[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "Nelson is struck by a grapeshot and falls bleeding
into the boat." _p_ 244.]
[Illustration: Title page]
_Hearts of Oak._
A STORY OF
Nelson and the Navy.
By
GORDON STABLES, M.D., C.M.
(_Surgeon Royal Navy_),
AUTHOR OF "FROM SQUIRE TO SQUATTER;"
"IN THE DASHING DAYS OF OLD;" "EXILES OF FORTUNE;"
"ENGLAND, HOME, AND BEAUTY;"
ETC. ETC.
"'Hearts of oak!' our captain cried; when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun." CAMPBELL.
NEW EDITION.
_LONDON:_
JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.,
48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
HEARTS OF OAK . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Dr. GORDON-STABLES.
FOR ENGLAND, HOME, AND BEAUTY . . . . . . Dr. GORDON-STABLES.
EXILES OF FORTUNE . . . . . . . . . . . . Dr. GORDON-STABLES.
IN SEARCH OF FORTUNE . . . . . . . . . . Dr. GORDON-STABLES.
TWO SAILOR LADS . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dr. GORDON-STABLES.
IN THE DASHING DAYS OF OLD . . . . . . . Dr. GORDON-STABLES.
FACING FEARFUL ODDS . . . . . . . . . . . Dr. GORDON-STABLES.
GRAHAM'S VICTORY . . . . . . . . . . . . G. STEBBING.
THE TWO CASTAWAYS . . . . . . . . . . . . LADY F. DIXIE.
HONOURS DIVIDED . . . . . . . . . . . . . W. C. METCALFE.
ON TO THE RESCUE . . . . . . . . . . . . Dr. GORDON-STABLES.
BEL-MARJORY. A Tale of Conquest . . . . L. T. MEADE.
EUSTACE MARCHMONT . . . . . . . . . . . . E. EVERETT-GREEN.
A TRUE GENTLEWOMAN . . . . . . . . . . . EMMA MARSHALL.
THE END CROWNS ALL. A Story of Life . . EMMA MARSHALL.
BISHOP'S CRANWORTH . . . . . . . . . . . EMMA MARSHALL.
FIGHTING FOR FREEDOM . . . . . . . . . . ANDREW REED.
CITY SNOWDROPS . . . . . . . . . . . . . M. E. WINCHESTER.
COUNTESS MAUD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . EMILY S. HOLT.
HER HUSBAND'S HOME. A Tale . . . . . . . E. EVERETT-GREEN.
IDA VANE. A Tale of the Restoration . . ANDREW REED.
ONE SNOWY NIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . . EMILY S. HOLT.
FOR HONOUR NOT HONOURS . . . . . . . . . Dr. GORDON-STABLES.
WINNING AN EMPIRE . . . . . . . . . . . . G. STEBBING.
A REAL HERO . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . G. STEBBING.
A TANGLED WEB . . . . . . . . . . . . . . EMILY S. HOLT.
DOROTHY'S STORY . . . . . . . . . . . . . L. T. MEADE.
BEATING THE RECORD . . . . . . . . . . . G. STEBBING.
BRITAIN'S QUEEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . T. PAUL.
THE FOSTER-SISTERS . . . . . . . . . . . L. E. GUERNSEY.
A KNIGHT OF TO-DAY . . . . . . . . . . . L. T. MEADE.
NEVER GIVE IN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . G. STEBBING.
EDGAR NELTHORPE . . . . . . . . . . . . . ANDREW REED.
MARION SCATTERTHWAITE . . . . . . . . . . M. SYMINGTON.
LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
PREFACE.
I have no need, I trust, to apologise for the introduction of the
name and chief exploits of so great a naval hero as Horatio Nelson
into this story of sea life. It is due to my readers as well as
myself, however, to state that it _is_ a tale of the sea, and not
intended as a life of Nelson. Nevertheless I have endeavoured
throughout to paint his character to the life by a series of
_tableaux vivants_, which I humbly hope will not be found altogether
ineffective.
With the exception of the calm and peaceful days that Nelson spent at
the old parsonage of Burnham-Thorpe, I have dealt _solely_ with his
doings and deeds afloat, and from the time he joined the grand old
service until the day of his death on board the _Victory_ the sword
is seldom out of his hand. My Nelson is Nelson on the quarter-deck.
