CHAPTER IV.

"WERE THERE REALLY TEARS IN NELSON'S EYES?"

"Hame, dearie, hame, And it's hame that I would be; Hame, dearie, hame, To ma ain countrie."--OLD SONG.

We now find Nelson and Tom Bure, our big hero and our little one, on the coast of Corsica.

Paoli, the insurgent leader, a very brave soldier by the way, desired the assistance of the British, and it suited the British to grant his request, for now that Toulon was taken from us, it was a matter of great importance to have Corsica.

So Paoli ceded the island to us.

In 1824 Nelson was cruising around here, and having "great fun." That was what O'Grady of the gun-room mess called it. His object--Nelson's I mean, ably assisted no doubt by both O'Grady and Tom--was to make it as hot as possible for the French.

The _Agamemnon_ was very busy indeed in that month of February, ever on the alert, always in chase.

Tom soon settled down to the routine of the service, and being lithe and active, was plentifully employed indeed, and often on the outlook. Nothing delighted the lad more than to discover a sail in sight, and be perhaps the first to report it.

Tom was one of a party who landed near San Fiorenzo, and helped to set fire to a mill. It was the only one in the district. So the French would have no more flour there.

Nelson destroyed a dozen sail of ships, laden with wine for the enemy--thousands of tons of it.

"Sorra another dhrop o' dhrink will they have either," said O'Grady. "Sure, that is worse than all."

Nelson captured a courier boat.

"Stopped the news," quoth O'Grady.

But Nelson did worse; he bombarded Bastia, "bringing the houses and the staiples and things down about the poor craytures' ears." Thus the old Irish middy.

Yes; and Nelson was taking notes all the while, and afterwards furnished Lord Hood with an excellent report upon Bastia and its defences.

He was detailed therefore to cruise with his little squadron off Bastia, and in fact to blockade it. On February 20th he drove the French from a work they were erecting to the south of the place.

Dundas was commander of the forces at St. Fiorenzo, between him and Nelson a difference of opinion occurred with regard to Bastia.

Nelson, be it remembered, was a most courageous man, and his enemies therefore said he was too rash.

One of his mottoes was reported to be, "Hang manœuvres, go at 'em."

He did "go at 'em" to some purpose, as Nile and Trafalgar afterwards proved.

But he could not induce Dundas to go at Bastia in the way he (Nelson) would have done.

As Sir David Dundas was a Scotsman, and Scotsmen in those days were born with swords instead of silver spoons in their mouths--using the swords afterwards to "mak' the siller speens," he could not have been otherwise than a brave man, but he was also a cautious one.

"If," says Nelson in a letter to his wife, just after a brush with the enemy, "I had carried with me five hundred troops, I should to a certainty have stormed the town, and I believe it might have been carried. Armies go so slow, that seamen think they never mean to go forward, but I dare say they act upon a surer principle, though _we_ seldom fail."

"Our fine fellows," he adds, "don't mind shot any more than if they were peas."

But the day of battle came at last, Hood having arrived with reinforcements. And on the 4th of April our men were landed, and the siege was commenced. Not a large army, but little over 1,200 men, consisting of seamen, marines, and soldiers.

The island of Corsica, reader, is a very beautiful one, and it never looked more lovely perhaps than some days before the batteries of the British opened fire. Yonder were the ships at anchor in the blue and tranquil sea, the white houses of the town seeming to sleep and dream under the low but fortified hills; and the wild and lovely mountains in the rear, greenwooded half way up, with many a glade and glen between.

Now this siege of Bastia, be it remembered, spoke volumes for the invincibility of the seamen and marines under Hood, and indeed it redounds to the honour and glory of all who fought there, for the new general, D'Aubunt, who had succeeded Dundas, was of the same opinion as his predecessor, namely, that the siege of Bastia was "a visionary and rash attempt"; he therefore washed his hands so completely of the affair, that he sent neither men nor guns to aid Hood's brave fellows, under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Villettes and our hero Nelson.

Guns were dragged up almost inaccessible heights, and everything being ready by the 11th of April, an officer was sent with a flag of truce to demand the surrender of the place. The answer was as insolent as it was bombastic.

"Tell your admiral I have hot shot for your ships and bayonets for your troops. Probably when about two-thirds of our brave men are killed, we shall then trust to the generosity of the British."

The firing commenced at once therefore, and on the 22nd the place capitulated, the tricolours of France were hauled down, and British flags hoisted in their place. This is what bold Nelson called "the most glorious sight a Briton could experience, four thousand five hundred men laying down their arms to one thousand British soldiers who were serving as marines!"

At this siege Nelson was wounded in the back. Not severely, however.

The Scotch surgeon's-mate characterised the wound as "a scratch," and the hero himself made but light of it. For, frail and ill though his body might have appeared, he was well inured to fatigue, to mental suffering, and to pain also.

