THE HEROES OF THE LONG SAULT

Bless the Lord, O my soul;And all that is within me, bless his holy name.Bless the Lord, O my soul,And forget not all his benefits:Who forgiveth all thine iniquities;Who healeth all thy diseases;Who redeemeth thy life from destruction;Who crowneth thee with loving kindness and tender mercies:Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things;So that thy youth is renewed like the eagle.The Lord executeth righteous acts,And judgments for all that are oppressed.He made known his ways unto Moses,His doings unto the children of Israel.The Lord is full of compassion and gracious,Slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.He will not always chide;Neither will he keep his anger forever.He hath not dealt with us after our sins,Nor rewarded us after our iniquities.For as the heaven is high above the earth,So great is his mercy towards them that fear him.As far as the east is from the west,So far hath he removed our transgressions from us.Like as a father pitieth his children,So the Lord pitieth them that fear him.For he knoweth our frame;He remembereth that we are dust.As for man, his days are as grass;As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth.For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone;And the place thereof shall know it no more.But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him,And his righteousness unto children’s children,To such as keep his covenant,And to those that remember his precepts to do them.The Lord hath established his throne in the heavens;And his kingdom ruleth over all.Bless the Lord, ye angels of his,Ye mighty in strength;That fulfil his word,Hearkening unto the voice of his word.Bless the Lord, all ye his hosts;Ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure.Bless the Lord, all ye his works,In all places of his dominion.—From the Book of Psalms.

The Lord executeth righteous acts,And judgments for all that are oppressed.He made known his ways unto Moses,His doings unto the children of Israel.The Lord is full of compassion and gracious,Slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.He will not always chide;Neither will he keep his anger forever.He hath not dealt with us after our sins,Nor rewarded us after our iniquities.

For as the heaven is high above the earth,So great is his mercy towards them that fear him.As far as the east is from the west,So far hath he removed our transgressions from us.Like as a father pitieth his children,So the Lord pitieth them that fear him.For he knoweth our frame;He remembereth that we are dust.

As for man, his days are as grass;As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth.For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone;And the place thereof shall know it no more.But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him,And his righteousness unto children’s children,To such as keep his covenant,And to those that remember his precepts to do them.

The Lord hath established his throne in the heavens;And his kingdom ruleth over all.Bless the Lord, ye angels of his,Ye mighty in strength;That fulfil his word,Hearkening unto the voice of his word.Bless the Lord, all ye his hosts;Ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure.Bless the Lord, all ye his works,In all places of his dominion.—From the Book of Psalms.

In April, 1660, a young officer named Daulac, commandant of the garrison at Montreal, asked leave of Maisonneuve, the governor, to lead a party of volunteers against the Iroquois. His plan was bold to desperation. It was known that Iroquois warriors, in great numbers, had wintered among the forests of the Ottawa. Daulac proposed to waylay them on their descent of the river, and fight them without regard to disparity of force; and Maisonneuve,judging that a display of enterprise and boldness might act as a check on the audacity of the enemy, at last gave his consent.

Adam Daulac was a young man of good family, who had come to the colony three years before, at the age of twenty-two. He had held some military command in France, though in what rank does not appear. He had been busy for some time among the young men of Montreal, inviting them to join him in the enterprise he meditated. Sixteen of them caught his spirit. They bound themselves by oath to accept no quarter; and, having gained Maisonneuve’s consent, they made their wills, confessed, and received the sacraments.

After a solemn farewell they embarked in several canoes, well supplied with arms and ammunition. They were very indifferent canoe-men, and it is said that they lost a week in vain attempts to pass the swift current of Ste. Anne, at the head of the Island of Montreal. At length they were successful, and entering the mouth of the Ottawa, crossed the Lake of Two Mountains, and slowly advanced against the current.

