“Well, the ship struck; and when the officers from the six vessels that had destroyed her came on board each claimed the honor of receiving the sword of our dead hero. Each exclaimed: ‘He surrendered to me!’—and for a few minutes they eagerly disputed the victory, each for the ship he represented. Then they asked the officer who had taken the command to which of the Englishmen he had struck. ‘To all,’ he replied. ‘The Nepomuceno would never have surrendered to one.’
“The English gazed with sincere emotion on the body of the hapless Churruca, for the fame of his courage and genius was known to them and one of them spoke to this effect: ‘A man of such illustrious qualities ought never to be exposed to the risks of battle; he should be kept to live and serve the interests of science and navigation.’ Then they prepared for dropping him overboard, the English marines and seamen forming a line of honor alongside of the Spaniards; they behaved throughout like noble-minded and magnanimous gentlemen.
“The number of our wounded was very considerable, and they were transferred on board other English or captured ships. It was my lot to be sent to this one which has suffered worse than most; however, they count more on getting her into Gibraltar than any other, now that they have lost the Trinidad which was the finest and most coveted of our ships.”
Thus ended Malespina’s narrative which was attentively listened to as being that of an eyewitness. From what I heard I understood that a tragedy just as fearful as that I myself had seen had been enacted on board every ship of the fleet. “Good God!” said I to myself, “what infinite misery! and all brought about by the obstinacy of a single man!” And child as I was, I remember thinking: “One man, however mad he may be, can never commit such extravagant follies as whole nations sometimes plunge into at the bidding of a hundred wise ones.”
XIV
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 quarterdeck 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 cannonballs 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 quarterdeck stood a man who, I concluded, must be Álava, and though suffering from several wounds he still had strength enough to command this second action, which seemed likely
