13. Royal Sovereign 100 Admiral Collingwood, and Capt. Rotheran.
14. Mars 74 Capt. Duff.
15. Belleisle 74 Capt. Hargood.
16. Tonnant 80 Capt. Tyler.
17. Bellerophon 74 Capt. Cooke.
18. Colossus 74 Capt. Morris.
19. Achille 74 Capt. King.
20. Polyphemus 64 Capt. Redmill.
21. Revenge 74 Capt. Moorson.
22. Swiftsure 74 Capt. Rutherford.
23. Defence 74 Capt. Hope.
24. Thunderer 74 Lieut. Stockham.
25. Defiance 74 Capt. Durham.
26. Prince 74 Capt. Grindall.
27. Dreadnought 98 Capt. Conn.
Senior Lieutenants Pilfold and Stockham commanded for Captains
Brown and Lechmere, who were called home to give evidence
on the enquiry into the conduct of Sir Robert Calder.
FRIGATES, &c.
Ships. Guns. Commanders.
1. Euryalus 36 The Honourable Capt. Blackwood.
2. Sirius 36 Capt. Prowse.
3. Phoebe 36 Capt. Capel.
4. Naiad 36 Capt. Parker.
5. Pickle schooner 10 Lieut. Lapenotiere.
6. Entreprenante cutter 10 Lieut. Puyer.
While they were approaching the enemy's line, Lord Nelson repeatedly
declared, that it was the happiest day of his life; and that, from the
plan of his intended attack, he entertained not the smallest doubt that,
before night, he should gain possession of at least twenty of their
ships. The last signal which preceded the battle, was an emanation from
his great mind which will long be remembered; this was a private signal
to the fleet, communicating by telegraph the following most emphatic
sentiment--
"England expects every man to do his duty."
This took place exactly at twelve o'clock, and the battle instantly
commenced by the leading ships of the columns attempting to break
through the enemy's line: Lord Nelson, in the Victory, about the tenth
ship from the van; Vice-Admiral Collingwood, in the Royal Sovereign,
about the twelfth from the rear. When Vice-Admiral Collingwood, at the
head of the division under his orders, began the attack, and broke
through the enemy's line, Lord Nelson, turning round to his officers,
with the highest exultation, said--"Look at that noble fellow! Observe
the stile in which he carries his ship into action!" The Victory, at
four minutes past twelve, opened it's fire on the enemy's van, while
passing down their line; in about a quarter of an hour after which,
finding it impossible to penetrate through, the Victory fell on board
the eleventh and twelfth ships. The Temeraire, Captain Harvey, by which
the Victory was seconded, in consequence of the closeness of this part
of the enemy's line, fell also on board one of them. These four ships
were thus, for a considerable time, engaged together as in a single
mass; so that the flash of almost every gun fired from the Victory set
fire to the Redoutable, it's more immediate opponent. In this state,
amidst the hottest fire of the enemy, was beheld a very singular
spectacle; that of numerous British seamen employed, at intervals, in
very coolly throwing buckets of water to extinguish the flames on board
their enemy's ship, that both might not be involved in one common
destruction. His lordship had been particularly desirous to have began
the action, by passing a-head of the Bucentaure, Admiral Villeneuve's
ship, that the Victory might be a-head of the French commander in chief,
and a-stern of the Spanish Santissima Trinidada of a hundred and
thirty-six guns, the largest ship in the world. The Bucentaure, however,
shooting a-head, his lordship, who was thus obliged to go under that
ship's stern, immediately raked it, and luffed up on the starboard side.
The Bucentaure fired four broadsides at the Victory, before our hero
ordered his ports to be opened; when the whole broadside, which was
double shotted, being poured in, the discharge made such a tremendous
crash, that the ship was instantly seen to heel. Lord Nelson now shot
a-head to the Santissima Trinidada. In contending with this ship, on the
celebrated 14th of February 1797, our hero had already acquired
considerable renown. Having got alongside his tremendous opponent, which
he familiarly called his old acquaintance, he ordered the ships to be
lashed together. The battle was now raging with a fury not to be
described; and the enemy's ships being full of men, and many of them
engaged muzzle to muzzle of the guns with our's, the carnage was most
horrible. The crash, too, of the falling masts, yards, &c. incessantly
mowed down, by the respective shots on both sides, with the almost
general blaze, and incessantly tremendous roar, had an aweful grandeur
which no verbal or graphic description or delineation can ever
faithfully convey to the eye and ear. Our hero, amidst this most
terrific scene, appeared to be literally in his glory. He was quite
enraptured with the bravery and skill of all under his command: he was
not displeased to find, that the enemy, in general, fought like men
worthy of being conquered; of being themselves conquerors, in a better
cause. In a dress richly covered with the honours which he had acquired
by his prowess in former battles, he stood a conspicuous object of
emulative worth to all the heroic men who surrounded him in this. Never
had his aspiring and enraptured heart beheld a victory more brilliantly
glorious awaiting their noble exertions. Ineffable delight, blended with
a divine benignity, beamed over the hero's countenance. He felt
conscious of being engaged in contending for all that is dear to man;
and, consequently, struggling in a cause which could by no means be
displeasing to Heaven. He doubted little the success of his country, for
he knew in what he confided; but he was not presumptuous, for he had
early been instructed, that "the battle is not always to the strong."
