Footprints of Famous Men: Designed as Incitements to Intellectual Industry

by John G. Edgar

Collingwood was, without delay, appointed to the “Prince,” Admiral Bowyer’s flag-ship, and served with that officer in the action of the 1st of June, 1794, in which Lord Howe accomplished a signal victory. He displayed his wonted vigilance and energy, in watching for the enemy and preparing for strife and wounds. But even then his thoughts strayed often to a gentler scene—to the home of his family, to green woodlands, and “mountains blue.” Even on the eve of battle his fancy heard the ringing of the village bells, and his imagination conjured up the form of his fair spouse as she walked to church, not unmindful of her absent hero. The conflict was sharp, and soon over; and in it Collingwood behaved with much gallantry. Nevertheless, his services were unacknowledged by Lord Howe; and in the distribution of medals he was passed over, much to the surprise of the fleet, and of some officers with whom he had fought side by side, and by whom his bravery had been duly appreciated. “If Collingwood has not deserved a medal,” remarked Captain Packenham, of the “Invincible,” “neither have I; for we were together the whole day.”

Collingwood was a man of too much pride and propriety to waste words on such a subject; but he was, at the same time, actuated by that sentiment of self-respect which forbade him to overlook such an injustice. Ere long an occasion of vindicating his independence and reputation was presented: this happened when the great victory off St. Vincent was happily achieved in 1797. The hero of that day, Sir John Jervis, when writing to the Admiralty, expressed the highest praise and admiration of Collingwood’s conduct, which, in the “Excellent,” had been conspicuously meritorious; and he announced that the Northumbrian captain was to be rewarded with one of the medals distributed in commemoration of the glorious event. Collingwood could now speak out without loss of dignity; and he stated, with feeling and firmness, that he must decline receiving this mark of distinction while the former one was withheld.

“I feel,” he said, as his slender, well-formed person, seemed to swell with emotion, and as his full dark eye flashed with chivalrous pride, and the consciousness of a heart that feared no foe: “I feel that I was then improperly passed over; and to receive such a distinction in this case would be to acknowledge the propriety of that injustice.”

“That,” replied Lord St. Vincent, with evident admiration, “is precisely the answer I expected from you, Captain Collingwood.”

Shortly after this conversation took place, Collingwood experienced the gratification of having the two medals transmitted to him from the Admiralty, with a civil apology for the earlier one having been so long kept back. He was now instructed to assist in what he considered as the humiliating office of blockading the enemy’s ports; and, after a brief interval of repose in the society of his friends and relatives, he was promoted to the rank of Rear-admiral of the White; when, hoisting his flag in the “Triumph,” he proceeded to the Channel fleet, which was under the command of Lord Bridport. He was soon after detached with a reinforcement of twelve sail of the line, and sent to join Lord Keith in the Mediterranean, where the Brest fleet, with the principal naval force of France and Spain, then lay. He subsequently shifted his flag to the “Barfleur;” and in the beginning of 1801 became Rear-admiral of the Red.

The events of 1802 afforded Collingwood the satisfaction of returning for a while to his home at Morpeth, in the north of England. He arrived in the merry month of May, and greatly relished his quiet and repose. He was fond of company, and among his friends showed much lively humor and no inconsiderable knowledge of books. His tastes were plain and simple, and his inclination averse to display. He gratified his paternal feelings by superintending the education of his daughters. He pursued his own studies with more than youthful enthusiasm, improved his style of composition by making extracts from the various works he perused, and indulged his natural fondness for drawing. His garden was situated on the banks of the beautiful Wansback—a river alluded to in “Marmion”—which flows through a succession of fertile valleys; and there he passed many agreeable hours. Indeed he seems, like Lord Bacon, to have looked upon gardening as “the purest of all pleasures, and the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man.” One day, a naval officer coming to visit Collingwood in his happy and tranquil retirement, sought him in vain about the grounds, and was inclined to give up the search, when he suddenly discovered the admiral, along with his old and trusty gardener, busily occupied in digging with vigor at the bottom of a deep trench. The affairs of his domain ever formed an interesting subject of inquiry; nor did distance diminish the respect which he entertained for his faithful horticultural henchman.