About the first of May they reached the foot of the formidable rapid called the Long Sault, where a tumult of waters, foaming among ledges and boulders, barred the onward way. It was needless to go farther. The Iroquois were sure to pass the Sault, and could be fought here as well as elsewhere. Just below the rapid, where the forests sloped gently to the shore, among the bushes and stumps ofa rough clearing made in constructing it, stood a palisade fort, the work of an Algonquin war-party in the past autumn. It was a mere enclosure of trunks of small trees planted in a circle, and was already in ruins. Such as it was, the Frenchmen took possession of it. They made their fires and slung their kettles, on the neighboring shore; and here they were soon joined by forty Hurons and four Algonquins. Daulac, it seems, made no objection to their company, and they all bivouacked together. Morning, noon, and night, they prayed in three different tongues; and when at sunset the long reach of forest on the farther shore basked peacefully in the level rays, the rapids joined their hoarse music to the notes of their evening hymn.

In a day or two their scouts came in with tidings that two Iroquois canoes were coming down the Sault. Daulac had time to set his men in ambush among the bushes at a point where he thought the strangers likely to land. He judged aright. Canoes, bearing five Iroquois, approached, and were met by a volley fired with such precipitation that one or more of them escaped, fled into the forest, and told their mischance to their main body, two hundred in number, on the river above. A fleet of canoes suddenly appeared, bounding down the rapids, filled with warriors eager for revenge. The allies had barely time to escape to their fort, leaving their kettles still slung over the fires. The Iroquois made a hasty attack, and were quickly repulsed. They next opened a parley, hoping, no doubt, to gain some advantage by surprise. Failing in this, they set themselves,after their custom on such occasions, to building a rude fort of their own in the neighboring forest.

This gave the French a breathing-time, and they used it for strengthening their defences. Being provided with tools, they planted a row of stakes within their palisade, to form a double fence, and filled the intervening space with earth and stones to the height of a man, leaving some twenty loopholes, at each of which three marksmen were stationed. Their work was still unfinished when the Iroquois were upon them again. They had broken to pieces the birch canoes of the French and their allies, and, kindling the bark, rushed up to pile it blazing against the palisade; but so brisk and steady a fire met them that they recoiled, and at last gave way. They came on again, and again were driven back, leaving many of their number on the ground, among them the principal chief of the Senecas.

This dashed the spirits of the Iroquois, and they sent a canoe to call to their aid five hundred of their warriors, who were mustered near the mouth of the Richelieu. These were the allies whom, but for this untoward check, they were on their way to join for a combined attack on Quebec, Three Rivers, and Montreal. It was maddening to see their grand project thwarted by a few French and Indians ensconced in a paltry redoubt, scarcely better than a cattle-pen, but they were forced to digest the affront as best they might.

Meanwhile, crouched behind trees and logs, they beset the fort, harassing its defenders day and night with aspattering fire and a constant menace of attack. Thus five days passed. Hunger, thirst, and want of sleep wrought fatally on the strength of the French and their allies, who, pent up together in their narrow prison, fought and prayed by turns. Deprived as they were of water, they could not swallow the crushed Indian corn, or “hominy,” which was their only food. Some of them, under cover of a brisk fire, ran down to the river and filled such small vessels as they had; but this pittance only tantalized their thirst. They dug a hole in the fort, and were rewarded at last by a little muddy water oozing through the clay.

Among the assailants were a number of Hurons, adopted by the Iroquois, and fighting on their side. These renegades now tried to seduce their countrymen in the fort. Half dead with thirst and famine, they took the bait, and one, two, or three at a time, climbed the palisade and ran over to the enemy, amid the hootings and execrations of those whom they deserted. Their chief stood firm; and when he saw his nephew join the other fugitives, he fired his pistol at him in a rage. The four Algonquins, who had no mercy to hope for, stood fast, with the courage of despair.

On the fifth day an uproar of unearthly yells from seven hundred savage throats, mingled with a clattering salute of musketry, told the Frenchmen that the expected reënforcement had come; and soon, in the forest and on the clearing, a crowd of warriors mustered for the attack. Knowing from the Huron deserters the weakness of their enemy, they had no doubt of an easy victory. They

The Death of Daulac

advanced cautiously, as was usual with the Iroquois before their blood was up, screeching, leaping from side to side, and firing as they came on; but the French were at their posts, and every loophole darted its tongue of fire. The Iroquois, astonished at the persistent vigor of the defence, fell back discomfited. The fire of the French, who were themselves completely under cover, had told upon them with deadly effect. Three days more wore away in a series of futile attacks, made with little concert or vigor; and during all this time Daulac and his men, reeling with exhaustion, fought and prayed as before, sure of a martyr’s reward.

