At length the day which Nelson had long looked for arrived. On the 19th, signal was made by the “Mars,” first, that the enemy were coming out of port, and then that their fleet was at sea. On that day they were narrowly watched by the British fleet, as they were through the night; and on the morning of the 20th the combined fleets, consisting of thirty-three sail of the line and seven large frigates, were seen ahead in a close line of battle, on the starboard tack, about twelve miles to leeward, and standing to the south. On board the enemy had four thousand troops, and numerous Tyrolese riflemen were dispersed through the ships. The British admiral had with him only twenty-seven sail of the line and four frigates; six ships of the line having been dispatched to Gibraltar for provisions and water. With this force he resolved to attack the enemy on the next day; and soon after daylight he called Captain Blackwood on board the “Victory,” the last words he uttered to whom were:—“God bless you, Blackwood; I shall never see you more.” He had a presentiment that, while he was certain of victory, it would, nevertheless, be gained at the price of his own life. Yet, with this prospect before him, appalling as it must have been to his mind, he was calm and serene. His whole attention was fixed on Villeneuve, who was wearing to form the line in close order upon the larboard tack, thereby to bring Cadiz under his lee, and to facilitate, if necessary, his escape into that port. This induced Nelson to steer somewhat more to the north, and telegraph Collingwood, “I intend to pass through the van of the enemy’s line, to prevent his getting into Cadiz.” Villeneuve’s movements had also produced another danger, for they had brought the shoals of San Pedro and Trafalgar under the lee of both fleets; and to guard against this danger Nelson made a signal for the British fleet to anchor at the close of day. All things prepared, the hero of the Nile gave his last signal:—“England expects every man to do his duty!” which was greeted with three cheers on board of every ship in the fleet. “Now,” said Nelson, “I can do no more; we must trust to the Great Disposer of all events and to the justice of our cause: I thank God for this grand opportunity of doing my duty.” While gradually approaching the enemy, whose ships had fallen into a crescent form, Nelson dressed himself, putting on the coat which he had usually worn for weeks, and on which the order of the Bath was embroidered. The captain of the “Victory,” Hardy, suggested that this might become a mark for the enemy; to which Nelson replied, “He was aware of it; but that, as in honour he had gained his orders, so in honour he would die with them.” The battle commenced about ten minutes after the hour of noon, when Admiral Collingwood, in the “Royal Sovereign” engaged the “Santa Anna,” the flag-ship of Vice-Admiral Alava, the second in command. Ship after ship followed his example, and the battle waged fiercely on every hand. The “Victory,” in which Nelson was, singled out the “Santissima Trinidad,” a huge four-decker, which he had encountered before, and which he was wont to call his old acquaintance. At the same time seven or eight French and Spanish ships opened a fire on the “Victory.” Mr. Scott, his secretary, was killed, Captain Hardy was wounded in the foot, and fifty sailors perished before the “Victory” returned a shot. At length orders were given to fire; and as it had been discovered that the French admiral, who hoisted no colours, was in the “Bucentaure,” of eighty guns, Nelson’s terrible sixty-eight pounder carronade from the “Victory’s” forecastle was turned chiefly against that ship. In two minutes nearly four hundred men were killed or wounded in this ship; twenty of her guns were dismounted, and she was almost disabled. The next ship which the “Victory” encountered was the “Redoubtable,” against which she ran foul, the anchor of the one striking the spare anchor of the other, and the hooks and boom-irons getting intermixed or catching in the leash of the sails, holding the two ships together. Again the starboard carronade was fired, which cleared the French ship’s gangway in a moment. At the same time the “Victory’s” larboard guns did fatal execution in the “Santissima Trinidad,” now engaged likewise. At length the “Redoubtable” took fire, and the flames spread to the “Victory.” The English sailors put out their own fire, and threw buckets of water into the “Redoubtable” to help the French to extinguish theirs. In the midst of this terrific scene Nelson—the brave, undaunted Nelson—fell: a rifle or musket-ball from the mizen-top of the “Redoubtable” passed through him, and he fell on his knees on the very spot where his secretary had before him breathed his last. “They have done for me at last,” said he to Hardy, who was anxiously bending over him, “my backbone is shot through.” He was carried down to the cockpit, which was crowded with the wounded and the dying, and where it was too soon discovered that his wound was mortal, the ball had entered his left shoulder, through the forepart of the epaulette, and had lodged in his spine. In the meantime the battle raged with fury. In the midst of the roar of cannon and the shrieks of the wounded and the dying, the crew of the “Victory” ever and anon by their shoutings announced that some ship of the enemy had struck. On hearing their shouts, joy sparkled in the eyes of the dying Nelson; and he sent for Captain Hardy to inquire how the battle proceeded. It was some time before Hardy could leave the scene of carnage on the quarter-deck; but on reaching the side of the dying Nelson he informed him that twelve or fourteen of the enemy’s ships had struck, but that five of their van had tacked and shown an intention of bearing down upon the “Victory,” and that he had called two or three ships round it to guard against the clanger. Hardy then returned to the quarter-deck; but in less than an hour he returned, and congratulated his dying