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Title: Drake, Nelson and Napoleon

Author: Walter Runciman

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DRAKE, NELSON AND NAPOLEON

Studies by

SIR WALTER RUNCIMAN, BART

Illustrated

London
T. Fisher Unwin Ltd.
Adelphi Terrace

1919







DEDICATORY LETTER TO SIR JAMES KNOTT

MY DEAR SIR JAMES,

We have travelled far since those early days when you and I, who are
of totally different tastes and temperament, first met and became
friends. I was attracted by your wide knowledge, versatile vigour of
mind, and engaging personality, which subsequent years have not
diminished. You were strenuously engaged at that time in breaking down
the weevilly traditions of a bygone age, and helping to create a new
era in the art of steamship management, and, at the same time,
studying for the Bar; and were I writing a biography of you, I would
have to include your interesting travels in distant lands in quest of
business and organizing it. That must be left for another occasion,
when the vast results to the commercial life of the country to which
you contributed may be fittingly told.

At the present time my vision recalls our joyous yachting cruises on
the Clyde, when poor Leadbitter added to the charm that stays. Perhaps
best of all were the golden days when we habitually took our week-end
strolls together by the edge of the inspiriting splendour of the blue
North Sea, strolls which are hallowed by many memories, and gave me
an opportunity of listening to your vehement flashes of human
sympathies, which are so widely known now. It is my high appreciation
of those tender gifts and of your personal worth, together with the
many acts of kindness and consideration shown to me when I have been
your guest, that gives me the desire to inscribe this book to you and
Lady Knott, and to the memory of your gallant sons, Major Leadbitter
Knott, D.S.O., who was killed while leading his battalion in a
terrific engagement in Flanders, and Captain Basil Knott, who fell so
tragically a few months previously at his brother's side.

With every sentiment of esteem,
I am, dear Sir James,
Ever yours sincerely,

WALTER RUNCIMAN.

March 1919.




PREFACE


This book has evolved from another which I had for years been urged to
write by personal friends. I had chatted occasionally about my own
voyages, related incidents concerning them and the countries and
places I had visited, the ships I had sailed in, the men I had sailed
with, and the sailors of that period. It is one thing to tell
sea-tales in a cosy room and to enjoy living again for a brief time in
the days that are gone; but it is another matter when one is asked to
put the stories into book form. Needless to say for a long time I
shrank from undertaking the task, but was ultimately prevailed upon to
do so. The book was commenced and was well advanced, and, as I could
not depict the sailors of my own period without dealing--as I thought
at the time--briefly with the race of men called buccaneers who were
really the creators of the British mercantile marine and Navy, who
lived centuries before my generation, I was obliged to deal with some
of them, such as Hawkins, Drake, Frobisher, Daimper, Alexander Selkirk
of Robinson Crusoe fame, and others who combined piracy with commerce
and sailorism. After I had written all I thought necessary about the
three former, I instinctively slipped on to Nelson as the greatest
sea personality of the beginning of the last century. I found the
subject so engrossing that I could not centre my thoughts on any
other, so determined to continue my narrative, which is not, and never
was intended to be a life of Nelson. Perhaps it may be properly termed
fragmentary thoughts and jottings concerning the life of an
extraordinary human force, written at intervals when I had leisure
from an otherwise busy life.

Even if I had thought it desirable, it was hardly possible to write
about Nelson without also dealing with Britain's great adversary and
Nelson's distracted opinion of him.

It would be futile to attempt to draw a comparison between the two
men. The one was a colossal human genius, and the other, extraordinary
in the art of his profession, was entirely without the faculty of
understanding or appreciating the distinguished man he flippantly
raged at from his quarterdeck.

But be that as it may, Nelson's terrific aversion to and explosions
against the French and Napoleon, in whose history I had been absorbed
for many years, seem to me to be the deliberate outpouring of a mind
governed by feeling rather than by knowledge as to the real cause of
the wars and of how we came to be involved and continue in them. Nor
does he ever show that he had any clear conception of the history of
Napoleon's advent as the Ruler of the People with whom we were at war.

I have given this book the title of "Drake, Nelson and Napoleon"
because it seemed to me necessary to bring in Drake, the prototype,
and Napoleon, the antagonist of Nelson.

Drake's influence bore fruit in what is known as the Fleet Tradition,
which culminated in the "Nelson touch." No excuse is needed,
therefore, for writing a chapter which shows how little the seaman's
character has changed in essentials since that time. To-day, our
sailors have the same simple direct force which characterized the
Elizabethan seamen and those of Nelsonian times.

Of Napoleon I have written fully in my book "The Tragedy of St.
Helena," and have contented myself here with pointing out how the
crass stupidity and blind prejudice of his opponents have helped
largely to bring about the world-war of our own times. I have also
endeavoured to contrast the statesmanlike attitude of Napoleon with
the short-sighted policy of England's politicians and their allies at
that time.

Having planned the book on such lines, it inevitably follows that
Nelson must occupy a larger space in it than either Drake or Napoleon,
but for that I offer no apology.

WALTER RUNCIMAN.

March 1919.




CONTENTS


DEDICATORY LETTER

PREFACE

1. DRAKE AND THE FLEET TRADITION

2. NELSON AND HIS CIRCLE
   TRAFALGAR, OCT. 21st, 1805
   (_a_) BRITISH ORDER OF BATTLE
   (_b_) A LIST OF THE COMBINED FLEET OF FRANCE AND SPAIN

3. NAPOLEON AND HIS CONNECTION WITH THE WORLD-WAR

4. SEA SONGS

APPENDIX: SOME INCIDENTS OF NELSON'S LIFE
(CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED)

INDEX




ILLUSTRATIONS

LINE OF BATTLE SHIP (EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY)
DRAKE
NELSON
LADY HAMILTON AS "A SIBYL"
CAPTAIN HARDY (OF THE "VICTORY")
"PRINCESS CHARLOTTE."--FRIGATE (EARLY NINETEENTH CENTURY)
H.M.S. "VICTORY" GOING INTO BATTLE AT TRAFALGAR
ADMIRAL COLLINGWOOD
THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON AFTER HIS ACCESSION




DRAKE AND THE FLEET TRADITION


I

The great sailors of the Elizabethan era--Hawkins, Drake, Frobisher,
Howard, Davis, and Sir Humphrey Gilbert--were the prototypes of the
sailors of the nineteenth century. They discovered new lands, opened
up new avenues of commerce, and combined these legitimate forms of
enterprise with others which at this date would be regarded as rank
piracy. Since, however, they believed themselves to be the ambassadors
of God, they did everything in His name, whether it were the seizing
of Spanish treasure or the annexing of new worlds by fair means or
foul, believing quite sincerely in the sanctity of what they did with
a seriousness and faith which now appear almost comic.

For many years the authorities of the Inquisition had plundered goods
and put to death English seamen and merchants, and Spanish Philip,
when remonstrated with, shrugged his shoulders and repudiated the
responsibility by saying that he had no power over the "Holy House."
Drake retaliated by taking possession of and bringing to England a
million and a half of Spanish treasure while the two countries were
not at war. It is said that when Drake laid hands on the bullion at
Panama he sent a message to the Viceroy that he must now learn not to
interfere with the properties of English subjects, and that if four
English sailors who were prisoners in Mexico were ill-treated he would
execute two thousand Spaniards and send him their heads. Drake never
wasted thought about reprisals or made frothy apologetic speeches as
to what would happen to those with whom he was at religious war if
they molested his fellow-countrymen. He met atrocity with atrocity. He
believed it to be his mission to avenge the burning of British seamen
and the Spanish and Popish attempts on the life of his virgin
sovereign. That he knew her to be an audacious flirt, an insufferable
miser, and an incurable political intriguer whose tortuous moves had
to be watched as vigilantly as Philip's assassins and English
traitors, is apparent from reliable records. His mind was saturated
with the belief in his own high destiny, as the chosen instrument to
break the Spanish power in Europe. He was insensible to fear, and knew
how to make other people fear and obey him. He was not only an
invincible crusader, but one of those rare personalities who have the
power of infusing into his comrades his own courage and enthusiasm.
The Spanish said he was "a magician who had sold his soul to the
devil." The Spanish sailors, and Philip himself, together with his
nobles, were terror-stricken at the mention of his name. He was to
them an invincible dragon. Santa Cruz warned his compatriots that the
heretics "had teeth, and could use them." Here is another instance,
selected from many, of the fanatical superstitions concerning Drake's
irresistible power. Medina Sidonia had deserted the Andalusian
squadron. Drake came across the flagship. Her commander said he was
Don Pedro de Valdes, and could only surrender on honourable terms. The
English commander replied, "I am Drake, and have no time to parley.
Don Pedro must surrender or fight." So Don Pedro surrendered to the
gallant captain of the _Revenge_, and lavished him with praise,
evidently glad to have fallen into the hands of so famous and generous
a foe. Drake is said to have treated his captive with elaborate
generosity, while his crew commandeered all the vast treasure. He then
sent the galleon into Dartmouth Harbour, and set off with his
prisoners to chase Medina Sidonia.

In the whole range of Drake's adventurous career there does not appear
to be any evidence of his having been possessed with the idea of
supernatural assistance, though if perchance he missed any of Philip's
treasure-ships he complacently reported "the reason" to those in
authority as "being best known to God," and there the incident ended.
On the other hand, the Deity was no mystery to him. His belief in a
Supreme Power was real, and that he worked in harmony with It he never
doubted. When he came across anything on land or sea which he thought
should be appropriated for the benefit of his Queen and country, or
for himself and those who were associated with him in his piratical
enterprises, nothing was allowed to stand in his way, and, generally
speaking, he paralysed all resistance to his arms into submission by
an inexorable will and genius. The parsimonious Elizabeth was always
slyly willing to receive the proceeds of his dashing deeds, but never
unduly generous in fixing his share of them. She allowed her ships to
lie rotting when they should have been kept in sound and efficient
condition, and her sailors to starve in the streets and seaports.
Never a care was bestowed on these poor fellows to whom she owed so
much. Drake and Hawkins, on the other hand, saw the national danger,
and founded a war fund called the "Chatham Chest"; and, after great
pressure, the Queen granted £20,000 and the loan of six battleships to
the Syndicate. Happily the commercial people gave freely, as they
always do. What trouble these matchless patriots had to overcome!
Intrigue, treason, religious fanaticism, begrudging of supplies, the
constant shortage of stores and provisions at every critical stage of
a crisis, the contradictory instructions from the exasperating Tudor
Queen: the fleet kept in port until the chances of an easy victory
over England's bitterest foes had passed away! But for the vacillation
of the icy virgin, Drake's Portugal expedition would have put the
triumph of the Spanish Armada to the blush, and the great Admiral
might have been saved the anguish of misfortune that seemed to follow
his future daring adventures for Spanish treasure on land and sea
until the shadows of failure compassed him round. His spirit broken
and his body smitten with incurable disease, the fleet under his
command anchored at Puerto Bello after a heavy passage from Escudo de
Veragua, a pestilential desert island. He was then in delirium, and on
the 28th January, 1596, the big soul of our greatest seaman passed
away beyond the veil. His body was put into a lead and oak coffin and
taken a few miles out to sea, and amidst manifestations of great
sorrow he was lowered down the side and the waters covered him over.
Two useless prize ships were sunk beside him, and there they may still
lie together. The fleet, having lost their guiding spirit, weighed
anchor and shaped their course homewards.

Drake was not merely a seaman and the creator of generations of
sailors, but he was also a sea warrior of superb naval genius. It was
he who invented the magnificent plan of searching for his country's
enemies in every creek into which he could get a craft. He also imbued
Her Gracious Majesty and Her Gracious Majesty's seamen with the idea
that in warfare on sea or land it is a first principle to strike first
if you wish to gain the field and hold it. Having smashed his
antagonist, he regarded it as a plain duty in the name of God to live
on his beaten foes and seize their treasures of gold, silver,
diamonds, works of art, etc., wherever these could be laid hold of.
The First Lady of the Land was abashed at the gallant sailor's bold
piratical efforts. She would not touch the dirty, ill-gotten stuff
until the noble fellow had told her the fascinating story of his
matchless adventures and slashing successes. Doubtless the astute
Admiral had learned that his blameless Queen was only averse to
sharing with him the plunder of a risky voyage until he had assured
her again and again that her cousin, Philip of Spain, had his
voracious eye on her life, her throne, and all her British
possessions, wherever they might be.

