The ancestors of this noble-hearted and patriotic Englishman were “dreaded in battle and loved in hall.” Their courage has been recorded in history, and their courtesy celebrated in song. Yet it is less than probable that any mailed warriors of the knightly race possessed these attributes in greater perfection than did this gallant and heroic admiral, who, in the nineteenth century, on that boundless empire which his countrymen claim as their heritage, made the ancient name he bore so widely and gloriously known in Europe and the world. The Collingwoods were for several centuries planted in the proud and extensive county of Northumberland. There they owned large territorial estates, held a high social position, and formed distinguished matrimonial alliances. Their prowess and valor were displayed in the perpetual conflicts which, previous to the auspicious period when King James united the crowns of the two realms upon his learned forehead, laid waste and impoverished the wild and unruly borders. When the Civil Wars occurred, being staunch and fearless cavaliers, they adhered to the cause of the first Charles, and lost much land in the gloomy and disastrous struggle for the prerogatives of that ill-fated Prince. In later days the chief of the name—being a friend and companion of the popular, munificent, and deeply-lamented Lord Derwentwater—engaged in the hapless insurrection of 1715, had his estates forfeited to the crown, and was called upon to lay his head on the block for that royal house, against whose subjects the Collingwoods of another age had ever been ready to fight to the death. From these and other causes a representative of the family, in the middle of last century, appears to have found himself in a position the reverse of convenient, and in circumstances by no means affluent. In any case he settled at Newcastle, married a lady of Westmoreland and was blessed with several children.

Cuthbert Collingwood, who inherited little beside the Christian and surnames, described by the old ballad-maker as being “so worthy to put in verse,” and the stainless courage of “that courteous knight,” taken prisoner at Redswire, was the eldest of his parents’ three sons, and born on the 26th of Sept. 1750. No doubt he sported, during childhood, on the banks of the Tyne, regarded the shipping in the port with a curious eye, and was carried on fine afternoons, like other juvenile inhabitants of Newcastle, to buy shortcake in the neighboring village of Chester-le-Street.

In due time he was sent to the Grammar School, and there trained to fear God, serve his country, and honor the king. The master of the institution at that time was the Rev. Hugh Moises, a most worthy and successful teacher of the old stamp, who never spared the rod when the application of it was likely to promote the improvement and welfare of his pupils; nor refrained from bestowing the meed of praise which they had fairly earned by meritorious conduct. By such means, in all probability, Collingwood—a pretty, gentle, and generous boy—was taught those wholesome lessons of obedience and self-respect which he afterward knew so well how to practice himself and to inculcate on others, at once with the benevolence of a philanthropist and the firmness of a despot. At this educational establishment religious exercises were regularly attended to; and, perhaps, in the sentiments there instilled into his mind may be traced the origin of those habits of practical, unpretending piety, which characterized his illustrious career. Among the youths who were there being instructed by Mr. Moises, who marched to church under his auspices on Sundays, feared his chastening birch on week-days, and who in after years acknowledged the benefit they had derived from his tuition, were the two Scotts, sons of a wealthy coalfitter in the place, and destined to arrive at the highest rewards and honors of the branches of the legal profession to which their time and talents were devoted. The younger of them, who ere long occupied so high a position, and exercised so much influence as Lord Eldon, was Collingwood’s class-fellow, and used to state, somewhat unnecessarily, that both of them were placed at the time-honored seminary because their fathers could not conveniently afford to have them educated elsewhere. The fame which they worthily attained in different spheres proves that they lay under no considerable disadvantages on that account. When Collingwood’s dispatch narrating the battle of Trafalgar arrived, the king expressed his extreme surprise that a naval officer, who had spent so much of his life at sea, should write in so admirable a style. But on being informed that his brave and patriotic subject had been a scholar of Moises, his majesty considered that fact sufficient to explain the excellence shown.

