control over him which, but for his whimsical magnanimity, might have
cost us the loss of the fleet, their crews, and our high honour and
superb fighting reputation. Take for example Sir Hyde Parker's command
of the Baltic fleet, or Sir John Orde's clumsy appointment to a
squadron in the Mediterranean. Nothing could be so harassing to the
nerves of a man sure of his own superiority as to be burdened, not
only with Orde's arrogance, but his mediocrity. He was obliged to
resort to subterfuge in order to get his dispatches sent home, and
here again the action of the Admiralty compelled him to break naval
discipline by ordering a nephew of Lord St. Vincent, a clever young
captain of a frigate, to whom he was devoted, to take the dispatches
to Lisbon. He told the young captain that Sir John Orde took his
frigates from him, and sent them away in a direction contrary to his
wishes. "I cannot get my dispatches even sent home," he said; adding,
"You must try to avoid his ships." Nelson had not signed his orders,
because Sir John Orde was his superior officer, but should it come to
a court-martial, Hardy could swear to his handwriting, and he gave him
the assurance that he would not be broken. "Take your orders, and
goodbye," said he, "and remember, Parker, if you cannot weather that
fellow, I shall think you have not a drop of your uncle's blood in
your veins." Other Nelsonian instructions were given, and the gallant
captain carried them out with a skill worthy of his ingenious, defiant
chief and of his distinguished uncle.

It was not only a slap in the face to Sir John Orde, but to those
whose patronage had placed in a senior position a man who was not
qualified to stand on the same quarterdeck with Nelson. He smarted
under the treatment, but unhappily could not keep his chagrin under
cover. He was always pouring his soul out to some one or other. His
health is always falling to pieces after each affront, and for this