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Nelson at Trafalgar

By C. J. CUTCLIFFE HYNE

ONAPARTE had made up his mind that Great Britain should once for all be crushed. He formed a great camp at Boulogne ready to invade England, and disposed his fleets so as to destroy those of his enemy. On the 21st of October, 1805, the British fleet twenty-seven ships of the line under the command of Lord Nelson- fell in with the combined French and Spanish fleet numbering thirtythree ships under the command of Admirals Villeneuve and Gravina off Cape Trafalgar in the southwest corner of Spain.

At 8.30 of that historical morning, De Villeneuve made the signal for his ships to form in close order on the port tack, thereby to bring Cadiz on his lee bow, and facilitate, if necessary, his escape into that port. The order was obeyed clumsily, and what with unskilful seamanship, a light breeze, and a heavy ground swell, the resulting formation was crudely crescent-shaped, the ships clustering in knots and bunches, with great green gaps of tenantless water between them.

And to this thirty-three sail of the line bore down on them in two columns from the windward twenty-seven British war-ships under every stitch of canvas that they could show, yet making a bare three knots with the catspaws that played over the swells.

The English commander-in-chief had hoisted his flag on his old 100-gun ship Victory, and in her led the van of the weather column. He was a little, slight, one-armed man, blind of one eye, and most shabbily dressed. The seams of his uniform frock coat were threadbare, the fabric white with sea salt, the gold lace tarnished to black, flattened rags. Amongst the folds of the left breast were four frayed, lack-lustre stars, dull caricatures of what had once been brilliant decorations. He was a most slatternly admiral.

There might be little of Lord Nelson remaining, but of what there was, the quality was excellent. His solitary eye was as bright as that of a bird. His brain was the most perfect seabrain that ever schemed a tactic. In a ship's company where all were active, none were more active than he. As his vessel lunged over the Atlantic swells, nearing the enemy, he visited all the different decks, overseeing everything himself, addressing the men at their quarters, and cautioning them not to fire a single shot

without being certain that it would find a suitable resting-place.

He spoke in the rough sea-slang of his day, and what he said went home to the hearts of that rough, fighting crew, and a bubble of cheers rippled against his heels throughout all his progress along those narrow 'tween decks. They knew what a fight was, and they knew what a fight that little, shabby man would give them. The joy of battle was as meat and drink to them, and they licked their lips and made their noises in glee, like dogs held back on a chain. Their one wish was for close action.

Amongst the officers on the quarter-deck a different topic was being discussed. They were men without a single thought for their own lives, but their reverence for Lord Nelson was idolatrous, and their fears for him heavy. It seemed to them that on his safety alone depended the success of the day; and as things were going, they knew that it must soon be desperately imperilled.

The Victory, both as van-ship of a column, and as bearing at her fore the flag of the commander-in-chief, would inevitably draw down upon herself all the concentrated force of the enemy's first fire, and the slaughter on her decks would be murderously heavy.

It was an awkward task to put this to the admiral, a man notoriously careless of his own

personal safety; but when he returned from his tour of inspection, his anxious officers clustered round him, and one of them spoke the wishes of all.

Would he not allow the Téméraire, then close astern, to slip past him, and as van-ship take off the brunt of the first fire?

Nelson laughed, and turned to Hardy, his flagcaptain.

"Oh, yes," he said; "let her go ahead if she

Captain Hardy faced the taffrail, and hailed the Téméraire. His chief, still laughing, ran forward along the decks to the officers in command of the sail-trimmers, giving eager orders a pull at a brace here, at a sheet there. The Téméraire might race him into action, but he would take care that the Victory should be first engaged.

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There, Hardy," he said, as he came back to the quarter-deck, "let the "Temeraires' open the ball if they can-which they most assuredly can't. I think there's nothing more to be done now, is there, till we open fire? Oh, yes, stay a minute, though. I suppose I must give the fleet something as a final fillip. Let me see. How would this do-Nelson expects that every man will do his duty"?"

Captain Hardy suggested that “England ex

pects" would be better, and on Nelson consenting, the message went up flag by flag, and broke out in a dazzle of color at the Victory's mizzen topgallant masthead. A hundred telescopes read the bunting, and when the message was translated to the British crews, their wild, exultant cheers spread out over the ocean's swell like the rattle of musketry.

Only one other signal was made, and that was belayed fast to the Victory's main truck and stayed there till it was shot away. It read: "Engage the enemy more closely." But it did not incite any special enthusiasm. It was Nelson's customary order on going into action, and was taken entirely as a matter of course. The Island seamen of that day were never chary of coming to hand-grips when they got the chance. They had entire confidence in pike and cutlass and clubbutted pistol when wielded by their own lusty selves, and a superb contempt for the physical powers of Don and Frenchman, both of which matters were very serviceable to their success.

It was just before noon that the French Fougueux opened fire upon Vice-Admiral Collingwood in the Royal Sovereign, and, as though it had been a signal, the two admirals' flags broke out at their fore-mastheads, and the ships of both fleets hoisted their ensigns. The wind was very light, the sea oil-smooth, with a great ground