Nelson: The Essential Hero (49 page)

Encouraged by this first encounter, he planned an elaborate raid on Boulogne, to be carried out in a surprise assault by boats in the small hours of the morning. It was Santa Cruz de Tenerife all over again. If the Spaniards on that occasion had not been expected to put up much of a resistance, what did he expect of the French, in the flower of military self-confidence and masters of the Continent? The raid proved a costly failure. Despite covering fire from mortars and gun-vessels, this forerunner of a commando raid in the style of the Second World War did little more than anticipate, though in a smaller way, the twentieth-century disaster of Dieppe. Twelve British boats were lost, no French craft sunk or taken, and 44 of his men were killed and 128 wounded. ‘I am sorry to tell you, he wrote to St Vincent, ‘that I have not succeeded in bringing out or destroying the Enemy’s Flotilla moored in the mouth of the harbour of Boulogne.’ He praised the bravery of his men and - rightly - took the blame entirely upon himself. ‘All behaved well, and it was their misfortune to be sent on a service which the precautions of the enemy rendered impossible.’ He had already come to the conclusion (which proved to be quite accurate) that the invasion scare had been over-emphasised. Peace was in the air and Bonaparte, however much he may at one time have thought invasion feasible, had changed his mind. In any case, all his preparations, and the sight of the Grand Army that had conquered all others in Europe encamped opposite Britain across those narrow seas, had sufficiently alarmed the British politicians to desire the peace that Napoleon now sought.

While Nelson was planning yet another attempt upon Boulogne, he received instructions from the Admiralty that on no account should any further hostile action at sea be made against France. Addington and his colleagues had come to the conclusion that a peace treaty should be signed - something which was finally ratified on 25 March 1802, and which occasioned Nelson’s anger, as well as his accurate diagnosis of the future. Whatever the politicians might think, the sailor knew well enough that a France under Napoleon could never be trusted : ‘We have made peace with the French despotism, and we will, I hope, adhere to it whilst the French continue in due bounds; but whenever they overstep that and usurp a power that would degrade Europe, then I trust we shall trust Europe in crushing her ambition. . . .’ Meanwhile inactive, not ‘in a foreign court’ but on his own shores, he had much else to distress him. His aide-de-camp Edward Parker, whom he had come to love like a son, had had a thigh shattered in the ill-judged attempt against Boulogne, and died of his wounds. Nelson had also come to consider that his old and tried friend Troubridge, now ‘one of my Lords and Masters’ at the Admiralty, was against him. The latter had written to him with the advice that he should take long healthy walks ashore and wear flannel vests - fine words to a man who was permanently seasick aboard a small ship like a frigate, whose one good eye was failing him, who suffered from chronic toothache, and who was without a right arm. The fact was that Troubridge, like so many others among his real friends, was prepared to do almost anything to stop Nelson from resuming his relationship with Emma Hamilton.

This was something that was beyond all their powers to prevent. Even before the peace was signed, when the Admiralty would not grant him any leave - even though he was fulfilling no useful function - the Hamiltons had come down to stay in Deal, and the
tria juncta in uno
were reunited for a fortnight. When they left, however, to return to London, Nelson was completely desolate and in a letter to Emma which was addressed to ‘Mrs Thomson, care of Lady Hamilton’ he wrote: ‘My dearest wife, how can I bear our separation ? Good God, what a change! I am so low I cannot hold up my head. When I reflect on the many happy scenes we have passed together, the being separated is terrible, but better times
will
come,
shall
come if it pleases God. And to make one worse, the fate of poor Parker! But God’s will be done. Love my Horatia, and prepare for me the farm. . . .’

This reference was to the house at Merton, which could hardly have been referred to as a ‘farm’, but Nelson still persisted in writing, if not indeed in thinking, in simple country terms. Merton Place was in fact a gentleman’s residence even if rather small, built about a century earlier. It was one hour’s drive from Hyde Park, and had pleasant grounds that included a moat and a pond, where he and Sir William later intended to fish. It had cost Nelson £9,000, a considerable sum in those days and one which Nelson could ill afford. It was his friend and prize agent Alexander Davison who helped to make the purchase possible and Nelson wrote expressing his thanks in a letter of 14 September 1801. He went on to say:

It is true, it will take every farthing I have in the world, and leave me in your debt . . . but I hope in a little time to be able at least to pay my debts. Should I really want your help, and now that I have enough in the world to pay you, I shall ask no one else. The Baltic expedition cost me full £2,000. Since I left London it has cost me, for Nelson cannot be like others, near £1,000 in six weeks. If I am continued here, ruin to my finances must be the consequence, for everyone knows that Lord Nelson is
amazingly rich
!

