CHAPTER X.

A DARK NIGHT'S WORK.

It was not until the 24th of July that the _finale_ to this madcap expedition was attempted; viz., the landing and the facing of those fearful odds.

If Nelson had had but men to contend against, it would have been very different, but in their undertaking it was the forces of Nature he had to struggle against. There is no doubt about his daring, however. Nor did he underrate the difficulties he had to encounter.

It was with a feeling of sadness even that he sat down to write his letter to St. Vincent--the last he was ever to pen with his right hand.

"This night," he says, "humble as I am, I command the whole. I am destined to land under the batteries of the town, and to-morrow my head will probably be crowned with either laurel or cypress."

* * * *

The first plan of attack on Santa Cruz, which, as I have already stated, was spoiled by the discovery of the squadron, was this: The boats were to land at night, between the town and the fort on its north-east side, capture that fort, and afterwards demand from the governor that the town be given up.

But about midnight the three frigates, with the landing party on board, had got within three miles of the shore, when it came on to blow so hard that the forces were still a mile from the shore when day dawned, and they were seen. A consultation or council of war had then been held, and it was determined to land at all hazards, with the object of securing the heights. While the landing forces were so engaged, Nelson was to batter the fort for the purpose of distracting the attention of the garrison.

However, as bad luck would have it, a calm had followed the storm, and owing to this and the contrary current the admiral was unable to get near enough to rain his iron shower upon the fort. Meanwhile the heights were occupied and held by a force so great that it was deemed impossible to take them, and now we come to

THE DARK NIGHT'S WORK.

Well knowing how desperate the attack on Santa Cruz would in all probability prove, and how valuable were the services of our hero to his country, the admiral of the fleet, St. Vincent, had given orders that Nelson was not to land unless "his presence was absolutely necessary."

Nelson, with his usual headstrong tendencies, interpreted this to mean that he should do just as he chose.

So to-night he determined in his own person to lead the storming party.

The last thing that Nelson did was to send for his stepson, Josiah, into his cabin.

Josiah--Lieutenant Nisbet--was soon there.

"Why, lad, you are armed," said Nelson. "I sent for you to help me to burn your dear mother's letters."

"Is the affair then likely to be of so dangerous a nature, father?" said Josiah.

"It is, my boy. I have written to St. Vincent, and in that letter I recommended you to him and to our country. The Duke of Clarence, should I fall, will, I am convinced, take a lively interest in my stepson on his name being mentioned."

"But _I_ am going too, father," said Nisbet, smiling but calm.

"Let me entreat of you, Josiah, to stay behind."

"No, no, dear sir."

"But, Josiah, I comm----"

"Hold, father, hold! Pray do not command me."

"I _beg_ then. Think, Josiah, if we both fall, what would become of your poor mother? Besides, the care of the _Theseus_ falls to you; stay, therefore, and take charge of the ship."

"Sir," said the young man respectfully, but with determination, "the ship may look after herself. I will go with you to-night if I never go again."

On board the _Seahorse_ frigate the captains all met that night to dine with the admiral. Captain Fremantle, the commander of the vessel, had been lately married in the Mediterranean, and, his wife being on board, presided at the table. There was no lack of conversation at this little dinner party, no lack of liveliness even, though an acute observer might have noticed that now and then, on Nelson's part, it was almost forced. Hardly anyone touched the wine in the way it was usually touched, tasted, and handled in those old bacchanalian days, and at eleven o'clock the boats were called away, and all ready.

The night was very dark indeed, hardly a star shining, and closer in shore, where the rugged mountains frowned over the ocean, it was darker still.

There were, however, the glimmering lights of the town to guide them, and the black shapes of the great hills themselves.

All the boats that could be spared from the ships of war took part in this invasion, carrying altogether nearly one thousand bluejackets and marines.

It is almost half-past one now, and the invaders are rapidly nearing the shore. They can hear the thunder of the breakers that dash and foam on the stones and boulders, each receding wave adding to the dreary sound by sucking back with it the smaller stones. They are not far from the mole.

