Intelligence in War: The Value--And Limitations--Of What the Military Can Learn About the Enemy by John Keegan Page B
Authors: John Keegan
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after three hours, dismasted and devastated.
Conquérant,
after another valiant passage of resistance, had also at last struck.
Spartiate,
third in line, had surrendered after two hours, the first French ship to give up, but with 200 dead and wounded aboard and the survivors pumping to keep the ship afloat.
Aquilon
surrendered a little later, with 87 dead aboard and 213 wounded.
Peuple Souverain,
fifth in the order of battle, had drifted out of the line, perhaps because her cables had been severed by gunfire.
Franklin,
still in line, had ceased to fight after being set on fire four times, the last by burning debris from the explosion of
L’Orient.
By early in the morning of 2 August, therefore, the French fleet consisted of a shattered and defeated van, a central void and a rear in disarray.
Franklin,
anchored ahead of
L’Orient
’s original position, did recommence fire after the great explosion but was swiftly brought to surrender. Aft of the gap, some of the French ships continued resistance for several hours,
Hereux
and
Mercure,
which had gone aground after cutting their cables, from inshore. Admiral Villeneuve, in
Guillaume Tell,
eventually decided, however, that it was his duty to escape, cut his cable and sailed out of the bay, followed by
Généreux
and the frigates
Justice
and
Diane.
He left behind the dismasted
Tonnant
and
Timoléon,
which, with heroic but pointless obstinacy, continued to work their guns into the afternoon of 2 August.
Tonnant
eventually hauled down her colours but
Timoléon
’s crew left theirs flying when they set fire to the ship and rowed ashore to escape capture.
Nelson had won a crushing victory, in its completeness never exceeded during the days of sailing-ship warfare and equalled in naval history only by Japan’s annihilation of the Russian fleet at the Battle of Tsushima in 1905. Of the enemy’s thirteen line-of-battle ships, two had escaped, but two had blown up and the other nine had been captured in action or driven ashore. Nelson had lost none of his ships.
Culloden
, which had grounded during the approach, to the fire-eating Troubridge’s fury, had been floated off;
Bellerophon
and
Majestic,
the hardest hit, survived. Nelson’s casualties—he himself had suffered a nasty scalp wound early on—numbered 208 killed and 677 wounded. The French, by contrast, had surrendered more than a thousand wounded while their dead came to several thousand, a thousand in
L’Orient
alone. 15
It was the nature of the battle that determined the scale of the slaughter; ships anchored broadside to broadside, firing into each other at point-blank range, caused ghastly carnage among their crews. Engagements in the open sea, when ships had the freedom to manoeuvre, were much less costly in human life. Yet at Copenhagen, a battle Nelson was to fight in almost identical circumstances in 1801, Danish casualties were only 476 killed, 559 wounded. A killer instinct was at work at the Nile, a determination among the British to prevail, among the French not to be overcome.
What animated the French is the harder to estimate; revolutionary fervour no doubt, certainly Bonapartist inspiration, perhaps also the determination not to return to the traditional state of inferiority prevailing before their naval renaissance in the American War of Independence. Analysis of the British mood is more straightforward. Victory was a way of life for the Nelsonian sailor. He believed all races inferior to his own, and expected to beat them, and would fight unremittingly to ensure that he did. Moreover, the fleet had been led a merry dance by Brueys for nearly three months. Cornered at last, he and his sailors became the object of their enemy’s pent-up frustration.
No one in Nelson’s fleet had been more frustrated than Nelson himself, sleeping badly, eating little, railing in every letter he wrote against the bad luck which had him in its grip. Want of frigates, want of help from those he believed owed it him, were
Conquérant,
after another valiant passage of resistance, had also at last struck.
Spartiate,
third in line, had surrendered after two hours, the first French ship to give up, but with 200 dead and wounded aboard and the survivors pumping to keep the ship afloat.
Aquilon
surrendered a little later, with 87 dead aboard and 213 wounded.
Peuple Souverain,
fifth in the order of battle, had drifted out of the line, perhaps because her cables had been severed by gunfire.
Franklin,
still in line, had ceased to fight after being set on fire four times, the last by burning debris from the explosion of
L’Orient.
By early in the morning of 2 August, therefore, the French fleet consisted of a shattered and defeated van, a central void and a rear in disarray.
Franklin,
anchored ahead of
L’Orient
’s original position, did recommence fire after the great explosion but was swiftly brought to surrender. Aft of the gap, some of the French ships continued resistance for several hours,
Hereux
and
Mercure,
which had gone aground after cutting their cables, from inshore. Admiral Villeneuve, in
Guillaume Tell,
eventually decided, however, that it was his duty to escape, cut his cable and sailed out of the bay, followed by
Généreux
and the frigates
Justice
and
Diane.
He left behind the dismasted
Tonnant
and
Timoléon,
which, with heroic but pointless obstinacy, continued to work their guns into the afternoon of 2 August.
Tonnant
eventually hauled down her colours but
Timoléon
’s crew left theirs flying when they set fire to the ship and rowed ashore to escape capture.
Nelson had won a crushing victory, in its completeness never exceeded during the days of sailing-ship warfare and equalled in naval history only by Japan’s annihilation of the Russian fleet at the Battle of Tsushima in 1905. Of the enemy’s thirteen line-of-battle ships, two had escaped, but two had blown up and the other nine had been captured in action or driven ashore. Nelson had lost none of his ships.
Culloden
, which had grounded during the approach, to the fire-eating Troubridge’s fury, had been floated off;
Bellerophon
and
Majestic,
the hardest hit, survived. Nelson’s casualties—he himself had suffered a nasty scalp wound early on—numbered 208 killed and 677 wounded. The French, by contrast, had surrendered more than a thousand wounded while their dead came to several thousand, a thousand in
L’Orient
alone. 15
It was the nature of the battle that determined the scale of the slaughter; ships anchored broadside to broadside, firing into each other at point-blank range, caused ghastly carnage among their crews. Engagements in the open sea, when ships had the freedom to manoeuvre, were much less costly in human life. Yet at Copenhagen, a battle Nelson was to fight in almost identical circumstances in 1801, Danish casualties were only 476 killed, 559 wounded. A killer instinct was at work at the Nile, a determination among the British to prevail, among the French not to be overcome.
What animated the French is the harder to estimate; revolutionary fervour no doubt, certainly Bonapartist inspiration, perhaps also the determination not to return to the traditional state of inferiority prevailing before their naval renaissance in the American War of Independence. Analysis of the British mood is more straightforward. Victory was a way of life for the Nelsonian sailor. He believed all races inferior to his own, and expected to beat them, and would fight unremittingly to ensure that he did. Moreover, the fleet had been led a merry dance by Brueys for nearly three months. Cornered at last, he and his sailors became the object of their enemy’s pent-up frustration.
No one in Nelson’s fleet had been more frustrated than Nelson himself, sleeping badly, eating little, railing in every letter he wrote against the bad luck which had him in its grip. Want of frigates, want of help from those he believed owed it him, were
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