The uncertain temper common to all Indians now began to declare itself. Some of the Iroquois were for going home. Others revolted at the thought, and declared that it would be an eternal disgrace to lose so many men, at the hands of so paltry an enemy, and yet fail to take revenge. It was resolved to make a general assault, and volunteers were called for to lead the attack. No precaution was neglected. Large and heavy shields, four or five feet high, were made by lashing together with the aid of cross-bars three split logs. Covering themselves with these mantelets, the chosen band advanced, followed by the motley throng of warriors. In spite of a brisk fire, they reached the palisade, and, crouching below the range of shot, hewed furiously with their hatchets to cut their way through. The rest followed close, and swarmed like angry hornets around the little fort, hacking and tearing to get in.

Daulac had crammed a large musketoon with powder and plugged up the muzzle. Lighting the fuse inserted in it, he tried to throw it over the barrier, to burst like a grenade among the crowd of savages without; but it struck the ragged top of one of the palisades, fell back among the Frenchmen, and exploded, killing or wounding several of them, and nearly blinding others. In the confusion that followed, the Iroquois got possession of the loopholes, and, thrusting in their guns, fired on those within. In a moment more they had torn a breach in the palisade; but, nerved with the energy of desperation, Daulac and his followers sprang to defend it. Daulac was struck dead, but the survivors kept up the fight. With a sword or a hatchet in one hand and a knife in the other, they threw themselves against the throng of enemies, striking and stabbing with the fury of madmen; till the Iroquois, despairing of taking them alive, fired volley after volley, and shot them down. All was over, and a burst of triumphant yells proclaimed the dear-bought victory.

Searching the pile of corpses, the victors found four Frenchmen still breathing. Three had scarcely a spark of life, and, as no time was to be lost, they burned them on the spot. The fourth, less fortunate, seemed likely to survive, and they reserved him for future torments. As for the Huron deserters, their cowardice profited them little. The Iroquois, regardless of their promises, fell upon them, burned some at once, and carried the rest to their villages for a similar fate. Five of the number had thegood fortune to escape, and it was from them, aided by admissions made long afterwards by the Iroquois themselves, that the French of Canada derived all their knowledge of this glorious disaster.

To the colony it proved a salvation. The Iroquois had had fighting enough. If seventeen Frenchmen, four Algonquins, and one Huron, behind a picket fence, could hold seven hundred warriors at bay so long, what might they expect from many such, fighting behind walls of stone? For that year they thought no more of capturing Quebec and Montreal, but went home dejected and amazed, to howl over their losses, and nurse their dashed courage for a day of vengeance.—Francis Parkman.

Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory!Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise—Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,Behold their tears and hear their cries!Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,Affright and desolate the land,While peace and liberty lie bleeding?To arms! to arms! ye brave!The avenging sword unsheath:March on! march on! all hearts resolvedOn victory or death.Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,Which treacherous kings confederate raise;The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,And lo! our fields and cities blaze;And shall we basely view the ruin,While lawless force with guilty stride,Spreads desolation far and wide,With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?With luxury and pride surrounded,The vile, insatiate despots dare(Their thirst of power and gold unbounded)To mete and vend the light and air.Like beasts of burden would they load us,Like gods would bid their slaves adore;But man is man, and who is more?Then shall they longer lash and goad us?O Liberty! can man resign thee,Once having felt thy generous flame?Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee,Or whips thy noble spirit tame?Too long the world has wept bewailingThat Falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield;But Freedom is our sword and shield,And all their arts are unavailing.—Rouget De Lisle.

Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,Which treacherous kings confederate raise;The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,And lo! our fields and cities blaze;And shall we basely view the ruin,While lawless force with guilty stride,Spreads desolation far and wide,With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?

