Nelson: The Essential Hero (33 page)

Although the wind favoured the British approach, they were at the great disadvantage of having no proper charts of the anchorage. This in itself was hardly surprising since it was an area where little or no trade existed, so it had never engaged the attention of British hydrographers. Brueys had naturally concluded that this might be the case, something which may have accounted for the somewhat lax disposition of his fleet. Nelson had only a sketch of the area which he had been given by Hallowell of the
Swift sure,
who had taken it from a captured French merchantman. As it turned out, neither this nor another chart owned by Hood proved of any use. The only up-to-date information about the area belonged to Foley of the
Goliath
and this was given in a recently published French atlas. It was perhaps to some extent owing to this that it was Foley who initiated the action and got inshore of the French van - the manoeuvre which was to give the British their supreme advantage.

As the British bore down ominously, their sails illuminated by the westering sun, Brueys despatched the brig
Alerte
with orders to ‘stand towards the enemy until nearly within gunshot, and then to manoeuvre and endeavour to draw them toward the outer shoal lying off that Island’. The bait was to be ignored. Blanquet-Duchayla guessed that this was because Nelson had experienced pilots aboard. But, as we know, there were no local or other pilots with a knowledge of Aboukir Bay in any of the British ships. Their amazing achievement was due to the fact that their captains and officers were seamen of such experience that they could make their way into an unknown foreign anchorage against a larger fleet, and still bring up their ships where they wanted them.

At three that afternoon Nelson had hoisted ‘Prepare for battle’ and
PHASE 1

The Battle of the Nile 1

at four ‘Be ready to anchor by the stern’. At half-past five on that ever-memorable 1 August, the simple signal was made to form line of battle ‘as most convenient’. No more needed to be said. It is this which distinguishes Nelson and his captains from their enemy. Just one signal to commence a battle that ranks in the history of the world. . . . The discussions at sea, the conferences in Syracuse, these had left them with a shared knowledge and such an understanding of their mutual problems under whatever conditions action might take place, that the eleven 74s acted as if they were one great marine animal, directed by a single intelligence.

The reason why there were no more than eleven 74s present at this all-important moment was that the
Alexander
and
Swiftsure
had been detached on reconnaissance (a duty the missing frigates should have fulfilled), and the
Culloden
was lying some distance astern with her captured French wine-brig in tow. The latter was ordered to cast off her prize, while all three were signalled to rejoin with the utmost expedition. In the event, Troubridge in the
Culloden
, coming in astern of Captain Thompson’s 50-gun
Leander
as darkness fell, was to ground on the Aboukir shoals and remain there throughout the battle.

The other two, arriving late upon the scene, were to act like a reserve - coming fresh into battle at a crucial moment.

As the British drew into the mouth of the bay, the leadsmen in the chains heaving and hauling the dripping lines, Hood of the
Zealous
called across to his Admiral that he had eleven fathoms on the lead. ‘If you will allow me the honour of leading you into battle, I will keep the lead going.’ Nelson gave him leave and wished him success, at which Hood in courtesy to his Commander-in-Chief removed his hat - only to have it snatched out of his hand by the breeze. ‘There it goes for luck,’ he said jocularly. ‘Put the helm up and make sail.’ As Nelson's
Vanguard
dropped back slightly to allow him to muster the rest of the line, the
Goliath
on the lee bow of the
Zealous
moved up to race her for the lead. Foley, who was one of the most experienced captains in the Navy, had served under the great Rodney some twenty years earlier and had been Flag-Captain in the
Britannia
at St Vincent. Since he had the only practical chart of the bay, it was perhaps fortunate that it was Foley who won the privilege of leading the British fleet into action.

Brueys, in accordance with correct naval thinking of the time, had placed his strongest ships at the centre of his line, for it was here that the main blow might be expected to fall.
L'Orient
was seventh in the order, with the 80-gun
Le Franklin
and
Tonnant
on either side of her, sixth and eighth respectively. Where he had made a grave mistake, however, was in placing his weakest five 74s in the van, while concentrating his other strong ships to the rear. With the prevailing wind from the north this meant that the latter could not without great difficulty make their way up to reinforce their centre and their van. And it was upon this part of the fleet that Nelson fell like a fury. He had announced his intention to attack the enemy's van and centre, and this is exactly what he did.

The 74
Le Guerrier
was anchored at the head of the French line and Foley, spurring ahead past Hood’s
Zealous
, saw, as Nelson had said, that ‘where there is room for a French 74 at single anchor to swing, there is room for a British 74 to anchor’. His lookouts gazed anxiously ahead to descry on the darkening water the Frenchman’s anchor-buoy. This would mark the very place where
Le Guerrier’s
bower anchor lay. It would give Foley an immediate indication that, where the Frenchman had dropped it, there was room for his own ship to pass. There it was! And there was some 200 yards between it and the bows of
Le Guerrier.
Foley bore up to clear it, the White Ensign flying high above what would soon be the darkness of night and the smoke of battle. Although Nelson was a Rear-Admiral of the Blue, and the Blue Ensign was the proper colours of the ships under his command, all of them went into action flying the White, since it was more easily distinguishable from the French tricolour of blue, white and red. The ancient banner of England, the Red Cross of Saint George that had been borne on a thousand battlefields, now went into battle against the new enemy, Revolutionary France.

