CHAPTER IV

THE SEARCH FOR THE FRENCH FLEET—AT LAST.

"Now's the day, and now's the hour,
See the front of battle lower."—BURNS.

We must now return to our hero Nelson.

In an early chapter of this story I mentioned that the great man had once gone to Paris, and had there met an officer who was somewhat of a dandy, and whose name was Ball.

Nelson had found it impossible to associate bravery and pluck with fine clothes. This dislike to fine clothing he had doubtless picked up in the merchant ship in which he served for a time, and it had clung to him. However, he lived to find out that though first impressions are usually very strong, it does not follow that they are always just and correct.

After joining St. Vincent, about the end of April, the admiral of the fleet got word that the French were getting ready a great expedition at Toulon and Genoa.* It was not known for what this armament was intended, and various conjectures were hazarded. Perhaps the enemy meant to attack Naples or Sicily, or to invade Ireland. However, this armament of theirs must be sought for and destroyed if possible.

* Vide Map.

Now there were many officers senior to Nelson on the station, and on one or other of these—so they thought—ought to have devolved the command of the anti-French squadron.

The Earl of St. Vincent, however, thought different. He knew Nelson; knew what he could dare and what he could do; knew how wise and clever he was, how energetic, bold, and determined; knew that if he undertook a mission of any kind he would, figuratively speaking, "give neither sleep to his eyes nor slumber to his eyelids" until he had fulfilled it.

But when the admiral of the fleet appointed him to the search-squadron there was a howl of rage from all quarters, at home as well as abroad. Sir John Orde, a senior in the service to Nelson, let his wrath get such mastery over him that he challenged St. Vincent to fight a duel. St. Vincent was no fool, and I suppose quietly lit a pipe with the challenge. Anyhow, it never came off.

But even a lord of the admiralty condemned the conduct of the admiral of the fleet, who, however, could stand red tape abuse quite as well as he could the fire of the French in battle.

Still so high did popular feeling run in some quarters, that one trembles to think what the fate of our great hero would have been, had he been beaten by the foe when he at last found his fleet. He would certainly have been brought home, tried, and probably executed.

Can you imagine anything more horrible than that would have been, reader—executing Nelson? But the mere possibility of such a thing only proves that the public, which heroes serve so faithfully and well, is after all like a caged lion or tiger, tame to a fault with its keeper, the hero, but a savage creature and a fool in its wrath when crossed or put out of temper. The public will pamper and idolize a man one day, and trample his bleeding body under foot the next.

So Nelson sailed with his ships.

He had orders to requisition stores, food, water, &c., in any port of the Mediterranean he chose. If such stores were not forthcoming, that port was to be treated as an enemy's. One exception only was made; viz., in the case of Sardinia.

Well, this expedition of Nelson's had but a bad beginning; for while crossing the Gulf of Lyons he encountered a terrible storm of wind, which scattered his ships in all directions, and nearly wrecked the Vanguard, on which his flag was flying. There is almost as much humour as pathos in the letter he writes to his wife on this occasion.

"Imagine if you can," he says, "a vain-glorious man—your husband—walking his quarter-deck on Sunday evening, with his squadron all around him, who* looked up to their chief to lead them to glory, and in whom this chief placed the firmest reliance that the proudest ships, in equal numbers, belonging to France would have lowered their flags, and with a very rich prize lying by him. Figure to yourself this proud, conceited man when the sun rose on Monday morning, his ship dismasted, his fleet dispersed, and himself in such distress that the meanest frigate out of France would have been a very unwelcome guest."

* The young reader will note that Nelson's grammatical construction of sentences was not always on an even keel.

But, lo! the very man whom Nelson had so despised in France, and dubbed a dandy and a fop, came now to his assistance in the Alexander, and at the imminent danger to both ships of foundering, took him in tow to St. Pierre. No wonder that Nelson loved the man from that day forth.

* * * * *

In a few days' time, however, Nelson had undergone repairs, and was able once more to start on his voyage. But, alas! he had lost sight of his frigates.

Britain and France at this time, reader, you must remember were playing at cross purposes to some extent, and great wars usually have been carried on in this way. Britain and France, not content with hitting each other in the face straight from the shoulder whenever they had a chance, did all they could to kick the stools from under each other. For instance, we bolstered up the kingdom of Naples, which has well been stigmatised as one of the most abominable, disreputable, and licentious of European governments. The king was inferior to an English squire. He would have been good in a rat hunt with fox terriers, or in a rabbit coursing match; but he was utterly unfitted either to fight or rule a people. His wife, the queen, was—well, the least said the better. And we, Britain, were to protect the two of them against the revolutionary schemes of France, not, mind you, because we loved them, but because we hated France. This kingdom then was the stool we intended to kick from under France. But kicking is a game both can play at, and France turned her attention to India. They would attack us there, just as the Russians will before fifty years are over. May they be as unsuccessful as old Napoleon was.

But before India could be used as a basis of operations against Britain, Egypt must be conquered and occupied.

It must be confessed too, that the French carried out their plans for the invasion of Egypt with consummate skill and boldness, for as your school history tells you, reader, Napoleon, with an army of 30,000 old and well-disciplined troops, managed to hoodwink the British and put to sea en route for Alexandria.

Malta fell in the first off-go.

Napoleon landed in the end of June unopposed near to Alexandria.

The conquest of Egypt followed in rapid course. With such troops, under such a splendid commander, this conquest was all one glorious picnic. So the battle of the Pyramids was fought, and crushed was the pomp and panoply of the great Marmelukes. Cairo fell, and on marched the victorious troops.