With luxury and pride surrounded,The vile, insatiate despots dare(Their thirst of power and gold unbounded)To mete and vend the light and air.Like beasts of burden would they load us,Like gods would bid their slaves adore;But man is man, and who is more?Then shall they longer lash and goad us?

O Liberty! can man resign thee,Once having felt thy generous flame?Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee,Or whips thy noble spirit tame?Too long the world has wept bewailingThat Falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield;But Freedom is our sword and shield,And all their arts are unavailing.—Rouget De Lisle.

He that humbles himself shall be exalted.

A voice resounds like thunder-peal,’Mid dashing waves and clang of steel,“The Rhine! the Rhine! the German Rhine!Who guards to-day my stream divine?”Dear Fatherland! no danger thine:Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine.They stand, a hundred thousand strong,Quick to avenge their country’s wrong:With filial love their bosoms swell:They’ll guard the sacred landmark well.And though in death our hopes decay,The Rhine will own no foreign sway;For rich with water as its floodIs Germany with hero blood.From yon blue sky are bending nowThe hero-dead to hear our vow:“As long as German hearts are freeThe Rhine, the Rhine, shall German be.”“While flows one drop of German blood,Or sword remains to guard thy flood,While rifle rests in patriot hand,No foe shall tread thy sacred strand.”

They stand, a hundred thousand strong,Quick to avenge their country’s wrong:With filial love their bosoms swell:They’ll guard the sacred landmark well.

And though in death our hopes decay,The Rhine will own no foreign sway;For rich with water as its floodIs Germany with hero blood.

From yon blue sky are bending nowThe hero-dead to hear our vow:“As long as German hearts are freeThe Rhine, the Rhine, shall German be.”

“While flows one drop of German blood,Or sword remains to guard thy flood,While rifle rests in patriot hand,No foe shall tread thy sacred strand.”

Queen Louise of Prussia and her Sons

Our oath resounds; the river flows;In golden light our banner glows;Our hearts will guard thy stream divine:The Rhine! the Rhine! the German Rhine!—Max Schneckenburger.

Robert Burns

Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,Welcome to your gory bed,Or to victorie!Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;See the front o’ battle lour;See approach proud Edward’s power—Chains and slaverie!Wha will be a traitor knave?Wha can fill a coward’s grave?Wha sae base as be a slave?Let him turn and flee!Wha, for Scotland’s king and law,Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,Free-man stand, or free-man fa’,Let him on wi’ me!By oppression’s woes and pains!By your sons in servile chains!We will drain our dearest veins,But theyshallbe free!Lay the proud usurpers low!Tyrants fall in every foe!Liberty’s in every blow!—Let us do—or die!—Robert Burns.

Wha will be a traitor knave?Wha can fill a coward’s grave?Wha sae base as be a slave?Let him turn and flee!Wha, for Scotland’s king and law,Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,Free-man stand, or free-man fa’,Let him on wi’ me!

By oppression’s woes and pains!By your sons in servile chains!We will drain our dearest veins,But theyshallbe free!Lay the proud usurpers low!Tyrants fall in every foe!Liberty’s in every blow!—Let us do—or die!—Robert Burns.

The coyote is a long, slim, sick, and sorry-looking skeleton, with a gray wolfskin stretched over it, a tolerably bushy tail that forever sags down with a despairing expression of forsakenness and misery, a furtive and evil eye, and a long, sharp face, with slightly lifted lip and exposed teeth.

Mark Twain

He has a general slinking expression all over. The coyote is a living, breathing allegory of Want. He is always hungry. He is always poor, out of luck, and friendless. He is so spiritless and cowardly that even while his exposed teeth are pretending a threat, the rest of his face is apologizing for it. And he issohomely!—so scrawny, and ribby, and coarse-haired, and pitiful.

When he sees you, he lifts his lip and lets a flash of his teeth out, and then turns a little out of the course he was pursuing, depresses his head a bit, and strikes a long, soft-footed trot through the brush, glancing over his shoulder at you, from time to time, till he is about out of easy pistol range, and then he stops and takes a deliberate survey of you; he will trot fifty yards and stop again—another fifty and stop again; and, finally, the gray of his gliding body blends with the gray of the brush, and he disappears.

