He could say no more. I clung passionately to the poor mutilated body. A tremendous sea swept over the bows and I felt the water dash against my shoulder. I shut my eyes and fixed my thoughts on God. Then I lost consciousness and knew no more.
XVI
When, I know not how long after, the idea of life dawned once more on my darkened spirit, I was conscious only of being miserably cold; indeed, this was the only fact that made me aware of my own existence, for I remembered nothing whatever of all that had happened and had not the slightest idea of where I was. When my mind began to get clearer and my senses recovered their functions I found that I was lying on the beach; some men were standing round me and watching me with interest. The first thing I heard was: “Poor little fellow!—he is coming round.”
By degrees I recovered my wits and, with them, my recollection of past events. My first thought was for Marcial, and I believe that the first words I spoke were an enquiry for him. But no one could tell me anything about him; I recognized some of the crew of the Rayo among the men on the beach and asked them where he was; they were all agreed that he must have perished. Then I wanted to know how I had been saved, but they would tell me nothing about that either. They gave me some liquor to drink, I know not what, and carried me to a neighboring hut, where, warmed by a good fire and cared for by an old woman, I soon felt quite well, though still rather weak. Meanwhile I learned that another cutter had put out to reconnoitre the wreck of the Rayo and that of a French ship which had met with the same fate, and that they had picked me up still clinging to Marcial; they found that I could be saved but my companion was dead. I learned too that a number of poor wretches had been drowned in trying to reach the coast. Then I wanted to know what had become of Malespina, but no one knew anything either of him or of his father. I enquired about the Santa Ana which, it appeared, had reached Cádiz in safety, so I determined to set out forthwith to join my master. We were at some distance from Cádiz, on the coast to the north of the Guadalquivir, I wanted therefore to start at once to make so long a journey. I took two days’ rest to recover my strength, and then set out for Sanlúcar, in the company of a sailor who was going the same way. We crossed the river on the morning of the 27th and then continued our walk, keeping along the coast. As my companion was a jolly, friendly fellow the journey was as pleasant as I could expect in the frame of mind I was in, grieved at Marcial’s death and depressed by the scenes I had so lately witnessed. As we walked on we discussed the battle and the shipwrecks that had ensued.
“A very good sailor was that old cripple,” said my companion. “But what possessed him to go to sea again with more than sixty years on his shoulders? It served him right to come to a bad end.”
“He was a brave seaman,” said I, “and had such a passion for fighting that even his infirmities could not keep him quiet when he had made up his mind to join the fleet.”
“Well, I have had enough of it for my part,” said the sailor. “I do not want to see any more fighting at sea. The King pays us badly, and then, if you are maimed or crippled—goodbye to you—I know nothing about you—I never set eyes on you in my life.—Perhaps you don’t believe me when I tell you the King pays his men so badly? But I can tell you this: most of the officers in command of the ships that went into action on the 21st had seen no pay for months. Only last year there was a navy captain at Cádiz who went as waiter in an inn because he had no other way of keeping himself or his children. His friends found him out though he tried to conceal his misery, and they succeeded at last in getting him out of his degrading position. Such things do not happen in any other country in the world; and then we are horrified at finding ourselves beaten by the English! As to the arsenals, I will say nothing about them; they are empty and it is of no use to hope for money from Madrid—not a cuarto comes this way. All the King’s revenues are spent in paying the court officials, and chief among them the Prince of Peace; who gets 40,000
