CHAPTER V.

THE GLORIOUS OLD "AGAMEMNON."

"Our barque is on the waters deep, our bright blades in our hand, Our birthright is the ocean vast, we scorn the girdled land; And the hollow wind is our music brave, and none can bolder be Then the hoarse-tongued tempest, roaring o'er a proud and swelling sea.

"The warrior of the land may mount the wild horse in his pride, But a fiercer steed we dauntless breast--the untamed ocean tide; And a nobler tilt our bark careers, as it stems the saucy wave, While the herald storm peals o'er the deep the glories of the brave." --MOTHERWELL.

It must not be thought that Tom Bure's life was a very easy one, even when on board ship, and far away from battle and siege. A sailor's life in those good old days was not confined to roasting peanuts, or eating winkles with a pin. It was "hard tack and salt horse" with Tom in the gunroom, and hard work on deck. Nelson believed in bringing up his midshipmen as men, thorough men, who could do duty before the mast below or aloft.

There wasn't a midshipman in the _Agamemnon_ that would be ashamed to dip his hand in a bucket of tar or slush, if there was any occasion to, or do any other duty whatsoever either on poop or fo'c's'le. Work kept the youngsters healthy, and when healthy they were as happy as the day was long. Nor was their education neglected. In a year at the most from the siege of Calvi, Tom Bure, Josiah Nisbet, and even Lord Raventree were going to pass their examination for lieutenancies, or at all events they were going to make a brave attempt to do so.

The examinations in those times were far more practicable and less theoretical, and of course less scientific, than they are in our day. The _Agamemnon_ was not lighted by electricity; the power of steam was unknown; there was no such thing as moving guns by machinery, nor any patent reefing tackle. But a lieutenant at his examination was placed with his ship in all sorts of hypothetical positions of danger and difficulty, and expected to be able to extricate her therefrom.

On that green cloth in front of the President of the Board and the examining officers, all kinds of storms and hurricanes raged, and all sorts of battles were fought. The ship was taken aback, she was thrown on her beam ends, boats were washed away, bulwarks were rent and torn, and sails riven into roaring, rattling ribbons, and the officer who aspired to be captain must know, and be able to tell quickly and decidedly, how best to encounter every difficulty. Enemies' ships appeared too on the horizon of the green cloth, and the candidate's frigate had to meet them, two to one sometimes. He had to fight them or chase them, batter them, burn them, or scupper them; his own ship too might take fire, or his own rudder be blown away with shot or shell, or he might have to lay alongside the foe to board her with cutlass and pike. Oh, I can assure you, reader, the examination was a right tough and right practicable one, and it needed a Heart of Oak to face it; but having passed with flying colours, you felt indeed you were a man, and could face the traditional number of Frenchmen in the field of battle, according to your nationality--three if you were English, five if Scotch.

Besides, to one who really loved his profession there was probably less difficulty in a practical examination of this sort than in the technical ordeal one has to pass now-a-days. And now-a-days you can cram, and having passed, forget one half the useless and senseless subjects you have been crammed with.

There was no cramming in Nelson's time. The examinations were terribly real, just as the Spanish and French fleets were real; every question the Board put went straight to the mark, like a British cannon ball.

* * * * * *

Ever hear of Hotham? Admiral Hotham? Well, he certainly does not live in our hearts as do Hood and Howe and Hardy, Collingwood and Nelson. But, nevertheless, Hotham was a bit of a power in those days. He had command of the fleet about this time, but he was rather easy going, though brave enough after a fashion. He lacked "go" and enthusiasm. Sir W. Hamilton, who was the British plenipotentiary at the Court of Naples--his wife, the famous Lady Hamilton, Nelson's guiding star--summed up the character of Hotham prettily, and in a very brief sentence. "_Entre nous_," he writes to Nelson, "our old friend Hotham is not quite awake enough for such a command as that of the British fleet in the Mediterranean, although he is the best creature imaginable."

