The steam launch was the neatest craft of the kind Walter had ever seen, and he had come in contact with a great number while sailing on Lake Erie. It was fifty-five feet long, about twelve feet wide, and as beautiful a boat as a designer could plan. It was manned by eight stalwart men, all well drilled to their duties, and carried in addition six marines, each of whom was a sharpshooter, and also a rapid-firing gun of small caliber.
The launch rode the waves like a thing of life and easily made ten miles an hour. Soon Guantanamo was left behind, and they began to creep up the coast in the direction of Baiquiri. In the bow was a lookout, who had a marine glass which was constantly turned shoreward.
"A flag!" said the lookout, about noontime, and immediately the launch came to a stop.
"Where is it, Parkhurst?" asked the officer in charge of the craft.
"Yonder, just below that stretch of rocks, sir," answered the lookout, and handed over his glasses. The commander of the launch took a long look, then ordered the craft turned to starboard, and they steamed into a little harbor not a great distance from a tiny Cuban settlement. A small boat was thrown out, the commander and two launch hands leaped in, and it at once advanced. Then those on the larger craft saw a dozen men rush from the shelter of some brush, one holding a white and the other a Cuban flag.
The small boat was beached in true nautical style, and the Cubans and Americans entered into a conversation lasting the best part of half an hour. Letters were exchanged, and then the party broke up as rapidly as it had gathered. Although Walter did not know it, the letter delivered by the American commander was for the rebel leader, General Calixto Garcia, while that received in return was for Admiral Sampson and General Shafter. All related to the landing of the army of invasion, now so close at hand.
The conference over, the launch darted on her way, and dinner was served, to the officers and sharpshooters first, and then to the crew and Walter. "Oh, we're doing some fine work along this coast," said one of the crew to the youth, while eating. "Those Dons will be greatly astonished some day—when our boys in blue fall on 'em."
It was night before theBrooklyncame into view, looking exactly as she had when Walter had so unceremoniously left her. How the youth's heart beat at the sight of his ship! How would those on board receive him, and what would they say when his story was told?
"Russell!" exclaimed the officer of the deck, when he came up over the side. "Why, we all thought you had fallen overboard and been drowned."
"I came pretty near being drowned," was the reply. "You can't imagine, sir, how glad I am to get back!"
"But where have you been?"
"I've been on theMerrimac, among the Cubans and the Spaniards, and in a Spanish prison, besides being down to Guantanamo Bay with the marines from thePanther, sir."
"Great Scott, boy, do you expect me to believe all that!" burst out the officer, in sheer astonishment.
"As you will, sir; it's true, though."
"But—but—let me see; you said you were on theMerrimac?"
"Yes, sir."
"And on shore among the Cubans, and then among the enemy?"
"Yes, sir."
"And then among the marines at Guantanamo Bay?"
"Exactly, sir. I escaped from a Spanish prison, and was lucky enough to fall in with the marines by accident. I fought with them too, sir."
"Russell, after you disappeared Surgeon Barker said you had been sick—had been troubled with some sort of fever in your head. Don't you believe you went out of your head entirely, and imagined all this?"
"No, sir."
"Well, I reckon that's the truth of the matter, and the best thing you can do is to turn yourself over to the surgeon again for further treatment. How is your head?" And the officer of the deck placed his hand on Walter's forehead. "Ah, rather hot, as I thought. You had better go to bed." And he turned away.
"I don't think I'll go to bed just yet," murmured Walter, and lost no time in reaching the berth deck. Here he came up behind Si and Caleb playing one of their favorite games of checkers, while Paul stood looking on.
"Crown that man," Caleb was saying, when he chanced to glance up, "Walter! or is it a ghost?" he fairly yelled, and leaped up, scattering board and men in all directions. "Walter, where on earth did you come from?" And he reached out his hand.
"It is Walter, back from the grave!" ejaculated Si, and grasped the other hand, while Paul caught the youth by the neck.
"We thought you were drowned!" said all three, simultaneously.
"They said you had gone out of your mind, and committed suicide," added Paul.
"Well, I didn't commit suicide, and I'm as well as ever," was the merry return. "But—but—I don't believe you'll think I'm telling the truth when I give you my story."
"That depends on what sort of a yarn you spin," returned Caleb, dryly. "Where have you been—sinking Cervera's fleet single-handed?"
"Not quite, but I've been pretty close to the fleet, and pretty close to the Spaniards." And dropping on a box Walter told his story, interrupted every few minutes by some newcomer who advanced to shake him by the hand, for since joining them he had made many friends among the jackies and petty officers.
"I don't wonder the officer of the deck wouldn't believe you, lad," remarked Caleb, when he had finished. "It's a big yarn; beats Jonah and the whale all to pieces—not but whatthat'sa true story, seeing as how it's in the Good Book. You are certain you wasn't taken down with the fever while you were on shore?"
"Not enough to lose my mind."
"I believe Walter," put in Si. "But if I were you I wouldn't tell this tale to the others," he added in a lower tone. "They'd be jealous of you, you know."
"I don't care, I'm telling the simple truth," answered Walter, stoutly.
That evening word was passed to him to report at the captain's cabin, and he went, just as soon as he could slip on his best suit of clothing, wash up, and comb his hair, for on board of every man-o'-war a visit to "headquarters" is a big thing to any of the crew, and a "sprucing up" is, consequently, indispensable.
This was the first time Walter had visited the cabin of theBrooklyn, and the elegant surroundings immediately caught his eye. But in days gone by, before he had been compelled to live with the miserly Job Dowling, he had been used to a home furnished just as handsomely, and therefore the surroundings did not overawe him.
There was a small table in the centre of the cabin, at one end of which sat Commodore Schley, looking over a map of the Cuban coast. At the other end of the table sat Captain Cook, the firm and strict, yet well-beloved commander of the flagship.
"You sent for me, sir," said Walter, as he came in, "toed the mark," and saluted.
"You are Walter Russell?" asked Captain Cook, while Commodore Schley dropped the map and looked on with interest.
"Yes, sir."
"You have been absent from the ship ever since June the second, or third?"
"Yes, sir. But I couldn't help it. I was sick and fell overboard,—and I've had a whole lot of adventures since."
"So the officer of the deck tells me," answered the captain, dryly. He looked at the commander of the squadron. "Commodore Schley, would you like to ask Russell any questions?"
At this the commodore smiled and pulled meditatively at the little goatee he wore. "Russell, you can tell us your story in detail. But do not take over ten minutes," he said, and covered his eyes with his hands, as if in deep thought—one of his favorite attitudes.
Standing as before and still "toeing the mark," Walter told his story again, simply but forcefully. Whether his hearers were listening or not he could not tell, for not a word was said until he had finished.
Then, however, came a flood of questions concerning the spot at which he had landed after leaving theMerrimac, the names of the various Cuban and Spanish leaders that he had encountered, and the names of the marines with which he had fought. He was also questioned about the trails and their conditions.
"Could loaded wagons get over them, in your estimation?" asked Commodore Schley.
