The Life of Nelson, Volume 2

In the duel which ensued between these two, in which Nelson fell, the disparity, so far as weight of battery was concerned, was all against the French ship; but the latter, while greatly overmatched at the guns, much the greater part of which were below deck, was markedly superior to her antagonist in small-arm fire on the upper deck, and especially aloft, where she had many musketeers stationed. Nelson himself was averse to the employment of men in that position, thinking the danger of fire greater than the gain, but the result on this day was fatal to very many of the "Victory's" men as well as to himself. As the ship's place in the battle was fixed for the moment, nothing now remained to be done, except for the crews to ply their weapons till the end was reached. The admiral and the captain, their parts of direction and guidance being finished, walked back and forth together on the quarter-deck, on the side farthest from the "Redoutable," where there was a clear space of a little over twenty feet in length, fore and aft, from the wheel to the hatch ladder leading down to the cabin. The mizzen-top of the "Redoutable," garnished with sharpshooters, was about fifty feet above them. Fifteen minutes after the vessels came together, as the two officers were walking forward, and had nearly reached the usual place of turning, Nelson, who was on Hardy's left, suddenly faced left about. Hardy, after taking a step farther, turned also, and saw the admiral in the act of falling—on his knees, with his left hand touching the deck; then, the arm giving way, he fell on his left side. It was in the exact spot where Scott, the secretary, had been killed an hour before. To Hardy's natural exclamation that he hoped he was not badly hurt, he replied, "They have done for me at last;" and when the expression of hope was repeated, he said again, "Yes, my back-bone is shot through." "I felt it break my back," he told the surgeon, a few minutes later. The ball had struck him on the left shoulder, on the forward part of the epaulette, piercing the lung, where it severed a large artery, and then passed through the spine from left to right, lodging finally in the muscles of the back. Although there was more than one mortal injury, the immediate and merciful cause of his speedy death was the internal bleeding from the artery. Within a few moments of his wounding some forty officers and men were cut down by the same murderous fire from the tops of the enemy. Indeed so stripped of men was the upper deck of the "Victory" that the French made a movement to board, which was repulsed, though with heavy loss.

The stricken hero was at once carried below, himself covering his face and the decorations of his coat with his handkerchief, that the sight of their loss might not affect the ship's company at this critical instant. The cockpit was already cumbered with the wounded and dying, but the handkerchief falling from his face, the surgeon recognized him, and came at once to him. "You can do nothing for me, Beatty," he said; "I have but a short time to live." The surgeon also uttered the involuntary exclamation of encouragement, which rises inevitably to the lips at such a moment; but a short examination, and the sufferer's statement of his sensations, especially the gushing of blood within the breast, which was vividly felt, convinced him that there was indeed no hope. "Doctor, I am gone," he said to the Rev. Mr. Scott, the chaplain, who knelt beside him; and then added in a low voice, "I have to leave Lady Hamilton, and my adopted daughter Horatia, as a legacy to my Country."

After the necessary examination had been made, nothing further could be done, nor was attempted, than to obtain the utmost possible relief from suffering. Dr. Scott and the purser of the "Victory" sustained the bed under his shoulders, raising him into a semi-recumbent posture, the only one that was supportable to him, and fanned him; while others gave him the cooling drink—lemonade—which he continually demanded. Those about did not speak to him, except when addressed; but the chaplain, to whom Nelson frequently said, "Pray for me, Doctor," ejaculated with him short prayers from time to time. The agony of mortal pain wrung from him repeated utterance, though no unmanly complaint; and his thoughts dwelt more upon home and the battle than upon his own suffering and approaching death. His mind remained clear until he became speechless, about fifteen minutes before he passed away, and he took frequent notice of what occurred near him, as well as of sounds on deck.

