CHAPTER VII.

THE BATTLE OF ST. VINCENT.

"The thunder of the battle-deck, The lightning flash of war."

In my last chapter I stated that Nelson, with his broad pennant flying on board the _Minerve_, met with and fought the _Santa Sabina_. I also mentioned that the _Blanche_ was companion ship to the _Minerve_. Where was she then during the fight? it may be asked. Did Nelson have her assistance in fighting the gallant Stuart? Was it two to one after all?

No, certainly not, for during the engagement the _Blanche_ was far away to windward in chase of the _Ceres_, whom she sadly wanted to fight, but who escaped.

Porto Ferrajo was a strong fortress on the Isle of Elba, to which, you remember, Napoleon Bonaparte was banished, but from which he subsequently escaped.

After the evacuation of Corsica, the viceroy of that island, whom the French would have captured had it not been for Nelson's guns, was escorted by the hero to Ferrajo; but Sir Gilbert Elliot--for that was his name--went afterwards in the _Minerve_ with Nelson to hold a consultation with the British Admiral of the fleet (then Sir John Jervis, afterwards Earl St. Vincent), who was at that time cruising off Cape St. Vincent.

On the 9th of February, '97, Nelson arrived at Gibraltar, and here he received on board by exchange the two lieutenants, Culverhouse and the immortal Hardy, who had been taken prisoners with the recapture of the _Sabina_.

And now comes an adventure worth relating. Hardly had the _Minerve_ got fairly under weigh again than two Spanish ships of the line got up sail and gave chase.

It seemed indeed that the _Minerve_ would assuredly be captured now, for no sooner had she entered the Straits, than the foremost line of battleship outsailed her consort, and was coming up hand over hand after Nelson's frigate.

Sir Gilbert Elliot made so sure that the _Minerve_ would be taken, that he had his state papers all ready to throw overboard, so that they might not fall into the hands of the enemy.

Nelson, however, cleared for action.

It would have been madness for him to have attempted to try conclusions with two lordly liners, but as the fight was now being forced upon him, he determined to sell his ship dearly.

Indeed, he never meant to let the Dons get her at all.

Pointing to his flag, he said to an officer near him, "Before the Spaniards have that bit of bunting I'll have a tussle with them, and sooner than the ship should fall into their hands I'll run her on shore."

They were just going below to dinner, when suddenly there was a cry, "Man overboard."

In a moment all was bustle and stir. Lieutenant Hardy and a few sailors sprang into the jolly-boat, which was at once lowered away to pick up the man.

It was soon evident, however, that the boat could make no headway on her return against the strong current. She was rapidly drifting onwards to the advancing Spanish ship.

Nelson grew excited.

"I will not lose poor Hardy for all the Dons on earth," he shouted. "Back the mizentop-sail!"

Now it is here where the smile comes in.

That "cockie" Don was full of warlike ardour as long as the _Minerve_ kept cracking on, but as soon as Nelson stopped ship, the rapidity with which the Don began to shorten sail was amusing.

He positively refused what he considered Nelson's challenge.

So our boat was picked up, stun'sails were clapped on the _Minerve_, and with the wind on her quarter, away she went like a thing of life, and the Dons were left behind.

* * * * * *

The following night a still more strange adventure took place, for in the thickness and darkness Nelson found himself sailing through what appeared to be a great fleet of tall spectre ships.

He had actually sailed in, amongst, and through the Spanish fleet.

This made him very anxious indeed to join Sir John Jervis, which, to his great joy, he did two days after.

He now left the _Minerve_, and rejoined his own good ship the _Captain_.

THE BATTLE OF ST. VINCENT.

Such was the respect and even affection that Nelson never failed to inspire in the breasts not only of his officers, but even the men under his command, that those who had once served under him thought themselves lucky indeed if they could again fight beneath his flag. Nor was Nelson himself averse to being surrounded by "ken't" faces; he was like a father to his people, and they to him felt as children.

It is confidence like this that begets bravery and deeds of derring-do, whether in the field or on the battle-deck, and I have no hesitation in saying, that a 40-gun frigate with bold Nelson in command, was as good as, if not better than, most ships of the line.

I think, however, that Nelson to some extent abhorred a cut-and-dry style of fighting. Like all brave men, he was nervously excitable; he became in a measure intoxicated with the sound of battle, like the war horse who scents the combat from afar, but he never lost his head. He was quick to see any offered advantage or mistake of the enemy, and to profit by it at once. His object too was often, at the commencement of a fight, to confuse, bewilder, and paralyse the enemy, and sometimes they never regained self-control until the battle was over.

You have heard, reader, of that style of argument, or rather counter argument, which is called the _reductio ad absurdum_, and also of the "descent from the sublime to the ridiculous." Pardon me if I use one of these, the better to illustrate my great hero Nelson's character.

