We can only judge by written records and authoritative paintings or prints of the period what the naval battles of the beginning of the last century were like.  But it is only those who have studied minutely the naval battles of St. Vincent, the Nile, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar who can depict the awful character and thrilling nature of these ocean conflicts.

While the author was serving as an apprentice aboard a sailing vessel during the Prussian-Danish war in 1864 a dense fog came on, and continued the whole of one night.  When it cleared up the next forenoon we found that the vessel had been sailed right into the centre of the Danish fleet, which had defeated the Prussians and Austrians off Heligoland.  There were other merchantmen there, and the cheering as we passed each of the Danish warships was hearty and long, while they gracefully acknowledged by saluting with their flags.  I am quite sure there were few British seamen who would not have gladly volunteered to serve in the Danish navy against the Prussians, so universal was their bitter dislike to the Hun bullies who had set themselves to steal by force the possessions to which they had not an atom of right.  The sight of these fine frigates and line-of-battle ships manoeuvring to come to grips with their cowardly antagonists who were assailing their national rights has been revivified during a long course of study of Nelson’s naval warfare, and makes the awful vision of Trafalgar appear as it really was, and makes me wish that I were gifted with the art of words so that I might describe it in all its gruesome wreckage and magnitude, as the recollection of the majestic sight of the Danish ships before they even went into action makes it appear to me.

My mind’s eye pictures one after another of the French and Spanish ships surrendering, the hurricane of cheers that followed their defeat, and the pathetic anxiety of the dying chieftain for the safety of Captain Hardy, who was now in charge of the flagship acting as commander-in-chief.  Hardy is long in coming; he fears that he may be killed, and calls out, “Will no one bring Hardy to me?” At last the gallant captain sees an opportunity of leaving the deck, for the Victory is shielded by two ships from the enemy’s gunfire.  “Well, Hardy,” says Nelson to him, “how goes the battle?” “Very well, my Lord,” says Hardy; “fourteen or fifteen of the enemy’s ships are in our possession.”  “That is well,” said Nelson, “but I bargained for twenty”; and then followed the memorable order, “Anchor, Hardy, anchor.”  “If I live,” he says, “we will anchor”; and in answer to Hardy’s supposition that Collingwood should take charge, he impulsively resents the suggestion and expresses the hope that this will not happen while he lives, and urges again on Hardy that the fleet may be anchored, and asks him to make the signal.  He hopes that none of our ships have struck, and his devoted friend reassures him that none have and never