For the Spanish had left behind four ships: San Ysidro, a 3rd Rate of 74 guns; San Nicolas, a 3rd Rate 80, which Nelson had first engaged and boarded; the San Jose and Salvador del Mundo, both 2nd Rates of 112 guns! All defeated by slipshod sail handling and collisions, by horrendous casualties, and extremely poor, and slow, gunnery.

For a time, the flagship of Vice-Admiral Don Jose de Corduba, that four-deck monster the Santissima Trinidad, had struck her colours too, after being totally dis-masted, forcing the Spanish admiral to transfer to a frigate. A last-chance rally 'round 4:00 p.m. though had driven the British off, so the Spaniards could tow their flagship away. The largest warship in the world of 136 guns, the only four-decker anyone would ever build, and she'd almost been taken as prize-by the ferocity of Nelson and his 74-gunned HMS Captain!

"There, there, bad noises done… no more gun stinks," Lewrie told his cat, Toulon, as he carried him in his arms, cosseting and stroking him. The black-and-white ram-cat had spent the day far below decks on the orlop with Aspinall and the Ship's Carpenter, Mr. Reese, bottled up and moaning as gun-thunder echoed and thrummed 'round him. Now he was famished for attention and "pets," mewing plaintively, pawing, kneading "biscuits" for comfort. "Mmmah-whahhJ" he entreated, muzzle under his master's chin.

"Big, timorous baby, yes I know…"

"Signal, sir!" Midshipman Spendlove announced. "Our number from the flag!"

Followed by "What Sort of Lunatic Are You?" I shouldn't wonder, Lewrie told himself with a rueful shrug.

"It's 'Captain Repair on Board,' sir," Spendlove concluded.