The hour that succeeded his wounding was the decisive one of the fight; not that the issue admitted of much doubt, after once Nelson's plans had received fulfilment, and the battle joined,—unless the delinquent van of the allies had acted promptly,—but in those moments the work was done which was thenceforth, for the enemy, beyond repair. Overhead, therefore, the strife went on incessantly, the seamen toiling steadily at their guns, and cheering repeatedly. Near the admiral lay Lieutenant Pasco, severely but not fatally wounded. At one burst of hurrahs, Nelson asked eagerly what it was about; and Pasco replying that another ship had struck, he expressed his satisfaction. Soon he became very anxious for further and more exact information of the course of the battle, and about the safety of Captain Hardy, upon whom now was devolved such guidance as the fleet, until the action was over, must continue to receive from the flagship of the commander-in-chief. In accordance with his wishes many messages were sent to Hardy to come to him, but for some time it was not possible for that officer to leave the deck. During this period, up to between half-past two and three, the ships of the two British divisions, that followed the leaders, were breaking successively into the enemy's order, and carrying out with intelligent precision the broad outlines of Nelson's instructions. The heads of the columns had dashed themselves to pieces, like a forlorn hope, against the overpowering number of foes which opposed their passage—an analysis of the returns shows that upon the four ships which led, the "Victory" and "Téméraire," the "Royal Sovereign" and "Belleisle," fell one-third of the entire loss in a fleet of twenty-seven sail. But they had forced their way through, and by the sacrifice of themselves had shattered and pulverized the local resistance, destroyed the coherence of the hostile line, and opened the road for the successful action of their followers. With the appearance of the latter upon the scene, succeeded shortly by the approach of the allied van, though too late and in disorder, began what may be called the second and final phase of the battle.

While such things were happening the deck could not be left by Hardy, who, for the time being, was commander-in-chief as well as captain. Shortly after Nelson fell, the "Téméraire" had run on board the "Redoutable" on the other side, and the French "Fougueux" upon the "Téméraire," so that for a few minutes the four ships were fast together, in the heat of the fight. About quarter past two, the "Victory" was shoved clear, and lay with her head to the northward, though scarcely with steerage way. The three others remained in contact with their heads to the southward. While this mêlée was in progress, the French flagship "Bucentaure" surrendered, at five minutes past two; but, before hauling down the flag, Villeneuve made a signal to his recreant van,—"The ships that are not engaged, take positions which will bring them most rapidly under fire." Thus summoned, the ten vessels which constituted the van began to go about, as they should have done before; and, although retarded by the slack wind, they had got their heads to the southward by half-past two. Five stood to leeward of the line of battle, but five to windward. The latter would pass not far to the westward of the "Victory," and to meet this fresh attack demanded the captain's further care, and postponed his going to the death-bed of his chief. The latter had become very agitated at the delay, thinking that Hardy might be dead and the news kept from him. "Will nobody bring Hardy to me?" he frequently exclaimed. "He must be killed; he is surely destroyed." At last a midshipman came down with the message that "circumstances respecting the fleet required the captain's presence on deck, but that he would take the first favourable moment to visit his Lordship." Nelson, hearing the voice, asked who it was that spoke. The lad, Bulkeley, who later in the day was wounded also, was the son of a former shipmate in the far back days of the San Juan expedition, and the dying admiral charged the lad with a remembrance to his father.

Captain Thomas Masterman Hardy

Two ships of Nelson's column, as yet not engaged,—the "Spartiate" and the "Minotaur,"—were then just reaching the scene. Being in the extreme rear, the lightness of the breeze had so far delayed them. Arriving thus opportunely, they hauled to the wind so as to interpose between the "Victory" and the approaching van of the allies. Covered now by two wholly fresh ships, the captain felt at liberty to quit the deck, in accordance with Nelson's desire. The two tried friends—Hardy had been everywhere with him since the day of St. Vincent, and was faithful enough to speak to Lady Hamilton more freely than she liked—shook hands affectionately. "Well, Hardy," said Nelson, "how goes the battle? How goes the day with us?" "Very well, my Lord," replied Hardy. "We have got twelve or fourteen of the enemy's ships in our possession, but five of their van have tacked, and show an intention of bearing down upon the Victory. I have therefore called two or three of our fresh ships round us, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing." "I hope none of our ships have struck, Hardy." "No, my Lord," was the answer, "there is no fear of that." Nelson then said, "I am a dead man, Hardy. I am going fast: it will be all over with me soon. Come nearer to me. Pray let my dear Lady Hamilton have my hair, and all other things belonging to me." Hardy observed that he hoped Mr. Beatty could yet hold out some prospect of life. "Oh no!" replied Nelson; "it is impossible. My back is shot through. Beatty will tell you so." Hardy then returned to the deck, shaking hands again before parting.

