Nelson wore all his decorations. "In honor I gained them, and in honor I will die with them," said he. He was shot and fatally wounded. He was carried below, where he died some three hours later. A moment before breathing his last, he murmured: "Thank God, I have done my duty."
The sublimest eulogy for such heroes is the public consternation caused by their death. The victory of Trafalgar was hailed in England with cries of joy and with tears. "Mr. Pitt observed to me," writes Lord Fitzharris, "that he had been called up at various hours in his eventful life by the arrival of news of various hues; but that, whether good or bad, he could always lay his head on his pillow, and sink into sound sleep. On this occasion, however, the great event announced, brought with it so much to weep over, as well as to rejoice at, that he could not calm his thoughts, but at length got up, though it was three o'clock in the morning."
England overwhelmed with honors and gifts the family of her hero. She gave him the most magnificent obsequies, and placed in one of the halls of the palace at Windsor, the mast against which he had leaned and the ball which had struck him. National gratitude did not stop at the illustrious hero fallen in the very summit of his glory; it extended with the same generous ardor to the great minister who alone opposed the irresistible invader of empires and destroyer of European rights.
At the annual banquet of the city of London, on the 9th of March, 1805, after the crowd had detached the horses, in order to draw his carriage, the Lord Mayor proposed the health of Mr. Pitt, as already the savior of England, and soon to be the savior of Europe. Sir Arthur Wellesley, already celebrated by his victories in India, was present. Subsequently, under the title of the Duke of Wellington, he was placed at the head of the armed European coalition, and carried on the interrupted but henceforth victorious work of Mr. Pitt. "The minister arose," related the Duke in his old age, and waived the compliment, remarking: "England is saved by her own efforts, and the rest of Europe will be saved by her example."
The safety of Europe seemed more than ever distant and doubtful. On the 2nd of December, 1805, the battle of Austerlitz struck the last blow to the hopes of the allies in Germany. The peace of Presburg, signed by Austria, on the 26th of December, abandoned the Tyrol to the Elector of Bavaria, and Venice to the kingdom of Italy. Russia soon gave up the struggle. The third European coalition was destroyed.
Mr. Pitt was at Bath, seriously ill with an attack of gout, but full of hope, in consequence of false news of a victory in Moravia. When he learned of the battle at Austerlitz, the bitterness of the contrast surpassed the measure of his physical strength. He called for a map, and desired to be left alone. He weighed sadly the future chances of his country. The malady slowly exhausted his enfeebled body. He was taken back to his country house at Putney, emaciated and exhausted; grown old in a few days. A map of Europe hung upon the wall: pointing his finger towards it, he said to his niece, Lady Hester Stanhope: "Roll up that map—it will not be wanted these ten years."
For some time past, the native vigor of his mind had struggled against feeble bodily health, as well as excessive fatigues; and finally patriotic grief broke down the last rampart of his declining strength. Each day he became feebler. His countenance betrayed the intensity of his mental sufferings. "He has his Austerlitz look," said Wilberforce.
In defeating the Austrians on the 2nd of December, Napoleon had conquered a more formidable enemy than the Empire. Mr. Pitt had only a few days to live. He preserved to the last moment, his affectionate interest for his friends, and a serene pleasure in their society. The Marquis of Wellesley had just returned from India; he hastened to Putney. "I found him in his usual good spirits," writes he, "and his understanding appeared to be as vigorous and clear as ever. Amongst other topics, he told me, with great kindness and feeling, that since he had seen me he had been happy to become acquainted with my brother Arthur, of whom he spoke in the warmest terms of commendation. He said,—'I never met any military officer with whom it was so satisfactory to converse. He states every difficulty before he undertakes any service; but none after he has undertaken it.' Notwithstanding Mr. Pitt's kindness and cheerfulness, I saw that the hand of death was fixed upon him. This melancholy truth was not known nor believed by either his friends or opponents. I informed Lord Grenville that the death of Mr. Pitt was near, and he received this sad intelligence with the greatest emotion and an agony of tears; and he resolved immediately to suspend all hostilities in Parliament."