So sure of getting his army to India was Napoleon, that as soon as he landed he dispatched secret envoys to Tippoo Saib, son of Hyder Ali, who had built up a great new state in the south of India. These envoys were to inform Tippoo to hold himself in readiness for a coup de grace, because the French were on their way to his assistance.

BUT—and please note this is a very important but—Napoleon's dreams of further glory in India depended entirely upon his being able to keep up his communications with France, and, says Davenport Adams, "while France held Italy and the Ionian Islands these could not be interrupted, so long as the British armament in the Mediterranean was kept occupied in watching the movements of the French fleet."

The raison d'etre of Nelson's movements will now be easily seen.

Owing to the shilly-shalling and inactivity of the king of Naples, who would neither move hand nor foot to save himself or help to free Italy, Nelson was very much delayed. Meanwhile St. Vincent was reinforced by ships sent from England. His lordship had previously received word that such reinforcement was about to be dispatched, and therefore he had lost not a moment in getting ready another squadron to send to Nelson's assistance, and this consisted of the most powerful ships under his command, under the best of his captains.

No sooner, therefore, were the outcoming fleet visible off Cadiz Bay, than Troubridge's squadron sailed. It was upon the 9th of June that the hero was joined by this squadron.

Then commenced the great game of hide and seek. Nelson had to solve a puzzle somewhat similar to the pictorial advertisement, in which you are presented with an illustration called "The babes of the wood and cock robin." There lie the babes under the trees quietly enough, with a few leaves over them, but where is cock robin? That is what you have to find out. And here was Nelson with his squadron in the Mediterranean—the Mediterranean was all about him, blue and evident enough, but where was the French fleet? That was what the hero had to find out.

The story of Nelson's search for the enemy would make a very pretty and romantic story all by itself.

Nelson, however, was not a man to be very easily disheartened, so he started in pursuit, if such a blindman's buff could be termed pursuit. He learned that the enemy had been seen off Trapani, in Sicily, in the first week in June, and that they were then steering eastwards away.

Troubridge next found out that they had gone to Malta, and Nelson bore up for that city of tumbledown forts and steps and stairs.

Nelson arrived at Malta just too late. So on the 18th of June he steered for Egypt. Had Nelson only had the frigates with him, which he had lost sight of in that unlucky gale in the Gulf of Lyons, it would not have been difficult now to find the French. On his way to Alexandria, however, he overhauled several merchantmen, but could get no tidings of the enemy.

"Have you seen anything of the French fleet?" was the question that seemed to be always put. "Or you? Or you?"

And the answers were always—

"No, no, no."

"Well, they may be at Alexandria," thought Nelson. He arrived off this city on the 28th of June.

"No," was again the answer to his enquiries; the French had not been seen or heard of.

But the governor had received intelligence that the armament prepared by the French was really intended for Egypt.

"It would have been," says Southey, "Nelson's delight to have tried Bonaparte on a wind. It would have been the delight of Europe too, and the blessing of the world, if that fleet had been overtaken with its general on board. But of the myriads and millions of human beings, who would have been preserved by that day's victory, there is not one to whom such essential benefit would have resulted as to Bonaparte himself. It would have spared him his defeat at Acre—his only disgrace; for to have been defeated by Nelson upon the seas would not have been disgraceful, and it would have spared him all his after enormities.

"Hitherto his—Bonaparte's—career had been glorious, the baneful principles of his heart had never yet passed his lips. History would have represented him as a soldier of fortune, who had faithfully served the cause in which he had engaged, and whose career had been distinguished by a series of successes, unexampled in modern times. A romantic obscurity would have hung over the expedition to Egypt, and he would have escaped the perpetration of those crimes that have incarnadined his soul with a deeper dye than that of the purple for which he committed them—those acts of perfidy, midnight murder, usurpation, and remorseless tyranny, which have consigned his name to universal execration now and for ever."

Not finding the French at Alexandria, Nelson steered north for Caramania, and thence along the shores of Candia, "carrying a press of sail both night and day against a contrary wind."

He next returned towards Sicily, only to find that the Government of Naples were too much afraid of the French to give him any assistance in the shape of water and provisions, without which he could not have continued his pursuit of the enemy.

But Nelson had a friend at Court, and after some little vexatious delay he was permitted to re-victual at Syracuse.

Nelson was glad at heart now, and wrote to Sir William Hamilton, the British Ambassador at Naples, and to Lady Hamilton, as follows: "Thanks to your exertions, we have victualled and watered, and surely, watering at the fountain of Arethusa, we must have victory. We shall sail with the first breeze, and be assured I will return either crowned with laurel or covered with cypress."

He wrote also to St. Vincent, telling him that if the enemy was still above water he should find them; and to the First Lord of the Admiralty, saying, among other things, "but should they be bound to the Antipodes, your lordship may rely upon it that I will not lose a moment in bringing them to action."

* * * * * *

On the 25th of July Nelson got away from Syracuse, and made the Gulf of Coron on the 28th.

One cannot help pitying poor Nelson at this time, lying awake in his bed at night after a few hours of sleep, thinking and worrying till almost ill, asking the officer of the watch again and again what time it was, and peevishly crying, "Will morning never come?"

There was hardly an hour of the day now that he did not lament and bemoan the loss of his frigates, that were no doubt looking for him somewhere, as eager to meet him as he was to catch sight of them.

In this game of hide-and-seek, or blind man's buff, strange as it may seem, the French and British fleets must positively have crossed each other's tracks on the night of June 22nd.

Troubridge now entered the port of Coron, and came back with the news that a whole month before this the French fleet had been observed steering to the south-east from Candia.

