Shadows of Nelson

Rachel Ramsey

Creative Writing 205 B

Professor Moffett

Revised Version

It’s September. St. Paul’s Cathedral is quiet as I head down to the crypt. I have just found out that this is where Horatio Nelson is buried, and I am shaking with excitement. Back in the hotel room sits Nelson’s biography that I brought the 3000 miles with me even though I know I’m not going to read any of it while I’m in London.

Turning the right corner at the bottom of the stairs, moving past silent alcoves with portraits and busts of dead heroes. Where is he? I wonder expectantly.

I finally find the marble tomb, set in the middle of the aisle. It is set upon a high rectangular stone, with a base bearing “Horatio Visc Nelson” in capital letters on one side in cold gold, on top of that the black marble tomb shaped like a rectangular dish with a deep, curving bottom. The top is black with an elaborate gold sphere like that of a king, set upon a circular gold cushion, a tassle at each corner draping over the edge onto the black lid. Below the entire structure is a mosaic, most prominent an anchor, pointed end facing the tomb, with a rope curling around it and out towards the edges of the base.

There is no way I can explain the sort of feeling I am experiencing except to liken it to something akin to controlled excitement, a high without the drugs, like when you’re meeting the one person who you admire more than anything. As I stand in front of the tomb, I know I can stand there all day. Not wanting to appear strange, I wander past, to the gift store, where I casually glance at the postcards displayed in revolving racks outside. I turn them slowly, still yearning to return to that spot. Nelson’s ghost propels my feet back, past the guard sitting in his chair across from the line of bars separating tombs from a general seating area and gift shop, hoping he won’t stop me. Relief as he does not.

I stand staring at the tomb. It is hard to describe what I feel, but it will suffice to say that I am dumb with contentment. Do they think I’m odd, standing here staring at a tomb? I wonder as people pass the tomb with no more than a prolonged glance to figure out who it is. Two or three give me looks, others even taking long enough to read the printed version of Nelson’s last diary entry that is propped at the front of the tomb at eye level. I want so desperately to reach out and press my hand against the cool marble, but not wanting to desecrate the honor of this man, I do not.

I purchase a Nelson magnate, several postcards including two of Nelson’s tomb, and a poster declaring Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar, but lamenting his death. Smiling to myself, I know my father will laugh when he sees what I’ve bought. I want to linger under Nelson’s shadow, but the day grows late and there are other places to go. Perhaps I am crazy, I think, for being so focused in what interests me, for getting such a high out of visiting a dead man’s tomb. No, I decide, passionate. Anything that awakens this sort of fire and zeal in a person can only be described as a passion. Unfortunately, I think, most people would probably consider it to be on the verge of insanity.

Insanity? a voice says at my elbow as I step out onto the street. Horatio Nelson strides at my side, head high, hands clasped behind his back. Can these people you associate with not tell the difference between passion and insanity?

No, unfortunately, I think they often mistake the two, I stutter a reply, surprise momentarily taking control. He offers me an arm, which I take thankfully. I don’t know why, but people seem to think that because I care so much about Britain’s naval history, there’s something wrong with me mentally. That I have my priorities all wrong.

Well, disregard them, if you please. Some people just don’t know how important we are, you and I. Not many people seem to care about me these days, so it is a very real pleasure to have a visitor such as yourself come by, especially one as passionate about my line of work. I do hope you won’t give up on me and my men. Pleading, yet teasing, blue eyes look over as we walk down Fleet Street.

Pleasure’s all mine. And no, I shan’t give up on you, Admiral. You’re too special. He beams, stride picking up in confidence and utter pleasure in life. Smiling, I remain attached to his invisible aura, feeling confident in myself.

“What are you writing?” my Uncle Andy asked, seeing me typing away at my computer across the round dining room table in my grandmother’s house. My mother’s family had gathered for a reunion, and I had just arrived an hour before at the cottage nestled in the Virginia woods a mile or so from the Potomac.

