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. 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. He 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, "you can 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 the Victory hurrahed; and at each 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 the
Victory. 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." Hardy
observed that he hoped Mr. Beatty could yet hold out some prospect of
life. "Oh, no," he replied; "it is impossible. 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 some