was the guiding spirit of his remaining days: and whatever impressions
we may have forced upon us of the liaisons of this noxious creature,
there is nothing on record that suggests that he was ever unfaithful
to her after the bond of union was made. Nor does he appear to have
been openly charged with illicit intimacy with other women after his
marriage to Mrs. Nisbet, other than with Lady Hamilton.

We may talk of his wonderful career being morally blunted, but his own
belief in the sanctity of the verbal arrangement was sound to the
core, and he hazarded the opprobrium of our stern conventional
system. To him, Lady Hamilton had an enduring charm which influenced
his wild, weak, generous soul, and was in fact an inspiration to him.
It is a truism that the life-story of all men has its tragedy and
romance, and in this, Nelson's was only similar to others; and who can
help loving his memory?

The Hamiltons lived with him at Merton when he was on leave. They
shared the cost of the home, which Lady Hamilton had, with elaborate,
artistic taste, prepared for him. A document written by Sir William
makes it clear that the relations of man and wife were strained at
times to breaking-point, for, as he states, "I am old and she in the
beauty and vigour of youth"; and then he proceeds: "I have no
complaint to make, but I feel that the whole attention of my wife is
given to Lord Nelson and his interest at Merton." Obviously, this is
the old gentleman's dull way of expressing his idea that there was a
gamble going on with the marriage vow, and then, with delightful
simplicity, he nullifies his suspicious thoughts by stating that he
well knows the purity of Lord Nelson's friendship for Emma and himself
and that he knows how uncomfortable it would make his Lordship, our
best friend, if a separation should take place; therefore he was
determined to do all in his power to prevent such an extremity, which
would be essentially detrimental to all parties, but would be more
sensibly felt by "_our dear friend than by us_."[3] He is willing to
go on provided the expenses do not go on increasing, but as he cannot
expect to live many years, every moment is precious to him, and hopes
that he may be allowed to be his own master _and pass his time in his
own way_.[4] He continues: "I am fully determined not to have any more
silly altercations that too often arise between us, and embitter his
present moments exceedingly. If we cannot live comfortably together,"
he continues, "a wise and well-concerted separation would be
preferable." He says he knows and admires her talents and many
excellent qualities, but _he is not blind to her defects_,[5] and
confesses to having many himself, and pleads "for God's sake to bear
and forbear."

Throughout this pathetic document we find evidences that his heart was
torn with the consciousness of the mean advantage being taken of his
friendship. There is a droll, vacillating belief in the virtue of his
wife and the purity of Nelson's motives, but every sentence indicates
that his instinct led him to believe that another had taken his place.
It may have been that he saw it dimly, and that he shrank from making
any direct accusation, not wishing to break with the man with whom he
had long been on close terms of friendship. It is highly improbable
that either his own or Emma's past histories escaped his memory when
he was penning his grievances. Indeed, there are evidences gleaming
through his memorandum that his reflections were harassed by the
remembrance of his own conduct, which had plunged to epic depths of
wrongdoing in other days. These and other considerations would
doubtless have a restraining effect on the action that might have been
taken under different circumstances. Sir William Hamilton must have
pondered over the parentage of Horatia, who was born on the 29th
January, 1801. Is it possible that he knew that Nelson was her father,
and believed in the purity of his friendship for Emma and himself? I
think everything goes to prove that he knew of his friend's relations
with his wife and condoned it. Nelson, in his clumsy, transparent way,
tried to conceal the origin of the child, so he proceeds to write a
letter to Lady Hamilton, which I shall quote later on. To say that Sir
William Hamilton, a man of the world with vast experience of human
deceptions and intrigues, could have been put off the scent, in view
of all the circumstances, is too great a tax on credulity, but it is
wholly characteristic of Nelson's ideas of mystification. But even if
there were any further proof needed, Lady Hamilton has settled the
matter by preserving the correspondence Nelson urged her to destroy.
This will be referred to later on.

Meanwhile, it is hardly thinkable that Nelson, who had such a high
sense of honour in other affairs of life, and who had accepted the
hospitality and been the honoured guest of Sir William Hamilton at
Naples, should have made the occasion an opportunity of establishing
illicit relations with his wife. The whole matter must ever remain a
blot on the great Admiral's fame, even though his host appeared to, or
really did, connive at it. The price was too high to pay for both of
them.

The following extract from a letter from Lord Minto to his wife
indicates the mode of life of the family party. He says:

    I went to Lord Nelson's (Merton) on Saturday. The whole
    establishment and way of life makes me angry as well as
    melancholy. I do not think myself obliged 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.
    She goes on cramming Nelson with trowels of flattery, which he
    takes as quietly as a child does pap. The love she makes to him
    is ridiculous and disgusting. The whole house, staircase and
    all, are covered with pictures of her and him of all sorts and
    sizes. He is represented in naval actions, coats of arms, pieces
    of plate in his honour, the flagstaff of _L'Orient_. If it were
    Lady Hamilton's house, there might be pretence for it; but to
    make his own a mere looking-glass to view himself all day is bad
    taste.

This letter was written on the 22nd March, 1802, and Nelson writes
that Sir William Hamilton died in his arms and in Lady Hamilton's on
the 6th April, 1803, passing on "without a struggle, and that the
world had never lost a more upright and accomplished gentleman";[5]
which, be it said, is rather a stagey performance of his wife's lover.
But the mistress excels her lover in the record of the death-bed
drama. "Unhappy day," says she in profusion of tears, "for the forlorn
Emma. Ten minutes past ten dear beloved Sir William left me." Emma was
poorly provided for; only £700 a year jointure and £100 a year for her
mother for life. She and Nelson appealed to Lord Minto to urge on Mr.
Addington her claim for a pension, and she vowed to Minto that her
connection with Nelson was pure, and he says he can believe it, which
is hardly consistent with the description he gives his wife as to
"their open and disgusting proceedings," or with his comments on a
visit paid to the Duke of Marlborough at Blenheim, where the Duke had
treated the gallant naval chief and his party as though they were mere
ordinary trippers who had come to see the wonders of his possessions.
He condescendingly ordered refreshments to be given to them, which
sent Nelson into a fury of indignation, and Minto excuses the Duke by
stating that Nelson persuaded himself that all the world should be
blind because he chose to extol Emma's "virtues." Obviously, Minto was
not firmly convinced of her chastity.

Nelson, with his heart full of blind adoration, had quite a simple,
sailorly conviction that no one ought to question the innocence of his
attachment to Emma, since he called Hamilton her "Uncle"; and, because
he wished the public to believe in his innocence, he took it for
granted that they would believe it. The Duke of Marlborough evidently
had heard and believed in the impure tale, but that did not justify
him in treating his noble guest and his friends in the snobbish and
ill-mannered way he did. It is hardly likely that Nelson would have
paid the visit without being asked, and in ordinary decency he should
have been received or not asked at all. He was a greater figure and
public servant than the Duke, and His Grace would not have suffered in
dignity had he met Nelson on terms of equality. He could not have done
less, at all events. On the other hand, the great Admiral showed a
peevishness at the treatment which was unworthy of his fame and
position; he could well afford to ignore the affront, more especially
as he prided himself that the lady the Duke took exception to was "in
the sight of Heaven his wife," and no one had any right to question
his choice.

The views held by Hamilton and recorded in various conflicting
versions give the impression that he was puzzled, and could not
determine whether to believe in the fidelity of Nelson or not. Some
writers think that he winked at the liaison because of the difference
between his own age and that of his wife; others, that he thought the
relations were innocent, and a token of high-spirited friendship for
himself; but all delicately indicate their conviction that he knew
what was going on. Meanwhile, Nelson steadfastly avows his unyielding
fidelity to his friends, and, with this exception, I think we may
conclude that his devotion to them could always be relied upon;
indeed, his attachment to Hamilton was of an affectionate character,
even when many people believed he was betraying him. Whether Sir
William knew and believed that the association between his wife and
Nelson was pure or not,[6] he evidently desired that no one else
should believe it, for in a codicil to his will he bequeaths "The copy
of Madam Le Brun's picture of his wife in enamel, and gives to his
dearest friend, Nelson, a very small token of the great regard he has
for his Lordship, the most virtuous, loyal, and truly brave character
I ever met with." Then he finishes up with God's blessing to him and
shame to those who do not say "Amen." This is a wonderful testimony of
friendship from a man who had been wronged, and might well have shaken
the belief of those who founded their opinions on the startling
improprieties they had beheld between the man whom he designated "the
most virtuous, loyal, and truly brave character he had ever met with"
and his wife. That Sir William connived at what looked uncommonly like
infidelity may or may not be doubtful, but that he saw more than would
have impressed an ordinary man or woman with suspicion is
unquestionable, and the best that can be said for his attitude is that
he was so mentally constituted that he could only see or preferred to
see in Nelson's extravagant attentions to his wife a guileless symbol
of high friendship for her, which he took as a compliment to himself.
On the other hand, if he not only suspected but knew that he was being
betrayed, and bitterly resented the passion which no remonstrances
from him could have controlled, he at any rate determined to let the
world see "how a Christian could die," and refrained from uttering the
unutterable. Napoleon on the rock at St. Helena acted in the same
magnanimous way towards the adulterous Marie Louise, of whose
faithlessness he also unguardedly let slip his opinion.

It is an odious habit, but we are apt to believe, without any reserve,
disparaging stories, that may or may not be true, concerning men of
distinction, and the more prominent the man or woman, the more
viciously the scandal-mongers pursue their contemptible occupation.
These vermin invariably belong to a class of industrious mediocrities
who have been born with a mental kink, and their treachery, falsehood,
and cowardice are incurable. They are merely hurtful creatures who
spoil the earth, and are to be found dolefully chattering about what
they conceive to be other men's and women's lapses from the paths of
stern virtue. Their plan of life is to defame other people, and by
this means proclaim their own superiority over other weak mortals.
Give the unsexed woman a chance, and she will let fly with
unrestrained industry. How many innocent people have had their names
dragged into the public gaze by this vice! The report may arise from
professional or political jealousy, and may grow into incredible
accusations of immorality. Who can estimate the suffering caused to
Lord Melbourne, the then Prime Minister, and to his relatives and
friends, and even to some of his political opponents, and to the Hon.
Mrs. Norton, one of Sheridan's beautiful daughters (who was the wife
of as unscrupulous a scamp as was ever permitted to live), by the
engineering of an accusation of infidelity that forced the Prime
Minister and Mrs. Norton into the Courts to defend themselves against
what was proved to be a malicious and unfounded story? The plaintiff's
case, resting as it did upon a tissue of fabricated evidence, takes a
fine place in history because of the judge's impartiality and
sagacious charge, and the verdict of the jury for the defendants which
was received with tumultuous cheers, characterized by the judge as
"disgraceful in a court of justice." His Lordship's remonstrance was
futile, and again and again the cheers were given, both in the court
and outside, where the wildest enthusiasm prevailed. No one who took
part in this disgraceful action came out of it with a higher
reputation than Sir John Campbell, who acted for Melbourne. His
entrance to the House of Commons that night was the occasion of an
outburst of delirious cheering, the like of which had never been
witnessed in the House. "The Tories" are said to have "affected to
cheer." I give this as a notable case whereby two innocent people were
threatened with ruin and disgrace by the poisonous slander circulated
for both private and political ends and fostered by the worthless
husband of a virtuous and amiable woman.

It is common knowledge that Nelson and Sir William Hamilton were
assailed by the same stinging wasps as Melbourne and Mrs. Norton (if
it be proper to make a comparison), but they were different types of
men living in a different atmosphere and under different
circumstances. It is true that Nelson had scruples about the unwisdom
of his unconventional connection with Lady Hamilton, and, big-hearted
fellow that he was, he would have struggled hard to avoid giving pain
to his relations and friends; and who knows that he did not? For
though his actions may belie that impression, his whole attitude was
reckless, silly, and whimsical. To whatever extent he may have had
scruples, he certainly did not possess the faculty of holding his
inclinations in check. Indeed, he made no secret of the idea that
"every man became a bachelor after passing the Rock of Gibraltar," and
in this notion he carried out the orthodoxy of the old-time sailor.

He disliked marriage and loved glory, and being a popular hero, he was
forgiven all his amorous sins, which were by many looked upon as being
part of his heroism. His laughable efforts to obscure the facts might
have satisfied those who wished to rely on Hamilton's benedictory
absolution, had not Nelson and Emma, as I have already said, left
behind them incriminating letters and documents which leave no doubt
as to what they were to each other. The great Admiral industriously
destroyed much of the massive correspondence, but had overlooked some
of the hidden treasures. Lady Hamilton promised to destroy all hers,
but failed to do so. Hence the documentary proof written by his own
hand and that of Emma's cancels Nelson's childish device to throw a
too critical public off the scent.

