A large part of the night was spent in listening to Malespina's
narrative and the experiences of other officers. They were interesting
enough to keep me awake and I was so excited that I found great
difficulty afterwards in going to sleep at all. I could not get the
image of Churruca out of my mind as I had seen him, handsome and
strong, at Doña Flora's house. On that occasion, even, I had been
startled by the expression of intense sadness on the hero's features,
as if he had a sure presentiment of his near and painful death. His
noble life had come to an untimely end when he was only forty-four
years old, after twenty-nine years of honorable service as a soldier,
a navigator, and a man of science--for Churruca was all of these,
besides being a noble and cultivated gentlemen. I was still thinking
of all these things when, at length, my brain surrendered to fatigue
and I fell asleep on the morning of the 23rd, my youthful nature
having got the better of my excitement and curiosity. But in my
sleep, which was long if not quiet, I was still haunted by nightmare
visions, as was natural in my overwrought state of mind, hearing the
roar of cannon, the tumult of battle and the thunder of billows;
meanwhile I fancied I was serving out ammunition, climbing the
rigging, rushing about between decks to encourage the gunners and even
standing on the quarter-deck in command of the vessel. I need hardly
say that in this curious but visionary battle I routed all the English
past, present, or to come, with as much ease as though their ships
were made of paper and their cannon-balls were bread-pills. I had a
thousand men-of-war under my command, each larger than the _Trinidad_,
and they moved before me with as much precision as the toy-ships with
which I and my comrades had been wont to play in the puddles of _la
Caleta_.
At last, however, all this glory faded away, which, as it was but a
dream, is scarcely to be wondered at when we see how even the reality
vanishes. It was all over when I opened my eyes and remembered how
small a part I had actually played in the stupendous catastrophe I had
witnessed. Still--strange to say--even when wide awake I heard cannon
and the all-dreadful tumult of war, with shouts and a clatter that
told of some great turmoil on deck. I thought I must still be
dreaming; I sat up on the sofa on which I had fallen asleep; I
listened with all my ears, and certainly a thundering shout of "God
save the King" left no doubt in my mind that the _Santa Ana_ was
fighting once more.
I went out of the cabin and studied the situation. The weather had
moderated; to the windward a few battered ships were in sight, and two
of them, Englishmen, had opened fire on the _Santa Ana_ which was
defending herself with the aid of two others, a Frenchman and a
Spaniard. I could not understand the sudden change in the aspect of
affairs. Were we no longer prisoners of war? I looked up--our flag was
flying in the place of the Union Jack. What could have happened?--or
rather what was happening? For the drama was in progress.
On the quarter-deck stood a man who, I concluded, must be Alava, and
though suffering from several wounds he still had strength enough to
command this second action, which seemed likely enough to recover the
honor his good ship had lost in the disaster of the first. The
officers were encouraging the sailors who were serving those guns that
could still be worked, while a detachment kept guard over the English,
who had been disarmed and shut up in the lower deck. Their officers
who had been our jailers were now become our prisoners.
I understood it all. The brave commander of the _Santa Ana_, Don
Ignacio de Alva, seeing that we were within hail of some Spanish
ships, which had come out of Cadiz in hope of rescuing some of our
captured vessels and to take off the survivors from such as might be
sinking, had addressed a stirring harangue to his disheartened crew
who responded to his enthusiasm by a supreme effort. By a sudden rush
they had disarmed the English who were in charge and hoisted the
Spanish flag once more. The _Santa Ana_ was free, but she had to fight
for life, a more desperate struggle perhaps than the first had been.
This bold attempt--one of the most honorable episodes of the battle of
Trafalgar--was made on board a dismasted ship, that had lost her
rudder, with half her complement of men killed or wounded, and the
other half in a wretched condition both moral and physical. However,
the deed once done we had to face the consequences; two Englishmen,
considerably battered no doubt, fired on the _Santa Ana_; but the
_Asís_, the _Montañes_, and the _Rayo_--three ships that had got off
with Gravina on the 21st--opportunely came to the rescue, having come
out with a view to recapturing the prizes. The brave cripples rushed
into the desperate action, with even more courage perhaps than into
the former battle, for their unhealed wounds spurred them to fury and
they seemed to fight with greater ardor in proportion as they had less
life to lose.
All the incidents of the dreadful 21st were repeated before my eyes;
the enthusiasm was tremendous, but the hands were so few that twice
the will and energy were needed. This heroic action fills indeed but a
brief page in history, for, by the side of the great event which is
now known as the Battle of Trafalgar, such details are dwarfed or
disappear altogether like a transient spark in a night of gloom and
horror.
The next thing that happened to me personally cost me some bitter
tears. Not finding my master at once I felt sure he was in some
danger, so I went down to the upper gun-deck and there I found him,
training a cannon. His trembling hand had snatched the linstock from
that of a wounded sailor and he was trying, with the feeble sight of
his right eye, to discover to what point in the foe he had better send
the missile. When the piece went off he turned to me trembling with
satisfaction, and said in a scarcely audible voice:
"Ah ha! Paca need not laugh at me now. We shall return to Cadiz in
triumph."
