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_ PART FIRST. ACT FIFTH. SCENE IV.
[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.]
Hardy, how goes the day with us and England?
HARDY
Well; very well, thank God for't, my dear lord.
Villeneuve their Admiral has this moment struck,
And put himself aboard the "Conqueror."
Some fourteen of their first-rates, or about,
Thus far we've got. The said "Bucentaure" chief:
The "Santa Ana," the "Redoubtable,"
The "Fougueux," the "Santisima Trinidad,"
"San Augustino, "San Francisco," "Aigle";
And our old "Swiftsure," too, we've grappled back,
To every seaman's joy. But now their van
Has tacked to bear round on the "Victory"
And crush her by sheer weight of wood and brass:
Three of our best I am therefore calling up,
And make no doubt of worsting theirs, and France.
NELSON
That's well. I swore for twenty.--But it's well.
HARDY
We'll have 'em yet! But without you, my lord,
We have to make slow plodding do the deeds
That sprung by inspiration ere you fell;
And on this ship the more particularly.
NELSON
No, Hardy.--Ever 'twas your settled fault
So modestly to whittle down your worth.
But I saw stuff in you which admirals need
When, taking thought, I chose the "Victory's" keel
To do my business with these braggarts in.
A business finished now, for me!--Good friend,
Slow shades are creeping me. . . I scarce see you.
HARDY
The smoke from ships upon our win'ard side,
And the dust raised by their worm-eaten hulks,
When our balls touch 'em, blind the eyes, in truth.
NELSON
No; it is not that dust; 'tis dust of death
That darkens me.
[A shock overhead. HARDY goes up. On or two other officers go up, and by and by return.]
What was that extra noise?
OFFICER
The "Formidable' passed us by, my lord,
And thumped a stunning broadside into us.--
But, on their side, the "Hero's" captain's fallen;
The "Algeciras" has been boarded, too,
By Captain Tyler, and the captain shot:
Admiral Gravina desperately holds out;
They say he's lost an arm.
NELSON
And we, ourselves--
Who have we lost on board here? Nay, but tell me!
BEATTY
Besides poor Scott, my lord, and Charles Adair,
Lieutenant Ram, and Whipple, captain's clerk,
There's Smith, and Palmer, midshipmen, just killed.
And fifty odd of seamen and marines.
NELSON
Poor youngsters! Scarred old Nelson joins you soon.
BEATTY
And wounded: Bligh, lieutenant; Pasco, too,
and Reeves, and Peake, lieutenants of marines,
And Rivers, Westphall, Bulkeley, midshipmen,
With, of the crew, a hundred odd just now,
Unreckoning those late fallen not brought below.
BURKE
That fellow in the mizzen-top, my lord,
Who made it his affair to wing you thus,
We took good care to settle; and he fell
Like an old rook, smack from his perch, stone dead.
NELSON
'Twas not worth while!--He was, no doubt, a man
Who in simplicity and sheer good faith
Strove but to serve his country. Rest be to him!
And may his wife, his friends, his little ones,
If such be had, be tided through their loss,
And soothed amid the sorrow brought by me.
[HARDY re-enters.]
Who's that? Ah--here you come! How, Hardy, now?
HARDY
The Spanish Admiral's rumoured to be wounded,
We know not with what truth. But, be as 'twill,
He sheers away with all he could call round,
And some few frigates, straight to Cadiz port.
[A violent explosion is heard above the confused noises on deck. A midshipman goes above and returns.]
MIDSHIPMAN (in the background)
It is the enemy's first-rate, the "Achille,"
Blown to a thousand atoms!--While on fire,
Before she burst, the captain's woman there,
Desperate for life, climbed from the gunroom port
Upon the rudder-chains; stripped herself stark,
And swam for the Pickle's boat. Our men in charge,
Seeing her great breasts bulging on the brine,
Sang out, "A mermaid 'tis, by God!"--then rowed
And hauled her in.--
BURKE
Such unbid sights obtrude
On death's dyed stage!
MIDSHIPMAN
Meantime the "Achille" fought on,
Even while the ship was blazing, knowing well
The fire must reach their powder; which it did.
The spot is covered now with floating men,
Some whole, the main in parts; arms, legs, trunks, heads,
Bobbing with tons of timber on the waves,
And splinter looped with entrails of the crew.
NELSON (rousing)
Our course will be to anchor. Let me know.
HARDY
But let me ask, my lord, as needs I must,
Seeing your state, and that our work's not done,
Shall I, from you, bid Admiral Collingwood
Take full on him the conduct of affairs?
NELSON (trying to raise himself)
Not while I live, I hope! No, Hardy; no.
Give Collingwood my order. Anchor all!
HARDY (hesitating)
You mean the signal's to be made forthwith?
NELSON
I do!--By God, if but our carpenter
Could rig me up a jury-backbone now,
To last one hour--until the battle's done,
I'd see to it! But here I am--stove in--
Broken--all logged and done for! Done, ay done!
BEATTY (returning from the other wounded)
My lord, I must implore you to lie calm!
