REAR, OR LEE COLUMN.
13. Royal Sovereign 100 Admiral Collingwood, and Capt. Rotheran. 14. Mars 74 Capt. Duff. 15. Belleisle 74 Capt. Hargood. 16. Tonnant 80 Capt. Tyler. 17. Bellerophon 74 Capt. Cooke. 18. Colossus 74 Capt. Morris. 19. Achille 74 Capt. King. 20. Polyphemus 64 Capt. Redmill. 21. Revenge 74 Capt. Moorson. 22. Swiftsure 74 Capt. Rutherford. 23. Defence 74 Capt. Hope. 24. Thunderer 74 Lieut. Stockham. 25. Defiance 74 Capt. Durham. 26. Prince 74 Capt. Grindall. 27. Dreadnought 98 Capt. Conn.
Senior Lieutenants Pilfold and Stockham commanded for Captains
Brown and Lechmere, who were called home to give evidence
on the enquiry into the conduct of Sir Robert Calder.
FRIGATES, &c.
Ships. Guns. Commanders.
1. Euryalus 36 The Honourable Capt. Blackwood.
2. Sirius 36 Capt. Prowse.
3. Phoebe 36 Capt. Capel.
4. Naiad 36 Capt. Parker.
5. Pickle schooner 10 Lieut. Lapenotiere.
6. Entreprenante cutter 10 Lieut. Puyer.
While they were approaching the enemy's line, Lord Nelson repeatedly declared, that it was the happiest day of his life; and that, from the plan of his intended attack, he entertained not the smallest doubt that, before night, he should gain possession of at least twenty of their ships. The last signal which preceded the battle, was an emanation from his great mind which will long be remembered; this was a private signal to the fleet, communicating by telegraph the following most emphatic sentiment—
"England expects every man to do his duty."
This took place exactly at twelve o'clock, and the battle instantly commenced by the leading ships of the columns attempting to break through the enemy's line: Lord Nelson, in the Victory, about the tenth ship from the van; Vice-Admiral Collingwood, in the Royal Sovereign, about the twelfth from the rear. When Vice-Admiral Collingwood, at the head of the division under his orders, began the attack, and broke through the enemy's line, Lord Nelson, turning round to his officers, with the highest exultation, said—"Look at that noble fellow! Observe the stile in which he carries his ship into action!" The Victory, at four minutes past twelve, opened it's fire on the enemy's van, while passing down their line; in about a quarter of an hour after which, finding it impossible to penetrate through, the Victory fell on board the eleventh and twelfth ships. The Temeraire, Captain Harvey, by which the Victory was seconded, in consequence of the closeness of this part of the enemy's line, fell also on board one of them. These four ships were thus, for a considerable time, engaged together as in a single mass; so that the flash of almost every gun fired from the Victory set fire to the Redoutable, it's more immediate opponent. In this state, amidst the hottest fire of the enemy, was beheld a very singular spectacle; that of numerous British seamen employed, at intervals, in very coolly throwing buckets of water to extinguish the flames on board their enemy's ship, that both might not be involved in one common destruction. His lordship had been particularly desirous to have began the action, by passing a-head of the Bucentaure, Admiral Villeneuve's ship, that the Victory might be a-head of the French commander in chief, and a-stern of the Spanish Santissima Trinidada of a hundred and thirty-six guns, the largest ship in the world. The Bucentaure, however, shooting a-head, his lordship, who was thus obliged to go under that ship's stern, immediately raked it, and luffed up on the starboard side. The Bucentaure fired four broadsides at the Victory, before our hero ordered his ports to be opened; when the whole broadside, which was double shotted, being poured in, the discharge made such a tremendous crash, that the ship was instantly seen to heel. Lord Nelson now shot a-head to the Santissima Trinidada. In contending with this ship, on the celebrated 14th of February 1797, our hero had already acquired considerable renown. Having got alongside his tremendous opponent, which he familiarly called his old acquaintance, he ordered the ships to be lashed together. The battle was now raging with a fury not to be described; and the enemy's ships being full of men, and many of them engaged muzzle to muzzle of the guns with our's, the carnage was most horrible. The crash, too, of the falling masts, yards, &c. incessantly mowed down, by the respective shots on both sides, with the almost general blaze, and incessantly tremendous roar, had an aweful grandeur which no verbal or graphic description or delineation can ever faithfully convey to