It had been part of Nelson’s prayer, that the British fleet might be
distinguished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting an
example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing on the
_Redoubtable_, supposing that she had struck, because her guns were
silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly
ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared,
he received his death. A ball fired from her mizzentop, which, in the
then situation of the two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from
that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulet on his
left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He
fell upon his face, on the spot which was covered with his poor
secretary’s blood.
Hardy, who was a few steps from him, turning round, saw three men
raising him up. “They have done for me at last, Hardy,” said he. “I hope
not,” cried Hardy. “Yes,” he replied; “my backbone is shot through.” Yet
even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as
they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, which had
been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should
be rove immediately; then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he
took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had he
but concealed these badges of honor from the enemy, England, perhaps,
would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of Trafalgar.
The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he
was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the
midshipmen’s berth.
[Illustration: ROBERT SOUTHEY]
It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal.
This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the
chaplain, and the medical attendants. Nelson himself being certain, from
the sensation in his back, and the gush of blood he felt momently within
his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the
surgeon should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might be
useful; “for,” said he, “you can do nothing for me.” All that could be
done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to
alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much
anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself.
As often as a ship struck, the crew of the _Victory_ hurrahed, and at
every hurrah, a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes, and
marked the countenance of the dying hero. But he became impatient to see
Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the
deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly
cried, “Will no one bring Hardy to me? he must be killed! he is surely
dead!” An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time when Nelson
received his wound, before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands in
silence, Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most
painful and yet sublime moment. “Well, Hardy,” said Nelson, “how goes
the day with us?” “Very well,” replied Hardy; “ten ships have struck,
but five of the van have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon
the _Victory_. I have called two or three of our fresh ships round, and
have no doubt of giving them a drubbing.” “I hope,” said Nelson, “none
of our ships have struck.” Hardy answered, “There is no fear of that.”
Then, and not till then, Nelson spoke of himself. “I am a dead man,
Hardy,” said he; “I am going fast; it will be all over with me soon.
Come nearer to me.” Hardy observed that he hoped Mr. Beatty could yet
hold out some prospect of life. “Oh, no,” he replied; “it is
impossible. My back is shot through. Beatty will tell you so.” Hardy
then once more shook hands with him, and with a heart almost bursting,
hastened upon deck.
[Illustration]
By this time all feeling below the breast was gone, and Nelson, having
made the surgeon ascertain this, said to him: “You know I am gone. I
know it. I feel something rising in my breast,” putting his hand on his
left side, “which tells me so.” And upon Beatty’s inquiring whether his
pain was very great, he replied, so great that he wished he was dead.
“Yet,” said he, in a lower voice, “one would like to live a little
longer, too!” Captain Hardy, some fifty minutes after he had left the
cockpit, returned, and again taking the hand of his dying friend and
commander, congratulated him on having gained a complete victory. How
many of the enemy were taken he did not know, as it was impossible to
perceive them distinctly, but fourteen or fifteen at least. “That’s
well,” cried Nelson; “but I bargained for twenty.” And then, in a
stronger voice, he said, “Anchor, Hardy, anchor.” Hardy, upon this,
hinted that Admiral Collingwood would take upon himself the direction of
affairs. “Not while I live, Hardy,” said the dying Nelson, ineffectually
endeavoring to raise himself from the bed; “do you anchor.” His previous
orders for preparing to anchor had shown how clearly he foresaw the
necessity of this.
Presently, calling Hardy back, he said to him in a low voice, “Don’t
throw me overboard;” and he desired that he might be buried by his
parents, unless it should please the king to order otherwise. Then,
“Kiss me, Hardy,” said he. Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek; and
Nelson said, “Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty!” Hardy
stood over him in silence for a moment or two, then knelt again and
kissed his forehead. “Who is that?” said Nelson; and being informed, he
replied, “God bless you, Hardy.” And Hardy then left him forever. Nelson
now desired to be turned upon his right side, and said, “I wish I had
not left the deck, for I shall soon be gone.” Death was, indeed, rapidly
approaching. He said to the chaplain, “Doctor, I have _not_ been a
_great_ sinner.” His articulation now became difficult; but he was
distinctly heard to say, “Thank God, I have done my duty!” These words
he repeatedly pronounced, and they were the last words which he uttered.
He expired at thirty minutes after four, three hours and a quarter after
he had received his wound.
The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a public
calamity; men started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as if they
had heard of the loss of a near friend. An object of our admiration and
affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from us;
and it seemed as if we had never till then known how deeply we loved and
reverenced him. The victory of Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with
the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; for such
already was the glory of the British navy, through Nelson’s surpassing
genius, that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from the most
signal victory that ever was achieved upon the seas; and the destruction
of this mighty fleet hardly appeared to add to our security or strength;
for while Nelson was living to watch the combined squadrons of the
enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now, when they were no longer in
existence.
There was reason to suppose that in the course of nature Nelson might
have attained, like his father, to a good old age. Yet he cannot be said
to have fallen prematurely whose work was done; nor ought he to be
lamented who died so full of honors, and at the height of human fame.
He has left us, not indeed his mantle of inspiration, but a name and an
example which are at this moment inspiring thousands of the youth of
England--a name which is our pride, and an example which will continue
to be our shield and our strength. Thus it is that the spirits of the
great and the wise continue to live and to act after them.--$1