night, and in the early morning,
messages went from him to various ships to take this or that step, to
garner in the fruits of the victory yet unculled. The fleet responded
somewhat spasmodically, if not inadequately, to these calls. Men in
truth were worn out with labor and excitement. "My people were so
extremely jaded," wrote Captain Miller of the "Theseus," who obeyed a
summons to move, "that as soon as they had hove our sheet anchor up
they dropped under the capstan bars, and were asleep in a moment in
every sort of posture, having been then working at their fullest
exertion, or fighting, for near twelve hours." Nelson, in common with
other great leaders, could not be satisfied with any but the utmost
results. To quote again his words of years gone by: "Had ten ships
been taken and the eleventh escaped, we being able to get at her, I
should never consider it well done." His idea, Captain Berry tells us,
was first to secure the victory, and then to make the most of it, as
circumstances might permit. The expression is so luminous that it can
scarcely be doubted that the words are substantially those of the
admiral himself.[65] First, the great combination, which necessarily
for the moment neglects a part of the enemy in order to disconcert and
overwhelm the rest; afterwards, the unremitting pursuit, which
completes the triumph.

It was therefore perfectly characteristic of Nelson's habit of
thought, and not merely an egotistic expression of baseless discontent
with others, that he avowed his dissatisfaction with the results of
the night's work, stupendous and wholly unparalleled as they were. But
his own condition, prostrated and with disabled head, was doubly
typical of the state of his fleet after the "Orient" blew up. Not only
were men overcome with fatigue,--from weariness as great men have been
aroused by the inspiring call of a trusted chief,--but the guiding
head of the body was dazed and incapacitated; that was gone which
alone could sustain energy and give unity to movement. Although Nelson
indulged in no metaphorical allusions, he had this figure of the head
clearly enough in his mind, when he wrote four weeks later to Lord
Minto: "I regret that one escaped, and I think, if it had pleased God
that I had not been wounded, not a boat would have escaped to have
told the tale; but do not believe that any individual in the fleet is
to blame. In my conscience, I believe greater exertions could not have
been, an