Best creature indeed! Who wanted best creatures in stirring times like these? Men who were good-natured and fat perhaps, who loved a pipe and old port, who could tell a good story after dinner, and go to sleep in an arm chair. Verily, there were men in the service in those days--pitchforked into power because they happened to be titled or had interest--who could not have made their mark behind a draper's counter.

Comparisons are odious perhaps, but we cannot help making them sometimes. Just think of these two men then for a moment, Nelson and Hotham, the latter all but minus ambition, certainly minus that burning ambition which is part and portion of the soul of every true hero--taking things as they came.

"Contented wi' little, canty wi' mair,"

but hardly going out of his way to fight for fame and glory; the former full of ardour and zeal, and a noble desire to do the best for his king and country. When Hotham got word, on March 10th, '95, that the French were actually on the sea in force, near the Isle of Marguerite, Nelson felt sure that a grand general action was close at hand, and writes to his wife thus:

"My character and good name are in my own keeping. Life with disgrace is dreadful. A glorious death is to be envied; and if anything happens to me, recollect that death is a debt we have all to pay, and whether now or a few years hence can signify but very little."

True philosophy that; but if poor Nelson expected that our old friend Hotham, "the best creature imaginable," was about to lead him on either to death or very much victory, he was disagreeably disappointed. The French fleet, however, were sighted at last, and the British were in battle array, but the light winds that had been cavorting all round the compass died away into a dead calm, or nearly.

I must give the French the honour that is here due to them by saying that during the calm they made a very gallant show indeed, but as soon as it came on to blow they--ran away.

Hotham chased them.

Bravo! Hotham.

The French cracked on most furiously and famously!

Determined to win the race, if not the battle!

So hot was the race that the great line of battleship, _Ca Ira_, 84 guns, carried away her fore and main topmasts, and fell behind a bit. The French had had a fair start of about six miles.

A frigate of ours, the _Inconstant_, closed in, but the awful iron hail from the _Ca Ira_ was too much for her, and she had to withdraw.

Though two other great Frenchmen are close at hand--the _Sans Culotte_, 120 guns, and the _Jean Barras_--Nelson, in his _Agamemnon_, boldly heads for the _Ca Ira_, that had been taken in tow by _Le Censeur_.

This fight between Nelson's ship on the one hand, and the two Frenchmen on the other, was one of the prettiest and pluckiest bits of fighting it is possible to imagine. Again and again Nelson raked, the _Ca Ira_ and he so maneuvered his frigate that, though the French fought like fiends and did their best, they were unable to broadside our hero.

Books tell us that the reason why the Frenchmen fought so pluckily was that they believed they should receive no quarter if taken, so they used red-hot shot, and threw Greek fire.

Now, with all due respect for the historians, I refuse to believe that the French had so bad an opinion of us. No, let us rather give them the credit of being honourable and courageous. Why not be charitable, even to our enemies? for, like mercy, charity

"----is twice blessed, It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown."

Night fell at last, and our fight-worn men on board the _Agamemnon_ sank wearily down to obtain sleep and rest, even like the soldiers Campbell speaks about in his beautiful poem, "The Soldier's Dream"--

"Our bugles sang truce--for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die."

There were, alas! many casualties on board the _Agamemnon_, and many wounded men in the cockpit fell asleep ere morning light, never to wake more in this world.

Both the surgeon and his mates were as kind and gentle to those under their charge as kind could be.

Poor little Raventree was struck down by a splinter of wood close by Tom Bure's side, and was carried below from the blood-slippery deck in the arms of a sturdy sailor.

It was not until after dark that Tom found time to go to see his friend. He was very weak from loss of blood, and looked ghastly white in the lantern's dim light, as he lay there in his hammock, but he smiled feebly when Tom pressed his hand.

"I've done my duty," he said; "and what do you think, Tom? The admiral has been down to see me, and he talked so kindly, Tom, I could have cried."