the eye and ear. Our hero, amidst this most terrific scene, appeared to be literally in his glory. He was quite enraptured with the bravery and skill of all under his command: he was not displeased to find, that the enemy, in general, fought like men worthy of being conquered; of being themselves conquerors, in a better cause. In a dress richly covered with the honours which he had acquired by his prowess in former battles, he stood a conspicuous object of emulative worth to all the heroic men who surrounded him in this. Never had his aspiring and enraptured heart beheld a victory more brilliantly glorious awaiting their noble exertions. Ineffable delight, blended with a divine benignity, beamed over the hero's countenance. He felt conscious of being engaged in contending for all that is dear to man; and, consequently, struggling in a cause which could by no means be displeasing to Heaven. He doubted little the success of his country, for he knew in what he confided; but he was not presumptuous, for he had early been instructed, that "the battle is not always to the strong." His own personal fate was ever humbly resigned to the will of the Great Disposer; live, or die, he was alone solicitous that he should live or die in glory. While victory, however, from all observation, appeared within his grasp, he could not but be conscious that individual danger every where hovered around. The Santissima Trinidada carried full sixteen hundred men; including a corps of troops, among whom were several sharp-shooters. Many other ships had, also, Tyrolese riflemen on board. Amidst the conflict of cannon, fired muzzle to muzzle, showers of bullets were directed on the quarter-deck; where the distinguished hero stood, fearlessly giving his orders, and chearfully abiding every peril. His heart was animated, and his spirits were gay. The stump of his right arm, which he always pleasantly denominated his fin, moved the shoulder of his sleeve up and down with the utmost rapidity, as was customary when he felt greatly pleased. Captain Hardy, apprehensive that Lord Nelson's peculiar attire pointed him out as too obvious a mark, advised the hero to change his dress, or cover himself with a great-coat; but he no otherwise regarded the precautionary advice, than by observing that he had not yet time to do so. It probably struck his great mind, that such an act might evince too much personal attention for a commander in chief to possess. In the mean while, the murderous desire of the enemy to single out the officers, continued growing more and more manifest. Of a hundred and ten marines stationed on the poop and quarter-deck, upwards of eighty were either killed or wounded. Mr. Pascoe, first-lieutenant of the Victory, received a very severe wound, while conversing with his lordship; and John Scott, Esq. his lordship's secretary, was shot through the head, by a musket-ball, at his side, Captain Adair of the marines, almost at the same instant, experienced a similar fate. This was about a quarter of an hour past one o'clock; and, a few minutes afterward, Captain Hardy, who was standing near his lordship, observed a marksman in the mizen-top of the Bucentaure, which then lay on the Victory's quarter, in the very act of taking a deliberate aim at his beloved commander. Scarcely had he time to exclaim—"Change your position, my lord! I see a rascal taking aim at you!" when the fatal bullet unhappily smote the hero; and, having entered near the top of his left shoulder, penetrated through his lungs, carrying with it part of the adhering epaulette, and lodged in the spinal marrow of his back. A shout of horrid joy, from the enemy, seemed to announce their sense of the cruel success. His lordship was prevented from falling, by Captain Hardy; to whom he said, with a smile—"They have done for me, at last!"
As the officers were conducting him below, his lordship deliberately remarked that the tiller-rope was too slack, and requested that Captain Hardy might be told to get it tightened. In the mean time, Mr. Pollard, a young midshipman of the Victory, not more than sixteen years of age, having levelled a musket at the man who shot his lordship, the fellow was seen instantly to fall. All the surgeons being busily engaged with the wounded, our hero, as usual, insisted on waiting till his turn. The surgeon who examined the wound soon clearly discovered what must be it's fatal effect. Lord Nelson had attentively regarded his countenance; and, on beholding him turn pale, calmly said—"It is, I perceive, mortal!"