The fact was that at no time in his life had he been lucky with prize money (something that had been the good fortune of other far less distinguished sea-officers). His numerous sea engagements, his two great victories even, had yielded little, yet in the fashion of the time he was still expected to live as befitted a great admiral, England’s hero, and a Lord. In the matter of Merton Place he was determined that the property should be entirely his. He could not bring himself to ask for any money from Sir William, and he wanted no money at all from the Hamiltons, even though they were to live at Merton along with him. At his station off the Downs, seasick and very low in health and spirits, he envisaged this fitting home which his beloved Emma was preparing for him and where he could retire and leave the sea for ever.

On 16 October Sir William wrote him a letter from Merton which must have cheered the Admiral’s heart:

We have now inhabited your Lordship’s premises some days, & I can now speak with some certainty. I have lived with our dear Emma several years. I know her merit, have a great opinion of the head and heart that God Almighty has been pleased to give her; but a seaman alone could have given a fine woman full power to chuse & fit up a residence for him without seeing it for himself. You are in luck, for in my conscience I verily believe that a place so suitable to your views could not be found. . . . The proximity to the capital, and the perfect retirement of this place are, for your Lordship, two points beyond estimation; but the house is so comfortable, the furniture clean and good, and I never saw so many conveniences united in so small a compass. You have nothing but to come and enjoy immediately; you have a good mile of pleasant dry walk around your own farm. It would make you laugh to see Emma & her mother fitting up pig-sties and hen-coops, & already the Canal is enlivened with ducks, & the cock is strutting with his hen about the walks.

It was to this idyllic world that Nelson finally came on 23 October 1801, having at last been given leave by St Vincent. (His flag, in fact, continued to fly until April of the following year, but to all intents and purposes he was no longer required to remain in command of that ‘Squadron on a Particular Service’ whose purpose was at an end now that the threatened invasion seemed to be over.) Nelson’s real delight in Merton and its surrounds exceeded even his dreams. Here, for a year and a half, he was to live a life of peace and tranquillity such as he had not known since all those years ago at Burnham Thorpe. But then he had been no more than a captain on half-pay - and then he had been with Fanny. Now he was with the great love of his life, he could regularly visit his daughter in London, and he still enjoyed the company of his mistress’s husband with whom he could go fishing. Sir William was long used to accepting the position with equanimity, though at times Emma’s extravagances upset him. But, taken all in all, this strange menage seems to have co-existed extremely happily. It was ironical perhaps, if no more, that Nelson and the Hamiltons regularly attended the local church for Sunday services. Earlier he had written: ‘Have we a nice church at Merton? We will set an example of goodness to the underparishioners. . . .’

But not all who visited Nelson during this period of his life were as prepared to tolerate the irregularity of the situation, nor even to admire the house that Emma had furnished for her lover. Lord Minto, who had met them together in Vienna and whose personal friendship for Nelson had never slackened over the years, wrote to his wife after a visit in March 1802 :

The whole establishment and way of life are such as to make me angry, as well as melancholy; but I cannot alter it, and I do not think myself obliged, or at liberty, to quarrel with him for his weakness, though nothing shall ever induce me to give the smallest countenance to Lady Hamilton. She looks ultimately to the chance of marriage, as Sir William will not be long in her way, and she probably indulges a hope that she may survive Lady Nelson. . . . She is in high looks, but more immense than ever. The love she makes to Nelson is not only ridiculous, but disgusting: not only the rooms, but the whole house, staircase and all, are covered with nothing but pictures of her and him, of all sizes and sorts, and representations of his naval actions, coats-of-arms, pieces of plate in his honour, the flagstaff of
L'Orient
, &c. - an excess of vanity which counteracts its own purpose.