His own personal fate was ever humbly resigned to the will of the Great
Disposer; live, or die, he was alone solicitous that he should live or
die in glory. While victory, however, from all observation, appeared
within his grasp, he could not but be conscious that individual danger
every where hovered around. The Santissima Trinidada carried full
sixteen hundred men; including a corps of troops, among whom were
several sharp-shooters. Many other ships had, also, Tyrolese riflemen on
board. Amidst the conflict of cannon, fired muzzle to muzzle, showers of
bullets were directed on the quarter-deck; where the distinguished hero
stood, fearlessly giving his orders, and chearfully abiding every peril.
His heart was animated, and his spirits were gay. The stump of his right
arm, which he always pleasantly denominated his fin, moved the shoulder
of his sleeve up and down with the utmost rapidity, as was customary
when he felt greatly pleased. Captain Hardy, apprehensive that Lord
Nelson's peculiar attire pointed him out as too obvious a mark, advised
the hero to change his dress, or cover himself with a great-coat; but he
no otherwise regarded the precautionary advice, than by observing that
he had not yet time to do so. It probably struck his great mind, that
such an act might evince too much personal attention for a commander in
chief to possess. In the mean while, the murderous desire of the enemy
to single out the officers, continued growing more and more manifest. Of
a hundred and ten marines stationed on the poop and quarter-deck,
upwards of eighty were either killed or wounded. Mr. Pascoe,
first-lieutenant of the Victory, received a very severe wound, while
conversing with his lordship; and John Scott, Esq. his lordship's
secretary, was shot through the head, by a musket-ball, at his side,
Captain Adair of the marines, almost at the same instant, experienced a
similar fate. This was about a quarter of an hour past one o'clock; and,
a few minutes afterward, Captain Hardy, who was standing near his
lordship, observed a marksman in the mizen-top of the Bucentaure, which
then lay on the Victory's quarter, in the very act of taking a
deliberate aim at his beloved commander. Scarcely had he time to
exclaim--"Change your position, my lord! I see a rascal taking aim at
you!" when the fatal bullet unhappily smote the hero; and, having
entered near the top of his left shoulder, penetrated through his lungs,
carrying with it part of the adhering epaulette, and lodged in the
spinal marrow of his back. A shout of horrid joy, from the enemy,
seemed to announce their sense of the cruel success. His lordship was
prevented from falling, by Captain Hardy; to whom he said, with a
smile--"They have done for me, at last!"
As the officers were conducting him below, his lordship deliberately
remarked that the tiller-rope was too slack, and requested that Captain
Hardy might be told to get it tightened. In the mean time, Mr. Pollard,
a young midshipman of the Victory, not more than sixteen years of age,
having levelled a musket at the man who shot his lordship, the fellow
was seen instantly to fall. All the surgeons being busily engaged with
the wounded, our hero, as usual, insisted on waiting till his turn. The
surgeon who examined the wound soon clearly discovered what must be it's
fatal effect. Lord Nelson had attentively regarded his countenance; and,
on beholding him turn pale, calmly said--"It is, I perceive, mortal!"
The Reverend Dr. Scott, who was looking for his wounded friend,
Lieutenant Pascoe, in the cockpit, to his utter astonishment and horror,
discovered that his lordship had that moment been brought down. He
immediately seated himself on the floor, and supported his pillow during
the whole time of the surgeon's operations; indeed, except for a few
moments, when he was sent to call Captain Hardy, he never left him.
