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Updated: May 28, 2025
"I came to sea because I have read of Howe and Jervis and Nelson and Collingwood, and because I expected to find it a field of fame and glory, as they did." There was a general laugh, in which the youngsters joined the loudest. "A sucking Collingwood!" cried one. "A field of water, which the ship has to plough," said another, who set up for a wit. There was no end to their remarks.
Collingwood, having the command of one line, was to break through the enemy about the twelfth ship from the rear, Nelson intending to lead through the centre, while the advanced squadron was to cut off three or four ships ahead of the centre. He would make few signals: no captain could do wrong who placed his ship close alongside that of an enemy.
Collingwood turned sharply to confront an old man, evidently one of the woodmen on the estate who had come up behind them unheard on the thick carpeting of pine needles. And Pratt turned, too with a keen look and a direct question. "What do you mean?" he asked. "What are you talking about?" "I know what I'm talking about, young gentleman," said the man doggedly.
Irving’s eyes were upon Westby; he hoped that this time the boy would not fail. Westby had an opportunity now to steady his nerves; it was St. Timothy’s ball and only the first down. Collingwood gave the signal; Irving watched closely, saw Westby take the ball on the pass and dive into the line. In a moment all the St. Timothy’s eleven seemed to be behind him, hurling him through, and St.
She's such a substracted way with her that you mostly has to tell her twicet," and in her own peculiar style Rachel succeeded in making the "substracted" child comprehend the nature of her errand. "Now don't go to blunderin'," was Rachel's parting injunction, as Edith left the yard and turned in the direction of Collingwood.
He died at Collingwood in Kent, May 11, 1871, in the eightieth year of his age, and was buried in Westminster Abbey, close beside the grave of Sir Isaac Newton. The consideration of Sir John Herschel's Cape observations brings us to the close of the period we are just now engaged in studying.
That morning there arrived in town Captain Blackwood of the frigate "Euryalus," which had been despatched by Collingwood to notify the Admiralty that the missing Villeneuve had turned up with his squadron at Cadiz, on the 20th of August. Blackwood was an old friend and follower.
"Dispatches?" echoed the night-porter. Out beyond the screen of masonry that shut off the Board of Admiralty's forecourt from Whitehall, one of the tired post-horses started blowing through its nostrils on this foggy night. "From Admiral Collingwood Mediterranean Fleet off Cadiz sixteen days," answered the visitor curtly. "Is everyone abed?" "Admiral Collingwood? Why Admiral Collingwood?"
It was rather an unfeeling thing for Collingwood to do, right there in front of the crowd, but he was driven to it by force of circumstances; the four other runners were holding on in a way he did not like. The cries of encouragement to him and to Heath were more urgent this time; Bolton and Edwards and Morse had their supporters too.
A short visit to Ottawa to say good-bye to colleagues in the House of Commons, a brief trip to Collingwood in my constituency to lay the corner stone of a new postoffice building, and I was back again at the work of preparing for Flanders.
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