The modern naval9 man must feel that the time has come for the tactical practice of the great sea officers of the past to be laid by in the temple of august memories. The fleet tactics of the sailing days have been governed by two points: the deadly nature of a raking fire, and the dread10, natural to a commander dependent upon the winds, to find at some crucial moment part of his fleet thrown hopelessly to leeward11. These two points were of the very essence of sailing tactics, and these two points have been eliminated from the modern tactical problem by the changes of propulsion and armament. Lord Nelson was the first to disregard them with conviction and audacity sustained by an unbounded trust in the men he led. This conviction, this audacity and this trust stand out from amongst the lines of the celebrated12 memorandum13, which is but a declaration of his faith in a crushing superiority of fire as the only means of victory and the only aim of sound tactics. Under the difficulties of the then existing conditions he strove for that, and for that alone, putting his faith into practice against every risk. And in that exclusive faith Lord Nelson appears to us as the first of the moderns.
Against every risk, I have said; and the men of to-day, born and bred to the use of steam, can hardly realize how much of that risk was in the weather. Except at the Nile, where the conditions were ideal for engaging a fleet moored14 in shallow water, Lord Nelson was not lucky in his weather. Practically it was nothing but a quite unusual failure of the wind which cost him his arm during the Teneriffe expedition. On Trafalgar Day the weather was not so much unfavourable as extremely dangerous.
It was one of these covered days of fitful sunshine, of light, unsteady winds, with a swell15 from the westward16, and hazy17 in general, but with the land about the Cape18 at times distinctly visible. It has been my lot to look with reverence19 upon the very spot more than once, and for many hours together. All but thirty years ago, certain exceptional circumstances made me very familiar for a time with that bight in the Spanish coast which would be enclosed within a straight line drawn20 from Faro to Spartel. My well-remembered experience has convinced me that, in that corner of the ocean, once the wind has got to the northward21 of west (as it did on the 20th, taking the British fleet aback), appearances of westerly weather go for nothing, and that it is infinitely22 more likely to veer23 right round to the east than to shift back again. It was in those conditions that, at seven on the morning of the 21st, the signal for the fleet to bear up and steer2 east was made. Holding a clear recollection of these languid easterly sighs rippling24 unexpectedly against the run of the smooth swell, with no other warning than a ten-minutes’ calm and a queer darkening of the coast-line, I cannot think, without a gasp25 of professional awe26, of that fateful moment. Perhaps personal experience, at a time of life when responsibility had a special freshness and importance, has induced me to exaggerate to myself the danger of the weather. The great Admiral and good seaman could read aright the signs of sea and sky, as his order to prepare to anchor at the end of the day sufficiently27 proves; but, all the same, the mere28 idea of these baffling easterly airs, coming on at any time within half an hour or so, after the firing of the first shot, is enough to take one’s breath away, with the image of the rearmost ships of both divisions falling off, unmanageable, broadside on to the westerly swell, and of two British Admirals in desperate jeopardy29. To this day I cannot free myself from the impression that, for some forty minutes, the fate of the great battle hung upon a breath of wind such as I have felt stealing from behind, as it were, upon my cheek while engaged in looking to the westward for the signs of the true weather.
Never more shall British seamen30 going into action have to trust the success of their valour to a breath of wind. The God of gales31 and battles favouring her arms to the last, has let the sun of England’s sailing-fleet and of its greatest master set in unclouded glory. And now the old ships and their men are gone; the new ships and the new men, many of them bearing the old, auspicious32 names, have taken up their watch on the stern and impartial33 sea, which offers no opportunities but to those who know how to grasp them with a ready hand and an undaunted heart.
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1 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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2 steer | |
vt.驾驶,为…操舵;引导;vi.驾驶 | |
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3 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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4 contingency | |
n.意外事件,可能性 | |
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5 seaman | |
n.海员,水手,水兵 | |
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6 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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7 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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8 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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9 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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10 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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11 leeward | |
adj.背风的;下风的 | |
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12 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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13 memorandum | |
n.备忘录,便笺 | |
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14 moored | |
adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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15 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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16 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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17 hazy | |
adj.有薄雾的,朦胧的;不肯定的,模糊的 | |
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18 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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19 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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20 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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21 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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22 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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23 veer | |
vt.转向,顺时针转,改变;n.转向 | |
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24 rippling | |
起涟漪的,潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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25 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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26 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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27 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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28 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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29 jeopardy | |
n.危险;危难 | |
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30 seamen | |
n.海员 | |
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31 gales | |
龙猫 | |
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32 auspicious | |
adj.吉利的;幸运的,吉兆的 | |
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33 impartial | |
adj.(in,to)公正的,无偏见的 | |
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