With Nelson at Court, whether at home or abroad, I have nothing
whatever to say. The young fellows for whom I write, I know well,
infinitely prefer the sailor's cutlass to a lady's fan.
And Nelson is notably a boy's hero; so good, so gentle, and yet
withal so brave! And never during all his career was his mind so
overwhelmed with his own cares on shipboard, as to preclude him from
interesting himself in what pertained to his junior officers, with a
tenderness too that was almost fatherly. Another trait in his
character that must cause every true boy to look upon Nelson as a
hero, was his love of duty and justice.
Says Alison, "He was gifted too by nature with undaunted courage,
with indomitable resolution, and undecaying energy. He possessed
also the eagle glance, the quick determination, and coolness in
danger, that constitute the rarest qualities in a consummate
commander."
I pray heaven that in our next naval war--and it cannot be very long
ere this rages over the seas--our country may be in possession of a
few admirals who shall emulate the dash and _elan_ of our great and
mighty Nelson.
* * * * *
Descending to my lesser heroes, young Lord Raventree, and Tom Bure,
they are neither greater nor less than any true-hearted British boy
may be, who has the honour to draw dirk or sword in the dashing days
of warfare which most assuredly are before us.
Descending to still humbler heroes, it will do the reader no harm to
know that poor Uncle Bob, and his honest and gentle old brother Dan,
have had their counterparts in real life.
So, too, has the faithful collie dog Meg, with all her gentle,
winning ways, who so cheered the last sad days of her helpless
invalid master.
May we not love even a dog for the possession of virtues higher far
than many mortals can lay claim to?
GORDON STABLES.
TWYFORD, BERKS,
_March, 1892._
Dedication.
TO
FRANK SMITH, ESQ.,
JOURNALIST, ETC.,
A FRIEND WHOM I HAVE NEVER YET SEEN,
BUT WHO SO VERY OFTEN
CHEERS ME WITH BRIGHT AND WITTY LETTERS,
Himself a Heart of Oak,
THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED WITH EVERY KINDLY WISH
BY
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
Book I.
_IN PEACE AND AT HOME._
CHAPTER
I. Poor Uncle Bob
II. The Wreck on the Gorton Sands
III. "I see it all," He said; "I see it all"
IV. Uncle Bob tells Tom's story
V. A Mountain Wave comes swelling o'er the Sands
VI. Summer Morning on a Norfolk Broad
VII. The Launch of the "Queen of the Broads"
VIII. "Stay at Home, my Lad, and plant Cabbages"
IX. Horatio Nelson's Earlier Days
X. "I will be a Hero, and trusting to Providence
brave every Danger"
XI. "There's a Storm brewing, and you'll be in it, Tom"
XII. "Dan will ne'er be Dan again," they said
Book II
_WILD WAR'S BLAST._
I. Tom's Baptism of Blood
II. How Tom Bure joined the Service
III. In the Gunroom Mess--The Great War Game
IV. Were there really Tears in Nelson's Eyes?
V. The glorious old "Agamemnon"
VI. A Duel to the Death
VII. The Battle of St. Vincent
VIII. Life in Nelson's Ship
IX. Bombarding Cadiz--A madcap Expedition
X. A Dark Night's Work
XI. A Happy Home-coming
Book III.
_IN HONOUR'S CAUSE._
I. A Gipsy's Warning
II. The Fight on Blackmuir Marsh
III. "Volunteers" for the Navy--The Burning of the "Highflyer"
IV. The Search for the French Fleet--At Last
V. The Battle of the Nile--Horrors of the Cockpit--Nelson Wounded
VI. The Burning of the "Orient"--A Heart of Oak
VII. Face to Face with the Danish Ships
VIII. A "Glorious Day's Renown"
IX. Nelson's Last Days and Hours
X. "Jack, I Feel there is Something Wanting in my Life"
HEARTS OF OAK
Book I.
CHAPTER I.
POOR UNCLE BOB!
"Happy Britain! matchless isle,
Whose natives, like the sturdy oak,
Secure in inborn force, may smile
And mock the tempest's heaviest stroke.