Nelson determined, therefore, to once more bear up for Alexandria, convinced in his own mind that the fleet of the enemy would be found there.

Nor was he mistaken.

For on the morning of August the 1st Captain Hood, of the Zealous, hoisted the signal to say he had discovered them.

"Thank God!" said Nelson fervently. "At last!"

He had hardly slept or eaten for a week before this, but to-day he dined with his captains, while preparations for battle were being made. As they rose from the table Nelson exclaimed,

"Before this time to-morrow I shall have gained a peerage or Westminster Abbey!"

CHAPTER V.

THE BATTLE OF THE NILE—HORRORS OF THE
COCKPIT—NELSON WOUNDED.

"Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of the scenery."

Tom Bure and Raventree, after the burning of their ship, and their wonderful deliverance from what seemed the certainty of death, would, upon their arrival on board the flagship of the Earl of St. Vincent, have dearly liked to have been appointed together to the same ship, but this was not to be. Tom Bure had to join Troubridge, of the Culloden, and Raventree was sent on board the Zealous, under Captain Samuel Hood.

On the very morning that the French fleet was discovered, not altogether satisfied with the outlook, Raventree had himself run aloft, and had not been there three minutes before he was able to raise the topgallant masts of the Frenchmen. He immediately hailed the deck, and the glad signal was at once hoisted.

It may be to the advantage of the reader to scan the following lists of the ships, guns, and men of the two fleets that were engaged in

THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.

* The figures and letters prefixed to each vessel marks on the plan its position in the battle.

It is difficult at this date to determine with any degree of exactness what were the orders given to the commander-in-chief of the French fleet by Napoleon Bonaparte. It seems strange that a great soldier and conqueror like him should not have sent away his ships after he had effected his landing, and he accused Brueys, after that unfortunate admiral was killed in the battle of the Nile, of having lingered in Egypt without his orders. The French fleet was sorely enough needed in other directions. It might even have succeeded in raising the blockade of Cadiz.

Be this as it may, here were Brueys and his fleet safely—as the Frenchmen thought—moored in Aboukir Bay; in a line of battle of such strength that one would have thought no three navies in the world could have broken it up.

Brueys would gladly have entered the port of Alexandria, but his ships were too heavy, so he did the next best thing.

A glance at the plan will show how the Frenchmen were positioned in this great fight. But besides the advantage of location, it will be noticed that the enemy had also more ships, more guns, and more men than the British. Brueys might well have felt certain that victory would be his.

Perhaps it was the apparent impregnability of his situation that caused him to wait here for Nelson. He must have known that our hero was headstrong enough to attack him wherever he found him, and that in Aboukir Bay he had a reasonable chance of victory, while in the open sea he would have had none.

I have not the slightest doubt in my own mind that Nelson took into calculation, even before he fell in with the French here, the possibility of their being moored in battle array, just as he found them. Nor do I doubt that an attack, even by Nelson, from the front or in the ordinary way would have been unsuccessful. But Nelson was no ordinary man, and never did attack in any ordinary way. So when he found out how the enemy was moored, it instantly flashed upon him that if the water of the bay between their fleet and the shore was deep enough for such great ships as L'Orient and Le Tonnant to swing, there was room enough for one line of our ships to sail up behind them, as a landsman would call it, and thus attack them on their least prepared side, while another attacked on the outside. These were tactics that Brueys was entirely unprepared for, and never could have even dreamt of. But as it was getting towards evening when our ships hove in sight, Brueys must have also flattered himself that Nelson would not be headstrong enough to attack that night. No, he would assuredly let go anchor, and commence the battle at the earliest dawn of day.

Our hero was never a man to wait, however. "Go at the enemy pell-mell whenever you meet them," was one of his few mottoes, and now he meant to act upon it.

He ordered his ships to form in line-of-battle ahead and astern of the flagship, then signalled to Hood, of the Zealous, to know if there was depth enough of water between the French line of battle and the sandbank. "I do not know," was the reply, "but I shall stand in and see."

The Zealous started at once on her dangerous mission, taking soundings as she went leisurely on.

She cleared the shoal.

With her went the Goliath.

Nelson's signal was, "that the headmost ship should bear down, and engage as she reached the enemy's van, the next ship to pass by and engage the second, the third to pass by and engage the third, and so on."

And one by one our ships took up their positions. The battle began in earnest at half-past six, and in half an hour's time it was pitchy dark.

As long as daylight lasted the streaming flags on our ships could be seen above the white and curling smoke. As soon as night fell each British ship hoisted four horizontal lights at her peak. "The third ship," says Southey, "that doubled the enemy's van was the Orion, Sir F. Saumarez. She passed to windward of the Zealous, and opened her larboard guns as long as they bore on the Guerrier; then, passing inside the Goliath (i.e., 'twixt that ship and the land), sank a frigate that annoyed her, hauled round towards the French line, and anchoring inside, between the fifth and sixth ships from the Guerrier, took her station on the larboard side of Le Franklin (Blanquet's 80-gun ship) and the quarter of the Le Peuple Souverain, receiving and returning the fire of both."

The sun had now nearly sunk.

The Audacious, Captain Gould, pouring a heavy fire into the Guerrier and Conquérant, fixed herself on the larboard side of the latter, and when she struck passed on to Le Peuple Souverain. The Theseus followed, brought down the Guerrier's remaining masts, the main and mizen, then anchored inside the Spartiate, the third in the French line.

So much for the inner or land side of the enemy's fleet. What about the outer?