Nelson was alternately weak, nervous, careless, and defiant in his
attitude in regard to public opinion concerning his private life. He
at one time asserted the right of living in any way he might choose,
and resented the criticism of a few cackling busybodies, even though
it was not in accordance with the views of the late Mr. Edward Cocker.
It was his affair, and if his ideas differed from those of his
critics, it was no business of theirs. His independence in this, as
well as in the practical concerns of his profession, coincided with
the opinions held by Sandy Mackay in "Alton Locke," who declared that
he would "never bow down to a bit of brains." But these independent
views alternated with weaker ones. He was as indiscreetly lavish with
his love as he was with his money; at one time he would contemptuously
defy the poisoned arrows that were darted at him, and when beset by
the sullen storm-cloud of scandal, he let fly with red-hot courage and
audaciously upheld his honour: at another time he was timid,
vacillating, and ridiculous in his attempts to avert the public eye
from his love affair and its consequence. People who knew him
intimately were aware that Horatia was his daughter, and in order to
throw them off their guard he proceeded to invent a cock-and-bull
story of how he came by the child. Here is his letter to Lady Hamilton
written in the middle of 1804: "I am now going to state a thing to
you and to request your kind assistance which, from my dear Emma's
goodness of heart, I am sure of her acquiescence in. Before we left
Italy, I told you of the extraordinary circumstances of a child being
left to my care and protection. On your first coming to England, I
presented you the child, dear Horatia. You became, to my comfort,
attached to it, so did Sir William, thinking her the finest child he
had ever seen. She is become of that age when it is necessary to
remove her from a mere nurse, and to think of educating her. I am now
anxious for the child's being placed under your protecting wing"; a
clumsy, transparent piece of foolery, which at once confirms its
intention to mislead! But we are saved the trouble of interpretation,
for the father goes on to write on another piece of note-paper, "My
beloved, how I feel for your situation and that of our dear Horatia,
our dear child." It is almost incredible that Nelson could have
written such a silly fabrication. In the early part of 1804, Emma gave
birth to another child, of which he believed himself to be the father.
He asked the mother to call _him_ what she pleased (evidently he hoped
and expected a boy), but if a girl, it was to be named Emma. It was a
girl, so it was called after the mother, but it did not live long, and
the father never saw it.

As though he thought the letter written about little Miss Thompson
(Horatia, be it understood) were not sufficiently delusive, he sends
an equally absurd production to his niece, Charlotte Nelson, who
lived a good deal at Merton, in which he says that he is "truly
sensible of her attachment to that dear little orphan, Horatia," and
although her parents are lost, yet she is not "without a fortune; and
that he will cherish her to the last moment of his life, and _curse_
them who _curse_ her, and Heaven bless them who bless her." This
solemn enthusiasm for the poor orphan puts Nelson out of court as a
cute letter-writer. The quality of ingenious diplomacy had been left
entirely out of him, and like any one else who dallies with an art for
which they have no gift, he excites suspicions, and more often than
not discloses the very secret he is so anxious to keep. Every line of
these letters indicates a tussle between a natural tendency to frank
honesty and an unnatural and unworthy method of deception. Obviously,
the recipient of this precious document would have her curiosity
excited over the disingenuous tale of romance. She would ask herself
first of all, "Why should my kinsman be so desirous to tell me that
the orphan in whom he has so fond an interest is not without a
fortune? and why should the responsibility of rearing and educating
the child have been entrusted to him, the most active and important
Admiral in the British Navy? And if it be true that she is an orphan,
surely there could be no object in supposing that any one would
'_curse_ her,' especially as he declared that she was 'not without
fortune,' and that she was to be known as his adopted child." The
niece, being a quick-witted girl, would naturally think the problem
out for herself, and decide that there was something fishy involved
in the mystery of these unnecessary phrases.

In dealing with his domestic complications, Nelson's mind seems to
have been in a constant whirlwind, dodging from one difficulty into
another, never direct, and for ever in conflict with his true self. He
was brave and resourceful in everything that appertained to the
service he adorned, and yet a shivering fear came over him now and
again lest the truth concerning his attachment to his friend's wife
should be revealed. When he was seized with these remorseful thoughts,
he could not be silent; he was not possessed of the constitutional
gift of reticence, and could only find relief by constant reference to
the matter he wished kept secret in such a way as to cause people to
put two and two together and arrive at the very truth he wished to
hide.

VII

But whatever his ruling passion may have been, his belief in the Power
that rules us all never forsook him. He believed in religious forms as
of a spiritual force. He often committed himself to it, and claimed
the privilege of asking for Heaven's guidance. Call it eccentricity or
superstition, or what you like, but to him it was a reality. One of
the many amusing instances of his devotion to religious rites was the
occasion when he and Lady Hamilton stood as godfather and godmother
at the christening of their daughter, Horatia Nelson Thompson,[7] by
which name she was baptized. To the puritanic, orthodox mind (keeping
in view all the circumstances of parentage) this will be looked upon
as an act of abominable hypocrisy and sacrilege, but to him it was a
pious duty.

Like all highly strung and overwrought mortals, he was often moody,
depressed, and, worst of all, a victim to premonitions of his early
demise. His superstitious temperament was constantly worrying him, as
did his faith in the predictions of a gipsy fortune-teller who had
correctly described his career up to the year 1805, and then stopping
had said, "I can see no further." This creepy ending of the gipsy's
tale was afflicting him with a dumb pain and depression when he
unexpectedly came across his sister Catherine in London. She referred
to his worn, haggard look with a tenderness that was peculiarly her
own. He replied, "Ah! Katty! Katty! that gipsy!" and then relapsed
into morbid silence. The foreboding bore heavily on his mind, and the
story may well make one's heart throb with pity for the noble fellow
who was so soon to fulfil his tragic destiny. Well may we exclaim that
fame seems to be the most wretched of mockeries!

The Duke of Wellington, of whom it is said no dose of flattery was too
strong for him to swallow, has left on record an interesting account
of his meeting Nelson at the Colonial Office. He gives the account of
it, thirty years after Nelson's death, to John Wilson Croker at
Walmer, and here is what he says of Collingwood's great comrade:--

    WALMER, _1st October, 1834_.

    We were [that is, Croker and he] talking of Lord Nelson, and
    some instances were mentioned of the egotism and vanity that
    derogated from his character. "Why," said the Duke, "I am not
    surprised at such instances, for Lord Nelson was, in different
    circumstances, two quite different men, as I myself can vouch,
    though I only saw him once in my life, and for, perhaps, an
    hour. It was soon after I returned from India. I went to the
    Colonial Office in Downing Street, and there I was shown into
    the little waiting-room on the right hand, where I found, also
    waiting to see the Secretary of State, a gentleman, whom, from
    his likeness to his pictures and the loss of an arm, I
    immediately recognized as Lord Nelson. He could not know who I
    was, but he entered at once into conversation with me, if I can
    call it conversation, for it was almost all on his side and all
    about himself, and in, really, a style so vain and so silly as
    to surprise and almost disgust me. I suppose something that I
    happened to say made him guess that I was _somebody_, and he
    went out of the room for a moment, I have no doubt to ask the
    office keeper who I was, for when he came back he was altogether
    a different man, both in manner and matter. All that I had
    thought a charlatan style had vanished, and he talked of the
    state of this country and the probabilities of affairs on the
    Continent with a good sense, and a knowledge of subjects both at
    home and abroad, that surprised me equally and more agreeably
    than the first part of our interview had done; in fact, he
    talked like an officer and a statesman. The Secretary of State
    kept us long waiting, and certainly, for the last half or
    three-quarters of an hour, I don't know that I ever had a
    conversation that interested me more. Now, if the Secretary of
    State had been punctual, and admitted Lord Nelson in the first
    quarter of an hour, I should have had the same impression of a
    light and trivial character that other people have had; but
    luckily I saw enough to be satisfied that he was really a very
    superior man; but certainly a more sudden and complete
    metamorphosis I never saw."[8]

We must not be too critical of the Duke's opinions of the vanity of
the Admiral, but it calls for some notice, inasmuch as the Duke
himself is reputed to have had an uncommonly good amount of it
himself, though it took a different form and created a different
impression. Wellington showed it in a cold, haughty, unimaginative,
repelling self-importance; fearful of unbending to his inferiors lest
his dignity should be offended. Nelson's peculiarities were the very
antithesis; it was his delightful egotism and vanity that added to his
charm and made him such a fascinating personality. His direct
slap-dash, unconventional phrases and flashes of naval brilliancy,
whether in search of, or engaged in battle with the enemy, together
with a natural kindness to his officers and men of all ranks, filled
them with confidence and pride in having him as their chief. The
"Nelson touch," the "drubbing" he swore in his own engaging way that
Mr. Villeneuve--as he called him to Blackwood--was to have when he
caught him, the putting of the telescope to his blind eye at
Copenhagen when the signal was flying to leave off action, and then
"No, damn me if I do," had an inspiring effect on his men and
strengthened the belief in his dauntlessness and sagacity. "What will
Nelson think of us?" remarked one of the men aboard one of the
frigates that obeyed the signal. But Nelson went on fighting with
complete success. "Luckily," says Wellington, "I saw enough to be
satisfied that he was really a very superior man." Why "luckily"? What
difference would his lack of knowledge have made? The Duke was hardly
the type of man to understand the powerful personality whose style,
"so vain and silly, surprised and almost disgusted" him. That view
does not stand to _his_ credit, and no one else held it.

But let us see what a greater man than either Wellington or Nelson
says of both. Napoleon, at St. Helena, spoke in very high terms of
Lord Nelson,[9] and indeed attempted to palliate that one stigma on
his memory, the execution of Carraciolli, which he attributed entirely
to his having been deceived by that wicked woman Queen Caroline,
through Lady Hamilton, and to the influence which the latter had over
him. He says of the Duke: "Judging from Wellington's actions, from his
dispatches, and, above all, from his conduct towards Ney, I should
pronounce him to be a poor-spirited man, without generosity, and
without greatness of soul ('Un homme de peu d'esprit, sans générosité,
et sans grandeur d'âme'). Such I know to be the opinion of Benjamin
Constant and of Madame de Staël, who said that, except as a general,
he had not two ideas. As a general, however, to find his equal amongst
your own nation, you must go back to the time of Marlborough, but as
anything else, I think that history will pronounce him to be a man of
limited capacity ('Un homme borné')."[10]

"Nelson is a brave man. If Villeneuve at Aboukir and Dumanoir at
Trafalgar had had a little of his blood, the French would have been
conquerors. I ought to have had Dumanoir's head cut off. Do you not
think more highly of Nelson than of the best engineers who construct
fortifications? Nelson had what a mere engineer officer can never
acquire. It is a gift of nature."

The Emperor, in his eulogy of Nelson, is not unmindful of the terrible
crime he was led to commit at the instigation of that human viper,
Queen Caroline, and the licentious Emma Hamilton. He, to some extent,
whittles down Nelson's share of the responsibility by putting the
whole blame on them. But who can read the gruesome story of the trial
and hanging of the aged Prince Carraciolli without feeling ashamed
that a fellow-countryman in Nelson's position should have stamped his
career with so dark a crime? At the capitulation of St. Elmo,
Carraciolli made his escape. He commanded a Neapolitan warship called
the _Tancredi_, and had fought in Admiral Hotham's action on the 14th
March, 1795, and gained distinction, accompanying the Royal Family to
Palermo. He was given permission by the King to return for the purpose
of protecting his large property. The French had entered Neapolitan
territory and seized his estates, on the ground that he was a
Royalist, and the only way he could recover them was by agreeing to
take command of the Neapolitan fleet. The French were obliged to
evacuate the country, and left their friends to settle matters for
themselves as best they could. Carraciolli concealed himself, but was
discovered in disguise and put on board the _Foudroyant_ with his
hands tied behind his back. Captain Hardy, who was a man with a heart,
was indignant when he saw the old man subjected to such gross
indignity, and immediately ordered his hands to be liberated.

