Our Progress Was Rather Slow, Notwithstanding The Fineness Of The
Weather, Probably Owing To The Tide Being Against Us.
In about two
hours we passed the Castle of Santa Petra, and at noon were in
sight of Trafalgar.
The wind now freshened and was dead ahead; on
which account we hugged closely to the coast, in order to avoid as
much as possible the strong heavy sea which was pouring down from
the Straits. We passed within a very short distance of the Cape, a
bold bluff foreland, but not of any considerable height.
It is impossible for an Englishman to pass by this place - the scene
of the most celebrated naval action on record - without emotion.
Here it was that the united navies of France and Spain were
annihilated by a far inferior force; but that force was British,
and was directed by one of the most remarkable men of the age, and
perhaps the greatest hero of any time. Huge fragments of wreck
still frequently emerge from the watery gulf whose billows chafe
the rocky sides of Trafalgar: they are relies of the enormous
ships which were burnt and sunk on that terrible day, when the
heroic champion of Britain concluded his work and died. I never
heard but one individual venture to say a word in disparagement of
Nelson's glory: it was a pert American, who observed, that the
British admiral was much overrated. "Can that individual be
overrated," replied a stranger, "whose every thought was bent on
his country's honour, who scarcely ever fought without leaving a
piece of his body in the fray, and who, not to speak of minor
triumphs, was victorious in two such actions as Aboukir and
Trafalgar?"
We were now soon in sight of the Moorish coast, Cape Spartel
appearing dimly through mist and vapour on our right.
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