WHAT LITTLE SANDRA MISTOOK

Here are a few slightly foolish mistakes I commonly made as a Baby-Spice-twintailed kid, even as a toddler, and some of them in my nerdy tomboy short-haired adolescence, because of similarities between these concepts' names or shapes! You wouldn't believe it, seriously!

1) Pulp Fiction is Full Monty.
CAUSE: Lexical similarity between "Pulp" and "Full" (four-letter English words with -UL- in the middle), in popular 1990s Anglophone comedies with a full-English title written in condensed bold all caps in the same red-and-yellow colour scheme, and whose highlight was the leading cast performing a catchy signature dance.
DEBUNKED: By reading reviews and watching footage from both films, I came to realise that, in spite of the ostensible similarities between the words Pulp and Full, and between the respective poster titles, both films are essentially as different as chalk is from cheese: the former is a snarky and blood-spluttering Tarantino flick noir; the latter a socially critical British comedy about stripteasing former steelworkers.
2) Black Lagoon is Gurren Lagann.
CAUSE: Lexical similarity between "Lagoon" and "Lagann," and between a few characters' hair colour (especially the respective female leads') across series.
DEBUNKED: By reading anime reviews and watching footage from both anime series, I came to realise that, in spite of the ostensible similarities between the words Lagoon and Lagann, and between the heroines Revy and Yoko, both series are essentially as different as chalk is from cheese: one of them (Gurren Lagann) being a light and soft sci-fi epic, the other (Black Lagoon) a dark and edgy realistic series noir.
3) The left of others equals my left; ditto for the right.
CAUSE: "The left is your writing hand, also the arm with the birthmarks" was how my Spanish- and Swedish-speaking elders helped me clear my left-right confusion, unfortunately and unwittingly creating a further bungle. If I were facing someone else, even my mirror image or a fictional character, I would say that their eye facing my left side is their left eye.
DEBUNKED: The gunshot on Lord Nelson's left shoulder at Trafalgar proved the most influential clue in this aspect: from looking at depictions of the wounded and dying admiral, I realized that my right faced and still faces Horatio's (and everyone else's) left.
4) Woodsorrels are real clovers.
CAUSE: Clovers on screen and in storybooks look exactly like woodsorrels (Oxalis stricta) with heart-shaped (instead of circular) leaves.
DEBUNKED: Elsa Beskow's The Flower Festival (Blomsterfesten) set the record straight in my mind by featuring woodsorrels and clovers personified in the same illustration; the former with heart-shaped leaves and yellow star-shaped flowers, the latter with circular leaves and red or white pompom flowers.
5) Littlefinger is the bald eunuch... another name for Varys/the Spider, right?
CAUSE: I was 15 when I began the first GoT novel, and it turns out that I had a limit back then (add that I was constantly on an uphill struggle with Maths and bullies!) for holding up all the names and relationships! I had already got to make enough of an effort to tell Jaime and Cersei from Visy and Dany, remembering that the Targs were a lighter shade of blond than the Lannisters and (Targs) had violet eyes instead of green! Add the Stark children, the Baratheon brothers, and the other Lannisters, aside from Drogo, Jorah, and the handmaids across the pond, and the ensuing relationship grid was a good-sized mind map the kind I have and then had for a Shakespearean play or mythological pantheon... when we got to court, to the Red Keep, it came as no surprise that I messed up with Varys and Petyr!!
DEBUNKED: Reading the graphic novels and watching the TV series helped me get the characters right in my mind's eye and have a clear, non-confusing picture of who each and one of them was. Again, these two proved as different as chalk is from cheese... or maybe the Spider and the Mockingbird are not that different at heart?

TRAFALGAR IN MEMORIAM 2016

So I found the Battle of Trafalgar retold in a Shakespearean style in The Dynasts, an epic narrative poem written by a descendant of the self-same Hardy who gave Lord Nelson the last kiss, and I said (a month ago): "That's something for our Trafalgar in memoriam on this blog!" Said and done, right the fortnight before this year's Lützen commemoration, so get your hankies or/and your Xanax ready if you are high-strung!

To the memory of:

Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson

* Burnam Thorpe, UK, 29th of September 1758

+ Cape Trafalgar, Spain, 21th of October 1805

  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!

21-10: TRAFALGAR, AS TOLD BY DUMAS

21-OCTOBER - REMEMBER HORATIO NELSON, 1ST VISCOUNT NELSON

As a hopeful young lieutenant,
 decades before his demise

* Burnam Thorpe, UK, 29th of September 1758

+ Cape Trafalgar, Spain, 21th of October 1805

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.

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

The shot heard around the British Empire.

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

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

There was no pulse.
It was 16:30.

Here is an excerpt of the Battle of Trafalgar and Lord Horatio Nelson's last hours, as retold by 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. 

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...

Only the one who dies young and violently,
after a series of exceptional achievements,
can become a legend.

Though you drowned in blood, 

you will live eternally

thanks to sacrifice...