THRICE UPON TRAFALGAR

Alexandre Dumas in chapter CXVI of Memoirs of a Favourite. Pairings: Horatio Nelson/Thomas Hardy:

Cependant les deux flottes se rapprochaient l’une de l’autre. En ce moment solennel qui précéda une des plus terribles rencontres qui aient jamais épouvanté la mer, chaque commandant en chef donna son mot d’ordre. L’amiral français dit à ses capitaines : — On ne doit point attendre les signaux de l’amiral, qui, dans la confusion du combat, peuvent ne pas être vus ; mais chacun doit écouter la voix de l’honneur et se porter où le péril est le plus grand. Tout capitaine est à son poste s’il est au feu. Du côté des Anglais, tous les yeux étaient fixés sur le vaisseau amiral pour y lire le mot d’ordre, déjà distribué à bord de l’escadre unie. On vit alors monter au sommet du grand mât du Victory un écriteau portant cette laconique harangue :

ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY MAN WILL DO HIS DUTY !

Le bon génie de Nelson n’avait point paru.

Il était une heure après-midi, et l’on se trouvait à la hauteur du cap Trafalgar quand le feu commença. Nelson était vêtu d’un habit bleu ; il portait sur sa poitrine les décorations de l’ordre du Bain, de Ferdinand et du Mérite ; celle de Joachim, celle de l’ordre de Malte, et, enfin, le Croissant ottoman. Ce chamarrage de sa poitrine devait le rendre naturellement le point de mire de tous les coups ; le capitaine Hardy voulut lui faire mettre un autre habit.

— Il est trop tard, dit Nelson ; on m’a vu avec celui-là.

Le combat était horrible : quatre bâtiments s’éventraient à bout portant, le Victory, le Redoutable, le Bucentaure et le Téméraire.

Le premier qui tomba à bord du Victory fut le secrétaire de Nelson ; il fut coupé en deux par un boulet tandis qu’il causait avec le capitaine Hardy. Comme Nelson aimait beaucoup ce jeune homme, Hardy fit aussitôt enlever son corps afin que la vue du cadavre n’attristât point l’amiral.

Presque au même instant, deux boulets ramés jetèrent sur le pont huit hommes coupés par le milieu du corps.

— Oh ! oh ! dit Nelson, voilà un feu trop vif pour qu’il puisse durer longtemps.

Il achevait à peine ces mots que le vent d’un boulet de canon qui passait devant sa bouche lui coupa la respiration et manqua de l’asphyxier. Il s’accrocha au bras d’un de ses lieutenants, demeura pendant une minute chancelant et suffoqué ; puis, revenant à lui :

— Ce n’est rien, dit-il, ce n’est rien !

Ce feu durait depuis vingt minutes à peu près, lorsque Nelson tomba sur le pont, comme foudroyé.

Il était une heure un quart précise.

Une balle, partie de la hune de misaine du Redoutable, l’avait frappé de haut en bas, et, plongeant à travers l’épaule gauche sans être amortie par l’épaulette, était allée briser la colonne vertébrale. Il se trouvait à l’endroit même où avait été frappé son secrétaire et était tombé la face dans son sang.

Il essaya de se relever sur un genou en s’aidant de la main gauche.

Hardy, qui était à deux pas de lui, se précipita, et, aidé de deux matelots et du sergent Seeker, le remit sur les pieds.

— J’espère, milord, lui dit-il, que vous n’êtes point gravement blessé.

Mais Nelson répondit :

— Cette fois, Hardy, ils en ont fini avec moi.

— Oh ! j’espère que non ! s’écria le capitaine.

— Si fait, dit Nelson ; j’ai senti, à l’ébranlement de tout mon corps, que j’avais la colonne vertébrale atteinte.

Hardy ordonna aussitôt d’emporter l’amiral au poste des blessés.

Pendant que les marins le transportaient, Nelson s’aperçut que les cordages au moyen desquels on faisait manœuvrer le timon avaient été rompus par la mitraille ; il le fit observer au capitaine Hardy et ordonna à un midshipman de substituer des cordes neuves aux cordes rompues.

Ces ordres donnés, il tira son mouchoir de sa poche et en couvrit son visage et ses décorations pour que ses marins ne le reconnussent point et ignorassent qu’il était blessé.

Quand on l’eut descendu dans l’entre-pont, M. Beatty, le chirurgien du bord, accourut pour lui porter secours.

— Oh ! mon cher Beatty, dit Nelson, quelle que soit votre science, vous ne pouvez rien pour moi : j’ai la colonne vertébrale brisée.

— J’espère que la blessure n’est point aussi grave que le pense Votre Seigneurie, dit le chirurgien.

En ce moment, le révérend M. Scott, chapelain du Victory, s’approcha aussi de milord, qui le reconnut et lui cria d’une voix entrecoupée par la douleur et pourtant pleine de force :

— Mon révérend, rappelez-moi à lady Hamilton, rappelez-moi à Horatia, rappelez-moi à tous mes amis ; dites-leur que j’ai fait mon testament, et que je lègue à mon pays lady Hamilton et ma fille Horatia... Retenez bien ce que je vous dis à cette heure, et ne l’oubliez jamais !...

Nelson fut porté sur un lit ; on lui tira à grand’peine son habit, et on le couvrit d’un drap. Pendant qu’on accomplissait cette opération, il dit au chapelain :

— Docteur, je suis perdu ! docteur, je suis mort ! M. Beatty examina la blessure ; il assura à Nelson qu’il pourrait la sonder sans lui causer une grande douleur ; il la sonda, en effet, et reconnut que la balle avait pénétré dans la poitrine et ne s’était arrêtée qu’à l’épine dorsale.

— Je suis sûr, dit Nelson, tandis qu’on le sondait, que j’ai le corps percé de part en part.

Le docteur examina le dos, il était intact.

— Vous vous trompez, milord, dit-il. Mais essayez de m’expliquer ce que vous éprouvez.

