He had heard of Cape Trafalgar all his life and now he was staring at the flat-topped mountain that ran right down to the edge of the sea, its black bulk looking like a huge ironclad putting out from the coast. Wake knew that the combined French and Spanish fleets had gone into a standard battle line on that afternoon of October 21, 1805, full of confidence that the British fleet was outgunned and outmanned. Horatio Nelson proved them wrong. He didn’t go into a battle line but instead told his ship captains to charge ahead and close to within pistol shot. They decimated the enemy.
The rail was lined with passengers, mostly British, gazing at Trafalgar, their first landfall in Europe. Armchair admirals were pointing out where various ships had been, impressing the ladies and making Wake and Allen laugh.
“It really must have been something that day, Pete. Well over a hundred ships in all,” Wake said in wonder.
“Yes, I think so too. Never been in a large fleet action myself. Just small stuff out in the empire. Still deadly, though.”
“I haven’t either. I spent the war in Florida and the Caribbean. The fleet actions were out on the rivers and up at Mobile and Norfolk.”
Allen nodded. “I don’t regret it. Do you?”
“No, and let’s hope neither of us ever has to see a fleet action in the future.”
“Well said. Say, it looks like we may arrive in time for dinner ashore.”
The city of Cadiz was beginning to show on the starboard bow, low among the coastal mountains. Other ships were all about them, dozens of them—the shipping lanes between the Mediterranean and northern Europe went right past Trafalgar.
Wake’s heart was beating faster as he took it all in. He was now in the Old World. He found it both fascinating and intimidating.
***
Trinidad got a pierside berth right away without having to spend a week using lighters out in the anchorage. They were lucky, Monroe told them with a wink. But then he went on to tell them that the real reason was that the steamship line found it cheaper to bribe the port officials and get the ship offloaded and reloaded relatively quickly rather than wasting time and money and incurring the wrath of the passengers while they waited at anchor.
As a result of this “luck,” passengers could conveniently disembark directly to the dock after the steamer was tied up. The steamer would be there for several days, and Wake and Allen discussed the pros and cons of ranging inland beyond the port. Wake didn’t want to spend the money, since he had a family who depended on his pay. Allen, who was single, tried to overcome Wake’s hesitance by explaining that it wouldn’t cost that much, especially since Wake spoke a little Spanish and would therefore get better prices. He also pointed out that though they could get drunk at the port, they also could seize the opportunity and experience the real Spain if they went inland.
In the end Wake gave in and agreed to go with his friend on a two-day rail trip to Sevilla, home of the fabled Alcázar. They each quickly packed a small bag, shed their uniforms and were dressed in plain clothes by the time Trinidad was docked. Neither had that much civilian attire to wear and two days would stretch it, but both wanted to be free of the restrictions of a uniform. By this time his reservations were gone and Wake was excited to be seeing a land he had studied in school and whose naval officers he had known in the Caribbean.
They wormed their way through the crowd of passengers on the salon deck beseeching the ship’s staff for information about going ashore, finally getting down the gangway and onto the large stone dock. Immediately they were mobbed by cab drivers, pimps, beggars, and tourist guides—all of whom looked shady to Wake. Allen led them through the noisy confusion to a taverna nearby. Inside he found that the owner spoke English and arranged for a quick meal and subsequent transport to the train station. When they finally got on the train, a rickety affair that appeared barely capable but was at least bound for Sevilla, both collapsed on a bench seat laughing. They had been in Spain for only an hour and already were overwhelmed by the chaotic sounds, sights, and smells.
The train was scheduled to arrive in Sevilla in four hours, clanking along through the rolling hill country of southern Spain. Due to frequent inspections of documents by authorities at the various stops, a water leak in the boiler, and a small blockage on the tracks, it got there ten hours later, just before dawn.
As the car swayed precariously from side to side with the screeching wheels and creaking wood frame creating a nearly deafening noise, they met Father Juan Muñosa. He was an English-speaking Jesuit headed for the cathedral at Sevilla after having completed a three-year assignment in Texas. Intrigued by the notion of American and British naval officers visiting Sevilla as tourists, he briefed them by the dim light of a gyrating lantern about the Spanish civil war that was periodically reigniting.
He explained that there were generally two sides—Radical-Liberals who were anti-throne and somewhat anti-Church, and the Carlists, who were conservatives and pro-monarchy and pro-Church. The Liberals, who had kicked out Queen Isabella in ’68 with the help of the conservatives, had become too overbearing, attacking the Church and making life miserable for many of their supporters. The Radicals had even declared October tenth, the birthday of Isabella, formerly celebrated every year, to be a day of reflection, not a national holiday. Taxes, conscription, and a radical oppression of devout Catholics had sparked a guerilla war that never really ended.
This left the conservatives, known as the Carlists for their support of Isabella’s uncle Carlos, as the opposition. The Carlists wanted to put
