and “Colossus,” which “gallantly supported” Troubridge, though just where or when is not specified.  “The ships’ returns of killed and wounded,” he says explicitly, “although not always the criterion of their being more or less in action, is, in this instance, correctly so.”  This would include the “Blenheim,” whose casualties were in excess of any except the “Captain,” and Parker’s ship, the “Prince George,” which lost not many less than Collingwood.  The “Captain’s” loss in killed, twenty-four, was double that of any other ship, and in killed and wounded nearly one-third that of the whole fleet.

An interesting anecdote of Jervis shows the importance conceded by him to Nelson’s action.  It rests on good authority, and is eminently characteristic of one who valued beyond most traits in an officer the power to assume responsibility.  “The test of a man’s courage,” he used to say, “is responsibility.”  In the evening, while talking over the events of the day, Calder spoke of Nelson’s wearing out of the line as an unauthorized departure from the method of attack prescribed by the admiral.  “It certainly was so,” replied Jervis, “and if ever you commit such a breach of your orders, I will forgive you also.”  Success covers many faults, yet it is difficult to believe that had Nelson been overwhelmed, the soundness of his judgment and his resolution would not equally have had the applause of a man, who had just fought twenty-seven ships with fifteen, because “a victory was essential to England at that moment.”  The justification of departure from orders lies not in success, but in the conditions of the case; and Jervis was not one to overlook these, nor hereafter to forget that only one man in his fleet had both seen the thing to do and dared the responsibility of doing it.

A victory so signal entailed, as a matter of course, a number of those rewards and titles with which Great Britain judiciously fostered the spirit of emulation in her Navy.  These were to a considerable extent affairs of routine and precedent, and Nelson, knowing that junior flag-officers had on several previous occasions been made baronets, wished to avoid this hereditary dignity because inconsistent with his means.  His love of distinction also prompted him to desire one of those Orders which carry with them the outward token of merit.  Meeting Drinkwater the day after the battle, he expressed his reluctance to the baronetage, and upon the other’s asking him whether he would prefer to be a Knight of the Bath, he replied, “Yes; if my services have been of any value, let them be noticed in a way that the public may know them.”  To Elliot, who was about to return at once to England, he wrote, asking him to make known his wishes to the Admiralty.  “If you can be instrumental in keeping back what I expect will happen, it will be an additional obligation.  I conceive to take hereditary honours without a fortune to support the dignity, is to lower that honour it would be my pride to support in proper splendour.  There are other honours which die with the possessor, and I should be proud to accept, if my efforts are thought worthy of the favour of my King.”