The valiant seaman appears to have played daintily and to good effect
with the diabolical acts of the Spaniards, such as the burning of
English seamen, until they roused in Elizabeth the spirit of
covetousness and retaliation. It was easy then for her incorruptible
integrity (!) to surrender to temptation. A division of what had been
taken from Philip's subjects was forthwith piously made. Elizabeth,
being the chief of the contracting parties, took with her accustomed
grace the queenly share. On one occasion she walked in the parks with
Drake, held a royal banquet on board the notorious _Pelican_, and
knighted him; while he, in return for these little attentions,
lavished on his Queen presents of diamonds, emeralds, etc. The
accounts which have been handed down to us seem, in these days,
amazing in their cold-blooded defiance of honourable dealing. But we
must face the hard facts of the necessity of retaliation against the
revolting deeds of the Inquisition and the determined, intriguing
policy of worming Popery into the hearts of a Protestant nation, and
then we realize that Drake's methods were the "invention" of an
inevitable alternative either to fight this hideous despotism with
more desperate weapons and greater vigour than the languid,
luxury-loving Spaniards had taken the trouble to create or succumb to
their tremendous power of wealth and wickedness. Drake was the chosen
instrument of an inscrutable destiny, and we owe it to him that the
divided England of that day was saved from annihilation. He broke the
power of Spain at sea, and established England as the first naval and
mercantile Power in the world. He was the real founder of generations
of seamen, and his undying fame will inspire generations yet unborn to
maintain the supremacy of the seas.

The callous, brutal attitude of Elizabeth towards a race of men who
had given their lives and souls so freely in every form of danger and
patriotic adventure because they believed it to be a holy duty is one
of the blackest pages of human history. The cruelties of the Spanish
Inquisition and the treatment of sailors in the galleys were only
different in degree, and while there are sound reasons for condemning
the Queen and the ruling classes of that time for conduct that would
not be tolerated in these days, it is unquestionably true that it was
a difficult task to keep under control the spirit of rebellion of that
period, as it is to-day. Doubtless those in authority were, in their
judgment, compelled to rule with a heavy hand in order to keep in
check wilful breaches of discipline.

Attempts to mutiny and acts of treason were incidents in the wonderful
career of Francis Drake which frequently caused him to act with
severity. Doughty, the Spanish spy, who was at one time a personal
friend of Drake's, resolved to betray his commander. Doughty was
caught in the act, tried by a court composed of men serving under
Drake, found guilty, and after dining with the Admiral, chatting
cheerfully as in their friendly days, they drank each other's health
and had some private conversation not recorded; then Doughty was led
to the place of execution and had his head chopped off, Drake
exclaiming as it fell, "Lo, this is the end of traitors!" Then Drake
relieved Fletcher of his duties as chaplain by telling him softly that
he would "preach this day." The ship's company was called together and
he exhorted them to harmony, warning them of the danger of discord.
Then in his breezy phraseology he exclaims, "By the life of God, it
doth even take my wits from me to think of it." The crew, it appears,
was composed of gentlemen, who were obviously putting on airs, and
sailors, who resented their swank as much as did the great captain. So
Drake proceeds to lay the law down vehemently. "Let us show
ourselves," said he, "all to be of one company, and let us not give
occasion to the enemy to rejoice at our decay and overthrow. Show me
the man that would refuse to set his hand to a rope, but I know that
there is not any such here." Then he proceeds to drive home his plan
of discipline with vigour. "And as gentlemen are necessary for
government's sake in the voyage, so I have shipped them to that and to
some further intent." He does not say quite what it is, but they
doubtless understand that it is meant to be a warning lest he should
be compelled to put them through some harsh form of punishment. He
concludes his memorable address with a few candid words, in which he
declares that he knows sailors to be the most envious people in the
world and, in his own words, "unruly without government," yet, says
he, "May I not be without them!" It is quite clear that Drake would
have no class distinction. His little sermon sank deep into the souls
of his crew, so that when he offered the _Marigold_ to those who had
lost heart, to take them back to England, he had not only made them
ashamed of their refractory conduct, but imbued them with a new
spirit, which caused them to vie with each other in professions of
loyalty and eagerness to go on with him and comply with all the
conditions of the enterprise.

The great commander had no room for antics of martyrdom. He gave human
nature first place in his plan of dealing with human affairs. He did
not allow his mind to be disturbed by trifles. He had big jobs to
tackle, and he never doubted that he was the one and only man who
could carry them to a successful issue. He took his instructions from
Elizabeth and her blustering ministers, whom he regarded as just as
likely to serve Philip as the Tudor Queen if it came to a matter of
deciding between Popery and Protestantism. He received their
instructions in a courtly way, but there are striking evidences that
he was ever on the watch for their vacillating pranks, and he always
dashed out of port as soon as he had received the usual hesitating
permission. Once out of reach, he brushed aside imperial instructions
if they stood in the way of his own definite plan of serving the best
interests of his country, and if the course he took did not completely
succeed--which was seldom the case--he believed "the reason was best
known to God."

John Hawkins and Francis Drake had a simple faith in the divine object
they were serving. Hawkins thought it an act of high godliness to
pretend that he had turned Papist, in order that he might revenge and
rescue the remnant of his poor comrades of the San Juan de Ulloa
catastrophe, who were now shut up in Seville yards and made to work in
chains. Sir John hoodwinked Philip by making use of Mr. George
Fitzwilliam, who in turn made use of Rudolfe and Mary Stuart. Mary
believed in the genuineness of the conspiracy to assassinate Elizabeth
and set up the Queen of Scots in her place, to hand over Elizabeth's
ships to Spain, confiscate property, and to kill a number of
anti-Catholic people. The Hawkins counterplot of revenge on Philip and
his guilty confederates was completely successful. The comic audacity
of it is almost beyond belief. The Pope had bestowed his blessing on
the conspiracy, and the Spanish Council of State was enthusiastically
certain of its success. So credulous were they of the great piratical
seaman's conversion, that an agreement was signed pardoning Hawkins
for his acts of piracy in the West Indies and other places; a Spanish
peerage was given him together with £40,000, which was to be used for
equipping the privateer fleet. The money was duly paid in London, and
possibly some of it was used for repairing the British squadron which
Hawkins had pronounced as being composed of the finest ships in the
world for him to hand over to Philip, even though they had been
neglected owing to the Queen's meanness. The plausible way in which
the great seaman put this proposition caught the imagination of the
negotiators. They were captivated by him. He had caused them to
believe that he was a genuine seceder from heresy and from allegiance
to the Queen of England, and was anxious to avow his penitence for the
great sins he had committed against God and the only true faith, and
to make atonement for them in befitting humility. All he asked for was
forgiveness, and in the fullness of magnanimity they were possibly
moved to ask if, in addition to forgiveness, a Spanish peerage, and
£40,000, he would like to commemorate the occasion of his conversion
by a further token of His Spanish Majesty's favour. It is easy to
picture the apparent indifference with which he suggested that he did
not ask for favours, but if he were to ask for anything, it would be
the release from the Inquisition galleys of a few poor sailor
prisoners. The apparently modest request was granted. Hawkins had
risked his life to accomplish this, and now he writes a letter to
Cecil beginning "My very good Lord." I do not give the whole of the
letter. Suffice it to say that he confirms the success of the plot so
far as he is concerned, and in a last paragraph he says, "I have sent
your Lordship the copy of my pardon from the King of Spain, in the
order and manner I have it, with my great titles and honours from the
King, from which God deliver me."

The process by which Hawkins succeeded in obtaining the object he had
in view was the conception of no ordinary man. We talk and write of
his wonderful accomplishments on sea and land, as a skilful, brave
sailor, but he was more than that. He was, in many respects, a genius,
and his courage and resolution were unfailingly magnificent.

I dare say the prank he played on Philip and his advisers would be
regarded as unworthy cunning, and an outrage on the rules of high
honour. Good Protestant Christians disapproved then, as now, the
wickedness of thus gambling with religion to attain any object
whatsoever, and especially of swearing by the Mother of God the
renunciation of the Protestant faith and the adoption of Roman
Catholicism. The Spaniards, who had a hand in this nefarious
proceeding, were quite convinced that, though Hawkins had been a
pirate and a sea robber and murderer, now that he had come over to
their faith the predisposition to his former evil habits would leave
him. These were the high moral grounds on which was based the resolve
to execute Elizabeth and a large number of her subjects, and take
possession of the throne and private property at their will. It was,
of course, the spirit of retaliation for the iniquities of the British
rovers which was condoned by their monarch. In justification of our
part of the game during this period of warfare for religious and
material ascendancy, we stand by the eternal platitude that in that
age we were compelled to act differently from what we should be
justified in doing now. Civilization, for instance, so the argument
goes, was at a low ebb then. I am not so sure that it did not stand
higher than it does now. It is so easy for nations to become
uncivilized, and we, in common with other nations, have a singular
aptitude for it when we think we have a grievance. Be that as it may,
Hawkins, Drake, and the other fine sea rovers had no petty scruples
about relieving Spaniards of their treasure when they came across it
on land or on their ships at sea. Call them by what epithet you like,
they believed in the sanctity of their methods of carrying on war, and
the results for the most part confirmed the accuracy of their
judgment. At any rate, by their bold and resolute deeds they
established British freedom and her supremacy of the seas, and handed
down to us an abiding spirit that has reared the finest seamen and
established our incomparable merchant fleet, the largest and finest in
the world.

There is no shame in wishing the nation to become imbued with the
spirit of these old-time heroes, for the heritage they have bequeathed
to us is divine and lives on. We speak of the great deeds they were
guided to perform, but we rarely stop to think from whence the
inspiration came, until we are touched by a throbbing impulse that
brings us into the presence of the great mystery, at which who would
dare to mock?

It is strange that Hawkins' and Drake's brilliant and tragic careers
should have been brought to an end by the same disease within a short
time of each other and not many miles apart, and that their mother,
the sea, should have claimed them at last in the vicinity of the scene
of their first victorious encounter with their lifelong enemies, the
Spaniards. The death of the two invincibles, who had long struck
terror into the hearts of their foes, was the signal for prolonged
rejoicings in the Spanish Main and the Indies, while the British
squadron, battered and disease-smitten, made its melancholy way
homeward with the news of the tragedy.

For a time the loss of these commanding figures dealt a blow at the
national spirit. There are usually long intervals between Cęsars and
Napoleons. Nations have, in obedience to some law of Nature, to pass
through periods of mediocre rule, and when men of great genius and
dominating qualities come to clear up the mess, they are only
tolerated possibly by fear, and never for long by appreciation. A
capricious public soon tires of these living heroes. It is after they
are dead that they become abiding examples of human greatness, not so
much to their contemporaries as to those generations that follow them.
The historian has a great deal to do with the manner in which the fame
of a great man is handed down to posterity, and it should never be
forgotten that historians have to depend on evidence which may be
faulty, while their own judgment may not always be sound. It is a most
difficult task to discipline the mind into a perfectly unbiased
condition. The great point is to state honestly what you believe, and
not what you may know those you are speaking to wish you to say. The
contemporaries of Hawkins and Drake unquestionably regarded them with
high admiration, but I question whether they were deified then as they
are now. The same thing applies to Nelson and Collingwood, of whom I
shall speak later on, as the historian has put the stamp upon their
great deeds also.

Drake and Hawkins attracted attention because of their daring voyages
and piratical enterprises on Spanish property on sea and land. Every
obstacle was brushed aside. Danger ever appealed to them. They dashed
into fortified ports filled with warships fully equipped, silenced the
forts, sank and set fire to Philip's vessels, and made everything and
everybody fly before them in the belief that hell had been let loose.
To the superstitious Spanish mind it seemed as though the English must
be under Satanic protection when they slashed their way undaunted into
the midst of dangers which would inevitably spell death for the mere
mortal. These corsairs of ours obviously knew and took advantage of
this superstition, for cannon were never resorted to without good
reason, and never without effect. The deliberate defiance of any
written or unwritten law that forbade their laying hands on the
treasure they sought so diligently, and went far and near to find,
merely increased public admiration. Elizabeth pretended that they were
very trying to her Christian virtues. But leave out of count the
foregoing deeds--which no one can dispute were prodigious, and quite
equal to the part these men played in the destruction of the
Armada--what could be more dashingly brilliant in naval warfare than
Drake's raids on San Domingo, Carthagena, Cadiz, and other ports and
cities of old and new Spain, to which I have already briefly alluded?
It was their great successes in their great undertakings, no matter
whether it was "shocking piracy" or not, that immortalized these
terrible creators of England's greatness all the world over!

Thomas Cobham, a member of a lordly and Protestant family, became a
sailor, and soon became fascinated with the gay life of privateering.
Once when in command of a vessel, eagerly scouring the seas for
Spanish prizes, one was sighted, bound from Antwerp to Cadiz. Cobham
gave chase, easily captured her in the Bay of Biscay, and discovered
there were forty Inquisition prisoners aboard. After rescuing the
prisoners, the captain and crew of the Spanish vessel were then sewn
up in their own mainsail and tossed into the sea, no doubt with such
sententious expressions of godliness as was thought befitting to
sacred occasions of that period. This ceremony having been performed,
the vessel was scuttled, so that she might nevermore be used in
trading with British sailors or any one else for Inquisition
purposes. When the story became known, the case was discreetly
inquired into, and very properly the gallant Cobham was never
punished, and was soon running here and there at his old game.