"While," continues Southey, "these advanced ships doubled the French line, the Vanguard was the first that anchored on the outer side of the enemy within half a pistol shot of the Spartiate. He veered half a cable, and instantly opened a tremendous fire, under cover of which the other four ships of his division, the Minotaur, Bellerophon, Defence, and Majestic, sailed on ahead of the admiral."

Captain Louis, in the Minotaur, anchored next ahead, and took off the fire of the Aquilon, the fourth in the enemy's line. So terrible had the fire of this ship been that fifty of the Vanguard's men were killed or wounded in a few minutes. But bold Louis quickly quieted her.

The Bellerophon, Captain Darby, passed ahead and dropped her stern anchor on the starboard bow of the Orient, seventh in the line.

Captain Peyton, in the Defence, took his station ahead of the Minotaur, and engaged the Franklin, the sixth in the line; by which judicious arrangement the British line remained unbroken.

The Majestic, Captain Westcott, got entangled in the main rigging of one of the enemy's ships astern of the Orient, and suffered dreadfully from that three-decker's fire; but she swung clear, and closely engaging the Heureux, the ninth ship on the starboard bow, received also the fire of the Tonnant, which was the eighth in the line.

The other four ships of the squadron, having been detached previous to the discovery of the French, were at a considerable distance when the action began.

Troubridge, in the Culloden, was nearest, however, though some five miles away. He was very unfortunate, and ran fast aground. The Leander and Mutine came to his assistance, but were unable to get him off. The Alexander and Swiftsure, however, kept off the reef, entered the bay, and commenced the battle in a most masterly and seaman-like fashion.

Of all our ships perhaps the Bellerophon suffered the worst. The Swiftsure met her staggering out of the line, and at first took her for a strange sail, for she carried not the four horizontal lights. In fact these had been shot away, with all her masts and cables, while nearly 200 of her brave crew were either killed or wounded.

The Swiftsure took her place against the Orient, which had done the mischief.

The last to come into action was the Leander, which she did as soon as she found she could be of no service to poor Troubridge. She took up a position boldly, so that she could rake both the Orient and the Franklin.

So speedy, determined, and terrible upon the whole was the attack of the British upon the French line of battle, and so completely were Nelson's instructions carried out on both the inner and outside of the lint that victory was a matter of certainty in a very short time.

In less than fifteen minutes the two ships first in the French line were dismasted, and at half-past eight the third, fourth, and fifth were taken.

When we remember that in a very few minutes after the Vanguard, Nelson's ship, took up her position every man at the six guns in the fore part of the vessel was either killed or wounded, and that these guns were several times cleared we can easily believe that down in the ghastly cockpit the surgeons were busy enough at their terrible work.

Do not forget, reader, that there was no chloroform in those days, no way of producing insensibility or of conquering pain, and the brave men who fell on deck were dragged or carried below bleeding and sick, often to endure such agonies of pain as only medical men who have seen gunshot wounds can realise.

At best the cockpit of an old-fashioned man-of-war ship is but a stuffy place, and during a battle it would be stifling as well as stuffy. As soon as the orders were given to clear for action, or go to quarters, all was bustle and stir with the surgeons as with others. They had their attendants, and "the idlers"—so called—of the ship were all requisitioned to assist them—spare clerks, &c.

Although the space between decks was so low that an ordinary sized man had to stoop as he walked along, to save his head from being knocked against the beams or bolts, there was usually plenty of length and breadth of beam also, in the cockpit or orlop deck.

Lanterns too were hung here and there in abundance, and there were carrying lanterns as well, sometimes even naked lights.

The operating table was placed pretty near to the foot of the main hatch ladder well aft, and close to it the tool table. On this last was laid out in order every instrument that was likely to be of service, with plenty of bandages, splints, lint, and tow, with ointment for dressings, &c. On the deck near to this table were placed buckets of water and bottles of wine, brandy, or rum, so positioned that they would neither be in the way nor liable to fall over with any sudden motion of the ship.

When all was ready the doctors had only to wait as coolly as they could. The waiting for the first shot was the worst of it. When the battle was once begun it was not long before the shuffling of feet overhead, and the unsteady steps of bearers at the top of the stairs told of a coming case. As often as not blood came pattering down first, but blood is nothing to a surgeon in working dress. So the wound, ghastly though it might be, was soon seen to, and temporarily dressed, and the moaning patient laid down near the bulkheads. Then cases begin to come down thick and fast. Smoke too, and the suffocating after-damp of the battle fill the cockpit, the lanterns burn dimly, the heat is overpowering almost. The doctors are busy enough now. They throw off their garments, they roll up their sleeves, their hands and arms are encarnadined, their faces and hair bespattered with blood, but quietly and firmly they work, and all as gently as may be. Many a soothing word of kindness helps to rally a fainting heart, and they give hope even in cases they know are dangerous.

But, oh, the heat and the smoke and the stifling odour! The decks all around are slippery with blood, which the sprinkled sawdust is not sufficient to absorb. There are moans and cries and pitying appeals for help and water—water—water—coming from every direction. The very water itself is oftentimes red with blood.

Fainting patients need wine, or even brandy; and but for that wine and brandy very often the surgeons themselves would faint with very fatigue and want of air.

A surgeon's operating tent in the rear of a field of battle may be a sad and fearful sight; but in horrors it could not be compared to the cockpit of an old seventy-four while a fight like that of the Nile was raging overhead.

It was into the midst of just such a scene as I have but too feebly depicted that Nelson, wounded and bleeding, was carried during the night of this glorious but fearful battle.

