But Malespina told him that it had been his misfortune to see Churruca killed and said he would relate every detail. A few officers gathered round him while I, as curious as they could be, was all ears in order not to lose a syllable.
“Even as we came out of Cadiz,” said Malespina, “Churruca had a presentiment of disaster. He had voted against sailing out to sea, for he knew the inferiority of our armament, and he also had little confidence in Villeneuve’s skill and judgment. All his predictions were verified—all, even to his own death: for there is no doubt that he had foreseen it as surely as he did our defeat. On the 19th he had said to Apodaca, his brother-in-law, before going on board: ‘Sooner than surrender my ship, I will blow her up or go to the bottom. That is the duty of every man who serves his king and country.’ And the same day, writing to a friend, he said: ‘If you hear that my ship is taken you will know that I am dead.’
“Indeed it was legible in his sad grave face that he looked forward to nothing but a catastrophe. I believe that this conviction, and the absolute impossibility of avoiding defeat while feeling himself strong enough for his own part, seriously weighed upon his mind, for he was as capable of great deeds as he was of noble thoughts.
“Churruca’s was a religious as well as a superior mind. On the 21st, at eleven in the morning, he called up all the soldiers and crew; he bid them all kneel and said to his chaplain in solemn tones: ‘Fulfil your function, holy Father, and absolve these brave souls that know not what this fight may have in store for them.’ When the priest had pronounced absolution Churruca desired them to stand up, and speaking in friendly but audible tones he added: ‘My children all:—In God’s name I promise heavenly bliss to all who die doing their duty. If one of you shirks it he shall be shot on the spot; or, if he escapes my notice or that of the gallant officers I have the honor to command, his remorse shall pursue him so long as he crawls through the rest of his miserable and dishonored days.’
“This harangue, as eloquent as it was wise, combining the ideas of religion and of military duty, filled every man on board with enthusiasm. Alas for all these brave hearts!—wasted like gold sunk at the bottom of the ocean! Face to face with the English, Churruca watched Villeneuve’s preliminary manœuvres with entire disapproval, and when the signal was given for the whole fleet to turn about—a manœuvre which, as we know, reversed the order of battle—he told his captain in so many words that this blunder had lost us the day. He immediately understood the masterly plan struck out by Nelson of cutting our line through the centre from the rear, and engaging the whole fleet at once, dealing with our ships in separate divisions so that they could not assist each other.
“The Nepomuceno was at the end of the line. The Royal Sovereign and the Santa Ana opened fire and then all the ships in turn came into action. Five English vessels under Collingwood attacked our ship; two, however, passed on and Churruca had only three to deal with.
“We held out bravely against these odds till two in the afternoon, suffering terribly, however, though we dealt double havoc on the foe. Our Admiral seemed to have infused his heroic spirit into the crew and soldiers, and the ship was handled and the broadsides delivered with terrible promptitude and accuracy. The new recruits had learnt their lesson in courage in no more than a couple of hours’ apprenticeship, and our defence struck the English not merely with dismay but with astonishment.
“They were in fact forced to get assistance and bring up no less than six against one. The two ships that had at first sailed past now returned, and the Dreadnought came alongside of us, with not more than half a pistol-shot between her and our stern. You may imagine the fire of these six giants pouring balls and small shot into a vessel of 74 guns. But our ship seemed positively to grow bigger in proportion to the desperate bravery of her defenders. They themselves seemed to grow in strength as their courage mounted, and seeing the dismay we created in an enemy six times as strong, we could have believed ourselves something more than men.
“Churruca, meanwhile, who was the brain of us all, directed the action with gloomy calmness. Knowing that only care and skill could supply the place of strength he economized our fire, trusting entirely to careful aim, and the consequence was that each ball did terrible havoc on the foe. He saw to everything, settled everything, and the shot flew round him and over his head without his ever once changing color even. That frail and delicate man, whose beautiful and melancholy features looked so little fitted to dare such scenes of terror, inspired us all with unheard-of courage, simply by a glance of his eye.
“However, it was not the will of God that he should escape alive from that storm of fire. Seeing that no one could hit one of the enemy’s ships which was battering us with impunity, he went down himself to judge of the line of fire and succeeded in dismasting her. He was returning to the quarter-deck when a cannon ball hit his right leg with such violence as almost to take it off, tearing it across the thigh in the most frightful manner. We rushed to support him and our hero sank into my arms. It was a fearful moment. I still fancy I can feel his heart beating under my hand—a heart which, even at that terrible moment, beat only for his country. He sank rapidly. I saw him make an effort to raise his head, which had fallen forward on his breast; I saw him try to force a smile while his face was as white as death, and he said, in a voice that was scarcely weaker than usual: ‘It is nothing—go on firing.’