All this is when you make no demonstration against him; but if you do, he develops a livelier interest in his journey, and instantly electrifies his heels and puts such a deal of real estate between himself and your weapon, that by the time you have raised the hammer you see that you need a rifle, and by the time you have got him in line you need a cannon, and by the time you have drawn a bead on him you see well enough that nothing but an unusually long-winded streak of lightning could reach him where he is now.

But if you start a swift-footed dog after him, you will enjoy it ever so much—especially if it is a dog that has a good opinion of himself, and has been brought up to think that he knows something about speed. The coyote will go swinging gently off on that deceitful trot of his, and every little while he will smile a fraudful smile over his shoulder that will fill that dog entirely full of encouragement and worldly ambition, and make him lay his head still lower to the ground, and stretch his neck farther to the front, and pant more fiercely, and stick his tail out straighterbehind, and move his furious legs with a yet wilder frenzy, and leave a broader and broader, and higher and denser cloud of dust behind, marking his long wake across the level plain!

And all this time the dog is only a short twenty feet behind the coyote, and to save the life of him he cannot understand why it is that he cannot get perceptibly closer; and he begins to get aggravated, and it makes him more and more angry to see how gently the coyote glides along and never pants or sweats or ceases to smile; and he grows still more and more incensed to see how shamefully he has been taken in by an entire stranger, and what an ignoble swindle that long, calm, soft-footed trot is; and next he notices that he is getting fagged, and that the coyote actually has to slacken speed a little to keep from running away from him—and then that town dog is angry in earnest, and he begins to strain, and weep, and paw the sand higher than ever, and reach for the coyote with concentrated and desperate energy.

This spurt finds him six feet behind the gliding enemy, and two miles from his friends. And then, in the instant that a wild new hope is lighting up his face, the coyote turns and smiles blandly upon him once more, and with a something about it which seems to say: “Well, I shall have to tear myself away from you,—business is business, and it will not do for me to be fooling along this way all day,”—and forthwith there is a rushing sound, and the sudden splitting of a long crack through the atmosphere, and beholdthat dog is solitary and alone in the midst of a vast solitude!

It makes his head swim. He stops, and looks all around; climbs the nearest mound, and gazes into the distance; shakes his head reflectively, and then, without a word, he turns and jogs along back to his train, and takes up a humble position under the hindmost wagon, and feels unspeakably mean, and looks ashamed, and hangs his tail at half-mast for a week. And for as much as a year after that, whenever there is a great hue and cry after a coyote, that dog will merely glance in that direction without emotion, and apparently observe to himself, “I believe I do not wish any of the pie.”

—Samuel Langhorne Clemens[Mark Twain].

Heaven is not reached by a single bound,But we build the ladder by which we riseFrom the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,And we mount to its summit, round by round.I count this thing to be grandly true,That a noble deed is a step towards God,Lifting the soul from the common clodTo a purer air and a fairer view.We rise by the things that are ’neath our feet;By what we have mastered of good; and gainBy the pride deposed, and the passion slain,And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,When the morning calls to life and light;But our hearts grow weary, and ere the nightOur lives are trailing the sordid dust.We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray;And we think that we mount the air on wingsBeyond the recall of earthly things,While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.Wings are for angels, but feet for men!We may borrow the wings to find the way;We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray,But our feet must rise or we fall again.Only in dreams is a ladder thrownFrom the weary earth to the sapphire walls;But the dreams depart and the ladder falls,And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.Heaven is not reached at a single bound,But we build the ladder by which we riseFrom the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,And we mount to its summit round by round.—Josiah Gilbert Holland.

Heaven is not reached by a single bound,But we build the ladder by which we riseFrom the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,And we mount to its summit, round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true,That a noble deed is a step towards God,Lifting the soul from the common clodTo a purer air and a fairer view.

We rise by the things that are ’neath our feet;By what we have mastered of good; and gainBy the pride deposed, and the passion slain,And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,When the morning calls to life and light;But our hearts grow weary, and ere the nightOur lives are trailing the sordid dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray;And we think that we mount the air on wingsBeyond the recall of earthly things,While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings are for angels, but feet for men!We may borrow the wings to find the way;We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray,But our feet must rise or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrownFrom the weary earth to the sapphire walls;But the dreams depart and the ladder falls,And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound,But we build the ladder by which we riseFrom the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,And we mount to its summit round by round.—Josiah Gilbert Holland.

