My own men were engaged, at the time, in
rescuing the crew of a French seventy-four that had blown up; and I
was too busy to count, had counting been possible. One or two of my
officers maintain to me that our gains were higher. But the dispatch
will tell, doubtless."
"Aye, to be sure. . . . Read, Tylney. Don't sit there clearing your
throat, but read, man alive!" And yet it appeared that while the
Secretary was willing enough to read, the First Lord had no capacity,
as yet, to listen. Into the very first sentence he broke with--
"No, wait a minute. 'Dead,' d'ye say? . . . My God! . . .
Lieutenant, pour yourself a glass of wine and tell us first how it
happened."
Lieutenant Lapenotiere could not tell very clearly. He had twice
been summoned to board the _Royal Sovereign_--he first time to
receive the command to hold himself ready. It was then that, coming
alongside the great ship, he had read in all the officers' faces an
anxiety hard to reconcile with the evident tokens of victory around
them. At once it had occurred to him that the Admiral had fallen,
and he put the question to one of the lieutenants--to be told that
Lord Nelson had indeed been mortally wounded and could not live long;
but that he must be alive yet, and conscious, since the _Victory_ was
still signalling orders to the Fleet.
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