The _Majestic_ was one of the four ships which sailed into action in the
wake of the Admiral. Our hero, Bill Bowls, and his friend Ben Bolter,
were stationed at one of the guns on the larboard side of the main deck.
Flinders stood near them. Everything was prepared for action. The
guns were loaded, the men, stripped to the waist, stood ready, and the
matches were lighted, but as yet no order had been given to fire. The
men on the larboard side of the ship stood gazing anxiously through the
portholes at the furious strife in which they were about to engage.
"Ah, then! but it's hot work is goin' on," said Flinders, turning to Ben
Bolter just after a crash of artillery somewhat louder than usual.
"It's hotter work ye'll see soon, when the Admiral gits into action,"
said Ben.
"True for ye," answered Flinders; "he's a broth of a boy for fightin'.
It's an Irishman he should have been born. Hooroo, my hearties! look
out!"
This latter exclamation was drawn forth by the crashing of a stray shot,
which entered the ship close to the spot where they stood, and passed
out on the starboard side, sending splinters of wood flying in all
directions, without hurting any one.
"There goes the first!" said Bill Bowls, looking up at the ragged hole
that was left.
"Faix, but it's not the last!" cried Flinders, as another stray shot hit
the ship, wounding one of the men, and sending a splinter so close past
the Irishman that it grazed his cheek. "Hooroo, boys! come on, the more
the merrier! Sure it's death or victory we'll be havin' in
half-an-hour."
At this moment of intense excitement and expectation, when every man's
nerves tingled to be called into vigorous action, Ben Bolter saw fit to
give Flinders a lecture.
"Ye shouldn't ought to speak misrespectful of death, boy," said he
gravely. "He's a rough customer when he gits hold of 'e, an' is sartin
sure to have the upper hand. It's my opinion that he'll pay this ship a
pretty stiff visit to-night, so you'd better treat him with respect, an'
belay yer jokin'--of which yer countrymen are over fond."
To this Flinders listened with a humorous expression about the corners
of his eyes, while he stroked his chin, and awaited a pause in order to
make a suitable reply, but an exclamation from Bill Bowls changed the
subject abruptly.
"Ho! boys," he cried, "there goes the Admiral."
A tremendous crash followed his words, and the _Vanguard_ was seen to
pour a broadside into the _Spartiate_--as before related.
The men of the _Majestic_ gazed eagerly at the Admiral's ship, which was
almost enveloped in thick smoke as they passed ahead, but an order from
Captain Westcott to be ready for action called the attention of every
man on his duty. Whatever might have been, at that moment, the thoughts
of the hundreds of men on board the _Majestic_, the whole soul and body
of every man appeared to be concentrated on his own gun, as he awaited
in stern silence the order to act.
It came at last, but somewhat differently from what had been expected.
A sudden and peculiar motion was felt in the ship, and it was found that
she had got entangled with the main rigging of one of the French vessels
astern of the _L'Orient_. Instantly men were sent aloft to cut clear,
but before this could be accomplished a perfect storm of shot and shell
was sent into them from the towering sides of the three-decker. Men
fell on all sides before they had an opportunity of firing a shot; again
and again the crushing shower of metal came; spars and masts fell; the
rigging was cut up terribly, and in a short time the _Majestic_ would
certainly have been sunk had she not fortunately managed to swing clear.
A moment afterwards Captain Westcott, finding himself close alongside
the _Heureux_--the ninth ship of the enemy's line--gave the word to open
fire, and Bill Bowls had at last the satisfaction of being allowed to
apply a light to the touch-hole of his gun. Seventy-four men had for
some time past felt their fingers itching with an almost irresistible
desire to do this, and now upwards of thirty of them were allowed to
gratify their wish. Instantly the good ship received a shock that
caused her to quiver from the trucks to the keel, as her broadside went
crashing into the _Heureux_.
No longer was there impatient inaction on board the _Majestic_, for not
only did the _Heureux_ reply vigorously, but the _Tonnant_--the eighth
of the enemy's line--opened fire on their other side. The _Majestic_
therefore fought on both sides. Throughout the whole ship the stalwart,
half-naked men heaved at the huge guns. Everywhere, from stem to stern,
was exhibited in full swing the active processes of sponging out,
passing along powder and ball, ramming home the charges, running out,
working the handspikes, stepping aside to avoid the recoil--and the
whole operation of working the guns, as only British seamen know how to
work them! All this was done in the midst of smoke, flame, crashing
shot, and flying splinters, while the decks were slippery with human
blood, and strewn with dead men, from amongst whom the wounded were
raised as tenderly as the desperate circumstances in which they were
placed would admit of, and carried below. Many of those who were thus
raised never reached the cockpit, but again fell, along with those who
bore them.