friend on having obtained a brilliant and complete victory: fourteen or fifteen of the enemy’s ships, he said, were captured. “That’s well,” replied Nelson; “but I bargained for twenty;” then in a louder tone he exclaimed, “Anchor, Hardy, anchor!” Hardy suggested that Admiral Collingwood would now take upon himself the direction of affairs: but Nelson, endeavouring to raise himself from his bed, replied that he would command while he lived, and gave imperative orders to anchor. It is supposed that he meant, in case of his surviving until all resistance was over, he would anchor the ships and prizes, as the surest means of saving them, should a gale of wind arise. Soon after this the hero’s gallant spirit fled: his last words, thrice repeated, were, “Thank God, I have done my duty.” The victory was complete; and Admiral Collingwood, who now succeeded to the command of the fleet, and who had largely contributed to gain the battle, distinguished himself no less by his skill after it was gained, than by his undaunted bravery in the action. The number of ships captured was nineteen; and Villeneuve and two Spanish admirals fell into the hands of the British. One French ship blew up after her surrender, two hundred of the crew of which were saved by our tenders. The total number of prisoners taken amounted to nearly 12,000 men; the total British loss was 1,587, including many officers and the gallant Nelson. Out of eighteen sail of the line the French only preserved nine; and out of fifteen sail of the line the Spaniards preserved only six. Most of the captured vessels, however, were subsequently lost at sea through stress of weather; four only were saved and carried to Gibraltar. “Our own infirm ships,” says Collingwood, “could scarce keep off the shore: the prizes were left to their fate; and as they were driven very near the port, I ordered them to be destroyed, that there might be no risk of their again falling into the hands of the enemy.” Thus ended the greatest naval victory recorded in history, whether in ancient or modern times. By it England was rescued from all chances of invasion, and left sole mistress of the seas. And the moral effect of the victory was as great as the physical one; the marine force of Napoleon might be said to be annihilated. It was, in fact, a glorious set off to his successes on the continent; and deep must have been his chagrin on hearing the news. In England the joy was great, and was only damped by the consideration that posthumous honours alone could be awarded to him who was instrumental in gaining the victory. These honours were with gratitude heaped on his memory. His brother was made an earl, with a grant of £6000 per annum; £10,000 were voted to each of his sisters; and £100,000 for the purchase of an estate. As for the hero himself, a public funeral and a public monument in St. Paul’s was decreed to him, and statues, columns, and other monuments were voted in most of our principal cities. Nor did the gratitude of the nation stop at the moment. Recently a noble monument has been erected to his memory in Trafalgar Square, chiefly by private contributions. His name will live in the history of England and the memories of his grateful countrymen down to the latest period of time. Faults and errors in private life may have stained his character; but his memory will nevertheless be precious in the sight of admiring posterity.
MEETING OF PARLIAMENT.
A.D. 1806
Parliament met on the 21st of January. The speech was delivered by commission, and it dwelt upon our great naval successes, and attempted to alleviate regret for the disasters of our allies on the continent, with the assurances the Russian emperor had given that he would still aid us in the strife. It mentioned also that £1,000,000 accruing to the crown from the droits of admiralty should be applied to the public service; and concluded with a strong recommendation of vigilance and exertion against the common enemy. Amendments were read in both houses; but they were not moved in consequence of the intelligence that Pitt was at the point of death.
DEATH OF MR. PITT.
When parliament reassembled, Pitt, who at the close of last session was obliged to relinquish all exertions and retire to Bath, was lying in a state of debility and exhaustion at Putney, whither he had recently returned. Two days after the meeting of parliament, on the 23rd of January, he expired, in the forty-seventh year of his age; a young man in years, but aged in constitution from incessant toil and mental anxiety. On the motion of Mr. Henry Lascelles he was buried in Westminster Abbey, at the public expense, and a monument, with a suitable inscription, was erected to his memory. As he had died in debt, a sum not exceeding £40,000 was voted for the payment of his creditors, without any opposition. “Never had a minister that ruled the country for twenty long years, or for half or fourth of that time, done so little to enrich himself and family—never had statesman and dispenser of patronage and places been more indifferent to his private interests.” These sentences speak volumes as to the character of this eminent statesman. In politics he may often have erred; but not even his bitterest foe can impeach his integrity. “I allow,” said his inveterate opponent, Fox, “I allow that a minister is not to be considered as moderate and disinterested, merely because he is poor during his life or at his death; but when I see a minister who has been in office above twenty years, with the full command of places and public money, without any peculiar extravagance and waste, except what might be expected from the carelessness that perhaps necessarily arose from the multiplicity of duties to which the attention of a man in such a situation must be directed,—when I see a minister under such circumstances using his influence neither to enrich himself nor those with whom he is by family ties more particularly connected, it is impossible for me not to conclude that this man is disinterested.”