A right thought is as a true key.

Last night a storm fell on the worldFrom height of drouth and heat,The surly clouds for weeks were furled,The air could only sway and beat;The beetles clattered at the blind,The hawks fell twanging from the sky,The west unrolled a feathery wind,And the night fell sullenly.A storm leaped roaring from its lair,Like the shadow of doom;The poignard lightning searched the air,The thunder ripped the shattered gloom;The rain came down with a roar like fire,Full-voiced and clamorous and deep;The weary world had its heart’s desire,And fell asleep.And now in the morning early,The clouds are sailing by;Clearly, oh! so clearly,The distant mountains lie.The wind is very mild and slow,The clouds obey his will,They part and part and onwards go,Travelling together still.’Tis very sweet to be alive,On a morning that’s so fair,For nothing seems to stir or strive,In the unconscious air.A tawny thrush is in the wood,Ringing so wild and free;Only one bird has a blither mood,The white-throat on the tree.—Duncan Campbell Scott

Last night a storm fell on the worldFrom height of drouth and heat,The surly clouds for weeks were furled,The air could only sway and beat;

The beetles clattered at the blind,The hawks fell twanging from the sky,The west unrolled a feathery wind,And the night fell sullenly.

A storm leaped roaring from its lair,Like the shadow of doom;The poignard lightning searched the air,The thunder ripped the shattered gloom;

The rain came down with a roar like fire,Full-voiced and clamorous and deep;The weary world had its heart’s desire,And fell asleep.

And now in the morning early,The clouds are sailing by;Clearly, oh! so clearly,The distant mountains lie.

The wind is very mild and slow,The clouds obey his will,They part and part and onwards go,Travelling together still.

’Tis very sweet to be alive,On a morning that’s so fair,For nothing seems to stir or strive,In the unconscious air.

A tawny thrush is in the wood,Ringing so wild and free;Only one bird has a blither mood,The white-throat on the tree.—Duncan Campbell Scott

It had been part of Nelson’s prayer, that the British fleet might be distinguished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting an example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing on theRedoubtable, supposing that she had struck, because her guns were silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, he received his death. A ball fired from her mizzentop, which, in the then situation of the two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulet on his left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He fell upon his face, on the spot which was covered with his poor secretary’s blood.

Hardy, who was a few steps from him, turning round,saw three men raising him up. “They have done for me at last, Hardy,” said he. “I hope not,” cried Hardy. “Yes,” he replied; “my backbone is shot through.” Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, which had been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should be rove immediately; then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had he but concealed these badges of honor from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of Trafalgar. The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen’s berth.

Robert Southey

It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. Nelson himself being certain, from the sensation in his back, and the gush of blood he felt momently within his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might be useful; “for,” said he, “youcan do nothing for me.” All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. As often as a ship struck, the crew of theVictoryhurrahed, and at every hurrah, a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes, and marked the countenance of the dying hero. But he became impatient to see Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly cried, “Will no one bring Hardy to me? he must be killed! he is surely dead!” An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time when Nelson received his wound, before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands in silence, Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most painful and yet sublime moment. “Well, Hardy,” said Nelson, “how goes the day with us?” “Very well,” replied Hardy; “ten ships have struck, but five of the van have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon theVictory. I have called two or three of our fresh ships round, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing.” “I hope,” said Nelson, “none of our ships have struck.” Hardy answered, “There is no fear of that.” Then, and not till then, Nelson spoke of himself. “I am a dead man, Hardy,” said he; “I am going fast; it will be all over with me soon. Come nearer to me.” Hardy observed that he hoped Mr. Beatty could yet hold out some prospect of life. “Oh, no,” he replied; “it isimpossible. My back is shot through. Beatty will tell you so.” Hardy then once more shook hands with him, and with a heart almost bursting, hastened upon deck.

