's expressions, recorded by his doctor, Beatty, are
strangely touching. "I am a dead man, Hardy," he said, "I am going
fast. It will all be over with me soon." "O _Victory_, _Victory_," he
said, as the great ship shook to the roar of her own guns, "how you
distract my poor brain!" "How dear is life to all men!" he said, after
a pause. He begged that "his carcass might be sent to England, and not
thrown overboard." So in the dim cock-pit, with the roar of the great
battle--bellow of gun, and shout of cheering crews--filling all the
space about him, and his last thoughts yet busy for his country, the
soul of the greatest British seaman passed away. "Kiss me, Hardy," was
one of his last sentences. His last intelligible sentence was, "I have
done my duty; I praise God for it."

It may interest many to read the prayer which Nelson wrote--the last
record, but one, he made in his diary--and written as the final act of
preparation for Trafalgar: "May the great God, whom I worship, grant to
my country, and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and
glorious victory; and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it; and may
humanity after victory be the predominant feature in the British fleet.
For myself individually, I commit my life to Him that made me, and may
His blessing alight on my endeavours for serving my country faithfully.
To Him I resign myself, and the just cause which is entrusted to me to
defend. Amen, Amen, Amen."

Nelson's plan allowed his captains a large discretion in the choice of
their antagonists. Each British ship had to follow the wake of her
leader till she reached the enemy's line, then her captain was free to
choose his own foe--which, naturally, was the biggest Frenchman or
Spaniard in sight. And the huge _Santissima Trinidad_, of course,
attracted the eager attention of the ships that immediately followed
the _Victory_. The Spaniard carried 140 guns, and in that swaying
continent of fighting ships, towered like a giant amongst dwarfs. The
_Neptune_, the _Leviathan_, and the _Conqueror_, in turn, hung on the
quarter or broadside of the gigantic Spaniard, scourged it with fire,
and then drifted off to engage in a fiery wrestle with some other
antagonist. By half-past two the Spanish four-decker was a mastless
wreck. The _Neptune_ at that moment was hanging on her bow, the
_Conqueror_ on her quarter. "This tremendous fabric," says an account
written by an officer on board the Conquero