"Not very well, sir. In one place I saw an ox-team with a load of fruit, and the load was in danger of being dumped every minute. Some of the paths are not fit for a pack-mule to use."
"What of the Cubans you met? Were they well armed?"
"A few of them had guns, but most of them had nothing but their machetes, sir. Ammunition, I was told, was very scarce."
"What of food?"
"That was scarce, too." And Walter smiled. "A good eater would starve to death on what both the Spaniards and the Cubans have to offer."
"Do the Spaniards expect an army of invasion—that is, did you hear any talk on the subject?"
"I caught a few words, sir. I cannot speak Spanish myself."
Commodore Schley mused for a moment. "That is all," he said, addressing Captain Cook. "The boy has certainly had some remarkable adventures. He is better off than poor Lieutenant Hobson."
"That's true," responded the commander of theBrooklyn. He turned to Walter. "You can go, Russell; if we want you again, we will send for you."
"Yes, sir," was the youth's reply, and, saluting, he turned and left the cabin. The interview had been a very formal one, but he was proud to think that he had come into personal contact with his gallant captain and his equally gallant commodore.
When Walter returned to his friends he was immediately surrounded and asked what had happened in the cabin. "Did the commodore slap you on the back and call you a bully boy?" queried Si.
"Well, hardly," answered Walter, with a quiet smile. "They plied me with questions and said I had had some remarkable adventures; that's all."
"Didn't praise you?" queried Caleb.
"No."
"Didn't rush up and shake hands even?" put in Paul.
"Not at all. I saluted and toed the mark, and kept toeing it until I left."
At this Paul's face fell. "Why, I thought you would be right in it, Walter," he said.
"I guess you've been reading some dime and half-dime colored-cover novels, Paul. I imagine that is the way they do in such books."
"That's it. Why, I've got a story about 'Dewey's Boy Bodyguard.' The hero in that overheard a plot against Dewey, and Dewey clasped him to his breast and made him a captain of marines."
"Indeed! And you believe such a yarn?"
"Dewey couldn't make the boy a captain of marines, not if he was an admiral twice over," put in Caleb. "Those yarns are pure trash. Paul, you had better study some good book on gunnery, and try to become a gun captain."
"I thought the story was slightly overdrawn," said Paul, growing red in the face. "There is another about the 'Boy Hero of Havana,' who saves General Lee's life at the time the Americans are getting out of Havana. I suppose that is untrue, too."
"To be sure, Paul. General Lee was in no great danger at that time. Of course some of the sensational papers had to make the most of it, and they reported that he was travelling around with a six-shooter in his pocket, and a detective dogging his footsteps. As a matter of fact he walked around with nothing but a white cotton umbrella, to keep the sun off."
"I'll burn the whole batch of colored stuff up," cried the apprentice; and he did, at the big galley fire. No one on board ever caught him reading dime and half-dime novels again.
Although the marines had established themselves fairly well at and near Guantanamo, the Spaniards were determined to drive them off, and to hold this landing and a number of others, several of the warships were kept busy bombarding the enemy's strongholds and in firing with Gatling guns at the Spanish soldiers whenever they put into appearance along the coast.
The day after Walter came on board theBrooklyn, which remained on the blockade off Santiago Bay, theTexas,Marblehead, andSuwaneeran into Guantanamo Bay and attacked the fort at Caimanera, a small village not far from Guantanamo. The attack began at two o'clock in the afternoon, and in less than two hours the fort was in ruins, and those who had garrisoned it were fleeing inland for their lives.
Caimanera was thus taken, but to hold it was as difficult as it was to hold Guantanamo. Many of the people were in sympathy with the Spanish government, and some went so far as to soak the streets and some of the houses with coal oil that the town might be burned down at a minute's notice.
While this was going on, Admiral Sampson determined to make another attack on the outer defences of Santiago Harbor, only sparing Morro Castle, in which it was understood that Lieutenant Hobson and his men were confined. It was weary waiting for the transports to arrive with the army, and something must be done to tear down the numerous fortifications the Spaniards were constructing.
The orders for the bombardment were issued on Wednesday evening; and at once a subdued but excited talk took place among the various crews of the blockading squadrons, which now numbered the following ships, along with a few others of lesser importance:——
First squadron, under the direct command of Admiral Sampson, the flagshipNew York, battleshipsIowaandOregon, protected cruiserNew Orleans, gunboatMayflower, torpedo boatPorter, and the sprightlyScorpion. The second squadron, under Commodore Schley, embraced the flagshipBrooklyn, battleshipsMassachusettsandTexas, and theMarbleheadandVixen. Other vessels, such as theIndiana,Dolphin, andSuwanee, were kept busy plying between the blockading fleet and Guantanamo Bay and surroundings.
It was half-past three in the morning when the men were called up and served with coffee. Among the first on hand was Walter. "Now for a first real use of our gun," he said to Si. "I've been aching for this ever since I enlisted."
Before four o'clock came the call to quarters, and the men ran to their various stations, and stripped for action, most of them wearing little more than an undershirt and a pair of trousers. The weather was frightfully hot, and the interior of the cruiser was little better than a bake-oven. Possibly this was one reason why the thoughtful admiral planned the attack for so early in the day.
Silently the warships steamed for the mouth of the harbor, and took up their various positions in a grand semicircle, the heavy fighting ships in the centre, and the torpedo boats on the ends, ready to take care of any infantry fire, should the Spaniards hurry their soldiers to the shore. The big ships kept at a distance of three thousand yards—not quite two miles.
"We're a long way off," observed Walter, as he assisted in loading the "Polly," as Caleb had named his gun.
"Twenty-nine hundred yards!" came the report from the range-finder; and the crew went to work to elevate the gun accordingly. In the meantime, the magazines had been opened, the ammunition hoists set in motion, and powder, shot, and shell were delivered everywhere from barbette to fighting-top.
"We're near enough to blow 'em sky-high if we strike 'em right," muttered the old gunner, who, with the smell of powder in the air, was in his element. "How about that hose, Stuben?" he went on to the hose-man.
"Dot hose it's all right alretty," answered Carl Stuben, a round-faced German, who was an American citizen, even though he did speak the language but brokenly. Heretofore Walter had had but little to do with the man, yet they got along very well together.
It was too dark to begin firing, and for half an hour the ships lay quiet, every man ready to obey a command the instant it was given. This was a nerve-trying test for Walter, who wondered how the thing would sound when all of the ships began firing.
Slowly it grew lighter, and the men became more anxious. The guns were trained on the shore batteries to the west of the harbor entrance, while other ships covered the batteries on the east.
Boom! It was a broadside from theNew York, directed against the battery below El Morro. Instantly every other warship present responded in a deafening crash and a shock to be heard many miles away. At once the air became filled with the smoke, and on shore the dirt and masonry of the batteries were seen to fly in all directions.
"Oh, my!" gasped Walter, as the gun before him belched forth its mass of flame and smoke. "What a noise! Did—did we hit anything?"