In subsequent life, when experience had sharpened his powerful faculties, it was Collingwood’s opinion that a boy intended for the sea should be early placed at a mathematical school, and carefully initiated into the science of navigation; as otherwise there is little likelihood of his achieving much progress on board a man-of-war. We are told of Lord St. Vincent, that the only instruction he ever received was from a considerate old sailing-master, whom he encountered while stationed at Jamaica; but it does not appear where Collingwood acquired his theoretic knowledge on this subject. It is probable, however, that he enjoyed the advantage of being grounded by the celebrated Hutton, who, just as Collingwood attained his tenth year, commenced a mathematical class in the town, and was, in some capacity, connected with instructing the mischievous imps under the sternly just sway of Moises. At the age of eleven Collingwood was dedicated to the profession of which he became so useful a member, and so bright an ornament.

The circumstances which have led to our great naval heroes first going to sea are sometimes peculiarly interesting, and even romantic. Take, for instance, the case of the Hoods—sons of a vicar in Somersetshire. A gallant captain was spending his time ashore in traveling about the country, and in passing through the quiet village of Butleigh, his carriage happened to break down. He looked around for an inn in which to stay while it underwent the necessary repairs, but there was no public place of accommodation to be had. The stranger, with some reason, seemed a little disconcerted; but matters were presently cleared up by the appearance of the worthy parson, who invited him to his house with hearty good will, and entertained him hospitably. Next morning the guest, before leaving, said, “Sir, you have two sons, would either of them like to go with me to sea?” They availed themselves of the frank offer,—both entered the service, and one became Lord Hood, the other Viscount Bridport. Jervis, the son of a barrister, was intended to follow his father’s steps; but the groom persuaded him that all lawyers were rogues, and the little fellow, running away from school, insisted on being a sailor. After entering the navy he experienced hardship and poverty, but he struggled upward, with manly spirit, to wealth, fame, distinctions, and an earldom. Nelson’s father was a clergyman in Norfolk, but his maternal uncle, a captain in the navy, promised to provide for one of the boys. Horatio was so slender in frame, that he was thought incapable of roughing it out at sea; yet he earnestly requested to be sent. Accordingly he was packed off alone in the coach to join the ship, but had the mortification of pacing the deck in wretchedness for a whole day before being taken notice of, while swelled in his young breast all the germs of the genius that recognized no fear, and the eccentricity—more valuable than the wisdom of others—which ultimately rendered him the dread of foes and the admiration of friends.

A relationship, similar to that which influenced the fortunes of his mighty compeer, seems to have guided Collingwood in his selection of a career. Captain Braithwaite, who afterward rose to the rank of admiral, had married the boy’s aunt. That officer then commanded the “Shannon,” and it was resolved to place the young aspirant under his care and protection. A touching and interesting glimpse of his earliest experience on board is afforded as he sat on the deck, sad at heart, and with tears in his eyes, which flowed more rapidly as he gazed through them at the shore. The first lieutenant observing the comely little sailor in so downcast a mood, and perhaps remembering his own feelings on a like occasion, was touched with compassion, and addressed him in language of sympathy and encouragement. Whereupon Collingwood felt so grateful that he led the kind-hearted officer to his box, and offered him a large piece of plum-cake, which his anxious and affectionate mother had given him at parting.

Collingwood experienced much kind treatment from the kinsman under whose protection he embarked on his career of duty and renown. He afterward confessed the obligations he owed to Admiral Braithwaite in the acquirement of professional knowledge. But the sage, meditative, and energetic seaman, was far from trusting to the aid or inspiration of others in his triumphant struggle. He thought earnestly, and labored diligently, for himself. He steadily practiced that self-culture which he ever strongly and perseveringly recommended to others. Besides perusing treatises on naval affairs, he read extensively, and with no small profit, in historical works; he obtained books relating to the places to which he happened to sail, and exercised his intellectual faculties by comparing these descriptions with his own impressions of the localities and scenery. Moreover, he embraced and acted on the opinion that a man should, before arriving at his twenty-fifth year, establish for himself a character and reputation of such a kind as he would have no cause to be ashamed of throughout life.