The loss of blood has a paralysing effect upon the nerves and spirits of a wounded man. It is doubly so if he can feel the blood all about him—feel soaked in it, swamped in it, without being able to see.

That was Nelson's plight. The piece of shot had struck him on the forehead, and the flap of skin and flesh hung over his one remaining eye, entirely blinding him.

Nelson believed himself dying.

But not even the darkness of what seemed approaching death could daunt the heart of the hero.

The chief surgeon would have left his other patients unattended for a time to see to Nelson's wound, but he would not hear of it for a moment.

"No," he cried, "I will take my turn with my brave fellows."

And at last that turn came; and even the wounded and the dying raised a cheer when they heard the wound, despite the amount of blood lost, was only superficial.

CHAPTER VI.

THE BURNING OF THE "ORIENT"—A HEART OF OAK.

                                            "All is wail
As they strike the shattered sail,
    Or in conflagration pale
                Light the gloom."

From seven till eight o'clock the scene of conflict must have been appalling in the extreme. No wonder that Arabs gathered on the beach, and stood in groups looking on, awestruck and silent. What sounds those spectators must have heard—the continued thunder of the great guns, the roar and rattle of langridge and grape, the crashing of broken timbers, the shouting of orders, and often the shrieks of the wounded rising high above the din of battle! And what sights must have been presented to their view—the quick, angry flash of cannon, lighting up the darkness of the night; lighting up the bleak, bristling sides of the huge ships; luridly lighting up the clouds of white smoke that at times quite hid the upper decks; and lighting up the sea with a crimson glare, so that even floating spars were visible; aye, and drowning men, with all the debris of great ships in action.

To an onlooker upon the beach all would appear fearful confusion and chaos. It would indeed seem almost impossible that anyone should come unscathed from such an awful scene of battle.

Yet every Heart of Oak in those British ships knew his duty, and was bravely doing it, and continued to do it, unless shot down.

And no one acted more bravely or coolly that night than young Lord Raventree of the Zealous. Men and officers too fell bleeding at his side. That such sights affected him there cannot be a doubt, but they failed to daunt his extraordinary courage. He was here, there, and everywhere in his battery, issuing his orders as unfalteringly as if the battle were a mere parade, his very presence seeming to give additional courage to the half-naked and smoke-begrimed men who so bravely obeyed his orders.

But more than once during the battle Raventree found time to think for a moment of his friend Tom Bure. Little did he know—he was too busy to know anything save what was going on around him—that poor Tom's ship had gone on shore, and that he and all on board could be but spectators in the battle that was raging so near them.

Incidents of this memorable fight, and individual instances of courage, could be related by the score, but space forbids.

Just a word about Nelson, however. His restless spirit could ill brook being below. Superficial though his wound was, important arteries were cut through, and unless he could be induced to lie down and keep still, there was great danger. Even before the surgeon's verdict was given he sent for Mr. Capel, his first lieutenant, and ordered him off in the jollyboat to fetch Captain Louis, of the Minotaur, that he might thank him for his gallant and meritorious service. At this time Nelson believed himself to be dying. "It is the hundredth and twenty-fourth time," he said, "that I have been engaged, but I believe it is now nearly over with me."

The meeting with Louis was of a most affecting character, the brave captain of the Minotaur hanging over his blind and bleeding friend in grief that precluded any attempt at words. "Farewell, dear Louis," said Nelson, "I shall never, should I live, forget the obligation I am under to you for your brave and generous conduct, and now, whatever may become of me, my mind is at peace."

Everything points to the conclusion that the great hero's mind at this time must have been a perfect whirl of emotions. It is said that even after his wound had been dressed, and he had sent for his chaplain and his secretary, the one to attend to his orders, the other to administer some spiritual comfort, he desired to be led on deck once more, that he might behold that awful conflagration—the burning of the Orient.

This ship was in the midst of the fight till her destruction, and bravely indeed had she been handled. It is said that a little before nine o'clock the men of the Swiftsure detected "signs of fire in her mizenchains, and pointed their guns towards the spot with terrible effect; and the flames glided swiftly along the deck and ran up the masts, and wreathed the yards and flickered upon the shrouds, throwing an awful glare on the dense clouds of battle, and distinctly defining, as in the pageantry of a festal illumination, the spars and rigging of the contending warships."

Says Clark Russell, in the poetic imaginings of which he is a past-master: "Fore and aft the flames were waving in forks and living sheets, and leaping on high as though from the heart of some mighty volcano. She had ceased to fire, her sprit-sail yard and bowsprit were crowded with men, who continued to crawl out, blackening those spars like flies, as the raging fire grew. By the wild mast-high flames the whole scene of battle was as visible as by the light of the noontide sun. The colours of the flags of the ships could be easily distinguished. Every rope, every spar, the forms of the half-naked crews, smoke-blackened and in active motion, the land beyond, with all details of the island-fortress and of the distant, rearmost ships, were startlingly visible by the glow of the burning ship, the brilliancy of which was that of the conflagration of a city.

"Shortly after ten the great ship blew up. The explosion was like that of an earthquake. The concussion swept through every seam, joint, and timber of the nearest ships with the sensation as though the solid fabrics were crumbling into staves under the feet of the seamen. The sight was blackened as if by a lightning stroke, and the instant the prodigious glare of the explosion had passed, the darkness of the night seemed to roll down in folds of ink upon the vision of the seamen."

Says another eloquent writer, and what writer is not eloquent on such a subject as this?—"The whole sky was blotched with the corpses of men, like the stones of a crater cast upward, and the sheet of fire behind them showed their arms, their bodies, and streaming hair. Then, with a hiss like electric hail, from a mile's height all came down again, corpses first and timber next, and then the great spars that had streaked the sky like rockets."