After enquiring about the state of the battle, which the dying hero far
more regarded than that of his wound, his lordship, who was much
agitated, and evidently suffering the most extreme agony, suddenly
exclaimed, in a hurried manner--"Doctor, remember me to Lady Hamilton,
remember me to Horatia! Remember me to Lady Hamilton, remember me to
Horatia! Tell her, I have made a will, and left her a legacy to my
country." This was afterward repeated, in a calmer tone, to Dr. Scott;
with whom he conversed, at intervals, in a low voice, but perfectly
collected. At times, the pain seizing him more violently, he suddenly
and loudly expressed a wish to die. Then, again, he would grow calm and
collected, and address himself to Dr. Scott; speaking in low, though
broken and unconnected, sentences. At first, he expressed an eager
desire for drink; saying--"Drink! drink! drink, doctor!" and continually
had lemonade given him. After each time of drinking, he was a short time
calm and collected, and spoke a few sentences to Dr. Scott; then, the
pain again seizing him, he would hastily call out--"Drink! drink!" His
lower extremities soon grew cold and insensible, and the copious
effusion of blood from his lungs frequently threatened suffocation. His
eyes, however, appeared to brighten, and his spirits to revive, on
hearing the cheers given by the crew of the Victory as the different
ships of the enemy surrendered. He frequently expressed much desire to
have his face wiped; repeating, to Dr. Scott--"Wipe my face, doctor!
Doctor, wipe my face!" This being done, for a considerable time, he
seemed to receive some comfort; but soon grew prodigiously anxious to
see Captain Hardy. His lordship had several times sent for him; and, not
finding him come, began to imagine that he was no more. It was found
difficult to efface this idea; and Dr. Scott felt it necessary himself
to call Captain Hardy, who had been unwilling to quit his post at such
an interesting period. About half past four, however, Captain Hardy
attended on his lordship; who eagerly enquired, how many ships were
captured. On being informed, by the captain, that twelve, which he could
see, had certainly struck; and that, probably, more might have
surrendered, as the victory seemed nearly compleat: the dying hero
hastily exclaimed--"What, only twelve! there should have been, at least,
fifteen or sixteen, by my calculation! However," added he, after, a
short pause, "twelve are pretty well!" He requested that Captain Hardy
would bear his kindest remembrances to Lady Hamilton, and to Horatia;
and inform them that he had left them as a legacy to his king and
country, in whose service he willingly yielded up his life. "Will you,
my dear Hardy?" anxiously demanded his lordship. "Kiss me, then!"
Captain Hardy immediately kneeling, respectfully kissed the wan cheek of
his adored commander. The dying hero now desired that his affectionate
regards might be presented to his brave officers and men: and said, that
he could have wished once more to have beheld his beloved relatives and
friends, or even to have survived till he had seen the fleet in safety;
but, as neither was possible, he felt resigned, and thanked God for
having enabled him to do his duty to his king and country. His lordship
had, latterly, most vehemently directed Dr. Scott to rub his breast and
pit of the stomach; where, it seems probable, he now felt the blood
beginning more painfully to flow, in a state of commencing
congelation--"Rub me, rub me, doctor!" he often and loudly repeated.
This melancholy office was continued to be almost incessantly performed
by Dr. Scott, till his lordship expired; and, indeed, for some time,
afterward. The last words the immortal hero uttered, were--
"Thank God, I have done my duty!"
He had, before, pronounced them in a lower tone of voice:
saying--"Doctor, I have not been a great sinner; and, thank God, I have
done my duty!" Then, as if asking the question, he repeated--"Doctor, I
have not been a great sinner?" Doctor Scott was too much affected
immediately to answer. "Have I?" he again eagerly interrogated. A
paroxysm of pain now suddenly seizing him, he exclaimed, in a loud and
most solemnly impressive tone--"_Thank God, I have done my duty! Thank
God,_ _I have done my duty!_" After pronouncing these words, he had,
apparently, suffered no pain; but gradually went off, as if asleep.
Indeed, every person who surrounded him, except Dr. Scott, who had long
felt the current of life sensibly chilling beneath his hand, actually
thought, for some time, that he was only in a state of somnolency. It
was, however, the sleep of death, the blood having entirely choaked up
his incomparable heart.
Thus died the greatest naval hero, "take him for all in all," that ever
lived. This will probably be said, as long as the world endures. It is
not likely that he can ever be equalled, it is impossible that he should
be surpassed.
The victory of this day, off Trafalgar, was one of the most compleatly
glorious ever atchieved by Britons. About three o'clock, many of the
enemy's ships having struck their colours, their line had every where
given way, and as many as possible endeavoured to effect their escape.
