to
be leaving me altogether. "Carry him below," I heard some one say.
"He's not dead, is he?" Then I knew that I was badly wounded; I did not
know how badly. I was almost senseless as I was conveyed below, where I
found myself with a number of my shipmates, who had lately been full of
life and activity, strong, hearty men, now lying pale and maimed or
writhing in agony. One of the surgeons soon came to me and gave me
restoratives, and I then knew where I was, and that my left arm was
shattered, and my side wounded. I thought at that time that I had
suffered a very great misfortune; but I had reason afterwards to believe
that I ought to have been thankful for what had occurred. I said that
we were engaged with the Spanish ship the _Neptuno_. In spite of the
hammering we gave her, her people continued to serve her guns with
undaunted courage. At length, when we had knocked away her mizzen-mast
and main and fore-top masts, and killed and wounded a number of her
people, and sent many a shot through her hull, her crew, seeing that
numbers of the combined fleet had already succumbed to British valour,
hauled down their colours. I heard the cheering shout given by my
shipmates, and discovered the cessation of the firing from no longer
experiencing the dreadful jar which the guns caused each time they were
discharged. As soon as any of our boats could be got into a condition
to lower, the prize was taken possession of. I found afterwards that my
name was called over to form one of the prize crew; but when it was
known that I was wounded, another hand was sent in my place. I had been
selected by the first lieutenant, who looked on me as a steady man, and
wished to recommend me for promotion. I give an account of what befell
the prize as narrated to me by a shipmate.

"You know, Weatherhelm," said he, when I met him some months afterwards,
"that I formed one of the prize crew sent to take possession of her.
Before we got her sufficiently into order to be manageable, we fell on
board the _Temeraire_, one of our own squadron. We little thought at
that time that our beloved chief was lying in the cockpit of the
_Victory_ mortally wounded. He had been struck by the fatal bullet at
1:25, while walking his quarter-deck, and at 4:30 he expired without a
groan. Lord Nelson had directed that the fleet with the prize should
anchor as soon as the victory was complete; but Lord Collingwood, who
now took the command, differed