"The thunder of the battle-deck,
The lightning flash of war."
In my last chapter I stated that Nelson, with his broad pennant flying on board the Minerve, met with and fought the Santa Sabina. I also mentioned that the Blanche was companion ship to the Minerve. Where was she then during the fight? it may be asked. Did Nelson have her assistance in fighting the gallant Stuart? Was it two to one after all?
No, certainly not, for during the engagement the Blanche was far away to windward in chase of the Ceres, whom she sadly wanted to fight, but who escaped.
Porto Ferrajo was a strong fortress on the Isle of Elba, to which, you remember, Napoleon Bonaparte was banished, but from which he subsequently escaped.
After the evacuation of Corsica, the viceroy of that island, whom the French would have captured had it not been for Nelson's guns, was escorted by the hero to Ferrajo; but Sir Gilbert Elliot—for that was his name—went afterwards in the Minerve with Nelson to hold a consultation with the British Admiral of the fleet (then Sir John Jervis, afterwards Earl St. Vincent), who was at that time cruising off Cape St. Vincent.
On the 9th of February, '97, Nelson arrived at Gibraltar, and here he received on board by exchange the two lieutenants, Culverhouse and the immortal Hardy, who had been taken prisoners with the recapture of the Sabina.
And now comes an adventure worth relating. Hardly had the Minerve got fairly under weigh again than two Spanish ships of the line got up sail and gave chase.
It seemed indeed that the Minerve would assuredly be captured now, for no sooner had she entered the Straits, than the foremost line of battleship outsailed her consort, and was coming up hand over hand after Nelson's frigate.
Sir Gilbert Elliot made so sure that the Minerve would be taken, that he had his state papers all ready to throw overboard, so that they might not fall into the hands of the enemy.
Nelson, however, cleared for action.
It would have been madness for him to have attempted to try conclusions with two lordly liners, but as the fight was now being forced upon him, he determined to sell his ship dearly.
Indeed, he never meant to let the Dons get her at all.
Pointing to his flag, he said to an officer near him, "Before the Spaniards have that bit of bunting I'll have a tussle with them, and sooner than the ship should fall into their hands I'll run her on shore."
They were just going below to dinner, when suddenly there was a cry, "Man overboard."
In a moment all was bustle and stir. Lieutenant Hardy and a few sailors sprang into the jolly-boat, which was at once lowered away to pick up the man.
It was soon evident, however, that the boat could make no headway on her return against the strong current. She was rapidly drifting onwards to the advancing Spanish ship.
Nelson grew excited.
"I will not lose poor Hardy for all the Dons on earth," he shouted. "Back the mizentop-sail!"
Now it is here where the smile comes in.
That "cockie" Don was full of warlike ardour as long as the Minerve kept cracking on, but as soon as Nelson stopped ship, the rapidity with which the Don began to shorten sail was amusing.
He positively refused what he considered Nelson's challenge.
So our boat was picked up, stun'sails were clapped on the Minerve, and with the wind on her quarter, away she went like a thing of life, and the Dons were left behind.
* * * * * *
The following night a still more strange adventure took place, for in the thickness and darkness Nelson found himself sailing through what appeared to be a great fleet of tall spectre ships.
He had actually sailed in, amongst, and through the Spanish fleet.
This made him very anxious indeed to join Sir John Jervis, which, to his great joy, he did two days after.
He now left the Minerve, and rejoined his own good ship the Captain.
THE BATTLE OF ST. VINCENT.
Such was the respect and even affection that Nelson never failed to inspire in the breasts not only of his officers, but even the men under his command, that those who had once served under him thought themselves lucky indeed if they could again fight beneath his flag. Nor was Nelson himself averse to being surrounded by "ken't" faces; he was like a father to his people, and they to him felt as children.
It is confidence like this that begets bravery and deeds of derring-do, whether in the field or on the battle-deck, and I have no hesitation in saying, that a 40-gun frigate with bold Nelson in command, was as good as, if not better than, most ships of the line.
I think, however, that Nelson to some extent abhorred a cut-and-dry style of fighting. Like all brave men, he was nervously excitable; he became in a measure intoxicated with the sound of battle, like the war horse who scents the combat from afar, but he never lost his head. He was quick to see any offered advantage or mistake of the enemy, and to profit by it at once. His object too was often, at the commencement of a fight, to confuse, bewilder, and paralyse the enemy, and sometimes they never regained self-control until the battle was over.