Eighteen men of war were taken; and three flag-officers, with a general,
made prisoners of war. Among the ships captured, were the Santissima
Trinidada of a hundred and thirty-six guns, the Santa Anna of a hundred
and twenty, and the Bucentaure of seventy-four: the last having Admiral
Villeneuve, the French commander in chief, on board; as well as General
Contamin, who had four thousand select troops embarked under his
command; and the two former, the Spanish Vice-Admiral Don Ignatio Morea
D'Alva, who died of his wounds, with Rear-Admiral Don Baltazar Hidalgo
de Cisneros. The Santissima Trinidada, soon after the action, sunk; and
L'Achille, a French seventy-four, by some mismanagement of the crew,
almost immediately on striking, took fire, and blew up. The number of
killed, wounded, and taken prisoners, was most prodigious. The French
Admiral Dumanoir, with three French ships, which had no share in the
action, iniquitously fired, for some time, while making their
ignominious retreat, on the Santissima Trinidada and other Spanish
prizes which had struck their colours to our fleet; thus wantonly
massacreing their defenceless friends and allies. Many of the ships
taken or destroyed had upwards of four hundred men killed and wounded on
board; and more than three thousand Spanish prisoners were liberally
sent back to their own country, by the generous conquerors. The
Bucentaure, it is said, had three hundred and sixty-five killed, and two
hundred and nineteen wounded. Our loss, too, in killed and wounded, was
far from inconsiderable; and many of our ships were materially damaged.
The Royal Sovereign, in particular, was so cut up, that Vice-Admiral
Collingwood, after the action, shifted his flag to the Euryalus, the
Honourable Captain Blackwood, and towed his own ship out seaward.
Besides Lord Nelson, two other brave and estimable commanders lost their
lives on this most memorably fatal day: Captain Duff, of the Mars; and
Captain Cooke, of the Bellerophon. Captain Duff had two sons on board
his own ship; one only twelve years of age, the other about fifteen:
early in the engagement, a shot carried away both legs of the youngest;
the elder soon afterwards fell; and, finally, their unfortunate father.
Not even these distressing circumstances were capable of exciting any
great degree of generous commiseration for those worthy and gallant
victims, so entirely was each heart occupied by agonizing reflections on
the loss of him who had, in himself, ever been considered as alone a
host. It was a victory the most compleatly brilliant, but never had a
victory been gained which conveyed so little gladness to the hearts of
the conquerors. Every bosom felt oppressed with sorrow, on a day of such
triumph to their country; and not an eye closed, in the whole fleet, on
the sad night by which it was succeeded, without pouring an affectionate
tribute of manly tears to the memory of the godlike hero by whose merits
it had been so certainly obtained, and by whose death it had been so
dearly purchased. "He will never again lead us to conquest!" sobbed many
a bursting heart. "Our commander, our master, our father, our friend,
our companion, is no more, and when shall we behold his equal? Never,
never, never!" Such was their love of the adored hero, that every
virtuous individual in the fleet would gladly have lost his own life to
have saved him. It is, indeed, stated as a positive fact, that a seaman
of the Victory, who was, a little before the fatal catastrophe,
suffering the amputation of an arm, actually said to the surgeon--"Well,
this might, by some men, be considered as a sad misfortune; but I shall
be proud of the accident, as it will make me the more resemble our brave
commander in chief." Before the operation was finished, the sad tidings
arrived below, that Lord Nelson was wounded. The seaman, who had never
once shrunk, amidst all the pain he endured, now suddenly started from
his seat; and vehemently exclaimed--"Good God! I would rather the shot
had taken off my head, and spared his precious life!"
Vice-Admiral Collingwood, in his letter to the Admiralty, describing
this great victory, says--"I have not only to lament, in common with the
British navy, and the British nation, in the fall of the commander in
chief, the loss of a hero, whose name will be immortal, and his memory
ever dear to his country; but my heart is rent with the most poignant
grief for the death of a friend, to whom, by many years intimacy, and a
perfect knowledge of the virtues of his mind, which inspired ideas
superior to the common race of men, I was bound by the strongest ties of
affection: a grief, to which even the glorious occasion on which he
fell, does not bring the consolation which, perhaps, it ought!"
When the dispatches, containing an account of the glorious victory off
Cape Trafalgar, with the death of our chief hero, arrived in England,
and were perused by his majesty, the king was greatly affected. Tears
flowed from the royal eyes; and his majesty pathetically exclaimed--"We
have lost more than we have gained!" They were read, at Windsor, by the
queen, to the assembled princesses, and the whole royal group most
affectionately wept the fall of the hero. His Royal Highness the Prince
of Wales, with a dignified excess of grief, most acutely felt the loss
of the heroic supporter of his father's house; and a private letter of
condolence, which his royal highness wrote to Alexander Davison, Esq. on
the death of their inestimable friend, is replete with sentiments which
augur highly for the probably future sovereign's adding new lustre to
the brilliant throne of his most renowned ancestors. The Duke of
Clarence, too, long united in friendship to the hero, whom he venerated
with an almost paternal regard, lamented him with little less than the
truest filial sorrow. In short, from the entire royal family, through
every subordinate degree of rank and virtue, to the humblest class of
existence, wherever the tidings came, tears overflowed every eye, and
grief took entire possession of every heart. The glorious victory,
though one of the greatest ever obtained by mortal, and though the last,
as well as the most splendid, of the hero so beloved; was scarcely
considered, by the nation, as an object worthy of those public
rejoicings with which very inferior triumphs are constantly attended.