Probably no captain was ever more loved by his officers and men than Horatio Nelson was on board the _Agamemnon_, of which ship he was so justly proud. The man had indeed a most bewitching manner about him, despite the fact that he was a most strict service officer.

To the junior midshipmen he ever behaved as a father, drawing them out when shy, encouraging them in every way in the performance of their duties, and inculcating in them reverence for God on high, obedience to command, and love for their king and country.

He used to have the gunroom officers to dine with him by turns, not in large batches, but in well-chosen groups at all events. One or two wardroom officers would also be at these dinner parties, and this truly great man never failed to put every one on the very best of terms, not only with himself, but with everybody else. On such nights there was no preaching either to or at the youngsters, and this was probably the reason why dining with the captain was considered such a treat. There was, of course, the more carnal reason also--"a good blow out." Well, young fellows are, young fellows, and "a good blow out" is a treat to growing youth.

I am pleased to say that Lord Raventree and Tom Bure soon became very good friends. Both had been at the siege, and neither had shown the white feather, even when shot tore up the ground near them, scattering stones and splinters all around, and wounding seamen or soldiers. They did not show the white feather, but more than once during those eleven days they felt its touch. It was one evening, when the firing was at its very hottest, that Tom, being stationed not far from young Raventree, looked about and smiled in a friendly, companionable kind of way.

"Are you afraid, Raventree?" said Tom.

"_Entre nous_, Yes," said his lordship. "How do you feel?"

"Much as you do," answered Tom. "It is a funny sort of fear though. I'm afraid I'm a coward at heart, and that everybody will soon find me out; then I'll be shot, I suppose, and serve me right too."

Both Merryweather and O'Grady were at the siege, and perhaps, though they certainly felt no fear, they were not altogether easy in mind.

"Och! bother, Mr. Merryweather," Tom heard O'Grady say, "this is no fighting at all. I'm itching all over to have my cutlass in my two hands, and a Frenchman or two forenenst me."

"I'm not itching," said Merryweather, laughing, "only Irishmen and Scotchmen itch, but I'm burning to get to close quarters."

"Ah! Mr. Merryweather, you will have your joke; but, you see, this battery business is a foine thing for sodjers--look out, there's a shot coming--for sodjers or sailors?"

Another shot filled O'Grady's mouth with grit. He spat gravel and blood for half an hour, and didn't say much more. But none knew better than this old midshipman how to train a gun, and he did his best to repay the French for nearly knocking his front teeth out.

Both Raventree and Tom had a chance of fighting side by side some months afterwards, at the siege of Calvi; and perhaps, during the whole course of this sad and eventful war, no operations were more trying to the health and strength of our brave sailors, and the troops who fought shoulder to shoulder with them in the batteries, than those at Calvi.

During this long and trying siege, Nelson had as his colleague the gallant Sir Charles Stuart, a man quite after his own heart; a man who was never more happy than when in action, and the hotter the better; a man too who, like Horatio, never spared himself, and who slept in the advanced battery every night.

The guns too--five-and-twenty pieces of heavy ordnance--had to be dragged to the different batteries, mounted and all, but fought by seaman, with the exception of an artilleryman to point the guns.

Was it any wonder that the men fell ill under such hardships, exposed to the burning sun, and in a climate which, during the autumn months, was far from healthy? Of two thousand men, more than half were sick, we are told, and the rest looked like so many phantoms or scarecrows.

Yet Nelson describes himself as like a reed among oak trees bending before the storm, while his men--his Hearts of Oak--were laid low by it. "All the prevailing disorders have attacked me," he wrote, "but I have not strength enough for them to fasten upon."

Nelson, it seems, had lived to find out a fact well known to medical men, that thin, nervous people will often recover from illnesses that prostrate and kill strong, full-blooded men in a few days.

This puts me in mind of a remark once made to Horatio Nelson by his Scotch surgeon's mate. The captain was attacked by acute pain in the side during the night, and the honest medico thought it as well to administer a good dose of a medicine which in another form is used in the Highlands as a panacea for every ill--namely, spirits.

"I'd drink the rum," said Nelson, "but I fear I am attacked by inflammation, and the rum may increase it."

"Tak' up your dram," said the Scot. "Inflammation? Man, _there's no enough blood in a' your body to mak' a decent inflammation!_"

Nelson drank his rum, sighed, and slept.

At this siege, although so many died of illness, the loss caused by shot and shell was comparatively slight.

But a very sad loss indeed befel Nelson. A shell bursting near the battery bespattered him with sand and gravel. An officer and several men with Nelson had thrown themselves on their faces when the shell was approaching; the latter arose bleeding freely from the mouth and nostrils. He only complained, however, of pain in his right eye. And so determined was he to continue his duty, that he could not be prevailed upon to lie in bed more than one day.