It may be taken for granted that there was no mincing matters when an
opportunity for reprisals occurred. The Spaniards had carried
barbarism to such a pitch in seizing our ships and condemning their
crews to the galleys, that Queen Elizabeth was never averse to meeting
murder and plunder by more than the equivalent in retaliation, except
when she imagined that Philip was showing signs of overpowering
strength; she then became timid and vacillating. She was never
mentally disturbed by the moral side of the great deeds that brought
her vast stores of plunder. Moreover, she could always find an
accommodating bishop to put her qualms (if she ever had any, except
those of consequence to herself) at rest on points of conscience. One
noted personage, who held high ecclesiastical office, told her that it
was a virtue to seize treasure when she knew it would otherwise be
used for the purpose of murdering her Protestant subjects. Sir Arthur
Champernowne, a noted vice-admiral of Elizabeth's reign, in writing to
Cecil of the vessel that had put into Plymouth through stress of
weather with the needy Philip's half-million of ducats on board,
borrowed, it is said, from a Genoa firm of financiers, said it should
be claimed as fair booty. Sir Arthur's view was that anything taken
from so perfidious a nation was both necessary and profitable to the
Commonwealth. No doubt a great deal of pious discussion would centre
round the Vice-Admiral's easy moral but very logical opinions. The
main thing in his mind, and in that of everybody else who was free
from poisoned cant, was that the most shocking crimes were being
openly advocated by Philip, King of Spain, against all European
Protestants, rich or poor, who came within the clutches of the savages
that administered the cruelties of the Inquisition. The canting crowd
shrieked against the monstrous impiety of such notions, but their
efforts to prove purity of motive were unavailing.

After considered thought by a committee of men of high rectitude, it
was decided to act without fear or favour in a strictly impartial
manner, so Philip's half-million of bullion was divided between the
Prince of Orange and the rigid moralist, Elizabeth, who is credited
with having spent her share on the Navy, a very admirable way of
disposing of it.

This act was the cause of a deluge of reprisals on the part of Spain.
But, from all accounts, Elizabeth's corsairs had always the best of it
in matters of material importance. The Spanish are naturally a proud,
brave race. In the middle of the sixteenth century their power
dominated two-thirds of the universe, and had they stuck to business,
and not so feverishly to the spreading of their religious faith by
violent means, they might have continued a predominant nation.

Their civil, naval, and military position was unequalled. The
commerce and wealth of the whole world was pre-eminently in their
hands, and in common with other nations who arrive at heights of
power, prosperity, and grandeur (which last sits so easily on the
Spaniard), they gave way to pleasures and to the luxury of laziness
which invariably carries with it sensuality. Wherever they found
themselves in the ascendancy, they intrigued to impose the Roman faith
on the population, and if that method did not succeed with felicity,
whenever the agents of their governing classes, including their king,
met with opposition from prominent men or women, their opponents were
put to the rack, burnt, or their heads sent flying. In this country no
leading Protestant's life or property was safe. Even Elizabeth, during
the reign of her half-sister, Mary, was obliged to make believe that
her religious faith was Roman in harmony with that of the Queen. It
was either adoption, deception, or execution, and the future queen
outwitted all their traps and inventions until Mary passed on, and
Elizabeth took her place on the throne.

Meanwhile, Spain, as I have indicated, was tampering with abiding
laws. Catastrophe always follows perilous habits of life, which were
correctly attributed to the Spanish. As with individuals, so it is
with nations; pride can never successfully run in conjunction with the
decadence of wealth. It is manifestly true that it is easier for a
nation to go up than to realize that it has come down, and during long
years Spain has had to learn this bitter lesson. It was not only
imperious pride of race and extravagant grandeur that brought the
destruction of her supremacy of the seas, and the wealth and supremacy
of many lands, but their intolerable religious despotism towards those
who were not already, and refused to become, as I have said, adherents
of the Roman Catholic creed. Poor wretches who were not strong enough
to defend themselves had the mark of heretics put on them; and for
nearly thirty years Spaniards carried on a system of burning British
seamen whenever they could lay hands on them. They kept up a constant
system of spying and plotting against the British Protestant Queen and
her subjects of every position in life. The policy of the Spanish King
and government was to make the British and other races vassals of the
Pope. Philip, like all powerful monarchs and individuals who are put
into power without any of the qualities of fitness to fill a high
post, always believed that his presence on earth was an act of supreme
Providence. Philip, in proclaiming his glorious advent for the good of
mankind, explained it with a decorum that had a fascinating flavour.
Unlike some imitators of great personalities, he was never vulgarly
boastful in giving expression to the belief that his power came from
above and would be sustained by the mystery that gave him it in such
abundance, but, in fact, he never doubted what was known as the
doctrine of the divine right of kings.

The human support which kept him in authority did not enter into his
calculations. The popular notions of the democracies then was that no
physical force could sever the alliance which existed between God and
monarchs; and there is no evidence that Philip was ever disillusioned.
He regarded his adversaries, especially Hawkins and Drake, in the
light of magicians possessed of devilish spirits that were in conflict
with the wishes of the Deity. His highly placed and best naval
officer, Santa Cruz, took a more realistic view than his master,
though he might have had doubts as to whether the people who were at
war with Spain were not a species of devil. But he expressed the view
which even at this distance of time shows him to have been a man of
sane, practical thought. Philip imagined he could agree with the acts
of assassins (and also support the Holy Office) in their policy of
burning English sailors as heretics. Santa Cruz reflected more deeply,
and advised the King that such acts were positively courting disaster,
because "the British corsairs had teeth, and could use them."

Spain looked upon her naval position as impregnable, but Elizabeth's
pirates contemptuously termed it "a Colossus stuffed with clouts."
Priests, crucifixes, and reliance on supernatural assistance had no
meaning for them. If any suggestion to impose on them by such means
had been made, they would have cast the culprits over the side into
the sea. They were peculiarly religious, but would tolerate no saintly
humbugs who lived on superstition. When they had serious work in hand,
they relied on their own mental and physical powers, and if they
failed in their objective, they reverently remarked, "The reason is
best known to God"--a simple, unadorned final phrase.

Some of the sayings and doings, reliable or unreliable, that have been
handed down to us, are extremely comical, looking at them from our
religious standpoint in these days; for instance, Drake's method of
dealing with insubordination, his idea of how treason was to be
stamped out, and the trial of Doughty, the traitor.

People who sit in cosy houses, which these early sailors made it
possible for them in other days and now to acquire, may regard many of
the disciplinary methods of Drake and his sea contemporaries as sheer
savage murder, but these critics are not quite qualified to judge as
to the justice or injustice of the actions of one man who is
responsible for the safe and proper navigation of a vessel, no matter
whether on an enterprising voyage of piracy, fair trade, or invasion.
If a nautical project is to be carried out with complete success, the
first element in the venture is discipline, and the early seafarers
believed this, as their successors have always done, especially during
the different periods of the sailing-ship era. A commander, if he
wishes to be successful in keeping the spirit of rebellion under, must
imbue those under him with a kind of awe. This only succeeds if the
commander has a magnetic and powerful will, combined with quick action
and sound, unhesitating judgment. All the greatest naval and military
chiefs have had and must have now these essential gifts of nature if
they are to be successful in their art. The man of dashing expediency
without judgment or knowledge is a great peril in any responsible
position. When either a ship or nation or anything else is in trouble,
it is the cool, calculating, orderly administrator, who never makes
chaos or destructive fuss, that succeeds. That is essential, and it is
only this type of person that so often saves both ships, armies, and
nations from inevitable destruction. The Duke of Wellington used to
say that "In every case, the winning of a battle was always a damned
near thing." One of the most important characteristics of Drake's and
Hawkins' genius was their fearless accurate methods of putting the
fear of God into the Spaniards, both at sea and ashore. The mention of
their names made Philip's flesh creep. Even Admiral Santa Cruz, in
common with his compatriots, thought Drake was "The Serpent"--"The
Devil." And the Spanish opinion of him helped Drake to win many a
tough battle. Amongst the thrilling examples are his dashes into
Corunna and Cadiz. Drake never took the risk before calculating the
cost and making certain of where the vulnerable weak spot of the enemy
lay, and when and where to strike it. The complete vanquishing of the
Armada is another instance of Drake's great qualities of slashing yet
sound judgment put accurately into effect.

Of course, the honours of the defeat of the Armada must always be
shared with other naval experts who had acquired their knowledge of
sea warfare in what is called the piratical line. But the spirit that
inflamed the whole British fleet was that of Drake, Hawkins,
Frobisher, Seymour, and Howard, and the inspiration came mainly from
the two former. On the Spanish side, as a naval battle, it was a
fiasco, a mere colossal clerical burlesque. Neither naval strategy nor
ordinary seamanship was in evidence on the part of the chief commander
or his admirals. The men fought with rough-and-tumble heroism. The
sailors were only second in quality to our own, but there was no plan
of battle, and the poor Duke of Medina Sidonia had neither knowledge
of naval affairs nor courage. Philip's theory seems to have been that
any lack of efficiency in the art of war by his commanders would be
made up by the spiritual encouragement of the priests dangling their
crucifixes about the decks amongst the sailors and soldiers, who had
been put through a course of instruction on spiritual efficacy before
sailing on their doomed expedition. They were made to believe that the
Spanish cause was so just that assistance would be given from God to
defeat the "infernal devils" and to invade their country.

This great battle transferred the sea supremacy from the Spanish to
the British, who have held it, with one interval, ever since, and will
continue to hold it, provided that Philip's theories of relying merely
on the help that comes from above be supplemented by, first, the
appointment of a proper head at the Admiralty with some nautical
instinct and knowledge of affairs; and secondly, the keeping up of an
efficient fleet, manned with efficient officers and men. Heaven helps
those who help themselves. No department of government can be properly
managed by novices. The reckless, experimental appointment of untried
men to positions of grave responsibility on which the happiness,
comfort, and life of the whole public may depend, and the very
existence of the country be put in jeopardy, is a gamble, and may be a
crime.

It is always risky to assume that any person holding authority in the
bigger affairs of life is in consequence an instrument of Providence.
Had the conception of the Armada and the organization of every detail
been put into the hands of experienced and trained experts with sound
judgment in naval matters, such as Admiral Santa Cruz, and had it not
been for Philip and his landsman ideas of the efficacy of priests and
crucifixes, and greenhorns such as the Duke of Medina Sidonia and his
landlubber colleagues, Spain might never have been involved in the
Armada fight, and if she had, it is scarcely likely that so appalling
a disaster could have come to her. Apart from any fighting, the fact
of having no better sea knowledge or judgment than to anchor the
Spanish ships in an open roadstead like Calais was courting the loss
of the whole Spanish fleet. One of the fundamental precautions of
seamanship is never to anchor on a lee shore or in an open roadstead,
without a means of escape. The dunderheaded Spanish commanders made
their extermination much more easy for the highly trained British
seamen of all grades, none of whom had any reason to hide their heads
in shame for any part they individually took in the complete ruin of
the Spanish Navy.

One cannot read the sordid story without feeling a pang of pity for
the proud men, such as Recaldo, who died on landing at Bilbao; or
Oquendo, whose home was at Santander. He refused to see his wife and
children, turned his face to the wall, and died of a broken heart
begotten of shame. The soldiers and sailors were so weak they could
not help themselves, and died in hundreds on the ships that crawled
back to Spain. The tragic fate of these vessels and their crews that
were dashed to pieces on the rocks of the Hebrides and Ireland added
greatly to the tale of horror. Philip was crushed, but was a man of
tender sympathies, and free from vindictive resentment against those
who were placed in charge of his terrific and ill-fated navy. He
worked and exhorted others to relieve the sufferers in every possible
way. He obviously regarded the disaster as a divine rebuke, and
submissively acquiesced with true Spanish indolence, saying that he
believed it to be the "great purpose of Heaven."

On the authority of the Duke of Parma, "The English regarded their
victory with modesty, and were languidly indifferent to their valour."
They looked upon the defeat of the Spanish Navy as a token of the
Ruler of all things being decidedly partial to the Protestant faith.
The Spaniards, as a whole, would not allow that Heaven was against
them or that the verdict was that of Providence. They declared that it
was entirely the result of the superior management of the English
ships and the fighting quality of their crews. With this chivalrous
testimonial no one could then or will now disagree. It was very
sporting of them to admit the superiority of the British ships and
seamanship.

Drake and his compeers had reason to be proud of their efforts in the
great naval contest. Their reputations were enhanced by it all over
the world, though never a sign or word came from themselves about
their gallantry. They looked upon these matters as mere incidents of
their enterprising lives.