— Je sens, reprit le blessé, comme un flot de sang qui monte à chaque respiration... La partie inférieure de mon corps est comme morte... Je respire difficilement, et, quoique vous disiez le contraire, je maintiens que j’ai l’épine dorsale brisée.

Ces symptômes indiquèrent au chirurgien qu’il ne fallait conserver aucune espérance ; seulement, la gravité de la blessure ne fut connue de personne à bord, excepté du chirurgien, du capitaine Hardy, du chapelain et de deux aides chirurgiens.

Essayons d’aller jusqu’au bout.

L’équipage du Victory poussait un hourra de joie à chaque fois qu’un bâtiment français amenait son pavillon, et, à chacun de ses hourras, Nelson, oubliant sa blessure, demandait avec anxiété :

— Qu’y a-t-il ?

Alors on lui disait la cause de ces cris ; le blessé en éprouvait une grande satisfaction.

Il souffrait d’une soif ardente, et souvent demandait à boire, et priait qu’on l’éventât avec un éventail de papier.

Comme il aimait tendrement le capitaine Hardy, il ne cessait de manifester des craintes pour la vie de cet officier.

Le chapelain et M. Beatty le rassuraient ou plutôt essayaient de le rassurer sur ce point ; ils expédiaient au capitaine Hardy message sur message pour lui dire que l’amiral désirait le voir, et le blessé, ne le voyant pas venir, s’écriait dans son impatience :

— Vous ne voulez pas me faire venir Hardy... Je suis sûr qu’il est mort !

Enfin, une heure dix minutes après que Nelson avait été blessé, le capitaine Hardy descendit dans l’entre-pont ; l’amiral, en l’apercevant, poussa une exclamation de joie, lui serra affectueusement la main et lui dit :

— Eh bien, Hardy, comment va la bataille ? comment va la journée pour nous ?

— Bien ! très-bien, milord ! répondit le capitaine. Nous avons déjà pris douze bâtiments.

— J’espère qu’aucun des nôtres n’a amené son pavillon ?

— Non, milord, aucun !

Alors, rassuré de ce côté, Nelson revint sur lui-même, et, poussant un soupir :

— Je suis un homme mort, Hardy, et je m’en vais à grands pas. Tout sera bientôt fini pour moi. Approchez-vous, mon ami.

Puis, à voix basse :

— Je vous prie d’une chose, Hardy, reprit-il. Après ma mort, coupez mes cheveux pour ma chère lady Hamilton, et donnez-lui tout ce qui m’aura appartenu...

— Je viens de causer avec le chirurgien, interrompit Hardy : il a bon espoir de vous conserver à la vie.

— Non, Hardy, non, répliqua Nelson, n’essayez point de me tromper ; j’ai le dos brisé. Le devoir rappelait Hardy sur le pont ; il y monta, après avoir serré la main du blessé.

Nelson demanda de nouveau le chirurgien. Celui-ci était occupé près du lieutenant William Rivers, qui avait eu une jambe emportée ; il accourut néanmoins, disant que ses aides suffiraient à achever le pansement.

— Je voulais seulement avoir des nouvelles de mes malheureux compagnons, dit Nelson ; quant à moi, docteur, je n’ai plus besoin de vous. Allez ! allez ! Je vous ai dit que j’avais perdu toute sensibilité dans la partie inférieure de mon corps, et vous savez bien que, dans ma position, on ne peut vivre longtemps.

Ces trois mots que je souligne ne laissèrent aucun doute au chirurgien sur l’intention de lord Nelson : il faisait allusion à un pauvre diable qui, quelques mois auparavant, avait reçu, à bord du Victory, une blessure dans des conditions pareilles à la sienne ; et il avait suivi sur ce malheureux les progrès de la mort avec la même curiosité que s’il eût pu deviner que cette mort était celle qui l’attendait.

Le chirurgien dit alors à Nelson :

— Milord, laissez-moi vous palper.

Et, en effet, il toucha les extrémités inférieures, qui étaient déjà privées de sentiment et comme mortes.

— Oh ! reprit Nelson, je sais bien ce que je dis, allez ! Scott et Burke m’ont déjà touché comme vous le faites, et je ne les ai pas plus sentis que je ne vous sens... Je meurs, Beatty, je meurs !

— Milord, répliqua le chirurgien, malheureusement, je ne puis plus rien pour vous !

Et, en faisant cette suprême déclaration, il se retourna afin de cacher ses larmes.

— Je le savais, dit Nelson. Je sens quelque chose qui se soulève dans ma poitrine. Et il mit la main sur le point qu’il indiquait.

— Grâce à Dieu, murmura-t-il, j’ai fait mon devoir !

Le docteur, ne pouvant plus donner aucun soulagement à l’amiral, alla porter ses soins à d’autres blessés ; mais presque aussitôt revint le capitaine Hardy, qui, avant de quitter pour la seconde fois le pont, avait envoyé le lieutenant Hills porter la terrible nouvelle à l’amiral Collingwood.

Hardy félicita Nelson d’avoir, quoique déjà dans les bras de la mort, remporté une victoire complète et décisive, et lui annonça qu’autant qu’il pouvait en juger, quinze vaisseaux français étaient en ce moment au pouvoir de la flotte anglaise.

— J’eusse parié pour vingt ! dit Nelson.

Puis, tout à coup, se rappelant la position du vent et les symptômes de tempête qu’il avait observés sur la mer :

— Jetez l’ancre, Hardy ! jetez l’ancre ! dit-il.

— Je suppose, répondit le capitaine de pavillon, que l’amiral Collingwood prendra le commandement de la flotte.

— Non pas, tant que je vivrai du moins ! dit le malade en se soulevant sur son bras. Hardy, je vous dis de jeter l’ancre. Je le veux !

— Je vais en donner l’ordre, milord.

— Sur votre vie, faites-le, et avant cinq minutes.

Puis, à voix basse et comme s’il eût rougi de cette faiblesse :

— Hardy, reprit-il, vous ne jetterez point mon corps à la mer, je vous en prie !

