[Born at Burnham-Thorpe, in Norfolk, 1758. Died at Trafalgar, 1805.
Aged 47.]
The most famous of sea-captains, and the darling of his country. He
fought the sea-half of the world’s greatest war. England has a just
pride in her Wellington, whose memory she honours. Towards Nelson she
looks with a tenderer recollection, and her heart moves when she thinks
of his services and renown. As Captain in 1794, he conducted a siege at
Calvi, and lost an eye. In 1797, crying to his men “Westminster Abbey or
glorious victory,” he captured the San Jose and San Nicolas, at the
battle of St. Vincent. In the same year he lost his right arm at
Teneriffe, and twelve months afterwards he received a wound in his head
at the glorious victory of the Nile. There was in truth very little left
of the man--yet all of the hero--when, in 1805, a cruel shot at the
battle of Trafalgar, killed him in the very hour of triumph to his
fleet, of delivery to his country. His death was felt in England as a
personal, as well as national calamity, and was mourned by the whole
people as by one man. Gentle as a woman; brave as a lion; devoted to his
country; fighting her battles with a passionate ardour that consumed and
obliterated all personal considerations; loyal; pious;--these are some
of the qualities that combined to form the character of Horatio Nelson.
He was always insignificant in person; and after his slender frame had
been battered about by the enemy, his appearance in the honoured uniform
which, his services had won, was most singular and striking; for he
looked like a skeleton clothed in cumbrous magnificence. Yet the
influence of this reduced, war-beaten figure was electrical. All who
came within its atmosphere partook of its own nature. The followers of
Nelson could and did achieve miracles, because they had unbounded faith
in the power of their chief--in his heroism, resolution, and
determination at all times to win. Nelson was beloved by his sailors. He
lies buried in St. Paul’s.