from man to man, from heart to heart, like a train of gunpowder.
Officers and men seemed animated with one spirit, and that was a
determination to win the day, or at least never to surrender to the
enemy.

The captains commanded on their quarterdecks; the boatswains in the
forecastle; the gunners attended to the magazines, and the carpenters
with their plug-shots, put themselves in readiness with high-wrought
energy, nor were the seamen and marines a whit behind hand in entering
on their several duties. The guns, the tackle, the round, grape, and
canister-shot, the powder-boys, the captains of guns, with their
priming-boxes, and the officers with their drawn swords, cut an imposing
appearance; and the cock-pit would have made a rudy face turn pale.

The wounded are all taken down into the cock-pit. It will hardly bear
thinking about. But in the cockpit were laid out ready for use, wine,
water, and surgeon's instruments, with napkins, basins, sponges, and
bandages.

The combined fleets of France and Spain, at Trafalgar, under
Villenueve, the French admiral, a brave and skilful man, were in the
form of a crescent, and the two British lines ran down upon them
parallel to each other. As soon as the British van was within gunshot
the enemy opened their fire. The Royal Sovereign soon rounded to under
the stern of the Santa Anna, and Admiral Nelson's ship, the Victory,
laid herself on board the Redoubtable. From that moment the roaring of
guns, the crash against the sides of the ships, clouds of smoke,
splintered yards, and falling masts, were the order of the day.

The death warrant of the navy of France was signed and sealed by the