Nelson committed him for trial, which commenced at ten o'clock, and at
twelve he was declared guilty. At five o'clock he was hanged at the
yardarm of the Neapolitan frigate _Minerva_. This poor old man was
tried solely by his enemies without being allowed to have counsel or
call witnesses. A miscreant called Count Thurn, a worse enemy than
all, presided over the court. Carraciolli asked Lieutenant Parkinson
to obtain for him a new trial. Nelson, who had ordered the first,
could not or would not grant a second. Carraciolli asked to be shot,
and this also was refused. On the grounds of former association, he
sought the aid of Lady Hamilton, but she, being an approving party to
the execution, only came from her concealment to enjoy the sight of
the old Prince's dead body dangling at the yardarm. "Come, Bronte,
come," said she, "let us take the barge and have another look at
Carraciolli"; and there they feasted their eyes on the lifeless
remains of their former associate, who had assuredly cursed them both
with his last dying breath. It is the custom when sailors are buried
at sea to weight their feet so that the body may sink in an upright
position. The same course was adopted with Carraciolli; shot was put
at his feet, but not sufficient, and he was cast into the sea. In a
few days the putrified body rose to the surface head upwards, as
though the murdered man had come again to haunt his executioners and
give them a further opportunity of gazing at the ghastly features of
their victim.[11] The sight of his old friend emerging again terrified
Ferdinand, and he became afflicted with a feeling of abiding horror
which he sought to appease by having the body interred in a Christian
burial-ground. But the spirit of his executed friend worried him all
his remaining days, and the act of burial did not save Naples from
becoming a shambles of conflict, robbery, and revolution. Neither did
Emma Hamilton escape her just deserts for the vile part she played in
one of the most abominable crimes ever committed. Her latter hours
were made terrible by the thought of the mockery of a trial, and the
constant vision of the Prince's ghost glowering at her from the
_Minerva's_ yardarm and from the surface of his watery tomb from which
he had risen again to reproach her with the inhuman pleasure she had
taken in watching the dreadful act. Nor did her shrieking avowal of
repentance give the wretched Jezebel of a woman the assurance of
forgiveness. She sought for distractions, and found most of them in
wickedness, and passed into the presence of the Great Mystery with all
her deeds of faithlessness, deceit, and uncontrollable revenge before
her eyes.

It is sad to read of and hear the insensate rubbish that is talked of
new earths that are to evolve from war, as though it could be divorced
from wounds and death, unspeakable crime, suffering in all its varied
forms, and the destruction of property which must always be a direct
result. The spectacle of it can never be other, except to the
martially-minded, than a shuddering horror. I would ask any one who is
imbued with the idea that out of wars spring new worlds to name a
single instance where a nation that has engaged in it has not been
left bleeding at its extremities, no matter whether it emerges as
victor or vanquished. I would further ask the writer or orator who
talks in this strain if he imagines that the sending of myriads of men
to death can contribute to the making of new earths. The consequences
are much too tragically serious to the nation, and indeed to the
world, to be played with by smug diplomatists who seek to excite the
populace into support of their calamitous efforts at statesmanship by
shallow bursts of eloquence about the new conditions of life which are
to accrue from their imitation of Germanism.

No doubt Nelson thought, when he had poor old Prince Carraciolli
hung, that he would create a new earth by striking terror into the
hearts of the Neapolitan race, but natural laws are not worked out by
methods of this kind, and Nelson had the mortification of seeing his
plan of regulating human affairs create a new and more ferocious
little hell on earth. His judgment at this time was very much warped
through the evil influence of the Court of Naples and more especially
by his infatuation for Lady Hamilton.

Greville, and subsequently Sir William Hamilton, had taken great pains
to educate Emma Hart. Hamilton writes to his nephew: "I can assure you
her behaviour is such as has acquired her many sensible admirers, and
we have good man society, and all the female nobility, with the Queen
at their head, show her every mark of civility." Hamilton writes
further: "Hitherto, her behaviour is irreproachable, but her temper,
as you must know, unequal." Lady Malmesbury (with a decidedly sly
scratch) says of her: "She really behaves as well as possible, and
quite wonderfully, considering her origin and education." Sir George
Elliot says: "Her manners are perfectly, unpolished, very easy, but
not with the ease of good breeding, but of a barmaid; excessively
good-humoured, wishing to please and be admired by everybody that came
in her way. She has acquired since her marriage some knowledge of
history and of the arts, and one wonders at the application and pains
she has taken to make herself what she is. With men her language and
conversation are exaggerations of anything I ever heard anywhere; and
I was wonderfully struck with these inveterate remains of her origin,
though the impression was very much weakened by seeing the other
ladies of Naples." A naval lieutenant at Naples stated he "thought her
a very handsome, vulgar woman." There is no stabbing with a sneer
about this opinion. It expresses in a few words the candid opinion of
the sailor. Mrs. St. George thinks her "bold, daring, vain even to
folly, and stamped with the manners of her first situation much more
strongly than one would suppose, after having represented Majesty and
lived in good company fifteen years. Her dress is frightful. Her waist
is absolutely between her shoulders. Her figure is colossal, but,
excepting her feet, which are hideous, well shaped. The shape of all
her features is fine, as is the form of her head, and particularly her
ears; her teeth are a little irregular, but tolerably white; her eyes
light blue, with a brown spot in one, which, though a defect, takes
nothing away from her beauty or expression. Her eyebrows and hair,
which, by the bye, is never clean, are dark and her complexion coarse.
Her expression is strongly marked, variable, and interesting; her
movements in common life ungraceful, her voice loud, yet not
disagreeable." This female critic seems to have been overburdened with
the weight of Emma's defects, mental and physical! Elliot says: "Her
person is nothing short of monstrous for its enormity, and is growing
every day. Her face is beautiful." The latter view tones down the
apparent desire not to say too much in her favour.

We are persuaded, in fact, that the foregoing views of Lady Hamilton's
personal appearance are not correct. They give the impression that the
opinions of her critics are based on the woman's lowly origin, and
that they assume that because she was the offspring of poor parents
she ought to be described as a fat hoyden with the manners of the
kitchen. The people who knew her intimately do not make her out to be
a stout, unwholesome, East-End Palestiner. The sister of Marie
Antoinette, be it remembered, was her close companion, and many
English ladies living in Naples and visiting there were scarcely
likely to associate with a person who could not display better looks
and manners than those set forth. Nelson, the Prince of Wales, and her
many other men admirers, were hardly likely to tumble over each other
in competition for her smiles and favours if "her dress was
frightful," "her waist between her shoulders," "her hair dirty," "her
feet hideous," "her bones large," "her complexion coarse," and "her
person monstrous for its enormity, growing every day."

We are inclined to place little dependence on the accuracy of people
who seem to have described her according to their moods or perhaps
according to the manner of her admirers towards themselves. That she
was clever and attractive there can be no doubt, and it is equally
certain that she won for herself the mortal enmity of many ladies who
saw her powerful influence over prominent men and women whom they
themselves bored. Some importance must be given to her husband's
position as British representative; his influence must have been
great, especially in Neapolitan circles. This would help her natural
gifts of fascination, even though her breeding and education did not
reach the standard of her blue-blooded critics. She had something that
stood her in greater stead than breeding and education: she had the
power of enslaving gallant hearts and holding them in thrall with many
artful devices. They liked her Bohemianism, her wit, her geniality,
her audacious slang, and her collection of droll epithets that
fittingly described her venomous critics of a self-appointed nobility.
When she could not reach the heights of such superior persons she
proceeded to ridicule them with a tongue that rattled out vivid
invective which outmatched anything they could say of _her_. It
probably made her more enemies, but it satisfied her temper and
pleased her admirers. She never appears to have been conscious of any
inferiority in herself. We are inclined to agree with the opinion
expressed by the naval lieutenant at Naples, who said "She was a very
handsome, vulgar woman." All her portraits confirm what the sailor
says about her beauty, and the most reliable records are confirmatory
so far as his view of her vulgarity is concerned.

But in any case, whatever may have been her physical dimensions, they
were not understated by the crowd who gave vent to their aversion in
this and in many other deplorable ways. There are only a few
evidences of Nelson being aware of and resenting some of the
disparaging remarks made about his "wife in the sight of Heaven," and
these do not seem to have diminished his infatuation for her. He was
accustomed to say in connection with his professional duties that
whenever he followed his own head he was in general much more correct
in his judgment than by following other people's opinions. He carried
this plan into his private life so far as Emma was concerned, but men
and women who were his intimate friends would not support the view
that by following his head in _this_ particular case his judgment was
sound. We may term the infatuation a deteriorated state of mind, but
_he_ was sustained by the belief that she was a spirit unto him while
he lived, and with his last gasp, as he was passing into the shadows,
he bestowed her as a legacy to his country. We shall have something to
say hereafter as to how the British Government dealt with their great
Admiral's dying injunction.

The Neapolitan atmosphere was vile enough, and might well have made
even men and women who knew the loose side of life shrink from it, but
it can never be claimed that it had a demoralizing influence on Emma,
who at an early age became familiar with unspeakable vices which left
her little to learn at the time Greville sold her to his uncle, who
took her to a centre of sordid uncleanness, there to become his wife
after a brief association as his mistress. We may have no misgiving as
to her aptitude in acquiring anything she chose that was left for her
to learn from a community of debauchees and parasites.

The wonder is that her brain did not succumb to the poisonous
influences by which she was surrounded, and that the poor girl did not
sink into the depths of that luxurious sensuality which characterized
Neapolitan society at that time. It was a more distinguished and
fascinating type of debauchery than that which she had known in other
days in England, and from which Greville had rescued her. The
temptation to plunge into the boisterous merriment of a higher order
of depravity than that to which she had been accustomed must have been
very great to such a temperament as hers. But she worthily kept her
wild, wayward spirit under restraint, and, according to Sir William
Hamilton, she conducted herself in a way that caused him to be
satisfied with his reforming guidance. She adapted herself to the ways
of the more select social community of her new existence, and at the
time Nelson made her acquaintance she had really become a creditable
member of the society in which she moved. In every respect she was
congenial to him. He never lost a chance of applauding her gifts and
brazenly exempting himself from all moral restrictions, except, as I
have said before, when he was seized with a spontaneous fit of
goodness. He would then clumsily try to conceal the passion that
obsessed him. He did not brood long over trifles of this kind, merely
because he had lost, if ever he possessed, the power of consecutive
reasoning in matters of moral convention. His Neapolitan associates
were a cunning, lying, luxury-loving, depraved lot, and however
strongly his principles were fixed, there can be but one opinion--that
such an atmosphere was harmful to him. He speaks of Naples himself as
being a country of poets, whores, and scoundrels; and Southey does not
attempt to mince words, for in vigorous terms he describes England's
"alliances to superannuated and abominable governments of the
Continent." These are the states that we shed British blood and
squandered British money over, and in truth Southey describes them as
they were!

The King of Naples was a great hero to stand up against the bravest,
best-trained troops the world! He shivered at the thought of Nelson
going out of his sight, and whimpered him into staying to guard him
and his rotten kingdom. It was at this period of his gallant activity
that Nelson became the victim of fulsome flattery and the associate of
the most cunning, knavish charlatans in the world. These creatures
never ceased to inveigh against the wrongs they were suffering for the
uplifting of human rights, and because their great British ally was in
need of their disinterested and distinguished co-ordination. Nelson
was well aware of all this, but could not shake himself free. He
loathed the slavering way in which flattery was extended to him,
because it had a sickly resemblance to weeping. He declares of the
Neapolitan officers, "They are boasters of the highest order, and when
they are confronted with the duty of defending hearth and home, their
courage ends in vapour." He avers that they "cannot lose honour, as
they have none to lose," and yet he makes no serious effort to
unshackle himself from a detestable position. Emma, the Queen, and
King of Naples, and others, have a deep-rooted hold on him, and he
cannot give up the cheap popularity of the Neapolitans. He persuades
himself that the whole thought of his soul is "Down, down, with the
French," and that it shall be his "constant prayer." Throughout the
whole course of his brilliant career it was never doubted that the
French were his great aversion, because they were his country's
enemies. But the hysterical tears of Lady Hamilton and those of the
Neapolitan Queen proved too strong for him. The King's beseeching
fears were also added to an already difficult situation, which, he
persuaded himself, could not be ignored without damaging the interests
he was sent to protect; so his stay in the reeking cesspool of
Neapolitanism was prolonged, but there is no reason for supposing that
his "constant prayer" for the extinction of the French was any the
less ardent. The fatal day of their catastrophe was only postponed.
The praying went on all the same, with more or less belief in the
Almighty's preference for Englishmen.

VIII

This is a form of cant to which those whom we regard as great men are
a prey. But this pride of race is not confined to the mighty men of
valour. The humble soldier and sailor, and poorest and richest of
civilians, have the same inherent belief in British superiority. They
talk to the Great Giver of all power in the most patronizing way, and
while they profess to believe in His ordinances they treat them as
though He were their vassal and not their Lawgiver. They call upon Him
to break His own laws and help them to smite those whom they regard as
enemies, never doubting the righteousness of their cause. The enemy,
on the other hand, believe that _they_ have a monopoly of God, and
avow that _their_ cause is His, and _being_ His, they grimly ask Him
to settle the dispute by coming down on their side; but should they
win the fight, the glory of it is seldom given to the Power whose
assistance is implored, but ascribed to their own genius.

Cromwell is a singular and distinguished exception. He always gave all
the glory to God. Take as an example the battle of Dunbar (though
there are many instances of a similar character that could be quoted
during the Civil War). The battle-cry of the Parliament forces was
"The Lord of Hosts," and at the opportune moment the commander of the
Parliament army shouted, "Now let God arise, and His enemies shall be
scattered." The Ironsides made a fearless and irresistible rush at
their foes, and almost immediately Cromwell saw the Covenanters in
confusion; again he shouted, "They run! I profess they run!" The
quotation from the 68th Psalm was always an inspiration to these
religious warriors. Old Leslie, the Scotch Covenanting general, with
the patience of stupidity, had been mumbling petitions for hours to
the God of the Anointed to form an alliance with him to crush the
unholy rebellion against King and Covenant. "Thou knowest, O God, how
just our cause is, and how unjust is that of those who are not Thy
people." This moth-eaten crowd of canting hypocrites were no match for
the forces who believed that they were backed by the Lord of Hosts,
and they were completely routed.