In the ordinary course of events Collingwood parted from his gallant relative, and sailed for some time with another officer. Between these two services thirteen years were consumed, and during that period he made the acquaintance of Nelson. At its termination he went to Boston with Admiral Graves, and was thus present at the battle of Bunker’s Hill, in command of a party of seamen to assist and supply the troops, who, under General Gage, encountered the insurgent colonists. After that event he was advanced to the rank of lieutenant; and in 1775 joining the “Hornet” sloop, in that capacity he sailed to the West Indies. The ship in which Nelson was lieutenant came to the same station; and with the immortal hero Collingwood renewed the feelings of friendship, which, cemented in the interval by many high aspirations and bright dreams, were strikingly and glowingly displayed on another and more glorious day.

Meantime Collingwood had the good fortune to succeed his friend as commander of the “Badger,” and, subsequently, as a post-captain in the “Hinchenbroke” frigate, with which he was ordered to proceed to the Spanish Main, and employed on the expedition sent up the river San Juan. The climate to which he was now exposed was in the highest degree pestilential; the majority of his crew fell victims to its excessive insalubrity; and in this perilous situation he was sustained and saved from sharing their fate by a remarkably strong constitution. Right glad, however, with all his powers of endurance, must he have been when relieved in the autumn from this scene of woe and suffering. He was then appointed to the command of the “Pelican.” With that frigate, of twenty-four guns, he captured a French vessel, recovered from the enemy a richly-laden Glasgow merchantman, and was soon after wrecked among the rocks of the Morant Keys. He next obtained the command of the “Sampson,” a ship of sixty-four guns, which was paid off at the peace of 1783. Then he was dispatched, in the “Mediator,” to the West Indies, where he and his younger brother, a naval officer of great promise, who filled an untimely grave, actively aided Nelson in enforcing the provisions of the Navigation Act against the encroachments of the Americans.

In 1786 this brave and manly sailor arrived in England, and joyfully turned his face homeward. He spent the next four years among his Northumbrian relatives, of whom he had hitherto seen much less than he could have wished. At the termination of that period an armament was preparing against Spain, and he was immediately nominated to a command; but the differences which had led to this step being speedily accommodated without going to war, and there appearing no prospect of active service, he again repaired to the frontier county; all the more readily, perhaps, that he had already surrendered to a lady in that northern province the exquisitely tender heart, which no prolonged service nor scenes of bloodshed could ever harden, or render indifferent to the welfare or sufferings of others. He was forthwith married, and there appearing no probability of his professional abilities being in requisition, he looked forward to a long season of that domestic peace and happiness which he was eminently fitted by nature to create and enjoy. However, his expectations in this respect proved vain; the French war broke out, he was under the necessity of sacrificing his cherished wishes to his country’s good, and he returned, with characteristic courage and resolution, to arduous and indefatigable exertion on that element which, almost without interruption, was his sphere for the remainder of his earthly existence.

Collingwood was, without delay, appointed to the “Prince,” Admiral Bowyer’s flag-ship, and served with that officer in the action of the 1st of June, 1794, in which Lord Howe accomplished a signal victory. He displayed his wonted vigilance and energy, in watching for the enemy and preparing for strife and wounds. But even then his thoughts strayed often to a gentler scene—to the home of his family, to green woodlands, and “mountains blue.” Even on the eve of battle his fancy heard the ringing of the village bells, and his imagination conjured up the form of his fair spouse as she walked to church, not unmindful of her absent hero. The conflict was sharp, and soon over; and in it Collingwood behaved with much gallantry. Nevertheless, his services were unacknowledged by Lord Howe; and in the distribution of medals he was passed over, much to the surprise of the fleet, and of some officers with whom he had fought side by side, and by whom his bravery had been duly appreciated. “If Collingwood has not deserved a medal,” remarked Captain Packenham, of the “Invincible,” “neither have I; for we were together the whole day.”

Collingwood was a man of too much pride and propriety to waste words on such a subject; but he was, at the same time, actuated by that sentiment of self-respect which forbade him to overlook such an injustice. Ere long an occasion of vindicating his independence and reputation was presented: this happened when the great victory off St. Vincent was happily achieved in 1797. The hero of that day, Sir John Jervis, when writing to the Admiralty, expressed the highest praise and admiration of Collingwood’s conduct, which, in the “Excellent,” had been conspicuously meritorious; and he announced that the Northumbrian captain was to be rewarded with one of the medals distributed in commemoration of the glorious event. Collingwood could now speak out without loss of dignity; and he stated, with feeling and firmness, that he must decline receiving this mark of distinction while the former one was withheld.