"I hope we did," answered Steve Colton, the second gun captain, laconically; and then came the order to unlock the breech of the gun. As the breech fell back a cloud of smoke swirled into the sponson hood, impregnated with the odor of saltpetre, which caused Walter and several of the others to cough violently. "Never mind; you'll get used to it before you die," went on Colton.
The gun being opened, Carl Stuben caught up his hose-pipe, turned on the nozzle and sent a stream of cold water through the gun, to both clean and cool the interior. By the time this was accomplished the hoist had another shell ready, and this was shoved in by the mechanical rammer. Brown prismatic powder followed, with a small quantity of black prismatic powder behind it, as a primer. Then the breech-block was swung into position and locked again, and the electrical connections were adjusted.
All this had been done almost in the time it takes to tell it, but the next shot was not discharged at once, since the various gunners had strict orders to take their time and make every discharge count. It was not like a pitched battle where every moment counted.
But though the gunners took their time, there were so many ships and so many guns that the firing was continuous—a spiteful cracking of rapid-firing guns, mingled with the thunder-claps of the gigantic thirteen-inch guns and the solid banging of the eight-inch and eight and ten pounders.
"This is war and no mistake," remarked Walter. In ten minutes his undershirt had become as black as a stove-cloth, and he himself looked almost like a negro. In the meantime the perspiration was streaming from every pore of his body.
"War!" shouted Caleb. "Why, lad, this is nothing. If only Cervera would come out, then you would see some fun."
The order had been passed to lessen the charges in the big guns and elevate them more, in order to secure a plunging fire. The effect of this change in tactics was soon apparent, as shot and shell began to drop directly into the Spanish strongholds or behind them. Soon one of the batteries was completely silenced, and a cheer went up from the warship nearest to it.
It must not be imagined that the Spaniards took this attack quietly. No sooner had the American warships opened than they returned the fire with equal fierceness. But although at an elevation, and using guns which were stationary, their aim was wild, and only a few of their shots took effect.
As one battery after another was silenced, several of the warships elevated their guns still more and put in large charges of powder, and, as a result, one shell was carried far up the harbor to where theVizcayalay and burst directly over her deck, doing considerable damage and injuring several sailors and an under-officer.
Presently a terrific explosion rent the air. One of the shots from theTexashad landed in a powder magazine and sent it skyward. The spectacle thus caused was magnificent, and for a moment all in the squadrons watched the timbers, rocks, and dirt as they sailed through the air, some coming down inland and some falling with loud splashes into the sea.
"That's a shot worth making!" cried Caleb. "Hurrah for the man as trained that gun!"
And the cheer was given with a will.
"Maybe I ain't hot and tired, Walter. I could sleep standing up and go in an ice-house and do it."
It was Si who spoke, as he was washing himself in a bucket of water set on the gun-track. The water had been fresh when Si began his ablutions and was now dirty, but the Yankee youth was still far from clean, for gun smoke and gun dirt have a disagreeable knack of getting into the pores of one's skin.
The bombardment had lasted over an hour and every land battery had been silenced. Yet, as the American ships drew away, one or two guns spat out spitefully after them.
"You'll feel all right in an hour or two, Si," answered Walter. "Oh, but wasn't it glorious! I could stand such bombarding for a week. What a sight it was when that powder magazine went up."
"Such a bombardment costs Uncle Sam a good many thousand dollars," put in Caleb, leaving the gun to get a drink of water from the tub standing by. "A week of it would put a big hole in his pocket, large as it is."
"I presume that is so, Walton. But say, why don't we run in and finish things, now we have knocked the batteries out?"
"Better ask the admiral, lad; he's the one who knows. Remember, we didn't touch Morro Castle nor that fortification on Smith Cay,—and those Spanish warships are somewhere around the bend, out of sight. I reckon the time ain't quite ripe for running in yet. If we run in now and do up that Spanish fleet, we haven't men enough to take Santiago itself. We must wait until Shafter arrives with his army."
"But why did we go at them at all for, then?"
"To keep 'em from becoming too well fortified. Now they'll have their hands full for several days repairing damages, and in the meantime our army may arrive—at least, I hope it does."
Si had been right about the heat. Even in the United States we had a spell of uncommonly hot weather, and down here, under the tropical sun, it was "sizzling," as Walter expressed it. During the noon hour no one thought of going on deck unless it was absolutely necessary. Refreshments of any kind were at a premium, and when a society known as the Colonial Dames sent on a number of boxes of oranges and lemons for distribution, the jackies could hardly contain themselves for joy. Cuban sugar was easily obtained, and lemonade and orangeade became the order of the hour.
Having been away on shore, Walter had not felt the monotony on shipboard so much, but those who had been on the blockade for nearly three weeks felt fearfully bored, especially as reading matter was scarce. Every scrap of a newspaper was saved and passed around, and poor Paul was collared and tossed up in a canvas hammock for having burnt the penny-dreadfuls previously mentioned.
"Mail! mail! mail!" such was the welcome cry which rang through theBrooklyn, several days after the bombardment just described. The news caused a commotion, and all who could rushed on deck and peered eagerly over the side as several heavy mail sacks were hoisted on board. Hardly anybody could wait for the mail to be distributed.
"Three letters for me, and a bundle of newspapers!" cried Walter, joyfully. "Here's luck and no mistake." He studied the various post-marks for a moment. "One from Boston, in my uncle's handwriting; one from Tampa, Florida, and that's from Ben; and one from—yes—Hong Kong, China, and that must be from dear old Larry. Now which shall I read first? Oh, I must hear from Larry first." And dropping on deck he tore open the letter from the other side of the world and perused it eagerly.
"Well, I never!" came from him, a few minutes later. "Si, Walton, listen to this! My brother Larry was with Dewey at Manila and helped whip the Dons! Oh, but Larry's the boy, after all! Just read the letter for yourselves." And he tossed it over.
Ben's letter came next, a rather short communication, for Ben had never been much of a boy to write.
"I am high private in the best company of the Seventy-first regiment of New York," he wrote. "We are down here at Lakeland, near Tampa, getting into condition to invade Cuba. At present things are slow and awfully hot, but we look for livelier times ahead and that keeps up our spirits. My chum, Gilbert Pennington, has joined Theodore Roosevelt's Rough Riders. I hope we go to Cuba together."I suppose you are quite a jack tar by this time and walk with a regular swagger. Larry is now a bigger fellow than either of us, for he was on theOlympia, Dewey's flagship, at the battle of Manila Bay. He wrote me all about it and said he would write to you, too, so I suppose you already have the letter."Uncle Job seems to be coming around to his senses—with giving both you and me permission to take care of ourselves. If I were you, I would not let up on him about going to Boston. Those heirlooms ought to be located, and he is the man who must push the work, even if it does cost a few dollars. I want father's watch, and I am sure you and Larry want the wedding rings."I have made many friends while in the army, but I also have two enemies, Gerald Holgait and Dwight Montgomery, and I am afraid that sooner or later they will try to play me some mean trick. However, I will be on my guard against them. Good-by and good luck to you."