When, then, I was a boy of thirteen or fourteen, a wiry, big, strong Scotch "nickum," I was at what is called a fighting school. I do not believe that a day ever passed without a fight between two boys. They were pitched battles; generally arranged during school hours and fought to the bitter end the same evening. I myself, although a poor hand at first, eventually fought my way from the lowest to the highest factions. I somehow, however, usually preferred fighting a boy who was bigger and stronger than myself; art came in to my aid, and if I did happen to be beaten I had no dishonour. Hut there was one lad who, though of my own age, was considerably smaller. He was a red-faced, towsy-headed, nervous tyke of a boy, and--he was more than a match for me. I had several battles with him, in which he invariably came on like a wild cat. With hard-clenched fists he seemed positively to claw at my face, and for one swinging blow from the shoulder I got in, he landed half a dozen at least. It was puzzling, confusing, and paralysing, and I had to lower my flag each time, with perhaps two pretty black eyes, a swollen nose, and a few loose teeth.

Now, that boy--his name was John Aberdeen, and he may possibly read these lines--was a perfect little Nelson in character. You will see, therefore, why I have made my descent from the sublime to the ridiculous.

The morning of the 14th of February was dull and hazy, the British ships steering southwards with a bit of westering in it.

Although by no means rough, there was a swell on, and it must have been a grand sight to see those two lines of British men-of-war, as straight in column almost as soldiers on parade, rising and falling on the ocean billows.

But when, at about one bell in the forenoon watch, the drum beat to quarters, a still more lordly sight was visible some distance up to windward, for the mist had lifted before the morning sun, and there floated one of the largest and most terrible fleets ever formed in battle array. Truly they were leviathans afloat. Their tall dark sides bristling with guns, their lofty riggings and commanding sails imparting to them a dignity that was awe-inspiring, a dignity from which the huge flags of orange and red certainly did not detract.

Not all at once, however, was the picture presented to the astonished gaze of our British tars, for the huge fog-curtain was lifted but gradually.

Sir John Jervis was walking the quarter-deck of the _Victory_ as coolly as if the men had only been piped to scrub decks, and as the Spanish fleet was gradually evolved its numbers were reported to him. Did the officer who made the report, I wonder, imagine for a single moment that the admiral was going to be deterred by numbers?

"There are eight sail of the line, Sir John."

"Thank you, Mr. T----."

"There are twenty sail of the line, Sir John."

"Very good, sir."

"There are seven-and-twenty sail of the line, Sir John. Considering the disparity of numbers, do you think we are justified in engaging the Dons?"

"Hold, sir!" cried the bold admiral. "Enough of this. The die is cast, and if there are fifty sail of the line, I should go through them just the same."

"Hurrah!" cried Hallowell, who was standing near him; so delighted was he that he clapped the admiral on the shoulder. "You're right, Sir John, you're right. We'll fight them, and we'll give the Dons a hiding too."

It is said that confusion seemed to spread among the Spaniards from the very first. Parsons says: "They made the most awkward attempts to form their line-of-battle, and looked a complete forest massed and huddled together."

Now, before going further, I wish the reader to cast his eye down the following columns, which I give by way of showing the disparity in numbers and guns between our fleet and that of Spain.*

* I have placed Nelson's ship in Italics, also those that were taken.

BRITISH FLEET. SPANISH FLEET.

SHIPS. GUNS. SHIPS. GUNS.

1 Victory 100 1 Santissima Trinidada 130 2 Britannia 100 2 Mexicana 112 3 Barfleur 98 3 Principe de Asturias 112 4 Prince George 98 4 Conception 112 5 Blenheim 90 5 Conde de Regla 112 6 Namur 90 6 _Salvador del Mundo_ 112 7 _Captain_ 74 7 _San Josef_ 112 8 Goliath 74 8 _San Nicolas_ 84 9 Excellent 74 9 Oriente 74 10 Orion 74 10 Glorioso 74 11 Colossus 74 11 Atlante 74 12 Egmont 74 12 Conquestador 74 13 Culloden 74 13 Soberano 74 14 Irresistible 74 14 Firme 74 15 Diadem 64 15 Pelago 74 16 San Genaro 74 17 San Francisco 74 18 _San Ysidro_ 74 19 San Juan 74 20 San Antonio 74 21 San Pablo 74 22 San Firmin 74 23 Neptuna 74 24 Bahama 74 25 St. Domingo 74 26 Terrible 74 27 Il Defenso 74

Seven-and-twenty huge Spanish ships of war opposed to fifteen British!

Two thousand and two hundred and ninety-two Spanish guns, against one thousand two hundred and thirty-two British--nearly two to one.

This glorious fight, on this most memorable Valentine's-day, began about seven bells in the forenoon watch, when Admiral Sir John Jervis, with all sail set, came dashing at the Dons, and passed right through their lines. Now the Spanish admiral had nine of his ships down to leeward, and he at once determined to pass astern of the British fleet, and thus effect a junction with his divided ships.