— Oh ! non certainement ! vous pouvez être tranquille sur ce point, milord, lui répondit Hardy en sanglotant.

— Ayez soin de la pauvre lady Hamilton, dit Nelson d’une voix affaiblie, de ma chère lady Hamilton... Embrassez-moi, Hardy !

Le capitaine, en pleurant, l’embrassa sur la joue.

— Je meurs content, dit Nelson ; l’Angleterre est sauvée !

Le capitaine Hardy demeura un instant près de l’illustre blessé dans une muette contemplation ; puis, s’agenouillant, il le baisa au front.

— Qui m’embrasse ? demanda Nelson, dont l’œil était déjà noyé dans les ténèbres de la mort.

Le capitaine répondit :

— C’est moi, Hardy.

— Dieu vous bénisse, mon ami ! dit le mourant.

Hardy remonta sur le pont.

Nelson, reconnaissant le chapelain à ses côtés, lui dit alors :

— Ah ! docteur, je n’ai jamais été un pécheur bien obstiné !

Puis, après une pause :

— Docteur, rappelez-vous, je vous prie, que j’ai laissé en héritage à ma patrie et à mon roi lady Hamilton et ma fille Horatia Nelson... N’oubliez jamais Horatia.

Sa soif allait croissant. Il cria :

— Boire !... boire !... L’éventail !... faites-moi de l’air !... Frottez-moi !...

Il faisait cette dernière recommandation au chapelain, M. Scott, qui lui avait procuré quelque soulagement en lui frottant la poitrine avec la main ; seulement, il prononça ces paroles d’une voix interrompue et qui indiquait un redoublement de souffrance ; de sorte qu’il lui fallut rappeler toutes ses forces pour dire une dernière fois :

— Grâce à Dieu, j’ai fait mon devoir !

Ce fut alors seulement que Nelson cessa de parler.

Était-ce faiblesse ? était-ce l’évanouissement suprême ? Quoi qu’il en soit, le chapelain et M. Burke le soulevèrent à l’aide de coussins et le maintinrent dans une position moins douloureuse, respectant ce funèbre silence et cessant eux-mêmes de parler pour ne point troubler le moribond dans ses derniers moments.

Le chirurgien revint ; le maître d’hôtel de Nelson était allé lui dire que son maître était sur le point d’expirer. M. Beatty prit la main du mourant, elle était froide ; il lui tâta le pouls, il était insensible ; puis il lui toucha le front, Nelson rouvrit son œil unique et le referma aussitôt.

Le chirurgien le quitta pour aller vers d’autres blessés auxquels ses soins pouvaient être utiles ; mais à peine venait-il de s’éloigner que le maître d’hôtel, le rappelant, lui dit :

— Sa Seigneurie est morte !

M. Beatty accourut. Nelson, en effet, venait de rendre le dernier soupir. Il était quatre heures vingt minutes. Il avait survécu trois heures et trente-deux minutes à sa blessure !

Inutile de dire le deuil qui se répandit sur toute la flotte anglaise à la nouvelle de la mort de Nelson. Elle fit presque oublier la victoire.

Le premier soin de Hardy fut d’exprimer au chirurgien le désir manifesté par Nelson de ne point être jeté à la mer, mais d’être ramené dans sa patrie.

Le lendemain de la bataille, lorsque les circonstances permirent que l’on s’occupât des soins à donner aux restes mortels de Nelson, on chercha par quels moyens on pouvait prévenir la décomposition ; il fallait naturellement se servir des ressources que l’on avait à bord du Victory. Il n’y avait pas assez de plomb pour faire un cercueil ; on prit le plus grand tonneau que l’on put trouver, on y mit le corps, puis on le remplit d’eau-de-vie.

Le soir même du jour où ce triste soin fut accompli, il s’éleva, comme l’avait prévu Nelson, une terrible tempête venant du sud-ouest ; elle dura toute la nuit sans apaisement aucun ; le jour vint, et, jusqu’au soir, la tempête continua avec la même violence. Pendant ces vingt-quatre heures, le corps de Nelson resta dans l’entre-pont sous la garde d’une sentinelle ; mais, tout à coup, le couvercle du tonneau sauta en éclats avec un bruit pareil à la détonation d’un coup de fusil : c’était la pression des gaz qui s’étaient dégagés du corps qui avait causé cette rupture. On referma le tonneau, mais en ménageant une ouverture dans le couvercle pour empêcher que l’accident ne se renouvelât. En arrivant à Gibraltar, on remplaça l’eau-de-vie par de l’esprit-de-vin.

Dans l’après-midi du 3 novembre, le Victory leva l’ancre, sortit de la baie de Gibraltar, traversa le détroit et retrouva, devant Cadix, l’escadre sous le commandement de l’amiral Collingwood. Le même soir, le bâtiment funèbre poursuivit son chemin vers l’Angleterre et arriva à Spithead après une traversée de cinq semaines ; mais la nouvelle du gain de la bataille et de la mort de Nelson était connue à Londres depuis le 7 novembre.

Le 4 décembre, veille du jour fixé pour les actions de grâces, le Victory arriva à Saint-Helens et déploya, en signe de deuil, le drapeau de Nelson à mi-mât ; tous les bâtiments de Spithead abaissèrent aussitôt leurs enseignes dans la même position.

Le samedi 15, le corps de Nelson fut mis dans le cercueil qui lui avait été donné par le capitaine Ben Hallowell et qui, on se le rappelle, était taillé dans un mât du vaisseau français l’Orient, puis exposé sous un dais formé de pavillons. M. Tyson, ancien secrétaire de l’amiral, M. Nayler, M. York-Herald et M. Whilby avaient été délégués par l’Amirauté pour recevoir le corps, qui devait être transporté du Victory sur un yacht et conduit à l’hôpital de Greenwich.

Les funérailles étaient fixées au 6 janvier. Il avait été décidé que le cercueil serait déposé dans la cathédrale de Saint-Paul, qui, destinée à être la sépulture des héros et des hommes d’État, était inaugurée par Nelson comme le Panthéon de l’Angleterre.