Nelson now desired the surgeons to leave him to the attendants, as one for whom nothing could be done, and to give their professional care where it would be of some avail. In a few moments he recalled the chief surgeon, and said, "I forgot to tell you that all power of motion and feeling below my breast are gone; and you very well know I can live but a short time." From the emphasis he placed on his words, the surgeon saw he was thinking of a case of spinal injury to a seaman some months before, which had proved mortal after many days' suffering; yet it would seem that, despite the conviction that rested on his mind, the love of life, and of all it meant to him, yet clung to the hope that possibly there might be a reprieve. "One would like to live a little longer," he murmured; and added, "What would become of poor Lady Hamilton if she knew my situation!" "Beatty," he said again, "you know I am gone." "My Lord," replied the surgeon, with a noble and courteous simplicity, "unhappily for our country, nothing can be done for you;" and he turned away to conceal the emotion which he could not at once control. "I know it," said Nelson. "I feel something rising in my breast," putting his hand on his left side, "which tells me I am gone. God be praised, I have done my duty." To this latter thought he continually recurred.

At about three o'clock, the five ships of the enemy's van, passing within gunshot to windward,142 opened fire upon the British ships and their prizes. The "Victory" with her consorts replied. "Oh, Victory! Victory!" cried the sufferer, "how you distract my poor brain!" and after a pause added, "How dear life is to all men!" This distant exchange of shots was ineffectual, except to kill or wound a few more people, but while it continued Hardy had to be on deck, for the flag of the commander-in-chief still vested his authority in that ship. During this period an officer was sent to Collingwood to inform him of the admiral's condition, and to bear a personal message of farewell from the latter; but Nelson had no idea of transferring any portion of his duty until he parted with his life also.

A short hour elapsed between Hardy's leaving the cockpit and his returning to it, which brings the time to four o'clock. Strength had ebbed fast meanwhile, and the end was now very near; but Nelson was still conscious. The friends again shook hands, and the captain, before releasing his grasp, congratulated the dying hero upon the brilliancy of the victory. It was complete, he said. How many were captured, it was impossible to see, but he was certain fourteen or fifteen. The exact number proved to be eighteen. "That is well," said Nelson, but added, faithful to his exhaustive ideas of sufficiency, "I bargained for twenty." Then he exclaimed, "Anchor, Hardy, anchor!" Hardy felt the embarrassment of issuing orders now that Collingwood knew that his chief was in the very arms of death; but Nelson was clearly within his rights. "I suppose, my Lord," said the captain, "Admiral Collingwood will now take upon himself the direction of affairs." "Not while I live, I hope, Hardy," cried Nelson, and for a moment endeavored, ineffectually, to raise himself from the bed. "No. Do you anchor, Hardy." Captain Hardy then said, "Shall we make the signal, Sir?" "Yes," answered the admiral, "for if I live, I'll anchor." These words he repeated several times, even after Hardy had left him, and the energy of his manner showed that for the moment the sense of duty and of responsibility had triumphed over his increasing weakness.

Reaction of course followed, and he told Hardy he felt that in a few minutes he should be no more. "Don't throw me overboard," he added; "you know what to do." Hardy having given assurance that these wishes should be attended to, Nelson then said, "Take care of my dear Lady Hamilton, Hardy: take care of poor Lady Hamilton. Kiss me, Hardy." The captain knelt down and kissed his cheek. "Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty." Hardy rose and stood looking silently at him for an instant or two, then knelt down again and kissed his forehead. "Who is that?" asked Nelson. The captain answered, "It is Hardy;" to which his Lordship replied, "God bless you, Hardy!" The latter then returned to the quarter-deck, having passed about eight minutes in this final interview.

