The “Victory” continuing to forge slowly ahead, despite her injuries, and pointing evidently for the flagship of the hostile commander-in-chief, the ships round the latter, to use James’s striking phrase, now “closed like a forest.”  The nearer the British vessel drew, the better necessarily became the enemies’ aim.  Just as she got within about five hundred yards—­quarter of a mile—­from the “Bucentaure’s” beam, the mizzen topmast was shot away.  At the same time the wheel was hit and shattered, so that the ship had to be steered from below, a matter that soon became of little importance.  A couple of minutes more, eight marines were carried off by a single projectile, while standing drawn up on the poop, whereupon Nelson ordered the survivors to be dispersed about the deck.  Presently a shot coming in through the ship’s side ranged aft on the quarter-deck towards the admiral and Captain Hardy, between whom it passed.  On its way it struck the fore-brace bitts—­a heavy block of timber—­carrying thence a shower of splinters, one of which bruised Hardy’s foot.  The two officers, who were walking together, stopped, and looked inquiringly at each other.  Seeing that no harm was done, Nelson smiled, but said, “This is too warm work, Hardy, to last long.”  He then praised the cool resolution of the seamen around him, compelled to endure this murderous fire without present reply.  He had never, he said, seen better conduct.  Twenty men had so far been killed and thirty wounded, with not a shot fired from their own guns.

Still the ship closed the “Bucentaure.”  It had been Nelson’s purpose and desire to make her his special antagonist, because of Villeneuve’s flag; but to do so required room for the “Victory” to turn under the French vessel’s stern, and to come up alongside.  As she drew near, Hardy, scanning the hostile array, saw three ships crowded together behind and beyond the “Bucentaure.”  He reported to Nelson that he could go close under her stern, but could not round-to alongside, nor pass through the line, without running on board one of these.  The admiral replied, “I cannot help it, it does not signify which we run on board of.  Go on board which you please:  take your choice.”  At one o’clock the bows of the “Victory” crossed the wake of the “Bucentaure,” by whose stern she passed within thirty feet, the projecting yard arms grazing the enemy’s rigging.  One after another, as they bore, the double-shotted guns tore through the woodwork of the French ship, the smoke, driven back, filling the lower decks of the “Victory,” while persons on the upper deck, including Nelson himself, were covered with the dust which rose in clouds from the wreck.  From the relative positions of the two vessels, the shot ranged from end to end of the “Bucentaure,” and the injury was tremendous.  Twenty guns were at once dismounted, and the loss by that single discharge was estimated, by the French, at four hundred men.  Leaving the further care of the enemy’s flagship