"I can see it, sir, I can see it!" exclaims Tom Bure, who is in Nelson's own boat, but forward in the bows.

The lad was right. Keen eyes can now descry the mole or pier, and a true British cheer rises from a thousand throats, and onwards dash the boats. But scarcely is the cheer echoed back from rock and hill ere bells are rung on shore, and a wild huzza tells the invaders that the Spaniards are prepared to give them a warm welcome.

And now the misfortunes begin; for most of the boats have missed the mole, and are stove among the boulders. However, Nelson, Fremantle, Bower, with five other boats, have found it; but how can they storm it against twice two hundred armed men?

_Whate'er a man dares he can do!_

Another shout, another huzza; the fight has commenced, and the Spaniards, beaten off the mole, take refuge in flight. But such a fire of guns as now lights up the darkness of this terrible night few have ever faced and lived. Musketry and grape from the citadel and from every window near.

Against this iron hail advance is impossible.

Our brave fellows attempt it over and over again, but fall dead or wounded on the pier.

And Nelson himself, just as he is about to step on shore, sword in hand, is struck by a grape shot in the right elbow, and falls bleeding into the boat.

Nisbet, his step-son--surely it was Providence who sent him hither to-night--is by his side in a moment. His first thought is that Nelson is killed.

The hero, however, gathers himself up, and shows that he has not lost presence of mind, for he clutches his sword with his left hand. That precious sword had been given him by Captain Suckling, and he will not part with it while life doth last.

Assisted by Tom Bure, whom even in his agony Nelson recognises, Nisbet lays the wounded hero in the bottom of the boat, and a hurried examination is made of the wound. With Tom's and Josiah's silk handkerchiefs a bandage is formed, the knot placed over the artery higher up the arm, and by means of this ready-made tourniquet the bleeding is stopped. A sailor of the name of Lovel tears his own shirt from his back, and forms a sling to support the wounded arm of his beloved admiral. Josiah seizes an oar.

"Shove off, lads," he cries; "let us get closer under the battery, and thus out of its fire."

With the help of Tom, and at his own request, Nelson is raised up in the boat. But nothing can he perceive except the surf lit up every moment by the awful flash of the guns, the heaving sea, and the distant cutter _Fox_.

Suddenly, high above the din of the contending foes, rises a wild shriek of dying agony from the crew of that very cutter, and before his eyes, by the fitful light of the blazing cannon, Nelson can perceive that she is struck--that she staggers, fills, and goes bodily down.

"Give way, my lads; now for the cutter," cries Nelson, the moment the shriek is heard. "Give way with a will!"

And on towards the drowning seamen rushes the boat. There is no thought of self with the hero at this moment. All his kindliness of heart, all his indomitable British courage, rise to the surface--pain and danger are forgotten quite. Who is there in all the wide world, friend or foe, who cannot admire and love a man like this?

Of all the 180 men the cutter had been bearing toward the shore only 83 are saved, and many of these were hauled into Nelson's own boat. Some are even caught by Nelson's unwounded arm.

Tom Bure does all he can, and helps many aboard; and seeing how energetically the lad worked--for he is now astern, and had been helping to support the admiral--Nelson finds opportunity to whisper these encouraging words: "Well done, my Norfolk lad; I will not forget you!"

All being done that can be done, no more heads above the water to clutch at or save, the boat is speedily rowed seawards beyond the reach of danger.

A ship now looms above them.

"What is she? What is she?" cries Nelson feebly, and even impatiently, for the loss of blood is telling on his nervous system.

"The _Seahorse_, sir," cried Tom Bure.

"Go on. Go on, Josiah, to the _Theseus_."

"She is farther away!" entreats his step-son. "Think, sir; your very life may be lost by our going on."

"Shove off, men, for the _Theseus_!" cries the hero himself. "Think you," he adds, as the men obey, "that I would present myself before Mrs. Fremantle in this pickle, and bringing her no news of her husband? I'd sooner suffer death."