You have heard, reader, of that style of argument, or rather counter argument, which is called the reductio ad absurdum, and also of the "descent from the sublime to the ridiculous." Pardon me if I use one of these, the better to illustrate my great hero Nelson's character.
When, then, I was a boy of thirteen or fourteen, a wiry, big, strong Scotch "nickum," I was at what is called a fighting school. I do not believe that a day ever passed without a fight between two boys. They were pitched battles; generally arranged during school hours and fought to the bitter end the same evening. I myself, although a poor hand at first, eventually fought my way from the lowest to the highest factions. I somehow, however, usually preferred fighting a boy who was bigger and stronger than myself; art came in to my aid, and if I did happen to be beaten I had no dishonour. Hut there was one lad who, though of my own age, was considerably smaller. He was a red-faced, towsy-headed, nervous tyke of a boy, and—he was more than a match for me. I had several battles with him, in which he invariably came on like a wild cat. With hard-clenched fists he seemed positively to claw at my face, and for one swinging blow from the shoulder I got in, he landed half a dozen at least. It was puzzling, confusing, and paralysing, and I had to lower my flag each time, with perhaps two pretty black eyes, a swollen nose, and a few loose teeth.
Now, that boy—his name was John Aberdeen, and he may possibly read these lines—was a perfect little Nelson in character. You will see, therefore, why I have made my descent from the sublime to the ridiculous.
The morning of the 14th of February was dull and hazy, the British ships steering southwards with a bit of westering in it.
Although by no means rough, there was a swell on, and it must have been a grand sight to see those two lines of British men-of-war, as straight in column almost as soldiers on parade, rising and falling on the ocean billows.
But when, at about one bell in the forenoon watch, the drum beat to quarters, a still more lordly sight was visible some distance up to windward, for the mist had lifted before the morning sun, and there floated one of the largest and most terrible fleets ever formed in battle array. Truly they were leviathans afloat. Their tall dark sides bristling with guns, their lofty riggings and commanding sails imparting to them a dignity that was awe-inspiring, a dignity from which the huge flags of orange and red certainly did not detract.
Not all at once, however, was the picture presented to the astonished gaze of our British tars, for the huge fog-curtain was lifted but gradually.
Sir John Jervis was walking the quarter-deck of the Victory as coolly as if the men had only been piped to scrub decks, and as the Spanish fleet was gradually evolved its numbers were reported to him. Did the officer who made the report, I wonder, imagine for a single moment that the admiral was going to be deterred by numbers?
"There are eight sail of the line, Sir John."
"Thank you, Mr. T——."
"There are twenty sail of the line, Sir John."
"Very good, sir."
"There are seven-and-twenty sail of the line, Sir John. Considering the disparity of numbers, do you think we are justified in engaging the Dons?"
"Hold, sir!" cried the bold admiral. "Enough of this. The die is cast, and if there are fifty sail of the line, I should go through them just the same."
"Hurrah!" cried Hallowell, who was standing near him; so delighted was he that he clapped the admiral on the shoulder. "You're right, Sir John, you're right. We'll fight them, and we'll give the Dons a hiding too."
It is said that confusion seemed to spread among the Spaniards from the very first. Parsons says: "They made the most awkward attempts to form their line-of-battle, and looked a complete forest massed and huddled together."
Now, before going further, I wish the reader to cast his eye down the following columns, which I give by way of showing the disparity in numbers and guns between our fleet and that of Spain.*
* I have placed Nelson's ship in Italics, also those that were taken.
Seven-and-twenty huge Spanish ships of war opposed to fifteen British!
Two thousand and two hundred and ninety-two Spanish guns, against one thousand two hundred and thirty-two British—nearly two to one.
This glorious fight, on this most memorable Valentine's-day, began about seven bells in the forenoon watch, when Admiral Sir John Jervis, with all sail set, came dashing at the Dons, and passed right through their lines. Now the Spanish admiral had nine of his ships down to leeward, and he at once determined to pass astern of the British fleet, and thus effect a junction with his divided ships.
