The hour that succeeded his wounding was the decisive one of the fight; not that the issue admitted of much doubt, after once Nelson's plans had received fulfilment, and the battle joined,—unless the delinquent van of the allies had acted promptly,—but in those moments the work was done which was thenceforth, for the enemy, beyond repair. Overhead, therefore, the strife went on incessantly, the seamen toiling steadily at their guns, and cheering repeatedly. Near the admiral lay Lieutenant Pasco, severely but not fatally wounded. At one burst of hurrahs, Nelson asked eagerly what it was about; and Pasco replying that another ship had struck, he expressed his satisfaction. Soon he became very anxious for further and more exact information of the course of the battle, and about the safety of Captain Hardy, upon whom now was devolved such guidance as the fleet, until the action was over, must continue to receive from the flagship of the commander-in-chief. In accordance with his wishes many messages were sent to Hardy to come to him, but for some time it was not possible for that officer to leave the deck. During this period, up to between half-past two and three, the ships of the two British divisions, that followed the leaders, were breaking successively into the enemy's order, and carrying out with intelligent precision the broad outlines of Nelson's instructions. The heads of the columns had dashed themselves to pieces, like a forlorn hope, against the overpowering number of foes which opposed their passage—an analysis of the returns shows that upon the four ships which led, the "Victory" and "Téméraire," the "Royal Sovereign" and "Belleisle," fell one-third of the entire loss in a fleet of twenty-seven sail. But they had forced their way through, and by the sacrifice of themselves had shattered and pulverized the local resistance, destroyed the coherence of the hostile line, and opened the road for the successful action of their followers. With the appearance of the latter upon the scene, succeeded shortly by the approach of the allied van, though too late and in disorder, began what may be called the second and final phase of the battle.
While such things were happening the deck could not be left by Hardy, who, for the time being, was commander-in-chief as well as captain. Shortly after Nelson fell, the "Téméraire" had run on board the "Redoutable" on the other side, and the French "Fougueux" upon the "Téméraire," so that for a few minutes the four ships were fast together, in the heat of the fight. About quarter past two, the "Victory" was shoved clear, and lay with her head to the northward, though scarcely with steerage way. The three others remained in contact with their heads to the southward. While this mêlée was in progress, the French flagship "Bucentaure" surrendered, at five minutes past two; but, before hauling down the flag, Villeneuve made a signal to his recreant van,—"The ships that are not engaged, take positions which will bring them most rapidly under fire." Thus summoned, the ten vessels which constituted the van began to go about, as they should have done before; and, although retarded by the slack wind, they had got their heads to the southward by half-past two. Five stood to leeward of the line of battle, but five to windward. The latter would pass not far to the westward of the "Victory," and to meet this fresh attack demanded the captain's further care, and postponed his going to the death-bed of his chief. The latter had become very agitated at the delay, thinking that Hardy might be dead and the news kept from him. "Will nobody bring Hardy to me?" he frequently exclaimed. "He must be killed; he is surely destroyed." At last a midshipman came down with the message that "circumstances respecting the fleet required the captain's presence on deck, but that he would take the first favourable moment to visit his Lordship." Nelson, hearing the voice, asked who it was that spoke. The lad, Bulkeley, who later in the day was wounded also, was the son of a former shipmate in the far back days of the San Juan expedition, and the dying admiral charged the lad with a remembrance to his father.
Captain Thomas Masterman Hardy
Two ships of Nelson's column, as yet not engaged,—the "Spartiate" and the "Minotaur,"—were then just reaching the scene. Being in the extreme rear, the lightness of the breeze had so far delayed them. Arriving thus opportunely, they hauled to the wind so as to interpose between the "Victory" and the approaching van of the allies. Covered now by two wholly fresh ships, the captain felt at liberty to quit the deck, in accordance with Nelson's desire. The two tried friends—Hardy had been everywhere with him since the day of St. Vincent, and was faithful enough to speak to Lady Hamilton more freely than she liked—shook hands affectionately. "Well, Hardy," said Nelson, "how goes the battle? How goes the day with us?" "Very well, my Lord," replied Hardy. "We have got twelve or fourteen of the enemy's ships in our possession, but five of their van have tacked, and show an intention of bearing down upon the Victory. I have therefore called two or three of our fresh ships round us, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing." "I hope none of our ships have struck, Hardy." "No, my Lord," was the answer, "there is no fear of that." Nelson then said, "I am a dead man, Hardy. I am going fast: it will be all over with me soon. Come nearer to me. Pray let my dear Lady Hamilton have my hair, and all other things belonging to me." Hardy observed that he hoped Mr. Beatty could yet hold out some prospect of life. "Oh no!" replied Nelson; "it is impossible. My back is shot through. Beatty will tell you so." Hardy then returned to the deck, shaking hands again before parting.