Sir Jacob Astley, another Royalist, on one occasion during the Civil
War breathed a simple prayer with uplifted eyes. "O Lord," said he,
"Thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not
Thou forget me." Then he gave the word of command to "March." He was
nevertheless defeated at Stow, and seems to have been offended at the
Deity for His forgetfulness, as he bitterly reproached his conquerors
by telling them that they might go to play unless they fell out
amongst themselves.

Napoleon carried on warfare under a sterner and more self-reliant
code. He had confidence in and depended on his own genius and on
nature's laws. There are shoals of instances in his short and terrific
career that indicate this belief in himself. He said to a regiment of
horse chasseurs at Lobenstein two days before the battle of Jena, "My
lads! you must not fear death; when soldiers brave death, they drive
him into the enemy's ranks." On another occasion he said: "You must
not fight too often with one enemy, or you teach him all your art of
war." This is a thrilling truth which always tells in war, and yet
behind all the apparent indifference to the great mysterious force
that holds sway over human affairs there was a hidden belief in the
power of the Deity to guide aright and give aid in the hour of need,
even to men of unequalled talents like Napoleon himself. His
spontaneous exclamations indicate that he did not doubt who created
and ruled the universe, but how much he relied on this power he never
really disclosed, and it can only be a supposition gathered from
utterances recorded by some of his contemporaries that he had a devout
belief in the great power of Christianity. "Ah!" said he one day,
"there is but one means of getting good manners, and that is by
establishing religion." At that time the spiritual life of France was
at a low ebb, and the subject of religion was one of the most
unpopular and risky topics to raise, but Napoleon knew that it would
have to be tackled in the open sooner or later, and it is a matter of
authentic history that he struggled to bring and ultimately succeeded
in bringing back religious ordinances to France. He declared that no
good government could exist for long without it. His traducers
proclaimed him an atheist, and we hear the same claptrap from people
now who have not made themselves acquainted with the real history of
the man and his times. We do not say he was a saint, but he was a
better Christian, both in profession and action, than most of the
kings that ruled prior to and during his period. In every way he
excels the Louis of France, the Georges of Great Britain and Hanover,
the Fredericks of Prussia, and the Alexanders of Russia. The latter
two he puts far in the shade, both as a statesman, a warrior, and a
wise, humane ruler who saw far into futurity, and fought against the
reactionary forces of Europe, which combined to put an end to what was
called his ambition to dominate the whole of creation. He foretold
with amazing accuracy that from his ashes there would spring up
sectional wars for a time, and ultimately the selfsame elements of
vicious mediocrity that destroyed him would bring about a
world-conflict which would destroy itself.

The laws of life are simple, but at the same time very terrible in
their consequences if ignored or disobeyed. What folly to imagine that
any great figure or great tragedy comes into existence by chance!
Napoleon was just as necessary to the world as was Cromwell. Both had
the righting of wrongs and the clearing away of the accumulation of
centuries of chaos and misgovernment, and it was not to be expected
that they could carry out the necessary reforms without making the
authors of such an intolerable state of things angry and resentful at
their iron methods of discipline. Napoleon and Cromwell possessed the
combined arts of war and statesmanship to a higher degree than any of
their contemporaries. Cromwell excelled Napoleon in professional
Christianity. The latter never paraded his ideas of religion, though
he acted on them silently and gave occasional expression to the
thoughts of his soul. Indeed, he was too much given to publicly
disavowing the very principles he believed in privately. This plan or
habit was said to be for the purpose of creating controversy. Be that
as it may, when the natural spirit moved him he would declare his
views in the most robust way. On one of many occasions he startled the
Council of State by reminding them that a man did not risk being
killed for a few pence a day or for a paltry distinction. "You must
speak to the soul," he declared, "to electrify the man." Another very
notable expression is here worth referring to, as it instances how
practical and human were his views. "The heart," said he, "warms the
genius, but in Pitt the genius withers the heart, which is a very
different thing"; and so it is that Cromwell and he were not
dissimilar in many of their attributes. Indeed, it is said that
Napoleon never tired of quoting or having quoted to him some striking
characteristic of Cromwell. We could hardly, with any degree of good
judgment, put Leslie the Covenanter or Sir Jacob Astley the Royalist,
or Nelson the matchless naval strategist and national hero, on a par
with either Cromwell or Napoleon. They are only here referred to in
connection with the two unequalled constructive statesmen and military
generals as representing a type of peculiarly religious men who have
occupied high military and naval positions in the service of the
State.

Hawkins, Drake, Frobisher, Blake in Cromwell's time, Nelson in
Napoleon's, were all fire-eating religious men, always asking favours
and guidance in their perilous undertakings from the great mystic
Power in whom they believed. Collingwood was a great admiral and a
Christian gentleman, who never mixed religion with hysterical or
dramatic flashes of quarterdeck language. He was ostentatious in
nothing, and seemed to observe a strictly decorous attitude. Nelson,
on the other hand, resembled a restless squirrel, always swift in his
instincts, with an enthusiasm which was contagious. In many ways he
did not adhere to what is called cricket in sporting phrase. He was
accustomed to say, "Never mind the justice or the impudence of this or
that, only let me succeed." Then he would proceed to ask the Almighty
in feverish zeal to aid him in the object he had in view.

He would scatter a profusion of curses about in relation to the
treatment of the Admiralty towards himself, or at his disappointment
in not getting to grips with the French fleet, and then proceed to ask
Lady Hamilton if they had a nice church at Merton, so that they may
set an example of goodness to the under-parishioners, and "admire the
pigs and poultry," etc. He finds on several occasions that a picture
of Emma is much admired by the French Consul at Barcelona, and feels
sure it would be admired by Bonaparte, and then he continues, "I love
you most dearly, and hate the French most damnably." Sometimes he said
he hated the French as the devil hated holy water, which at that time
was considered to be the orthodoxy of a true Briton. It was quite a
pro-British attitude to patronize the maker of kings who had kept the
world in awe for nearly a quarter of a century, by expecting him to
admire a portrait of a loose woman to whom he referred in the most
scathing manner while at St. Helena. Her reputation and Nelson's
connection with her seems to have been known to him, as was also her
connection with the Neapolitan Court. His indictment was terrible.

Nelson had a weary, anxious time on the Toulon station. He called it
his home, and said they were in fine fighting trim and wished to God
the ships were the same, but they were in a very dilapidated
condition, not fit to stand the bad weather they were sure to
encounter. The British Minister at Naples wished to send a Frenchman
who could be relied on with information as to the whereabouts of the
French fleet. Nelson replied that he would not on any account have a
Frenchman in the British fleet except as a prisoner. He would be
grateful to him for any information he could give, but not a Frenchman
would be allowed to come to him, and adds that "his mother hated the
French." He was enraged at the report spread by a fussy French Admiral
named M. la Touche-Treville, who was in command at Toulon. It was said
that he was sent to beat Nelson as he had done at Boulogne. But he was
shy about coming out and trying a tussle. Nelson said he was a
miscreant, a poltroon, and a liar. The Frenchman had boasted in a
publication that he had put the British fleet to flight. The British
Admiral took the charge so seriously to heart that he sent a copy of
the _Victory's_ log to the Admiralty to disprove the statement of the
lying Admiral la Touche, and in a letter to his brother Nelson says,
"You will have seen La Touche's letter of how he chased me, and how I
ran. I keep it; and by God if I take him, he shall eat it." La Touche
cheated Nelson of a sweet revenge by dying like a good Christian
before the outraged British Admiral could get hold of him. The
newspapers of France said he died of fatigue caused by walking so
often to the signal post at Sepet, to watch the British fleet; and
Nelson stated "that he was always sure that would be the death of him,
and that if he had come out to fight him it would have added ten years
on to his life." Poor Nelson was very sensitive when his professional
qualities were assailed. He thought, and thought rightly, that the
blockade at Toulon was an unparalleled feat of human patience and
physical endurance. He had only been out of his ship three times from
May 1803 to August 1805. We may write and speak about this wonderful
devotion to duty, but it is only if we take time to think of the
terrific things which the central figure who commanded, and the crews
of the fleet of rickety, worn-out, leaky baskets--proudly spoken of as
the "wooden walls of Old England"--had to contend with and actually
did, that we comprehend the vast strain and task of it all. It was
because Nelson was ever being reminded by some clumsy act of the
Admiralty or thoughtless, ignorant criticism on the part of the
politicians and civilian public generally that the work he and the men
under him were doing was not appreciated as it should be, that he gave
way to outbursts of violent resentment. But so far as the present
writer has been able to discover, his love of approbation was so
strong that an encouraging word of praise soon put him in love for the
time being with those whom he had lately cursed.

He never shrank from disobeying the instructions of whatever authority
was over him if his judgment led him to the conclusion that he would
serve his country better by disobedience and by following his own
judgment; whenever he was driven to do this he was right and those
above him were wrong, and in each case he was so conclusively right
that no authoritative power dare court-martial him, or even censure
his conduct, since the public believed more in him than in them. When
the spirit of well-balanced defiance was upon him, he seemed to say to
the public, to himself, and to those who were responsible for his
instructions, "Do you imagine yourselves more capable of judging the
circumstances, and the immeasurable difficulties surrounding them,
than I am, whose business it has been to watch minutely every changing
phase? Or do you think my love of country or glory so incomparably
inferior to yours that I would risk any harm coming to it, or to
myself and the men under me, if I was not sure of my ground? For what
other reason do you think I disobeyed orders? Do you suppose I did it
in order that some disaster should be the result? Or do you still
think that your plan, right or wrong, should have been carried out,
even though it would be accompanied with appalling consequences to
life and property? If these are your views, I wish to remind you that
I am the Indomitable Nelson, who will stand no damned nonsense from
you or from the enemy when I see that my country, or the interests
that I represent, are going to be jeopardized by your self-assertive
instructions, and I wish to intimate to you that there is only one way
of dealing with a Frenchman, and that is to knock him down when he is
an enemy. You have obviously got to learn that to be civil to a
Frenchman is to be laughed at, and this I shall never submit to." The
Admiralty censured Nelson for disobeying Lord Keith's orders and, as
they claimed, endangering Minorca, and also for landing seamen for the
siege of Capua, and told him "not to employ the seamen in any such way
in future." The Admiralty were too hasty in chastising him. He claimed
that his success in freeing the whole kingdom of Naples from the
French was almost wholly due to the employment of British sailors,
whose valour carried the day.

Nelson sent the First Lord a slap between the eyes in his best
sarcastic form. He said briefly, "I cannot enter into all the detail
in explanation of my motives which led me to take the action I did, as
I have only a left hand, but I may inform you that my object is to
drive the French to the devil, and restore peace and happiness to
mankind"; and he continues, "I feel I am fitter to do the action than
to describe it." And then he curtly and in so many words says to his
Chief, "Don't you be troubled about Minorca. I have secured the main
thing against your wish and that of Lord Keith, and you may be assured
that I shall see that no harm comes to the Islands, which seems to be
a cause of unnecessary anxiety to you." Incidentally, the expulsion of
the French from Naples and seating Ferdinand on the throne was, as I
have previously stated, not an unqualified success, nor was he
accurate in his statement that he had restored happiness to millions.
The success was a mere shadow. He had emancipated a set of villains.
Troubridge says they were all thieves and vagabonds, robbing their
unfortunate countrymen, selling confiscated property for nothing,
cheating the King and Treasury by pocketing everything that their
sticky fingers touched, and that their villainies were so deeply
rooted that if some steps were not taken to dig them out, the
Government could not hold together. Out of twenty millions of ducats
collected as revenue, only thirteen millions reached the Treasury, and
the King had to pay four ducats instead of one. Troubridge again
intimates to his superior that Ferdinand is surrounded with a nest of
the most unscrupulous thieves that could be found in all Europe. "Such
damned cowards and villains," he declared, "he had never seen or heard
of before."

IX

The French did not mince matters when their opportunity came. They,
too, regarded them as vermin, and treated them according to the
unrestrained edicts of the Reign of Terror, organized and
administered by their late compatriots Sardanapalus, Danton,
Maximilian Robespierre, and their literary colleague, the execrable
Marat, who, by the way, was expeditiously dispatched by the gallant
Charlotte Corday.[12]

This method of bestowing the blessings of Liberty, Equality, and
Fraternity was received by the Neapolitans with a frenzy from which
there sprang a demoniac retaliation. Societies were formed to carry
out the most atrocious crimes against the Neapolitan revolutionists,
whom the Royalists hated more than they did the French. The fishermen
and other miscreants came to a solemn conclusion that it was clearly
their duty as a Christian people to combine, and each choose one whom
they should privately guillotine when the opportunity offered. With
the idea of paying a high compliment to Troubridge, who had so
splendidly protected the Royalists, fought the French, and subdued
the revolutionists, they made him the recipient of a decapitated head
which had proudly sat on the shoulders of a revolutionist. This trophy
was actually sent to him with his basket of breakfast grapes. In
making the present the gallant fisherman conveyed his compliments to
the Admiral, and reminded him that it was a token of his high
appreciation of the Admiral's brilliant services to the Royalist
cause.