The Reverend Dr. Scott, who was looking for his wounded friend, Lieutenant Pascoe, in the cockpit, to his utter astonishment and horror, discovered that his lordship had that moment been brought down. He immediately seated himself on the floor, and supported his pillow during the whole time of the surgeon's operations; indeed, except for a few moments, when he was sent to call Captain Hardy, he never left him. After enquiring about the state of the battle, which the dying hero far more regarded than that of his wound, his lordship, who was much agitated, and evidently suffering the most extreme agony, suddenly exclaimed, in a hurried manner—"Doctor, remember me to Lady Hamilton, remember me to Horatia! Remember me to Lady Hamilton, remember me to Horatia! Tell her, I have made a will, and left her a legacy to my country." This was afterward repeated, in a calmer tone, to Dr. Scott; with whom he conversed, at intervals, in a low voice, but perfectly collected. At times, the pain seizing him more violently, he suddenly and loudly expressed a wish to die. Then, again, he would grow calm and collected, and address himself to Dr. Scott; speaking in low, though broken and unconnected, sentences. At first, he expressed an eager desire for drink; saying—"Drink! drink! drink, doctor!" and continually had lemonade given him. After each time of drinking, he was a short time calm and collected, and spoke a few sentences to Dr. Scott; then, the pain again seizing him, he would hastily call out—"Drink! drink!" His lower extremities soon grew cold and insensible, and the copious effusion of blood from his lungs frequently threatened suffocation. His eyes, however, appeared to brighten, and his spirits to revive, on hearing the cheers given by the crew of the Victory as the different ships of the enemy surrendered. He frequently expressed much desire to have his face wiped; repeating, to Dr. Scott—"Wipe my face, doctor! Doctor, wipe my face!" This being done, for a considerable time, he seemed to receive some comfort; but soon grew prodigiously anxious to see Captain Hardy. His lordship had several times sent for him; and, not finding him come, began to imagine that he was no more. It was found difficult to efface this idea; and Dr. Scott felt it necessary himself to call Captain Hardy, who had been unwilling to quit his post at such an interesting period. About half past four, however, Captain Hardy attended on his lordship; who eagerly enquired, how many ships were captured. On being informed, by the captain, that twelve, which he could see, had certainly struck; and that, probably, more might have surrendered, as the victory seemed nearly compleat: the dying hero hastily exclaimed—"What, only twelve! there should have been, at least, fifteen or sixteen, by my calculation! However," added he, after, a short pause, "twelve are pretty well!" He requested that Captain Hardy would bear his kindest remembrances to Lady Hamilton, and to Horatia; and inform them that he had left them as a legacy to his king and country, in whose service he willingly yielded up his life. "Will you, my dear Hardy?" anxiously demanded his lordship. "Kiss me, then!" Captain Hardy immediately kneeling, respectfully kissed the wan cheek of his adored commander. The dying hero now desired that his affectionate regards might be presented to his brave officers and men: and said, that he could have wished once more to have beheld his beloved relatives and friends, or even to have survived till he had seen the fleet in safety; but, as neither was possible, he felt resigned, and thanked God for having enabled him to do his duty to his king and country. His lordship had, latterly, most vehemently directed Dr. Scott to rub his breast and pit of the stomach; where, it seems probable, he now felt the blood beginning more painfully to flow, in a state of commencing congelation—"Rub me, rub me, doctor!" he often and loudly repeated. This melancholy office was continued to be almost incessantly performed by Dr. Scott, till his lordship expired; and, indeed, for some time, afterward. The last words the immortal hero uttered, were—
"Thank God, I have done my duty!"
He had, before, pronounced them in a lower tone of voice: saying—"Doctor, I have not been a great sinner; and, thank God, I have done my duty!" Then, as if asking the question, he repeated—"Doctor, I have not been a great sinner?" Doctor Scott was too much affected immediately to answer. "Have I?" he again eagerly interrogated. A paroxysm of pain now suddenly seizing him, he exclaimed, in a loud and most solemnly impressive tone—"Thank God, I have done my duty! Thank God, I have done my duty!" After pronouncing these words, he had, apparently, suffered no pain; but gradually went off, as if asleep. Indeed, every person who surrounded him, except Dr. Scott, who had long felt the current of life sensibly chilling beneath his hand, actually thought, for some time, that he was only in a state of somnolency. It was, however, the sleep of death, the blood having entirely choaked up his incomparable heart.
Thus died the greatest naval hero, "take him for all in all," that ever lived. This will probably be said, as long as the world endures. It is not likely that he can ever be equalled, it is impossible that he should be surpassed.
