Short stories.

Late at night, and being racked with cold, left the deck, where he could hardly have me, and also ran the risk of being snatched by a heavy sea, and retired to the camera. My first thought was to get some sleep, but who slept in that night?

In the chamber all was confusion, as in the waist. Those who are well attended to the wounded, and they, at once disturbed by his pain and movement of the vessel, which prevented them from all repose, looking sad offered that his sight could not be delivered to the rest. On one side of the chamber lay, covered with the national flag, the dead officers. Amid such desolation, at the sight of so much pain, there was in those bodies do not know what an enviable: they rested alone on board the Trinidad, and everything was alien to them, fatigue and pain, the shame of defeat and physical ailments. The flag that served as pall seemed to put them famous outside of that sphere of responsibility, decline and despair that we all were. Nothing will affect the danger to the ship, because it was no longer his coffin.

The officers killed were: D. John Cisniega, lieutenant, which was not related to my master, despite the identity of name; D. Joaquin de Salas and D. Juan Matute, also Lieutenant, Army Lt. Col. D. José Graullé, frigate lieutenant and midshipman Uriah Don Antonio de Bobadilla. The sailors and soldiers killed, whose bodies were lying without order and covered batteries, amounted to the sum of four hundred terrible.

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