THE SAME. THE QUARTER-DECK OF THE “VICTORY” [The van of each division of the English fleet has drawn to the windward side of the combined fleets of the enemy, and broken their order, the “Victory” being now parallel to and alongside the “Redoubtable,” the “Temeraire” taking up a station on the other side of that ship. The “Bucentaure” and the “Santisima Trinidad” become jammed together a little way ahead. A smoke and din of cannonading prevail, amid which the studding-sail booms are shot away. NELSON, HARDY, BLACKWOOD, SECRETARY SCOTT, LIEUTENANT PASCO, BURKE the Purser, CAPTAIN ADAIR of the Marines, and other officers are on or near the quarter-deck.]

NELSON See, there, that noble fellow Collingwood, How straight he helms his ship into the fire!— Now you’ll haste back to yours [to BLACKWOOD]. —We must henceforth Trust to the Great Disposer of events, And justice of our cause!... [BLACKWOOD leaves. The battle grows hotter. A double-headed shot cuts down seven or eight marines on the “Victory’s” poop.] Captain Adair, part those marines of yours, And hasten to disperse them round the ship.— Your place is down below, Burke, not up here; Ah, yes; like David you would see the battle! [A heavy discharge of musket-shot comes from the tops of the “Santisima Trinidad. ADAIR and PASCO fall. Another swathe of Marines is mowed down by chain-shot.]

SCOTT My lord, I use to you the utmost prayers That I have privilege to shape in words: Remove your stars and orders, I would beg; That shot was aimed at you.

NELSON They were awarded to me as an honour, And shall I do despite to those who prize me, And slight their gifts? No, I will die with them, If die I must. [He walks up and down with HARDY.]

HARDY At least let’s put you on Your old greatcoat, my lord—[the air is keen.].— ’Twill cover all. So while you still retain Your dignities, you baulk these deadly aims

NELSON Thank ’ee, good friend. But no,—I haven’t time, I do assure you—not a trice to spare, As you well will see. [A few minutes later SCOTT falls dead, a bullet having pierced his skull. Immediately after a shot passes between the Admiral and the Captain, tearing the instep of Hardy’s shoe, and striking away the buckle. They shake off the dust and splinters it has scattered over them. NELSON glances round, and perceives what has happened to his secretary.]

NELSON Poor Scott, too, carried off! Warm work this, Hardy; Too warm to go on long.

HARDY I think so, too; Their lower ports are blocked against our hull, And our charge now is less. Each knock so near Sets their old wood on fire.

NELSON Ay, rotten as peat. What’s that? I think she has struck, or pretty nigh! [A cracking of musketry.]

HARDY Not yet.—Those small-arm men there, in her tops, Thin our crew fearfully. Now, too, our guns Have dipped full down, or they would rake The “Temeraire” there on the other side.

NELSON True.—While you deal good measure out to these, Keep slapping at those giants over here— The “Trinidad,” I mean, and the “Bucentaure,” To win’ard—swelling up so pompously.

HARDY I’ll see no slackness shall be shown that way. [They part and go in their respective directions. Gunners, naked to the waist and reeking with sweat, are now in swift action on the several decks, and firemen carry buckets of water hither and thither. The killed and wounded thicken around, and are being lifted and examined by the surgeons. NELSON and HARDY meet again.]

NELSON Bid still the firemen bring more bucketfuls, And dash the water into each new hole Our guns have gouged in the “Redoubtable,” Or we shall all be set ablaze together.

HARDY Let me once more advise, entreat, my lord, That you do not expose yourself so clearly. Those fellows in the mizzen-top up there Are peppering round you quite perceptibly.

NELSON Now, Hardy, don’t offend me. They can’t aim; They only set their own rent sails on fire.— But if they could, I would not hide a button To save ten lives like mine. I have no cause To prize it, I assure ’ee.—Ah, look there, One of the women hit,—and badly, too. Poor wench! Let some one shift her quickly down.

HARDY My lord, each humblest sojourner on the seas, Dock-labourer, lame longshore-man, bowed bargee, Sees it as policy to shield his life For those dependent on him. Much more, then, Should one upon whose priceless presence here Such issues hang, so many strivers lean, Use average circumspection at an hour So critical for us all.

NELSON Ay, ay. Yes, yes; I know your meaning, Hardy,; and I know That you disguise as frigid policy What really is your honest love of me. But, faith, I have had my day. My work’s nigh done; I serve all interests best by chancing it Here with the commonest.—Ah, their heavy guns Are silenced every one! Thank God for that.

HARDY ’Tis so. They only use their small arms now. [He goes to larboard to see what is progressing on that side between his ship and the “Santisima Trinidad.”]

OFFICER [to seaman] Swab down these stairs. The mess of blood about Makes ’em so slippery that one’s like to fall In carrying the wounded men below. [While CAPTAIN HARDY is still a little way off, LORD NELSON turns to walk aft, when a ball from one of the muskets in the mizzen- top of the “Redoubtable” enters his left shoulder. He falls upon his face on the deck. HARDY looks round, and sees what has happened.]

HARDY [hastily] Ah—what I feared, and strove to hide I feared!... [He goes towards NELSON, who in the meantime has been lifted by SERGEANT-MAJOR SECKER and two seamen.]

NELSON Hardy, I think they’ve done for me at last!

HARDY I hope not!

NELSON Yes. My backbone is shot through. I have not long to live. [The men proceed to carry him below.] Those tiller ropes They’ve torn away, get instantly repaired! [At sight of him borne along wounded there is great agitation among the crew.] Cover my face. There will be no good be done By drawing their attention off to me. Bear me along, good fellows; I am but one Among the many darkened here to-day! [He is carried on to the cockpit over the crowd of dead and wounded.] Doctor, I’m gone. I am waste o’ time to you.

HARDY [remaining behind] Hills, go to Collingwood and let him know That we’ve no Admiral here. [He passes on.]

A LIEUTENANT Now quick and pick him off who did the deed— That white-bloused man there in the mizzen-top.

POLLARD, a midshipman [shooting] No sooner said than done. A pretty aim! [The Frenchman falls dead upon the poop. The spectacle seems now to become enveloped in smoke, and the point of view changes.]