"I am high private in the best company of the Seventy-first regiment of New York," he wrote. "We are down here at Lakeland, near Tampa, getting into condition to invade Cuba. At present things are slow and awfully hot, but we look for livelier times ahead and that keeps up our spirits. My chum, Gilbert Pennington, has joined Theodore Roosevelt's Rough Riders. I hope we go to Cuba together.
"I suppose you are quite a jack tar by this time and walk with a regular swagger. Larry is now a bigger fellow than either of us, for he was on theOlympia, Dewey's flagship, at the battle of Manila Bay. He wrote me all about it and said he would write to you, too, so I suppose you already have the letter.
"Uncle Job seems to be coming around to his senses—with giving both you and me permission to take care of ourselves. If I were you, I would not let up on him about going to Boston. Those heirlooms ought to be located, and he is the man who must push the work, even if it does cost a few dollars. I want father's watch, and I am sure you and Larry want the wedding rings.
"I have made many friends while in the army, but I also have two enemies, Gerald Holgait and Dwight Montgomery, and I am afraid that sooner or later they will try to play me some mean trick. However, I will be on my guard against them. Good-by and good luck to you."
"I hope Ben does come down," mused Walter. "And if he has any enemies of the Jim Haskett sort he had better look out." And then he turned to the communication from Job Dowling.
"My dearest nephew," began the guardian, and the term of address made Walter smile. "Your letter was a big surprise to me, and I ain't over it yet. That you should meet that thief gets me, and I don't understand it nohow. However, I packed my valise (my new one that cost me a dollar thirty-five, although Wilson says it is worth the money) and the next day I took the cars for Boston on a ticket I got at cut rates, although it was tolerably dear even at that. When I got to Boston I introduced myself to Mr. Phil Newell, the one-legged man you used to work for, and he took me to police headquarters, and now I am stopping here at a boarding-house on Hammond Street. The police sent a detective to me, and he is going to find them heirlooms and that rascal of a Deck Mumpers, or whatever his name is, or know the reason why. If he finds the things, I'm to give him two hundred dollars in cash; if he don't, I pay his travelling expenses and no more. I wouldn't make such a bargain, but I know all you boys want the things back and I can't do the running after the thief. It's a waste of money, but it can't be helped. I want to show you and Ben and Larry that your uncle means well in spite of what you think of him."Newell says for me to tell you he will send you a bundle of newspapers. He says he knows how lonely life on board of a man-of-war gets sometimes. I hope you don't get hurt, if you get into a fight down in Cuba. Keep out of the sun, and write when you can, care of Newell's news-stand—for I stop there every day, after the detective's report. The detective hopes to get the things back before this week is out."Your loving uncle,"Job Dowling."
"My dearest nephew," began the guardian, and the term of address made Walter smile. "Your letter was a big surprise to me, and I ain't over it yet. That you should meet that thief gets me, and I don't understand it nohow. However, I packed my valise (my new one that cost me a dollar thirty-five, although Wilson says it is worth the money) and the next day I took the cars for Boston on a ticket I got at cut rates, although it was tolerably dear even at that. When I got to Boston I introduced myself to Mr. Phil Newell, the one-legged man you used to work for, and he took me to police headquarters, and now I am stopping here at a boarding-house on Hammond Street. The police sent a detective to me, and he is going to find them heirlooms and that rascal of a Deck Mumpers, or whatever his name is, or know the reason why. If he finds the things, I'm to give him two hundred dollars in cash; if he don't, I pay his travelling expenses and no more. I wouldn't make such a bargain, but I know all you boys want the things back and I can't do the running after the thief. It's a waste of money, but it can't be helped. I want to show you and Ben and Larry that your uncle means well in spite of what you think of him.
"Newell says for me to tell you he will send you a bundle of newspapers. He says he knows how lonely life on board of a man-of-war gets sometimes. I hope you don't get hurt, if you get into a fight down in Cuba. Keep out of the sun, and write when you can, care of Newell's news-stand—for I stop there every day, after the detective's report. The detective hopes to get the things back before this week is out.
"Your loving uncle,
"Job Dowling."
The letter was a mere scrawl, horribly mis-spelled, and it took Walter fully quarter of an hour to decipher it. "Well, Uncle Job is turning over a new leaf," he thought, as he put it away. "I only hope that detective is all right, and don't hoodwink him into paying over his money for nothing. I reckon the letters Ben and I wrote him scared him pretty well, otherwise he wouldn't agree to pay two hundred dollars if the heirlooms are recovered."
Caleb had read Larry's letter with much interest. One portion of it, relating to the narrow escape from disaster during the battle, interested him not a little.
"Your brother had a close shave," he said. "To fire a gun when the breech is unlocked is a fearful thing."
"I don't see how it could happen on board of such a ship as theBrooklyn," answered Walter. "Everything works like clockwork here."
"You don't know how a thing would work in the middle of a battle, lad. Men get excited, and sometimes the jarring of the shots breaks the electric connections. More than likely that gunner was firing his piece by hand at the time. I've done the same, when the electric connection gave out. Last month I heard from a friend of mine, a gunner on theNew Orleans, that used to be a Brazilian warship. They couldn't get their electric-firing apparatus into shape nohow, and had to do everything by hand,—and that is the time accidents occur. But somebody ought to have been watching that breech-block—your brother or somebody else." And then Caleb turned away to his duties.
Larry had written that he was now in Hong Kong, and did not know whether he would go back to Dewey's squadron, or return to the United States. "You'll hear from me again soon, one way or another," he added in a postscript.
For a day or two, all of Walter's spare time was spent over the newspapers his former employer had been kind enough to send him, but drills and other duties must not be neglected, and now that the army of invasion was hourly expected, discipline on the warships became more rigid than ever.
At last, one clear morning, a cry echoed and reëchoed from one warship to another:—
"The transports are in sight! General Shafter's army has arrived!"
What a shouting, cheering, and yelling broke loose! Jackies flew to the deck, and up the military masts, and all other points of vantage. Yes, the news was true, over thirty transports were coming up from the direction of Guantanamo Bay, having rounded Cape Maysi some hours previously. The army of invasion had really arrived, nearly seventeen thousand strong. As that vast fleet came up, convoyed by fourteen warships, it presented a most imposing appearance, and guns boomed loudly to welcome it.
"Is the Seventy-first on board?" was Walter's question; and when at last he heard that it was, his heart beat quickly. "Ben must be there!" he thought. And Benwasthere, and thinking of Walter at the same time.
"Santiago is doomed now," said Caleb, as he surveyed the scene.
"That's so," put in Si, tossing up his cap. "And old Cervera must either come out and fight, or haul down his colors. Oh, but won't we just smash things when that army is landed!"
And Walter agreed with both of them.
As soon as it could be arranged, the army was landed at Baiquiri, Siboney, and other points, Guantanamo being reserved as a coaling station for the warships. After the first landing, a strong detachment of regulars and Rough Riders was thrown out, and then followed the battles of La Guasima, San Juan, and El Caney, described in detail in the previous volume of this series. The soldier boys fought bravely, and Ben Russell and his chum, Gilbert Pennington, were well to the front, as we know.
