“Who has lived as long as he chose? 
    Who so confident as to defy
    Time, the fellest of mortals’ foes
    Joints in his armour who can spy? 
    Where’s the foot will not flinch or fly? 
    Where’s the heart that aspires the fray? 
    His battle wager ’tis vain to try—­
    Everything passes, passes away.”

The gallant and strenuous patriot whose fame will pass on to distant ages is now summoned to fulfil his destiny.  He owns that he needs one more rest, but his “duty was to go forth.”  He “expected to lay his weary bones quiet for the winter,” but he is “proud of the call,” and all gallant hearts were proud to own him as their chieftain.  He bargains for one of the Victory’s anchors to be at the bows before he arrives at Portsmouth.  All his belongings are sent off on the 5th October.  Lord Barham, an aged man of eighty-two years, asks him with pride to select his own officers.  “Choose yourself, my Lord.  The same spirit actuates the whole profession; you cannot choose wrong.”  He told the Cabinet what was wanted in the “annihilation of the enemy,” and that “only numbers could annihilate”—­presumably ships and men.  The conversations he had with the authorities and the spoken words and letters sent to his friends are ablaze with inspiring, sharp-cut sentences.  But those who had intimate knowledge of his tender side felt he was ill at ease, and not free from heartache at the prospect of parting.  I think, in connection with this, Lady Hamilton’s version of what passed between them when he was walking the “quarterdeck” in his garden may be true in substance, as he was still madly in love with her, and she knew how to wheedle him into a conversation and to use words that might serve a useful purpose if need be.  Nor were her scruples so delicate as to prevent suitable additions being made to suit any emergency that might occur.

Her account is that she saw he was looking downcast, and she told him so.  He smiled, and then said, “No, I am as happy as possible”; he was surrounded by his family, his health was better since he had “been on shore, and he would not give sixpence to call the King his uncle.”  She replied that she did not believe him, that she knew he was longing to get at the combined fleets, that he considered them as his property, that he would be miserable if any man but himself did the business, and that he ought to have them as the price and reward of his two years’ long watching and his hard chase.  “Nelson,” said she, “however we may lament your absence, offer your services; they will be accepted, and you will gain a quiet heart by it; you will have a glorious victory, and then you may return here and be happy.”  He looked at her with tears in his eyes, and said, “Brave Emma!  Good Emma!  If there were more Emmas, there would be more Nelsons.”