Thomas Hardy, The Dynasts

SCENE II

 THE SAME.  THE QUARTER-DECK OF THE “VICTORY”

   [The van of each division of the English fleet has drawn to the
   windward side of the combined fleets of the enemy, and broken
   their order, the “Victory” being now parallel to and alongside
   the “Redoubtable,” the “Temeraire” taking up a station on the
   other side of that ship.  The “Bucentaure” and the “Santisima
   Trinidad” become jammed together a little way ahead.  A smoke
   and din of cannonading prevail, amid which the studding-sail
   booms are shot away.

   NELSON, HARDY, BLACKWOOD, SECRETARY SCOTT, LIEUTENANT PASCO,
   BURKE the Purser, CAPTAIN ADAIR of the Marines, and other
   officers are on or near the quarter-deck.]

NELSON

 See, there, that noble fellow Collingwood,
 How straight he helms his ship into the fire!—
 Now you’ll haste back to yours [to BLACKWOOD].
      —We must henceforth
 Trust to the Great Disposer of events,
 And justice of our cause!...

 [BLACKWOOD leaves.  The battle grows hotter.  A double-headed shot
 cuts down seven or eight marines on the “Victory’s” poop.]

 Captain Adair, part those marines of yours,
 And hasten to disperse them round the ship.—
 Your place is down below, Burke, not up here;
 Ah, yes; like David you would see the battle!

   [A heavy discharge of musket-shot comes from the tops of the
   “Santisima Trinidad.  ADAIR and PASCO fall.  Another swathe
   of Marines is mowed down by chain-shot.]

SCOTT

 My lord, I use to you the utmost prayers
 That I have privilege to shape in words:
 Remove your stars and orders, I would beg;
 That shot was aimed at you.

NELSON

 They were awarded to me as an honour,
 And shall I do despite to those who prize me,
 And slight their gifts?  No, I will die with them,
 If die I must.

   [He walks up and down with HARDY.]

HARDY

           At least let’s put you on
 Your old greatcoat, my lord—[the air is keen.].—
 ‘Twill cover all.  So while you still retain
 Your dignities, you baulk these deadly aims

NELSON

 Thank ‘ee, good friend.  But no,—I haven’t time,
 I do assure you—not a trice to spare,
 As you well will see.

   [A few minutes later SCOTT falls dead, a bullet having pierced
   his skull.  Immediately after a shot passes between the Admiral
   and the Captain, tearing the instep of Hardy’s shoe, and striking
   away the buckle.  They shake off the dust and splinters it has
   scattered over them.  NELSON glances round, and perceives what
   has happened to his secretary.]

NELSON

 Poor Scott, too, carried off!  Warm work this, Hardy;
 Too warm to go on long.

HARDY

           I think so, too;
 Their lower ports are blocked against our hull,
 And our charge now is less.  Each knock so near
 Sets their old wood on fire.

NELSON

           Ay, rotten as peat.
 What’s that?  I think she has struck, or pretty nigh!

   [A cracking of musketry.]

HARDY

 Not yet.—Those small-arm men there, in her tops,
 Thin our crew fearfully.  Now, too, our guns
 Have dipped full down, or they would rake
 The “Temeraire” there on the other side.

NELSON

 True.—While you deal good measure out to these,
 Keep slapping at those giants over here—
 The “Trinidad,” I mean, and the “Bucentaure,”
  To win’ard—swelling up so pompously.

HARDY

 I’ll see no slackness shall be shown that way.

   [They part and go in their respective directions.  Gunners, naked
   to the waist and reeking with sweat, are now in swift action on
   the several decks, and firemen carry buckets of water hither and
   thither.  The killed and wounded thicken around, and are being
   lifted and examined by the surgeons.  NELSON and HARDY meet again.]

NELSON

 Bid still the firemen bring more bucketfuls,
 And dash the water into each new hole
 Our guns have gouged in the “Redoubtable,”
  Or we shall all be set ablaze together.

HARDY

 Let me once more advise, entreat, my lord,
 That you do not expose yourself so clearly.
 Those fellows in the mizzen-top up there
 Are peppering round you quite perceptibly.

NELSON

 Now, Hardy, don’t offend me.  They can’t aim;
 They only set their own rent sails on fire.—
 But if they could, I would not hide a button
 To save ten lives like mine.  I have no cause
 To prize it, I assure ‘ee.—Ah, look there,
 One of the women hit,—and badly, too.
 Poor wench!  Let some one shift her quickly down.

HARDY

 My lord, each humblest sojourner on the seas,
 Dock-labourer, lame longshore-man, bowed bargee,
 Sees it as policy to shield his life
 For those dependent on him.  Much more, then,
 Should one upon whose priceless presence here
 Such issues hang, so many strivers lean,
 Use average circumspection at an hour
 So critical for us all.

NELSON

           Ay, ay.  Yes, yes;
 I know your meaning, Hardy,; and I know
 That you disguise as frigid policy
 What really is your honest love of me.
 But, faith, I have had my day.  My work’s nigh done;
 I serve all interests best by chancing it
 Here with the commonest.—Ah, their heavy guns
 Are silenced every one!  Thank God for that.

HARDY

 ‘Tis so.  They only use their small arms now.

   [He goes to larboard to see what is progressing on that side
   between his ship and the “Santisima Trinidad.”]

OFFICER [to seaman]

 Swab down these stairs.  The mess of blood about
 Makes ‘em so slippery that one’s like to fall
 In carrying the wounded men below.

   [While CAPTAIN HARDY is still a little way off, LORD NELSON turns
   to walk aft, when a ball from one of the muskets in the mizzen-
   top of the “Redoubtable” enters his left shoulder.  He falls upon
   his face on the deck.  HARDY looks round, and sees what has
   happened.]

HARDY [hastily]

 Ah—what I feared, and strove to hide I feared!...

   [He goes towards NELSON, who in the meantime has been lifted by
   SERGEANT-MAJOR SECKER and two seamen.]