“I feel,” he said, as his slender, well-formed person, seemed to swell with emotion, and as his full dark eye flashed with chivalrous pride, and the consciousness of a heart that feared no foe: “I feel that I was then improperly passed over; and to receive such a distinction in this case would be to acknowledge the propriety of that injustice.”

“That,” replied Lord St. Vincent, with evident admiration, “is precisely the answer I expected from you, Captain Collingwood.”

Shortly after this conversation took place, Collingwood experienced the gratification of having the two medals transmitted to him from the Admiralty, with a civil apology for the earlier one having been so long kept back. He was now instructed to assist in what he considered as the humiliating office of blockading the enemy’s ports; and, after a brief interval of repose in the society of his friends and relatives, he was promoted to the rank of Rear-admiral of the White; when, hoisting his flag in the “Triumph,” he proceeded to the Channel fleet, which was under the command of Lord Bridport. He was soon after detached with a reinforcement of twelve sail of the line, and sent to join Lord Keith in the Mediterranean, where the Brest fleet, with the principal naval force of France and Spain, then lay. He subsequently shifted his flag to the “Barfleur;” and in the beginning of 1801 became Rear-admiral of the Red.

The events of 1802 afforded Collingwood the satisfaction of returning for a while to his home at Morpeth, in the north of England. He arrived in the merry month of May, and greatly relished his quiet and repose. He was fond of company, and among his friends showed much lively humor and no inconsiderable knowledge of books. His tastes were plain and simple, and his inclination averse to display. He gratified his paternal feelings by superintending the education of his daughters. He pursued his own studies with more than youthful enthusiasm, improved his style of composition by making extracts from the various works he perused, and indulged his natural fondness for drawing. His garden was situated on the banks of the beautiful Wansback—a river alluded to in “Marmion”—which flows through a succession of fertile valleys; and there he passed many agreeable hours. Indeed he seems, like Lord Bacon, to have looked upon gardening as “the purest of all pleasures, and the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man.” One day, a naval officer coming to visit Collingwood in his happy and tranquil retirement, sought him in vain about the grounds, and was inclined to give up the search, when he suddenly discovered the admiral, along with his old and trusty gardener, busily occupied in digging with vigor at the bottom of a deep trench. The affairs of his domain ever formed an interesting subject of inquiry; nor did distance diminish the respect which he entertained for his faithful horticultural henchman.

In the beginning of 1803, when a renewal of hostilities between England and France occurred, Collingwood was summoned from weeding the oaks in his cheerful northern retreat, which he was never blessed with an opportunity of revisiting; though he often sadly and fondly luxuriated in the anticipation of resuming a place by his own fireside, never more to leave it.