And it is at this point where the genius of Nelson becomes so conspicuous. Remember that the signal had been made for the whole fleet to engage, and had he strictly obeyed orders he would have gone on with the rest of the Britishers, and tacked with them. But his quick eye—poor fellow, he had now but one—noticed the Don's intention, and he resolved to frustrate it at all hazards. He put his helm up, therefore, and steered straight for the Spaniards.
No more daring, dashing deed was ever done!
Nothing more confusing could have occurred for the Spanish admiral.
Not a soul on the upper deck of the Captain who did not marvel. Merryweather confessed afterwards to Tom Bure that he thought Commodore Nelson had suddenly gone mad.
Even Tom and Raventree, little though they knew of naval tactics, could not refrain from talking momentarily over the affair. But the roar of the guns that had been stilled for a minute or two recommenced now with triple force, and Tom had his duty to perform. Yonder was the mighty Santissima Trinidada towering high above them, and Nelson in his Captain was close alongside her.
The position of Nelson's ship at that moment was not one to be envied, with the monarch of the Spanish fleet beside him beam to beam, and three-deckers pouring in their fire fore and aft.
But down to his assistance came the Culloden of 74 guns, bold Troubridge her commander, and the Blenheim of 90 guns.
The fire of the British ships at this time was terrible in the extreme. Our brave fellows fought half naked at their guns, and though messmates fell killed or wounded on all sides, they were speedily carried or hauled on one side and the fight went on. There was no more thought of leaving their batteries among those Hearts of Oak, than if the battle had been but a mere parade.
The dangerous position of the Captain may be imagined when we remember that at one time she was actually exposed to the fire of no less than nine ships!
Nelson was the hero of this glorious fight. Am I not right in calling him so, seeing that around his sadly-mutilated ship the battle raged the fiercest?
But the Captain, with her rigging in tatters, her fore-top mast gone, and her wheel shot away, was now almost unmanageable. She was at this time engaged with two of the enemy's liners—the San Nicholas and San Josef—and Nelson purposely fouled the former.
The credit of this is due to Miller, his second captain, who, disabled as the ship was, managed to lay her aboard the starboard quarter of the Spanish lee, so that her sprit-sail yard passed over the enemy's poop, and hooked in her mizen shrouds.
"Away—ay—ay, boarders."
It was a scream, it was a yell from a British throat, and it thrilled every Heart of Oak on board, and was answered by a cheer.
With the butt of his musket a soldier of the 69th (a number of this regiment being on board) dashed in the window of the Spaniard's upper quarter-gallery and leapt in. Nelson and many more were with him, Tom Bure and Raventree among the rest. But they found the cabin doors secured against them. These were speedily dashed to pieces. One man in a fight like this has the strength of three. A volley was fired by our brave fellows, the Spanish commodore fell, and hurrying onwards, sword in hand, Nelson found that the poop had already been taken by Lieut. Berry, and our friend Merryweather, and that the enemy's ensign was coming down by the run. Nelson ran forward and received the submission and the swords of several officers.
But although the San Nicholas was thus taken, a pattering musketry fire was kept up from the San Josef, which was close alongside.
She too must be captured. Nelson felt in form now to capture a dozen. The order was therefore speedily given to place sentinels on the ladders to guard the prisoners of the Nicholas, and more men were ordered into her from the Captain——to make sure, for Nelson forgot nothing. Then once more the shout, "Away—ay—ay, boarders!"
"'Away--ay--ay, boarders,' cried Nelson."
"'Away—ay—ay, boarders,' cried Nelson."
Our brave and great hero was at the head of his men this time, and the San Josef fell as her consort had fallen.
The captain of the ship on his knees sued for mercy, saying the admiral was dying of his wounds below.
Nelson says, "I thereupon gave him my hand, and ordered him to call to his officers and ship's company that the ship had surrendered, which he did."
Glorious day for Nelson! There on the quarter-deck of this huge Don, 112 guns, he received the swords of the vanquished Spaniards.
There comes in here an element of the comic, for by the hero's side stood the bold bargeman, Bill Fearney, to whom the swords were given as they were received. Bill hitched up his trousers, turned his quid in his mouth, and stuck the swords under his left arm with less ceremony than if they had been as many fiddlesticks.
The very essence of this gallant fight lies in the fact that Nelson, having fought almost to the death, his ship of 74 guns being all but a wreck, puts this disabled craft of his to such marvellous account, that he captures two of the enemy's largest ships by the glorious old British system of boarding.