One of the men at the gun where Bill Bowls was at work was in the act of
handing a round shot to Bill, when a ball entered the port-hole and hit
him on the head, scattering his brains over the gun. Bill sprang
forward to catch him in his arms, but slipped on the bloody deck and
fell. That fall saved his life, for at the same moment a musket ball
entered the port and passed close over his head, shattering the arm of a
poor boy--one of those brave little fellows called powder-monkeys--who
was in the act of carrying a cartridge to Ben Bolter. Ben could not
delay the loading of the piece to assist the little fellow, who used his
remaining strength to stagger forward and deliver the cartridge before
he fell, but he shouted hastily to a passing shipmate--
"Here, Davis, carry this poor little chap to the cockpit."
Davis turned and took the boy in his arms. He had almost reached the
main hatchway when a shell entered the ship and burst close to him. One
fragment killed the boy, and another almost cut Davis in two. They fell
and died together.
For a long time this terrible firing at short range went on, and many
men fell on both sides. Among others, Captain Westcott was killed. He
was the only captain who fell in that battle, and was one who, had his
life been spared, would certainly have risen to the highest rank in the
service. He had "risen from the ranks," having been the son of a baker
in Devonshire, and gained the honourable station in which he lost his
life solely through his conspicuous abilities and courage.
Up to this point none of those who are principally concerned in this
tale had received any hurt, beyond a few insignificant scratches, but
soon after the death of the little boy, Tom Riggles received a severe
wound in the leg from a splinter. He was carried below by Bill and Ben.
"It's all over with me," he said in a desponding tone as they went
slowly down the ladders; "I knows it'll be a case o' ampitation."
"Don't you go for to git down-hearted, Tom," said Ben earnestly.
"You're too tough to be killed easy."
"Well, I _is_ tough, but wot'll toughness do for a feller agin iron
shot. I feels just now as if a red-hot skewer wos rumblin' about among
the marrow of my back-bone, an' I've got no feelin' in my leg at all.
Depend upon it, messmates, it's a bad case."
His comrades did not reply, because they had reached the gloomy place
where the surgeons were engaged at their dreadful work. They laid Tom
down on a locker.
"Good-bye, lads," said Tom, as they were about to turn away, "p'r'aps
I'll not see ye again, so give us a shake o' yer flippers."
Bill and Ben silently squeezed their comrade's hand, being unable to
speak, and then hastened back to their stations.
It was about this time that the _L'Orient_ caught fire, and when Bill
and his friend reached the deck, sheets of flame were already leaping
out at the port-holes of the gigantic ship. The sides of the _L'Orient_
had been recently painted, and the paint-buckets and oil-jars which
stood on the poop soon caught, and added brilliancy to the great
conflagration which speedily followed the first outbreak of fire. It
was about nine o'clock when the fire was first observed. Before this
the gallant French Admiral had perished. Although three times wounded,
Brueys refused to quit his post. At length a shot almost cut him in
two, but still he refused to go below, and desired to be left to die on
his quarter-deck. He was spared the pain of witnessing the destruction
of his vessel.
Soon the flames got the mastery, and blazing upward like a mighty torch,
threw a strong and appropriate light over the scene of battle. The
greater part of the crew of the _L'Orient_ displayed a degree of courage
which could not be surpassed, for they stuck to their guns to the very
last; continuing to fire from the lower deck while the fire was raging
above them, although they knew full well the dire and instantaneous
destruction that must ensue when the fire reached the magazine.
The position and flags of the two fleets were now clearly seen, for it
was almost as light as day, and the fight went on with unabated fury
until about ten o'clock, when, with a terrific explosion, the _L'Orient_
blew up. So tremendous was the shock that it seemed to paralyse the
combatants for a little, for both fleets ceased to fire, and there
ensued a profound silence, which continued for some time. The first
sound that broke the solemn stillness was the splash of the falling
spars of the giant ship as they descended from the immense height to
which they had been shot!
Of the hundreds of human beings who manned that ship, scarcely a tithe
were saved. About seventy were rescued by English boats. The scattered
and burning fragments fell around like rain, and there was much fear
lest these should set some of the neighbouring vessels on fire. Two
large pieces of burning wreck fell into the _Swiftsure_, and a port fire
into the _Alexander_, but these were quickly extinguished.