The landing of the troops was no easy matter, for the surf ran high, and it was feared that the Spaniard might make a heavy onslaught at any instant. All the small boats of the warships were called into use, to land men and army stores, and while this work was in progress, many of the ships began to bombard various points along the coast, for the purpose of confusing the enemy, so that they would not realize the truth of what was taking place. The ruse succeeded, and during the landing the Spaniards remained comparatively quiet, hardly knowing in what direction to turn, or what to do, since the Americans were covering over a hundred miles of rugged coast-line.
The debarkation at an end, theBrooklynreturned to her position on the blockade. All hands knew that something important would soon happen, and, consequently, everybody slept thenceforth "with one eye open." "Cervera must not be allowed to escape, night or day, under any circumstances," was the order passed, and it was to be obeyed to the letter.
"Now that we are so anxious to catch Admiral Cervera and smash his ships, I should like to know something about the man and his command," remarked Walter, a few days after the army had landed. He addressed George Ellis, who, in his quiet, gentlemanly way had taken a liking to the youth.
The two were seated in the shadow of one of the forward guns, taking it easy, for the morning drills were over and it yet lacked half an hour to mess time. Slowly theBrooklynrose and sank on the waves of the Caribbean Sea, four miles outside of Santiago Bay. This was the usual distance in the daytime. At night, despite the danger of an attack by a torpedo destroyer, the warships came in much closer, and the glare of the searchlights never left Morro Castle or the narrow harbor entrance.
"I know very little about Admiral Cervera excepting that he has been in the Spanish navy for many years and is said to be one of the finest gentlemen that ever trod the deck of a ship. Why he ever allowed himself to be bottled up like this is more than I can understand. I imagine, though, that he was on his way to Havana, to break the blockade there, when he heard that Admiral Sampson was coming for him one way and our commodore the other, and he concluded that the best thing he could do would be to scoot into the bay yonder and save himself and possibly Santiago. They say he carried a lot of guns and ammunition for the Spanish army. He can distribute those as well at Santiago as he can at Havana, for I understand General Toral here is as hard up as Blanco is at the other city."
"And what of the ships under him? They say he has six. Do you know how big they are?" went on Walter.
"He has four warships and two torpedo destroyers," answered the chief yeoman. "I got that straight from Lieutenant Blue, who went ashore for Admiral Sampson, made a detour of seventy miles, and from the top of a high hill saw the ships in the harbor through his powerful glasses."
"Somebody said all the big ships were armored cruisers."
"That is true, and three of them, theVizcaya, theAlmirante Oquendo, and theMaria Teresa, are sister ships, of seven thousand tons each. Each is about three hundred and sixty feet long and can speed at eighteen to nineteen knots an hour. They carry about five hundred men each, and every one has a main battery of two 11-inch Hontoria and ten 5.5-inch Hontoria guns, with a secondary battery of eight 6-pounders, ten 1-pounders, several machine guns; and they also carry six torpedo tubes each."
"And what of the fourth cruiser?"
"She is theCristobal Colon, the fastest of the lot, even though her displacement is two hundred tons short of the others. They say she can run eighteen knots an hour with ease and twenty knots if she is put to it. Her armor belt is six inches thick, alongside of twelve inches on the other cruisers. She also carries about five hundred men, and she has a main battery of two 10-inch and five 6-inch guns, and a secondary battery of rapid-firing rifles, 6 and 10 pounders and two Maxim guns. Her torpedo tubes number four."
"Then they are no small fry to battle with," observed Walter. "When their batteries break loose they ought to do some talking."
"They will talk. We mustn't expect any walkover, if Cervera ever comes out of his hole."
"And what of the two torpedo boats?"
"They are sister ships, thePlutonandFuror, each of three hundred and eighty tons displacement. They say that each has a speed of twenty-seven knots an hour, and both are equipped with the latest appliances for such crafts, carrying regular, automatic, and rapid-fire guns, and also fourteen-inch Schwartzkopff torpedo tubes."
"I should say they would be good things to keep out of the way of," exclaimed Walter.
"We've got our eyes wide open for them, lad. To be sure, one or another of them may play us some dirty trick of a dark night—but that is one of the risks to be taken in war times," concluded the chief yeoman, as a petty officer called him away.
All on board the warships waited eagerly for news from the army of invasion. It was known that the Rough Riders had had a severe skirmish at La Guasima, but that was all, so far as the jackies went. Possibly the officers knew more, but if so, they kept the knowledge to themselves.
"Another dull week will come to an end to-morrow," remarked Si, as he and Walter were on their way to the mess table. "Oh, but I'm sick of laying around looking at old Morro. If only those ships would come out, we'd sink them all in less than two hours; I feel sure of it."
Si's growl was becoming a universal one, even the officers grumbling a good deal. All wanted to fight Cervera's fleet, and the more the Spanish admiral kept himself hidden, the more angry did they become. Many almost begged to have their ships forced into the harbor, no matter what the consequences—they stating that anything would be better than this everlasting waiting. The blockade had now lasted five long weeks.
In the meantime, matters elsewhere had not been idle. Chagrined over Dewey's victory at Manila, Spain resolved to send another fleet to the Philippines by way of the Suez Canal, taking, for this purpose, almost all the warships left in her home waters. As soon as this was brought to light, our own naval board decided to send an American fleet to the coast of Spain, and Commodore Watson was placed in command of the expedition. But before the American warships could sail, the Spanish fleet, having gone through the Suez Canal, turned back for home, and the American warships remained where they were, and Dewey was left unmolested at Manila, so far as Spanish operations were concerned, although the insurgents under General Aguinaldo soon began to give him a great deal of trouble.
Saturday morning dawned misty but hot. From a great distance could be heard the rattle of musketry, showing that the army of invasion was slowly but surely advancing.
"They're in it all right enough—" began Si, when there came a sudden call to quarters, and at the same time theBrooklyn'sengines began to move and she headed for Santiago Bay. "Hullo, what does this mean?"
"Perhaps we are going to force an entrance!" ejaculated Walter. "Hurrah, if we do!"
"Better not count your chickens before they are hatched," remarked Caleb, who had just rolled from his hammock.
They soon learned the truth of the movement. The shore batteries were again to be bombarded, and this time not even Morro Castle was to be spared, it having been ascertained that Hobson and his men had been removed to safe quarters.
"Down with old Morro; we'll show the Dons a thing or two!" was the cry, and off rushed the men to their guns, their eyes brighter than they had been for many a day, for Morro Castle had been an eyesore to all.
The flagshipNew Yorkwas leading the fleet, which, as before, soon ranged up in a semicircle. Inside of five minutes every vessel had her station.
"Cast loose and provide!"
The now familiar cry was scarcely needed, for the jackies were already at work, stripped, as before, of all their superfluous clothing. Shot and powder were quickly handled, and the flagship began the firing, which immediately broke forth in all its fury, deafening everybody and sending forth a great cloud of smoke which hung over the warships like a pall.
