Hardy turned and left. He could bear no more. He had looked his last on
his old commander.
"I wish I had not left the deck," said Nelson; "for I see I shall soon
be gone."
It was true; life was fast ebbing.
"Doctor," he said to the chaplain, "I have not been a _great_ sinner."
He was silent a moment, and then continued, "Remember that I leave Lady
Hamilton and my daughter Horatia as a legacy to my country."
Words now came with difficulty.
"Thank God, I have done my duty," he said, repeating these words again
and again. They were his last words. He died at half-past four, three
and a quarter hours after he had been wounded.
Meanwhile, Nelson's prediction had been realized: twenty French ships
had struck their flags. The victory of Trafalgar was complete;
Napoleon's hope of invading England was at an end. Nelson, dying, had
saved his country by destroying the fleet of her foes. Never had a sun
set in greater glory than did the life of this hero of the navy of Great
Britain, the ruler of the waves.
_THE MASSACRE OF AN ARMY._
The sentinels on the ramparts of Jelalabad, a fortified post held by the
British in Afghanistan, looking out over the plain that extended
northward and westward from the town, saw a singular-looking person
approaching.
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