Authors: Christine Trent
Mr. Burke, the purser, had joined the staff gathered round the admiral and spoke up. “He is commanding a great victory topside, sir, and will be down as soon as the enemy is defeated.”
“Nonsense, all nonsense.” Nelson was quiet again. His breathing was labored.
Messages were repeatedly sent up to Captain Hardy to come and attend on the admiral, but thus far the captain had not come down himself, merely sending a return message that he would avail himself of the first favorable moment to visit his lordship.
Minutes later Nelson’s eyes flew open again. “Where is Hardy? Will no one bring him to me? He must be killed. Surely he is destroyed.”
Dr. Scott, the chaplain, tried also to comfort the admiral, but to no avail.
Hardy at last came down at almost two-thirty to pay a quick visit. He and Nelson shook hands affectionately and Nelson said, “Well, Hardy, how goes the battle? How goes the day with us?”
“Very well, my lord,” Hardy replied. “We have got twelve or fourteen of the enemy’s ships in our possession, but five of their
vanguard have tacked, and show an intention of bearing down on
Victory.
I have therefore called two or three of our fresh ships round us, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing.”
“Ah, excellent. I hope,” said Nelson, “none of
our
ships have struck their colors, Hardy.”
“No, my lord, there is no fear of that.”
“Then I am greatly encouraged.” Nelson closed his eyes again.
Soon Nelson was calling fitfully for Captain Hardy again. He seemed to derive comfort only from the presence of his friend and colleague. Hardy stepped back into Nelson’s view.
“I am a dead man, Hardy. I am going fast. It will be all over with me soon. Pray, let my dear Lady Hamilton have my hair so she can make a memento, and give her all other things belonging to me.”
“Your lordship, does Mr. Beatty hold out no prospect for your life?”
“Oh no! It is impossible. My back is shot through. Beatty will tell you so.”
Hardy looked to the surgeon, who nodded sadly.
“Nelson, you may trust that I will follow your requests exactly, although I will never give up hope of your recovery.”
The two men clasped hands before Hardy returned to the upper deck to resume his duties.
Out of her perpetual habit, Marguerite looked at her watch again. It was three o’clock.
Mr. Beatty signaled Marguerite away from Nelson’s side and escorted her to the dispensary to speak privately.
“You must know, Mrs. Ashby, that nothing can be done for Lord Nelson.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No. When he told me of the gushing he feels in his chest, I checked his pulse. I believe that he is hemorrhaging such that his entire body cavity is being filled. Some months ago there was another man on
Victory
with similar complaints as Nelson’s after a spinal injury. He expired in a short time. I’m certain Nelson remembers the man, thus why he knows he’s finished.” Beatty’s voice broke. “I cannot save him.”
Marguerite tried to contain her shock and remain calm. “But … what will happen to the fleet? To our likelihood of victory?”
Mr. Beatty wiped an eye. “Lord Collingwood is next in command and is surely able to carry out the day. But I must caution you. Only the captain and those of the admiral’s staff down here now, plus Smith and Westemburg, know that the admiral’s wound is fatal. No one else must know. It would be devastating for the crew to learn that Nelson was not long for the world.”
Marguerite herself felt the walls of the ship crumbling in on her. The navy without Nelson? Impossible. She mustered a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Beatty, for your confidence in me. And now we should return to the patient.”
The surgeon escorted her out, but she didn’t get any farther than Darden’s side.
“Lieutenant! You look ghastly.” Darden’s face had gone from pale white to a greenish cast, and he was weaving back and forth. Mr. Beatty left her to cope with the lieutenant while he went back to make Nelson as comfortable as possible.
She put Darden’s arm around her shoulder and escorted him to one of a few free spots on the deck, under the stairs and well away from Nelson. He fell to the floor heavily.
“Darden! What happened?” She dropped to her knees and quickly began loosening his clothing.
“I don’t know. I got a little light-headed standing near Lord Nelson. Perhaps it’s just too confined down here.” Darden cocked himself onto one elbow. “Listen!”
Marguerite stopped. “I hear nothing.”
“Right. Our cannon have stopped. I pray we haven’t struck our colors. We can’t both lose Nelson and lose to the French.”
“Nor can we lose you, Lieutenant. My, but this boot is wedged onto your leg.”