There they lay, the victor and the vanquished—the three of them all in a huddle. And was it any wonder that the Victory and every other British ship cheered our Nelson as they passed?
I do not feel inclined to say any more about this glorious battle. To mention the bare unvarnished facts is enough, and the boy along whose spine there does not pass a cold thrill of pride and excitement while reading these is no true Briton.
"The flag of Britannia, the flag of the brave,
Triumphant it floateth o'er land and o'er wave,
All proudly it braveth the battle and blast,
And when tattered with shot it is nailed to the mast."
It goes without saying that Nelson returned thanks, humble but fervent, to heaven, for his merciful preservation on the day of battle.
For his services on this Valentine's-day he was knighted, and also received the Order of the Bath. He was moreover made rear-admiral of the blue.
Probably after all it was the private congratulations that flowed in upon him which affected him the most, and chief of these, perhaps, were the love and respect of his ship's crew. Well they knew that Nelson was not only a true sailor, but in heart and soul almost a man before the mast. No one ever heard the hero abuse a man verbally in bullying language with oaths and fulsome gesture, as many and many a captain did in those days. Moreover they knew he hated the lash, and that he even saw the justice of the complaints of the mutineers of the Nore.
It was when on board the Theseus—the Captain was almost a wreck—that the men's regard for their commodore—now admiral—was shown in a manner essentially sailor-like, and therefore in a measure innocently childish, for a round-robin was picked up on the quarter-deck which read as follows:
"Success attend Admiral Nelson! God bless Captain Miller. We thank them for the officers they have placed over us. We are happy and comfortable, and willing to shed every drop of blood in our veins to support them, and the name of the Theseus shall be immortalised as high as that of the Captain.—Signed, THE SHIP'S COMPANY."
This poor little but heart-felt speech upon paper must have cost much care and thought to concoct. Meetings on the sly would have been held down below, as secret and confidential as those of conspirators or mutineers, and I can almost see the shy and somewhat ungainly actions of the seaman, who was finally told off to drop the precious document on the quarter-deck after it had been read a dozen times and finally approved.
"See you does it properly now, Jack."
"Don't let the officers see you, you know, Jack."
"Don't make a bullocks of it, Jack."
"Keep your weather eye lifting, Jack."
These and a score of other warnings were doubtless given to Jack before he departed on his mission, and I'll warrant that, when he performed it successfully, he was welcome to all the grog in the mess that day if he chose to have it.
Nelson and Miller too appreciated that simple note for all it was worth, you may be perfectly sure.
But possibly the letters from home affected him quite as much as anything. His wife's was quite a woman's letter. Nelson must have smiled to be told that she was very much against the dangerous practice of boarding, and that he must really promise not to venture on any such thing again.
But his father's, the dear, kindly, and now proud old man—proud of his son—affected him most. "I thank my God," he says, "with all the power of a grateful soul, for the mercies he has most graciously bestowed on me in preserving you.
"Not only my few acquaintances here, but the people in general met me at every corner with such handsome words, that I was obliged to retire from the public eye. The height of glory to which your professional judgement, united with a proper degree of bravery, and guarded by Providence, has raised you, few sons, my dear child, attain to and fewer fathers live to see. Tears of joy have involuntarily trickled down my furrowed cheeks. Who could stand the force of such general congratulations? The name and services of Nelson have sounded throughout this city of Bath—from the common ballad singer to the public theatre."
* * * * * *
So much for honour and glory, reader. Do you like it? Honour and glory are but empty baubles, and yet somehow they commend themselves most heartily to the empty soul.
Honour and glory, however, are, in my opinion, not such empty baubles as those who never receive them would have you believe. On the contrary, they are the most satisfactory proofs a hero could receive, that he has nobly done his duty. They are the payments made to him by a grateful public and people for services done for which no amount of money or jewels could ever form adequate reward. Whenever, therefore, you hear a person railing against honour and glory, you may be perfectly sure he has never had any such "baubles" offered him, and never done anything to deserve them. Think of the fable of the fox and the grapes.
Well, no star can shine by itself without imparting its lustre to other and lesser stars around it. This is another way of saying that even Nelson's junior officers shared in his honour and glory. Ah! well, they deserved to, for right nobly that day had every man done his duty fore and aft.