Nelson now desired the surgeons to leave him to the attendants, as one for whom nothing could be done, and to give their professional care where it would be of some avail. In a few moments he recalled the chief surgeon, and said, "I forgot to tell you that all power of motion and feeling below my breast are gone; and you very well know I can live but a short time." From the emphasis he placed on his words, the surgeon saw he was thinking of a case of spinal injury to a seaman some months before, which had proved mortal after many days' suffering; yet it would seem that, despite the conviction that rested on his mind, the love of life, and of all it meant to him, yet clung to the hope that possibly there might be a reprieve. "One would like to live a little longer," he murmured; and added, "What would become of poor Lady Hamilton if she knew my situation!" "Beatty," he said again, "you know I am gone." "My Lord," replied the surgeon, with a noble and courteous simplicity, "unhappily for our country, nothing can be done for you;" and he turned away to conceal the emotion which he could not at once control. "I know it," said Nelson. "I feel something rising in my breast," putting his hand on his left side, "which tells me I am gone. God be praised, I have done my duty." To this latter thought he continually recurred.
At about three o'clock, the five ships of the enemy's van, passing within gunshot to windward,[142] opened fire upon the British ships and their prizes. The "Victory" with her consorts replied. "Oh, Victory! Victory!" cried the sufferer, "how you distract my poor brain!" and after a pause added, "How dear life is to all men!" This distant exchange of shots was ineffectual, except to kill or wound a few more people, but while it continued Hardy had to be on deck, for the flag of the commander-in-chief still vested his authority in that ship. During this period an officer was sent to Collingwood to inform him of the admiral's condition, and to bear a personal message of farewell from the latter; but Nelson had no idea of transferring any portion of his duty until he parted with his life also.
A short hour elapsed between Hardy's leaving the cockpit and his returning to it, which brings the time to four o'clock. Strength had ebbed fast meanwhile, and the end was now very near; but Nelson was still conscious. The friends again shook hands, and the captain, before releasing his grasp, congratulated the dying hero upon the brilliancy of the victory. It was complete, he said. How many were captured, it was impossible to see, but he was certain fourteen or fifteen. The exact number proved to be eighteen. "That is well," said Nelson, but added, faithful to his exhaustive ideas of sufficiency, "I bargained for twenty." Then he exclaimed, "Anchor, Hardy, anchor!" Hardy felt the embarrassment of issuing orders now that Collingwood knew that his chief was in the very arms of death; but Nelson was clearly within his rights. "I suppose, my Lord," said the captain, "Admiral Collingwood will now take upon himself the direction of affairs." "Not while I live, I hope, Hardy," cried Nelson, and for a moment endeavored, ineffectually, to raise himself from the bed. "No. Do you anchor, Hardy." Captain Hardy then said, "Shall we make the signal, Sir?" "Yes," answered the admiral, "for if I live, I'll anchor." These words he repeated several times, even after Hardy had left him, and the energy of his manner showed that for the moment the sense of duty and of responsibility had triumphed over his increasing weakness.
Reaction of course followed, and he told Hardy he felt that in a few minutes he should be no more. "Don't throw me overboard," he added; "you know what to do." Hardy having given assurance that these wishes should be attended to, Nelson then said, "Take care of my dear Lady Hamilton, Hardy: take care of poor Lady Hamilton. Kiss me, Hardy." The captain knelt down and kissed his cheek. "Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty." Hardy rose and stood looking silently at him for an instant or two, then knelt down again and kissed his forehead. "Who is that?" asked Nelson. The captain answered, "It is Hardy;" to which his Lordship replied, "God bless you, Hardy!" The latter then returned to the quarter-deck, having passed about eight minutes in this final interview.