CHAPTER IX.

NELSON'S LAST DAYS AND HOURS.

"I saw before thy hearse pass on The comrades of thy peril and renown. The frequent tear upon their dauntless breasts Fell.

"I beheld the pomp thick gathered round Through armed ranks--a nation gazing on. Bright glowed the sun, and not a cloud distained Heaven's arch of gold; but all was gloom beneath.

"Awe and mute anguish fell On all. Yet high the public bosom throbbed With triumph."

There is one individual who, although mention has been made of him, has never yet appeared on the stage of our story, namely, Max Colmore, the son of Lady Colmore, and therefore Bertha's brother. Tom Bure had seen him only once or twice. The first time was when Tom--a very little boy then--was one day floating on the broad in his boat. Max, who was far older than he, had come to the bank with his gun on his shoulder, and ordered Tom to haul off on pain of being shot. Tom had obeyed, and forgiven his foe too for the sake of Bertha, but never had he forgotten the insult.

The second meeting was at the Hall after Tom's return from the Baltic. Our hero was by this time old enough to study the man and sum up his character, which he might have done, not only in a few words, but with three letters--F O P.

Tom wondered to himself how such a surly, haughty fellow as this, such a blood-proud fool, had been permitted to assume his Majesty's uniform; for he was then a captain in the army, and had even seen service in the wars.

Well, Tom Bure had quite as much aversion to a fop as his great chief, Nelson had, so he avoided Max as much as possible. Indeed, they would soon have quarrelled; for over his wine, of which he took a grown-up person's share, the captain talked almost disrespectfully of Nelson and "sailor fellows" in general.

Shockingly bad taste, you say? True, and the man was really no gentleman at heart.

Tom avoided him, therefore, for Bertha's sake, and although this was to be his last visit to the Hall for many and many a long day, he even cut this visit short.

After he had bidden good-bye to Lady Colmore and other guests, he simply bowed stiffly to Max, who was gaping at him through an eye-glass, and took his departure.

Slowly, through the shrubbery he was walking towards his boat when he heard a light step behind him.

He turned quickly.

"Dearest Bertha," he said gently, "I knew you'd come."

The girl was crying.

"Oh, Tom!" she exclaimed, "it seems all so sad and terrible, your going away like this. And something seems to say to me I shall never, never see you more."

"You mustn't talk so, my more than sister," said Tom. "True I am going away, but I shall return, safe and sound. I'm not going to be killed, Bertha, and I'm not going to lose a leg, like poor Merryweather. So you see I shall be able to dance on your wedding-day."

"Mamma says I am too young to think of the future, but she means to give me to some lord or another, and Max doesn't mind. I'm going to be sold, Tom."

"Bertha!" cried Tom, "sooner than you should be given away to a man you didn't care for, were he the proudest noble in Britain, I'd----"

There was the sound of voices heard coming towards them through the shrubbery, and so Tom's sentence was never finished.

* * * * *

Nearly four years had passed away. Busy and eventful years indeed they had been to both Tom Bure and to Raventree.

Not once in all that time had either of them seen home or friends. They had been kept constantly active, and pretty constantly in action. Tom had been much with Nelson, not in the same ships, but on the same service. He had been here and there in many lands too, for many of his duties had been to form a convoy to trading ships.

It was his fate, nevertheless, to be present at the great naval engagement of Trafalgar--a name that is never heard even to this day by a true Briton without a feeling of pride and patriotism.

Nelson had been on half-pay for a time. Perhaps he never expected to serve again. Nevertheless he came, like the hero he was, to his country's aid at his country's call.

I need not remind my reader of Napoleon's pet ambition, the invasion of England--he never could have reached Scotland--nor of that grand review he held on his birthday, August 15th, 1804, at Boulogne, surrounded by his dignitaries of State, his marshals, his ministers, his sailors and soldiers, or how liberally he distributed the ribbon of the Legion of Honour.

"Let us be masters of the Channel," he pompously exclaimed, "for six hours, and we are masters of the world!"

There was somewhat of honour to us in this sentence of the Emperor, for in smashing Britain he should certainly smash the world.

But the death of his chief admiral threw his scheme in abeyance for a time. Yet having the disposal of the Spanish fleet, he believed in 1805 that he had only to crush our squadrons in order to open the British door, and walk quietly in.

There is sometimes a good deal in that little word only, however. If you, reader, want to open a door and walk into a room, even if you are six feet high, and strong in proportion, as doubtless you are, you will find that you have attempted a task beyond your strength if behind that door there is stationed even a very, tiny man with his foot against it.

Now Britain had just such a little man to stand behind her door.

The little man was Nelson.

And the little man made a vow that he would put his foot against the door, and keep Napoleon Bonaparte on the other side of it.

And the little man did.

* * * * *

My readers have all heard tell and read of the marvellous chase by Nelson of the combined fleets of France and Spain. I may possibly be hauled up on the quarter-deck for calling it a chase, but really it was as much so as it was a search. He followed them all the way to the West Indies; he heard they were bound for Trinidad. He would have followed and drubbed them there, but the information was false, and only meant to mislead him. He would have followed them round the world, and drubbed them, just as he followed them back to Europe, and drubbed them there at last. And such a drubbing he administered to them!

History has no other such great naval fight as that of Trafalgar on record. No parallel to it.

I have, however, no intention of describing the Battle of Trafalgar. To do so would be to insult the British schoolmaster, and question the knowledge of the most ordinary British school-board boy--whoever that may be--who has mastered even an epitome of our nation's story.

NELSON'S LAST DAYS AND HOURS.

I think that a man who is universally loved must be good and true at heart. Nelson's was a heart of oak in one sense of the term, but it was a tender and feeling heart nevertheless, and he wore it, figuratively speaking, on his sleeve. His kind and gentle nature could be read in his eyes, as well as in his every action, private as well as public. His men loved him, his officers, more especially his midshipmen, loved him, and the people loved him. Ah! there is no deceiving or dissembling before the people. In the matter of affection and good-heartedness, it is as impossible to deceive the people as it is to deceive a dog, and that is saying a deal.

As I sit here writing in my country home, I have but to place my hand before my eyes, and scene after scene rises up before my mental vision of Nelson's last days and hours.