II

But it is really in the lesser sea encounters, though they probably
had just as great results, that we become enthralled by Drake's
adventurous voyages. The Armada affair was more like the battle of
Trafalgar, one of the differences being that in the latter engagement
the Spanish ships did not risk going far into the open sea, but wisely
kept Cadiz open for retreat, which they availed themselves of after
receiving a dreadful pounding. Drake's voyage in the _Pelican_
excelled anything that had ever been accomplished by previous sea
rovers, and his expedition to the West Indies was a great feat. He
always had trouble with Queen Elizabeth about money when organizing
his voyages. Her Spanish brother-in-law's power was always in her
thoughts. He never allowed her to forget that if he were provoked he
would invade England, and notwithstanding her retort that England had
a long arm which he would do well to fear, her courage alternated with
some nervousness at times. Elizabeth was not so much concerned about
his threat of excommunication of her as the sly tricks in conjunction
with the Pope in spreading the spirit of rebellion in Ireland, and in
other ways conspiring against her. Her mood was at one time to defy
him, and at another conciliatory and fearful lest her pirate chiefs
should do anything to provoke Spanish susceptibilities. Drake was much
hampered by her moods when he wanted to get quickly to business, and
never lost an opportunity of slipping out of her reach when his
eloquence on the acquisition of untold wealth and the capture of some
of Philip's distant colonies had appealed to her boundless avarice and
made her conscience easy. His expedition to the West Indies might
never have been undertaken had he not been a dare-devil fellow, to
whom Burleigh's wink was as good as a nod to be off. He slipped out of
port unknown to her, and his first prize was a large Spanish ship
loaded with salt fish. He pounced upon her after passing Ushant, and
the excellent cargo was suitably distributed amongst the fleet.

There were 25 privateers, and a company of 2,500 men on this
expedition. All were volunteers, and represented every grade of
society, high and low. There was never any difficulty in getting a
supply of men. On this occasion the applications largely outnumbered
the posts available. Drake could always depend upon volunteers, and,
like all men of superb action, he had no liking for conscription. He
knew that in the performance and carrying out of great deeds (and
nearly all of his were terrific) it is men aflame with courage and
enthusiasm that carry the day, and take them as a whole, conscripts
are never wholehearted. The two great characteristics of the British
race--initiative and endurance--are due to this burning flame of
voluntarism.

The West India expedition was organized and all expenses guaranteed by
private individuals. The capital was £60,000, and its allocation was
£40,000 for expenses and £20,000 to be distributed amongst those who
had volunteered to serve. Both men and officers had signed on without
any stipulation for wages. They knew they were out for a piratical
cruise, and welcomed any danger, great or small, that would give them
a chance of making it not only a monetary success, but one that would
give Spanish autocracy another shattering blow. These ancient mariners
never trifled with life, and no sombre views or fatal shadows
disturbed their spirited ambition or caused them to shrink from their
strenuous and stupendous work. They went forth in their cockleshell
fleet as full of hope and confidence as those who are accustomed to
sail and man a transatlantic liner of the present day. Some of their
vessels were but little larger than a present-day battleship's tender.
Neither roaring forties nor Cape Horn hurricanes intimidated them. It
is only when we stop to think, that we realize how great these
adventurers were, and how much we owe to their sacred memories.

In addition to being ridiculously small and shabby in point of
efficiency in rigging, sails, and general outfit, it will always be a
mystery how it was that so few were lost by stress of weather or even
ordinary navigable risks. They were veritable boxes in design, and
their rig alone made it impossible for them to make rapid passages,
even if they had wished to do so. As I write these lines, and think of
my own Western Ocean experiences in well-designed, perfectly equipped,
large and small sailing vessels during the winter hurricane months,
when the passages were made literally under water and every liquid
mountain seemed to forebode immediate destruction, it taxes my
nautical knowledge to understand how these inferior and smaller craft
which Drake commanded did not succumb to the same elements that have
carried superior vessels in later years to their doom. One reason that
occurs to me is that they were never deeply laden, and they were
accustomed to ride hurricanes out when they had plenty of sea room at
their sea anchors.

But nothing can detract from what our generation may describe as their
eccentric genius in combining navigation with piracy and naval and
military art. Talk about "human vision"! What is the good of it if it
turns out nothing but unrestrained confusion? The men of the period I
am writing about had real "vision," and applied it with accuracy
without disorganizing the machinery of life and making the world a
miserable place to live in. They were all for country and none for
self.

After the capture of the Spanish ship and the appropriation of her
cargo of fish, Drake's fleet went lounging along towards Vigo. In due
course he brought his ships to anchor in the harbour, and lost no time
in coming in contact with Don Pedro Bendero, the Spanish governor, who
was annoyed at the British Admiral's unceremonious appearance. Don
Pedro said that he was not aware that his country was at war with
Britain. Drake quickly disillusioned him, and demanded, "If we are not
at war, why have English merchants been arrested?" Don Pedro said an
order had come for their release. Drake landed forthwith a portion of
his force, and seeing that he meant business that foreboded trouble,
the governor sent him wine, fruit, and other luxurious articles of
food in abundance. The ships were anchored in a somewhat open
roadstead, so Drake resolved to take them farther up the waterway
where they would lie comfortably, no matter from what direction the
threatening storm might break. But he had another shrewd object in
view, which was to make a beginning in acquiring any of the valuable
and treasured possessions adorning the churches. A trusted officer who
was in his confidence, and a great admirer of his wisdom and other
personal qualities, was sent to survey the passage and to find a
suitable anchorage. He was a man of enterprise, with a strong dislike
to the Roman Catholic faith, and never doubted that he was perfectly
justified in relieving the churches of plate and other valuables.
These were, in his eyes, articles of idolatry that no man of puritanic
and Protestant principles could refrain from removing and placing
under the safe keeping of his revered chief, who was no more averse to
robbing a church than he was to robbing a ship carrying gold or fish.

As the vessel in charge of this intrepid officer, whose name was
Carlile, approached the town where it was proposed to anchor the fleet
the inhabitants fled, taking with them much of the church plate and
other things which the British had covetously thought an appropriate
prize of theirs. Carlile, being a man of resource, soon laid hold of
other church treasure, which amply compensated for the loss of that
which was carried off by the fleeing inhabitants at the mouth of the
harbour. The day following Christopher Carlile's satisfactory survey
the fleet was anchored off the town. The sight of it threw the whole
district into panic. A pompous governor of Galicia hastened to Vigo,
and on his arrival there he took fright at the number of ships and the
dreaded name of the pirate chief who was in command. It would be
futile to show fight, so he determined to accommodate himself to the
Admiral's terms, which were that he should have a free hand to
replenish the fleet with water and provisions, or any other odds and
ends, without interference. This being accomplished, he agreed to
sail, and no doubt the governor thought he had made a judicious
bargain in getting rid of him so easily. But Drake all the time had
the Spanish gold fleet in his mind. Sacrifices must be made in order
that it may be captured, so off he went for the Cape de Verde islands,
and found when he got there that the treasure-ships had arrived and
sailed only a few hours before. The disappointment was, according to
custom, taken with Christian composure. He had the aptitude of
switching his mind from one form of warfare to another. As I have
said, he would just as soon attack and plunder a city as a church or a
ship. Drake had missed the gold fleet, so he turned his attention to
the treasures of Santiago. When the governor and population were made
aware that the distinguished visitor to their island was the terrible
"El Draque," they and their spiritual advisers as usual flew to the
mountains, without neglecting to take their money and priceless
possessions with them. Drake looted as much as was left in the city of
wine and other valuables, but he got neither gold nor silver, and
would probably have left Santiago unharmed but for the horrible murder
of one of his sailor-boys, whose body was found hacked to pieces. This
settled the doom of the finest built city in the Old World. "El
Draque" at once set fire to it and burnt it to ashes, with that
thoroughness which characterized all such dealings in an age when
barbaric acts justified more than equivalent reprisals.

It would have been a wiser course for the governor to have treated for
the ransom of the town than to have murdered a poor sailor lad who was
innocently having a stroll. It is balderdash to talk of the Spaniards
as being too proud to treat with a person whom they believed to be
nothing better than a pirate. The Spaniards, like other nationalities,
were never too proud to do anything that would strengthen or maintain
their supremacy. Their apparent pride in not treating with Drake at
Santiago and on other rare occasions was really the acme of terror at
hearing his name; there was neither high honour nor grandee dignity
connected with it. As to Philip's kingly pride, it consisted in
offering a special reward of £40,000 to have Elizabeth's great sailor
assassinated or kidnapped. There were many to whom the thought of the
bribe was fascinating. Numerous attempts were made, but whenever the
assassins came within sound of his name or sight of him or his ships
they became possessed of involuntary twitchy sensations, and fled in a
delirium of fear, which was attributed to his being a magician.

As soon as Drake had avenged the sailor-boy's murder he sailed for the
West Indies. When he got into the hot latitudes the plague of yellow
fever appeared, and nearly three hundred of his men died in a few
days. Arriving at Dominica, they found the Caribs had a deadly hatred
of the Spanish, and when they learned that the British were at war
with Spain they offered to prescribe a certain cure for yellow jack
which was eminently effectual. After disinfecting the ships, and
getting supplied with their requirements, the fleet left for San
Domingo, via St. Kitts, which was uninhabited at that time. Domingo
was one of the most beautiful and most wealthy islands in the world.
Columbus and his brother, Diego, are buried in the cathedral there.
The population believed themselves to be immune from harm or invasion
on this distant island home, but Drake soon disillusioned them. His
devoted lieutenant, Christopher Carlile, was selected as usual to find
a suitable channel and landing, a hazardous and almost unattainable
quest, but in his and Drake's skilful hands their object was
accomplished. The ships were brought into port, and in his usual
direct way Drake demanded that the garrison of the castle should
surrender without parley, and it was done. Drake was not finished with
them yet; he wished to know from the governor what terms he was
prepared to offer in order that the city should be saved from pillage.
A negro boy was sent with this dispatch, and raging with the disgrace
of surrendering to the British Admiral, an officer ran a lance through
the boy's body. The poor boy was just able to get back, and died
immediately, close to where Drake was. The Spaniards had allowed their
vicious pride to incite them to commit murder and to insult the
British Admiral, who promptly avenged both deeds by having two friars
taken to the place where the boy had been stabbed, and there hanged.
"El Draque" sent a further note to the governor informing him that
unless the officer who murdered his messenger was executed at once by
the Spanish authorities he would hang two friars for every day that it
was put off. Needless to say, no more friars were hung, as the officer
paid the penalty of his crime without further delay. The lacerated
dignity of the Spaniards was still further tried by the demand for the
ransom of the city, and their procrastination cost them dear.

Drake's theology was at variance with that of the Founder of our
faith. His method was rigid self-assertion, and the power of the
strong. The affront he conceived to have been laid upon him and upon
the country he represented could only be wiped out by martial law.
Theoretic babbling about equality had no place in his ethics of the
universe. He proceeded to raid and burn both private dwellings,
palaces, and magazines; and the Government House, which was reputed to
be the finest building in the world, was operated upon for a month,
until it was reduced to dust. These are some of the penalties that
would have gladdened the heart of the gallant Beresford and his Albert
Hall comrades of our time had they been carried out against the
Germans, who have excelled the Spaniards of Philip's reign in cultured
murder and other brutalities in a war that has cost William II his
throne and brought the period of civilization perilously near its end.
It may be that the instability of petty statesmanship is to disappear,
and that Providence may have in unseen reserve a group of men with
mental and physical powers capable of subduing human virulence and
re-creating out of the chaos the Germans have made a new and enduring
civilization; and when they shall appear their advent will be
applauded by the stricken world.

Incidentally, it may be added that the German nation, which has
endangered the existence of civilization, would never have been
despised or thought ill of on account of its defeat by the Allies. It
is their unjustifiable method of beginning the war, and the dirty
brutal tricks by which they sought to win it, which have created
enduring mistrust and animosity against them. The law of human
fairness is no more exacting to small communities or individuals than
it is to nations.

Drake continued his relentless reprisals against San Domingo. The
burning of British sailors as heretics possessed his mind. The
distracted governor would have given his soul to get rid of him, but
Drake demanded money, and this the governor pleaded was not available,
but he was ultimately forced to provide 25,000 ducats, equalling
£50,000. This was accepted after the town had been shattered to pieces
and the shipping destroyed. The cathedral was the only important
building left intact, the probable reason being that the remains of
the great navigator, Columbus, were entombed there. Already the
mortality amongst Drake's crew had been alarmingly heavy, and he was
too wise a man to gamble with their lives until the bad season came
on, so he settled up and hurried away into the fresh sea breezes,
determined to give many more Spanish possessions a thorough shaking
up. The news that the freebooters were near at hand, and that they
were committing shocking deeds of theft and destruction on the way,
had filtered to the Carribean Sea, and struck the somnolent
population with terror. Carthagena, a magnificent city and the capital
of the Spanish Main, was Drake's next objective. He had large hopes of
doing well there. The health of most of his crew had improved and was
now robust, and their fighting spirits had been kindled to a high
pitch by their gallant chief, whose eye of genius was centred on a big
haul of material things. On arrival off the port, Carlile, whose
resource and courage were always in demand, was put in charge of a
strong force. He led the attack, mounted the parapets, drove the
Spanish garrison away in confusion, killed the commander, and
subsequently destroyed a large number of ships which were lazily lying
in the port. Many English prisoners were released, which was a godsend
in filling the places of those who had died.