“A ten minute play,” I replied. “For Creative Writing. My main character is based on a character sketch I did earlier in the year, about this girl who is a naval archaeologist. Part of the sketch was the event in the character’s life that changed her and put her on a set path. That’s what I’m writing the play about, where my character goes to the Captain of a 1795 frigate in the present day and requests to be allowed to become part of the crew.”

“That’s awesome,” Andy said, with measure, grinning across the table at me. For the first time, it seemed the navy pilot was acknowledging me.

Those two words did wonders for me, lifting my self-esteem from badly low levels. That it came from someone I respected and whom I wanted so badly to impress were equally the cause for my self-esteem lifting, because it meant that I, and my field of study, mattered. He understood where I was coming from, even though he didn’t know that he was a living representation of my role model, Horatio Nelson, who filled the void created during my childhood.

Growing up, I didn’t have a role model or any inspiration to follow through with any dreams I might have had. My parents divorced when I was eight, having already been separated a year before that, and while the divorce was going through we all moved to Charlotte, North Carolina, where I switched schools several times in the second grade and where I realized over the course of a few years and several “boyfriends” that my father was gay. There was always a question of, “Who the hell am I supposed to trust?” As the years passed and I went between houses every other Wednesday and Saturday, my mother would tell me all the things wrong with my father, that I should avoid becoming like him, while adding, “I really shouldn’t be saying this,” while my father told me not to end up like my mother, bashing the way she lived, as though her current state of life was something to be spat at. With these contradictory messages flying back and forth, I really had no idea who I was supposed to be or who I should look up to for proper guidance. They live in two completely different worlds, leaving me to doubt where I fit in, at home and in the bigger picture, what I was supposed to do with my life. My father was the more dominant of the two, the one I was more fearful of talking openly to, and who I was always under the impression I was supposed to be life – sensible and logical in my career choice. My mom gave the impression that it’s better to live simply and happy, even if you’re less financially stable. I was too afraid to challenge either of them in their styles of living and was left swaying back and forth between the two.

Supposedly because of the age I was at when my parents divorced, I blamed myself to an extent, but I also folded into myself, never speaking up and shutting myself off with headphones and music. I pretended I was in another world with a plethora of historical figures, afraid to say anything that might make the situation between my parents worse or to step outside my minimal comfort zone for fear of something bad happening. Eventually, I left for boarding school, thinking that perhaps if I left, I could not only escape the uncomfortable living situation in Charlotte but also find some normalcy.

I didn’t find much normalcy in high school, and I never realized how desperate I was for a role model until I began reading John Sugden’s biography of Nelson, Nelson: A Dream of Glory, 1758-1797. I had not expected to find in him a role model, but within the first few chapters I realized that in Nelson I had found someone who could actually guide me. I latched on and found a sense of closure, associating more and more with this admiral, noting the things I thought we shared in common, learning from him. It was as though a light had been turned on and I could finally see where I was going.

Finally, Nelson says. You did take a deplorably long time getting here. I sit up in bed, lowering the biography, and see a man of rather average height with short, wispy hair standing at the foot of the bed, wearing a captain’s uniform. He makes an elaborate bow, sweeping his hat down. Coming back up, he tucks the hat under his arm, grinning boyishly. Captain Nelson, at your service.

Nelson was the son of a clergyman, and was not born into any sort of privilege. His parents did not think he would live beyond a week because he was so frail and sickly, so they had him baptized immediately. This frail constitution followed him the rest of his life, and several times he fell so ill that he almost died. By 22, he had made post-captain with his performance in the West Indies, although shortly after gaining this rank he was shipped back to England, having one of his bouts of severe sickness that practically claimed his life. However, in the classic Nelson style that would color the rest of his life and make him a memorable hero of England, he boldly declared, “My dream of glory shall be fulfilled. Nelson shall yet be an admiral.” He refused to be put down, even by a life-threatening sickness that everyone else thought would surely be the end of him.

