Trafalgar: A Tale

by Benito Pérez Galdós

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.