And it is at this point where the genius of Nelson becomes so conspicuous. Remember that the signal had been made for the whole fleet to engage, and had he strictly obeyed orders he would have gone on with the rest of the Britishers, and tacked with them. But his quick eye--poor fellow, he had now but one--noticed the Don's intention, and he resolved to frustrate it at all hazards. He put his helm up, therefore, and steered straight for the Spaniards.

No more daring, dashing deed was ever done!

Nothing more confusing could have occurred for the Spanish admiral.

Not a soul on the upper deck of the Captain who did not marvel. Merryweather confessed afterwards to Tom Bure that he thought Commodore Nelson had suddenly gone mad.

Even Tom and Raventree, little though they knew of naval tactics, could not refrain from talking momentarily over the affair. But the roar of the guns that had been stilled for a minute or two recommenced now with triple force, and Tom had his duty to perform. Yonder was the mighty _Santissima Trinidada_ towering high above them, and Nelson in his Captain was close alongside her.

The position of Nelson's ship at that moment was not one to be envied, with the monarch of the Spanish fleet beside him beam to beam, and three-deckers pouring in their fire fore and aft.

But down to his assistance came the _Culloden_ of 74 guns, bold Troubridge her commander, and the _Blenheim_ of 90 guns.

The fire of the British ships at this time was terrible in the extreme. Our brave fellows fought half naked at their guns, and though messmates fell killed or wounded on all sides, they were speedily carried or hauled on one side and the fight went on. There was no more thought of leaving their batteries among those Hearts of Oak, than if the battle had been but a mere parade.

The dangerous position of the _Captain_ may be imagined when we remember that at one time she was actually exposed to the fire of no less than nine ships!

Nelson was the hero of this glorious fight. Am I not right in calling him so, seeing that around his sadly-mutilated ship the battle raged the fiercest?

But the _Captain_, with her rigging in tatters, her fore-top mast gone, and her wheel shot away, was now almost unmanageable. She was at this time engaged with two of the enemy's liners--the _San Nicholas_ and _San Josef_--and Nelson purposely fouled the former.

The credit of this is due to Miller, his second captain, who, disabled as the ship was, managed to lay her aboard the starboard quarter of the Spanish lee, so that her sprit-sail yard passed over the enemy's poop, and hooked in her mizen shrouds.

"Away--ay--ay, boarders."

It was a scream, it was a yell from a British throat, and it thrilled every Heart of Oak on board, and was answered by a cheer.

With the butt of his musket a soldier of the 69th (a number of this regiment being on board) dashed in the window of the Spaniard's upper quarter-gallery and leapt in. Nelson and many more were with him, Tom Bure and Raventree among the rest. But they found the cabin doors secured against them. These were speedily dashed to pieces. One man in a fight like this has the strength of three. A volley was fired by our brave fellows, the Spanish commodore fell, and hurrying onwards, sword in hand, Nelson found that the poop had already been taken by Lieut. Berry, and our friend Merryweather, and that the enemy's ensign was coming down by the run. Nelson ran forward and received the submission and the swords of several officers.

But although the _San Nicholas_ was thus taken, a pattering musketry fire was kept up from the _San Josef_, which was close alongside.

She too must be captured. Nelson felt in form now to capture a dozen. The order was therefore speedily given to place sentinels on the ladders to guard the prisoners of the _Nicholas_, and more men were ordered into her from the _Captain_----to make sure, for Nelson forgot nothing. Then once more the shout, "Away--ay--ay, boarders!"

[Illustration: "'Away--ay--ay, boarders,' cried Nelson."]

Our brave and great hero was at the head of his men this time, and the _San Josef_ fell as her consort had fallen.

The captain of the ship on his knees sued for mercy, saying the admiral was dying of his wounds below.

Nelson says, "I thereupon gave him my hand, and ordered him to call to his officers and ship's company that the ship had surrendered, which he did."

Glorious day for Nelson! There on the quarter-deck of this huge Don, 112 guns, he received the swords of the vanquished Spaniards.

There comes in here an element of the comic, for by the hero's side stood the bold bargeman, Bill Fearney, to whom the swords were given as they were received. Bill hitched up his trousers, turned his quid in his mouth, and stuck the swords under his left arm with less ceremony than if they had been as many fiddlesticks.

The very essence of this gallant fight lies in the fact that Nelson, having fought almost to the death, his ship of 74 guns being all but a wreck, puts this disabled craft of his to such marvellous account, that he captures two of the enemy's largest ships by the glorious old British system of boarding.

There they lay, the victor and the vanquished--the three of them all in a huddle. And was it any wonder that the _Victory_ and every other British ship cheered our Nelson as they passed?

I do not feel inclined to say any more about this glorious battle. To mention the bare unvarnished facts is enough, and the boy along whose spine there does not pass a cold thrill of pride and excitement while reading these is no true Briton.