Finally we won the fight. The English perceived the impossibility of
recapturing the _Santa Ana_ when, besides the three ships already
mentioned, two other Frenchmen and a frigate came up to her assistance
in the very thick of the fray.
We were free, and by a glorious effort; but at the very moment of
victory we saw most clearly the peril we were in, for the _Santa Ana_
was now so completely disabled that we could only be towed into Cadiz.
The French frigate _Themis_ sent a cable on board and put her head to
the North, but what could she do with such a deadweight in tow as the
_Santa Ana_, which could do little enough to help herself with the
ragged sails that still clung to her one remaining mast? The other
ships that had supported her--the _Rayo_, the _Montañes_, and the _San
Francisco de Asís_, were forced to proceed at full sail to the
assistance of the _San Juan_ and the _Bahama_, which were also in the
hands of the English. There we were, alone, with no help but the
frigate that was doing her best for us--a child leading a giant. What
would become of us if the enemy--as was very probable--recovering
from their repulse, were to fall upon us with renewed energy and
reinforcements? However, Providence thought good to protect us; the
wind favored us, and our frigate gently leading the way, we found
ourselves nearing Cadiz.
Only five leagues from port! What an unspeakable comfort! Our miseries
seemed ended; ere long we should set foot on _terra firma_, and though
we brought news no doubt of a terrible disaster, we were bringing
relief and joy to many faithful souls who were suffering mortal
anguish in the belief that those who were returning alive and well had
all perished.
The valor of the Spaniards did not avail to rescue any ships but ours,
for they were too late and had to return without being able to give
chase to the English ships that kept guard over the _San Juan_, the
_Bahama_, and the _San Ildefonso_. We were still four leagues from
land when we saw them making towards us. A southerly gale was blowing
up and it was clear to all on board the _Santa Ana_ that if we did not
soon get into port we should have a bad time of it. Once more we were
filled with anxiety; once more we lost hope almost in sight of safety,
and when a few hours more on the cruel sea would have seen us safe
and sound in harbor. Night was coming on black and angry; the sky was
covered with dark clouds which seemed to lie on the face of the ocean,
and the lurid flashes which lighted them up from time to time added
terror to the gloom. The sea waxing in fury every instant, as if it
were not yet satiated, raved and roared with hungry rage, demanding
more and yet more victims. The remnant of the mighty fleet which a
short time since had defied its fury combined with that of the foe was
not to escape from the wrath of the angry element which, implacable as
an ancient god and pitiless to the last, was as cruel to the victor as
to the conquered.
I could read the signs of deep depression in the face not only of my
master but of the Admiral, Alava, who, in spite of his wounds, still
kept on his feet and signalled to the frigate to make all possible
speed; but, instead of responding to his very natural haste, the
_Themis_ prepared to shorten sail so as to be able to keep before the
gale. I shared the general dismay and could not help reflecting on the
irony with which Fate mocks at our surest calculations and best
founded hopes, on the swiftness with which she flings us from happy
security to the depth of misery. Here we were, on the wide ocean, that
majestic emblem of human life. A gust of wind and it is completely
transformed, the light ripple which gently caressed the vessel's side
swells into a mountain of water that lashes and beats it, the soft
music of the wavelets in a calm turns to a loud, hoarse voice,
threatening the frail bark which flings itself into the waters as
though its keel were unable to balance it, to rise the next moment
buffeted and tossed by the very wave that has lifted it from the
abyss. A lovely day ends in a fearful night, or, on the other hand, a
radiant moon that illumines an infinite sky and soothes the soul,
pales before an angry sun at whose light all nature quakes with
dismay.
We had experienced all these viscissitudes, and in addition, those
which are the result of the will of man. We had suffered shipwreck in
the midst of defeat; after escaping once we had been compelled to
fight again, this time with success; and then, when we thought
ourselves out of our troubles, when we hailed Cadiz with delight, we
were once more at the mercy of the tempest which had treacherously
deluded us only to destroy us outright. Such a succession of adverse
fortune seemed monstrous--it was like the malignant aberrations of a
divinity trying to do all the harm he could devise to us hapless
mortals--but it was only the natural course of things at sea,
combined with the fortune of war. Given a combination of these two
fearful forces and none but an idiot can be astonished at the
disasters that must ensue.
Another circumstance contributed to my master's distress of mind, and
to mine too, that evening. Since the rescue of the _Santa Ana_
Malespina had disappeared. At last, after seeking him everywhere, I
discovered him lying in a heap on a sofa in the cabin. I went up to
him and saw that he was very pale; I spoke to him but he could not
answer. He tried to move but fell back gasping.
"Are you wounded?" I asked. "I will fetch some one to attend to you."
"It is nothing," he said. "Can you get me some water?"
I went at once for my master.
"What is the matter--this wound in your hand?" said he, examining the
young officer.
"It is more than that," replied Don Rafael sadly, and he put his hand
to his right side close by his sword-belt. And, then, as if the effort
of pointing out his wound and speaking those few words had been too
much for his weakened frame, he closed his eyes and neither spoke nor
moved for some minutes.
"This is serious," said my master anxiously.
