'Hold on!' shouted Drinkwater, and the urgency of the cry communicated itself to British and French alike. Then it broke over them, intensely cold, driving the breath from their bodies and tearing them from their handholds. Drinkwater felt the pain in his shoulder muscles as the cold and the strain attacked them. He clung to an eyebolt, holding his breath as the red lights danced before his eyes and his lungs forced him to inhale. He gasped, swallowing water, and then he was in air again and, unbelievably, Bucentaure was moving beneath them. He struggled upright and stared about him. Not fifty yards away the little bluff of Cap San Sebastian rushed past. Beneath its lighthouse crowds of people watched the death throes of the ship. Bucentaure had torn free, carried over the reef at a tangent to the little peninsula of the cape. He looked about the deck. There were less men than there had been. God alone knew how many had been swept into the sea by that monstrous wave.
For twenty minutes the ship drifted to leeward, into slightly calmer water. But every moment she sank lower and, half an hour later, had stuck fast upon the Puercas Reef. Drinkwater looked around him, knowing the long travail was over at last. In the dusk, boats were approaching from a French frigate anchored in the Grande Rade with the remnants of Gravina's escaped detachment. He turned to Spear and Atcherley. They were both shivering from cold and wet.
'Well, gentlemen, it seems we are not to perish, although we have lost your prize.'
Atcherley nodded. 'In the circumstances, sir, it is enough.' The marine officer looked at the closing boats with resignation.
'I suppose we must be made prisoners now,' said Spear dejectedly.
'Yes, I suppose so,' replied Drinkwater shortly, aware of the dreadful ache in his right shoulder and that beneath his feet Bucentaure was going to pieces.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gibraltar
'Were you received by the Governor-General at Cadiz, Captain?' asked Vice-Admiral Collingwood, leaning from his chair to pat the head of a small terrier by his side.
'The Marquis of Solana granted me several interviews, sir, and treated all the British prize crews with the utmost consideration.'
Collingwood nodded. 'I am very pleased to hear it.' Collingwood's broad Northumbrian accent struck a homely note to Drinkwater's ears after his captivity.
'Your decision to return the Spanish wounded and the expedition with which it was done undoubtedly obtained our release, sir. I must make known my personal thanks to you.'
'It is no matter,' Collingwood said wearily. 'Did you obtain any knowledge of the state of the ships still in Cadiz?'
Drinkwater nodded. 'Yes, sir. Admiral Rosily arrived to find his command reduced to a handful of frigates. Those ships which escaped the action off Trafalgar were almost all destroyed in their attempt to retake the prizes on the twenty-third last. Although they got both the Neptuno and Santa Ana back into port, both are very badly damaged. However, it cost them the loss of the Indomptable which went ashore off Rota and was lost with her company and most of the poor fellows off the Bucentaure. The San Francisco parted her cables and drove on the rocks at Santa Catalina. As you know, the Rayo and Monarca were wrecked after their action with Leviathan and Donegal. I believe Gravina's Principe de Asturias to be the only ship of force fit for sea now left in Cadiz.'
'And Gravina? Do you know the state of his health, Captain?'
'Not precisely, sir, but he was severely wounded and it was said that he may yet lose an arm… May I ask the fate of Admiral Villeneuve, sir?'
'Villeneuve? Ah, yes, I see from your report that you made his acquaintance while in Cadiz. He was sent home a prisoner in the Euryalus. What manner of man did you judge him?'
'Personally courageous, sir, if a little lacking in resolve. But he was a perceptive and able seaman, well fitted to judge the weight of opposition against him. I do not believe he was ever in doubt as to the outcome of an action, although he entertained some hopes of eluding you…'
'Eluding us?' Collingwood raised an incredulous eyebrow.
'Yes, sir. And he had devised a method of counter-attacking, for he knew precisely by what method Lord Nelson would make his own attack.'
'How so?'
Drinkwater explained the function of the reserve squadron to bear down upon the spearhead of Nelson's advance.
'A bold plan,' said Collingwood when he had finished, 'and you say Villeneuve had argued the manner of our own attack?'
'Yes, sir. I believe that his fleet might have had more success had the wind been stronger and Gravina been able to hold the weather position.'
'Hmmm. As it was, they put up a stout and gallant defence. Admiral Villeneuve seems a well-bred man and I believe a very good officer. He has nothing in his manner of the offensive vapouring and boasting which we, perhaps too often, attribute to Frenchmen.'
'The Spaniards are less tolerant, sir,' Drinkwater said. 'The French were not well received in Cadiz after the battle. There was bad blood between them before the action. I believe relations were much worse afterwards.'
Collingwood nodded. 'You will have heard that a squadron under Sir Richard Strachan caught Dumanoir's four ships and took them on the third.'
'Then the enemy is utterly beaten,' said Drinkwater, perceiving properly the magnitude of the victory for the first time.
'Carthage is destroyed,' Collingwood said with quiet satisfaction, 'It would have pleased Lord Nelson…' The admiral fell silent.
Drinkwater also sat quietly. He did not wish to intrude upon Collingwood's grief for his dead friend. In the few hours he had been at Gibraltar since the Donegal landed him from Cadiz, Drinkwater had learned of the grim reaction within the British fleet to the death of Nelson. At first men exhausted with battle had sat and wept, but now the sense of purpose with which the little one-armed admiral had inspired his fleet had been replaced. Instead there was a strange, dry-eyed emotion, affecting all ranks, that prevented any levity or triumphant crowing over a beaten foe. This strange reticence affected Drinkwater now, as he sat in the great cabin of HMS Queen, to which Collingwood had shifted his flag, and waited for the new Commander-in-Chief to continue the interview. The little terrier raised its head and licked its master's hand.
'Yes, Captain Drinkwater,' said Collingwood at last, 'we have gained a great victory, but at a terrible cost… terrible!' He sighed and then pulled himself together. 'Perhaps we can go home soon… eh, Captain, home… but not before we've cornered Allemand and blockaded Salcedo in Cartegena, eh? Which brings me to you.' Collingwood paused and referred to some papers on his desk. 'We have lost not only Lord Nelson but several post-captains. I am endeavouring to have the Admiralty make promotions among the most deserving officers; many distinguished themselves. Quilliam, first of the Victory, for instance, and Stockham of the Thunderer…' He fixed his tired eyes upon Drinkwater.
Drinkwater wondered how much of Collingwood's exhaustion was due to his constant battle to placate and oblige people of all stations in his extensive and responsible command. He leaned forward.