In the beginning of 1803, when a renewal of hostilities between England and France occurred, Collingwood was summoned from weeding the oaks in his cheerful northern retreat, which he was never blessed with an opportunity of revisiting; though he often sadly and fondly luxuriated in the anticipation of resuming a place by his own fireside, never more to leave it.

Meantime he was sent, in the “Venerable,” to the squadron off Brest, Admiral Cornwallis joyfully exclaiming on his arrival, “Here comes Collingwood—the last to leave and the first to rejoin me!” In the April of 1803 he was advanced to the rank of Vice-admiral of the Blue, and next year engaged in the blockade of Cadiz, until compelled to retire by the appearance of the combined fleets of France and Spain. He soon resumed his station, where he remained till the following autumn; when thither came that terrible English sea-captain who had already driven the French fleet before him, “from hemisphere to hemisphere,” and performed the vow, long before made, that he would teach Bonaparte to respect the British navy. On the 21st of October, 1805, Trafalgar was fought and won; though the brilliancy was at first, in some degree, clouded and overcast by the fall of the conquering hero, in whose breast patriotism had so long glowed with fierce ardor. On that glorious and ever-memorable day, Collingwood nobly did his duty. In the morning, he arrayed himself for the coming strife with extraordinary care and precision. Meeting with Lieutenant Clavell, whom he had long regarded as “his right hand,” the brave admiral, with his accustomed mental equanimity, said, “You had better put off your boots, and put on silk stockings; as, if one should get a shot in the leg, they would be so much more manageable for the surgeon.” Then, going on deck, he encouraged the men in performing their duty, and asked the officers to do something which the world might talk of in time to come. Nor, when the hour of encounter arrived—when the successes of his great comrade-in-arms were to be crowned with an imperishable triumph—did he fail to sustain his old reputation for prowess and courage. He led the British squadrons into action, and with his single ship, the “Royal Sovereign,” advanced gallantly into the midst of the enemy’s forces. It was then, as he was keenly pressing onward, that Nelson, standing on board the “Victory,” decorated with all his stars and honors, and prepared for death and glory, exclaimed, as the remnant of his right arm moved with excitement, “See how that noble fellow, Collingwood, takes his ship into action!” At the same time Collingwood, knowing what thoughts would be passing through his heroic friend’s mind, remarked to Clavell, with a smile, “What would Nelson give to be here!” It is singular that his spirit of economy should have manifested itself under such circumstances; as when he saw the gallant-studding-sail hanging over the gangway, he requested his lieutenant to assist him in taking it in, and observed that they should live to want it again some other day. Having poured a broadside and a half into the stern of the “Santa Anna,” the two vessels were soon so close that their lower yards were locked together. Another was placed on the lee-quarter of Collingwood’s ship, while three bore on her bow; but England expected every man to do his duty that day, and it was nobly done. As for the “Santa Anna,” she was soon compelled to strike; and the Spanish captain coming on board to surrender his sword, was told that the name of the ship was the “Royal Sovereign.”

“I think she should be called the ‘Royal Devil,’” he exclaimed in broken English, as he patted one of the guns with his hand.

When his illustrious friend fell mortally wounded, the chief command devolved on Collingwood, who, for his brave exploits and signal services on this and former occasions, was created a peer, honored with the thanks of Parliament, and rewarded with a pension and the freedom of several cities. On the day following the victory he issued an order for a general thanksgiving to Almighty God, for having mercifully crowned the exertions of the fleet with success. His position now became peculiarly arduous and difficult. He had the responsible task of managing the political relations of England with the countries bordering on the Mediterranean, in addition to discharging the duties appertaining to his naval command. He encountered them with an unremitting industry, which speedily brought on a disease fatal to his health. Yet believing that it was his duty to do so, and that he might live once more to meet the French, he remained at his post, shattering his frame with toil, fatigue, and exposure, and racking his mind with perpetual care and thought. At length his body began to swell and his legs to shrink; so that his removal to England was represented as indispensable. He accordingly surrendered his command, and embarked; but he was not destined to set foot on the soil whose freedom and sacredness he had spent his strength in guarding. On the 7th of March, 1810, he expired at sea, in his sixtieth year.