NELSON

 Hardy, I think they’ve done for me at last!

HARDY

 I hope not!

NELSON

           Yes.  My backbone is shot through.
 I have not long to live.

   [The men proceed to carry him below.]

           Those tiller ropes
 They’ve torn away, get instantly repaired!

   [At sight of him borne along wounded there is great agitation
   among the crew.]

 Cover my face.  There will be no good be done
 By drawing their attention off to me.
 Bear me along, good fellows; I am but one
 Among the many darkened here to-day!

   [He is carried on to the cockpit over the crowd of dead and
   wounded.]

 Doctor, I’m gone.  I am waste o’ time to you.

HARDY [remaining behind]

 Hills, go to Collingwood and let him know
 That we’ve no Admiral here.

   [He passes on.]

A LIEUTENANT

 Now quick and pick him off who did the deed—
 That white-bloused man there in the mizzen-top.

POLLARD, a midshipman [shooting]

 No sooner said than done.  A pretty aim!

   [The Frenchman falls dead upon the poop.

   The spectacle seems now to become enveloped in smoke, and the
   point of view changes.]

SCENE III

 THE SAME.  ON BOARD THE “BUCENTAURE”

   [The bowsprit of the French Admiral’s ship is stuck fast in the
   stern-gallery of the “Santisima Trinidad,” the starboard side of
   the “Bucentaure” being shattered by shots from two English three-
   deckers which are pounding her on that hand.  The poop is also
   reduced to ruin by two other English ships that are attacking
   her from behind.

   On the quarter-deck are ADMIRAL VILLENEUVE, the FLAG-CAPTAIN
   MAGENDIE, LIEUTENANTS DAUDIGNON, FOURNIER, and others, anxiously
   occupied.  The whole crew is in desperate action of battle and
   stumbling among the dead and dying, who have fallen too rapidly
   to be carried below.]

VILLENEUVE

 We shall be crushed if matters go on thus.—
 Direct the “Trinidad” to let her drive,
 That this foul tangle may be loosened clear!

DAUDIGNON

 It has been tried, sir; but she cannot move.

VILLENEUVE

 Then signal to the “Hero” that she strive
 Once more to drop this way.

 MAGENDIE

           We may make signs,
 But in the thickened air what signal’s marked?—
 ‘Tis done, however.

VILLENEUVE

           The “Redoubtable”
  And “Victory” there,—they grip in dying throes!
 Something’s amiss on board the English ship.
 Surely the Admiral’s fallen?

A PETTY OFFICER

           Sir, they say
 That he was shot some hour, or half, ago.—
 With dandyism raised to godlike pitch
 He stalked the deck in all his jewellery,
 And so was hit.

MAGENDIE

           Then Fortune shows her face!
 We have scotched England in dispatching him.  [He watches.]
 Yes!  He commands no more; and Lucas, joying,
 Has taken steps to board.  Look, spars are laid,
 And his best men are mounting at his heels.

VILLENEUVE

 Ah, God—he is too late!  Whence came the hurl
 Of heavy grape?  The smoke prevents my seeing
 But at brief whiles.—The boarding band has fallen,
 Fallen almost to a man.—‘Twas well assayed!

MAGENDIE

 That’s from their “Temeraire,” whose vicious broadside
 Has cleared poor Lucas’ decks.

VILLENEUVE

           And Lucas, too.
 I see him no more there.  His red planks show
 Three hundred dead if one.  Now for ourselves!

   [Four of the English three-deckers have gradually closed round
   the “Bucentaure,” whose bowsprit still sticks fast in the gallery
   of the “Santisima Trinidad.”  A broadside comes from one of the
   English, resulting in worse havoc on the “Bucentaure.”  The main
   and mizzen masts of the latter fall, and the boats are beaten to
   pieces.  A raking fire of musketry follows from the attacking
   ships, to which the “Bucentaure” heroically continues still to
   keep up a reply.

   CAPTAIN MAGENDIE falls wounded.  His place is taken by LIEUTENANT
   DAUDIGNON.]

VILLENEUVE

 Now that the fume has lessened, code my biddance
 Upon our only mast, and tell the van
 At once to wear, and come into the fire.
 [Aside] If it be true that, as HE sneers, success
 Demands of me but cool audacity,
 To-day shall leave him nothing to desire!

   [Musketry continues.  DAUDIGNON falls.  He is removed, his post
   being taken by LIEUTENANT FOURNIER.  Another crash comes, and
   the deck is suddenly encumbered with rigging.]

FOURNIER

 There goes our foremast!  How for signalling now?

VILLENEUVE

 To try that longer, Fournier, is in vain
 Upon this haggard, scorched, and ravaged hulk,
 Her decks all reeking with such gory shows,
 Her starboard side in rents, her stern nigh gone!
 How does she keep afloat?—
 “Bucentaure,” O lucky good old ship!
 My part in you is played.  Ay—I must go;
 I must tempt Fate elsewhere,—if but a boat
 Can bear me through this wreckage to the van.

FOURNIER

 Our boats are stove in, or as full of holes
 As the cook’s skimmer, from their cursed balls!

   [Musketry.  VILLENEUVE’S Head-of-Staff, DE PRIGNY, falls wounded,
   and many additional men.  VILLENEUVE glances troublously from
   ship to ship of his fleet.]

VILLENEUVE

 How hideous are the waves, so pure this dawn!—
 Red-frothed; and friends and foes all mixed therein.—
 Can we in some way hail the “Trinidad”
  And get a boat from her?

   [They attempt to distract the attention of the “Santisima
   Trinidad” by shouting.]

           Impossible;
 Amid the loud combustion of this strife
 As well try holloing to the antipodes!...
 So here I am.  The bliss of Nelson’s end
 Will not be mine; his full refulgent eve
 Becomes my midnight!  Well; the fleets shall see
 That I can yield my cause with dignity.