The combative pretensions of the governor had received a severe shock.
He was beaten, and Drake, like a true sportsman, asked him and his
suite to dine with him, and with an air of Spanish dignity he
accepted. The occasion was memorable for the royal way the
distinguished guests were treated. The governor was studiously
cordial, and obviously wished to win the favour of his remorseless
visitors, so asked Drake and his officers to do him the honour of
accepting his hospitality in return, which they did. What form the
interchange of civilities took is not quite clear, but the governor's
apparent amiableness did not in any way move Drake to exercise
generosity. His object was ransom, and if this was agreed to
good-naturedly, all the better for the Spaniards, but he was neither
to be bought nor sold by wily tactics, nor won over by golden-tongued
rhetoric. The price of the rugged Devonshire sailor's alternative of
wild wrath and ruin was the modest sum of 100,000 ducats in hard cash.
Mutual convivialities and flowing courtesies were at an end; these
were one thing and reparation for the incarceration and burning of
unoffending British sailors as heretics was another.

"Deeds of blood and torture can never be atoned for in money or
destruction of property. I am Drake, 'El Draque' if you like, and if
you don't comply with my terms, you shall be destroyed."

It was his habit openly to express himself in this way to Philip's
subjects, whether hostile or not, and we can imagine that similar
views were uttered in the Carthagena negotiations. The Spaniards
regarded his terms as monstrous impiety; they were aghast, pleaded
poverty, and protested and swore by the Holy Office that the total
amount they could find in the whole city was only 30,000 ducats.
Drake, with commendable prudence, seeing that he wished to get away
from the fever zone without delay, appears to have accepted this
amount, though authorities are at variance on this point. Some say
that he held out for his first claim and got it. I have not been able
to verify which is the correct amount, but in all probability he got
the 100,000 ducats. In any case, he piously charged them with
deception in their plea of poverty, but came to terms, declaring, no
doubt, that his own magnanimity astonished him.

But for the sudden outbreak of sickness amongst his crew, the
Carthagenians would not have fared nearly so well. The city might have
been, not only pillaged, but laid in ruins. As it was, he had emptied
a monastery and blown the harbour forts to pieces.

Drake's intention was to visit Panama, but the fever had laid heavy
hands on his men. Only a third of those who commenced the voyage with
him were well enough to do work at all, notwithstanding the
replenishment by released prisoners, so he was forced to abandon
further enterprises and shape his course homewards as quickly as
skilful navigation and the vagaries of wind and weather would allow.
Great deeds, even on this trip, stood to the credit of himself and
crew. The accomplishments were far below what was expected at the
outset in point of money value, but the priceless feature of the
voyage was the enhanced respect for Drake's name which had taken
possession of the Spanish race in every part of the world and
subsequently made the defeat of the Armada an easier task.

This eager soul, who was really the pioneer of a new civilization, had
still to face hard fate after the reluctant abandonment of his
intention to visit Panama. The sufferings of the adventurers from bad
weather and shortness of water was severely felt on the passage to
Florida. But the rough leader never lost heart or spared himself in
any way. He was obliged to heave-to at Cape Antonio (Cuba), and here
with indomitable courage went to work, putting heart into his men by
digging with pick and shovel in a way that would have put a navvy to
the blush, and when their efforts were rewarded he took his ships
through the Bahama Channel, and as he passed a fort which the
Spaniards had constructed and used as a base for a force which had
murdered many French Protestant colonists in the vicinity, Drake
landed, found out the murderous purpose of the fort, and blew it to
pieces. But that was not all. He also had the satisfaction of saving
the remainder of an unsuccessful English settlement founded by Sir
Walter Raleigh, and of taking possession of everything that he could
lay hands on from the Spanish settlement of St. Augustine. This was
the last episode of plunder connected with an expedition that was ripe
with thrilling incidents, and added to the fame of the most
enterprising figure of the Elizabethan reign.

In point of profit to those who had financed the voyage it was not a
success; but its political and ultimate commercial advantages were
enormous. These early seamen of the seventeenth century, many of them
amateurs, laid the foundation of the greatest navy and mercantile
marine of the world. It is to these fascinating adventurers, too, that
the generations which followed are indebted for the initiative in
human comforts and progress. The superficial self-righteous critic may
find it an agreeable pursuit to search out their blemishes; but these
men cannot be airily dismissed in that manner. They towered above
their fellows, the supreme product of the spirit of their day in
adventure and daring; they fulfilled their great destiny, and left
their indelible mark upon the life of their nation and of the world.
Their great emancipating heroism and reckless self-abnegation more
than counterbalanced the faults with which the modern mind, judging
their day by ours, is too prone to credit them, and whatever their
deeds of perfidy may have been, they were imbued more with the idea of
patriotism than with that of avarice. They were remarkable men, nor
did they come into the life of the nation by chance, but for a
purpose, and their memories are enshrined in human history.

Drake sailed for home as soon as he had embarked what was left of
Raleigh's colonists at Roanoke River, Virginia, and after a protracted
and monotonous passage, arrived at Plymouth on the 28th July, 1586.
The population received the news with acclamation. Drake wrote to Lord
Burleigh, bemoaning his fate in having missed the gold fleet by a few
hours, and again placing his services at the disposal of his Queen and
country.

The most momentous of all his commissions, especially to his own
country, was in 1587, when he destroyed a hundred ships in Cadiz
Harbour. It was a fine piece of work, this "singeing of the King of
Spain's beard" as he called it, and by far excelled anything he had
previously done. He captured the _San Philip_, the King of Spain's
ship, which was the largest afloat. Her cargo was valued at over one
million sterling, in addition to which papers were found on board
revealing the wealth of the East India trade. The knowledge of this
soon found a company of capitalists, who formed the East India
Company, out of which our great Indian Empire was established. When
the _San Philip_ was towed into Dartmouth Harbour, and when it became
known generally, the whole country was ablaze with excitement, and
people travelled from far and near to see the leviathan.

Drake bore himself on this occasion with that sober modesty that
characterized him always under any circumstances. His reputation stood
higher now than ever, and it was no detriment to him that Philip
should shudder, and when he became virtuously agitated speak of him as
"that fearful man Drake." Everywhere he was a formidable reality,
strong, forbidding and terrible; his penetrating spirit saw through
the plans of the enemies of his country and his vigorous
counter-measures were invariably successful. The exalted part he took
in the defeat of the Armada has been briefly referred to in another
part of this book. He was then at the height of his imposing
magnificence and fame, but owing to the caprice of his royal mistress,
who had an insatiable habit of venting her Tudor temper
indiscriminately, he fell under her displeasure, and for a time was in
disgrace; but she soon discovered that his services, whatever his lack
of success on apparently rash enterprises may have been, were
indispensable at so critical a moment. He was recalled, and soon after
sent on his melancholy last voyage. He had worn himself out in the
service of his country. Born at Tavistock in 1539, his eager spirit
passed into the shadows off Puerto Bello on the 28th January, 1596,
and, as previously stated, he was buried three miles out at sea, and
two of his prizes were sunk and laid beside him.

The following beautiful lines of Sir Henry Newbolt not only describe
his patriotic and heroic end, but breathe the very spirit of the man
who was one of the most striking figures of the Elizabethan age:--

DRAKE'S DRUM.

_3rd Verse_:

    Drake, he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come,
    (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)
    Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum,
    An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
    Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound,
    Call him when ye sail to meet the foe;
    Where the old trade's plyin', and the old flag flyin',
    They shall find him ware an' wakin',
    As they found him long ago!





NELSON AND HIS CIRCLE


I

The tradition created by Drake and Hawkins was carried on by Nelson
and Collingwood in a different age and under different conditions, and
the same heroic spirit animated them all. Nelson must certainly have
been familiar with the enthralling tales of these men and of their
gallant colleagues, but without all the essential qualities born in
him he could not have been the victor of Trafalgar. Men have to do
something distinctive, that sets the human brain on fire, before they
are really recognized as being great; then all others are put in the
shade, no matter how necessary their great gifts may be to fill up the
gaps in the man of initiative and of action. Drake could not have done
what he did had he not had the aid of Frobisher, and Jervis would not
have become Earl St. Vincent had he not been supported by Nelson at
the battle of that name; and we should never have seen the imposing
monument erected in Trafalgar Square had Nelson been without his
Collingwood. Victorious and valiant performances do not come by
chance, and so it comes to pass in the natural course of human law
that if our Jervises, Nelsons, and Collingwoods, who are the
prototypes of our present-day heroes, had not lived, we should not
have had our Fishers, Jellicoes, and Beattys.

Nelson was always an attractive personality and by no means the type
of man to allow himself to be forgotten. He believed he was a
personage with a mission on earth, and never an opportunity was given
him that did not confirm this belief in himself.

Horatio Nelson was the son of the Rev. Edmund Nelson, and was born at
Burnham Thorpe on the 29th September, 1758. His mother died in 1767,
and left eight children. Her brother, Captain Maurice Suckling, was
appointed to the _Raisonable_ three years after her death, and agreed,
at the request of Horatio himself and the instigation of his father,
after some doubtful comments as to the boy's physical suitableness for
the rough life of a sailor, to take him; so on the 1st January, 1771,
he became a midshipman on the _Raisonable._ On the 22nd May he either
shipped of his own accord or was put as cabin-boy on a merchant vessel
which went to the West Indies, and ended his career in the merchant
service at the end of an eventful voyage. In July 1772 he became
midshipman on board the _Triumph_. This was the real starting-point of
his naval career and of the development of those great gifts that made
him the renowned Admiral of the world. Twenty-two years after joining
his uncle's ship he was made captain of the _Agamemnon_. At the siege
of Calvi in 1794 he was wounded in the right eye and lost the sight
of it. Three years afterwards he lost his right arm while commanding
an attack on Santa Cruz, and although he had put so many sensational
events into his life up to that time, it was not until the battle of
St. Vincent that he began to attract attention. He had been promoted
Rear-Admiral before the news of the battle was known, and when the
news reached England the public enthusiasm was irrepressible. Jervis
was made an Earl, with £3,000 a year pension, and the King requested
that he should take his title from the name of the battle. Nelson
refused a baronetcy, and was made, at his own request, a Knight of the
Bath, receiving the thanks of the City of London and a sword. All
those who were in prominent positions or came to the front in this
conflict received something. It was not by a freak of chance that the
authorities began to see in Nelson the elements of an extraordinary
man. Nor was it mere chance that they so far neglected him that he was
obliged to force himself upon the Admiralty in order to get them to
employ him. The nation was in need of a great spirit, and Providence
had been preparing one for many years before the ruling authorities
discovered that Nelson was their man of the future.

For several months he was tearing about the seas in search of the
French fleet. He popped into Naples on the 17th June, 1798, ostensibly
to know if anything had been heard of it, and no doubt he took the
opportunity of having a word with Sir William and Lady Hamilton, who
were to come so romantically into his life. He found the French fleet
at anchor in Aboukir Bay and sailed upon it with such amazing audacity
that the heart was knocked out of them at the very outset. Neither the
French Admiral nor anybody else would have expected the British fleet
to run their ships between them and the shore at the risk of
grounding. The _Culloden_ _did_ ground. The French had 11 out of 13
ships put out of action, but the British fleet suffered severely also,
and the loss of men was serious.[1] Out of a total of 7,401 men, 218
were killed and 678 wounded. Nelson himself was badly wounded on the
forehead, and as the skin fell down on his good eye and the blood
streamed into it, he was both dazed and blinded. He shouted to Captain
Berry as he was staggering to a fall, "I am killed; remember me to my
wife." But there was a lot more work for him to do before the fatal
day. He was carried below, believing the injury would prove fatal, in
spite of the assurances to the contrary of the surgeon who was in
attendance.

Although Nelson's courage can never be doubted, there is something
very curious in his constant, eccentric foreboding of death and the
way in which he scattered his messages about to one and another. This
habit increased amazingly after his conflict with the French at the
Nile. He seems to have had intermittent attacks of hypochondria. The
wound incident at Aboukir must have given great amusement as well as
anxiety to those about him. Unquestionably the wound had the
appearance at first of being mortal, but the surgeon soon gave a
reassuring opinion, and after binding up the ugly cut he requested his
patient to remain below. But Nelson, as soon as he knew he was not
going to die, became bored with the inactivity and insisted on writing
a dispatch to the Admiralty. His secretary was too excited to carry
out his wishes, so he tackled it himself. But his suffering being
great and his mind in a condition of whirling confusion, he did not
get far beyond the beginning, which intimated that "Almighty God had
blessed His Majesty's arms." The battle raged on. The _Orient_ was set
on fire and her destruction assured. When Nelson was informed of the
terrible catastrophe to the great French line-of-battle ship, he
demanded to be assisted to the deck, whereupon he gave instructions
that his only boat not destroyed was to be sent with the _Vanguard's_
first lieutenant to render assistance to the crew. He remained on deck
until the _Orient_ blew up, and was then urged to go to bed.