"If roused in war, shall dreadful move
Britannia's vengeance on her foes; to prove,
Where'er again her banners are unfurled,
The dread and envy of the wond'ring world."--DIBDIN.
"I wonder what makes Tom so late?" said Uncle Bob to himself, as he
opened his eyes and looked around him. "Why," he added, "it is
precious nearly three bells in the second dog-watch, as sure as I'm a
living sailor. Living! Well, there isn't a deal of life about me,
for the matter of that; but I'm right about the time. The shadow of
yonder poplar tree just touches my toes at four bells, and it doesn't
want a yard of doing so now. I must have been dozing a bit, too. It
is a drowsy kind of an evening anyhow. But it was that blackbird in
the cherry-tree that set me off, and maybe the hum o' the bees round
their hives yonder, and the whispering of the wind in the old cedar
must have helped a bit. Heigho!"
Poor Uncle Bob yawned a little, then listened.
"Made sure I heard Tom singing just then," continued the invalid half
aloud, "but I dare say it was the sea-gulls. They're coming inland
to-night, and I'm no seaman if it doesn't blow big guns before
morning."
Uncle Bob talked to himself for the best of reasons: there was no one
else to talk to. For little Ruth, his niece, was helping her mother
in the house, and Daniel, his brother, had gone to the Hall with a
boat. No chance of Dan being home early to-night, for the boat
required the heaviest cart for its conveyance, and the mare had gone
a bit lame lately.
To have looked at Uncle Bob's face as he lay there in his cot, which
had been wheeled out under the shade of the trees on the daisied
grass, no one would have taken him for an invalid. His rather
handsome face, with its short brown beard and well-chiselled features
was placid and contented, nay, even happy and hopeful-looking.
O, yes, Uncle Bob had not ceased to hope. For seven long years and
over, day after day, whenever the sun shone, or it was dry weather,
that cot upon wheels had been hauled out of doors, where it is now in
this sweet May evening, by the sturdy and kindly hands of Brother
Dan. Yet if the boat-shed close by had taken fire, poor Uncle Bob
could not have lifted hand or foot to save himself from destruction.
The paralysis from which this seaman suffered had been accidental.
It was this, probably, that gave him hopefulness and made his sad
life in a measure bearable. And in certain states of the weather,
strange to say, Uncle Bob could move his fingers.
Dr. Downs used to call as he passed by to talk with him for a few
minutes, and never failed to tell Uncle Bob that as he wasn't an old
man by any means, time might work wonders.
Mr. Curtiss, the curate, a kindly-hearted young fellow from
Yorkshire, often dropped round, and would sit and talk to the invalid
for a whole hour at a time. Nor did he ever leave without some words
of consolation that, to say the least, were well-meant. Bob had very
much to be thankful for, the curate would say; he wasn't in pain of
any sort; he had his appetite and the use of his eyes and ears, and
everybody loved him and was good to him.
Uncle Bob being a sailor, the curate thought it was his duty to
always introduce an allegorical ship of some kind in his conversation
with the stricken mariner. Besides, wasn't Mr. Curtiss himself
somewhat of an authority on nautical matters? Hadn't he been down to
the sea in ships--well no, not quite that, but he had made one long
and dangerous voyage from Great Yarmouth to London in a herring yawl,
which enabled him to talk with some degree of confidence about "green
seas," "contrary winds," "luff tackle, main sheets and shrouds," and
all the rest of it. Mr. Curtiss meant well therefore, and he never
left the invalid without leaving him something nice to think about,
without, in fact, leaving him better in mind, if not in body, than he
had found him. But after all said and done it isn't everyone who
could have lain in a cot all these years so peacefully as Uncle Bob
had done.
Brother Dan, you must know, reader, was a boat-builder--not of
pair-oared gigs or outriggers, or any of the beautiful dashing boats
you see on the Thames and other rivers--Dan's speciality was cobbles,
or good, honest, strongly-built, broad-beamed boats, on which you
could float on the lovely waters of the Norfolk lakes, and at times
step a mast and hoist a bit of sail, without much danger of turning
turtle, so long as you sat to windward. Ay, and you might venture a
long way out to sea too in one of Dan's boats, and if you kept your
weather eye lifting now and then, and your hand on the main sheet,
you could crack on very prettily indeed through a lumpy sea-way.