But in a great many cases that honour and glory look the form of a sailor's grave. And alas! poor Jack, many a man before the mast was buried in the deep sea who had fought as well as ever man fought a veritable lion with heart of oak, but whose name would not even be mentioned in his country's story.
As for the doctors? Well, the day had not yet come when doctors were to have even the least little morsel of honour and glory, and, to tell the truth, in our own day very little glory falls to a surgeon's share. Down in the gloomiest depths of a ship he must work—nay, slave, even on the day of battle. If engines burst he is among the first scalded; if the vessel is blown up or is sunk, he has not even the shadow of a chance of saving his life, as have the honour and glory men on deck whose bravery may after all be but the outcome of excitement or terror itself. The surgeon, on the other hand, has to do his duty with a cool head, and even long after the rage and roar of battle have ceased his duties keep him to his post.
But Nelson was a man who really loved his doctors, both senior and junior, quite as much as he loved the parson, and had every respect for their feelings. Even when coming quietly round to see the sick or wounded, he invariably took a surgeon with him, to ask him questions about the poor fellows who lay uncomplainingly in their hammocks.
Young Raventree's letters from home rejoiced him very much indeed, and he showed several of them to his friend Tom Bure.
Poor Tom had letters also; three—yes, only three, but how he valued them only those who have been long away on the ocean wave could say.
One was from Dan—Daddy Dan. This he showed to Raventree. "It is from my dear old foster-father," he explained.
Raventree read it by the light of the moon, as the two lads stood together under the lee bulwarks.
"It is so good of you, Bure," he said, "to show me this. Bad spelling, worse writing, stilted and somewhat hackneyed expressions, but, Tom, a spirit of such kindliness and love, and so noble a nature breathing through every page of it! Tom Bure, you are lucky in having a foster-father like this man. Dan Brundell is a hero in humble life!"
"I'm so glad you like him," said Tom, and the tears came rushing to his eyes as he spoke.
"Some day I should like to go and see Dan's cottage," continued Raventree. "My home is away in the midlands. It is one of the ancestral halls of England, and my people are proud and wealthy; but, Tom, they would make you right welcome. I think," he added, "I have some reason to be proud of my family, because, like the Stuarts, of whom we saw so noble a specimen in that brave Don Jacobo, we gained all our honours by the sword."
Tom had a letter from Ruth—such a dear, sisterly, old-fashioned epistle. This he gave to Merryweather to read, knowing it would not interest Raventree much.
Jack Merryweather, who was in excellent spirits after the recent battle, because he, for a wonder, had not been wounded, read Ruth's letter with delight—not once, but twice.
"What a sweet, good girl," he said, as he handed it back to Tom.
But there was one other letter that Tom, singularly enough, showed to nobody.
It came from Bertha. It was enclosed in Daddy Dan's. Quite a charming specimen of love letter it was, but so innocent and childish. She sent it through Dan, she said, because she did not wish it supervised by her mother and her maid.
I hope the reader will not jump to the conclusion all at once that this conduct on the part of Bertha was naughty or clandestine. Her mother, she said, wanted her to write to Tom Bure "all in fine english and all well speld," and also to address him as "der Mr. Bure," instead of "der old Tom" all through the letter. So she had ran off to Daddy Dan's, where sweet freedom awaited her, a huge sheet of age-stained paper, and an enormous sputtering old quill pen.
However, Bertha's letter, although not "well speld," was very delightful, and for some reason or another, best known to himself only, Tom Bure put it under his pillow on the night of the day he received it.
History is mute as to what his dreams were. O'Grady's letters were so pleasing to him that he handed them all round the gunroom mess—at least he handed round the one he had received from his mother, who lived "in a swate little cottage in the kingdom of Connemara, and owned the foinest pigs in the county, faith."