Horatia, at Twenty-two Years of Age

Nelson now desired his steward, who was in attendance throughout, to turn him on his right side. "I wish I had not left the deck," he murmured; "for I shall soon be gone." Thenceforth he sank rapidly; his breathing became oppressed and his voice faint. To Dr. Scott he said, "Doctor, I have not been a great sinner," and after a short pause, "Remember, that I leave Lady Hamilton and my daughter Horatia as a legacy to my country—never forget Horatia." This injunction, with remembrances to Lady Hamilton and the child, he frequently repeated; and he charged Scott to see Mr. Rose, and tell him—but here pain interrupted his utterance, and after an interval he simply said, "Mr. Rose will remember," alluding to a letter which he had written him, but which as yet could not have been received. His thirst now increased; and he called for "drink, drink," "fan, fan," and "rub, rub," addressing himself in this last case to Dr. Scott, who had been rubbing his breast with his hand, by which some relief was given. These words he spoke in a very rapid manner, which rendered his articulation difficult; but he every now and then, with evident increase of pain, made a greater effort, and said distinctly, "Thank God, I have done my duty." This he repeated at intervals as long as the power of speech remained. The last words caught by Dr. Scott, who was bending closely over him, were, "God and my Country."

Fifteen minutes after Hardy left him for the second time, the admiral became speechless; and when this had continued five minutes, the surgeon, who was busied among the other wounded, was summoned again. He found him upon the verge of dissolution, the hands cold and the pulse gone; but upon laying his hand upon his forehead, Nelson opened his eyes, looked up, and then closed them forever. Five minutes later he was dead. The passing was so quiet that Dr. Scott, still rubbing his breast, did not perceive it, until the surgeon announced that all was over. It was half-past four o'clock, just three hours after the fatal wound was received. Not till an hour later did the last of the eighteen prizes strike, and firing cease altogether; but the substantial results were known to Nelson before consciousness left him. To quote the rugged words of the "Victory's" log, "Partial firing continued until 4.30, when a victory having been reported to the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Nelson, K.B., he died of his wound."

Of the five ships of the allied van which passed to windward of the "Victory," one was cut off and captured by the "Minotaur" and "Spartiate." The other four continued on the wind to the southwest, and escaped to sea. By the surrender of Villeneuve the chief command of the combined fleets remained with the Spanish admiral Gravina. The latter, at quarter before five, fifteen minutes after Nelson breathed his last, retreated upon Cadiz, making signal for the vessels which had not struck to rally round his flag. Ten other ships, five French and five Spanish,—in all eleven sail-of-the-line,—made good their escape into the port.

"Before sunset," wrote an eye-witness on board the "Belleisle," "all firing had ceased. The view of the fleet at this period was highly interesting, and would have formed a beautiful subject for a painter. Just under the setting rays were five or six dismantled prizes; on one hand lay the Victory with part of our fleet and prizes, and on the left hand the Royal Sovereign and a similar cluster of ships. To the northward, the remnant of the combined fleets was making for Cadiz. The Achille, with the tricoloured ensign still displayed, had burnt to the water's edge about a mile from us, and our tenders and boats were using every effort to save the brave fellows who had so gloriously defended her; but only two hundred and fifty were rescued, and she blew up with a tremendous explosion."

There, surrounded by the companions of his triumph, and by the trophies of his prowess, we leave our hero with his glory. Sharer of our mortal weakness, he has bequeathed to us a type of single-minded self-devotion that can never perish. As his funeral anthem proclaimed, while a nation mourned, "His body is buried in peace, but his Name liveth for evermore." Wars may cease, but the need for heroism shall not depart from the earth, while man remains man and evil exists to be redressed. Wherever danger has to be faced or duty to be done, at cost to self, men will draw inspiration from the name and deeds of Nelson.

Happy he who lives to finish all his task. The words, "I have done my duty," sealed the closed book of Nelson's story with a truth broader and deeper than he himself could suspect. His duty was done, and its fruit perfected. Other men have died in the hour of victory, but for no other has victory so singular and so signal graced the fulfilment and ending of a great life's work. "Finis coronat opus" has of no man been more true than of Nelson. There were, indeed, consequences momentous and stupendous yet to flow from the decisive supremacy of Great Britain's sea-power, the establishment of which, beyond all question or competition, was Nelson's great achievement; but his part was done when Trafalgar was fought. The coincidence of his death with the moment of completed success has impressed upon that superb battle a stamp of finality, an immortality of fame, which even its own grandeur scarcely could have insured. He needed, and he left, no successor. To use again St. Vincent's words, "There is but one Nelson."