The dread silence that followed lasted for nearly a quarter of an hour. Meanwhile boats from various ships were generously lowered to pick up the survivors, and thus nearly eighty were saved.

But where was Admiral Brueys? Poor, brave fellow, he had been dead before the fire broke out. Twice had he been wounded; but he stuck to his place, till a shot almost cut him in two.

When they would have carried him below, "No," he cried; "let me die on my quarter-deck, as becomes the admiral of a French fleet."

Among those who perished was Commodore Casabianca and his faithful little son, a lad of barely eleven years of age, who died, if not on the quarterdeck, at least by his father's side, who it is said by some authorities was wounded and below at the time of the explosion.

That rough iconoclast, the dissecting critic, endeavours to dispel all romance from the beautiful story, immortalised by Mrs. Heman's verses.

I prefer to believe with the poetess, rather than to sneer with the saucy critic.

"CASABIANCA.

"The boy stood on the burning deck,
    Whence all but him had fled;
The flames that lit the battle's wreck
    Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
    As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
    A proud though childlike form.

"The flames rolled on—he would not go
    Without his father's word;
That father faint on deck below,
    His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud, 'Say, father, say,
    If yet my task is done!'
He knew not that the chieftain lay
    Unconscious of his son.

"'Speak, father,' once again he cried,
    'If I may yet be gone';
But now the booming shots replied,
    And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
    And on his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
    In still but brave despair;

"And shouted but once more aloud,
    'My father, must I stay?'
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
    The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
    They caught the flag on high,
They streamed above the gallant child
    Like meteors in the sky.

"Then came a burst of thunder-sound.
    The boy—oh, where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around
    With fragments strewed the sea,
With mast and helm and pennon fair
    That well had borne their part;
But the noblest thing that perished there
    Was that young and faithful heart."

* * * * * *

The firing was re-commenced, it is said, by the French ship Franklin; and the battle raged until about five o'clock in the morning, with brief spells of intermission, as when the men of the Alexander, by leave of their captain, threw themselves down beside their guns and slept for twenty minutes. The Alexander was at that time lying close to a French eighty-four that she had been engaging in deadly conflict. The men of the latter were also exhausted, and sunk to sleep; so that side by side, it may be said, rested French and British.

When dawn of day began to glimmer faintly in the east there were but two ships of the French line that had their colours flying—the Guillaume Tell and Généreux. They were the two rear ships, and had not been engaged. They soon cut their cables, however, and stood out to sea. With them went two frigates.

Raventree was the first to report their intentions to the captain of the Zealous, and he at once hoisted sail, and stood after them in pursuit. But there being no other of our ships in a condition for fast sailing, the signal was hoisted for his recall.

Thus ended the great battle of the Nile, "the most complete and glorious in the annals of naval warfare."

Our loss was indeed heavy, amounting, in killed and wounded, to 895.

Of the French 3,105, including the wounded, were sent on shore by cartel (an agreement with an enemy having reference to exchange of prisoners), and 5,225 perished.

As Nelson himself said, "Victory is not a name strong enough for such a scene, it is a conquest."

The only British captain who fell was gallant Westcott. He was indeed

A HEART OF OAK.

Westcott was born among the green lanes of romantic Devon, and in very humble life too. His father was a baker, and not burdened with too much of this world's wealth, and his son assisted him in his business while still a little lad. He used to be sent frequently on messages to a mill in the neighbourhood. The miller, as millers often are, was a good-natured jovial fellow, but one day when young Ben went to execute some commission for his father he found not only the miller, but the miller's-man, pulling very long faces indeed.

"We can't send the flour to-day," the boy was told. "Perhaps not to-morrow either. We've had a rope broken, and the working of the mill is quite thrown out of gear."

"But why not splice it?" said young Westcott.

The miller laughed.

"Who's to do a job like that?" he said.

"Why, I will," was the boy's bold reply.

The miller caught him by the shoulder, and pointed upwards to where the broken ends of the rope were dangling.

"You'd have to be hoisted up there, my boy," he said, "among the pulleys and wheels and things, and ten to one you'd come down by the run, and break your neck."

"I can splice that rope," said Ben determinedly, "if you'll let me try."

"Let the lad try," pleaded the miller's man, and the master then consented.

The boy, with deft fingers and the aid of a marlin-spike, worked away for an hour or two, and lo! the rope was as good as ever.

"And a jolly sight better," said the merry miller.

"I tell you what it is, Ben," he added, "a lad like you is too good for the shore. You're a sailor born, and ought to be fighting the French."

"I'd fight them fast enough," said the boy, "but I don't see a chance."

"I'll get you a chance, lad," said the miller.

And he soon did.

Westcott entered his Majesty's service afloat as a humble cabin boy. But so clever did he soon prove himself to be, and so unflagging in his zeal and attachment to duty, that he soon found himself a midshipman. For, mind you, boys, in those dashing days of war, talent was never allowed to wear itself away before the mast, if it could be found of service on the quarterdeck.

Young Westcott's advancement went on with rapid strides after this, and at the battle of the Nile he commanded the Majestic, and fell fighting like a true hero. His ship alone had 50 killed and 143 wounded.

This baker boy with heart of oak has a monument erected to him, at the public expense, in St. Paul's, which any other boy of the present day who desires to emulate his deeds may see if he has a mind.

* * * * *

Thanksgiving to Almighty God, who had so blessed his Majesty's arms, was returned by the whole fleet at the same time. And solemn and impressive such a service must have been on decks still slippery with the blood of the fallen, and sad evidence of the battle on every hand.

