for at least two hours after, with no prize crew on board. It was at the end of the battle that the “Prince” sent a party to board her and took her in tow.

Another flagship, the three-decker “Santa Ana,” carrying the flag of Rear-Admiral Alava, became the prize of the “Royal Sovereign.” Collingwood had opened the fight by breaking the line astern of her. His raking broadside as he swept past her had put scores of her crew out of action. When he laid his ship alongside of her to leeward, it was evident from the very first that she could not meet the English ship on anything like equal terms. In a quarter of an hour his flag-captain, Rotherham, grasped Collingwood’s hand, saying: “I congratulate you, sir. Her fire is slackening, and she must soon strike.” But the “Santa Ana” fought to the last, till only a single gun, now here, now there, answered the steady, pounding fire of the “Royal Sovereign’s” broadside. At 2.30 her colours came down. Collingwood told his lieutenant to send the Spanish admiral on board his own ship, but word was sent back that Alava was too badly wounded to be moved. More than four hundred of the “Santa Ana’s” crew had been killed and wounded.

The “Tonnant,” third ship in Collingwood’s line, and one of the prizes taken in the Battle of the Nile, captured another flagship, that of the gallant Rear-Admiral Magon, the “Algeciras.” As the “Tonnant” went through the allied line, after exchanging fire with the “Fougueux” and the “Monarca,” the “Algeciras” raked her astern, killing some forty men. The “Tonnant” then swung round and engaged the “Algeciras,” and was crossing her bows when Magon, trying to run his ship alongside her, to board, entangled his bowsprit in the main rigging of the English ship. She was thus held fast with only a few forward guns bearing, while most of the broadside of the “Tonnant” was raking her. From the foretop of the “Algeciras” a party of marksmen fired down on the English decks and wounded Captain Tyler badly. Admiral Magon, in person, tried to lead a strong body of boarders over his bows into the English ship. Mortally wounded, he was carried aft, and of his men only one set foot on the “Tonnant.” This man was at once stabbed with a pike, and would have been killed if an officer had not rescued him.

The ships lay so close that the flashes of the “Tonnant’s” guns set fire to the bows of the “Algeciras,” and the flames spread to both ships. A couple of British sailors dragged the fire-hose over the hammock-nettings, and while the guns were still in action they worked to keep down and extinguish the flames. One by one the masts of the “Algeciras” went into the sea, carrying the unfortunate soldiers in the tops with them. In a little more than half an hour she lost 436 men, including most of her officers. Her position was hopeless, and at last she struck her colours. The prize crew that boarded her found Magon lying dead on the deck, with his captain, badly wounded, beside him.

The “Bellerophon” (famous for her fight at the Nile, adding to her record of hard fighting to-day, and destined to be the ship that was to receive the conqueror of Europe as a prisoner) followed the “Tonnant” into action, and found herself engaged with the Spanish “Monarca” on one side, and the French “Aigle” on the other. She came in collision with the “Aigle,” and their yards locked together. The “Bellerophon’s” rigging was cut to pieces; two of her masts were carried away, and numbers of her crew were struck down, her captain being wounded early in the day. A little after half-past one the “Aigle” drifted clear, and was engaged by, and in half an hour forced to strike to, the “Defiance.” Meanwhile the “Bellerophon” was hard at work with two Spanish ships, the “Monarca” and the “Bahama,” and so effectually battered them that at three o’clock the former was a prize, and the other surrendered half an hour later.

The “Tonnant,” after her capture of Magon’s ship, shared in the victory over another brave opponent, Commodore Churucca, and his ship, the “San Juan Nepomuceno.” Churucca was the youngest flag-officer in the Spanish navy. He had won a European reputation by explorations in the Pacific and on the South American coasts. Keen in his profession, recklessly courageous, deeply religious, he was an ideal hero of the Spanish navy, in which he is still remembered as “El Gran Churucca,” the “great Churucca,” who “died like the Cid.” He had no illusions, but told his friends he was going to defeat and death, and he knew that when he left Cadiz he was bidding a last farewell to the young wife he had lately married.

“The French admiral does not know his business,” he said to his first lieutenant, as he watched the van division holding its course, while the two English lines rushed to the attack. As the English closed with the Spanish rear, Churucca’s ship came into close action with the “Defiance,” and was then attacked in succession by the “Dreadnought” and the “Tonnant.” The “San Juan” fought till half her men were hors de combat, several guns dismounted, and two of the masts down. As long as Churucca lived the unequal fight was maintained. For a while he seemed to have a charmed life, as he passed from point to point, encouraging his men. He was returning to his quarter-deck, when a ball shattered one of his legs. “It is nothing keep on firing,” he said, and at first he refused to leave the deck, lying on the planking, with the shattered limb roughly bandaged. He sent for his second in command, and was told he had just been killed. Another officer, though wounded, took over the active command when at last Churucca, nearly dead from loss of blood, was carried below. He gave a last message for his wife, sent a final order that the ship should be fought till she sank, and then said he must think only of God and the other world. As he expired the “San Juan” gave up the hopeless fight. The three ships all claimed her as their prize, but it was the “Dreadnought” that took possession.

The French “Swiftsure,” once English, was won back by the “Colossus,” after a fight in which the “Orion” helped for a while. With her capture one-third of the enemy’s whole force, including several flagships, was in English hands. The victory was won; it was now only a question of making it more and more complete.