The Court was infested with traitors who would first carry out their
vengeance against their rebellious compatriots and then cunningly lay
the blame on those under whose protection they were. One of their
judges informed Troubridge that he must have a Bishop to excommunicate
some of the traitor priests before he could have them executed, and
the fine sailor, who was sick of the crafty devils and the task he had
been allocated to carry out, replied, "For the love of God hang the
damned rascals first, and then let the Bishop deal with them if he did
not think hanging was a sufficient degradation." Nothing in the annals
of history can surpass the effrontery of these intriguers, which
throws a lurid light on the class of administrators who associated
with the British nation and spilt the blood of the flower of our land
in bolstering up a government that was a disgrace and put all human
perfidy in the shade.

These allies of ours, who were joyously butchering and robbing each
other, demanded a British warship to take the priests to Palermo, so
that they might be degraded in a proper, Christian fashion and then
brought to Naples for execution. Troubridge was audaciously requested
to appoint a hangman (it may be he was asked to combine this with his
other naval duties), and knowing the fine sense of noble dignity in
the average sailor, we can easily imagine the flow of adjectives that
accompanied the refusal, and how he would relate the outrage to which
he had been subjected in quarterdeck language, that need not be here
repeated, to his superior officer, Admiral Nelson, who must have felt
the degradation of being selected to carry out as dirty a piece of
work as ever devolved upon a public servant. To fight for his King and
country was the joy of his soul, but to be selected as wet-nurse to
the kingdom of Naples and the dignitaries that were at the head of it
would have been an unbearable insult to his sense of proportion had it
not been for the fulsome flattery, to which he was so susceptible,
which was adroitly administered by the ladies of the Court, headed by
the Queen and supplemented by the wife of Sir William Hamilton.

There is always some fatal weakness about a great man that lures him
into littleness, and this was an overwhelming tragedy in Nelson's
career. The approbation of men was gratefully received and even asked
for, but the adoration of women reduced him to helplessness. He was
drugged by it, and the stronger the doses, the more efficacious they
were. They nullified the vision of the unwholesome task he was set to
carry out until his whole being revolted against the indignity of it,
when he would pour out his wrath to Lady Hamilton as he did at the
time when Troubridge would report to him his own trials. No doubt this
caused him to realize the chaotic condition of public affairs, for he
writes to the lady that "politics are hateful to him, and that
Ministers of Kings are the greatest scoundrels that ever lived." The
King of Naples is, he suspects, to be superseded by a prince who has
married a Russian Archduchess. This, presumably, had been arranged by
the "great political scoundrels." He stands loyally by Ferdinand, but
soon all the work of that part of his life that gave him socially so
much pleasure and professionally so much misery is to be left for
evermore, and his great talents used in other and higher spheres.

He had retaken Naples from the French, who had set up the Parthenopean
Republic in 1799, and placed the tyrant King on his throne again;
after a few more chequered years a treaty of neutrality was signed
between France and Naples, which was treacherously broken by Naples.
Ferdinand had to fly to Sicily, the French troops entered the capital,
and Bonaparte, who had been marching from one victory to another,
cleared out deep-rooted abuses and introduced reforms wherever he
could. He had become the terror and the enemy of the misgoverning
monarchs of that period, and the French nation had proclaimed him
Emperor in 1804. He placed his brother Joseph on the throne of Naples
in February 1806; Joseph ruled with marked moderation and
distinction, sweeping away much of the foul canker of corruption and
introducing many beneficent reforms during his two years of kingship.
He then, much against his own wishes, became King of Spain, and was
succeeded by his brother-in-law, Prince Joachim Murat, the dashing
cavalry officer, whose decorative exterior awed friend and foe, and
helped to win many a battle. His reign lasted from 1808 until 1815,
and was no less distinguished than that of Joseph's. The fall of the
Napoleonic régime was followed by the fall of Murat, and the
despicable and treacherous Ferdinand became again the king, and
brought back with him the same tyrannical habits that had made his
previous rule so disastrous to the kingdom and to himself. No
whitewasher, however brilliant and ingenious, can ever wipe out the
fatal action of the British Government in embarking on so
ill-conceived a policy as that of supporting the existence of a
bloodsucking government, composed of a miscreant ruling class headed
by an ignoble king, all living on the misery and blood of a
semi-civilized population. It is a nauseous piece of history, with
which, under sagacious administration, we should never have been
connected.

The main idea was to humble the pride of France, that thenceforth
there might be peace in Europe. The Neapolitan revolutionists believed
that the French intention was to set up a free government and deliver
them from an unbearable despotism. Quite naturally, the Court took an
opposite view in believing that it foreshadowed deportation, so they
lost no time in proclaiming it to be conquest and merciless plunder.
Nelson urged the vacillating King to advance against the French, to
trust in God's blessing being bestowed upon him, his army, and his
cause, and to die like a hero, sword in hand, or lose his throne. The
King, always dauntless in the absence of danger, replied that he would
do this, trusting in God and Nelson. His Majesty, in tickling the
Admiral's susceptible spot by associating his name with that of the
Deity, doubtless made a good shot, and had Nelson's sense of humour
been equal to his vanity, he might not have received the oily
compliment with such delightful complacency.

We can imagine the scorn with which Troubridge would have received the
potentate's reply had he given the same advice as Nelson. It is highly
probable that had it been given on the quarterdeck of his ship, the
King would have been treated to a vocabulary that would have impressed
him with the necessity of scrambling quickly over the side. Nelson, it
is stated, turned the French out of Naples, and they were subsequently
overpowered by a plan put in force by Nelson and Troubridge, and
carried into effect by men from the fleet. Captain Hallowell was
ordered to proceed to Civita Vecchia and Castle St. Angelo to offer
terms of capitulation. He reported the position to Troubridge, who
ordered a squadron in command of Captain Louis to proceed and enforce
the terms. The French, on the other hand, offered terms, but
Troubridge, like Drake on another occasion, said that he had no time
to parley, that they must agree to his terms or fight. The French
Ambassador at Rome argued that the Roman territory belonged to the
French by conquest, and the British commander adroitly replied "that
it was his by reconquest." The inevitable alternative was
impressive--capitulation. This was arranged, and the Roman States came
under the control of the victors. Captain Louis proceeded in his
cutter up the Tiber and planted the British colours at Rome, becoming
its governor for a brief time. The naval men had carried out, by
clever strategy and pluck, an enterprise which Sir James Erskine
declined to undertake because of the insurmountable difficulties he
persisted in seeing. General Mack was at the head of about 30,000
Neapolitan troops, said to be the finest in Europe. This, however, did
not prevent them from being annihilated by 15,000 French, when General
Championnet evacuated Rome. The King entered with all the swagger of
an Oriental potentate. The Neapolitans followed the French to
Castellana, and when the latter faced up to them they stampeded in
disordered panic. Some were wounded, but few were killed, and the
King, forgetting in his fright his pledged undertaking to go forth
trusting in "God and Nelson," fled in advance of his valiant soldiers
to the capital, where they all arrived in breathless confusion.
General Mack had been introduced to Nelson by the King and Queen, the
latter exhorting him to be on land what the Admiral had been on sea.

Nelson seems to have formed an adverse opinion of Mack, who was
extolled by the Court as the military genius who was to deliver Europe
from the thraldom of the French. He had expressed the view that the
King and Queen's incomparable general "could not move without five
carriages," and that _he_ "had formed his opinion" of him, which was
tantamount to saying that Mack was both a coward and a traitor.
Perhaps it was undue consideration for the feelings of Caroline,
sister to the late Marie Antoinette, that caused him to restrain his
boiling rage against this crew of reptiles, who had sold every cause
that was entrusted to their protection.

Nelson was infatuated with the charms of Caroline, and as this astute
lady knew how to handle him in the interests of the Neapolitan Court,
he reciprocated her patronage by overlooking misdeeds that would,
under different circumstances, have justified him in blowing swarms of
her noble subjects out of existence. "I declare to God," he writes,
"my whole study is how to best meet the approbation of the Queen." An
open door and hearty reception was always awaiting their Majesties of
Sicily on board Nelson's flagship when they found it necessary to fly
from the wrath of their downtrodden subjects or the aggressive
invasions of the French troops. The anxiety of Nelson in conveying
them to their Sicilian retreat was doubly increased by the vast
treasure they never neglected to take with them, and neither the
sources from which it came nor the means of spending it gave trouble
to their consciences. The British Government, always generous with
other person's money, fed these insufferable royal personages by
bleeding the life's blood out of the British public, though it is
fair to say that the Government did not carry out to the full the
benevolent suggestions Nelson consistently urged in their behalf. "His
heart was always breaking" at some act of parsimony on the part of the
Government in so tardily giving that which he pleaded was an urgent
necessity for them to have. He frankly avowed that he would prefer to
resign if any distinction were to be drawn between loyalty to his
rightful sovereign and that of his Sicilian Majesty, who was the
faithful ally of his King. The solemn audacity of this statement
reveals a mind so far fallen to pieces by infatuation that it has lost
the power of discrimination.

It will be remembered that this gracious ally promised Nelson that he
would go forth at the head of his troops and conquer or die, and then
scampered off in front of his army through Rome to Naples, and, after
a few days' concealment from the mob, secretly bundled into boats with
his retinue on a stormy night of great peril, embarked on the
Admiral's ship, and sailed for Palermo.

Lady Hamilton is credited with planning (with heroic skill) means by
which the Royal Family could be taken to the shore, where Nelson was
to receive and convoy them in barges to the _Vanguard_. Lady Hamilton
had explored a subterranean passage which led from the palace to the
beach, and pronounced it a fairly safe and possible means of exit. The
plan apparently succeeded, and the royal party, after a few days'
precautionary stay in the Bay of Naples, were conveyed in safety to
Palermo, notwithstanding the hurricane that was encountered and only
weathered by a perfection of seamanship that was unequalled in our
naval and merchant services at that period of our trying history. The
voyage was not made without tragedy, for the youngest of the princes
became ill, and as it is always inevitable to attach a heroine to
circumstances that are sensational (when there is one at hand), their
Majesties in their grief fixed on her who had braved the perils of
investigating the possibilities of the subterranean tunnel which had
proved a safe though hazardous passage for the conveyance of
themselves and their vast treasure. Nor do they appear to have been
unmindful of her devotion to themselves during the storm, which was
the severest that Nelson said he had ever experienced--though this is
a platitude, as sailors are always prone to regard the last storm as
the most terrific of all! But that it was severe there can be no
doubt. We may be assured that the royal parents were not in a
condition to give succour to their stricken son, so he was vouchsafed
to pass beyond the veil in the arms of Lady Hamilton, who had bravely
defied the tempest and behaved with a compassion that must always
stand to her credit.

They arrived at Palermo the day after the young Prince's death, and
soon settled down to their gambling and other pleasures in which
Nelson, as already stated, was involved. Troubridge, with touching
fidelity, pleads with him to shun the temptations by which he is
beset. "I dread, my Lord," he says, "all the feasting, etc., at
Palermo. I am sure your health will be hurt. If so, all their saints
will be damned by the Navy"; and then he goes on to say, "The King
would be better employed digesting a good Government; everything gives
way to their pleasures. The money spent at Palermo gives discontent
here; fifty thousand people are unemployed, trade discouraged,
manufactures at a stand. It is the interest of many here to keep the
King away; they all dread reform."[13] Troubridge was wellnigh driven
to distraction by the terrible straits he was put to at Naples. The
people were faced with the ravages of famine. Already there were
scenes of unspeakable misery. His appeals to the Sicilian Court to
send immediate relief was ignored. Nelson, to whom he had appealed,
was absorbed in his attentions to Lady Hamilton, and refused to see
the vicious indifference of the Court, who were hemmed round with a
set of knaves and vagabonds, if that be not too moderate a term to use
of them. Troubridge beseeches him to come to the rescue in the
following terms:--

    My Lord, we are dying off fast for want. I learn that Sir
    William Hamilton says Prince Luzzi refused corn, some time ago,
    and Sir William does not think it worth while making another
    application. If that be the case, I wish he commanded this
    distressing scene, instead of me. Puglia had an immense harvest:
    near thirty sail left Messina, before I did, to load corn. Will
    they let us have any? If not, a short time will decide the
    business. The German interest prevails. I wish I was at your
    Lordship's elbow for an hour. All, all, will be thrown on you: I
    will parry the blow as much as in my power; I foresee much
    mischief brewing. God bless your Lordship! I am miserable, I
    cannot assist your operations more. Many happy returns of the
    day to you (it was the first of the New Year). I never spent so
    miserable a one. I am not very tender-hearted, but really the
    distress here would even move a Neapolitan.

