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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
Nelson waved him feebly aside. 'You can do nothing for me, Beatty,' he said ; ' I have but a short time to live. '
"And so it proved. We raised the dying man by his shoulders, as he listened to the cheering seamen overhead. 'Oh, victory! victory!' cried the sufferer, 'how you distract my poor brain !'
"His last request was for his lifelong friend, Hardy, who came to him and kist him on the cheek. He then arose and stood silently looking at the stricken man a moment, then knelt down again and kist his forehead. The last winging words, so feeble as scarce to articulate, were 'God and my country ! '
"And now, with the going forth of his great spirit, my tale is drawing to a close. Our onrushing fleet, having once grappled the enemy, had thrown them into a hopeless confusion and cut out their ships one by one. Villeneuve, on his battered hulk, had surrendered, and Gravina, gathering what vessels remained around him, was retreating upon Cadiz.
"At sunset all firing had ceased. Under its blood-red disk a scene was spread out on the seas for all to look upon. The Achille, with colors still flying, was burning to the water's edge. Round about her, like stricken sisters, lay rolling the dismantled prizes, while the two divisions of our ships, in clusters on each hand, lay at anchor, like guarding mastiffs whose
work is done. Far to the north, the scattered remnant of the once great fleet was hull down — tiny specks in full cry for Cadiz.
"It but remains to tell you how I at last came into my ship. For, while the fleet was licking its hurts, I was dispatched in command of a frigate to wing the tidings — sorrowful and glad — back to England: how I made a midnight landing, and how My Lord Barham, aged and tottering, fell to weeping and moaning on my neck at the sting of victory.
"What's that you say? I haven't finished my own story? Well, in the early dawn Janet had met me at the bed of flowers of our planting, where the ancient pear-tree had stood. Something in the depths of her seadeep eyes had told her that I was to be cast again — God willing — in the shelter of her little garden.
"Would you like to see its duplicate in miniature ? 1 have a poor likeness fronting the little cottage where I live. When her last planting was done, and her garden bonnet and other things were put away in lavender, I shipped to this no man's port. If you look thru the glass, however, you can pick up Portsmouth, just across the Spithead. When I'm not turning a trowel, I love to cover with my glass the little homing boats that sail from Binstead; for you see, sir, they're never safe when a squall's coming up from the Solent."
Desire and curiosity are the two eyes thru which man sees the world in the most enchanted colors. He may squander his estate, and come to beggary, but if he keep these two amulets he is still rich in the possibilities of pleasure. —
Stevenson.