But sleep under the circumstances and in view of his own condition
would not come. All night long he was sending messages directing the
plan of battle the news of which was to enthral the civilized world.
Nelson himself was not satisfied. "Not one of the French vessels would
have escaped," he said, "if it had pleased God that he had not been
wounded." This was rather a slur on those who had given their best
blood and really won the battle. Notwithstanding the apparent egotism
of this outburst, there are sound reasons for believing that the
Admiral's inspiring influence was much discounted by his not being
able to remain on deck. The sight of his guiding, magnetic figure had
an amazing effect on his men, but I think it must be admitted that
Nelson's head was not in a condition at that time to be entirely
relied upon, and those in charge of the different ships put the
finishing touches to the victory that was won by the force of his
courage and commanding genius in the initial stages of the struggle.


II

Nelson was a true descendant of a race of men who had never faltered
in the traditional belief that the world should be governed and
dominated by the British. His King, his country, and particularly the
profession to which he belonged, were to him the supreme authorities
whose destiny it was to direct the affairs of the universe. With
unfailing comic seriousness, intermixed with occasional explosions of
bitter violence, he placed the French low down in the scale of the
human family. There was scarcely a sailor adjective that was not
applied to them. Carlyle, in later years, designated the voice of
France as "a confused babblement from the gutters" and "scarcely
human"; "A country indeed with its head cut off"; but this quotation
does not reach some of the picturesque heights of nautical language
that was invented by Nelson to describe his view of them. Both he and
many of his fellow-countrymen regarded the chosen chief on whom the
French nation had democratically placed an imperial crown as the
embodiment of a wild beast.

The great Admiral was always wholehearted in his declamation against
the French people and their leaders who are our present allies
fighting against that country which now is, and which Napoleon
predicted to his dying day would become, one of the most imperious,
inhuman foes to civilization. Nelson and his government at that time
thought it a merciful high policy of brotherhood to protect and
re-create Prussia out of the wreck to which Napoleon had reduced it;
the result being that the military spirit of Prussia has been a
growing, determined menace to the peace of the world and to the cause
of human liberty in every form since the downfall of the man who
warned us at the time from his exiled home on the rock of St. Helena
that our policy would ultimately reflect with a vengeance upon
ourselves, and involve the whole world in a great effort to save
itself from destruction. He foresaw that Prussia would inveigle and
bully the smaller German states into unification with herself, and,
having cunningly accomplished this, that her perfidy would proceed to
consolidate the united fabric into a formidable power which would
crush all others by its military superiority; this dream of universal
control of human life and affairs was at one time nearly realized.

The German Empire has bankrupted herself in men, necessaries of life,
and money. But that in no degree minimizes the disaster she has
wrought on those who have had to bleed at every pore to avoid
annihilation. The Allies, as well as the Central Powers, are no longer
going concerns. It will take generations to get back to the point at
which we started in 1914. But the tragic thought of all is the
enormous sacrifice of life, and the mental and physical wrecks that
have survived the savage, brutal struggle brought on a world that was,
and wished to remain, at peace, when in 1914 the Central Powers
arrogantly forced the pace which caused an alliance to be formed
quickly by their enemies to save them from the doom which Napoleon,
with his clear vision, had predicted would come.

It was fitting that Nelson should by every conceivable means adopt
methods of declamation against the French, if by doing so he thought
it would inspire the men whom he commanded with the same conquering
spirit he himself possessed. His country was at war with the French,
and he was merely one of the instruments appointed to defeat them, and
this may account for his ebullitions of hatred from time to time. I
have found, however, no record that would in any way show that it was
intended as surface policy, so it may be concluded that his dislike
was as deep-seated as it appeared. Nelson never seems to have shown
evidences of being a humbug by saying things which he did not believe.
He had a wholesome dislike of the French people and of Bonaparte, who
was their idol at that time. But neither he nor his government can be
credited with the faculty of being students of human life. He and they
believed that Paris was the centre of all that was corrupt and brutal.
Napoleon, on the other hand, had no real hatred of the British people,
but during his wars with their government his avowed opinion was that
"all the ills, and all the scourges that afflict mankind, came from
London." Both were wrong in their conclusions. They simply did not
understand each other's point of view in the great upheaval that was
disturbing the world. The British were not only jealous and afraid of
Napoleon's genius and amazing rise to eminence--which they attributed
to his inordinate ambition to establish himself as the dominating
factor in the affairs of the universe--but they determined that his
power should not only not be acknowledged, but destroyed, and their
policy after twenty years of bitter war was completely accomplished.

The merits or demerits of British policy must always remain a matter
of controversy. It is too big a question to deal with here. Napoleon
said himself that "Everything in the life of man is subject to
calculation; the good and evil must be equally balanced." Other true
sayings of his indicate that he, at any rate, _was_ a student of human
life, and knew how fickle fortune is under certain conditions.
"Reprisals," he declared, "are but a sad resource"; and again, no
doubt dwelling on his own misfortunes, but with vivid truth all the
same, he declares that "The allies gained by victory will turn against
you upon the bare whisper of our defeat."


III

After his victory on the Nile, Nelson fully expected to be created a
Viscount, and his claim was well supported by Hood, his old Admiral.
He was made Baron Nelson of the Nile, and given a pension of £2,000
per annum--a poor recompense for the great service he had rendered to
his country. But that was by no means the measure of the public
gratitude. He was acclaimed from every corner of Great Britain as the
national hero. The City of London presented him with a two hundred
guinea sword, and a vote of thanks to himself, officers and men. There
was much prayer and thanksgiving, and several women went as daft as
brushes over him. One said her heart was absolutely bursting with all
sorts of sensations. "I am half mad," says she, and any one who reads
the letter will conclude that she understated her mental condition.
But of all the many letters received by Nelson none surpasses in
extravagance of adulation that written by Amy Lyon, the daughter of a
village blacksmith, born at Great Neston in Cheshire, in 1761, who had
come to London in the early part of 1780, fallen into evil ways and
given birth to a little girl. She was then left destitute and sank as
low as it is possible for a woman to do. She rose out of the depths
into which she had fallen by appearing as the Goddess of Health in the
exhibition of a James Graham. Sir Henry Featherstonehaugh took her
under his protection for close on twelve months, but owing to her
extravagance and faithlessness he turned her out when within a few
months of a second child, which was stillborn. The first was handed
over to her grandmother to take care of. Charles Greville, the second
son of the Earl of Warwick, then took her to live with him. She had
intimate relations with him while she was still Featherstonehaugh's
mistress, and he believed the child about to be born was his. At this
time Amy Lyon changed her name to Emily Hart. Greville went to work on
business lines. He struck a bargain that all her previous lovers were
to be dropped, and under this compact she lived with him in a
respectable manner for nearly four years. He gave her some education,
but she seems to have had natural genius, and her beauty was
undisputed.

Emily Hart sat to Romney,[2] the artist, and it is said that
twenty-three portraits were painted, though some writers have placed
the number at over forty. "Marinda," "Sibyl," and the "Spinstress"
were amongst them. The pictures bring high prices; one, I think called
"Sensibility," brought, in 1890, over £3,000. Notwithstanding her
lowly birth (which has no right to stop any one's path to greatness)
and lack of chastity, she had something uncommon about her that was
irresistibly attractive. Sir William Hamilton, Greville's uncle,
returned to England some time in 1784 from Naples, where he was the
British Minister. It was said that he was in quest of a second wife,
the first having died some two years before. Greville did not take
kindly to the idea of Sir William marrying again, because he was his
heir. He thought instead that, being in financial trouble himself, he
would try to plant Emma on his uncle, not with the object of marriage,
but of her becoming his mistress. Sir William was captivated with the
girl, which made it easy for the shameless nephew to persuade his
uncle to take her off his hands. Emma, however, was in love with
Greville, and there were indications of revolt when the astute lady
discovered that serious negotiations were proceeding for her
transference from nephew to uncle. It took twelve months to arrive at
a settlement.

There does not appear to have been a signed agreement, but there
certainly was a tacit understanding that Sir William was to assist
Greville out of his difficulties, in return for which Emma was to join
him at Naples, ostensibly as a visitor. She writes imploringly to
Greville to answer her letters, but never an answer came, and in utter
despair she tells him at last that she will not become his uncle's
concubine, and threatens to make Hamilton marry her. This poor
wretched woman was human, after all, and indeed she gave convincing
proofs of many high qualities in after-years, but in the passion of
her love for the dissolute scamp who bartered her away she pleaded for
that touch of human compassion that never came. She knew that her
reprobate lover was fearful lest she should induce his uncle to marry
her, and she may have had an instinctive feeling that it was part of
the contract that she was to be warded off if any attempt of the kind
were made likely to endanger his prospects of becoming Hamilton's
heir. His indifference made her venomously malignant, and she sent him
a last stab that would at least give him a troubled mind, even though
it should not cause him to recall her; she would then pursue her
revenge by ignoring him.

It is a sordid story which smears the pages of British History.

Emma lived with the British Ambassador at Naples as his mistress. He
was popular in this city of questionable morals at that time. She was
beautiful and developed remarkable talents as a singer, and was a
bright, witty, fascinating conversationalist. She worked hard at her
studies, and became a fluent speaker of the Italian language. Hamilton
had great consideration for her, and never risked having her affronted
because of the liaison. Her singing was a triumph. It is said she was
offered £6,000 to go to Madrid for three years and £2,000 for a season
in London. She invented classic attitudes. Goethe said that "Sir
William Hamilton, after long love and study of art, has at last
discovered the most perfect of the wonders of nature and art in a
beautiful young woman. She lives with him, and is about twenty years
old. She is very handsome, and of a beautiful figure. What the
greatest artists have aimed at is shown in perfection, in movement, in
ravishing variety. Standing, kneeling, sitting, lying down, grave or
sad, playful, exulting, repentant, wanton, menacing, anxious, all
mental states follow rapidly one after another. With wonderful taste
she suits the folding of her veil to each expression, and with the
same handkerchief makes every kind of head-dress. The Old Knight holds
the Light for her, and enters into the exhibition with his whole
soul." Sir William had twelve of the "Representations" done by a
German artist named Frederick Rehberg, entitled "Drawings faithfully
copied from Nature at Naples."

Hamilton married Emma in 1791 in England, and when they returned to
Naples she was presented to the Queen, and ultimately became on
intimate terms with Her Majesty of Naples, whose questionable morals
were freely spoken of. Emma quickly attained a high social standing,
but it is doubtful whether she exercised that influence over the Queen
of which she liked to boast.

In September, 1793, Nelson was at Naples by orders, and was the guest
of the Hamiltons for a few days. He had not been there for five
years, yet the precious Emma, without decorum or ceremony, sent him a
written whirlwind of congratulations on the occasion of his victory at
the Nile. Every line of the letter sends forth crackling sparks of
fiery passion. She begins, "My dear, dear Sir," tells him she is
delirious, that she fainted and fell on her side, "and am hurt," when
she heard the joyful news. She "would feel it a glory to die in such a
cause," but she cannot die until she has embraced "the Victor of the
Nile." Then she proceeds to describe the transports of Maria Carolina.
"She fainted too, cried, kissed her husband, her children, walked,
frantic with pleasure, about the room, cried, kissed and embraced
everybody near her." Then she continues, "Oh! brave Nelson! Oh! God
bless and protect our brave deliverer! Oh! Nelson, Nelson! Oh! Victor!
Oh! that my swollen heart could now tell him personally what we owe to
him. My dress from head to foot is Allah Nelson. My earrings are
Nelson's anchors." She sends him some sonnets, and avers that she must
have taken a ship to "send all what is written on you." And so she
goes on, throwing herself into his arms, metaphorically speaking, at
every sentence.

When the _Vanguard_ arrived at Naples, Nelson invited Lady Hamilton on
board and she was no sooner on the deck than she made one dramatic
plunge at him, and proceeded to faint on the poor shattered man's
breast. Nelson, whose besetting weakness was love of approbation,
became intoxicated with the lady's method of making love. Poor
gallant fellow! He was, like many another, the victim of human
weakness. He immediately believed that he and Emma had "found each
other," and allowed himself to be flattered with refined delicacy into
a liaison which became a fierce passion, and tested the loyalty of his
closest friends to breaking-point. How infinitely pathetic is this
piteous story from beginning to end!

Like most sailors, Nelson had a fervent, religious belief in the
Eternal, and never went to battle without casting himself on the mercy
of the Infinite Pity which alone can give solace. He was fearless and
strong in the affairs of his profession, and it may be safely assumed
that, even if it went no deeper, he had a mystic fear of God, and was
lost to all other fear.

I think it was Carlyle who said, "God save us from the madness of
popularity. It invariably injures those who get it." There never was a
truer thing said, and it is sadly true of our great national hero. Not
many months had passed before the dispenser of his praises had become
his proprietor. It is doubtful whether Emma ever loved him, but that
does not concern any one. What does concern us is the imperious
domination she exercised over him. No flighty absurdities of fiction
can equal the extravagance of his devotion to her, and his unchecked
desire to let every one know it. He even informs Lady Nelson that Lady
Hamilton is the very best woman in the world and an honour to her
sex, and that he had a pride in having her as a friend. He writes to
Lord St. Vincent that she is "an angel," and has honoured him in being
his Ambassadress to the Queen and is worthy of his confidence. Again
he writes, "Our dear Lady Hamilton, whom to see is to admire, but to
know are to be added honour and respect; her head and heart surpass
her beauty, which cannot be equalled by anything I have seen."