The victory of this day, off Trafalgar, was one of the most compleatly glorious ever atchieved by Britons. About three o'clock, many of the enemy's ships having struck their colours, their line had every where given way, and as many as possible endeavoured to effect their escape. Eighteen men of war were taken; and three flag-officers, with a general, made prisoners of war. Among the ships captured, were the Santissima Trinidada of a hundred and thirty-six guns, the Santa Anna of a hundred and twenty, and the Bucentaure of seventy-four: the last having Admiral Villeneuve, the French commander in chief, on board; as well as General Contamin, who had four thousand select troops embarked under his command; and the two former, the Spanish Vice-Admiral Don Ignatio Morea D'Alva, who died of his wounds, with Rear-Admiral Don Baltazar Hidalgo de Cisneros. The Santissima Trinidada, soon after the action, sunk; and L'Achille, a French seventy-four, by some mismanagement of the crew, almost immediately on striking, took fire, and blew up. The number of killed, wounded, and taken prisoners, was most prodigious. The French Admiral Dumanoir, with three French ships, which had no share in the action, iniquitously fired, for some time, while making their ignominious retreat, on the Santissima Trinidada and other Spanish prizes which had struck their colours to our fleet; thus wantonly massacreing their defenceless friends and allies. Many of the ships taken or destroyed had upwards of four hundred men killed and wounded on board; and more than three thousand Spanish prisoners were liberally sent back to their own country, by the generous conquerors. The Bucentaure, it is said, had three hundred and sixty-five killed, and two hundred and nineteen wounded. Our loss, too, in killed and wounded, was far from inconsiderable; and many of our ships were materially damaged. The Royal Sovereign, in particular, was so cut up, that Vice-Admiral Collingwood, after the action, shifted his flag to the Euryalus, the Honourable Captain Blackwood, and towed his own ship out seaward. Besides Lord Nelson, two other brave and estimable commanders lost their lives on this most memorably fatal day: Captain Duff, of the Mars; and Captain Cooke, of the Bellerophon. Captain Duff had two sons on board his own ship; one only twelve years of age, the other about fifteen: early in the engagement, a shot carried away both legs of the youngest; the elder soon afterwards fell; and, finally, their unfortunate father. Not even these distressing circumstances were capable of exciting any great degree of generous commiseration for those worthy and gallant victims, so entirely was each heart occupied by agonizing reflections on the loss of him who had, in himself, ever been considered as alone a host. It was a victory the most compleatly brilliant, but never had a victory been gained which conveyed so little gladness to the hearts of the conquerors. Every bosom felt oppressed with sorrow, on a day of such triumph to their country; and not an eye closed, in the whole fleet, on the sad night by which it was succeeded, without pouring an affectionate tribute of manly tears to the memory of the godlike hero by whose merits it had been so certainly obtained, and by whose death it had been so dearly purchased. "He will never again lead us to conquest!" sobbed many a bursting heart. "Our commander, our master, our father, our friend, our companion, is no more, and when shall we behold his equal? Never, never, never!" Such was their love of the adored hero, that every virtuous individual in the fleet would gladly have lost his own life to have saved him. It is, indeed, stated as a positive fact, that a seaman of the Victory, who was, a little before the fatal catastrophe, suffering the amputation of an arm, actually said to the surgeon—"Well, this might, by some men, be considered as a sad misfortune; but I shall be proud of the accident, as it will make me the more resemble our brave commander in chief." Before the operation was finished, the sad tidings arrived below, that Lord Nelson was wounded. The seaman, who had never once shrunk, amidst all the pain he endured, now suddenly started from his seat; and vehemently exclaimed—"Good God! I would rather the shot had taken off my head, and spared his precious life!"
Vice-Admiral Collingwood, in his letter to the Admiralty, describing this great victory, says—"I have not only to lament, in common with the British navy, and the British nation, in the fall of the commander in chief, the loss of a hero, whose name will be immortal, and his memory ever dear to his country; but my heart is rent with the most poignant grief for the death of a friend, to whom, by many years intimacy, and a perfect knowledge of the virtues of his mind, which inspired ideas superior to the common race of men, I was bound by the strongest ties of affection: a grief, to which even the glorious occasion on which he fell, does not bring the consolation which, perhaps, it ought!"