By this time all feeling below the breast was gone, and Nelson, having made the surgeon ascertain this, said to him: “You know I am gone. I know it. I feel something rising in my breast,” putting his hand on his left side, “which tells me so.” And upon Beatty’s inquiring whether his pain was very great, he replied, so great that he wished he was dead. “Yet,” said he, in a lower voice, “one would like to live a little longer, too!” CaptainHardy, some fifty minutes after he had left the cockpit, returned, and again taking the hand of his dying friend and commander, congratulated him on having gained a complete victory. How many of the enemy were taken he did not know, as it was impossible to perceive them distinctly, but fourteen or fifteen at least. “That’s well,” cried Nelson; “but I bargained for twenty.” And then, in a stronger voice, he said, “Anchor, Hardy, anchor.” Hardy, upon this, hinted that Admiral Collingwood would take upon himself the direction of affairs. “Not while I live, Hardy,” said the dying Nelson, ineffectually endeavoring to raise himself from the bed; “do you anchor.” His previous orders for preparing to anchor had shown how clearly he foresaw the necessity of this.

Presently, calling Hardy back, he said to him in a low voice, “Don’t throw me overboard;” and he desired that he might be buried by his parents, unless it should please the king to order otherwise. Then, “Kiss me, Hardy,” said he. Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek; and Nelson said, “Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty!” Hardy stood over him in silence for a moment or two, then knelt again and kissed his forehead. “Who is that?” said Nelson; and being informed, he replied, “God bless you, Hardy.” And Hardy then left him forever. Nelson now desired to be turned upon his right side, and said, “I wish I had not left the deck, for I shall soon be gone.” Death was, indeed, rapidly approaching. He said to the chaplain, “Doctor, I havenotbeen agreatsinner.” His articulation now became difficult; but he was distinctly heard to say, “Thank God, I have done my duty!” These words he repeatedly pronounced, and they were the last words which he uttered. He expired at thirty minutes after four, three hours and a quarter after he had received his wound.

The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a public calamity; men started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as if they had heard of the loss of a near friend. An object of our admiration and affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from us; and it seemed as if we had never till then known how deeply we loved and reverenced him. The victory of Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; for such already was the glory of the British navy, through Nelson’s surpassing genius, that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from the most signal victory that ever was achieved upon the seas; and the destruction of this mighty fleet hardly appeared to add to our security or strength; for while Nelson was living to watch the combined squadrons of the enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now, when they were no longer in existence.

There was reason to suppose that in the course of nature Nelson might have attained, like his father, to a good old age. Yet he cannot be said to have fallen prematurely whose work was done; nor ought he to be lamented who died so full of honors, and at the height ofhuman fame. He has left us, not indeed his mantle of inspiration, but a name and an example which are at this moment inspiring thousands of the youth of England—a name which is our pride, and an example which will continue to be our shield and our strength. Thus it is that the spirits of the great and the wise continue to live and to act after them.—Robert Southey.

Thomas Campbell

Of Nelson and the North,Sing the glorious day’s renown,When to battle fierce came forthAll the might of Denmark’s crown,And her arms along the deep proudly shone;By each gun the lighted brand,In a bold, determined hand,And the Prince of all the landLed them on.Like leviathans afloat,Lay their bulwarks on the brine;While the sign of battle flewOn the lofty British line:It was ten of April morn by the chime:As they drifted on their path,There was silence deep as death;And the boldest held his breath,For a time.But the might of England flush’dTo anticipate the scene;And her van the fleeter rush’dO’er the deadly space between.“Hearts of oak!” our captains cried; when each gunFrom its adamantine lipsSpread a death-shade round the ships,Like the hurricane eclipseOf the sun.Again! again! again!And the havoc did not slack,Till a feeble cheer the DaneTo our cheering sent us back;Their shots along the deep slowly boom—Then ceased—and all is wail,As they strike the shattered sail;Or, in conflagration pale,Light the gloom.Out spoke the victor then,As he hail’d them o’er the wave;“Ye are brothers! ye are men!And we conquer but to save:—So peace instead of death let us bring;But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,With the crews, at England’s feet,And make submission meetTo our King.”Then Denmark blessed our chiefThat he gave her wounds repose;And the sounds of joy and griefFrom her people wildly rose,As death withdrew his shades from the day.While the sun look’d smiling brightO’er a wide and woful sight,Where the fires of funeral lightDied away.Now joy, old England, raiseFor the tidings of thy might,By the festal cities’ blaze,Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;And yet amidst that joy and uproar,Let us think of them that sleepFull many a fathom deep,By thy wild and stormy steep,Elsinore!Brave hearts! to Britain’s prideOnce so faithful and so true,On the deck of fame that died,With the gallant good Riou:Soft sighs the winds of Heaven o’er their grave!While the billow mournful rolls,And the mermaid’s song condoles,Singing glory to the soulsOf the brave!—Thomas Campbell.