Cannon, indeed, as usual, announced the intelligence, but their sound
conveyed a deep melancholy to the heart; the bells were rung, but their
peals inspired no hilarity, and seemed little less than the mournful
knells of death; nocturnal illuminations were displayed, but the
transparencies which they discovered, amidst the gloom, presented only
so many sad memorials of the universal loss, expressed by ingenious
devices to the hero's memory, which the spectators beheld with
sensations of augmented grief, and one general aspect of expressive but
unutterable woe. If such was the state of the public feeling, what must
have been that of the hero's dearest relatives and friends; of those
who had to sustain all the superadded pangs of a loss so difficult to be
supplied for the service of the country, so impossible for the
felicities of themselves! Several months elapsed, before Lady Hamilton
quitted her bed; and Mrs. Bolton and Mrs. Matcham, for a long time,
suffered similar anguish and affliction. Indeed, even all the younger
branches of this amiable and interesting family, as well as their
respective parents, evinced the highest possible degree of sensibility
and sorrow for their irretrievable calamity; a calamity which, to them,
all the honours and emoluments a grateful nation may bestow, extending
to his remotest kindred, at present as well as in future, can scarcely
be considered as affording any adequate recompence.
The great council of the country failed not to express solemnly their
strong sense of the irreparable loss, by unanimously voting all the
grand ceremonials of a public interment beneath the centre of the dome
in St. Paul's cathedral, and a monumental erection of commensurate
grandeur to rise immediately above the hero's honoured remains.
His majesty, on the 9th of November, was also graciously pleased to
elevate his lordship's brother and heir, the Reverend Dr. William
Nelson, to the dignity of a Viscount and Earl of the United Kingdom of
Great Britain and Ireland, by the names, stiles, and titles, of Viscount
Merton and Earl Nelson, of Trafalgar, and of Merton in the county of
Surrey; the same to descend to his heirs male; and, in their default, to
the heirs male, successively, of Susannah, wife of Thomas Bolton, Esq.,
and Catharine, wife of George Matcham, Esq. sisters of the late Lord
Viscount Nelson.
The city of London, the Committee of Merchants at Lloyd's Coffee-House,
and the respective corporations of several cities and chief towns in
different parts of the united kingdom, publicly expressed their sense of
the national loss, by the death of it's principal hero; and proposed
various plans for perpetuating the remembrance of his transcendent
services, by monumental erections, &c.
The body of the hero, which had been preserved in spirits, was brought
to England in the Victory; the crew having positively refused to part
with the corpse of their adored commander, till it should be safely
landed in their native country. They were resolved, they said, one and
all, to accompany him, as it should please Heaven, either to the bottom
of the ocean, or see his sacred remains deposited in the honoured tomb
which would, doubtless, be proudly prepared for them by a grateful
nation; and could not suffer the corpse to be sent home in any ship
subject to capture by the enemy.
After laying in state, a few days, at Greenwich Hospital, the body was
conveyed, with all possible aquatic grandeur and solemnity, to the
Admiralty; from whence, the next day, Thursday, January 9, 1806, borne
on a grand funeral car, and with a pomp of procession scarcely ever
equalled the illustrious hero's hallowed remains were finally deposited
beneath the dome of St. Paul's cathedral.
Never, perhaps, were the mournful obsequies of any hero so numerously
and so respectably attended; never was any human being deposited in the
earth more universally and sincerely wept by every eye which beheld any
part of the solemn ceremony. The tears of millions, on that melancholy
day, bore testimony to his matchless worth; to the truth of that
sentiment which he had piously pronounced, in his last moments--"Thank
God, I have been enabled to do my duty to my King and Country!"
May the same Almighty Power inspire the hearts of his King and Country,
to fulfil, in their utmost extent, every wish and expectation of the
Dying Hero! And may each virtuous individual, in whom the blood of the
Nelsons shall flow, to the last drop which can be traced, for ever find
friendly patronage among the rulers of a nation, which has certainly, at
an eventful crisis, been powerfully exalted, and perhaps preserved, by
the example and influence of the immortal hero, who so freely and
fatally shed his own last drop in the faithful service of his King and
Country!