You shorten what at best may not be long.
NELSON (exhausted)
I know, I know, good Beatty! Thank you well
Hardy, I was impatient. Now I am still.
Sit here a moment, if you have time to spare?
[BEATTY and others retire, and the two abide in silence, except for the trampling overhead and the moans from adjoining berths. NELSON is apparently in less pain, seeming to doze.]
NELSON (suddenly)
What are you thinking, that you speak no word?
HARDY (waking from a short reverie)
Thoughts all confused, my lord:--their needs on deck,
Your own sad state, and your unrivalled past;
Mixed up with flashes of old things afar--
Old childish things at home, down Wessex way.
In the snug village under Blackdon Hill
Where I was born. The tumbling stream, the garden,
The placid look of the grey dial there,
Marking unconsciously this bloody hour,
And the red apples on my father's trees,
Just now full ripe.
NELSON
Ay, thus do little things
Steal into my mind, too. But ah, my heart
Knows not your calm philosophy!--There's one--
Come nearer to me, Hardy.--One of all,
As you well guess, pervades my memory now;
She, and my daughter--I speak freely to you.
'Twas good I made that codicil this morning
That you and Blackwood witnessed. Now she rests
Safe on the nation's honour. . . . Let her have
My hair, and the small treasured things I owned,
And take care of her, as you care for me!
[HARDY promises.]
NELSON (resuming in a murmur)
Does love die with our frame's decease, I wonder,
Or does it live on ever? . . .
[A silence. BEATTY approaches.]
HARDY
Now I'll leave,
See if your order's gone, and then return.
NELSON (symptoms of death beginning to change his face)
Yes, Hardy; yes; I know it. You must go.--
Here we shall meet no more; since Heaven forfend
That care for me should keep you idle now,
When all the ship demands you. Beatty, too.
Go to the others who lie bleeding there;
Them can you aid. Me you can render none!
My time here is the briefest.--If I live
But long enough I'll anchor. . . . But--too late--
My anchoring's elsewhere ordered! . . . Kiss me, Hardy:
[HARDY bends over him.]
I'm satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty!
[HARDY brushes his eyes with his hand, and withdraws to go above, pausing to look back before he finally disappears.]
BEATTY (watching Nelson)
Ah!--Hush around! . . .
He's sinking. It is but a trifle now
Of minutes with him. Stand you, please, aside,
And give him air.
[BEATTY, the Chaplain, MAGRATH, the Steward, and attendants continue to regard NELSON. BEATTY looks at his watch.]
BEATTY
Two hours and fifty minutes since he fell,
And now he's going.
[They wait. NELSON dies.]
CHAPLAIN
Yes. . . . He has homed to where
There's no more sea.
BEATTY
We'll let the Captain know,
Who will confer with Collingwood at once.
I must now turn to these.
[He goes to another part of the cockpit, a midshipman ascends to the deck, and the scene overclouds.]
CHORUS OF THE PITIES (aerial music)
His thread was cut too slowly! When he fell.
And bade his fame farewell,
He might have passed, and shunned his long-drawn pain,
Endured in vain, in vain!
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
Young Spirits, be not critical of That
Which was before, and shall be after you!
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
But out of tune the Mode and meritless
That quickens sense in shapes whom, thou hast said,
Necessitation sways! A life there was
Among these self-same frail ones--Sophocles--
Who visioned it too clearly, even while
He dubbed the Will "the gods." Truly said he,
"Such gross injustice to their own creation
Burdens the time with mournfulness for us,
And for themselves with shame."(9)--Things mechanized
By coils and pivots set to foreframed codes
Would, in a thorough-sphered melodic rule,
And governance of sweet consistency,
Be cessed no pain, whose burnings would abide
With That Which holds responsibility,
Or inexist.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
Yea, yea, yea!
Thus would the Mover pay
The score each puppet owes,
The Reaper reap what his contrivance sows!
Why make Life debtor when it did not buy?
Why wound so keenly Right that it would die?
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
Nay, blame not! For what judgment can ye blame?--
In that immense unweeting Mind is shown
One far above forethinking; processive,
Yet superconscious; a Clairvoyancy
That knows not what It knows, yet works therewith.--
The cognizance ye mourn, Life's doom to feel,
If I report it meetly, came unmeant,
Emerging with blind gropes from impercipience
By listless sequence--luckless, tragic Chance,
In your more human tongue.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
And hence unneeded
In the economy of Vitality,
Which might have ever kept a sealed cognition
As doth the Will Itself.
CHORUS OF THE YEARS (aerial music)
Nay, nay, nay;
Your hasty judgments stay,
Until the topmost cyme
Have crowned the last entablature of Time.
O heap not blame on that in-brooding Will;
O pause, till all things all their days fulfil!
Footnote:
(9)Soph. Trach. 1266-72. _
Read next: Part 1: Act 5: Scene 5. London. The Guildhall
Read previous: Part 1: Act 5: Scene 3. The Same. On Board The "Bucentaure"
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