Down came the tricoloured flag, and “Cease firing” resounded all along our decks.
Our Captain himself had but half a cocked hat, the other half having been carried off by a round shot that entered his cabin when he had gone to serve out something to a couple of seamen, and drenched it with their blood. Mr. Galwey, our First, and a party of marines, were sent to take possession.
Before this the fire of the Aquilon had slackened off, for the Minotaur, which had engaged her, gave her such a terrible yard-to-yard gruelling that the heart was taken out of her fighting. This was fortunate, for we had to send for her captain to receive a dying message from the Admiral, who wished to thank him for the way he had saved our ship by laying himself alongside of the Aquilon. We could not have stood that raking many minutes longer.
I have not described the mighty exploits of our captains who conquered the French centre as such should be chronicled, for we of the flagship were confronted with an event before which any other incident of the battle seemed but of small importance, for the Admiral was struck down, as we feared, mortally wounded.
He was walking on the deck, exposing himself like the commonest sailor, as was his wont, when a flying piece of iron from a charge of langridge struck him upon the upper part of the forehead, and cut a great piece of skin at right angles. This hung down over his face, covering his seeing eye, and further blinding him with the terrific stream of blood. He was at the time, though it may scarcely be credited in the midst of such a terrible cannonade, calmly examining the rough sketch map of the Bay which had been found in a French ship by Captain Hallowell; and he afterwards made a jest of the French taking a mean advantage of him, and hitting him when he was not looking. But he did not jest at the time; he just reeled and fell into the arms of the Captain. I was by him, of course, for I was still on this duty, and distinctly heard him say, “I am killed! Remember me to my wife!”—a circumstance which I always did remember, contrasting it with what he said at Trafalgar about Lady Hamilton.
I will not pretend to judge Lady Nelson: indeed, I have not seen her above once or twice, when she seemed to me the ordinary Admiral’s wife, whom one would meet in such a place as this in which I live, in times of peace. What faults she had were just the faults such a woman would have, and they included the fault of being totally unable to satisfy such an intense, imaginative, romantic temperament as the Admiral’s. I was in service under that great man for years, and I think that the whole episode of his unhappy marriage, and his much reprobated relation with Lady Hamilton, may be summed up in the fact that his was a nature that demanded to be monopolised by a woman. How to monopolise, Lady Nelson neither knew nor cared, and there was ready to step into her place one of the most remarkable and companionable women of history.
“I am killed! Remember me to my wife,” cried our beloved Admiral; and instantly Will and I and two or three others—the hard, cold Will, with tears streaming down his face—ran to Captain Berry’s assistance, and carried him down to the cockpit.
The surgeon, hearing who it was, flew to him; but he cried out, “No, I will take my turn with my brave fellows,” and immediately afterwards he added—“Do not waste your time over me. I am a dying man. Tend those who can be saved, and call me the chaplain.” And when the chaplain came he told him twice over to carry his dying remembrance to Lady Nelson, and to summon Captain Louis from the Minotaur, which was just ahead of us, and had saved us from the tremendous raking of the Aquilon. Captain Louis came very quickly, and the Admiral thanked him as the saviour of his ship. The captain could only hold out his hand in silent sorrow. The Admiral bade him an affectionate farewell. “And now,” said he, “whatever may become of me, my mind is at peace.”
The surgeon then insisted on examining his wound, which he found, except for the concussion, to be of a trifling nature, though it was some time before he could convince the Admiral of this. But as soon as he had done so, the Admiral sought for some means to allay the tremendous excitement under which he was naturally labouring, while winning so glorious a victory, so he began to write a despatch to the Admiralty. The secretary, who was himself wounded, was so affected by the Admiral’s condition that he was unable to guide his pen, so the Admiral sent for the chaplain, and though he came almost immediately he grew so impatient of waiting for him that he commenced to write himself, with his trembling left hand:—
“My Lord,—Almighty God has blest His Majesty’s arms——.” He had written but little when Captain Berry came down to report that the French Admiral’s flagship, the tremendous Orient of 120 guns, was on fire; and, severely wounded as he was, the Admiral instantly staggered up on deck, where the first consideration that struck his mind was concern for the danger of so many lives.