In quitting the river another vessel took the ground, and had to be left behind.  This, however, was the last of the admiral’s trials for that time.  A few days later, on the 6th of February, 1797, there joined him a body of five ships-of-the line, detached from England as soon as the government had been freed from the fear of the invasion of Ireland, which the French had attempted on a large scale in December.  On the 13th, Nelson, a host in himself, returned from an adventurous mission up the Mediterranean.  The next day, February 14th, Jervis with his fifteen ships met a Spanish fleet of twenty-seven some thirty miles from Cape St. Vincent, which has given its name to the battle.

The Spaniards were running for Cadiz, to the east-southeast,—­say, across the page from left to right, inclining a little downward,—­while Jervis’s fleet was approaching nearly at right angles from the north, or top of the page.  It was in two close, compact columns, of seven and eight ships respectively.  The Spaniards, on the contrary, were in disorder and dispersed.  Six of their ships were far ahead of the others, an interval of nearly eight miles separating the two groups.  The weather, which was foggy, cleared gradually.  Jervis was walking back and forth on the poop with Hallowell, lately captain of the wrecked Courageux, and he was heard to say, “A victory is very essential to England at this moment.”  As ship after ship of the enemy loomed up through the haze, successive reports were made to him.  “There are eight sail-of-the-line, Sir John.”  “There are twenty sail-of-the-line, Sir John.”  “There are twenty-five of-the-line, Sir John.”  Finally, when the full tale of twenty-seven was made out, the captain of the fleet remarked on the greatness of the odds.  “Enough of that, sir,” retorted the admiral, intent on that victory which was so essential to England; “if there are fifty sail, I will go through them.”  This reply so delighted Hallowell, an eccentric man, who a year later gave Nelson the coffin made from the mainmast of the Orient, that he patted his august superior on the back.  “That’s right, Sir John,” said he, “and, by G——­, we’ll give them a d——­d good licking!”

When the weather finally cleared, toward 10 A.M., the British were near to the enemy and heading direct for the gap, which the Spaniards, too late, were trying to close.  Almost at the moment of meeting, Jervis formed his two columns into one—­the order of battle—­“with the utmost celerity;” thus doubling the length of the line interposed between the two divisions of the enemy.  Soon opened the guns of the leading ship, the Culloden, Captain Troubridge; the reports following one another in regular succession, as though firing a salute by watch.  The Culloden’s course led so direct upon a Spanish three-decker, that the first lieutenant reported a collision imminent.  “Can’t help it, Griffiths,” replied Troubridge; “hardest fend off.”  But the Spaniard, in confusion,