   [The “Bucentaure” strikes her flag.  A boat then puts off from the
   English ship “Conqueror,” and VILLENEUVE, having surrendered his
   sword, is taken out from the “Bucentaure.”  But being unable to
   regain her own ship, the boat is picked up by the “Mars,” and
   the French admiral is received aboard her.  Point of view changes.]

SCENE IV

 THE SAME.  THE COCKPIT OF THE “VICTORY”

   [A din of trampling and dragging overhead, which is accompanied
   by a continuos ground-bass roar from the guns of the warring
   fleets, culminating at times in loud concussions.  The wounded
   are lying around in rows for treatment, some groaning, some
   silently dying, some dead.  The gloomy atmosphere of the low-
   beamed deck is pervaded by a thick haze of smoke, powdered wood,
   and other dust, and is heavy with the fumes of gunpowder and
   candle-grease, the odour of drugs and cordials, and the smell
   from abdominal wounds.

   NELSON, his face now pinched and wan with suffering, is lying
   undressed in a midshipman’s berth, dimly lit by a lantern.  DR.
   BEATTY, DR. MAGRATH, the Rev. DR. SCOTT the Chaplain, BURKE the
   Purser, the Steward, and a few others stand around.]

MAGRATH [in a low voice]

 Poor Ram, and poor Tom Whipple, have just gone..

BEATTY

 There was no hope for them.

 NELSON [brokenly]

      Who have just died?

BEATTY

 Two who were badly hit by now, my lord;
 Lieutenant Ram and Mr. Whipple.

NELSON

           Ah!
 So many lives—in such a glorious cause....
 I join them soon, soon, soon!—O where is Hardy?
 Will nobody bring Hardy to me—none?
 He must be killed, too.  Surely Hardy’s dead?

A MIDSHIPMAN

 He’s coming soon, my lord.  The constant call
 On his full heed of this most mortal fight
 Keeps him from hastening hither as he would.

NELSON

 I’ll wait, I’ll wait.  I should have thought of it.

   [Presently HARDY comes down.  NELSON and he grasp hands.]

 Hardy, how goes the day with us and England?

HARDY

 Well; very well, thank God for’t, my dear lord.
 Villeneuve their Admiral has this moment struck,
 And put himself aboard the “Conqueror.”
  Some fourteen of their first-rates, or about,
 Thus far we’ve got.  The said “Bucentaure” chief:
 The “Santa Ana,” the “Redoubtable,”
  The “Fougueux,” the “Santisima Trinidad,”
  “San Augustino, “San Francisco,” “Aigle”;
 And our old “Swiftsure,” too, we’ve grappled back,
 To every seaman’s joy.  But now their van
 Has tacked to bear round on the “Victory”
  And crush her by sheer weight of wood and brass:
 Three of our best I am therefore calling up,
 And make no doubt of worsting theirs, and France.

NELSON

 That’s well.  I swore for twenty.—But it’s well.

HARDY

 We’ll have ‘em yet!  But without you, my lord,
 We have to make slow plodding do the deeds
 That sprung by inspiration ere you fell;
 And on this ship the more particularly.

NELSON

 No, Hardy.—Ever ‘twas your settled fault
 So modestly to whittle down your worth.
 But I saw stuff in you which admirals need
 When, taking thought, I chose the “Victory’s” keel
 To do my business with these braggarts in.
 A business finished now, for me!—Good friend,
 Slow shades are creeping me... I scarce see you.

HARDY

 The smoke from ships upon our win’ard side,
 And the dust raised by their worm-eaten hulks,
 When our balls touch ‘em, blind the eyes, in truth.

NELSON

 No; it is not that dust; ‘tis dust of death
 That darkens me.

   [A shock overhead.  HARDY goes up.  On or two other officers go up,
   and by and by return.]

      What was that extra noise?

OFFICER

 The “Formidable’ passed us by, my lord,
 And thumped a stunning broadside into us.—
 But, on their side, the “Hero’s” captain’s fallen;
 The “Algeciras” has been boarded, too,
 By Captain Tyler, and the captain shot:
 Admiral Gravina desperately holds out;
 They say he’s lost an arm.

NELSON

           And we, ourselves—
 Who have we lost on board here?  Nay, but tell me!

BEATTY

 Besides poor Scott, my lord, and Charles Adair,
 Lieutenant Ram, and Whipple, captain’s clerk,
 There’s Smith, and Palmer, midshipmen, just killed.
 And fifty odd of seamen and marines.

NELSON

 Poor youngsters!  Scarred old Nelson joins you soon.

BEATTY

 And wounded: Bligh, lieutenant; Pasco, too,
 and Reeves, and Peake, lieutenants of marines,
 And Rivers, Westphall, Bulkeley, midshipmen,
 With, of the crew, a hundred odd just now,
 Unreckoning those late fallen not brought below.

BURKE

 That fellow in the mizzen-top, my lord,
 Who made it his affair to wing you thus,
 We took good care to settle; and he fell
 Like an old rook, smack from his perch, stone dead.

NELSON

 ‘Twas not worth while!—He was, no doubt, a man
 Who in simplicity and sheer good faith
 Strove but to serve his country.  Rest be to him!
 And may his wife, his friends, his little ones,
 If such be had, be tided through their loss,
 And soothed amid the sorrow brought by me.

   [HARDY re-enters.]

 Who’s that?  Ah—here you come!  How, Hardy, now?

HARDY

 The Spanish Admiral’s rumoured to be wounded,
 We know not with what truth.  But, be as ‘twill,
 He sheers away with all he could call round,
 And some few frigates, straight to Cadiz port.

   [A violent explosion is heard above the confused noises on deck.
   A midshipman goes above and returns.]

MIDSHIPMAN [in the background]

 It is the enemy’s first-rate, the “Achille,”
  Blown to a thousand atoms!—While on fire,
 Before she burst, the captain’s woman there,
 Desperate for life, climbed from the gunroom port
 Upon the rudder-chains; stripped herself stark,
 And swam for the Pickle’s boat.  Our men in charge,
 Seeing her great breasts bulging on the brine,
 Sang out, “A mermaid ‘tis, by God!”—then rowed
 And hauled her in.—

BURKE

           Such unbid sights obtrude
 On death’s dyed stage!

