LITMIR.BIZ

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raised to godlike pitch

       He stalked the deck in all his jewellery,

       And so was hit.

      MAGENDIE

       Then Fortune shows her face!

       We have scotched England in dispatching him. [He watches.]

       Yes! He commands no more; and Lucas, joying,

       Has taken steps to board. Look, spars are laid,

       And his best men are mounting at his heels.

      VILLENEUVE

       Ah, God—he is too late! Whence came the hurl

       Of heavy grape? The smoke prevents my seeing

       But at brief whiles.—The boarding band has fallen,

       Fallen almost to a man.—'Twas well assayed!

      MAGENDIE

       That's from their “Temeraire,” whose vicious broadside

       Has cleared poor Lucas' decks.

      VILLENEUVE

       And Lucas, too.

       I see him no more there. His red planks show

       Three hundred dead if one. Now for ourselves!

       [Four of the English three-deckers have gradually closed round

       the “Bucentaure,” whose bowsprit still sticks fast in the gallery

       of the “Santisima Trinidad.” A broadside comes from one of the

       English, resulting in worse havoc on the “Bucentaure.” The main

       and mizzen masts of the latter fall, and the boats are beaten to

       pieces. A raking fire of musketry follows from the attacking

       ships, to which the “Bucentaure” heroically continues still to

       keep up a reply.

       CAPTAIN MAGENDIE falls wounded. His place is taken by LIEUTENANT

       DAUDIGNON.]

      VILLENEUVE

       Now that the fume has lessened, code my biddance

       Upon our only mast, and tell the van

       At once to wear, and come into the fire.

       [Aside] If it be true that, as HE sneers, success

       Demands of me but cool audacity,

       To-day shall leave him nothing to desire!

       [Musketry continues. DAUDIGNON falls. He is removed, his post

       being taken by LIEUTENANT FOURNIER. Another crash comes, and

       the deck is suddenly encumbered with rigging.]

      FOURNIER

       There goes our foremast! How for signalling now?

      VILLENEUVE

       To try that longer, Fournier, is in vain

       Upon this haggard, scorched, and ravaged hulk,

       Her decks all reeking with such gory shows,

       Her starboard side in rents, her stern nigh gone!

       How does she keep afloat?—

       “Bucentaure,” O lucky good old ship!

       My part in you is played. Ay—I must go;

       I must tempt Fate elsewhere,—if but a boat

       Can bear me through this wreckage to the van.

      FOURNIER

       Our boats are stove in, or as full of holes

       As the cook's skimmer, from their cursed balls!

       [Musketry. VILLENEUVE'S Head-of-Staff, DE PRIGNY, falls wounded,

       and many additional men. VILLENEUVE glances troublously from

       ship to ship of his fleet.]

      VILLENEUVE

       How hideous are the waves, so pure this dawn!—

       Red-frothed; and friends and foes all mixed therein.—

       Can we in some way hail the “Trinidad”

       And get a boat from her?

       [They attempt to distract the attention of the “Santisima

       Trinidad” by shouting.]

       Impossible;

       Amid the loud combustion of this strife

       As well try holloing to the antipodes!...

       So here I am. The bliss of Nelson's end

       Will not be mine; his full refulgent eve

       Becomes my midnight! Well; the fleets shall see

       That I can yield my cause with dignity.

       [The “Bucentaure” strikes her flag. A boat then puts off from the

       English ship “Conqueror,” and VILLENEUVE, having surrendered his

       sword, is taken out from the “Bucentaure.” But being unable to

       regain her own ship, the boat is picked up by the “Mars,” and

       the French admiral is received aboard her. Point of view changes.]

      SCENE IV

       THE SAME. THE COCKPIT OF THE “VICTORY”

       [A din of trampling and dragging overhead, which is accompanied

       by a continuos ground-bass roar from the guns of the warring

       fleets, culminating at times in loud concussions. The wounded

       are lying around in rows for treatment, some groaning, some

       silently dying, some dead. The gloomy atmosphere of the low-

       beamed deck is pervaded by a thick haze of smoke, powdered wood,

       and other dust, and is heavy with the fumes of gunpowder and

       candle-grease, the odour of drugs and cordials, and the smell

       from abdominal wounds.

       NELSON, his face now pinched and wan with suffering, is lying

       undressed in a midshipman's berth, dimly lit by a lantern. DR.

       BEATTY, DR. MAGRATH, the Rev. DR. SCOTT the Chaplain, BURKE the

       Purser, the Steward, and a few others stand around.]

      MAGRATH [in a low voice]

       Poor Ram, and poor Tom Whipple, have just gone..

      BEATTY

       There was no hope for them.

       NELSON [brokenly]

       Who have just died?

      BEATTY

       Two who were badly hit by now, my lord;

       Lieutenant Ram and Mr. Whipple.

      NELSON

       Ah!

       So many lives—in such a glorious cause....

       I join them soon, soon, soon!—O where is Hardy?

       Will nobody bring Hardy to me—none?

       He must be killed, too. Surely Hardy's dead?

      A MIDSHIPMAN

       He's coming soon, my lord. The constant call

       On his full heed of this most mortal fight

       Keeps him from hastening hither as he would.

      NELSON

       I'll wait, I'll wait. I should have thought of it.

       [Presently HARDY comes down. NELSON and he grasp hands.]

      

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