* * * * *

I have always considered that trophy of the great battle which was afterwards presented to Nelson as a very ghastly one. The Swiftsure had picked up a portion of the Orient's main-mast, and from it Captain Hallowell ordered his carpenter to fashion a beautiful coffin, and this was sent to Nelson.

"Sir," ran the letter that accompanied the memento mori, "I have taken the liberty of presenting you with a coffin, made from the main-mast of L'Orient, that, when you have finished your military career in this world, you may be buried in one of your trophies, but that that period may be far distant is the earnest wish of your sincere friend, BENJ. HALLOWELL."

It shows how little fear of death Nelson had, and how far from being superstitious he was, that he ordered the coffin to be placed behind his chair upright in his cabin.

He was afterwards buried in it.

There are a few words in the above letter of Captain Hallowell's that strike one as strange, if not indeed amusing; viz., these, "When you have finished your military career in this world." Did honest, bluff Ben. Hallowell think that—with all reverence be it said—Nelson would recommence to fight the French in the next?

* * * * *

Immediately after the battle or conquest Nelson had once again to lament the loss of his frigates. Had he been possessed of these I doubt not he would have entered the port, and burned all the French stores and storeships.

"Were I to die at this moment," he is reported to have said, "the loss of frigates would be found engraven on my heart."

CHAPTER VII.

FACE TO FACE WITH THE DANISH SHIPS.

"Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe,
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow,
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow."

The British nation that possibly—very probably indeed—would have shot our hero, Nelson, had he lost the Battle of the Nile, now presented him with the title of Baron.

He was once more the people's darling.

Could the British nation have done less?

"It was this battle," says Graviére, "which for two years delivered up the Mediterranean to the power of Britain; summoned thither the Russian squadrons, left the French army isolated amidst a hostile population; decided Turkey in declaring against it; saved India from French enterprise; and brought France within a hair's-breadth of her ruin, by reviving the smouldering flames of war with Austria, and bringing Suwarrow and the Austro-Russians to the French frontiers.

* * * * *

Honours from all directions fell thick and fast upon our naval hero; yet amid all this glory, what Nelson longed for more than anything else perhaps was rest.

He was now on his way back to Naples, but his long exertions began to tell upon his never very strong system. He was, while yet at sea, seized with a fever, and for eighteen hours his noble life was despaired of. Even after he got over the crisis, he writes thus despondingly to St. Vincent:

"I never expect, my dear lord, to see your face again. It may please God that this will be the finish to that fever of anxiety which I have endured from the middle of June. But be that as it pleases His goodness."

However, Nelson was destined to live to accomplish still further triumphs, as we soon shall see.

As to his doings in the Mediterranean after the Battle of the Nile; of his return to Naples; of the rejoicing, pomp, and panoply with which he was received there; of his private opinion of this corruptest of Courts; of all his sieges and all his successes until his return to England, history must inform you, reader; but the whole story reads like one long delightful romance, all the more delightful of course in that it is true.

* * * * *

The curtain falls for a time on this life-drama, and our heroes leave the stage for refreshment. As far as fêtes and feasts were concerned, Nelson was very much refreshed indeed; and so in those times was every officer, ay, and every tar, who had been at the Battle of the Nile.

But soon the curtain rises again, and we behold a great fleet departing from Yarmouth Roads, under the command of Admiral Sir Hyde Parker in the London, 98 guns, with Nelson as his second in command in the St. George, also of 98 guns.

They are bound for the North this time, our gallant ships; but whither and why? A question that a sentence can answer. In fact, it can be answered in the refrain of the good old song:

"Britons never shall be slaves."

Three Northern nations had formed a league to make us slaves, at least to wrench from the grasp of Britannia the sceptre of her rule over the waves.

Just think for a moment, reader, of the terrible combination that was now formed against us. Russia, with 82 ships of the line and 40 frigates; Denmark, French at heart, with 23 ships and 31 frigates; and Sweden, with 18 ships and 14 frigates.

Our Government had boldly determined to resist this combination, and crush it. A braver man than Hyde Parker they could not have had, but Nelson ought to have been chief, for he was a born commander.

And so on the 12th of March, 1801, the fleet sailed away.

Their country had forgotten neither Tom Bure nor Raventree. They were both now commanders, although Tom was only in his twenty-first year.

They had spent some time at home, however, and a right happy time it had been.

There was no change in Dan, but poor old Meg, the faithful collie, would never meet Tom again. She was buried with all honours in a grave dug for her on the green grassy lawn where she used to lie in the summer days near her dear old master, Uncle Bob.

All was the same at the Hall, as well as at the cottage, except that Bertha seemed to have grown quite up, and was a child no more.

Not only she, but her mother and Dan drove to Yarmouth to see the great fleet sail away towards the cold, inhospitable North, and there were tears in Bertha's beautiful eyes as she bade her old friend Tom farewell. Merryweather—the same old Merryweather—was there also, and no less a personage than Captain Hughes, of the Yarmouth Belle, who made the departure of our hero Tom a "most auspicious occasion" for splicing the main-brace, not once, but three separate times.

Sir Hyde Parker was just a little nervous at starting; he was candid enough to tell Nelson so. Only he added: "It is no time for nervous systems, and icebergs or no icebergs, we shall, I trust, give our Northern enemies that hailstorm of bullets which gives our dear country the dominion of the sea. We have it, and all the devils in the North cannot take it from us if our ships have but fair play."