"Morro's flag is down!" came the shout. It was true. A gunner on the nobleOregonhad taken careful aim and cut the flagstaff in two. The falling of the Spanish emblem was greeted with a wild cheer. At once the Spaniards tried to put another flag up, but it was some time ere they succeeded, and then it was a tiny affair, hardly visible excepting with a glass.
"We'll try for that battery yonder!" exclaimed Caleb, during the height of the bombardment. "I think those fellows have been firing this way ever since they started."
He had scarcely spoken when bang! something hit the armor plate directly under their gun, hurling the gunner, Walter, and several others back by the shock.
"They've struck us, but the shot didn't pierce our armor," remarked Caleb, calmly, as he got up. "All right, you villains, here's the compliment returned!" And he made his preparations with care.
The shot following was the best they had yet placed. It struck into a battery on the west shore of the harbor entrance, ploughed up the foundation of a six-pound gun, and sent the piece flying high into the air.
"My, but that was immense!" cried Walter, while Si and the others cheered wildly. "Give them another!"
And they did give the battery another, and then a dozen more, until at last the place was silenced, showing that what was left of the gunners had fled.
At half-past seven came the order to cease firing, but it was fully twenty minutes later before the last of the warships' guns were discharged. By this time not only the batteries but also old Morro were filled with gaping holes. It is more than likely that if the fleet had sought to enter the harbor at this time it could have done so with comparative ease.
The work at the gun had been very hot, and as soon as they were able to do so, Walter and Si scurried to the upper deck to get a bit of fresh air.
"It fairly stews the fat out of a fellow," grumbled Si, running the perspiration from his forehead with his forefinger. "I'll bet I'm ten pounds lighter than before this blockade began."
"Never mind; it's one of the fortunes of war—" began Walter, when of a sudden a strange whir and a singing sound filled the air. It was a shell, fired from Morro Castle, just as theBrooklynwas turning away.
"Look out!" yelled Si, and dropped down, but the words were still on his lips when the shell exploded, sending the fragments flying in all directions. Both boys were struck, and with a groan Walter fell senseless to the deck.
"Is he dead, surgeon?"
"Oh, doctor, he'll live—say he'll live!"
Caleb and Si had followed the senseless form of Walter to the sick bay of the warship, the Yankee youth with the blood streaming from a deep cut in his left cheek. Both were in distress for fear their comrade was seriously injured.
"Yes, he'll live, but he has had a narrow escape," was the reply of the medical man in charge of the case. "The bit of shell scraped his left temple, as you see. Had it come a little closer, it would have gone through his brain."
Walter had been placed on a swinging cot, and now his head was bound up. Before this operation was over he opened his eyes.
"Whe—where am I?" he stammered. "Wh—what hit me?"
"Praise God, he's himself again!" murmured Caleb, reverently. "I was afraid he was a goner."
"So was I," whispered Si. "And I don't know how I could spare Walter—he seems so like a brother."
"You must lie quiet for a while," said the surgeon. "You'll be all right by to-night." And then he gave Walter some medicine to brace his nerves, for they had been sadly shattered by the shock. The remainder of that Saturday was spent in bed.
On this memorable day the fighting on land had been even more fierce than on the sea. The army of invasion had taken the various outposts of Santiago, and the very city itself now lay at General Shafter's mercy. It was felt that a day or two longer would bring matters to a climax.
When Walter joined his comrades after supper he looked rather pale and scared. Almost silently he took Si's hand and wrung it.
"You are all right?" he whispered.
"No hurt to speak of," was the answer.
"But we were pretty close to death. Oh, Si, I never realized before how quick one could be put out of this world!"
"Neither did I, Walter. After this I'm going to—well—I'm going to attend church more regularly, that's all. I never did take much to sech matters afore, like you do."
"It's always well to be prepared for death, Si—I'm going to try to be prepared after this," was Walter's low answer, and in the darkness of the berth deck they clasped hands again. They understood each other pretty well, these boys.
On Sunday morning the sun arose clear and strong, and early in the day an awning was spread over the quarterdeck of the flagshipBrooklyn, and preparations were made to pass a hot day as comfortably as possible. "We will rest to-day," was the word passed around, and the jackies were not sorry, for the bombardment on Saturday morning had tired them out.
TheBrooklynrested about three miles out from Santiago Bay, and not far off lay theTexas. Between the two ships the long, green waves rose and fell, only making a soft slish-slish as they struck the vessels' sides. The jackies lolled here, there, and everywhere, some talking, some reading old newspapers which from frequent handling would scarcely hold together, while a few studied the Bibles they had brought with them.
Presently from theTexascame the musical bugle-call for church service. "I'd like to go on board of her once," said Walter to Si, as they listened to the bell that followed. "She's certainly a fine-looking craft."
"Three bells," put in Caleb, as he came up. "Come on, lads, first Sunday in the month, remember, and the Articles of War have got to be hearkened to."
"That's so; I had forgotten," answered Walter. And he and the others dropped below, to don their cleanest and neatest "rigs," for general muster. Soon the call came, and from all parts of the big cruiser the men hurried to their various divisions, while the higher officers buckled on their swords, and the executive officers prepared to make their inspections.
On the quarterdeck, near the hatchway, sat Commodore Schley, musing thoughtfully, as he gazed over the waters in the direction of Morro Castle. The fighting commodore undoubtedly felt as hot as anybody, for he wore a thin, black alpaca coat and an equally thin, white summer hat. He was now in sole command of the blockading fleet, for theNew Yorkhad carried Admiral Sampson many miles away, to confer with General Shafter.
For some time there had been smoke in the harbor entrance in front of the warships, and many were wondering what it meant. "Must be a supply boat for the batteries," said several under-officers, and this theory was accepted as correct. Nevertheless, Commodore Schley glanced toward that smoke more than once.
"We are going to have general muster, commodore," announced Captain Cook, as he presented himself, followed by Executive Officer Mason, and the commander of the fleetpro tem.nodded. But those keen eyes were still bent shoreward.
Suddenly, from the forward bridge there came a yell through a megaphone, a yell that electrified everybody who heard it.
"After bridge there! Report to the commodore and the captain thatthe enemy's ships are coming out of the harbor!"
There was no necessity to report, for commodore, captain, and all others heard the cry. There was a second of silence. Could this news be true? Then came the command of the executive officer.
"Clear ship for action!"
"Hurrah! the enemy is coming out at last! To your guns, boys! Remember theMaine!" These and a score of other cries rang out, while men rushed hither and thither, dropping one garment or another as they ran, and kicking shoes right and left, for no jackie will do work worth the counting unless he is barefooted. Everybody had on his best clothing, but that did not matter, and down into the grimy depths of the big vessel dropped the firemen, coal heavers, and all the rest of the "black gang," as they are termed, for steam must be gotten up in a tremendous hurry or the enemy would surely get away. Ton after ton of coal was thrown onto the fires, and the firemen coaxed and coaxed until the black lumps grew first red and then white, and converted the water in the boilers into high-pressure steam. "Fire up! for the sake of the ship's honor, fire up!" came in a hoarse cry down the speaking-tube, and the men did fire up as never before, until all were ready to drop from the terrific heat. And all this while the engineers were watching their engines, oiling this part and that, and making every pound of steam do its utmost to send the great armored cruiser dashing and hissing through the sea to that point where the Spanish fleet was trying to escape.
