affray, he says, “I was boarded in my barge with its common crew of ten men, coxswain, Captain Freemantle, and myself, by the commander of the gunboats; the Spanish barge rowed twenty-six oars, besides officers,—­thirty men in the whole.  This was a service hand-to-hand with swords, in which my coxswain, John Sykes, now no more, twice saved my life.  Eighteen of the Spaniards being killed and several wounded, we succeeded in taking their commander.”  In his report he complimented this Spanish officer, Don Miguel Tyrason, upon his gallantry.  Near a hundred Spaniards were made prisoners in this sharp skirmish.

Not even the insult of bombardment was sufficient to attain the designed end of forcing the enemy’s fleet out to fight.  The Spaniards confined themselves to a passive defence by their shore batteries, which proved indeed sufficient to protect the town and shipping, for on the second night they got the range of the bomb-vessel so accurately that the British were forced to withdraw her; but this did not relieve the vital pressure of the blockade, which could only be removed by the mobile naval force coming out and fighting.  So far from doing this, the Spanish ships of war shifted their berth inside to get out of the range of bombs.  Nelson cast longing eyes upon the smaller vessels which lay near the harbor’s mouth, forming a barricade against boat attack, and threatening the offensive measures to which they rarely resorted.  “At present the brigs lie too close to each other to hope for a dash at them, but soon I expect to find one off her guard, and then—­” For the rest, his sanguine resolve to persist in annoyance until it becomes unbearable, and insures the desired object, finds vent in the words:  “if Mazaredo will not come out, down comes Cadiz; and not only Cadiz, but their fleet.”

This close succession of varied and exciting active service, unbroken between the day of his leaving Lisbon, March 5th, and the date of the last bombardment, July 5th, had its usual effect upon his spirits.  His correspondence is all animation, full of vitality and energy, betraying throughout the happiness of an existence absorbed in congenial work, at peace with itself, conscious of power adequate to the highest demands upon it, and rejoicing in the strong admiration and confidence felt and expressed towards him on all sides, especially by those whose esteem he most valued.  He complains of his health, indeed, from time to time; he cannot last another winter; he is suffering for the want of a few months’ rest, which he must ask for in the coming October, and trusts that, “after four years and nine months’ service, without one moment’s repose for body or mind, credit will be given me that I do not sham.”