Darden gasped in pain. “What are you doing to me, woman?”
“Just trying to make you comfortable.”
“Well, you’re not. You’re tearing my foot off at the ankle.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be wearing boots. Perhaps you should be barefoot like the rest of us.” She brought one stained foot forward to show him.
Darden laughed despite his pain. “Most impressive, sailor. You should be instructing crew in proper dress. Ahhh!” He winced as Marguerite finally yanked his boot off with a great sucking sound.
Blood spurted everywhere.
“You’re injured! When did this happen?”
“I don’t know. I don’t recall anything.”
Marguerite threw the boot aside and inspected his foot. She found a gash near his ankle. Grabbing the boot again, she scrutinized it and found a tear near the bottom. She turned it upside down and shook it. A sharp, bloodied piece of wood shrapnel tumbled out. She held it up for him to see.
“You didn’t feel this slice your foot?”
“I felt nothing.” Darden began shivering.
She threw the boot and the projectile aside to get him some water and a blanket. She sought out one of the surgeon’s assistants, but they were both busy with other patients, and she didn’t dare interrupt Mr. Beatty’s attendance on Nelson. She would have to take care of this herself. Adding a roll of bandages and scissors to her collection of goods, she returned to Darden.
He drank the water greedily, then eyed the bandages and scissors. “You don’t intend on removing my foot for its small offense, do you?”
“No! I mean, I wouldn’t know how to do that. Forgive me. What I really mean is that I’m going to look at your ankle again, but I don’t think there is any shrapnel left in it, which means I’ll just bandage you up tightly to try to staunch the blood flow.” She cut away the lower part of his stocking to fully expose his foot, snipped a length of bandage, and wound it firmly and repeatedly up and over his ankle, securing it at the top of his foot. Marguerite’s ministrations seemed to have some good effect, for the color was already returning to his face.
“Lieutenant, I’m afraid you’re going to survive.”
“My mother will be ecstatic. And now you’ll need to put my boot back on.”
“You’ll recover much better here without your foot confined in it.”
“That would be true if I planned to stay here recovering. But
Captain Hardy will need me more than ever without Lord Nelson. He’ll need every available officer.”
“But you’re not really in any condition to—”
“Please put my boot back on.”
“I really think you should lie here for at least—”
“My boot.”
Stubborn, dutiful Darden had returned to the scene, and she knew better than to continue arguing with him. With a sigh, she gently replaced the torn boot on his bandaged foot.
She helped him to his feet, where he wobbled unsteadily before regaining his posture and straightening his soiled, sweat-encrusted jacket.
Marguerite shook her head. “You are completely impossible, Lieutenant Hastings.”
“Feel free to chastise me after we’ve won the day. For now I must take my leave of you. I’ve rested long enough.” Darden stepped gingerly on his newly wrapped foot, but, realizing he could put pressure on it easily, was soon making his way off the orlop back to the quarterdeck, where the great cannon had resumed firing.
Meanwhile, Nelson continued to decline. “Fan, fan. Water,” he continued to request, and Marguerite took turns with Dr. Scott and Mr. Beatty to comply with his wishes. Marguerite also found some pillows and used them to bolster him up into a near sitting position.
Nelson seemed more content now. In fact, he now gave his attention to other wounded sailors in the orlop, insisting that Mr. Beatty and his assistants return to the wounded and let him be.
“For,” he said once again, “you can do nothing for me.”
The surgeon obeyed and for a few minutes he, Smith, and Westemburg busied themselves with other patients while Marguerite stayed close to Nelson to tend to his needs.
But soon Nelson wanted Mr. Beatty again, to emphasize once more his imminent mortality.
“Ah, Mr. Beatty! I have sent for you to say, what I forgot to tell you before, that all power and motion and feeling below my breast
are gone, just as happened to that midshipman not so long ago, so
you
very well
know
I can live but a short time.”
Nelson’s emphatic manner left the surgeon nodding his head miserably. “My lord, you told me so before. I had merely hoped …”
Mr. Beatty pulled the blanket down in an attempt to examine Nelson again, but the admiral stopped him. “Ah, Beatty! I am too certain of it. Scott and Burke have also tried to hope on my behalf. You
know
I am gone.”