The _Theseus_ is made at last.

Nelson will not allow himself to be carried on board. "I have still my left arm remaining," he exclaims, "and my legs as well."

"And now," he cries, when he reaches the deck, "tell the surgeon to get his instruments out. I know I must lose my right arm, and the sooner it is off the better."

* * * * *

We must get back on shore now to see how it fared with the other poor fellows.

Like Admiral Nelson himself, Captain Fremantle was badly wounded in the right arm, but escaped to his ship, very much to the relief of his agonised wife, who was not long in finding out that all was lost.

Captain Bowen was among the slain, and this was a very great grief to Nelson, who loved him well. Another officer killed was Lieutenant Weatherhead, a man whom the hero also had much respect for and who, like our Merryweather, preferred being with Nelson even to taking a higher grade in another ship.

But Troubridge, the captain of the _Culloden_, and Weller, who commanded the _Emerald_, were among those who managed to secure a footing on shore with the crews of several other boats.

The boats themselves were instantly swamped, and dashed to pieces among the heavy boulders.

Their scaling-ladders were lost, but, although few in number, the cry was "Forward!"

The gallant little party dashed onwards to the great square of the town, expecting here to join Nelson, and those who had stormed the mole. Alas! they were, as we know, all scattered, dead, or lying wounded and exposed, on the blood-slippery pier.

Had Troubridge succeeded in saving the ladders, he would undoubtedly have scaled the citadel walls and silenced the guns.

Meanwhile, Captains Hood and Miller had secured a landing on the other side of the pier, and the two forlorn parties met, or, in other words, effected a junction. Previously to this a sergeant, with two of the towns' people, were sent to the citadel to summon it to surrender. He never came back.

These brave captains at daybreak reviewed their forces, and a bold little array they made, consisting of about 160 marines and pikemen, with 180 well-armed bluejackets.

They increased the amount of ammunition they were possessed of, by requisitioning that of a number of prisoners they had taken.

Wet and miserable, but with hope still aflame in those hearts of oak of theirs, they commenced to march on now towards the citadel. There was just a possibility, they thought, that it might be taken without scaling-ladders.

But lo! thousands of armed Spaniards were already seen advancing towards them, with hundreds of their allies the French, while every street was defended by one or more guns.

Troubridge, however, proved himself the hero of the hour. He instantly formed his plans, and bold they were in the extreme. One cannot help even smiling at the audacity--call it "cheek" if you please, reader--of this handful of British tars.

Troubridge then despatched Captain Samuel Hood with a flag of truce, towards the advancing enemy. His message was to the governor of the town, and was to the following effect:

"If," said Hood, "the Spaniards come but an inch nearer to the British, their commander, Troubridge, will immediately set fire to the town, which he is fully prepared to do. If he has to do so, it will be with the deepest regret, because he has not the slightest wish to injure any of the inhabitants.

"He is therefore prepared to treat on the following terms: Provided the British forces be allowed to re-embark, taking with them all their arms of every kind, and in their own boats, if saved; if not, in boats lent us by the town--Troubridge, in the name of Admiral Nelson, agrees not to molest the town, nor shall the squadron bombard it. The prisoners to be delivered up on both sides."

The commander smiled as he made reply.

"We think that instead of laying down the law to as, you should lay down your arms and consider yourselves prisoners of war."

"That," said Hood, "we never shall do."

"And suppose I refuse to treat, sir?"

"Then the destruction of the town and the utter annihilation of all your troops lies on your head. I give you five minutes to consider. If in that time your answer is not favourable, Troubridge will instantly proceed to fire the town and attack your soldiers at the point of the bayonet, and Nelson will bombard you from the sea."

"I do not think," said the governor, smiling once again, "that you would find yourselves very successful; but your Commander Troubridge is a gallant sailor, I shall therefore accede to your request."

This officer's name will be handed down to posterity as that of a brave and generous gentleman--a gentle maa--Don Juan Antonio Gutiarraz.