On board the _Majestic_ also, some portions of burning material fell.
While these were being extinguished, one of the boats was ordered out to
do all that was possible to save the drowning Frenchmen. Among the
first to jump into this boat were Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter. Bill took
the bow oar, Ben the second, and in a few moments they were pulling
cautiously amid the debris of the wreck, helping to haul on board such
poor fellows as they could get hold of. The work was difficult, because
comparative darkness followed the explosion, and as the fight was soon
resumed, the thunder of heavy guns, together with the plunging of ball,
exploding of shell, and whizzing of chain-shot overhead, rendered the
service one of danger as well as difficulty.
It was observed by the men of the _Majestic's_ boat that several French
boats were moving about on the same errand of mercy with themselves, and
it was a strange as well as interesting sight to see those who, a few
minutes before, had been bent on taking each other's lives, now as
earnestly engaged in the work of saving life!
"Back your starboard oars," shouted Ben, just as they passed one of the
French boats; "there's a man swimming on the port bow--that's it;
steady; lend a hand, Bill; now then, in with him."
A man was hoisted over the gunwale as he spoke, and the boat passed
onward. Just then a round shot from one of the more distant ships of
the fleet--whether English or French they could not tell--struck the
water a few yards from them, sending a column of spray high into the
air. Instead of sinking, the shot ricochetted from the water and
carried away the bow of the boat in passing, whirling it round and
almost overturning it. At the same moment the sea rushed in and swamped
it, leaving the crew in the water.
Our hero made an involuntary grasp at the thing that happened to be
nearest him. This was the head of his friend Ben Bolter, who had been
seated on the thwart in front of him. Ben returned the grasp promptly,
and having somehow in the confusion of the plunge, taken it into his
head that he was in the grasp of a Frenchman, he endeavoured to throttle
Bill. Bill, not being easily throttled, forthwith proceeded to choke
Ben, and a struggle ensued which might have ended fatally for both, had
not a piece of wreck fortunately touched Ben on the shoulder. He seized
hold of it, Bill did the same, and then they set about the fight with
more precision.
"Come on, ye puddock-eater!" cried Ben, again seizing Bill by the
throat.
"Hallo, Ben!"
"Why, wot--is't you, Bill? Well, now, if I didn't take 'e for a
Mounseer!"
Before more could be said a boat was observed rowing close past them.
Ben hailed it.
"Ho!" cried a voice, as the men rested on their oars and listened.
"Lend a hand, shipmates," cried Ben, "on yer port bow."
The oars were dipped at once, the boat ranged up, and the two men were
assisted into it.
"It's all well as ends well, as I've heerd the play-actors say,"
observed Ben Bolter, as he shook the water from his garments. "I say,
lads, what ship do you belong to?"
"Ve has de honair to b'long to _Le Guillaume Tell_," replied one of the
men.
"Hallo, Bill!" whispered Ben, "it's a French boat, an' we're nabbed.
Prisoners o' war, as sure as my name's BB! Wot's to be done?"
"I'll make a bolt, sink or swim," whispered our hero.
"You vill sit still," said the man who had already spoken to them,
laying a hand on Bill's shoulder.
Bill jumped up and made a desperate attempt to leap overboard, but two
men seized him. Ben sprang to the rescue instantly, but he also was
overpowered by numbers, and the hands of both were tied behind their
backs. A few minutes later and they were handed up the side of the
French ship.
When day broke on the morning of the 2nd of August, the firing still
continued, but it was comparatively feeble, for nearly every ship of the
French fleet had been taken. Only the _Guillaume Tell_ and the
_Genereux_--the two rear ships of the enemy--had their colours flying.
These, with two frigates, cut their cables and stood out to sea. The
_Zealous_ pursued, but as there was no other British ship in a fit state
to support her, she was recalled; the four vessels, therefore, escaped
at that time, but they were captured not long afterwards. Thus ended
the famous battle of the Nile, in regard to which Nelson said that it
was a "conquest" rather than a victory.
Of thirteen sail of the line, nine were taken and two burnt; and two of
their four frigates were burnt. The British loss in killed and wounded
amounted to 896; that of the French was estimated at 2000.
The victory was most complete. The French fleet was annihilated. As
might be supposed, the hero of the Nile was, after this, almost
worshipped as a demigod. It is worthy of remark here that Nelson, as
soon as the conquest was completed, sent orders through the fleet that
thanksgiving should be returned, in every ship, to Almighty God, for the
victory with which He had blessed His Majesty's arms.