MIDSHIPMAN

           Meantime the “Achille” fought on,
 Even while the ship was blazing, knowing well
 The fire must reach their powder; which it did.
 The spot is covered now with floating men,
 Some whole, the main in parts; arms, legs, trunks, heads,
 Bobbing with tons of timber on the waves,
 And splinter looped with entrails of the crew.

NELSON [rousing]

 Our course will be to anchor.  Let me know.

HARDY

 But let me ask, my lord, as needs I must,
 Seeing your state, and that our work’s not done,
 Shall I, from you, bid Admiral Collingwood
 Take full on him the conduct of affairs?

NELSON [trying to raise himself]

 Not while I live, I hope!  No, Hardy; no.
 Give Collingwood my order.  Anchor all!

HARDY [hesitating]

 You mean the signal’s to be made forthwith?

NELSON

 I do!—By God, if but our carpenter
 Could rig me up a jury-backbone now,
 To last one hour—until the battle’s done,
 I’d see to it!  But here I am—stove in—
 Broken—all logged and done for!  Done, ay done!

BEATTY [returning from the other wounded]

 My lord, I must implore you to lie calm!
 You shorten what at best may not be long.

NELSON [exhausted]

 I know, I know, good Beatty!  Thank you well
 Hardy, I was impatient.  Now I am still.
 Sit here a moment, if you have time to spare?

   [BEATTY and others retire, and the two abide in silence, except
   for the trampling overhead and the moans from adjoining berths.
   NELSON is apparently in less pain, seeming to doze.]

NELSON [suddenly]

 What are you thinking, that you speak no word?

HARDY [waking from a short reverie]

 Thoughts all confused, my lord:—their needs on deck,
 Your own sad state, and your unrivalled past;
 Mixed up with flashes of old things afar—
 Old childish things at home, down Wessex way.
 In the snug village under Blackdon Hill
 Where I was born.  The tumbling stream, the garden,
 The placid look of the grey dial there,
 Marking unconsciously this bloody hour,
 And the red apples on my father’s trees,
 Just now full ripe.

NELSON

           Ay, thus do little things
 Steal into my mind, too.  But ah, my heart
 Knows not your calm philosophy!—There’s one—
 Come nearer  to me, Hardy.—One of all,
 As you well guess, pervades my memory now;
 She, and my daughter—I speak freely to you.
 ‘Twas good I made that codicil this morning
 That you and Blackwood witnessed.  Now she rests
 Safe on the nation’s honour.... Let her have
 My hair, and the small treasured things I owned,
 And take care of her, as you care for me!

   [HARDY promises.]

NELSON [resuming in a murmur]

 Does love die with our frame’s decease, I wonder,
 Or does it live on ever?...

   [A silence.  BEATTY approaches.]

HARDY
           Now I’ll leave,
 See if your order’s gone, and then return.

NELSON [symptoms of death beginning to change his face]

 Yes, Hardy; yes; I know it.  You must go.—
 Here we shall meet no more; since Heaven forfend
 That care for me should keep you idle now,
 When all the ship demands you.  Beatty, too.
 Go to the others who lie bleeding there;
 Them can you aid.  Me you can render none!
 My time here is the briefest.—If I live
 But long enough I’ll anchor.... But—too late—
 My anchoring’s elsewhere ordered!... Kiss me, Hardy:

   [HARDY bends over him.]

 I’m satisfied.  Thank God, I have done my duty!

   [HARDY brushes his eyes with his hand, and withdraws to go above,
   pausing to look back before he finally disappears.]

BEATTY [watching Nelson]

 Ah!—Hush around!...
 He’s sinking.  It is but a trifle now
 Of minutes with him.  Stand you, please, aside,
 And give him air.

   [BEATTY, the Chaplain, MAGRATH, the Steward, and attendants
   continue to regard NELSON.  BEATTY looks at his watch.]

BEATTY

 Two hours and fifty minutes since he fell,
 And now he’s going.

   [They wait.  NELSON dies.]

CHAPLAIN

           Yes.... He has homed to where
 There’s no more sea.

BEATTY

           We’ll let the Captain know,
 Who will confer with Collingwood at once.
 I must now turn to these.

   [He goes to another part of the cockpit, a midshipman ascends to
   the deck, and the scene overclouds.]

CHORUS OF THE PITIES [aerial music]

      His thread was cut too slowly!  When he fell.
           And bade his fame farewell,
      He might have passed, and shunned his long-drawn pain,
           Endured in vain, in vain!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

      Young Spirits, be not critical of That
      Which was before, and shall be after you!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

      But out of tune the Mode and meritless
      That quickens sense in shapes whom, thou hast said,
      Necessitation sways!  A life there was
      Among these self-same frail ones—Sophocles—
      Who visioned it too clearly, even while
      He dubbed the Will “the gods.”  Truly said he,
      “Such gross injustice to their own creation
      Burdens the time with mournfulness for us,
      And for themselves with shame."—Things mechanized
      By coils and pivots set to foreframed codes
      Would, in a thorough-sphered melodic rule,
      And governance of sweet consistency,
      Be cessed no pain, whose burnings would abide
      With That Which holds responsibility,
      Or inexist.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

                Yea, yea, yea!
                Thus would the Mover pay
                The score each puppet owes,
      The Reaper reap what his contrivance sows!
      Why make Life debtor when it did not buy?
      Why wound so keenly Right that it would die?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

      Nay, blame not!  For what judgment can ye blame?—
      In that immense unweeting Mind is shown
      One far above forethinking; processive,
      Yet superconscious; a Clairvoyancy
      That knows not what It knows, yet works therewith.—
      The cognizance ye mourn, Life’s doom to feel,
      If I report it meetly, came unmeant,
      Emerging with blind gropes from impercipience
      By listless sequence—luckless, tragic Chance,
      In your more human tongue.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

                And hence unneeded
      In the economy of Vitality,
      Which might have ever kept a sealed cognition
      As doth the Will Itself.

CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]

                Nay, nay, nay;
                Your hasty judgments stay,
                Until the topmost cyme
      Have crowned the last entablature of Time.
      O heap not blame on that in-brooding Will;
      O pause, till all things all their days fulfil!

To the memory of:

Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson

* Burnam Thorpe, UK, 29th of September 1758

+ Cape Trafalgar, Spain, 21th of October 1805

As a hopeful young lieutenant, decades before his demise

England expects every man to do his duty

A Royal Navy task force today smashed the combined French and Spanish fleets, ripping apart

Napoleon’s plans to invade Britain.

But victory has come at a terrible cost.

Amid our triumph is grief, because Admiral Lord Nelson, who masterminded this great

battle, was shot and died at the height of the bloody five-hour combat here in the waters off

Gibraltar.

The 47-year-old hero, crippled by a French sniper’s shot, lived long enough to know that his

typically unorthodox battle plan had been triumphant.

He was fatally wounded doing what he loved most – leading his men into the fog of a ferocious

naval war.

He died below decks in his flagship HMS Victory.

Today survivors of this great battle were too exhausted to celebrate and the death of their

commander eclipsed the enormity of what they had achieved.

The last word was missing in his epic song: the word that crowns every achievement. The mourners have done their duty, right or wrong: they wrote it in blood and bereavement.

It came at 1.15pm. A fizzing musket ball fired from high up in the mizzen mast of the French ship Redoutable.

Thirty feet below, Horatio Nelson was pacing the quarterdeck alongside his old friend Captain Thomas Hardy.

There's a hole next to the left epaulet...

I watched as Nelson turned at the hatchway to face the stern when the lead ball, five-eighths of an inch wide, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder.

We know now that it plunged down into his thorax, fractured two ribs, punctured a lung, severed his pulmonary artery and lodged in his spine.

Nelson slumped to his knees trying to support himself on his left arm.

Hardy, who had been walking slightly ahead, turned to see his friend and admiral collapse into the slicks of blood left by those previously killed during the ferocious battle.

Daniel Jones, a 13-year-old, helped ease Nelson from the deck and said he heard him say:

‘They have done for me at last, Hardy. My backbone is shot through.’

The shot heard around the British Empire. ‘They have done for me at last, Hardy. My backbone is shot through.’ Admiral Horatio Nelson

The commander-in-chief was taken below to the cockpit as his lungs slowly filled with blood. Lieutenant James Barr, who has fought alongside Nelson for the past 20 years, watched as his leader fought for breath.

He said: ‘Nelson was in agonising pain. It was oppressively hot and stuffy and Victory’s heavy guns

rolled and thundered five feet overheard. None of us could believe what we were watching. To us this man was invincible. He had survived so much, it seemed impossible that he would leave us.’

Jones was ordered to fan Nelson and fetch lemonade, wine and water for the admiral.

‘He kept saying short prayers with Captain Hardy, but we never thought he would die,’ said the young lad with tears welling in his eyes.

Meanwhile, up in the rigging, the French marksmen were jubilant. One was heard to shout:

‘I’ve got him. I’ve hit Nelson. We will win, we will win.’

But within minutes a crack team of marines, furious at what had been done to their admiral and desperate for revenge, was mustered on the quarterdeck and fired round after round into the French rigging.

They immediately claimed to have shot and killed the man who shot Nelson. The body of sniper Jacques D’Aubant was identified later, but in the chaos of war it was not clear if they had got the right man.

About an hour and 10 minutes after Nelson had been shot, Hardy, who had been directing the battle above, stooped low and entered the dimly-lit cockpit. Nelson said:

‘Well, Hardy, how goes the battle? How goes the day with us?’

Hardy said: ‘Very well, my lord. We have got 12 or 14 of the enemy’s ships in our possession, but

five of theirs look like they’re bearing down upon Victory. I have called two or three of our

fresh ships round us and have no doubts of giving them a drubbing.’

Hardy greets the suffering commander, as a concerned crew looks on.

About 4.15pm, in the final throes of the battle, Hardy reappeared, grabbed Nelson’s hand and congratulated him on a brilliant victory. By this time he was certain 14 or 15 ships had surrendered.

Through gritted teeth, Nelson replied: ‘That is well, but I bargained for 20.’

Lt. Barr said: ‘At this point I heard the admiral tell Hardy that he expected to live only for a few more minutes. Then he pleaded with the captain not to throw his body overboard.

‘We knew the end was near and after the emotion of the battle this was almost too much to bear.’

Lt. Barr said he then heard Nelson whisper to Hardy:

‘Take care of poor Lady Hamilton. Kiss me, Hardy.’

The captain knelt and kissed his cheek and Nelson said:

‘Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty.

Hardy stood for a minute or two in silence before he knelt again and kissed the admiral’s forehead.

Nelson asked: ‘Who is that?’ The captain replied: ‘It is Hardy.’

‘God bless you Hardy.’

But the admiral clung on to life for another 15 minutes. He said to Victory’s chaplain Alexander Scott: ‘Doctor, I have not been a great sinner. Remember that I leave Lady Hamilton and my daughter Horatia as a legacy to my country.’

He was now speaking in half-sentences between bouts of intense pain. He was very thirsty and called: ‘Drink, drink!’ ‘Fan, fan!’ and ‘Rub, rub!’ with garbled urgency.

The admiral said nothing more for five minutes and Surgeon William Beatty touched Nelson’s hand: it was cold.

There was no pulse.

But when he touched his forehead, Nelson opened his eyes, looked up and shut them again as he died.

Beatty recorded the time of death as 4.30 pm.

There was no pulse. It was 16:30.

Half-an-hour later, the battle was over.

But Britain had lost its greatest naval hero.

Inspired by thirst For glory, on the field of battle quaffed Instead Death's bitter draught.

Live forever in our hearts

Inspire us to carry on...