You have heard, reader, of the "gallant good Riou." He was captain of the Amazon, and when some Danes who were aboard went to him, saying that they had no desire to quit the British service, but were unwilling to fight against their country, Riou, instead of snubbing them as some captains would have done, acceded to their request, and transferred them. Indeed, so affected was he by their speech that the tears stood in his eyes. For the brave are ever generous and kind.

* * * * *

It seemed indeed as if Heaven fought on our side in this great expedition, for the weather was milder than had been remembered for many a year, so that fields of ice and bergs floated only in the dreams of Sir Hyde Parker.

The reader, however, must not jump to the conclusion that it was all plain sailing with Sir Hyde and Nelson. Very far from it indeed. Nor was it wind and weather only, but the dangers of straits, and banks, and shoals that they had to contend against. Yet Nelson would have made light of all these, and of the enemy's ships as well, had it not been for the attempts at negotiation that had to go on with the Danes the while precious time was being lost, and the armaments of the foe were getting stronger and stronger every day.

The first thing to annoy and fret poor brave Nelson was the circumstance that the fleet was to anchor out of sight of the Danes, till the negotiations were at an end. Red tape again!

"I hate your pen-and-ink men," he cried impatiently. "A fleet of British ships makes the best negotiators in the world. They always speak to be understood, and their arguments carry conviction to the very hearts of our foes."

When our fleet was off Elsinore—Nelson had by this time changed his flag to a handier and better ship, the Elephant—the admiral forced the passage of the Sound. The forts fired on them, it is true, but it is said that never a shot touched a ship.

The fleet then anchored near Huën, an island about fifteen miles from Copenhagen; and Nelson, with Colonel Stewart, Admiral Graves, and others, went in a lugger called the Lark to reconnoitre.

They found that the defences were of all sorts, and fearful to behold. To begin with, there was the exceeding difficulty of approach, for the buoys on all the shoals had been taken up or shifted by the Danes. Then there was the great Danish fleet to encounter, drawn up in a line that extended for a mile and a half in front of the entrance to the harbour. The ships were flanked by strong batteries, while batteries bristled all along the shore.

The Danish forces then consisted of the fleet, which was moored close to the city, six line-of-battle ships, eleven strong floating batteries, gun brigs, a bomb vessel, supported by batteries on the Crown Islands, and four sail of the line drawn up across the harbour mouth, which was also protected by a great chain. The whole of the Danish protective armament, including hulks, batteries, and ships, from end to end, was about four miles in length.

But in order to get near this terrible array of defences, the attacking force would have to be navigated through a most intricate passage among the shoals.

Nelson's greatest trouble was to get safely through this natural deep-water canal.

On the 31st a great council of war was held, to take into consideration the best mode of attacking the place, as the negotiations had fallen through.

Nervous active men, in contradistinction to the slower and plethoric class, have been termed the "salt of the earth." Nelson then might well have been called the "salt of the sea." At this council, which was not "fast" enough for him by a deal, he kept pacing up and down the cabin deck, shaking his "flipper," as the sailors called it, meaning the stump of his arm. It must have been a grand sight to behold, and to note his glances of withering scorn at anyone who for a moment doubted the success of his plans.

And the refrain of Nelson's song at this council was, "Let me have but ten line of battle ships, and the smaller craft, and the battle is ours."

Sir Hyde Parker took him at his word.

Twelve ships he gave him, instead of ten, and also gave him carte blanche to carry out this detached service as he thought best.

Nelson was as happy now as a nervous man can ever be.

Denmark's fleet he looked upon as already in his power. The Russians and Swedes would be smashed next. He hadn't forgotten them.

But there was much to be done before this battle even began. Misplaced buoys must be re-adjusted along the channel, and during all that night of the 31st—and a bitterly cold one it was—he rowed about with Captain Brisbane, of the Cruiser, in his open boat surveying the channel.

Personal experience of this work in sunny seas has proved to me how tedious and wearisome it is; but how much more so must it have been to our hero by night, in that almost Arctic climate.

Despite this, however, the work was satisfactorily accomplished.

Next day the whole fleet moved close up to the great shoal, with its middle channel, to which the Danes trusted as really their first line of defence.

Narrow though the channel was, and light though the breeze, the division under Nelson, headed by brave Riou, in the Amazon, went safely in, and at dusk anchored near Point Draco.

"Here," says Clark Russell, "the narrowness of the waters as an anchoring ground brought the ships into a huddle, and infinite mischief might have been done to the British had the Danes taken advantage of the crowded state of the fleet, by sending shells amongst the ships, from mortar boats and the batteries of Amak Island."

Captain Hardy, we are told, who was amongst those who up to a late hour that night were taking soundings, rowed under the very shadow of the Danes' leading ship, and felt the bottom of the water with a pole.

To Nelson's great joy, Hardy and the rest returned with the tidings that there was depth enough of water for our ships to range themselves in battle array, between the great shoal they had passed through and the defences of the enemy.

* * * *

As usual, Nelson's chief officers, including Hardy, Foley, Graves, Fremantle, Riou, &c., dined with him on the eve of the battle, and the hero was in the highest of spirits.

Riou and Foley remained with Nelson to plan details after the others had gone, and the great fight was commenced next morning, the ships filing into line, and taking up their positions with steadiness and precision, despite the extreme difficulty of navigating great vessels in a place like this.

Both the Bellona and the Russell went aground.

"Yet never," says Clark Russell, "had British seamanship found finer illustrations of its capacity of daring and skill than in the manner in which the vessels of the division calculated their stations, in a channel bewildering with its complicated and perilous navigation."

Face to face with the foe at last.

Beam to beam with the Danish ships, and the battle at once began.