Shortly after he writes, again pouring out fresh woes:--

    I have this day saved thirty thousand people from starvation;
    but with this day my ability ceases. As the Government are bent
    on starving us, I see no alternative but to leave these poor
    people to perish, without our being witness of their distress. I
    curse the day I ever served the Neapolitan Government. We have
    characters, my Lord, to lose; these people have none. Do not
    suffer their infamous conduct to fall on us. Our country is
    just, but severe. Such is the fever of my brain this minute,
    that I assure you, on my honour, if the Palermo traitors were
    here, I would shoot them first, and then myself. Girgenti is
    full of corn; the money is ready to pay for it; we do not ask it
    as a gift. Oh! could you see the horrid distress I daily
    experience, something would be done. Some engine is at work
    against us at Naples, and I believe I hit on the proper person.
    If you complain, he will be immediately promoted, agreeably to
    the Neapolitan custom. All I write to is known at the Queen's.
    For my own part, I look upon the Neapolitans as the worst of
    intriguing enemies; every hour shows me their infamy and
    duplicity. I pray your Lordship be cautious; your honest open
    manner of acting will be made a handle of. When I see you and
    tell you of their infamous tricks, you will be as much surprised
    as I am. The whole will fall on you.

Nelson must have known the position set forth in this feverish
communication from a man whose judgment and affection he had no reason
to suspect. It is a deplorable example of infatuation that every one
who knew the Court and the rascals that surrounded it was aware of its
shameless tricks except Nelson himself. They protested that they had
withdrawn the restrictions on the exportation of corn so far as they
could, and he swallowed their lies with the simplicity of a child. He
must have been the victim of mesmeric influence not to see through
their vile knavery in pleading poverty when they were asked to carry
out an act of common humanity. All very well for him to groan over
what he had to endure, and to complain that the burden of it had
broken his spirit! Troubridge diagnosed the malady when he implored
Nelson to relinquish the infatuation which was leading him into
trouble. Why, instead of spending his time with Lady Hamilton and
fawning over the King and Queen, did he leave the right thing to be
done by Captain Ball (who took the bull by the horns)? All very well
for him to pour out his wrath to the Duke of Clarence, that his
"constant thought was down, down with the damned French villains"! and
that his "blood boiled at the name of a Frenchman"! But except that we
were at war with the French, were they in any degree such "damned
villains" as the Neapolitans and the whole crew of Court knaves, with
whom he was so blindly enamoured, who were, in reality, ready to sell
their own country and his to the French whenever they saw it was to
their material advantage to do so?

Captain Ball did not waste time in the use of adjectives about the
French and the daily "anxieties" that bore so heavily on himself and
others, "breaking his heart." He gave peremptory orders to his first
lieutenant to proceed off Messina and seize the ships that were lying
there loaded with corn, and bring them to Malta. He defied the
abominable Court of Sicily and their edicts prohibiting exportation,
and his instructions were carried out. He awaited the consequences to
himself with a manly consciousness that humanity must take precedence
of orders dictated by a sentimental fear lest the feelings of a set of
cowardly despots should be hurt. This single act of real courage and
decision saved the lives of thousands of starving people, and
prevented the siege from being removed. The Court of Naples dared not
utter a word of condemnation against Captain Ball, but the Governor of
Malta became the object of their nervous enmity, which they dare not
put into practice.

Lord Minto, many years after the events of which I am writing, said
of Nelson, for whom he had an affectionate regard, that "he was in
many points a really great man, but in others he was a baby." No one
who has studied his career will ever doubt his greatness, but his
peevish childishness, even when he was responsible for the carrying
out of great deeds that did not come so quickly as his eager spirit
craved, ofttimes tried the patience of those who set high value on his
matchless talents and his otherwise lovable disposition. He was never
known to take credit to himself that was due to others, but, like most
great men, he took for granted that all those above or below him in
rank and station should be subordinate to his whims and actions. He
could only accommodate himself to being subordinate to his King, the
King and Queen of Naples, and to the exhilarating influence of Lady
Hamilton. Almost immediately after the seizure of the grain-laden
ships, Nelson sailed for Malta, and had the good fortune to sight a
French squadron, the _Généreux_, three frigates, and a corvette; after
an exciting and hard chase, he came up to them, knocked their masts
over the side, and captured the _Généreux_ and a frigate.

X

Nelson hit on a simple though ingenious plan that was frequently
adopted in subsequent years by captains in the merchant service when
racing, which always created excitement amongst the crew; the order
was given to knock the wedges out of the deck coamings, ease the
strain off the fore and aft stays, and when it was judicious to do it
the pinch on the main rigging was also eased to give the masts more
play. The windjammer seamen knew when this order was given that they
were in for a time of "cracking on," and really enjoyed both the sport
and the risk that it involved, even in the hands of skilful
commanders. By this means the speed was always increased, and it was
quite a common practice on tea-clippers, Australian passenger vessels,
and American packets. The commander rarely left the quarterdeck on
those occasions, unless his officers were really first-class men. The
writer has often attained successful results when racing by putting
invigorating life into his ship by these old-time methods which were
handed down to each generation of sailors. No class of seamen knew
more dainty tricks in manipulating sails and rigging than those who
manned the slave-runner, the smuggler, and the pirate schooner. Their
vessels were designed for speed, but ofttimes when they were in a
tight place they were saved from being destroyed by the superb
nautical dodges which they alone knew so well how and when to put in
use so that their pursuers might be outwitted and outdistanced. It is
more than probable that the _Généreux_ would have got away had Nelson
not been a past-master in all kinds of dodges to make his ship sail
faster. He knew that some of the French ships were notoriously equal
to the British in sailing qualities, but he left nothing to chance.
Every drop of water was ordered to be pumped out of the hold; the
wedges were removed from the masts' coaming; the stays slackened;
butts of water were hung on them; hammocks were piped down; every
available sail was crowded on to her; the most reliable quartermasters
were stationed at the wheel. The _Foudroyant_ is gaining--she draws
ahead. The stump of the "heaven-born" Admiral's right arm is working
with agitation as his ship takes the lead. It is now all up with the
_Généreux_. She surrenders after a terrific, devastating duel, and
Nelson avows that had he acted according to Lord Keith's instead of
his own strategy, she would never have been taken. The _Guillaume
Tell_ had been locked up in Malta Harbour for some time, and the
commander decided to run the gauntlet, his reason being, it is stated,
to relieve the starving garrison from having to feed his ship's
company, which consisted of from 1,000 to 1,200 men. She was
intercepted, engaged, and ultimately taken by the _Foudroyant_,
_Lion_, and _Penelope_ after all her masts had been shot away. The
thrilling story of this sea battle takes high rank in naval warfare.
The French ship was fought with the fury of courage and genius that
Nelson himself could not have failed to admire. The _Penelope_ and
_Lion_ had been mauled off when the _Foudroyant_ came on the scene and
shot away her main and mizzen masts, when a French sailor, like Jack
Crawford of Sunderland at the battle of Camperdown, nailed the ensign
to the stump of the mizzen mast. The foremast was the only mast now
remaining, and it was soon sent flying over the side by the terrific
firing from the British ship. She then took her colours down, ceased
firing, and became the prize of the heroes who had fought and
conquered. Nelson might and ought to have had the glory of taking the
last of the Nile fleet, had he not allowed a perverse spirit to rule
his will. He nursed and inflamed his imagination against Lord Keith
being put over him, until that fine zeal that was so natural to him
slackened. He writes to Hamilton that his "situation is irksome."
"Lord Keith is commander-in-chief, and he (Nelson) has not been kindly
treated." He tells Spencer that he has written to Lord Keith, asking
for permission to come to England, when he (the First Lord) will "see
a broken-hearted man," and that his "spirit cannot submit to it." The
Admiralty may have been inspired to place Lord Keith in supreme
command owing to Nelson's association with the Court party at Palermo
and the growing scandal attached to it. But in that case they should
have frankly told him that they feared the effect his dallying at
Palermo might have on the service in many different ways.

Troubridge and Captain Ball urged him with all the sincerity of
devotion not to return to Sicily, but to remain at Malta, and sign the
capitulation which was near at hand; but they could not alter his
resolve to leave the station, which Troubridge said was due to the
passion of infatuation and not to illness, which he had ascribed as
the reason. Nelson tried the patience of the First Lord (who was his
friend) so sorely that he wrote him a private letter which was couched
in gentle though, in parts, cutting reproaches. He obviously believed
that the plea of ill-health was groundless, or at all events not
sufficiently serious to justify him giving up. He very fairly states
that he is quite convinced that he will be more likely to recover his
health in England than by an inactive stay at the Court of Sicily,
however pleasing the gratitude shown him for the services he has
rendered may be, and that no gratitude from that Court can be too
great in view of the service he had bestowed upon it. Lord Minto, who
was Ambassador at Vienna, says he has letters from Nelson and Lady
Hamilton which do not make it clear whether he will go home or not. He
hopes he will not for his own sake, for he wants him to take Malta
first; and continues, "He does not seem conscious of the sort of
discredit he has fallen into, or the cause of it, for he still writes,
not wisely, about Lady Hamilton and all that," and then generously
states, "But it is hard to condemn and use ill a hero, as he is in his
own element, for being foolish about a woman who has art enough to
make fools of many wiser than an Admiral."

It is hardly possible to doubt that Nelson felt keenly mortified at
losing the opportunity of personally taking the _Guillaume Tell_; but
whether he did or not, he managed to subdue all appearance of envy and
paid a high, sportsmanlike tribute to those who had earned the honour
He could not help flavouring it, however, with some words of
Nelsonian self-approbation. He said, "He gloried in them, for they
were his children, they served in his school, and all of them,
including himself, caught their professional zeal and fire from the
great and good Earl St. Vincent." Then he goes on to say that it is a
great happiness to have the Nile fleet all taken under his orders and
regulations. He slyly claimed the glory of training and inspiring,
though he had deprived himself of added fame by nourishing a morose
feeling of jealousy against Lord Keith, who had been sent out after a
few months' leave to take up his position as commander-in-chief. Owing
to his absence, Nelson had acted in that capacity, and he could not
bear the thought of being superseded by his old chief. In fact, Nelson
could not tolerate being placed in a secondary position by any one. As
I have already stated, he put Keith's authority at defiance and took
responsibilities upon himself, boasting that had they failed he would
have been "shot or broke."

After the capture of the _Généreux_ he struck, and wrote to Keith that
his health would not permit of his remaining at his post, that without
"rest he was done for," and that he could "no more stay fourteen days
longer on the station than fourteen years." At the same time, Captain
Ball wrote to Lady Hamilton that "he had dined with him, and that he
was in good health," that he did not think a short stay would do his
health harm, and that "he would not urge it, were it not that he and
Troubridge wished him to have the honour of the French ships and the
French garrison surrender to him." Nelson's vision and good judgment
at this time must have been totally at fault, and his general attitude
emphasizes the splendid forbearance of his amiable commander-in-chief
and distinguished subordinates who were the very cream of the Navy.
I wonder what would have happened to any of the other brilliant
commanders in the Royal Navy if any of them had, like Nelson,
refused to obey the orders of the commander-in-chief and left his
post off Malta, which was being closely besieged and the garrison
daily expected to capitulate! Supposing Nelson had been the
commander-in-chief and his second in command had acted as he did
towards Lord Keith, there _would_ have been wigs on the green! The
insubordinate officer would have been promptly court-martialled and
hung at the yardarm like the Neapolitan Admiral, Francesco Caracciolo,
or treated like the Hon. Admiral John Byng, who was tried for neglect
of duty in an engagement off Minorca in 1756, and condemned for
committing an error of judgment and shot aboard the _Monarch_ at
Spithead in 1757. Nelson was a stern disciplinarian, who could never
brook being under discipline himself. Nor was he ever a day without a
grievance of one kind or another. It must have been a happy
deliverance to Keith when he heard the last of him in the
Mediterranean, for his mental capacity at this particular stage of his
history was quite defective. No doubt Lady Hamilton and the Queen
jabbered into his ears the injustice of the wrongs imposed upon him.

