It is the enemy's first-rate, the “Achille,” Blown to a thousand atoms!--While on fire, Before she burst, the captain's woman there, Desperate for life, climbed from the gunroom port Upon the rudder-chains; stripped herself stark, And swam for the Pickle's boat. Our men in charge, Seeing her great breasts bulging on the brine, Sang out, “A mermaid 'tis, by God!”--then rowed And hauled her in.-- BURKE Such unbid sights obtrude On death's dyed stage! MIDSHIPMAN Meantime the “Achille” fought on, Even while the ship was blazing, knowing well The fire must reach their powder; which it did. The spot is covered now with floating men, Some whole, the main in parts; arms, legs, trunks, heads, Bobbing with tons of timber on the waves, And splinter looped with entrails of the crew. NELSON [rousing] Our course will be to anchor. Let me know. HARDY But let me ask, my lord, as needs I must, Seeing your state, and that our work's not done, Shall I, from you, bid Admiral Collingwood Take full on him the conduct of affairs? NELSON [trying to raise himself] Not while I live, I hope! No, Hardy; no. Give Collingwood my order. Anchor all! HARDY [hesitating] You mean the signal's to be made forthwith? NELSON I do!--By God, if but our carpenter Could rig me up a jury-backbone now, To last one hour--until the battle's done, I'd see to it! But here I am--stove in-- Broken--all logged and done for! Done, ay done! BEATTY [returning from the other wounded] My lord, I must implore you to lie calm! You shorten what at best may not be long. NELSON [exhausted] I know, I know, good Beatty! Thank you well Hardy, I was impatient. Now I am still. Sit here a moment, if you have time to spare? [BEATTY and others retire, and the two abide in silence, except for the trampling overhead and the moans from adjoining berths. NELSON is apparently in less pain, seeming to doze.] NELSON [suddenly] What are you thinking, that you speak no word? HARDY [waking from a short reverie] Thoughts all confused, my lord:--their needs on deck, Your own sad state, and your unrivalled past; Mixed up with flashes of old things afar-- Old childish things at home, down Wessex way. In the snug village under Blackdon Hill Where I was born. The tumbling stream, the garden, The placid look of the grey dial there, Marking unconsciously this bloody hour, And the red apples on my father's trees, Just now full ripe. NELSON