He was part of the extensive Mediterranean campaign in the 1790s, where the British struggled to maintain a foothold in Italy and on the Italian islands. It was here, at the battle of Calvi, that he lost sight in his left eye due to shards of wood. He obstinately refused to wear an eye patch, and just as obstinately refused to give up the cause of the Italians and save them from the invading French, pushing his superiors to try and keep a presence in Italy until the last moment. It was during this Mediterranean campaign that Nelson made himself known as a man who stood staunchly behind his opinions and was loyal to his superiors, even after they had retired. If he thought that the wrong approach was being taken, he would send opinionated missives to all parties involved, pushing his own views and always attempting to take responsibility.

By 39, he was made admiral after his performance in the battle of Cape St. Vincent in which he, in a 64-gun ship-of-line, took the initiative and broke tradition by falling out of the line of battle (which was never done) in order to take on superior enemy ships. He took on a ship twice his size and boarded her, then used that ship as a means to board another much larger enemy ship. At the end of the battle, he personally reported to Admiral Jervis (who was in charge of the action), despite being wounded and probably on the verge of passing out from loss of blood. This was classic Nelson, taking on enemies even though the odds were impossibly against him and leading the charge without thought to his person, more concerned with defeating the French and making a name for himself. In this way he characterized himself as a risk-taker, but also as a leader and passionate fighter, gaining the respect of both his men and his superiors.

In 1797, in a doomed attack at Tenerife, Nelson was shot in the arm in such a way that the ship’s surgeon was forced to amputate it. However, there were no pain-killers available, so Nelson underwent surgery, fully awake, feeling everything. Anyone who can undergo that must have a will of iron, indicating Nelson’s sheer force of will and desire to prove himself. Despite his fragile constitution that constantly seemed to threaten his health, he survived to live seven more years before being killed in the memorable battle of Trafalgar. He was shot by a sharp shooter, and lived for four hours, and just before dying was told that the English had carried the day. “Thank God I have done my duty,” he said before dying.

Despite all this military activity and passion for glory and distinction, Nelson helped others, thinking of his midshipmen and lieutenants as though they were his own nephews, sons, pushing for their promotions in the Admirality, and digging his elder brothers out of the financial holes they had fallen into. That ability to give so unconditionally while following his own dreams and ensuring his own future as best he could showed me that someone can be whatever they want to while making a difference in the lives of so many others.

Nelson, in his life story, aided me in becoming more of a risk-taker, less afraid to stand up for myself with words, and showed me that even those who suffer from frail constitutions and war wounds can overcome the doubts of others if they are confident enough in themselves and their causes. Nelson showed me that we do have to offend people and make enemies if we are to have any self-esteem and dignity whatsoever and if we are to stand up for what we personally believe in. Doing all this is more important than jeopardizing your own personal self-esteem and dignity, and if by breaking with tradition and orders you can attain self-confidence and dignity, then, by George, do it! It has also influenced me to become a better person, and to know myself better than I had before. His actions lets me know that no matter what people may say about me or whatever my own inhibitions may be, physical or mental, I can achieve great heights. One thing few people may know about Nelson is that he suffered from depression, especially when he felt that he was not doing his best, was inhibited by some force or other (such as his health), or someone barred him from making progress or acting in a manner he thought best, such as attacking French ships or outposts or moving certain troops. I suffered from depression for a long time, but Nelson’s story has taught me that I can overcome that depression and soar to new heights, if I can learn to bypass that which may block me from making progress elsewhere.

That such a man could have such a profound effect was a revelation for me – I revered this man and the world he lived in, and at his bidding had to follow my dreams. It was like he had stepped out of the pages of the biography, hauled me to my feet on steady ground, and given me a good, healthy slap in the face and a heated, commanding but amused look, and said, “Do you know what you’re doing now?” Upon receiving a nod, he says, “Well, go tell the world what we’re about, won’t you?” And so he set me on my path as a naval historian, determined to let his memory live on.