"It is more than serious," said a surgeon who had come to examine
him. Malespina, deeply depressed by finding himself in so evil a
plight, and believing himself past all hope, had not even reported
himself as wounded, but had crept away to this corner where he had
given himself up to his reflections and memories. He believed that he
was killed and he would not have the wound touched. The surgeon
assured him that though it was dangerous it need not prove mortal,
though he owned that if he did not get into port that night so that he
might be properly treated on shore, his life, like that of the rest of
the wounded, was in the greatest danger. The _Santa Ana_ had lost
ninety-seven men killed on the 21st, and a hundred and forty wounded;
all the resources of the surgery were exhausted and many indispensable
articles were altogether wanting. Malespina's catastrophe was not the
only one during the rescue, and it had been the will of Heaven that
another man very near and dear to me should share his fate. Marcial
had been wounded; though at first his indomitable spirit had kept him
up and he hardly felt the pain and depression, before long he
submitted to be carried down into the cock-pit, confessing that he was
very badly hit. My master sent a surgeon to attend to him, but all he
would say was that the wound would have been trifling in a man of
five-and-twenty--but Marcial was past sixty.
Meanwhile the _Rayo_ passed to leeward and we hailed her. Alava begged
her to enquire of the _Themis_ whether the captain thought he could
get us into Cadiz, and when he roundly said, No, the Admiral asked
whether the _Rayo_, which was almost unharmed, expected to get in
safely. Her captain thought she might and it was agreed that Gardoqui,
who was severely wounded, and several others, should be sent on board
her, among them Don Rafael Malespina. Don Alonso obtained that Marcial
should also be transferred to her in consideration for his age which
greatly aggravated his case, and he sent me, too, in charge of them as
page or sick-nurse, desiring me never to lose sight of them for an
instant till I saw them safe in the hands of their family, at Cadiz,
or even at Vejer. I prepared to obey him, though I tried to persuade
my master that he too ought to come on board the _Rayo_ for greater
safety, but he would not even listen to such a suggestion.
"Fate," he said, "has brought me on board this ship, and in it I will
stay till it shall please God to save us or no. Alava is very bad,
most of the officers are more or less hurt, and I may be able to be of
some service here. I am not one of those who run away from danger; on
the contrary, since the defeat of the 21st I have sought it; I long
for the moment when my presence may prove to be of some use. If you
reach home before me, as I hope you will, tell Paca that a good sailor
is the slave of his country, that I am very glad that I came--that I
do not regret it--on the contrary. Tell her that she is to be glad,
too, when she sees me, and that my comrades would certainly have
thought badly of me if I had not come. How could I have done
otherwise? You--do you not think that I did well to come?"
"Of course, certainly," I replied, anxious to soothe his agitation,
"who doubts it?" For his excitement was so great that the absurdity of
asking the opinion of a page-boy had not even occurred to him.
"I see you are a reasonable fellow," he went on, much comforted by my
admission. "I see you have a noble and patriotic soul. But Paca never
sees anything excepting through her own selfishness, as she has a very
odd temper and has taken it into her head that fleets and guns are
useless inventions, she cannot understand why I.... In short, I know
that she will be furious when she sees me and then--as we have not won
the battle, she will say one thing and another--oh! she will drive me
mad! However, I will not mind her. You--what do you say? Was I not
right to come?"
"Yes, indeed, I think so," I said once more: "You were very right to
come. It shows that you are a brave officer."
"Well then go--go to Paca, go and tell her so, and you will see what
she will say," he went on more excited than ever. "And tell her that I
am safe and sound, and my presence here is indispensable. In point of
fact, I was the principal leader in the rescue of the _Santa Ana_. If
I had not trained those guns--who knows, who knows? You--what do you
think? We may do more yet; if the wind favors us to-morrow morning we
may rescue some more ships. Yes sir, for I have a plan in my head....
We shall see, we shall see. And so good bye, my boy. Be careful of
what you say to Paca."
"I will not forget," said I. "She shall know that if it had not been
for you we should not have recaptured the _Santa Ana_, and that if you
are lucky you may still bring a couple of dozen ships into Cadiz."
"A couple of dozen!--no man; that is a large number. Two ships, I
say--or perhaps three. In short, I am sure I was right to join the
fleet. She will be furious and will drive me mad when I get home
again; but I was right, I say--I am sure I was right." With these
words he left me and I saw him last sitting in a corner of the cabin.
He was praying, but he told his beads with as little display as
possible, for he did not choose to be detected at his devotions. My
master's last speech had convinced me that he had lost his wits and,
seeing him pray, I understood how his enfeebled spirit had struggled
in vain to triumph over the exhaustion of age, and now, beaten in
strife, turned to God for support and consolation. Doña Francisca was
right; for many years my master had been past all service but prayer.
We left the ship according to orders. Don Rafael and Marcial with the
rest of the wounded officers were carefully let down into the boats by
the strong-armed sailors. The violence of the sea made this a long and
difficult business, but at last it was done and two boat loads were
pulled off to the _Rayo_. The passage, though short was really
frightful; but at last, though there were moments when it seemed to me
that we must be swallowed up by the waves, we got alongside of the
_Rayo_ and with great difficulty clambered on board.