"Well," said Tom Bure, "keep up your heart, you lost such a lot of blood. I tried to carry you below, but you were far too heavy."

"But you bound up my arm with your own neckerchief, Paddy"--Paddy was the Irish surgeon--"it was so good of you."

"Never a bit of it, Raventree. It may be my turn next, who knows?"

"The captain says he is going to renew the fight to-morrow morning; so sorry I won't be in it," sighed Raventree.

"Well, good-night. Sleep if the pain will let you."

At earliest dawn the battle was renewed as far as Nelson's portion of it was concerned, and very soon the _Ca Ira_ and _Le Censeur_ struck to the _Agamemnon_.

Nelson had now a proposal to make to Admiral Hotham, and he made all haste to lay it before him.

Tom Bure was Nelson's coxswain, so he had an opportunity of getting on board the admiral's ship, and even heard the conversation between his chief and Hotham.

The _Illustrious_ and _Courageux_ were both disabled--British ships--and Nelson's suggestion was to leave these two and the two prizes with four frigates, and to chase and destroy the French fleet with the others.

Hotham laughed blandly, kindly even.

"You're too impulsive, Nelson," he said. "I don't think we had better give chase. We must be contented. We have done very well."

Nelson returned to the ship silent and crestfallen. He made but one remark to Tom:

"You heard what our bold admiral said, Mr. Bure?"

"I was close beside you, sir."

"'Done very well,' he said. Bah! Had we taken ten sail-of-the-line, and allowed the eleventh to escape, when it was possible to take her, I should not have called it enough. Had we got at them we should have taken or destroyed the whole fleet."

It was not until the 14th of July that Hotham again caught sight of the French.

Raventree was by this time well and on duty again, and Nelson had promoted him to mate, or acting lieutenant. And undoubtedly the young fellow deserved his promotion, which was afterwards confirmed by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty.

There was no great battle this time either, between the French and British, although one ship, the _L'Alcide_, 74 guns, struck to the _Cumberland_.

A terrible thing now occurred, however. This unfortunate _L'Alcide_, on board which were no less than six hundred men, caught fire in the fore-top, and in a very short time was sheeted in flames fore and aft.

Boats were despatched from every British ship that was anywhere near, and they did all in their power to save the crew. But, alas! in the dreadful scene that followed no less than three hundred were burned alive, or perished in the waves.

Such is war at sea, dear reader. It was very awful in those days, it will be ten times more terrible when Britain's naval might next rides over the waves--

"----to match another foe; And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow."

But what need Britain fear, boys, so long as she is true to her own glorious story?

"The meteor flag of Britain Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return."

But--

"The spirits of our fathers Shall start from every wave, For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave. Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Our manly hearts shall glow, As we sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow."

To tell of all the gallant deeds that Nelson performed in the invincible _Agamemnon_, with the bold Hearts of Oak that so thoroughly trusted him and loved him, would take all the rest of this book.

In this year, and towards its close, Hotham was relieved--after all his arduous conflicts perhaps he needed a rest--and a mightier than he, namely, Sir John Jervis,* became admiral of the Mediterranean fleet, and Nelson took his ship to Leghorn to undergo repairs.

* Afterwards made Earl of St. Vincent.

She certainly required refitting. She was an honour to her captain in one sense, for her terribly battered condition showed how bravely and well he had fought. We are told that every yard, mast, and sail was riddled, torn, or splintered with shot, and that even her hull was only kept together by cables!

In that glorious old _Agamemnon_ Nelson had captured, burned, or destroyed, in one way and another, no less than fifty sail of vessels in about two years' time.

But he had to leave his battered old ship in June--with sorrow, no doubt, for he loved the _Agamemnon_ as if she had been a living thing. He hoisted his flag now on board the 74-gun ship _Captain_, with the rank of commodore.

And the _Agamemnon_ went home to England with a convoy.