In concluding our brief description of Gibraltar, and our summary of its history, we may allude to its intimate connection with the naval annals of Great Britain. How often have our fleets sailed forth from under its guns to encounter the armaments of hostile Powers; how often have they returned victorious, carrying with them the trophies of their prowess! Let us glance for a moment at the most brilliant of these triumphs; that last crowning victory of Nelson’s, off Trafalgar, which was won almost within sight of the celebrated Strait. A memorable victory, for it swept the French and Spanish flags from the sea, while it defeated Napoleon’s masterly combination by which he had hoped to have effected the invasion of England.
The French and Spanish fleets, under Admiral Villeneuve, were lying in Cadiz, closely watched by Nelson, with an inferior force, when Napoleon sent them an imperative order to put to sea. Against his better judgment, Villeneuve weighed anchor on the 19th and 20th of October 1805, and forming in five divisions,—in all 33 sail of the line and 3 frigates, mounting 2626 guns,—stood for the mouth of the Strait. This was the opportunity Nelson long had wished for; and with his 27 ships of the line and 6 frigates, carrying 2148 guns, he sailed in immediate pursuit. When, on the 21st, the French admiral became aware of the approach of the British, and discovered that it was impossible to avoid an engagement, he drew up his ships in array of battle,—forming a double and even a treble line, nearly five miles in length, and resembling a curve, or half-moon.
Meanwhile, Nelson advanced with his ships arrayed in two columns, and pressing forward under a cloud of canvas; Collingwood leading the leeward division in the Royal Sovereign, and Nelson himself the weather line in the Victory. The wind was blowing freshly from the west, and a heavy swell rolled along the sea. At this moment the great English Sea-King withdrew to his cabin, where he drew up a memorandum of a domestic character, and wrote the following prayer, evidently under the influence of a presentiment of coming death:—
“May the great God, whom I worship, grant to my country, and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory, and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it; and may humanity after victory be the predominant feature in the British fleet! For myself, individually, I commit my life to Him that made me; and may His blessing alight on my endeavours for serving my country faithfully! To Him I resign myself, and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend. Amen. Amen. Amen.”
Dressed in his customary well-worn uniform, with the four time-tarnished stars of the orders he generally wore, Nelson went upon deck. Aware that in the ensuing battle his life would be specially aimed at, his captain, Hardy, implored him not to lead his division into the storm, and he reluctantly consented that the Leviathan and Timéraire should pass ahead. But while he issued the necessary order, he took good care it should prove fruitless. The Victory was a swift sailer, and could not fail to keep the lead, unless she shortened sail. But it was evident that Nelson delighted in crowding on all the canvas his spars could carry. Confident of victory, he turned with a smile to Captain Blackwood, and asked how many ships of the enemy’s he should consider a fair triumph? Blackwood, knowing how well they fought, answered that he thought fourteen would be a glorious result. “I shall not be satisfied,” said Nelson, “with less than twenty.”
The British fleet was rapidly closing up with the enemy, when, at about twenty minutes to twelve, Nelson again turned to Captain Blackwood, observing that it appeared to him some other signal was wanting. He paused a few moments, and then directed the signal-lieutenant to proclaim to the fleet that fine historic thought,—
“England expects every man will do his duty!”
As soon as its purport was understood by the fleet, a strong and earnest cheer arose, which showed with how heroic an enthusiasm the British were going into the storm and stress of battle. Shortly afterwards Captain Blackwood, having to return to his frigate, the Euryalus, shook his commander by the hand, and expressed a hope he should return to congratulate him on the capture of twenty prizes. “God bless you, Blackwood,” said the admiral; “I shall never see you again.”
The division under Nelson had to bear away to the north, in order to get between Cadiz and the enemy. Thus it came to pass that Collingwood’s division first joined battle,—his flag-ship, the Royal Sovereign, breaking the enemy’s line at ten minutes past twelve, luffing under the stern of the Santa Anna, and pouring into her a tremendous broadside. Three others of the enemy then gathered round the British man-of-war, hurling at her such a hurricane of shot that they were seen to strike each other in the air. “Rotherham,” said Collingwood to his captain, “what would not Nelson give to be here now?” Almost at the same time, Nelson, on board the Victory, exclaimed, “See how that noble fellow Collingwood takes his ship into action!”
Ten minutes later, the Victory broke the enemy’s line to the northward, and was soon receiving the fire of no fewer than six ships. The incessant discharges were murderous, and men fell quickly. With upwards of fifty killed and wounded, and her sails torn into ribbons, the Victory still drove through the enemy, completely breaking up their trim array; her example being followed by each man-of-war as it came up. The battle was at its fiercest when the Victory came into collision with the Redoubtable, which she engaged with her starboard guns, while she directed her larboard on the Bucentaure and Trinidad. A constant rattle of musketry was maintained from the tops of the Redoubtable, which were filled with soldiers. In a few minutes the dead encumbered the gangways and quarter-deck of the Victory, while her cockpit was filled with wounded. Meantime, Nelson and Hardy continued to pace to and fro along a space of deck not more than seven yards in length; and at about twenty-five minutes past one, just as they had reached within a pace of the regular turning-point, Nelson, who was on the larboard side, faced about, and, before Hardy could support him, fell. “They have done for me at last, Hardy!” he exclaimed. “I hope not,” answered the captain. “Yes; my backbone is shot through.” A musket-ball from the mizzen-top of the Redoubtable had entered his left shoulder through the fore part of the epaulet, and descending, lodged in the spine. He was removed to the cockpit, and examined by the surgeons. The wound was mortal. All was done that could be done to alleviate his sufferings; and he lingered until half-past four, when, murmuring, “Thank God, I have done my duty!” the greatest seaman of this or any age passed away.