The wound was mortal. A brief examination showed this. He had known it
from the first, and said to the surgeon,--
"Leave me, and give your services to those for whom there is some hope.
You can do nothing for me."
Such was the fact. All that could be done was to fan him, and relieve
his intense thirst with lemonade. On deck the fight continued with
undiminished fury. The English star was in the ascendant. Ship after
ship of the enemy struck, the cheers of the crew of the Victory
heralding each surrender, while every cheer brought a smile of joy to
the face of the dying veteran.
"Will no one bring Hardy to me?" he repeatedly cried. "He must be
killed! He is surely dead!"
In truth, the captain dared not leave the deck. More than an hour
elapsed before he was able to come down. He grasped in silence the hand
of the dying admiral.
"Well, Hardy, how goes the day with us?" asked Nelson, eagerly.
"Very well," was the answer. "Ten ships have struck; but five of the van
have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon the Victory. I have
called two or three of our fresh ships around, and have no doubt of
giving them a drubbing."
"I hope none of our ships have struck," said Nelson.
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