The sight, however, was destroyed, though not at once.

Now, it will hardly be easily credited, that notwithstanding Nelson's valour and energy at both the sieges of which I have given a brief description, his services were scarcely mentioned in the reports sent to the Admiralty at home.

No wonder that a man of his proud and sensitive nature felt himself sadly aggrieved to be thus neglected. "For one hundred and ten days," he wrote, "have I been actually engaged at sea and on shore against the enemy; three actions have I fought against ships; two against Bastia in my ship; four boat actions; two villages taken; and twelve sail of vessels burnt. I do not know that anyone has done more. I have had the comfort to be always applauded by my commander-in-chief, but never to be rewarded. And what is still more mortifying, for services in which I have been wounded others have been praised, who at the time of these actions were far away, and snug in bed. They have not done me justice."

"But never mind," he adds, "one of these times I shall have a whole Gazette to myself."

It must have been thoughts like these, combined with weakness of body, not to say positive illness, that caused the hero at this time of his career to dream of home. Ay, not to dream of it only, but to long for the refreshing solace of a humble cottage in the country. In Norfolk, no doubt.

Nelson, I have already said, was not in the habit of preaching to his junior middies, or at them either, when he invited them to dinner (although in my own time I have known captains do this, and quite take the wind out of the poor lads' sails). But, nevertheless, many a time and oft, by night especially, he would get hold of some one or other of his boys on the quarterdeck, and walking along by his side, perhaps holding him by the arm just above the elbow, would give him many a bit of sound advice, and many a kindly word of encouragement.

One night, shortly after the siege of Calvi, although still suffering with his eye, he put his hand kindly on Tom's shoulder, and began to talk to him and to draw him out.

It was a bright, beautiful moonlight night, the great clouds of canvas bellying out before the breeze, and the waves to the south'ard all a-sparkle, as if the fairies were raining showers of flashing diamonds on them.

He had often given Tom good advice, but all he said to-night was that he was pleased with his conduct, and would do all he could to advance him.

"You're a Norfolk lad, aren't you?" he said.

"No, sir; that is--yes. My father was, you know, sir."

"Your father was a brave sailor, Tom Bure; but I am glad you too have come to our service. Soldiers are not fit to hold the candle to sailors."

"No, sir."

"They're too slow. Too much manœuvring. Not enough dash and go. Well, lad, I still have your letter. That was what got you into the service. Our Merryweather mentioned you to Admiral Hood though, but he--excellent fellow--is troubled with a bad memory at times."

Then he laughed as he added, "You're a capital diplomatist though. What an excellent idea, to go to my dear father's house to write your letter."

"Oh, sir!" cried Tom, looking up in the captain's face, "I assure you I did not go there for the purpose of writing that letter. I wanted so much to see you, and I didn't know you had gone."

"I believe you, boy; I believe you. The letter was a forlorn hope then?"

"Yes, sir; all the world seemed so forgetful and cold to me then----"

"Just as I feel it now, Tom; so cold! so forgetful!"

"And," continued Tom, "you had spoken to me so kindly once in the garden, that day when you were planting cabbages, you know."

"Yes, lad, the day I was planting cabbages. Egad, Tom, I wish I were planting cabbages now."

"They wouldn't grow on board ship very well, sir, and you can't go on shore."

"Why?"

"Because your country has such need of you, sir."

Nelson looked at him for a moment in silence, then sighed.

"Well, sir, I wrote the letter because I felt I would rather be a cabin boy in your ship than an officer in any other."

"Silly lad! But tell me, Tom, all about Dan, Daddy Dan you called him, Merryweather says. Daddy Dan's cottage and your adopted sister Ruth. Pretty cottage, isn't it?"

Then Tom felt in his element, and launched at once into an ocean of praise of his cottage home, and Dan and Ruth and poor dead-and-gone Bob. Nelson seemed to listen hungrily to the lad's story of home, of the house itself, of the garden, with its wealth of old-fashioned flowers; of the porch around the cottage door, with its sweet and fragrant jessamine; of the rustic bridge across the stream; of loving, gentle, Meg, the collie, who used to rest her cheek so fondly against poor Bob's chest; of the tall, tall poplar trees, so tall that when not a breath of wind would be stirring the grass on the earth, their tops were always gently moving, and seemed always whispering something to the passing clouds; and about the calm dark waters of the placid broads, with green reeds softly rustling round them; of the wild birds that made their home among the reeds; and about wild flowers, rich and rare, that were scattered over marsh and morass.

Tom stopped at last, half afraid he had said too much.

"Oh, boy," said Nelson, "how you have pleased and delighted me! How I should like to have just such a happy home. 'Tis now the dream of my life."

Tom looked timidly up into his face.

Could he be mistaken? he wondered. Was it some trick the moonbeams were playing? or were there really tears in Nelson's eyes?