The day I realized how Nelson had made me into a risk-taker was the day my play was work-shopped.

“I know I’m taking a risk in writing the play about this topic,” I told a friend. “Because everyone has their own tastes and stuff.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” my friend replied. “But if you’re interested in it, write it.” So I took the risk and turned the paper in, but with a great deal of trepidation.

“I really liked your play!” seemed to be the general message either directly said or implied along with well-founded criticism for which I was grateful, because I knew the play had not been all it could have been. However, the second I heard that “These characters belong in psych wards,” it was, in my mind although I recognized everyone’s right to say what they want to, a slight against not only me, but everything I had decided to devote my life to. I did not say anything in response to the comment, but looking back, I wish I had.

What I had set out to do in my play I didn’t really know until after the play itself was work-shopped. Afterwards, as I stared at my computer screen, trying to cool my simmering emotions, Nelson sat on my bed, wearing his admiral’s uniform.

Be diplomatic about it, he says. I turned to look at him. You can fight back, but use your words, as I do when I write my letters for my youngsters’ promotions, or do you remember all those letters I wrote defending myself and my position in the Mediterranean, and my actions against those French ships in the neutral ports? There’s no harm in expressing yourself.

Well, I thought, I could explain myself in my play…or that non-fiction essay. The admiral, with the blind left eye and stump of a right arm, nodded approvingly, barely breaking a smile, but in his one good eye was the glint of pride.

People may think I’m half-crazy, completely crazy, or quite full of myself and self-righteous, and they’re entitled, but this pursuit is something I’m passionate about. More than anything, Nelson has shown me that with perseverance and belief in what you’re doing, anything is possible, and that has given me strength, because he himself rose to great heights from nothing because he had the tenacity and didn’t let anyone get the better of him, and if he did fall in depression (which he did and like I do) he could climb back out again and continue. As John Sugden wrote in his biography of Nelson, “That combination (in Nelson) of professionalism, determination to achieve, missionary zeal, self-confidence, initiative and courage was rare indeed. Any individual, talented and dedicated in his or her field, who strives for perfection – further, to achieve more than anyone had done before – is likely to make a difference.” (785) I am trying to make that difference, to allow people to understand not only the history of Nelson and his men and the world they fought for and how it shaped the modern world, but also to understand the people who now sail the last few remaining tall ships in the world.

A hero, a role model, is an understandable, common thing that everyone can relate to. We have them up on our walls or in the books we read. The Nelson paraphernalia that decorates my room speaks to me of another time, another era that has been transplanted to the modern day and is out of place, like I am out of place. Each time I see that face, I am seeing the past, and my future. Even though I’ve finished the biography, as I walk around campus, I feel his shadow and influence following me. I trust that presence to tell me what to do, to let me know that I shall overcome. Oh all the things I have drawn from his biography, that is the most relevant.

I’m not crazy, I decide, I’m passionate about Nelson and his ships. This passion anchors me in world that seems to label anyone with unnatural focuses as “crazy”.

“Have you ever been on one of these ships?” my uncle Vance asked me at the family reunion.

“No, but I really want to,” I said.

“You know you can crew on them, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t really have the physical capabilities, I guess.” Or the mental ones, I added privately.

“How do you know? You’ve never tried.” I couldn’t muster an answer for that, unable to counter it. Now, though, whenever I think about the modern-day crews of those tall ships and consider possibly volunteering at some point, I can sense Nelson’s ghost prodding me, almost humourously, but sincerely, to do it, to take the risk and volunteer despite my own fears. Take the risk, dammit, he says. You know you must, eventually. Do it for me. I grin mysteriously to myself at the old admiral’s persistence. Alright, I tell him. Just give me time to establish a power base to jump off of, ok? I’m not exactly in the best position to just go join a ship. I have to legitimize myself first, let people know I’m ‘for real.’ Plus there’s the money factor. That silences him. He was never very good with finances.