O'Grady's mother was "a lady in a small way and in her own roight," he explained to his messmates, though what on earth he meant by that nobody could tell, and as it was getting on for three bells, with a drop of rosy rum on the table, no one thought of asking him for an explanation. But Mrs. O'Grady could write a good old-fashioned letter, there was no mistake about that. No long sentences; all short and crisp. No tall English; but every line containing an item of news. There wasn't a person in the parish from the priest downwards who missed mention in the lady's letter, together with everyone who had been put in the mould and every baby born, and it finished up with what honest O'Grady called a red-hot shot, thus: "And may the Lord's arms be ever around you, son, and sure your old sweetheart Peggy O'Houghleehan was married yesterday to Rory McKoy, and may heaven have mercy on his sowl, for the jade was never good enough for my dear boy, at all, at all. No more from your affectionate old mother Molly O'Grady. Postage paid, free."
The red-hot shot, however, didn't affect this good old middy much; for, it being Saturday night, the dead all buried more than a fortnight ago, and the wounded getting rapidly well, the boys were enjoying themselves in an innocent, good-tempered way. So presently O'Grady volunteered a song.
Then somebody else sang, so that really, as Burns puts it—
"The nicht drave on wi' songs and clatter,*
* Clatter=talk.
Away forward in the men's messes, Dibdin's verses very well depict the scene, bar the lashing of the helm a-lee. Nelson was hardly the man to have his helm lashed a-lee. With all due respect for the clever Dibdin, he did occasionally give his imagination a very free run.
"'Twas Saturday night: the twinkling stars
Shone on the rippling sea,
No duty called the jovial tars,
The helm was lashed a-lee."
But even Saturday night at sea has an end at last, and the bo's'n's pipe has a disagreeable knack of bringing it to a close at times, far more suddenly than honest sailors like.
Nelson was off Lagos Bay in the middle of March of this year, '97.
"I am here," he wrote to a friend, "looking for the Viceroy of Mexico, with three sail of the line, and hope to meet him. Two first-rates and a 74 are with him; but the bigger the ships the better the mark."
Nelson, however, thought the Spanish ships were the finest in the world; but he added:
"Though they can build ships, thank Heaven the Spaniards cannot build men."
The Spanish ships were undoubtedly splendid and vast, but they were badly fitted, badly found, badly handled, and badly manned.
Nor was it always an easy matter to manœuvre such vast machines of war in a sea way. If battles upon the ocean wave had been fought simply by the antagonists drawing themselves up in two lines and peppering away at each other till one gave in, was blown up, or sunk, the Dons would have had it all their own way—perhaps. But during an engagement of any size the British fleet kept pretty much on the move, delivering terrible broadsides on the foe when least expected.
The Dons didn't like it.
On the 11th of April we find our hero blockading Cadiz, but next day he started for Porto Ferrajo to bring the troops from there. The blockade of Cadiz was therefore entrusted to Sir James Saumarez. This officer had already proved himself to be
A HEART OF OAK.
His story previous to the blockading of Cadiz is briefly as follows: He was born in '57, and joined the service when thirteen years old, and was first employed in the Mediterranean. He soon became a lieutenant, and sailed in the Bristol, off America, under Commodore Sir Peter Parker. He took and destroyed many privateersmen here. Under Lord Howe, he commanded at Rhode Island a galley, which he burned to prevent it falling into the hands of the enemy. Returning home in the Leviathan, he, after some service in the Channel fleet, sailed in the Fortitude, and went with Sir Hyde Parker to the North Sea. Next we find him sailing with a detachment of the Channel fleet, and being the first to sight the squadron of Count de Guicheni, and so well did he behave on this occasion that he was soon after appointed captain of the Russel, 74 guns, though then only twenty-four years of age.
In 1793 we find Saumarez boldly fighting the French frigate Reunion, off Cherbourg, for which he received the honour of knighthood.
He was next made captain of the Orion, and cruised with the Channel fleet.
And in the battle off St. Vincent it was this brave fellow, who with his 74, the Orion, captured the 112-gun ship Salvador del Mundo, without the loss of a man, having only nine wounded.
I ought here to mention the losses on the British side at the battle off St. Vincent. They were not large for so spirited a fight, being but 73 killed and 297 wounded; but in proof that this engagement was more Nelson's victory than anyone else's, it should be remembered that his ship alone suffered a loss of 24 killed and 56 wounded: the next in point of numbers being the Blenheim, 12 killed and 49 wounded; Collingwood's Excellent, 11 killed and 12 wounded; and Troubridge's Culloden, 10 killed and 47 wounded.
* * * * * *
Nelson returned from his cruise sooner than he expected to do, and was appointed in the Cadiz blockade to in-shore duties.