The surgeon replied in utter dejection, “My lord, unhappily for our country, you are right. Nothing can be done for you,” and withdrew out of Nelson’s line of sight to conceal his emotions.
Nelson put a hand on his left side. “I know it. I feel something rising in my breast which tells me I am gone.”
Marguerite and Mr. Burke resumed fanning the admiral, who was sweating profusely once again.
“God be praised. I have done my duty,” he said.
Nelson and Darden could have been birthed from the same mother. Duty was their only focus.
Now composed, Mr. Beatty came back to Nelson’s side. “Is your pain very great, my lord?”
“Indeed, Beatty, it is so great I wish I were dead presently. Yet, one would like to live a little longer, too.”
The orlop went silent except for the occasional, distant boom of cannon from somewhere in the fleet.
Nelson added softly, “What would become of Lady Hamilton if she knew my situation!”
Marguerite saw that the surgeon was losing his poise again. “Sir, why don’t you attend to the newly wounded, and I will stay here and make the admiral comfortable?”
Mr. Beatty nodded, willing to let Marguerite guide him in his despair over his inability to help the navy’s most highly regarded member.
With Mr. Beatty out of view, Marguerite boldly reached for Nelson’s hand and squeezed it while still fanning him. “My lord, what else can I do for you?”
“Who’s there?” he asked, confused.
“My lord, it’s me, Mrs. Ashby.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “The waxworker, sir.”
“Ah, yes, Hastings’s charge. That figure of yours worked, you know. For a short while. Long enough.” Nelson’s breathing was labored.
“Yes, sir, you told me. I’m proud to have done my part for the navy.”
“Quite right. Water.”
She helped him take some more sips from a cup. “My lord, how else can I make you comfortable?”
He responded in agitation. “Anchor, we need to anchor. A storm is brewing.”
What did he mean by this? Was the admiral delirious? She whispered innocuous words of comfort.
“Hardy needs to know. You’ll tell him?”
“Sir, you may tell him yourself. The captain has returned.”
Nearly an hour had passed since Hardy’s first visit, and the incessant pounding of
Victory’s
cannon had gone nearly silent, although fighting could still be heard raging in other ships in the distance.
Once again she stepped aside so that Captain Hardy could speak to the admiral, then stepped up a few moments later to continue fanning Nelson at his request.
The captain and admiral shook hands once more.
“My lord,” said Hardy. “I’ve sent someone to tell Admiral Collingwood the lamentable circumstances of your being wounded.”
“Quite right to do so, Hardy. Quite right,” Nelson said.
“His reserve failed him, my lord, and he shed tears to know that you have come to such grief.” Hardy held on to Nelson’s hand. “But, sir, you should know you’ve had a complete victory over the enemy. The crew of the
Redoubtable
boarded us briefly, but we annihilated them, and many of the enemy’s ships are striking their colors.”
Marguerite’s heart lurched.
Was Darden safe?
He’d not been brought down as wounded, but that didn’t mean his body had not been thrown—
She shook the thought out of her mind and concentrated on the meeting between Nelson and Hardy.
“How many of the enemy ships have been captured?” Nelson was asking.
“I’m not certain at present. At least fourteen or fifteen have surrendered.”
Nelson disengaged his hand and dropped it back to his side in a disappointed motion. “That is well, but I bargained for twenty.” He shut his eyes briefly before becoming restless.
“Anchor,
Hardy, we must anchor. We must ride out the bad weather.”
Hardy looked at Marguerite with puzzled eyes. She shrugged lightly while continuing to fan her patient.
He replied gently, “I suppose, my lord, that Admiral Collingwood will now take upon himself the direction of affairs.”
“Not while I live, I hope, Hardy!” Nelson exclaimed, and that moment attempted to raise himself on his makeshift bed. “No, you anchor.”
The captain, overcome by the failing condition of his friend and leader, gave in. “Shall we make the signal, sir?”
“Yes, for if I live, I’ll anchor. And while I retain my faculties, I’ll retain command of the fleet, and thus, Hardy, you must carry out my orders. Although in a few minutes I shall be no more.”
Nelson sank down again, the labor of sitting up too much for him.
Marguerite offered the admiral another cup of water, which he refused.
Nelson grabbed his friend’s arm. “Don’t throw me overboard, Hardy.”