And Brother Dan's house was just over the way yonder, across a little
rustic private bridge that brought you here to this half lawn, half
paddock, but wholly pleasant and tree-shaded spot, where Bob's cot
was safely moored under the shade of the cedar. After you passed the
bridge you had to turn sharp round to the right, and on through the
garden by a well-kept gravel path, before you came to the porch of
Dan's old-fashioned, but comfortable, Norfolk cottage.
Lying out here all by himself, one might have said that Bob looked a
little lonesome this evening. And perhaps he was, for with the
exception of the blackbird that seemed to be singing to the invalid,
and to him alone, he had no companion. Now and then the bleating of
sheep in the distance, the low contented moan of cows, or the barking
of a dog fell on his ear, and in a small lake almost close by his
cot, and over which the shadows of some giant poplars were thrown,
half-wild ducks played at hide and seek among the tall reeds, while
occasionally a fish leapt up and made rippling rings on the surface
of the water, but that was about all of life that was at present
indicated.
In fine weather it was cheerful enough for Uncle Bob here, because
Dan worked close beside him in the boat-shed, into which he could
wheel the cot if a shower threatened. And Brother Dan with his rosy
face and his square paper cap, hammering at a boat, or making the
white curly shavings fly from his plane was a very cheerful figure
indeed.
Over and above all this, Dan's property--he always called it his own
property--was situated on high ground, or what is called high ground
in this part of the world, for Norfolk is not Switzerland; so that
from between the trees Bob could catch glimpses of the far-off
country side, at which he never tired looking. For it takes very
little indeed to create interest in the mind of the confirmed
invalid. The trees in front of him were mostly tall and weirdly
Scottish pines, whose brown pillar-like stems hardly obstructed the
view. So Bob could feast his eyes on green fields, where sheep and
cattle sheltered themselves from the sun's rays under the spreading
elms; on an ancient gray-stone hall that rose boldly above a
cloudland of foliage; on an archery lawn near it; on the shimmer of a
silvery lake or broad, and on the flashing waters of a winding
reed-bordered stream. Among the woods to the right and left of the
centre of this picture was here and there a touch of red among the
greenery of the trees, representing the tiled roofs of farm-houses or
cottages. All combined did not make much of a picture perhaps, but
it was nevertheless a very peaceful and very pleasant one.
Gazing dreamily at it, Uncle Bob had almost gone to sleep again, when
the voice of a young girl raised in song, awoke him thoroughly, and
looking up he saw Ruth herself, right on the centre of the rustic
bridge, waving a handful of wild flowers towards him. In front of
her bounded a beautiful black and tan collie dog.
"Dear old Meg!" said Uncle Bob, as the animal put her fore paws
almost on his pillow and licked his ear. "Been away for hours I'll
wager, haven't you now, Meg, ranging over the hills and fields and
chasing the squire's rabbits?"
The collie leant her cheek against her master's breast, in that
inexpressibly pretty way that such dogs have of showing pity and
affection combined.
"Hullo! Ruth, my little sweetheart, you look as fresh and lovely as
the figure head of the old Queen Bess in a new coat of paint. Come
and kiss your old uncle, you rogue. Now I've been picturing you to
myself with your sleeves rolled up, washing plates and things in the
kitchen; 'stead o' that you've been gathering wild flowers."
[Illustration: "Hullo! Ruth, you look as fresh and lovely as the
figurehead of the old _Queen Bess_."]
"All for you, Uncle Bob. Look at the buttercups and the ox-lips, and
oh, uncle, just smell those red ragged Robins. See I've tied the
posie with grass, and I'll lay them on your breast so you can scent
them."
She patted her uncle's brow, and added, "I've wetted both my feet
trying to get a yellow iris, so I shall run and change my stockings,
and get supper ready 'gainst father and Tom comes home. Ta, ta,
uncle. Meg will stop here, so you won't feel lonely."
Ruth was a fresh-complexion, pretty girl of sweet thirteen, with shy
dark eyes, blithesome face and a lithesome figure. Mr. Curtiss, the
curate, had said more than once, than only to see Ruth going singing
about at her work of a morning made him feel good all day.