The fact was that Nelson, like many great men, was without a sense of humour. He could in no way see that all this paraphernalia by which he was surrounded at Merton made him painfully absurd in the eyes of the world, and particularly in the eyes of his friends.

George Matcham, his nephew, later came to Nelson’s defence, though admitting to ‘his one great error’, in an account which describes the man himself as living unostentatiously, enjoying quiet conversation, and ‘so far from being the hero of his own tale, I never heard him voluntarily refer to any of the great actions of his life’. The daughter of the Vicar of Merton also later confirmed that: ‘His residence at Merton was a continued course of charity and goodness, setting such an example of propriety and regularity that there are few who could not be benefited by following it.’ All men are strange mixtures and contradictions, and it would be surprising if Nelson had been any exception to this rule. It was only in his treatment of his wife Fanny that he could be definitely faulted, and in his cruelty to her one senses his own deep feelings of guilt being transferred upon the guiltless. Those who liked and respected his wife could never forgive or forget his treatment of her, and accordingly they could never see any good in Emma. Sir William, the other injured party, had long expected - and now long accepted - that with increasing age he would be supplanted in Emma’s affections. He wrote to her in the last year of his life what amounts to a mild directive, pointing out that he sought peace and quiet, whereas she was always filling the house with visitors and giving large dinner parties. With the polished euphemistic manner of an eighteenth-century gentleman he stated that he well knew ‘the purity of Ld. N’s friendship for Emma’, but he also pointed out that if she was going to persist in having altercations with him (Sir William), then a separation would really be necessary. He concluded, ‘But I think, considering the probability of my not troubling any party long in this world, the best for us all would be to bear those ills we have rather than flie to those we know not of. ... I know and admire your talents and many excellent qualities, but I am not blind to your defects, and confess having many myself; therefore let us bear and forbear for God’s sake.’

While the rest of Nelson’s relations had long since deserted Fanny and made their cause with her successor, the Reverend Edmund had constantly regretted his son’s treatment of his wife. Fanny had always been good to him, had looked after him as if he had been her own father, and in his simplicity of mind he could not understand how Nelson could have come to have abandoned her. But even he, in the end, was almost on the point of joining Nelson at Merton, Emma prevailing upon him how well looked after he would be, and how he would have a companion in Sir William. While he was still hesitating during the winter of 1801 at Bath, where he still went to escape the rigours of the winter, he fell seriously ill and died in the following April. It might have been expected that Nelson would at least attend the funeral of his father, a man whose old-fashioned and upright character had been a model of what a clergyman’s should be, but he declined. His own ill-health was given as a reason, but it is more likely that he could not bear to meet Fanny, who would certainly be in attendance. The double reproach of meeting his wife at the grave of his seventy-nine-year-old father (whose principles he had betrayed) was more than he could contemplate. In his last letter to his son, written in the March of that year, the Reverend Edmund had said : ‘Amongst many other may your lott be cast where there is not only a goodly Heritage but also abundance of internal
peace
such as you have never yet enjoyed much of, but are now of age to enjoy.’

On
6
April
1803, Nelson wrote to Alexander Davison: ‘Our dear Sir William died at ten minutes past ten, this morning, in Lady Hamilton’s and my arms, without a sigh or a struggle. Poor Lady Hamilton is, as you may expect, desolate. I hope she will be left properly, but I doubt.’ The last remark was an unfair reflection on Sir William. He left Emma three hundred pounds to be paid immediately after his death, a hundred to her mother, and an annuity of eight hundred pounds which was to be paid to Emma quarterly, the sum of one hundred pounds again being assigned to Mrs Gadogan during her lifetime. Charles Greville received the residue of the estate. A special codicil mentioned Nelson : ‘The copy of Madame Le Brun’s picture of Emma, in enamel, by Bone, I give to my dearest friend Lord Nelson, Duke of Bronte, a very small token of the great regard I have for his Lordship, the most virtuous, loyal, and truly brave character I ever met with. God bless him, and shame fall on those who do not say Amen.’ The
tria juncta in uno
was finally and forever at an end. Within a month of Sir William’s death Nelson had also left the happy territory of Merton. He had been appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean fleet. Emma, who was again pregnant, was in London.