inclining his head.

Old Lord Barham looked up sharply. His wig set awry, he made a
ridiculous figure in his hastily donned garments. Yet he did not
lack dignity.

"Why Collingwood?" he asked, his fingers breaking the seal.
"God! you don't tell me--"

"Lord Nelson is dead, sir."

"Dead--dead? . . . Here, Tylney--you read what it says. Dead? . . .
No, damme, let the captain tell his tale. Briefly, sir."

"Briefly, sir--Lord Nelson had word of Admiral Villeneuve coming out
of the Straits, and engaged the combined fleets off Cape Trafalgaro.
They were in single line, roughly; and he bore down in two columns,
and cut off their van under Dumanoir. This was at dawn or
thereabouts, and by five o'clock the enemy was destroyed."

"How many prizes?"

"I cannot say precisely, my lord. The word went, when I was
signalled aboard the Vice-Admiral's flagship, that either fifteen or
sixteen had struck. My own men were engaged, at the time, in
rescuing the crew of a French seventy-four that had blown up; and I
was too busy to count, had counting been possible. One or two of my
officers maintain to me that our gains were higher. But the dispatch
will tell, doubtless."