Uncle Bob was naturally very fond of his little niece, but between
our two selves, reader, he was fonder far of Tom; for when the boy
was not away at school, or scouring the woods and hills with Meg, he
was the invalid's constant companion.
"Tom won't be long now, Meg, will he?" said Uncle Bob when Ruth had
disappeared. "Ha! you're cocking your ears, old lady. D'ye hear
young master?" Meg emitted just one half-hysterical bark of joy and
jumped down.
Her sharp ears had caught the sound of the boy's footsteps on the
road not far off, so away she bounded.
A few minutes after, young Tom himself, red and dusty with running,
his eyes sparkling with joyous health and excitement, appeared upon
the scene.
Instead, however, of coming quietly up behind Uncle Bob, and kissing
his brow--for the lad was almost girlish in the affection he
displayed for the helpless invalid--Tom stood at the foot of the cot,
a _Times_ newspaper over his head, and shouting--
"Hip, hip, hooray--ay!
"Hip, hip, hooray--ay--ay!"
"Whatever ails you, sonny? Where have you been to, and what have you
got?"
"Why _The Times_, Uncle Bob. I walked all the way to the Hall, round
by the broad, to borrow it, after my tutor told me the news. 'Cause
why, uncle, 'cause I knew you'd like to read the news with your own
old-fashioned eyes. Oh! glorious news, I can tell you. That is what
Mr. Curtiss called it. The French are going to fight again, at least
he thinks so. Won't it be glorious? won't it be fun? After supper
Uncle Bob, after supper--oh, not now. It is too good to be scamped
and hurried over; besides, I'm so hungry. And, poor uncle, so must
you be. But there! I haven't told you all the news. The most
glorious part of it is to come. I went to the Hall, you know. Well,
I saw Lady Colemore, and she sent the footman into the garden with me
to see I should eat as many strawberries as I could hold, and
to-morrow, little Bertha Colemore and her maid are going to bring you
a great big, big basketful all to yourself, and I'm to feed you with
them, and not eat one."
Then Tom laughed so merrily, that he was forced to lie down on the
grass and roll, and Meg was by no means slow to follow his example.
Uncle Bob laughed too, though there wasn't anything very special to
laugh about, but the sight of happiness in others always pleased Bob.
"Look here, you young rascal," said Uncle Bob at last.
"That's me," cried Tom, springing up.
He stood at attention, after touching his cap.
"Away aloft, young sir, and have a look round the horizon. Take the
glass, sir."
"Ay, ay, sir," said Tom. "Away aloft it is!"
And next moment he was swarming up the rigging with all the agility
of a practised sailor.
Up and up and up, hand over hand, till his head touches the bottom of
the crow's-nest, then he enters it from below and settles himself to
have a good look round through the glass.
Now in case this last sentence should seem enigmatical to the reader
I must explain. The crow's nest was a hugely large and strong
barrel, that had been hoisted up into one of the poplar trees, and
firmly secured at a distance of forty feet above board, that is above
the level of the lawn. The tree, which was a very beautiful one,
with one strong trunk which reached a height of five-and-twenty-feet,
then bifurcated into two that tapered skywards for fully fifty feet
more, grew almost in the water of the little lake, and strong
ratlines or rigging, similar to that on a ship, led upwards to the
nest. Above this nest was a kind of Jacob's ladder, up which Tom
could swarm for twenty feet higher and seat himself on what he and
Bob called the top-gallant cross-trees.
From near the bottom of the nest hung a stout rope, and up this Tom
could climb when he chose, or come down by the run.
This out-look or crow's nest was one of the pleasures of poor Uncle
Bob's lonesome life. It was a pleasure even to look at it when Tom
wasn't there, but when the lad did come home--and his arrival was one
of the chief events of the day with Bob--hardly had he exchanged
greetings with uncle ere the order was, "Away aloft, lad!" Then
standing in the cosy nest, or seated high up on the cross-trees, Tom
would keep the invalid informed, for half-an-hour at a time, or even
a whole hour sometimes, of all that was going on at sea.
"Now then, lad," shouted Bob, "is the brig still there?"