r their
bodies he was carried, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth.
The wound was mortal. A brief examination showed this. He had known it
from the first, and said to the surgeon,--

"Leave me, and give your services to those for whom there is some hope.
You can do nothing for me."

Such was the fact. All that could be done was to fan him, and relieve
his intense thirst with lemonade. On deck the fight continued with
undiminished fury. The English star was in the ascendant. Ship after
ship of the enemy struck, the cheers of the crew of the Victory
heralding each surrender, while every cheer brought a smile of joy to
the face of the dying veteran.

"Will no one bring Hardy to me?" he repeatedly cried. "He must be
killed! He is surely dead!"

In truth, the captain dared not leave the deck. More than an hour
elapsed before he was able to come down. He grasped in silence the hand
of the dying admiral.

"Well, Hardy, how goes the day with us?" asked Nelson, eagerly.

"Very well," was the answer. "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 around, and have no doubt of
giving them a drubbing."

"I hope none of our ships have struck," said Nelson.

"There is no fear of that," answered Hardy.

Then came a moment's silence, and then Nelson spoke of himself.

"I am a dead man, Hardy," he said. "I am going fast; it will be all
over with me soon. Come nearer to me. Let my dear Lady Hamilton have my
hair and all other things belonging to me."

"I hope it is not so bad as that," said Hardy, with much emotion. "Dr.
Beatty must yet hold out some hope of life."

"Oh, no, that is impossible," said Nelson. "My back is shot through:
Beatty will tell you so."

Captain Hardy grasped his hand again, the tears standing in his eyes,
and then hurried on deck to hide the emotion he could scarcely repress.

Life slowly left the frame of the dying hero: every minute he was nearer
death. Sensation vanished below his breast. He made the surgeon test and
acknowledge this.

"You know I am gone," he said. "I know it. I feel something rising in my
breast which tells me so."

"Is your pain great?" asked Beatty.

"So great, that I wish I were dead. Yet," he continued, in lower tones,
"one would like to live a little longer, too."

A few moments of silence passed; then he said in the same low tone,--

"What wou