Shortly after three o’clock the Spanish 80-gun ship “Argonauta” struck to the “Belleisle,” which had been aided in her attack by the English “Swiftsure.” A few minutes later the “Leviathan” took another big Spaniard, the “San Agustino,” carrying her with a rush of boarders. It was about four o’clock that, after an hour of hard fighting, the “San Ildefonso” hauled down her colours to the “Defence.” About this time the French “Achille” was seen to be ablaze and ceased firing. In the earlier stages of the fight she had been engaged successively with the “Polyphemus,” “Defiance,” and “Swiftsure.” Her captain and several of her officers and nearly 400 men had been killed and wounded when she was brought to close action by the “Prince.” Her fore-rigging caught fire, and the mast coming down across the decks started a blaze in several places, and the men, driven from the upper deck by the English fire, had to abandon their attempts to save their ship. She was well alight when at last she struck her colours, and the “Prince,” aided by the little brig “Pickle,” set to work to save the survivors of her crew. She blew up after the battle. The “Berwick” was another ship taken before four o’clock, but I cannot trace the details of her capture.

While the battle still raged fiercely, Admiral Dumanoir, in the “Formidable,” was steering away to the north-westward, followed by the “Mont Blanc,” “Duguay-Trouin,” and “Scipion.” But two ships of his division, the “Neptuno” and the “Intrépide,” had disregarded his orders, and turned back to join in the fight, working the ships’ heads round by towing them with boats. The “Intrépide” led. Her captain, Infernet, was a rough Provencal sailor, who had fought his way from the forecastle to the quarter-deck. Indignant at Dumanoir’s conduct, he had early in the battle given orders to steer for the thickest of it. “Lou capo sur lou ’Bucentaure’!” ("Head her for the ’Bucentaure’!”) he shouted in his native patois. He arrived too late to fight for victory, but he fought for the honour of his flag. After engaging several British ships, Infernet struck to the “Orion.” An officer of the “Conqueror” (which had taken part in the fight with the “Intrépide”) wrote: “Her captain surrendered after one of the most gallant defences I ever witnessed. His name was Infernet, and it deserves to be recorded by all who admire true heroism. The ‘Intrépide’ was the last ship that struck her colours.” The Spanish ship that had followed the “Intrépide” into action, the 80-gun “Neptuno,” had shortly before been forced to strike to the “Minotaur” and the “Spartiate,” another of the prizes of Aboukir Bay.

Before these last two surrenders completed the long list of captured ships, Nelson had passed away. The story of his death in the cockpit of the “Victory” is too well known to need repetition. Before he died the cheers of his crew and the messages brought to him had told him of capture after capture, and assured him that his triumph was complete. As the firing ceased, Collingwood took over the command of the fleet, and transferred his flag from his own shattered and dismasted ship, the “Royal Sovereign,” to Blackwood’s smart frigate, the “Euryalus.”

When the “Intrépide” struck, seventeen ships of the allied fleet had been taken, one, the “Achille,” was in a blaze, and soon to blow up; four were in flight far away to the north-west, eleven were making for Cadiz, all bearing the marks of hard hitting during the fight. Some desultory firing at the nearest fugitives ended the battle. Crowds on the breakwater of Cadiz and the nearest beaches had watched all the afternoon the great bank of smoke on the horizon, and listened to the rumbling thunder of the cannonade. After sunset ship after ship came in, bringing news of disaster, and all the night wounded men were being conveyed to the hospitals.

More than half the allied fleet had been taken or destroyed. The four ships that escaped with Dumanoir were captured a few days later by a squadron under Sir Richard Strachan. The French ships that escaped into Cadiz were taken possession of by the Spanish insurgents, when Spain rose against the French, and Cadiz joined the revolt.

As the battle ended, the British fleet was, to use the expression of the “Neptune’s” log, “in all directions.” The sun was going down; the sky was overcast, and the rising swell and increasing wind told of the coming storm. Most of the prizes had been dismasted; many of them were leaking badly; some of the ships that had taken them were in almost as damaged a condition, and many of them were short-handed, with heavy losses in battle and detachments sent on board the captured vessels. The crews were busy clearing the decks, getting up improvised jury masts, and repairing the badly cut-up rigging, where the masts still stood. Nelson’s final order had been to anchor to ride out the expected gale. Collingwood doubted if this would be safer than trying to make Gibraltar, and he busied himself getting the scattered fleet and prizes together, and tacking to the south-westward.

The gale that swept all the coasts of Western Europe caught the disabled fleet with the hostile shore under its lee. Only four of the prizes, and those the poorest ships of the lot, ever saw Gibraltar. Ship after ship went down, others were abandoned and burnt, others drove ashore. In these last instances the British prize crews were rescued and kindly treated by the Spanish coast population. One ship, the “Algeciras,” was retaken by the French prisoners, and carried into Cadiz. Another, the big “Santa Ana,” was recaptured as she drifted helplessly off the port.

But though there were few trophies left after the great storm, Trafalgar had finally broken the naval power of Napoleon, freed England from all fear of invasion, and given her the undisputed empire of the sea. Yet there were only half-hearted rejoicings at home. The loss of Nelson seemed a dear price to pay even for such a victory.

Some 2500 men were killed and wounded in the victorious fleet. Of the losses of the Allies it is difficult to give an estimate. Every ship that was closely engaged suffered severely, and hundreds of wounded went down in several of those that sank in the storm. For weeks after search-parties, riding along the shores from Cadiz to Cape Trafalgar gathered every day a grim harvest of corpses drifted to land by the Atlantic tides. The allied loss was at least 7000 men, and may have been considerably greater.

The news came to England, just after something like a panic had been caused by the tidings of the surrender of a whole Austrian army at Ulm. It reached Napoleon in the midst of his triumphs, to warn him that his power was bounded by the seas that washed the shores of the Continent. Well did Meredith say that in his last great fight Nelson “drove the smoke of Trafalgar to darken the blaze of Austerlitz.”