When the dispatches, containing an account of the glorious victory off Cape Trafalgar, with the death of our chief hero, arrived in England, and were perused by his majesty, the king was greatly affected. Tears flowed from the royal eyes; and his majesty pathetically exclaimed—"We have lost more than we have gained!" They were read, at Windsor, by the queen, to the assembled princesses, and the whole royal group most affectionately wept the fall of the hero. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, with a dignified excess of grief, most acutely felt the loss of the heroic supporter of his father's house; and a private letter of condolence, which his royal highness wrote to Alexander Davison, Esq. on the death of their inestimable friend, is replete with sentiments which augur highly for the probably future sovereign's adding new lustre to the brilliant throne of his most renowned ancestors. The Duke of Clarence, too, long united in friendship to the hero, whom he venerated with an almost paternal regard, lamented him with little less than the truest filial sorrow. In short, from the entire royal family, through every subordinate degree of rank and virtue, to the humblest class of existence, wherever the tidings came, tears overflowed every eye, and grief took entire possession of every heart. The glorious victory, though one of the greatest ever obtained by mortal, and though the last, as well as the most splendid, of the hero so beloved; was scarcely considered, by the nation, as an object worthy of those public rejoicings with which very inferior triumphs are constantly attended. Cannon, indeed, as usual, announced the intelligence, but their sound conveyed a deep melancholy to the heart; the bells were rung, but their peals inspired no hilarity, and seemed little less than the mournful knells of death; nocturnal illuminations were displayed, but the transparencies which they discovered, amidst the gloom, presented only so many sad memorials of the universal loss, expressed by ingenious devices to the hero's memory, which the spectators beheld with sensations of augmented grief, and one general aspect of expressive but unutterable woe. If such was the state of the public feeling, what must have been that of the hero's dearest relatives and friends; of those who had to sustain all the superadded pangs of a loss so difficult to be supplied for the service of the country, so impossible for the felicities of themselves! Several months elapsed, before Lady Hamilton quitted her bed; and Mrs. Bolton and Mrs. Matcham, for a long time, suffered similar anguish and affliction. Indeed, even all the younger branches of this amiable and interesting family, as well as their respective parents, evinced the highest possible degree of sensibility and sorrow for their irretrievable calamity; a calamity which, to them, all the honours and emoluments a grateful nation may bestow, extending to his remotest kindred, at present as well as in future, can scarcely be considered as affording any adequate recompence.
The great council of the country failed not to express solemnly their strong sense of the irreparable loss, by unanimously voting all the grand ceremonials of a public interment beneath the centre of the dome in St. Paul's cathedral, and a monumental erection of commensurate grandeur to rise immediately above the hero's honoured remains.
His majesty, on the 9th of November, was also graciously pleased to elevate his lordship's brother and heir, the Reverend Dr. William Nelson, to the dignity of a Viscount and Earl of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, by the names, stiles, and titles, of Viscount Merton and Earl Nelson, of Trafalgar, and of Merton in the county of Surrey; the same to descend to his heirs male; and, in their default, to the heirs male, successively, of Susannah, wife of Thomas Bolton, Esq., and Catharine, wife of George Matcham, Esq. sisters of the late Lord Viscount Nelson.
The city of London, the Committee of Merchants at Lloyd's Coffee-House, and the respective corporations of several cities and chief towns in different parts of the united kingdom, publicly expressed their sense of the national loss, by the death of it's principal hero; and proposed various plans for perpetuating the remembrance of his transcendent services, by monumental erections, &c.
The body of the hero, which had been preserved in spirits, was brought to England in the Victory; the crew having positively refused to part with the corpse of their adored commander, till it should be safely landed in their native country. They were resolved, they said, one and all, to accompany him, as it should please Heaven, either to the bottom of the ocean, or see his sacred remains deposited in the honoured tomb which would, doubtless, be proudly prepared for them by a grateful nation; and could not suffer the corpse to be sent home in any ship subject to capture by the enemy.
After laying in state, a few days, at Greenwich Hospital, the body was conveyed, with all possible aquatic grandeur and solemnity, to the Admiralty; from whence, the next day, Thursday, January 9, 1806, borne on a grand funeral car, and with a pomp of procession scarcely ever equalled the illustrious hero's hallowed remains were finally deposited beneath the dome of St. Paul's cathedral.
Never, perhaps, were the mournful obsequies of any hero so numerously and so respectably attended; never was any human being deposited in the earth more universally and sincerely wept by every eye which beheld any part of the solemn ceremony. The tears of millions, on that melancholy day, bore testimony to his matchless worth; to the truth of that sentiment which he had piously pronounced, in his last moments—"Thank God, I have been enabled to do my duty to my King and Country!"
May the same Almighty Power inspire the hearts of his King and Country, to fulfil, in their utmost extent, every wish and expectation of the Dying Hero! And may each virtuous individual, in whom the blood of the Nelsons shall flow, to the last drop which can be traced, for ever find friendly patronage among the rulers of a nation, which has certainly, at an eventful crisis, been powerfully exalted, and perhaps preserved, by the example and influence of the immortal hero, who so freely and fatally shed his own last drop in the faithful service of his King and Country!