After the battle of Marengo the whole of Northern Italy was given up
to the French by convention signed by General Milas. The British
Commander-in-Chief proceeded to Leghorn with the fugitives, to be
bored, as he fretfully declared, "by Nelson craving permission to take
the Queen to Palermo, and the prince and princesses to all parts of
the world." The Queen was panic-stricken at the French successes, and
besought him to allow her to sail in the _Foudroyant_; but Keith could
not be prevailed upon to release any of his ships for such a purpose,
notwithstanding Nelson's supplications and her flow of tears. He told
Nelson that the royal lady should get off to Vienna as quickly as she
could and abandon the idea of Palermo, supplementing his refusal to
employ the _Foudroyant_ in any such way. He would only allow a frigate
to escort her own frigates to Trieste. Lady Minto wrote to her sister
from Florence that Keith told the Queen that "Lady Hamilton had had
command of the fleet long enough," and then she adds, "The Queen is
very ill with a sort of convulsive fit, and Nelson is staying to nurse
her, and does not intend going home until he has escorted her back to
Palermo. His zeal for the public service," she continues, "seems
entirely lost in his love and vanity, and they all sit and flatter
each other all day long."

Nelson, steady in his attachment to the Queen declared that he would
see her through and then continue his journey home with the Hamiltons.
They all left Leghorn together, arrived at Florence safely, were
taken from Ancona to Trieste on two Russian frigates, and landed at
Trieste. The Queen of Sicily accompanied them to Vienna, and Nelson
and the Hamiltons continued their triumphant journey through Germany
to Hamburg. His association with the Court of Naples was now at an
end, and his real friends, believing that it had corrupted and sapped
his better nature, were glad of it. His mind at this time was filled
with delusions about his future. He repeatedly declared that he would
never serve again, and from a mixture of motives he acquired happiness
in the belief that he would avenge his keenly-felt wrongs by achieving
oblivion. The idea that fate held in store for him a higher and a
sterner destiny never occurred to him, and he little realized that he
would soon be removed from a sphere where his presence would be no
longer needed. He was, in fact, combating the very destiny he had so
often sought in which he would achieve immortal glory.

XI

The benighted policy of keeping in power a mawkish Sicilian Court,
saturated with the incurable vices of cowardice, falsehood,
dishonesty, and treachery, failed; and the Government of the day was
saddled with the crime of squandering human life, wealth, and energy
without receiving any commensurate return. If it was in the national
interest to involve the country in war with France, it could have
been carried on with greater credit and effect by not undertaking the
hopeless task of bolstering up a Court and a people that were openly
described by our own people who were sent to fight for them as "odious
damned cowards and villains." We had no _real_ grounds of quarrel with
France nor with her rulers. The Revolution was their affair, and was
no concern of ours, except in so far as it might harmfully reflect on
us, and of this there was no likelihood if we left them alone. The
plea of taking the balance of power under our benevolent care was a
sickly exhibition of statesmanship, and the assumption of electing
ourselves guardians of the rights of small nations mere cant. It was,
in fact, the canker of jealousy and hatred on the part of the
reactionary forces against a man, a principle, and a people.

Had those who governed this country then held aloof from the imbroglio
created by the French Revolution, observed a watchful, conciliatory
spirit of neutrality towards the French Government, and allowed the
Continental Powers to adjust their own differences, the conditions of
human existence and the hurtful administration of autocratic
governments would have been reconstituted, and the world would have
been the better for it; instead of which we helped to impose on Europe
twenty years of slaughter and devastation. Our dismal, plutocratic
rulers, with solemn enthusiasm, plunged England with all her power and
influence on the side of Prussia and her continental allies, and, in
conjunction with the Holy Alliance, pledged themselves never to lay
down arms until France was mutilated and the master-mind which ruled
her beaten and dethroned. Their task was long, costly, and gruesome.
What a ghastly legacy those aggressively righteous champions of
international rights have bequeathed to the world! But for their folly
and frenzy we should not be engaged in a European war to-day. Poor
Napoleon! He foreshadowed and used his gigantic genius to prevent it;
now the recoil has come. There are always more flies caught by treacle
than by vinegar, a policy quite as efficacious in preventing
international quarrels as it is in the smaller affairs of our
existence, provided the law which governs the fitness of things is
well defined.

Had we approached Napoleon in a friendly spirit and on equal terms,
without haughty condescension, he would have reciprocated our
cordiality and put proper value on our friendship. By wisdom and tact
the duration of Napoleon's wars would have been vastly shortened, and
both nations would have been saved from the errors that were
committed. We did not do this, and we are now reaping the consequence.
It is hardly to be expected that if hostility be shown towards an
individual or a nation either will mildly submit to it. Who can
estimate the passionate resentment of an emotional people at Nelson's
constant declamatory outbursts against the French national character,
and the effect it had throughout France?

An affront to a nation, even though it is made by a person in a
subordinate position, may bring about far-reaching trouble. Reverse
the position of the traducer of a prominent man or his nation, and it
will be easy to arrive at a correct conclusion as to the temper that
would be aroused, say, in this country. We know that during a war
passions are let loose and charges made by the combatants against each
other which are usually exaggerated, but one thing is certain, that
our soldiers and sailors have always had the well-deserved reputation
of being the cleanest fighters in the world. There have never been
finer examples of this than during the present war. But in justice to
ourselves and to the French during the Napoleonic wars, I think it was
grossly impolitic to engender vindictiveness by unjustifiable
acrimony. Up to the time that Nelson left the Mediterranean for
England, except for the brilliant successes of the Nile and the
equally brilliant capture of the balance of the French Mediterranean
fleet, and subsequently the capitulation of Malta on the 5th
September, 1800, our share in the war was an exhausting and fruitless
failure.

The responsibility for this clearly lies at the door of the Government
who planned it, and in no way attaches to Nelson and his coadjutors,
whose naval and also shore exploits could not be excelled. First, it
was a blink-eyed policy that plunged us into the war at all; and
secondly, it was the height of human folly to waste our resources in
the erroneous belief that the highly trained military men of France
could be permanently subjugated in the Mediterranean by the cowardly,
treacherous villains of which the Roman States armies and Governments
were composed. History is not altogether faithful to the truth in its
honeyed records of the ministerial pashas who tranquilly increased the
national debt, inflicted unspeakable horrors on the population, and
smirched our dignity by entering into a costly bond of brotherhood
with an inveterate swarm of hired bloodsucking weasels. Such,
forsooth! was the mental condition of the wooden souls who managed the
nation's affairs, that they allowed Nelson to add another blot to our
national history escutcheon by taking Ferdinand Bourbon's throne under
his protection. It is true that Ferdinand "did not wish that his
benefactor's name should alone descend with honour to posterity," or
that he should "appear ungrateful." So the Admiral was handsomely
rewarded by being presented with the Dukedom of Bronte and a
diamond-hilted sword which had been given to the King by his father
when he became Sicilian King. It would be nonsense even to suspect
Nelson of accepting either gifts or titles as a bribe to sacrifice any
interest that was British.

Nelson's devotion to the Court did not express itself by seeking
material recompense for the services bestowed on their Sicilian
Majesties. There were various reasons for his elaborate and silly
attentions. First, his range of instructions were wide in a naval
sense; second, his personal attachment to the King and his Consort
(especially his Consort), for reasons unnecessary to refer to again,
became a growing fascination and a ridiculous craze. His fanatical
expressions of dislike to the French are merely a Nelsonian way
of conveying to the world that the existence of so dangerous a
race should be permissive under strictly regulated conditions.
He had a solemn belief in his own superiority and that of his
fellow-countrymen. All the rest were to him mere human scrap, and his
collection of epithets for them was large and varied. His Mogul air in
the presence of aliens was traditionally seamanlike. If they failed
to shudder under his stern look and gleaming eyes, it affected
him with displeasure and contempt. The Neapolitans were fulsomely
accommodating, though Nelson, except from the Court party and a few
nobles, does not appear to have attached much value to their servile
tokens of appreciation. It cannot be said that either Nelson, his
Government, or his country were in any way rewarded by the sacrifices
made ostensibly in the interests of human rights. Under Ferdinand
Bourbon, the Neapolitan States and Sicily had no settled government.
He was a contemptible poltroon, whose throne was supported for years
by British money, men, and ships, and even with our strong support; he
was alternately fleeing to Sicily and returning again under the
formidable protection of British frigates, and, like all perfidious
cowards, his short intervals of government were distinguished by a
despotism that soon made it necessary for him to fly from the feelings
of vengeance he had called out.

Not even the power of Great Britain could prevent the kingdom of
Naples from passing from one vicissitude into another. The French took
possession of it in January 1799, and established what they called the
Parthenopean Republic. Nelson helped to retake it in June of the same
year, and put the itinerant King on the throne. The Neapolitans
occupied Rome on the 30th September, 1799. In October 1805 a treaty of
neutrality between France and Naples was carried into effect.
Ferdinand fled to Sicily again on the 23rd January of the next year,
when the master-mind came to close quarters and put an end, as I have
previously stated, to Ferdinand's kingship and tyrannical rule by
placing his brother Joseph on the throne; two years later Joseph
became King of Spain, and his brother-in-law, Joachim Murat, succeeded
him as ruler of Naples. The Neapolitans were never better governed
than during the reign of these two kings. Many wise laws were made and
enforced by a just and rigid discipline. Incompetent, weak despotism
had disappeared, and any attempt at licence was promptly subdued. The
people were put through a course of transforming education, and
gradually became law-abiding citizens. Even then, methods of carrying
on commerce took a marked change for the better, and predatory habits
were relaxed into comparative honesty, not, it may be supposed, from
virtue, but from fear of the inevitable, harsh consequences. The
public, in a general way, quickly distinguish between a strong,
capable ruler and a weak, incompetent one; and no matter how
indulgent the latter may be, they prefer the strong wholesome-minded
man to the mediocrity.

Ferdinand had none of the qualities that are essential to a man
occupying a position of authority. When the French came to take over
the government of Naples, he flew, as usual, to Sicily, and under the
continuous protection of British men-of-war was with great difficulty
kept reigning there until the end of war, when he was again put on the
throne of Naples in 1815, and forthwith commenced again his rule of
incompetency and despotism, reversing the beneficent rule of his two
able predecessors. The old reprobate died on the 4th January, 1825,
having reigned off and on for sixty-five years, largely owing to the
indulgent and costly support of the British Government.

Caroline died on the 7th September, 1814, and to her abiding credit
she condemned the action of the Court of Vienna for severing the bond
of union between the Emperor Napoleon and her granddaughter, Marie
Louise. She declared vehemently that it was the duty of the latter to
break the prohibition by assuming disguise and tie her bed-sheets
together and lower herself out of the window, and make her way
quickly, in face of all obstacles, to where her husband was. Marie
Louise was not a lady of unyielding morals, and at that particular
time her Hapsburg, licentious mind was not centred on the misfortunes
of her husband, but on Neipperg, who was employed to seduce her.
Caroline told Baron Claude François de Meneval, Napoleon's private
secretary, that she had reason at one time to dislike the Emperor, but
now that adversity had come to him, she forgot the past.

Had this same spirit of rightness and wisdom been adopted by Marie
Louise's father and his allies, as was so nobly advocated by the
sister of Marie Antoinette, there would have been a clean sheet in
history about them, though it is obvious in many quarters that the
historians have extended all the arts of ambiguity and delusion to
make them appear flawless benefactors. Therefore one has to take all
the circumstances handed down from many varied sources, reliable and
unreliable, and after mature thought form conclusions as one's
judgment may direct as to the merits and demerits of every phase that
is recorded. Hence exhaustive research and long-reasoned views lead me
definitely to the conclusion that there is not much that we can put to
the credit of either their wisdom or humanity. My plain opinion is
that they acted ferociously, and although always in the name of the
Son of God, that can never absolve them from the dark deeds that stand
to their names. Nor is it altogether improbable that all the nations
that were concerned in the dreadful assassination are now paying the
natural penalty of their guilt. Natural laws have a curious roundabout
way of paying back old scores, though the tragic retribution has to be
borne more often than not by the innocent descendants of those who
have, in the name of the Deity, violated them.

The Duke of Thunder was proud of the Sicilian meaning of his title,
and so were his sailors, who loved the thrilling effect of anything
that conveyed the idea of being associated with a formidable power
that devastated every other force that stood in its way. For the most
part, Nelson's sailors had great faith in his naval genius. He had led
them many times to victory, and they did not forget the glory that
attached to themselves. He planned the strategy, but it was they that
fought and won the battles. The Duke of Thunder was a fine title to
fight under. A name has frequently done more damage to a foe than
glittering bayonets. But Nelson in no degree had the thunder element
in him, so far as we are able to judge by the descriptions given to us
of him. He was a dashing, courageous, scientific genius, gifted with
natural instincts, disciplinary wisdom, deplorable sentimentality, and
an artificial, revengeful spirit of hatred that probably became real
under the arbitrary circumstances of war, but, I should say, was
rarely prominent. His roaming attacks on the French were probably used
more for effect, and had, we hope, only a superficial meaning. But be
that as it may, it detracts from the dignity of an officer occupying,
as he did, a distinguished position to use language and phrases such
as are common in the forecastle or on the quarterdeck of a sailing
merchantman in the early days before the introduction of steamers.
Here are a few quite amusing outbursts which do not produce the
impression of coming from a person known to fame as the Duke of
Thunder:--On the 1st October, 1801, the preliminaries of peace with
France were signed. When Nelson heard of it he thanked God, and went
on to say, "We lay down our arms, and are ready to take them up again
if the French are insolent." He declares there is no one in the world
more desirous of peace than he is, but that he would "burst sooner
than let any damned Frenchman know it." But it was too much for his
anti-French sentiments when he heard that their Ambassador's carriage
had been dragged by the London mob. He wrote to his medical man, and
asked if he could cure madness, for he had gone mad to learn "that our
damned scoundrels dragged a Frenchman's carriage." And he hoped
nevermore to be dragged by such a degenerate crowd; which was
exhibiting in a characteristic way his high opinion of himself. "Would
our ancestors have done it?" he asks, and then continues: "The
villains would have drawn Buonaparte if he had been able to get to
London to cut the king's head off." The writer has a definite opinion
that Bonaparte would have had a boisterous reception, and that it
might have cemented a friendship that would have been a blessing to
the tired world, and especially to the two warring nations.