For Admiral Cervera could stand it no longer inside of the harbor. With the army of invasion at the very outskirts of Santiago, and with the American fleet beyond his bay of refuge, something must be done, and done quickly. He would run for it,—run at the top of his speed—and trust to luck, if not Providence, to get out of range and reach Cienfuegos or Havana. Santiago Bay was "too hot to hold him."
It was the big prow of theMaria Teresathat first showed itself, quickly followed by theVizcaya,Oquendo, andColon, with the torpedo boatsPlutonandFurorbringing up closely in the rear. All were under a full head of steam, and the thick smoke shot up in heavy clouds from every funnel. For an instant all seemed to pause at the gateway to the sea, then, led by theMaria Teresa, they turned westward along the coast. To this side of the blockade now lay but three American warships, theBrooklyn,Texas, and the littleVixen. If he could only get out of range of these, Admiral Cervera felt that he would, for the time being at least, be safe.
Boom! It was a three-pounder, fired from theIowa, lying some distance to the eastward of theTexas. She, too, was flying the signal, "The enemy is escaping," in red and white and blue flags. Beyond theIowa, still further eastward, lay the pride of the western coast, the mightyOregon, and it was this ship that first started up her engines in pursuit, having, by chance, a good head of steam up. And as theOregonturned in one direction, the littleResoluteturned in the other, to carry the news to the absent rear-admiral.
Three minutes had not yet passed, yet a complete transformation had occurred on theBrooklyn. Five hundred men had scuttled to as many different directions, battle hatches had been lowered, water-tight compartments closed, hose attached and decks wet down, fire tubs filled, magazines opened, hoists put into operation, and ammunition delivered to turret, decks, and to the fighting-tops. Down below, fire had been started under four fresh boilers, and a dozen different connections between engines made.
Nor was this all. Splinter nets had been spread as before, all useless woodwork thrown overboard, and the surgeons' operating tables made ready. The warning gun from theIowawas followed by a gun from theTexas, and then theBrooklynhelped to "open the ball" with her forward eight-inch guns. Another great naval battle, fully equal to that of Manila Bay, was now on.
"It's a question of do or die, boys!" cried Caleb, as he worked over the heavy gun before him. "Hustle now, as you never hustled before, or the dagos will get away. Now then, Polly, do the best you can!" Andbang!went the gun, with a noise that was deafening. Ten minutes later Walter felt as if his hearing had left him entirely, so incessant was the firing.
The first fire from the enemy came from theMaria Teresa, and was an eleven-inch shell directed at theBrooklyn. Hardly had this been discharged when theIndiana, coming up behind theIowa, took a long-range chance and sent a shell directly upon theTeresa'sdeck, doing not a little damage. Then the firing became general, and shot and shell was hurled in every direction.
So far, theBrooklynhad been headed directly for the harbor entrance, commodore and captain being intent upon cutting off the enemy's westward flight, if possible. This course soon brought theMaria Teresa,Vizcaya, and theBrooklyninto close proximity, and presently all were lost to view in a dense cloud of smoke, from which shot long streaks of fire, as battery after battery was discharged at close range.
"Give it to 'em!" was the cry that rang throughout theBrooklyn. "Don't let up on 'em! We must do as well as Dewey did, and better! Remember theMaine, and three cheers for Uncle Sam!" Such cries were truly inspiring, but presently the men became silent, as the work began to tell upon them, and they realized what a fearful task still lay before them.
"The second ship's flag is down!" was the welcome news which soon drifted down from the fighting-tops. It was true, theVizcaya'sbig silk flag had been riddled completely and the halyard shot away; but soon another flag was run up. Later on theBrooklyn'sflag also came down, but it did not remain so more than two minutes before a jackie had it up again.
The battle had but fairly begun, and theBrooklynand theMaria Teresawere having it "hot and heavy," when suddenly the bow of theVizcayabegan to turn swiftly. At once a cry rang out. "That ship is going to ram theBrooklyn! See, she is turning full toward her!"
The warning proved true. TheVizcayawas turned fairly and squarely for Commodore Schley's flagship. Bells were ringing on board of her for "Full speed ahead." On and on she came, like a demon of the deep, in one wild, terrible effort to ram the vessel Walter was on and sink her!
"We are lost!"
"That ship will cut us in half!"
"Give her a broadside, boys, before we go down!"
These and a hundred other cries rang out, as theVizcayacame leaping over the waves on her awful mission of death and destruction. Then gun after gun roared out, sending shot and shell on the enemy's deck. If this was their last hour on earth, these brave jackies were going to make the most of it.
But commodore, captain, and executive officer were all on the alert and were not to be caught napping. As theVizcayacame on, the necessary orders were given, and theBrooklynbegan to turn in a twelve-point circle to starboard. Like a flash she swept past the warship dashing on to destroy her, and then the command rang out, "Give her another broadside!" And the port guns, twenty in number, vomited out their death-dealing shots and shells, raking the Spanish deck from end to end, and killing and wounding a great number of sailors and officers. To this awful fire was added that from theOregon, which now came up to assist the flagship. Realizing that the plan to ram theBrooklynwas a failure, theVizcayastarted westward once more.
It was now high time to turn attention to the two torpedo-boat destroyers,PlutonandFuror, that were coming out of the harbor at a speed of twenty knots per hour. Once these destroyers gained the open sea, to catch them would be impossible. Like long, steel arrows glistening in the sunlight, they darted through the greenish waves and for a moment hid themselves behind their big sisters.
Then on came theGloucester, a converted yacht, commanded by Lieutenant Wainwright. Wainwright had been executive officer of theMainewhen she was blown up in Havana Harbor, and had vowed more than once to sink something if only he were given a chance. Like an avenging angel theGloucester, but lightly armed, bore down upon the torpedo boats and sent shot after shot into them. Then the destroyers began to turn, as if to sink the little enemy who dared to molest them, but now it was too late,—the big warships were coming to theGloucester'said.
It was theOregonand theIowathat first came to the converted yacht's assistance, and as the destroyers turned, first one way and then another, as if to ram or to run, a perfect hailstorm of shot and shell landed on their sides and decks, churning up the water into a milk-white froth, and causing the destroyers to look like gigantic whales lashing themselves in their death throes. The noise was even greater than it had been before, and the smoke made the heavens above look as if a violent thunderstorm was at hand.
Finding they could not withstand such a combined attack, and with theTexashurrying to the scene, the destroyers turned tail, as if to make for the shore. As the turn was made a huge shell, flying over the masts of theGloucester, hit thePlutondirectly amidship, and with a crash and a splutter she broke and sank, leaving the still living members of her crew struggling in the boiling waters for their lives.