It is impossible to suppose that a man could fall so violently in love
with this extraordinary creature and permit her to come so intimately
into his life without injury to his judgment and to those keen mental
qualities which were needed at that time in the service of his
country. Such loss of control must surely have been followed by mental
and intellectual deterioration. This lady of varied antecedents was
the intermediary between the Court of Naples and himself, and it is
now an authentic fact that it was on the advice of the Queen and Emma
that Naples entered into a war, the result of which was the complete
defeat of the Neapolitans; the Court and the Hamiltons had to fly to
Palermo and Nelson again lived with the Minister and his wife. He
again pours out the virtues and charms of Lady Hamilton, to whom he
gives the credit of engineering the embarkation of the Royal Family
and two and a half million sterling aboard the _Vanguard_. After
giving St. Vincent another dose of Emma, he goes on to say, "It is my
duty to tell your Lordship the obligations which the whole Royal
Family, as well as myself, are under on this trying occasion to her
Ladyship." Her Ladyship, still hankering after her old friend
Greville, writes him, "My dear adorable queen and I weep together, and
now that is our only comfort." It is no concern of ours, but it looks
uncommonly as though Greville still held the field, and the opinion of
many that Nelson would not have had much chance against her former
lover is borne out by many facts.

Amongst the saddest stories that raged about the Hamiltons, their
friends, and Nelson was the scandal of gambling for large stakes. Some
are persistent in the assertion that the report was well founded, and
others that it was not so bad as it was made out to be. Lady Hamilton
asserted that the stories were all falsehoods invented by the
Jacobinical party, but her Ladyship's veracity was never to be relied
upon. Perhaps a foundation of truth and a large amount of exaggeration
sums up the reports, so we must let it go at that. Troubridge seems to
have been convinced that his Admiral was in the midst of a fast set,
for he sends a most imploring remonstrance to him to get out of it and
have no more incense puffed in his face. This was fine advice, but the
victor of the Nile made no response.


IV

Nelson was little known to his countrymen before the St. Vincent
battle. But after the victory of the Nile his name became immortal,
and he could take any liberty he liked with our national
conventionalisms. Even his love affairs were regarded as heroics. He
refused occasionally to carry out instructions when he thought his own
plans were better, and it was winked at; but had any of them
miscarried, the memory of St. Vincent and the Nile would not have
lived long.

When he arrived with the Hamiltons in London after his long absence
and victorious record, the mob, as usual, took the horses from the
carriage and dragged him along Cheapside amid tumultuous cheers.
Whenever he appeared in public the same thing happened. At Court,
things were different. His reception was offensively cold, and George
III ran some risk when he affronted his most popular subject by
turning his back on him. Whatever private indiscretions Nelson may
have been guilty of, nothing could justify so ungrateful an act of
ill-mannered snobbery. The King should have known how to distinguish
between private weakness, however unconventional, and matchless public
service. But for the fine genius and patriotism of this noble fellow,
he might have lost his crown. The temper of a capricious public in an
era of revolution should not be tested by freaks of royal
self-righteousness, while its imagination is being stirred by the
deeds of a national hero. His action might have brought the dignity of
George's kingliness into the gutter of ridicule, which would have been
a public misfortune.

The King's treatment of Nelson was worse than tactless; it was an
impertinence. King Edward VII, whose wisdom and tact could always be
trusted, might have disapproved, as strongly as did George III,
Nelson's disregard of social conventions, but he would have received
him on grounds of high public service, and have let his private
faults, if he knew of them, pass unnoticed, instead of giving him an
inarticulate snub. Still, a genius of naval distinction, or any other,
has no right to claim exemption from a law that governs a large
section of society, or to suppose that he may not be criticized or
even ostracized if he defiantly offends the susceptibilities of our
moral national life. And it is rather a big tax on one's patience for
a man, because of his exalted position and distinguished deeds of
valour and high services rendered to the State, to expect that he may
be granted licence to parade his gallantries with women in boastful
indifference to the moral law that governs the lives of a large
section of the community. There are undoubtedly cases of ill-assorted
unions, but it does not lie within our province to judge such cases.
They may be victims of a hard fate far beyond the knowledge of the
serene critics, whose habit of life is to sneak into the sacred
affairs of others, while their own may be in need of vigilant enquiry
and adjustment.

It would hardly be possible, with the facts before us, to say a word
in mitigation of Nelson's ostentatious infatuation for Lady Hamilton,
were it not that he can never be judged from the same standpoint as
ordinary mortals. That is not to say that a man, mentally constituted
as he was, should not be amenable to established social laws.

Nelson was a compound of peculiarities, like most men who are put into
the world to do something great. He was amusingly vain, while his
dainty vanity so obscured his judgment that he could not see through
the most fulsome flattery, especially that of women. At the same time
he was professionally keen, with a clear-seeing intellect, dashing,
flawless courage, and a mind that quickly grasped the weak points of
the enemy's position or formation. He fought the old form of sea
warfare by methods that were exclusively his, and sent his opponents
staggering into confusion. Once a plan of battle had been arranged, he
never faltered in his judgment, and only manoeuvred as circumstances
arose, but always with that unexpected rush and resource which carried
with it certain victory.

Nelson's great talents and his victories caused society outwardly to
overlook his connection with the notorious Lady Hamilton. But the
gossips were always at work. On this point he does not seem to have
realized that he was playing pranks with society, though there were
abundant evidences of it. He was offended because at Dresden, on their
way to England, the Electress refused to receive his mistress on
account of her antecedents, and no Court was held during their stay.
Of course Emma was given the cold shoulder in England by the Court and
by society. Nelson told his friend Collingwood of his own treatment,
and added that, either as a public or private man, he wished nothing
undone which he had done. He told Collingwood of his cold reception by
the King, but it seems quite obvious that he maintained his belief
that his connection with Emma had no right to be questioned by His
Majesty or any of his subjects, and he held this view to the last. He
would have none of the moralists' cant lavished on him, and by his
consistent attitude seemed to say, "Hands off my private life! If I
_did_ introduce Lady Hamilton to my wife at her apartments on my
arrival in England after two and a half years' absence, when she was
on the point of becoming the mother of Horatia, what business is that
of yours? I will have none of your abstract morality. Get away, and
clean up your own morals before you talk to me of mine." The above is
what I think a man of Nelson's temperament might say to the people who
wished to warn him against the dangerous course he was pursuing. Lady
Nelson does not seem to have been a woman who could appeal to a man
like Nelson. The fact is she may have been one of those unamiable,
sexless females who was either coldly ignoring her husband or storing
up in her heart any excuse for hurling at him the most bitter
invective with which she might humiliate him. She does not appear to
have been a vulgar shrieker, but she may have been a silent stabber,
which is worse. In any case, Nelson seems to have made a bad choice,
as by his actions he openly avowed that he preferred to live with the
former mistress of Featherstonehaugh, Greville, and Hamilton, rather
than with his lawful wife; and he, without a doubt, was the best judge
as to which of them suited him best. The truth remains that Emma was
attractive and talented, and although lowly born, she became the bosom
companion of kings, queens, princesses, princes, and of many men and
women of distinction.

Nelson must have been extraordinarily simple to imagine that his wife,
knowing, as all the world knew, that Lady Hamilton was his mistress
and a bold, unscrupulous rival, would receive her with rapturous
friendliness. The amazing puzzle to most people, then and now, is why
she received her at all, unless she wished to worm out of her the
precise nature of the intimacy. That may have been her definite
purpose in allowing the visits for two or three months; then one day
she flew into a rage, which conjures up a vision of hooks and eyes
bursting like crackers from her person, and after a theatrical display
of temper she disappears like a whirling tempest from the presence of
her faithless husband, never again to meet him. This manner of showing
resentment to the gallant sailor's fondness for the wife of Sir
William Hamilton was the last straw. There was nothing dignified in
Lady Nelson's tornado farewell to her husband; rather, if the records
may be relied on, it was accompanied by a flow of abuse which could
only emanate from an enraged termagant.

Nelson now had a free hand. His wife was to have a generous allowance
on condition that she left him alone freely to bestow his affections
on the seductive Emma, whose story, retold by Mr. Harrison, shows
Lady Nelson to have been an impossible woman to live with. She made
home hell to him, so he said. And making liberal allowance for Emma's
fibbing propensities, there are positive evidences that her story of
Nelson's home life was crammed with pathetic truths of domestic
misery. Nelson corroborates this by a letter to Emma almost
immediately after his wife's ludicrous exit. The letter is the
outpouring of an embittered soul that had been freed from purgatory
and was entering into a new joy. It is a sickening effusion of
unrestrained love-making that would put any personage of penny-novel
fame to the blush. I may as well give the full dose. Here it is:--

    Now, my own dear wife: for such you are in the sight of Heaven,
    I can give full scope to my feelings, for I dare say Oliver will
    faithfully deliver this letter. You know, my dearest Emma, that
    there is nothing in this world that I would not do for us to
    live together, and to have our dear little child with us. I
    firmly believe that this campaign will give us peace, and then
    we will set off for Bronte. In twelve hours we shall be across
    the water, and freed from all the nonsense of his friends, or
    rather pretended ones. Nothing but an event happening to him
    could prevent my going; and I am sure you will think so, for,
    unless all matters accord, it would bring a hundred of tongues
    and slanderous reports if I separated from her, which I would do
    with pleasure the moment we can be united. I want to see her no
    more; therefore we must manage till we can quit this country, or
    your uncle dies. I love you: I never did love any one else. I
    never had a dear pledge of love till you gave me one; and you,
    thank my God, never gave one to anybody else. I think before
    March is out, you will either see us back, or so victorious that
    we shall ensure a glorious issue to our toils. Think what my
    Emma will feel at seeing return safe, perhaps with a little
    more fame, her own dear Nelson. Never, if I can help it, will I
    dine out of my ship or go on shore, except duty calls me. Let
    Sir Hyde have any glory he can catch, I envy him not. You, my
    beloved Emma, and my country, are the two dearest objects of my
    fond heart. _A heart susceptible and true._ Only place
    confidence in me, and you shall never be disappointed. I burn
    all your dear letters, because it is right for your sake; and I
    wish you would burn all mine--they can do no good, and will do
    us both harm if any seizure of them; or the dropping even one of
    them would fill the mouths of the world sooner than we intend.
    My longing for you, both person and conversation, you may
    readily imagine (especially the person). No, my heart, person,
    and mind are in perfect union of love towards my own dear,
    beloved Emma, the real bosom friend of her, all hers, all
    Emma's.

    NELSON AND BRONTE.

The Prince of Wales had dined with and paid suspicious attentions to
Emma, and her fond lover, knowing this, advised her to warn him off.
He probably had an instinct that his "beloved Emma," who is "the
dearest object of his fond heart," was not quite strong enough to
resist temptation. Especially would she be likely to fall under the
fascinating influence of this little princely scamp. Nelson's mind
turned to his wife, and he emphasized the desire that he might never
see his aversion again. Nor did he.

Some of his contemporaries doubted the paternity of Horatia; Nelson
never did, and it would be hard to find a more beautiful outpouring of
love than that which he unfailingly gave to his little daughter. Every
thought of his soul was divided between her and the audacious flirt of
a mother whom Nelson, always lavish, calls "his love"; "his darling
angel"; "his heaven-given wife"; "the dearest, only true wife of his
own till death." The "till death" finish is quite sailorly!

No one will doubt his amazing faculty for love-making and
love-writing, and it must always be a puzzle how he managed to mix it
so successfully with war. His guilty love-making was an occasional
embarrassment to him, and though he was the greatest naval tactician
of his time, his domestic methods were hopelessly clumsy and
transparent. For instance, in pouring out his grievances to his
mistress he refers to himself by the name of Thompson, and to Lady
Nelson as Aunt. Here are a few examples:--"Thompson desires me to say
he has never wrote his Aunt since he sailed." "In twelve hours we
shall be across the water, and freed from all the nonsense of his
friends, or rather, pretended ones." "His" means Hamilton, and
"friends" means the Prince of Wales, whom he looked upon as a rival
for Emma's accommodating affections. Again, he says, "If I separated
from her, which I would do with pleasure the moment we can be united."
"Her" is Lady Nelson, but in discussing delicate matters of domestic
policy he thinks it desirable to conceal that he would not weep were
he to hear of Sir William's death, or be broken with grief to separate
entirely from Lady Nelson, so that he might become "united to his
heaven-given wife," "our darling angel, Emma."