"The fatigue, anxiety, and personal danger incurred in this service," says Pettigrew, "were very great. To confine the enemy as closely as possible to their port, it was the custom every night to send from each of the ships forming the blockade one or more boats, well manned, armed, and supplied with a good store of ammunition, into the very mouth of the harbour.
"These boats were supported by gunboats, which had been expressly fitted out for this occasion, and these could only be protected by the inner line of ships which Admiral Nelson had posted to render the blockade complete, and the escape of any of the Spanish ships nearly impossible."
After the battle off St. Vincent the whole navy of the Dons, it will be remembered, had taken refuge in Cadiz to refit.
"When the boats were all arranged Nelson was in the habit of rowing through them for inspection. The duty was therefore most active, and as far as possible all danger of surprise from the enemy effectually guarded against.
"But the Dons were also well up in this mode of precaution and warfare. They equipped numerous gunboats and launches to check the too near approach of our boats, and many a skirmish thus took place between the Spaniards and our brave fellows."
* * * * * *
On the night of July 3rd began the awful bombardment of Cadiz.
"I wish to make it a warm night at Cadiz," wrote Nelson. "The town and their fleet are prepared, and their gunboats are well advanced. So much the better. If they venture out beyond their walls I shall give Johnnie his full scope for fighting."
Well, Nelson, in an attack by the Spanish gunboats, had probably the narrowest escape of his life he ever had. While in his barge with Captain Freemantle, his coxswain, Sykes, and an ordinary crew of ten men, he was laid aboard by a huge barge from a gunboat rowed by six-and-twenty oars beside officers, all under the command of a brave fellow—Captain Miguel Tyrason. A tougher boat action was never fought by Britons against such fearful odds.
Our men, in fact, fought like lions. It was a hand-to-hand battle with sword, cutlass, and knife. Never before was the personal skill and prowess of this little man Nelson seen to such advantage. Again and again his sword drank blood, and foe after foe fell before him.
Twice too, during the engagement, his life was saved by bold Sykes, who even interposed his own person 'twixt his admiral and the descending sword. The fury of the combat may be best understood from a statement of the results, for not only was the Don's barge beaten, but eighteen were killed, and all the others were wounded and taken prisoners.
If there was a Heart of Oak in humble life on board a ship it was John Sykes, the admiral's coxswain. He was rewarded—after a fashion—by being made a gunner, and consequently a warrant officer, and appointed to the Andromache; but the poor fellow was killed on his own deck by the bursting of a gun.
Sic transit gloria mundi.
The bombardment of Cadiz was a grim and awful affair.
Not only were houses and public buildings laid low, and even churches demolished, but the beautiful city was set on fire in three different places, and, to add to the horror of the situation, the roughs of the populace had it all their own way, and murdered, robbed, or plundered wherever they pleased.
* * * * * *
I have told you, reader, very little about Josiah Nisbet, the step-son of Nelson, for several reasons. Though a very good fellow, he is not my beau ideal of a hero; secondly, he was separated from Tom Bure and Raventree, being made lieutenant of the Theseus. But now he comes forward once more—or presently will—in a new light, which shows that he not only had a heart of oak, but had it stowed in the right place.
Nelson, then—though never fond of prize money himself—had for some time been keeping himself awake at night concocting a scheme for the financial ruin of Spain and the aggrandisement of his own beloved country.
HEARTS OF OAK AT SANTA CRUZ.
I am not at all sure, boys—now I come to think of it—that Nelson was not in some way or other distantly related to the Camerons of Lochiel. One of these days I shall "speel" his genealogical tree and have a look round, and if I can see a kilt hung out to dry thereon, or a Highland bonnet and plumes, I shall forthwith claim him as Scotch; then the English bodies may look for a naval hero somewhere else, or whistle their dogs to dance. But if he wasn't a Cameron, he at all events acted on the motto of the Camerons—"Whate'er a man dares he can do."
Mind you, reader, that this is a very excellent motto, for "nothing venture nothing win," and the higher one's aim the higher the mark he hits—if he hits anything.
However, the Cameronian Highlanders' motto does sometimes lead one into difficulty.
It was very shortly, then, after the bombardment of Cadiz that Nelson wrote to Sir John Jervis—or let us now call him the Earl of St. Vincent—proposing his little scheme for the capture of Santa Cruz.