Meantime he was sent, in the “Venerable,” to the squadron off Brest, Admiral Cornwallis joyfully exclaiming on his arrival, “Here comes Collingwood—the last to leave and the first to rejoin me!” In the April of 1803 he was advanced to the rank of Vice-admiral of the Blue, and next year engaged in the blockade of Cadiz, until compelled to retire by the appearance of the combined fleets of France and Spain. He soon resumed his station, where he remained till the following autumn; when thither came that terrible English sea-captain who had already driven the French fleet before him, “from hemisphere to hemisphere,” and performed the vow, long before made, that he would teach Bonaparte to respect the British navy. On the 21st of October, 1805, Trafalgar was fought and won; though the brilliancy was at first, in some degree, clouded and overcast by the fall of the conquering hero, in whose breast patriotism had so long glowed with fierce ardor. On that glorious and ever-memorable day, Collingwood nobly did his duty. In the morning, he arrayed himself for the coming strife with extraordinary care and precision. Meeting with Lieutenant Clavell, whom he had long regarded as “his right hand,” the brave admiral, with his accustomed mental equanimity, said, “You had better put off your boots, and put on silk stockings; as, if one should get a shot in the leg, they would be so much more manageable for the surgeon.” Then, going on deck, he encouraged the men in performing their duty, and asked the officers to do something which the world might talk of in time to come. Nor, when the hour of encounter arrived—when the successes of his great comrade-in-arms were to be crowned with an imperishable triumph—did he fail to sustain his old reputation for prowess and courage. He led the British squadrons into action, and with his single ship, the “Royal Sovereign,” advanced gallantly into the midst of the enemy’s forces. It was then, as he was keenly pressing onward, that Nelson, standing on board the “Victory,” decorated with all his stars and honors, and prepared for death and glory, exclaimed, as the remnant of his right arm moved with excitement, “See how that noble fellow, Collingwood, takes his ship into action!” At the same time Collingwood, knowing what thoughts would be passing through his heroic friend’s mind, remarked to Clavell, with a smile, “What would Nelson give to be here!” It is singular that his spirit of economy should have manifested itself under such circumstances; as when he saw the gallant-studding-sail hanging over the gangway, he requested his lieutenant to assist him in taking it in, and observed that they should live to want it again some other day. Having poured a broadside and a half into the stern of the “Santa Anna,” the two vessels were soon so close that their lower yards were locked together. Another was placed on the lee-quarter of Collingwood’s ship, while three bore on her bow; but England expected every man to do his duty that day, and it was nobly done. As for the “Santa Anna,” she was soon compelled to strike; and the Spanish captain coming on board to surrender his sword, was told that the name of the ship was the “Royal Sovereign.”

“I think she should be called the ‘Royal Devil,’” he exclaimed in broken English, as he patted one of the guns with his hand.

When his illustrious friend fell mortally wounded, the chief command devolved on Collingwood, who, for his brave exploits and signal services on this and former occasions, was created a peer, honored with the thanks of Parliament, and rewarded with a pension and the freedom of several cities. On the day following the victory he issued an order for a general thanksgiving to Almighty God, for having mercifully crowned the exertions of the fleet with success. His position now became peculiarly arduous and difficult. He had the responsible task of managing the political relations of England with the countries bordering on the Mediterranean, in addition to discharging the duties appertaining to his naval command. He encountered them with an unremitting industry, which speedily brought on a disease fatal to his health. Yet believing that it was his duty to do so, and that he might live once more to meet the French, he remained at his post, shattering his frame with toil, fatigue, and exposure, and racking his mind with perpetual care and thought. At length his body began to swell and his legs to shrink; so that his removal to England was represented as indispensable. He accordingly surrendered his command, and embarked; but he was not destined to set foot on the soil whose freedom and sacredness he had spent his strength in guarding. On the 7th of March, 1810, he expired at sea, in his sixtieth year.

His end was calm, peaceful, and resigned; as his life had been just, exemplary, and benevolent. Throughout he had been sincerely religious, and most regular in his attendance at divine worship. Even on Sundays, when the weather was such that the crew could not assemble on deck, he was in the habit of retiring to his cabin, and reading the service for the day. His piety was utterly without pretense; his acts of charity were frequent; and his ear was never shut against a representation of real distress. He was strictly scrupulous in his respect for inferiors, and particularly anxious for the interests of those over whom he had authority. His disposition was most repugnant to the exercise of severity; and though no man was better qualified by nature to enforce proper discipline, his humanity and refined sentiment rendered him averse to doing so by extreme means. He looked up to his Creator with devotion and gratitude, and he regarded the lowly with kindness and generosity.

On their arrival in England, the bones of this brave and worthy admiral were consigned to the dust in St. Paul’s Cathedral, hard by the spot where the ashes of Nelson repose. A monument has since been erected to his memory by a grateful public; and his services well deserved such a recognition from a free people. He lived, in deed and in truth, not for himself, but for his country; and he knew no fear but the fear of God. He had, indeed, nobly done his duty to the last, sacrificing all personal considerations, with patriotic disinterestedness. Domestic enjoyment, quiet, health, life itself, were in his eyes nothing compared with the preservation of our shores and liberties from the great, skillful, and mighty foe, who planned earnestly and labored anxiously for their conquest and destruction.