V

The Admiralty did a great injustice to the victor of the Nile by
appointing Sir Hyde Parker commander-in-chief, instead of one who was
known to be the most brilliant officer in the Navy. It must have cut
deeply into Nelson's proud soul to have to serve under a man who had
not a particle of initiative; and, but for the splendid bravery and
matchless talents of his second, the wooden walls of old England would
have been sent to Davy Jones by the forts of Copenhagen and the Danish
fleet. Sir Hyde did not relish having Nelson with him at all. He
sulked, and treated him in a way that was observed and resented by
those who served under him. The commander-in-chief acted like a
jealous maiden, his intention being to freeze and humiliate the man
who was destined to win the victory and save the British fleet from
entire destruction. There always has been tremendous jealousy in the
Navy. But Sir Hyde Parker should have known that he was dealing with
an officer (who was the genius of the Navy) who would stand no
nonsense from any Lord High Admiral or other fussy dignitary whom he
could put in his pocket whenever he liked to exercise his personality.
Nelson never shirked responsibility when his country's interests were
being endangered by a dignified snob. Discipline, so far as he was
concerned until his object was gained, was pushed aside, and the great
spirit swept into the vortex of the danger and extinguished all
opposition. He said on one occasion, "I hate your pen-and-ink men. A
fleet of British warships are the best negotiators in Europe."

I have said that Parker was in the "sulks," so Nelson adopted a
humorous plan of thawing the ice by catching a turbot on the Dogger
Bank on the passage out to the Baltic. A sly seaman had told him that
this kind of fish was easily caught, so when they arrived on the Bank
the fishing commenced, and the turbot was caught. Nelson knew his
commander-in-chief was never averse to eating, so he gave orders to
have it sent to Sir Hyde, and although the sea was dangerous for a
small boat, the fish was in due course presented to Parker, who sent
back a cordial note of thanks. This ingenious stratagem eased the
strained relations between the two men, but there still remained a
feeling on the part of the commander-in-chief that the electric and
resourceful spirit of Nelson would, in any engagement, be the
dominating factor, with or without official sanction. He knew how
irresistibly Nelson's influence permeated the fleet, for no man knew
better than this much-envied Vice-Admiral how to enthuse his comrades
(high and low) in battle, and also what confidence the nation as a
whole had in what he called the "Nelson touch." Sir Hyde Parker,
knowing Nelson's superb qualities, should have paused and considered
the consequences before he slyly sought to put such a man in the
shade. There was not a man in the whole squadron who would not have
gone to his doom under Nelson's lead rather than live under any
other's. Nelson inspired men with the same love of glory which he
craved for himself. No real sailor ever did like to sail under a
hesitating, nervous commander. Parker, at the battle of Copenhagen,
gives one (from all accounts) the impression of unsureness, afraid to
take any risk lest it be the wrong one. Nelson was always sure, and
never hesitated to put into practice his considered views.

Parker, at a critical moment in the battle of Copenhagen, hoisted No.
39, which meant "Leave off action." Nelson shrugged his shoulders, and
Said, "No, I'm damned if I do," and kept his own "Engage the enemy
more closely" flying. He then added to Captain Foley, "I have only one
eye, and have a right to be blind sometimes." He then put the
telescope to his blind eye, and said, "I really do not see the
signal." Unfortunately, some of the ships retired, and one able
fellow, Captain Riou, who knew it was a wrong move, was so distressed
that he called out in despair to one of his officers beside him, "What
will Nelson think of us?" The poor captain was subsequently killed.
There can be no doubt now that the signal 39 was not permissive or
optional, nor that Nelson, having the enemy by the throat, refused to
let go until he had strangled him, nor that he did dramatically act
the blind-eye trick. He deliberately disobeyed orders, and saved
England's honour and fleet by doing so. It was one of his splendid
performances, and the story of it will live on into distant ages.

Who can calculate the loss of national prestige or the lives that
have been thrown away by putting severely decorous senior officers
over the heads of men who knew their business better and had the
courage and capacity to carry through big naval or military tasks? And
how tempting it must be to many a gallant fellow to take the business
into his own hands! Nelson knew well enough that he had laid himself
open to the full penalty of naval law, but he knew also that if any of
the moth-eaten crew at Whitehall even hinted it there would be "wigs
on the green." No man knew the pulse of the nation better, and no
commander played up to it less. One can imagine hearing him say to
some of his officers (perhaps Captain Hardy of Trafalgar fame), after
he had wrecked the Danish fleet and battered the forts into a
dilapidated condition, "Well, I have fought contrary to orders, and
they will perhaps hang me; never mind, let them." A significant "let
them" this, which means more than he cares to express. The Danes
frankly admitted that they had been beaten, and that even their
defence was destroyed, as the Crown batteries could not be held.
Instead of any talk of "hanging" him because of his "disobedience," he
was made a Viscount and his Rear-Admiral (Graves) a Knight of the
Bath. These were the only two significant honours conferred. When he
landed at Copenhagen, it is said that the people viewed him with a
mixture of admiration and hostility. He thought they were extremely
amiable. They cheered and shouted "God bless Lord Nelson!" There can
be no reason for their doing this, except gratitude to him for not
blowing the city down about their ears.

Whatever the cause, it is quite certain that the Crown Prince and some
of the Danish statesmen treated him with studied cordiality. Sir Hyde
Parker was a drag, and indeed, an intolerable nuisance to him. When
the armistice was sealed and settled for fourteen weeks, he wished to
get of to Reval and hammer the Russian squadron there, but the
commander-in-chief shirked all responsibility, and his victim was made
to say in a letter to Lord St. Vincent "that he would have been in
Reval fourteen days before, and that no one could tell what he had
suffered," and asks my dear Lord "if he has deserved well, to let him
retire, and if ill, for heaven's sake to supersede him, for he cannot
exist in this state." Lord Nelson conducted the British case with the
Danes with consummate statesmanship, but notwithstanding this, the
fine sensitive nature of the noble fellow could not fail to be hurt
when His Majesty (the same who lost us America) stated that, "under
_all_ the circumstances, he had thought well to approve." Nelson
replied that he was sorry the armistice was only approved under _all_
the circumstances, and then gives His Majesty a slap in the eye by
informing him that every part of the _all_ was to the advantage of the
King and Country. St. Vincent, the First Lord of the Admiralty,
subsequently made amends for His Majesty's error by writing to say
that his "whole conduct was approved and admired, and that he does
not care to draw comparisons, but that everybody agrees there is only
one Nelson." This strong and valiant sailor was never at any time
unconscious of his power. What troubled him was other people's lack of
appreciation of it, though he accepted with a whimsical humour the
grudging spirit in which credit was given to his unerring judgment and
unequalled bravery. Nor can we examine the great deeds of his career
without feeling a thrill of pride in the knowledge that he belonged to
us.

The spirit which animated Nelson was the same as that which lived in
those heroes of old who were used by Providence as instruments in
their country's destiny, and we may believe that this same spirit will
live in those God-sent men of the future who will be necessary for the
carrying out of some special task or for the destruction of evil.
Apparently, long intervals elapse between the appearance of men such
as Napoleon or Nelson. Napoleon's name still stirs the blood, and now,
more than a century after his death, any one of the Powers who had a
share in his tragic end would give worlds to get back some of his
force and genius. Nelson in a much less degree and in a different way
was another of those sent by Providence to take part in his country's
struggles and, like many another great man, was subjected to cruel
indignities at the hands of his inferiors. He often complained about
his treatment, but this never prevented him from doing his work. But
as his instructions were not always in accordance with his view of
success, he occasionally disobeyed them for the country's good. It
might be a gain to borrow _his_ spirit for a while at the present time
to electrify the British Admiralty. Nelson was more successful in his
conflicts with the enemy than with the chiefs of his calling afloat
and ashore. He was not really strong and audacious enough in his
dealings with them. "Jacky Fisher" (as he is fondly called) who lives
in our disturbed time, would have had similar sandbags jettisoned in
quick time. The modern Nelson has had his troubles with inferior
superiors too, but he flattened out some of them. The modern man is
all business, and does not show vanity if he has any. The "Only
Nelson" was strong, weak, and vain. If no one else gratuitously
sounded his praises, he would do so himself in the most comical way,
not altogether in public, but to "Santa Emma," whose function it was
to spread them abroad.

After the battle of Copenhagen, Sir Hyde Parker sailed for Carlscrona,
and left Nelson to hoist his flag as commander-in-chief on the _St.
George_, which was not ready, and was possibly being refitted after
rough handling. He tells Emma of Parker's departure, and adds, "if
there is any work to do," i.e. any fighting, "he is pretty certain
they will wait for him" before commencing it. And then he adds,
"_Nelson will be first_. Who can stop him?" On the eve of the battle
of Copenhagen he wrote to her, "Before you receive this, all will be
over with Denmark. Either your Nelson will be safe, and Sir Hyde
Parker victor, or your own Nelson will be laid low." What deep and
genuine love-lunacy to be found in a terrific warrior, whose very name
terrified those who had the honour to fight against him! The
incongruity of it baffles one's belief, and seems to reverse the very
order of human construction. In matters concerning his profession and
highly technical State affairs there was no more astute man, but as
soon as his thoughts centre on this female nightmare, he loses control
of his wonderful gifts, and his mind becomes deranged with the idea of
her being an object on which he should bestow reverence and infinite
adulation. If ever there was a creature of lamentable contradictions,
surely it was this genius, who immortalized our national glory at the
Nile, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar! That a man of his calibre, surrounded
with eternal fame, should be inflamed with a passion for a woman of
negative morals who was refused admittance to the same circle that,
but for this attachment would receive him as their triumphant hero, is
an example of human eccentricity that never has and never can be
accounted for. It may be taken for granted that at the very time he
was writing to her about "her own Nelson" she would be carrying on a
love intrigue with some old or new acquaintance, possibly the Prince
of Wales, whom as I have said, her gallant lover wished her to avoid.
He was known to be a cheat, a liar, and a faithless friend to men and
to women, while in accordance with the splendid ethic of this type of
person, he believed himself to be possessed of every saintly virtue.
But any one who is curious to have a fascinating description of the
"little dapper" should consult Thackeray.

Well, there was no fighting to be done when the fleet under Nelson
arrived at Reval, and the Emperor Paul's death and the dilatoriness of
Parker saved the Russian fleet from extermination. They had sailed
into safer anchorage and the British Admiral had to content himself by
paying an official visit to the authorities at Reval, and receiving
another ovation from the populace, which appealed to his whimsical
love of approbation. As is his custom, he sends Emma an account of his
Reval experiences. He says he would not mention so personal an
incident to any one else, as it would appear so uncommonly like
vanity, but between her and himself, hundreds had come to have a look
at Nelson, and he heard them say, "_That is him!_ That is _him_!" It
touches his vanity so keenly that he follows on by intimating that he
"feels a good name is better than riches, and that it has a fine
feeling to an honest heart." "All the Russians," says he, "are of
opinion that I am like Suwaroff, le Jeune Suwaroff." As may be
imagined, Nelson was bitterly disappointed at so sudden a collapse of
his hopes, but, always master of the situation, he wrote a most
courteous letter to Count Pahlen, the Russian Minister, who had
complained that his presence was calculated to make a breach of the
good feeling between the two countries. The Admiral's reply was
tactful and unconsciously humorous. The tone was that of a person who
had never been so unjustly hurt in his life. "He had come to pay his
respects to His Imperial Majesty, and as his motives had been so
entirely misunderstood, he would put to sea at once."


VI

His health was beginning to feel the enormous strain that had been
imposed upon him for many months. This, together with his longing to
be in the congenial society of Lady Hamilton, caused him to ask to be
relieved of his command, and he was delighted to receive a letter from
his old chief, Lord St. Vincent, stating that it was almost an
impossible task to find a suitable successor, as in all his experience
he never knew any one, except Troubridge, who had the art of enthusing
others with his own unequalled spirit as he had. The command was
handed over to Sir Charles Pole, and Nelson, almost wild with joy,
sailed from the Baltic in the brig _Kite_ on the 19th June, and
arrived at Yarmouth on the 1st July, 1801. Nelson always claimed that
if the command had been given to him in February many lives would have
been saved, and our prestige would not have suffered.

We cannot describe all the fascinating pleasure we get when we read
and think of the wonders this strange mortal performed in the ordinary
course of his profession; when, however, he departs from that and
begins to make stagey love to Lady Hamilton, it tries one's Christian
patience. What business had he, as the first sailor in the world, to
enter into such a compact with another man's wife? However, he must
not be judged by this liaison alone, but by the circumstances that led
to it.

We know that his domestic life had been made irritating and unbearable
to his sensitive and highly strung nature, but he found in Emma
Hamilton one who played upon his vanity, and made him feel that he was
regarded as an idol as well as an idolatrous lover. He thirsted for
reverence and the love of soul for soul, and she, in her own way, gave
both with lavish profusion, whereas his wife's austere indifference to
his amazing accomplishments fell upon his large heart like ice, and
who can estimate his sufferings before he decided to defy society? He
believed and hoped that he would be exonerated, and became in the
sight of Heaven (as he avowed) the husband of a woman who, there can
be little doubt, did not ke