Growing up, I never felt like my dad ever truly acknowledged or admired anything I did, just giving some sign that he noticed before moving on to working in his yard or paperwork for Bank of America. I tried so hard to do something to impress him, but never got a satisfactory response that said, Yes, go for it, what you are doing is cool. I know that he cared and cares about me and has told me on several occasions to follow my dreams, which did make me feel better about myself, but has never really taken an active interest in what I am pursuing. This left me more acutely lonely and without a real role model who can appreciate what I do. When I try to share my enthusiasm with my father, he won’t hear any of it. So I gave up trying to impress him. His sort of attitude prevents me from trying to share my passion with anyone else, and is probably why I have not told my uncle of my respect for him. I remember sitting on my grandmother’s sun porch with my uncle as he was doing work on China, I reading a book on Nelson’s Navy and trying to get his attention, make him talk to me. I think he did notice, perhaps, but if I do not speak up, express my words, no one will know how I feel. Fortunately, Nelson came along.

Strangely enough, my father has told me that of all my mom’s siblings, he admires Andy the most, because of his drive and desire to achieve great things, to be the best. This essentially encapsulates Nelson as well – Nelson was out to distinguish himself in the Navy, to reach the highest rank possible. Perhaps that is why I relate so much to Andy.

Andy is, for me, the 20th century Nelson. My view of him practically imitates how I think of Nelson, and my relationship is probably how I would act towards Nelson if I were ever to come face to face with him. Whenever I’m around Andy, I feel in awe of him, too afraid to say anything meaningful because of my awe, respect and admiration of him and that whatever I say will come out sound silly. It’s like he is someone larger than life, but with a boyish charm and liveliness that makes everyone around him at ease and laugh. These are characteristics that come out in Nelson – easy-going, a caring father figure, passionate for his work, someone everyone liked, even if they did not always agree on certain topics. Like Nelson, Andy distinguished himself. Also, Andy had his own set of medical problems. First, he was diagnosed with kidney cancer, which was dealt with through surgery. Then, doctors discovered a brain tumor, which was also essentially taken care of with surgery. After all this, he was told he could no longer fly. I can only imagine what that does to a person, being told you can’t do what you’ve been doing for most of your life. When I saw him at the family reunion, he seemed different, physically affected by the surgery, even a little more low key. When I found out about the cancer, and then the brain tumor (both at once from my grandmother), I was scared. I cried. But yet there was no sense of dread, and inwardly I knew he would make it. As I read about Nelson’s trauma at the loss of the arm, his belief that he was “useless to my country”, and his depression and how it affected him physically, it was not hard to draw a connection between the two, even though Nelson continued in his career. Both had hurdles that needed crossing, and both came through admirably well, strengthening my admiration for them both. So I have hope and a feeling that Andy will continue to distinguish himself further, despite this hold on his career right now, because I think that he has the same sort of passion Nelson did, not perhaps for glory or fame, but because he enjoys what he does.

The awe and respect I bear for Nelson I also have for Andy. I look to them both as models of good behavior in society and of how to treat others respectfully and kindly, and as setting a work ethic standard to achieve. Nelson had a fiery passion that drove him, but Andy, I think, is much quieter in his pursuit. I looked upon my father with fear as an authority figure, not someone I had respect for in the sense that I have respect for Nelson and Andy. Now, I look upon him as my father, and someone I can have a conversation with, but I certainly won’t tell him everything, because I cannot look upon him as a role model or someone I can ask advice from, because I always feel like I’m wrong when he replies. My mom I turn to for emotional support and guidance, as someone I can occasionally go to for advice. Of course I love both of them, I do not blame my mom for the void that was created in my childhood, and I do know my father has very good qualities. Nelson simply replaced my father as a role model, filling a void.

I have never told Andy of my respect for him. Now is as good a time as any.