Hood of the
Zealous
remarked, as the
Goliath
drew ahead of him : ‘Well, never mind, Foley is a fine, gallant, worthy fellow.’ He was now a close spectator of the opening round as the
Goliath
crossed the bows of
Le Guerrier
to take up an inshore berth on the Frenchman’s port side. As he passed by close under
Le Guerrier’s
bows Foley raked her with a broadside at point-blank range. He had accurately assumed that, from the way the French had drawn up their line, they had presumed they would only be attacked on the starboard side and therefore that the larboard would be less ready for action. He was to be proved right. But now, as he made to place himself alongside
Le Guerrier
his sheet anchor failed to run out as quickly as it should have done, so he swept on to drop a stem anchor along the second in the French line,
Le Conquerant.
It was Hood who brought up the
Zealous
just astern of him against
Le Guerrier.
The first shots were fired at 6.28 p.m. at which time the French hoisted their battle ensigns. Following upon Foley’s lead, the next three ships in the British line, the
Orion
,
Theseus
, and
Audacious
, also steered inboard to place themselves on the port side of the French. The ineffective batteries on Aboukir Island played no part in the action. As the sun set and the sky above the desert began to glow with that astonishing green and orange which precedes the sudden onset of night over Egypt, the van of the French fleet was already heavily engaged. It was to be remarked, so confident had they been of the security of their landward side, that many of their larboard upper-deck gun-ports were cluttered up with lumber and rubbish.

Within ten minutes of the action’s opening, the fire from
Zealous
had so overwhelmed
Le Guerrier
that all her masts had gone by the board.
Le Conquerant^
closely assailed by the
Goliath
and raked by the
Audacious
, was subjected also to the fire of the
Orion
and the
Theseus
as they swept past to find their main targets further down the line. Although the dismasted
Le Guerrier
was to fight on gallantly until nine o’clock, when she surrendered to the
Zealous
, the carnage aboard the luckless
Le Conquerant
was such that her captain struck his colours after no more than twelve minutes.

This first phase of the battle is best exemplified by Hood’s account of his action against
Le Guerrier
: I commenced such a well-directed fire into her bow within pistol shot a little after six that her foremast went by the board in about seven minutes, just as the sun was closing the horizon; on which the whole squadron gave three cheers; it happening before the next ship astern of me had fired a shot and only the
Goliath
and
Zealous
engaged. And in ten minutes more her main and mizzen masts went; at this time also went the main mast of the second ship, engaged closely by the
Goliath
and
Audacious
, but I could not get
Le Guerrier’s
commander to strike for three hours, though I hailed him twenty times, and seeing he was totally cut up and only firing a stem gun now and then at the
Goliath
and
Audacious.

By this time darkness had fallen. ‘At last being tired of firing and killing people in that way, I sent my boat on board her, and the lieutenant was allowed ... to hoist a light and haul it down to show his submission.’ The British, prepared for the eventuality of a night action, had all hoisted four lamps in a horizontal line at their mizzen-peaks so that they could distinguish one another from the enemy.

Meanwhile Nelson’s
Vanguard
, the sixth in the line, had come into action, being the first of the British ships to anchor on the outside of the French, dead abreast
Le Spartiate,
the third in the enemy line, and within pistol shot of her. As she engaged her,
Vanguard
also came under fire from
L'Aquilon,
fourth in the line. She was not to be relieved of this double fire until Louis brought the
Minotaur
to port of his Admiral and put her abreast of
L'Aquilon.
The next two ships to run in were less fortunate than their predecessors: the
Bellerophon -
missing her companions in the darkness and the dense smoke of battle - ran too far down the line and anchored abeam of Brueys’ flagship, the mighty
L'Orient.
A 74 on her own could be no match for a ship of 120 guns and in the end the
Bellerophon
was completely dismasted and forced to wear out of line to the lee side of Aboukir Bay. (The
Alexander
and the
Swift sure,
running down to throw their weight against
L'Orient
, all but fired into the
Bellerophon
since she no longer bore her distinguishing lanterns.) Westcott’s
Majestic
having fallen foul of
Le Tonnant,
spiking her jib-boom through the Frenchman’s main shroud, received a point-blank and devastating fire, Westcott being killed by a musket ball. Her First Lieutenant, having finally managed to get his ship free, dropped further down the line and came to anchor on the port bow of
L'Heureux.

The long-sustained horror of naval action in the days of sail has already been described, but a night action like this was something that had not been known before. It was bad enough in the roar and thunder of the guns during daylight, but then at least the men could have some understanding of what was happening and how the battle progressed, and daylight itself lends man a certain confidence. But now, in the dim light of the lanterns, their flames wavering to the concussion of the guns, and often obscured by the smoke of battle, the scene aboard each and every ship was like an image of hell. The French van was steadily being crushed to pieces. Masts and yards -and men with them - came falling down to add to the confusion between ships that were lying almost alongside one another.

It was about eight o’clock when Nelson, standing with Berry on the quarter-deck, was struck across the forehead by a piece of langridge shot (langridge, or langrel, consisted of scraps of chain and pieces of old iron tied by rope into cylindrical form and principally designed to cut up sails and rigging). Nelson’s forehead was cut to the bone right above his old wound, and a flap of flesh falling down covered his good eye, rendering him blind. Half-stunned and conscious of the darkness engulfing him, he felt sure that it was the darkness of death. Berry caught him as he fell to the deck. His last words (as he imagined them to be) were: ‘I am killed. Remember me to my wife.’ The Admiral was immediately taken below to the smells and screams of the red-painted cockpit. He insisted that the Principal Surgeon should not be told that he was wounded. He was convinced in fact that he was dying and asked for the Chaplain, renewed his message to Fanny, and sent for Captain Louis of the
Minotaur.
Louis had been ably assisting him and drawing some of the fire of
L'Aquilon
and
Le Spartiate,
both of which, until the
Minotaur's
timely arrival, had been combining their fire on
Vanguard.
‘Your support’, Nelson told Louis, ‘has prevented me from being obliged to haul out of line.’ Losses aboard the flagship were in fact very severe, only being exceeded by those of the
Majestic
and the
Bellerophon.