The ruler of the French nation, in spite of Nelson's views, would have
made a better ally than enemy. But it often happens that nations, as
well as individuals, lose their psychological opportunity. And we will
risk a belief that if Nelson and Bonaparte met they would have found
an affinity between them that would have made the two men friends.
Southey says that the title "Duke of Thunder" is essentially
applicable to Nelson, but the writer has failed to find anything to
warrant such an opinion.

Nelson's professional pride was for ever being needlessly hurt by
Admiralty tactlessness. He had good reason on many occasions to take
offence at their clumsiness. One of numerous grievances was Sir Sydney
Smith being, to all appearances, put over him. He wrote to Lord St.
Vincent, and reminded him that he was a man, and that it was
impossible for him to serve in the Mediterranean under a junior
officer. St. Vincent prevailed on him not to resign, but Sir Sydney
Smith wished to carry out a policy towards the French in Egypt which
Nelson hotly disapproved, and he commands him on no account to permit
a single Frenchman to leave the country. He considered it would be
madness to permit a band of thieves to return to Europe. "To Egypt,"
he says, "they went of their own accord, and they shall remain there
while he commanded the squadron. Never will he consent to the return
of one ship or Frenchman. I wish them to perish in Egypt, and give an
awful lesson to the world of the justice of the Almighty." It will be
observed how characteristically sailorly he is in his leanings on
Divine monopoly in punishing the "bloody Corsican" for his wickedness
in waging war against Britain. His profound belief was that the
Almighty presided over our destinies then, just as the German Kaiser
claims that He is presiding over his national affairs now; and, as I
have pointed out before, each of the belligerents calls upon Him in
beseeching reverence as a Divine compatriot, to give this Almighty
power to aid in demolishing their common foe, who has broken every law
of God and man. This form of blasphemy is as rampant now as it ever
was. It is not a hungry belief in God that gives the initial impulse
for human slaughter. It is a craving lust for the invention of all
that is devilish in expeditiously disposing of human life.

The international democracies who are devoting so much attention to
political ascendancy should distribute their power in a way that would
make it impossible for weak Governments, composed of mediocrities and
bellicose rulers of nations, to make war whenever their impertinent
ambitions are impressed with the sanguinary rage of conflict.

All wars mutilate civilization, and put back by many generations any
advance that may have been made in the interval between one butchery
and another. The working people of all nations could and should
combine to stop the manufacture of every implement of warfare, and
make it a treasonable offence for any ruler or Government again to
advocate war as a means of settling disputes. This law must of
necessity be binding upon all the Powers, big and little. What a
mockery this gospel of brotherhood has been in all ages! Is it an
ideal ambition to bring it about? Of course it is, but we cannot catch
the spirit of Christ and preach the gospel of pity, and commit hideous
murder at one and the same time! hence the impudence of expecting a
Divine benediction on warfare.

All sorts of public and private honours and testimonials were
conferred upon Nelson during his stay at Hamburg on his way home after
the mortifications caused by the elusive French fleet, Calabrian
brigands, and the alluring attractions of the Court of Naples and
Sicily. One hundred grenadiers, each six feet high, waited at table
when he was being banqueted. The owner of a Magdeburg hotel where he
stayed made money by setting up a ladder outside Nelson's sitting-room
and charging a fee for mounting it and peeping at the hero inside the
room. An aged wine merchant at Hamburg offered him through Lady
Hamilton six dozen bottles of Rhenish wine of the vintage of 1625. It
had been in his own possession for fifty years, and he hoped that some
of it would be allowed to flow with the blood of the immortal hero, as
it would then make the giver happy. Nelson shook hands with the old
man, and consented to receive six bottles, provided he would dine with
him next day. A dozen were sent, and Nelson put aside six, saying that
it was his hope to win half a dozen more victories, and that one
bottle would be drunk after each.

Another aged man, whose ideals were of a different and higher order,
came along. He was a German pastor who, at eighty years of age or
thereabouts, had travelled forty miles with the object of getting
Nelson to write his immortal, name in his Bible. The venerable
Lutheran prelate, with a grateful heart, asked to be allowed to
record his blessing and admiration for the gallant British Admiral by
stating to him, amongst other modestly selected phrases, that "he was
the Saviour of the Christian world." The pastor's fervent testimony of
his work and his mission touched Nelson on a tender spot. In his
rough-and-ready way, he believed in the efficacy of prayer, and he
knew when the old man, bowed down by age, parted from him that he
would be steadfast in his petitions to the Giver of all mercies that
he should be held in His holy keeping, body and soul. The story is an
example of fine healthy devotion, free from sickly cant, though the
logic of successfully squandering rich lives or even bravely
sacrificing your own (as every commander risks doing) is a mysterious
reason for the person who is successful in casting away human
lives--even though they be those of an enemy--having the title of "the
Saviour of the world" conferred upon him!

The writer's idea of how to establish and advance the Christian faith
is to keep out of war, and the best method of doing this is for the
electorate to choose men to govern who are highly gifted with
diplomatic genius. Nearly all wars are brought about through
incompetent negotiators, and the wastage of life and property in
carrying on a war is certainly to be attributed to men who are at the
head of affairs being mere politicians, without any faculty whatever
for carrying out great undertakings. They are simply mischievous
shadows, and merely excel as intriguers in putting good men out of
office and themselves in. It is the selection of men for the posts
they are eminently suited to fill that counts in any department of
life, but it is more manifestly important in affairs of Government.
For instance, nothing but disaster can follow if a man is made
Chancellor of the Exchequer who has no instinct for national finance,
and the same thing applies to a Foreign Secretary who has no knowledge
of or natural instinct for international diplomacy. At the same time,
an adroit commercial expert may be utterly useless in dealing with
matters of State that are affected by trade. The two positions are
wide apart, and are a business in themselves. The writer's view is
that to fill any department of State satisfactorily the head should
have both political and commercial training, combined with wholesome
instinct. I don't say that trade is altogether affected by the kind of
Government that is in power, but bad trade and bad government combined
make a terrific burden for any nation to carry.

Service men, in the main, measure and think always from a military or
naval point of view. Some of them have quite a genius for organizing
in matters concerning their different professions. Take the late Lord
Kitchener. In Army matters he was unequalled as an organizer but
abominably traduced. Then there is Lord Fisher, who easily heads
everybody connected with the Navy, as a great Admiral who can never be
deprived of the merit of being the creator of our modern fleet. He
combines with a matchless genius for control a fine organizing brain.
The politician, with his amateurish antics, deprived the British
Empire of the services of an outstanding figure that would have saved
us many lives and many ships, without taking into account the vast
quantity of merchandise and foodstuffs that have perished. It is not
by creating confusion that the best interest of the nation is served,
either in peace-time or during war. Those robust rhetoricians who
massacre level-headed government and substitute a system of make-shift
experiments during a great national crisis do a wicked public
disservice. I have no time to deal with these superior persons in
detail, but I cannot keep my thoughts from the terrible bitterness and
anguish their haphazard experiments may have caused. The destroying
force will eat into the very entrails of our national life if some
powerful resolute personality does not arise to put an end to the
hopeless extemporizing and contempt for sober, solid, orderly
administration. The truth is that, if a government or anything else is
wrongly conceived, natural laws will never help it to right itself,
and it ends in catastrophe. Such governments are inflicted on us from
time to time as a chastisement, it is said, for our national sins, and
the process of disintegration is deadly in its effects. The only
consoling feature of it is that history is repeating itself with
strange accuracy, as may be verified by a glance into the manuscripts
of Mr. Fortescue at Dropmore. Herein you will find many striking
resemblances between the constitution of the Government then and the
tribulation we are passing through at the present time. One important
event of that period has been avoided up to the present; none has
demanded a settlement of his differences by means of a duelling
contest, as did Castlereagh and Canning.[14] They had a coalition of
all the talents then as they presume to have now, though there has
been no real evidence of it, either in or out of Parliament.

XII

Poor Nelson had a terrible time with one and another of them, as they
had with him, if history may be relied on. His periodical defiances
and his contempt for his superiors is quite edifying. He laid down the
law like a bishop when his moods were in full play. The great naval,
commercial, and military figure to which Nelson comes nearest is
Drake, and the nearest to Nelson in versatility is Lord Fisher, who
must have had an engaging time with those who wished to assume
control of the Navy over his level head. I question whether any man
holding a high position in the British Navy, at any time, could
combine naval, military, and administrative genius, together with
sound common sense, as Nelson did. We have devoted so much attention
to the study of his naval accomplishments that many of his other
practical gifts have been overlooked. It is common belief, in civilian
circles at any rate, and there is good ground for it, that both the
naval and military men do not realize how much their existence depends
on a well-handled and judiciously treated mercantile marine. I have
too much regard for every phase of seafaring life to criticize it
unfairly, but, except on very rare occasions, I have found naval and
military men so profoundly absorbed in their own professions that they
do not trouble to regard anything else as being essential.

The present war will have revealed many things that were not thought
of in other days. One of Nelson's outstanding anxieties was lest any
harm should befall our commerce, and he protected it and our shipping
with fine vigilance and with scant support from the then Government,
which would not supply him with ships; this at times drove him to
expressions of despair. Privateering was more rampant then than it is
now, and the belligerents had great difficulty in enforcing neutrals
to observe neutrality. Indeed, the circumstances were such that it
became impossible to prevent leakage. The British Admiral was
continually protesting to the neutrals against the system of
smuggling and privateering, but it was hardly consistent, seeing that
we were obliged to make breaches of neutrality in order to get our
supplies. Small privateers, consisting sometimes of mere longboats,
infested every swatch and corner they could get into on the Spanish
shores, the Ionian Islands, the Barbary coast, the Balearic Islands,
and Sicily. We indicted France for enforcing subsidies from Spain,
compelling the Neapolitans to provide for her soldiers occupying
Neapolitan territory. We, on the other hand, were obliged to make use
of neutral ports for supplies required for the Gulf of Lyons fleet. It
was a curious position, and both France and England were parties to
the anomaly, and each accused the other of the impiety of it. The
British Admiral and his officers never lost an opportunity of
destroying the marauders when caught within neutral limits, and Nelson
never flinched from supporting his officers in the matter. "The
protection," he writes, "given to the enemies' privateers and rowboats
is extremely destructive of our commerce," and then he goes on to give
reasons why these vermin should be shot or captured.

He was driven frantic by the demands made for convoys by captains and
merchants, and his appeals to the Admiralty for more cruisers were
unheeded. He expresses himself strongly averse from allowing even fast
sailing vessels to make a passage unprotected. Perhaps no human mind
that has been given grave responsibilities to safeguard was ever
lacerated as was Nelson's in seeing that our commercial interest did
not suffer, and that on the seas he guarded a free and safe passage
should be assured to our shipping carrying food and other merchandise
to the mother-country. The responsibility of carrying out even this
special work in a satisfactory way was an amazing task, and no
evidence is on record that he left anything to chance. Results are an
eloquent answer to any doubts on that subject. In addition to policing
the seas, he had the anxiety of watching the tricky manoeuvres of the
French fleet, and planning for their interception and defeat should
they weaken in their elusive methods. Of course, they were playing
their own game, and had a right to, and it was for their opponents,
whom Nelson so well represented, to outwit and trap them into
fighting; but as for having any grounds for complaint, it was not only
silly, but inopportune, to give expression to having a grievance
against the French admirals because they cutely slipped out of his
deadly grasp from time to time and made him weary of life! His
grievances were easier to establish against the Board of Admiralty,
who were alternately paying him compliments or insulting him.
Instructions were given that could not be obeyed without involving the
country in certain loss and complication. Officers, his junior in
rank, were given appointments that had the appearance of placing them
independent of his authority. Seniors of inferior capacity were given
control over him which, but for his whimsical magnanimity, might have
cost us the loss of the fleet, their crews, and our high honour and
superb fighting reputation. Take for example Sir Hyde Parker's command
of the Baltic fleet, or Sir John Orde's clumsy appointment to a