Left to herself, theFuroragain paused, like some wild animal seeking in vain for cover. She started to get behind theOquendo, but, in spite of the fire from the shore batteries, theGloucesterwent in after her, with every available gun doing its utmost, and fairly filling her with small holes. At last the destroyer could stand it no longer, and with a lurch she struck on a reef and began to break. In a moment more the water poured over her sides, and her crew was compelled to surrender. The instant the surrender was made, the converted yacht, from being an angel of vengeance, became an angel of mercy, and to gallant Lieutenant-commander Wainwright fell the honor of rescuing hundreds of wounded and drowning Spaniards who must otherwise have perished.
Such was the close of this running fight. At the front, the four big warships were still trying to push on, with theBrooklyn,Oregon,Iowa,Texas, andIndianain the chase. With a full head of steam the nobleOregonreached a position between Commodore Schley's flagship and theTexas, and every vessel in the line belched forth its messengers of death and destruction.
Presently a cry echoed throughout the squadron regarding theOquendo. "She is on fire! See, she is burning in three places!"
The report was true. A shell had burst near the quarterdeck of the warship, and now high to the sky arose a column of yellowish red smoke. Then the flames burst out of her bow. In vain the Spaniards tried to man their fire-hose. A shower of projectiles from the fighting-tops of our own ships assailed them and drove them to shelter, while the big guns continued to "pump up" shot and shell as never before.
But theOquendowas no worse off than theMaria Teresa, if as badly. She staggered on, and a few minutes later passed her sister ship as if looking for aid, when aid could not be given.
"TheMaria Teresais on fire!" was the next cry, but a few minutes later. "Down goes Cervera's flag! Hurrah, boys, we've got em 'on the run! Give it to 'em hot!"
Yes, the admiral's flag was down, and so was the mast that had held it. Would the Spanish emblem go up again? All watched anxiously, and meanwhile theBrooklyncontinued to pour in her hottest fire.
"She's going ashore!" rang through the American flagship. "She's burning up!" and then came a heavy shot from theBrooklyn, another from theTexas, and staggering like a thing of life, theMaria Teresaran for the beach, a mass of seething and roaring flames. Admiral Cervera's doom was sealed. Five minutes later theOquendowas also cast on the shore.
Four of the enemy's ships had been laid low, but the great fight was by no means over. Shot and shell were flying around theVizcayaandCristobal Colon, but both warships kept on their way, theColonslowly but surely forging to the front. Both Spanish ships were returning the Americans' hot fire, and many a shot hit theBrooklynand many a shell burst over her deck. But as yet no serious damage had been inflicted.
But a calamity was at hand, as rapid in its execution as it was appalling. Near the forward eight-inch turret George Ellis was standing, watching the struggle of the enemy's ships to escape.
"Ellis, give us the range again!" shouted Captain Cook.
"I'll have it in a moment, captain," answered the chief yeoman, and took up his stadiometer. Making his calculation, he turned to Commodore Schley, who was but a short distance away. "It is fourteen hundred yards to theVizcaya, sir," he said.
These were the last words he ever uttered, for an instant after there was the whistling of a shell, and those standing around were horrified to see Ellis's headless body drop to the deck below. The poor fellow had been killed instantly, in the very midst of his duties. What a shock this was to those about him I will leave my readers to imagine. Never until now had they realized what this awful war meant. "Poor Ellis, he was such a fine man!" murmured one comrade as he turned away. And then his face grew even more sober. "But he's the first on board of this ship. What of those poor Dons yonder, who are going down by the wholesale?" And though they were enemies, his heart beat in sympathy for the poor wretches who were struggling madly amid shot, shell, fire, and water for their lives. Fortunately theIowawas already coming to the succor of the defeated ones.
"We're going to catch it now, lad," remarked Caleb to Walter, as he pointed through a rift in the cloud of smoke hanging over the gun. "There are two of the enemy's ships, and they are both going to pound us. Where in the world are our other vessels?"
"TheOregonis coming up!" came from the after-deck, a minute later. "And theTexasisn't far behind."
Around the gun it was suffocating, and every hand was ready to drop. Indeed, fainting fits were frequent, but the most that could be done for a sufferer was to either throw some water over his head or yell out to the surgeons' helpers to carry the men to the ward room for treatment. As theBrooklynwas struck here and there, splinters began to fly, and a number were injured, although no one seriously.
TheTexashad done wonderful work on theMaria Teresaand theOquendo, and now did her best to keep to the front of the chase. But the speed was too great for her, and gradually she dropped behind, although still continuing to throw shot and shell after theVizcayathat had dropped some distance behind theColon. It was now apparent to all that if any vessel was going to get away it was to be theColon, for her speed was greater than theVizcayaand as yet she had hardly been touched.
"TheVizcaya, boys, theVizcaya!" came the cry from the quarterdeck. "Don't let her screen theColon!"
"We'll pound 'em both!" was the answer. "Remember theMaine! Remember Manila Bay!"
And then the mighty guns of theBrooklynandOregonroared out swifter than ever, and theVizcaya, doing her best to sink one or the other of the American warships, was raked as if passing through a blizzard of fire, until her men were forced again and again from their posts, and at last the guns were abandoned. Then fire caught the craft in its awful embrace, and rolling from side to side, she, too, sought for a harbor of refuge, but found none. Down came her colors, and at the same instant she struck with a crash on the rocks. The fight had started at quarter to ten. Now it was but quarter past eleven,—just an hour and a half,—and all the Spanish ships but one had been destroyed. Such is the appalling swiftness of modern naval warfare. Where in olden days jack tars had fought for hours, they now fought for minutes.
But the destruction of theVizcayahad taken time, and theColonwas forging onward, panting and throbbing like a thing of life trying to escape from unspeakable terrors. Down in the bowels of the warship the furnaces were at a white heat, and the engineers had long since pushed their engines far past the danger point. "Faster! faster!" came the cry from the deck and tower. "It will be better to blow up than to allow the Yankee pigs to sink us. We must save at least one ship!" And the engines pounded and quivered, threatening each instant to blow into a million pieces. For once Don Quixote was making the run of his life.
Unable to stand the heat, Walter had obtained permission to lay off for a few minutes and get some fresh air. A look from the spar deck had showed him theColondashing far ahead, enveloped in a thin line of smoke. Every few seconds a flash of fire would come from her stern guns, but the marksmanship was poor and no serious damage was done to theBrooklyn.
The boy returned to his gun to find Caleb and the others in deep perplexity. Something was wrong with a shell, and it had become wedged in the gun and could not be pushed forward to its proper place or hauled back. "We can't use Polly any more!" groaned Caleb.
"I'll fix her!" cried Si Doring, and caught up a rammer. In a moment the brave Yankee lad was crawling out over the smoking piece toward the muzzle. But he had scarcely reached the outward end of the gun than theBrooklyngave a lurch and down he slipped over the side and into space!