Ah! boys, those were the days of chivalry and romance, for the treaty being ratified, nothing could exceed the kindness of the governor and his men to our wet, shivering, and hungry troops. One hundred men were removed to hospital and carefully tended by the Spanish surgeons, a young man, Don Bernardo Collagen, even tearing his own shirt in pieces to make temporary bandages for wounded men who lay on the mole. The governor, in sending back our fellows to their ships, sent word at the same time, that while our squadron lay outside any of our people might land and purchase whatever they cared to eat or to drink.

Nelson, ill as he was, dictated a letter of thanks to this brave and kindly fellow, and sent them with presents. He also offered to carry the governor's letters and despatches to the Spanish government. This offer was accepted.

There is no doubt about one thing, however. Troubridge was in earnest when he threatened to fire the town and charge with the bayonet.

So the madcap expedition was at an end.

But how sadly it had ended; for in killed and wounded our loss was somewhat over 250 men.

Nelson's letters to the admiral of the fleet after his defeat were sorrowful in the extreme. But their tenour was no doubt influenced by the miserableness of his bodily condition and his sufferings, for owing to the bungling way the operation had been performed both the chief artery and the chief nerve were included together in the ligature, and the pain was in consequence of a most agonising character.

Here are one or two extracts from his letters to St. Vincent:

"I am now become a burden to my friends, and useless to my country; but by my last letter to you, you will perceive my anxiety for the promotion of my step-son Josiah Nisbet. When I leave your command I myself become dead to the world. I go hence and am no more seen. If from poor Bowen's loss you think it proper to oblige me I rest confident you will do it. The boy is under obligations to me, but he has repaid me by bringing me from the mole at Santa Cruz. I hope you will be able to give me a frigate to convey the remains of my carcass to England."

"The sooner," he says in another despatch, "I get away to a humble cottage the better. I shall thus make room for a sounder man to serve the state, for a left-handed admiral can scarcely be considered useful."

His step-son was promoted immediately, as he deserved to be.

Great though the admiral's sufferings were, he did not even forget our Tom Bure, who since the attack on Santa Cruz had been prostrated with illness. Probably his being promoted to a lieutenancy by Nelson himself went a far way towards restoring his health. Tom returned home in the same ship with Nelson.

Merryweather was wounded in a boat action soon after, and by his side fell Raventree, who was taken on board his ship and stretched for dead.

O'Grady, however, hadn't a deal of faith in a doctor's opinion, so he went soon after to the lee side of the gun, where the poor young officer lay covered up by the flag under which he had served so gallantly.

His wounds were bleeding afresh. His eyes were open, and he could talk.

O'Grady rushed pell-mell to the Irish surgeon's mate.

"Come here, you omadhaun," he shouted, "follow me, ye spalpeen av the world, to go and stretch a poor bhoy for dead that was never dead at all. Yes, sare, it's Raventree I mane."

"Not dead?"

"Och, no! The bhoy tells me so himself. He is a gentleman that wouldn't tell a lie for the loife av him. Come to him at onct, or I'll carry you."

* * * *

All the way home to England poor Nelson suffered agonies with his arm. He was afterwards most carefully nursed, however, by his wife, and the pain departed in a single night with the coming away of the ligature, which the bungling hands of that wretched surgeon had placed around the nerve.

Honours were heaped upon him.

Britain seldom forgets a true hero.

Nelson was happy now. He seems at this time to have had little wish to serve again.

There was true religious feeling ever dwelling around the heart of Nelson, and he did not forget to return thanks publicly, through the officiating clergyman, at St. George's Church, Hanover Square. There was the usual modesty about this, however, that marked all Nelson's actions, for from the pulpit his name was not even mentioned.

The following are the words of this thanksgiving, precisely as they were dictated by the hero, and precisely as they were delivered by the clergyman:

"An officer desires to return thanks to Almighty God for his perfect recovery from a severe wound, and also for the many mercies bestowed upon him."