Like leviathans afloat,Lay their bulwarks on the brine;While the sign of battle flewOn the lofty British line:It was ten of April morn by the chime:As they drifted on their path,There was silence deep as death;And the boldest held his breath,For a time.

But the might of England flush’dTo anticipate the scene;And her van the fleeter rush’dO’er the deadly space between.“Hearts of oak!” our captains cried; when each gunFrom its adamantine lipsSpread a death-shade round the ships,Like the hurricane eclipseOf the sun.

Again! again! again!And the havoc did not slack,Till a feeble cheer the DaneTo our cheering sent us back;Their shots along the deep slowly boom—Then ceased—and all is wail,As they strike the shattered sail;Or, in conflagration pale,Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then,As he hail’d them o’er the wave;“Ye are brothers! ye are men!And we conquer but to save:—So peace instead of death let us bring;But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,With the crews, at England’s feet,And make submission meetTo our King.”

Then Denmark blessed our chiefThat he gave her wounds repose;And the sounds of joy and griefFrom her people wildly rose,As death withdrew his shades from the day.While the sun look’d smiling brightO’er a wide and woful sight,Where the fires of funeral lightDied away.

Now joy, old England, raiseFor the tidings of thy might,By the festal cities’ blaze,Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;And yet amidst that joy and uproar,Let us think of them that sleepFull many a fathom deep,By thy wild and stormy steep,Elsinore!

Brave hearts! to Britain’s prideOnce so faithful and so true,On the deck of fame that died,With the gallant good Riou:Soft sighs the winds of Heaven o’er their grave!While the billow mournful rolls,And the mermaid’s song condoles,Singing glory to the soulsOf the brave!—Thomas Campbell.

Ye mariners of England!That guard our native seas;Whose flag has braved a thousand years,The battle and the breeze!Your glorious standard launch againTo match another foe!And sweep through the deepWhile the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The spirits of your fathersShall start from every wave!For the deck it was their field of fame,And ocean was their grave:Where Blake and mighty Nelson fellYour manly hearts shall glow,As ye sweep through the deepWhile the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.Britannia needs no bulwarks,No towers along the steep;Her march is o’er the mountain-waves,Her home is on the deep.With thunders from her native oak,She quells the floods below,As they roar on the shoreWhen the stormy winds do blow;When the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The meteor flag of EnglandShall yet terrific burn;Till danger’s troubled night depart,And the star of peace return.Then, then, ye ocean warriors!Our song and feast shall flowTo the fame of your name,When the storm has ceased to blow;When the fiery fight is heard no more,And the storm has ceased to blow!—Thomas Campbell.

The spirits of your fathersShall start from every wave!For the deck it was their field of fame,And ocean was their grave:Where Blake and mighty Nelson fellYour manly hearts shall glow,As ye sweep through the deepWhile the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,No towers along the steep;Her march is o’er the mountain-waves,Her home is on the deep.With thunders from her native oak,She quells the floods below,As they roar on the shoreWhen the stormy winds do blow;When the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of EnglandShall yet terrific burn;Till danger’s troubled night depart,And the star of peace return.Then, then, ye ocean warriors!Our song and feast shall flowTo the fame of your name,When the storm has ceased to blow;When the fiery fight is heard no more,And the storm has ceased to blow!—Thomas Campbell.

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