Santa Cruz was a place of not the slightest importance, but it was rumoured that a Spanish ship—El Principe de Asturias—more richly stored with gold and precious stones than a fairy mine, had arrived at that port from Manilla, and Nelson's idea was to cut her out—in other words, to capture her. This would not only put millions of money into British coffers to carry on the war withal, but tend considerably to the downfall of Spain by helping to impoverish her.
In fact, and in plain English, Nelson intended for a time to masquerade and swagger as a pirate bold or a buccanier. So on the 12th of April we find him writing as follows to his admiral of the fleet:
"My Dear Sir,—Troubridge and I were talking last night about the Viceroy (of Mexico) at Teneriffe. Since I first believed he might have gone there I have endeavoured to make myself master of the situation, and the means of approach by sea and land. I shall speak first of the sea.
"The Spanish ships then generally moor with two cables to the sea, and four cables from their stern to the shore; therefore, though we might not get to be masters of them, should the wind not come off the shore, it does not appear certain we should succeed so completely as we might wish. As to any opposition, except from natural impediments, I should not think it would avail.
"The approach by sea to the anchoring-place is under very high land, therefore the wind is either in from the sea, or squally with calms from the mountains. Sometimes at night a ship may get in with the land wind and moderate weather. So much for the sea attack, which, if you approve, I am ready and willing to risk, or to carry into execution.
"But now comes my plan, which would not fail of success, would immortalize the undertakers,* ruin Spain, and has every prospect of raising our country to a higher pitch of wealth than she has ever yet attained; but here soldiers must be consulted, and I know from experience that, excepting General O'Hara, they have not the same boldness in undertaking a political measure that we (sailors) have. We look to the benefit of our country, and risk our fame every day to serve her. A soldier obeys orders and nothing more.
* By "undertakers" Nelson doesn't refer to the manufacturers of cheap coffins, but those who undertake to carry out his plan of operations.
"By saying soldiers should be consulted, you will guess I mean the army of 3,200 men from Elba, with cannon, mortars, and every implement now embarked. They could do the business in three days, probably much less. I will undertake with a very small squadron to do the naval part.
"The shore, though not very easy of access, is yet so steep that the transports may run in and land the army in one day. The water is conveyed to the town in wooden troughs. This supply cut off would induce a very speedy surrender. Good terms for the town, private property secured to the islanders, and only the delivery of public stores and foreign merchandise demanded, with threats of utter destruction if one gun is fired.
"In fact, sir, the business could not miscarry.
"If," the letter goes on to say, "the six or seven millions sterling thus secured were thrown into circulation in England, what might not be done? It would ensure an honourable peace, with many other blessings."
Such was Admiral Nelson's letter to St. Vincent, or the gist of it at least.
Now had the hero been better supported by soldiers than he was the result might have been a triumph.
The attack, however, was to be a purely naval one. Nelson sailed for Teneriffe on the fifteenth of July, and the passage not being a very long one, got over in under a week. At all events, the fleet which he commanded was discovered on the 21st of July.
This was a bad beginning, and augured nothing but evil fortune to follow.
Probably Nelson had but little idea of the kind of place he had made up his mind to take by storm, for it is fortified by nature. Writing about this unhappy expedition Brenton makes the following remarks:
"Of all the places that ever came under our inspection, none we conceive is more invulnerable to attack or more easily defended than Teneriffe. The island, like most of its neighbours, is a volcanic production, consisting of mountains, ravines, rocks, and precipices. The bay of Santa Cruz affords no shelter for shipping; the shore is nearly a straight line, and the bank so steep that no anchorage can be found beyond the distance of half a mile, and that in forty-five fathoms of water; the beach from north to south is one continued series of broken masses of loose rock and round, smooth stones, smooth either from friction or from the seaweed. On this a perpetual surf breaks, rendering the landing at all times difficult, except at the mole or pier of Santa Cruz. To these obstacles there is another which Nelson experienced in its fullest force. Teneriffe, like all other mountainous countries, is liable to calms, sudden squalls, and violent gusts of wind, which, rushing down the ravines, frequently take a ship's topmasts over the side without a moment's warning.
The fleet, or rather squadron, appointed for the expedition was as follows: