home, "is in high feather, and as fine as paint can
make them; but our weather-beaten ships, I have
no fear, will make their sides like a plum-pudding,
and some day we shall lay salt upon their tails."

Tiie pursuit was tedious and baffling—
between Biche and Sardinia, to Naples, then
quick to snap them off Egypt; then a sweep
across the channel between Sardinia and
Barbary; next frigates discharged like rockets at
Gibraltar and Lisbon; after this a dash to
Barbadoes, and back home again, fevered, chafed,
and vexed; then on to Cadiz, a sweep across the
Bay of Biscay, a cruise towards Ireland, a visit
to Cornwallis at Ushant, and lastly a desponding
and angry return to Portsmouth. The
sailors, who loved "Nel," and vowed that he was
"brave as a lion and gentle as a lamb," shared
in the regret and vexation of their commander.
A great opportunity of glory had been lost;
above all, a chance of thrashing the French.
"I would not," he once wrote to Mr. Elliot,
the minister at Naples, "upon any consideration
have a Frenchman in the fleet except as a
prisoner; they are all alike. Not a Frenchman
comes here. Forgive me, but my mother
hated the French." That was the clue to the
prejudice which was part of Nelson's blood and
of his brain. Admiral Latouche had boasted
that he had once chased Nelson; our hero kept
the letter containing the boast, and swore if he
ever took the writer, he should eat it. He was
never cruel to Frenchmen, yet his advice to his
midshipmen, to whom he was always gentle as a
father, was:

"Hate all Frenchmen as you do the devil;

"Obey orders without questioning;

"Treat every one, who hates your king, as
your enemy."

At Portsmouth, Nelson learned that Sir
Robert Calder had fallen in with the French
fleet off Finisterre, and had only scratched them
when he ought to have run his cutlass through
their hearts. The Victory unloaded. Nelson,
embowered down at ever-pleasant Merton, making
hay, watching sheep, catching trout in the winding
Wandle, idolising Lady Hamiliton, that beautiful
but wanton woman, forgot ambition,
and grew more intent on rick awnings than
French canvas. One daybreak, Captain Blackwood
brought word that the French had refitted
at Vigo and got into Cadiz. Nelson paced
"the quarter-deck" walk in his garden restlessly.
He , pretended to be indifferent, and quoted
a playful proverb: "Let the man trudge it,
who's lost his budget." He was happy, and
his health was better. "He wouldn't give
sixpence to call the king his uncle." Lady
Hamilton knew the heart of the brave man
she loved, and pressed him to go. The French
fleet was his property; it was the reward of his
two years' watching. He would be miserable
if any one else had it. "Nelson, offer your
services." The tears came into his eyes at her
heroism. At half-past ten that night' he started
in a post-chaise for London. His diary for that
day lays bare his heart before us:

"Friday night (Sept. 13), at half-past ten," he
says, "I drove from dear, dear Merton; where
I left all which I hold dear in this world, to go
to serve my king and country. May the great
God, whom I adore, enable me to fulfil the
expectations of my country! and, if it is His
good pleasure that I should return, my thanks
will never cease being offered up to the throne
of His mercy. If it is his good providence to
cut short my days upon earth, I bow with the
greatest submission; relying that he will
protect those so dear to me, whom I may leave
behind! His will be done. Amen! Amen I
Amen!"

The probability of his death had entered his
mind, that is evident; presentiments are never
anything, after all, but such probabilities.

The embarkation of Nelson at Portsmouth
was a scene worthy of Grecian history.
Although he tried to steal secretly to his ship,
crowds collected, eager to see the face of the hero
they venerated. Many of the rugged sailors were
in tears; old men-of-war's-men knelt and prayed
God to bless him as he passed to the boat. They
knew he was the sailor's friend and father; they
knew him to be as humane as he was fearless,
unselfish, and eager to pour out his blood for
England. No basely-earned money had defiled his
hands; his heart was pure crystal; it had no flaw.
As Southey says finely, "Nelson had served his
country with all his heart, with all his soul,
and with all his strength, and therefore they
loved him as truly and fervently as he had loved
England." That one-eyed, one-armed, shrunken
invalid officer, was still the tower and the
bulwark of his native land.

On arriving at Cadiz, Nelson took all an old
sportsman's precautions not to flurry the game
he had been so long stalking. The French
wanted encouraging. They were shy. Nelson
kept his arrival as secret as possible. The
Gibraltar Gazette did not publish the number
of his vessels. He kept fifty miles to the west
of Cadiz, near Cape St. Mary; for it has been
often observed, rats won't bolt when terriers are
too near the holes. He instantly seized all the
Danish vessels carrying provisions to Cadiz for
the French fleet. His final stratagem was the
bait that at last drew forth the enemy. He
detached some vessels on an imaginary service,
knowing that fresh ships were almost daily
arriving for him from England. This brought
out Villeneuve at last, although he had just
declared in a council of war that he would not stir
from Cadiz till his fleet was one-third stronger
than the English.

Nelson still wanted frigates, "the eyes of the
fleet," as he always called them; moreover, he
dreaded the junction of the Carthagena fleet on
the one side, and of the Brest squadron on
the other. Yet at this crisis, with only twenty-
three English ships to face thirty-three French,
his great heart and romantic chivalrous nature
roused him to an act of the utmost
generosity. Sir Robert Calder had to go back
to England to be tried by court-martial for
his behaviour in the last action off Finisterre.
Sir Robert was one of Nelson's few enemies,