That was his expression when worried with forced inaction, or being chained to mere routine with no prospect of an occasion which demanded ability to meet it. But when such an occasion arose this expression was replaced by the smiling serenity and confidence of the portrait painted in the year of the Nile.
The narrowness of chin and forehead, and the general smallness of the face, I have always considered as the physiognomical expression of the concentration and intenseness of his character.
This little man was the great Admiral who was one day to be Lord Nelson, and leave such a name behind him as no sailor who ever sailed the sea left before him, or is ever like to leave. I was standing to take orders, when suddenly the Admiral cried out, “The devil take this wind, Berry! If the Boadicea’s news be true, the French in Brest will be ready for sea before it blows out, and I shall have to fight them with my hands tied by the convoy. I hate this convoying,—I don’t mind what the odds are in a fair fight. But they shall sink every King’s ship among us before they get away with any of my convoy. Sink, I say!—there shall be no question of capturing any fighting ship in my fleet. I hope that trial of Williamson’s will have its effect on officers going into action. I was sorry for him: I do not grudge him getting off with his life; I daresay that there were some favourable circumstances, and it is ever a virtue to lean to the side of mercy. But as to myself, upon the general question that if a man does not do his utmost in time of action, I think but one punishment ought to be inflicted. Not that I take a man’s merit from his list of killed and wounded, for but little may be in his power; and if he does his utmost in the station he is placed, he has equal merit to the man who may have his ship beat to pieces, but not his good fortune. I would have every man believe I shall only take my chance of being shot by the enemy, but if I do not take that chance I am certain of being shot by my friends.”
“I am sure, sir, that there is no captain in this fleet but thinks the same.”
“I am glad of that, Berry. I’m glad of that. But I say, the devil take this wind!—I shall never be quit of the sea-sickness till we are out of this. Why, this very morning ... but no matter. We want some luck, Berry.”
“I fear we cannot command that, sir; though Nelson’s luck is a proverb in the service. I know of no charm for luck except to whistle for the wind. I do not know how to unwhistle it.”
“Is it a proverb, Berry, my luck?”
“You may take my word for that, sir.”
The great little Admiral stroked his firm chin, and a glad light broke into his eyes.
“Strange!” he said, “that they talk of men being born under a lucky star. That is not the way I look at it, but I have always believed that I was born to do the work of Providence, which is perhaps what they mean. And I think that Providence gives its little signs to those whom it chooses for its instruments. But I have had no signs here—everything is as thick as St. Helen’s Church. It is not a church now, you know, Berry, only a tower—only the shell of a tower, I think, kept standing and washed with white as a beacon to mariners. And, even lying in-shore like this, we cannot see the beacon, it is so thick. However long is it since we were able to communicate with shore, Berry?”