CHAPTER XXVII
DESTRUCTION OF THE SPANISH SHIPS
As the Speedy rounded the first headland those on board saw the great war-ship they were to intercept coming leisurely down the coast, not more than a mile away. The yacht fired a gun to call attention to her momentous signal, and within a few seconds an answer, showing that it was seen and understood, was displayed from the New York. At the same time the latter began to turn, so as to retrace her course. She had hardly begun the movement before the Speedy slipped up under her quarter.
"Where did you get your information?" called out Captain Chadwick through a megaphone.
"Messenger from the Commanding General," was the answer.
"All right. Keep on, and warn the fleet, if you reach them before we do."
"Ay, ay, sir!" and then the swift yacht had moved beyond range even of a megaphone.
All at once the little group of officers gathered on the Speedy's bridge, of course including Lieutenant Ridge Norris, knew that they were not to have the honor of warning the fleet; for a line of smoke, evidently moving seaward, appeared above the hills from the direction of Santiago Bay.
"They are coming out!" cried the Speedy's Captain; "and, if they have the pluck to keep on, we are about to witness one of the greatest sea-fights of the century."
If the entire American blockading fleet had been on hand the coming contest would have been too unequal to be interesting. As it was, the Massachusetts, New Orleans, and Newark had gone to Guantanamo after coal, while the New York was too far away to take any active part in the fighting. This left only the Brooklyn, Oregon, Iowa, Indiana, and Texas on guard, with the converted yachts Gloucester and Vixen acting as picket-boats.
The American ships lay some three miles off shore under low steam, and their crews were preparing for Sunday morning inspection. Two of the battle-ships were overhauling their forward turrets, and repairing damages received during a bombardment of the forts on the previous day. The Brooklyn lay farthest to the westward, and the Indiana at the eastern end of the line, with the Texas, Iowa, and Oregon between them. Inshore of these were the two yachts.
In Santiago Bay, about to rush out on these unsuspecting ships, were four of the finest cruisers in the world, possessed of greater speed than any of the Americans except the Brooklyn, and under a full head of steam: with them were two torpedo-boat destroyers, ranking among the most powerful and swiftest of their class.
At half-past nine o'clock of that peaceful Sunday morning, as the Speedy was still some five miles to the eastward of Santiago Bay, with the New York just completing her turn, two miles farther down the coast, a shot from the Iowa drew attention to her fluttering signal, "The enemy is escaping."
Almost at the same moment the same startling signal broke out from a masthead of the Texas, which opened the battle with the mighty roar of a twelve-inch shell. The Brooklyn was also flying signal 250--"The enemy is escaping"--and within three minutes from the discovery of that moving smoke behind the Morro her forward eight-inch battery was in full play against the Maria Teresa, first of the Spaniards to show her glistening hull around the point.
Dashing at full speed from the harbor-mouth, outlined by the smokeless flames of her forward turret and port batteries, Admiral Cervera's flag-ship was quickly headed to the westward, and for the most open point of the blockade. Behind her steamed the Vizcaya, Colon, Oquendo, and the torpedo-boats Furor and Pluton.
During the whole long blockade, the one standing order given by Admiral Sampson to cover an emergency like the present had been, "Should the enemy come out, close in and engage."
Now the ships that he had left on guard did close in with what speed they could command, while their sweating stokers toiled like demons in the hideous heat of the fire-rooms to produce still greater heat and more steam. As the on-rushing Spaniards cleared the harbor's mouth, every American ship was moving towards them and delivering a fire so incredibly terrific and of such deadly accuracy that its like was never known in the whole history of naval warfare.
At the outset the little Gloucester, commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Richard Wainwright, who had been navigating officer of the Maine at the time of her destruction, made a dash for her legitimate opponents, the two torpedo-boats. They in turn sought shelter behind the Oquendo, and for a minute it looked as though the yacht were about to attack the big cruiser. Then the Texas began to pay particular attention to the Oquendo; and, seemingly content to leave her in such good hands, the Gloucester again started after the destroyers. Suddenly a great shell from the Indiana, hurled over the yacht, struck one of them fairly amidships, and, with a roar heard high above the din of firing, the unfortunate boat plunged to the bottom, carrying with her all on board.
The Gloucester now directed her energies against the remaining destroyer, running well within range of the shore batteries to get at her, and within ten minutes had so riddled her with a storm of small projectiles that she lowered her colors, turned in towards the beach, struck on a reef, and in another moment was being helplessly pounded to pieces by the surf. At the same time small boats from the plucky yacht that had placed her in this sad plight were busily engaged in rescuing such of her crew as could be reached.
In the mean time both the Teresa and Oquendo had received so frightful a fire from the Indiana, Iowa, and Texas, that within six miles of Santiago Harbor the former, enveloped in flames, and no longer capable of defending herself, was also headed for the beach, where the gallant little Gloucester soon afterwards came to her assistance and rescued hundreds of her perishing crew, including brave old Admiral Cervera.
A few minutes later the Almirante Oquendo, with colors lowered and flames pouring from her open ports, also turned slowly inshore, and was beached within half a mile of the Spanish flag-ship. It was only forty minutes since the fight began; but in that short space four of the Spanish squadron had been destroyed, without loss of life to the Americans, and but slight damage to their ships. With the burning Teresa and Oquendo stayed the battle-ship Indiana, her men working in eager emulation with those of the Gloucester to save the lives of their recent enemies.
The next victim to succumb beneath the terrible American fire was the superb Vizcaya, which, pounded to death by the Brooklyn, Oregon, and Texas, was run on the beach at Aserraderos, seventeen miles west of Santiago Bay, a few minutes after eleven o'clock. Like her unfortunate consorts, she also was a mass of flame, and had no sooner struck than scores of her people leaped overboard to escape being roasted alive. Among these swimmers a body of Cuban troops poured a cowardly fire from the beach; but Captain Evans of the Iowa quickly put a stop to that, and stood by the blazing wreck so long as there was a Spaniard left to be rescued from flame or flood.
Of all Cervera's powerful squadron only a single ship was now left, the swift Cristobal Colon, which, by keeping behind the others, had as yet come to little harm. When the Vizcaya was run ashore, the Colon was more than four miles ahead of her leading pursuer, the Brooklyn. Close on the heels of the latter came the wonderful battle-ship Oregon, which had unexpectedly developed such extraordinary speed that, although starting next to the last of the American ships, she now very nearly led the chase. Next behind her came the Texas, while the superb New York, though still far in the rear, was overhauling all three, and had the race been long enough would eventually have exchanged broadsides with the Colon.
But she was not to be granted that satisfaction; for shortly after one o'clock, when the chase had lasted two hours, the Oregon threw a couple of great thirteen-inch shells, at a range of five miles, so close to the flying Spaniard that they deluged her with tons of water. Upon this, to the surprise of every one, and without making any sort of a fight, the finest ship of the Spanish navy lowered her flag and was headed in for the beach. After she had thus surrendered, and before the Americans could board, she was wrecked by her own crew, who opened sea-valves, smashed out dead lights, threw overboard the breech-blocks of their great guns, and in many other ways worked what destruction they could in the time allotted. As a result of this vandalism, the fine ship rolled over on her side soon after striking, and would have slipped off into deep water had not the New York rammed her to a better position higher up the beach.
Thus was destroyed the fine squadron that had been a menace to the Americans ever since the war began. Spain's loss was 600 human lives, 1200 prisoners, and six ships, valued at $12,000,000; while that of the Americans was one man killed and three wounded, all on the Brooklyn, together with a few trifling injuries to the Brooklyn, Iowa, and Texas.
And Ridge Norris, from the deck of the little Speedy, had been a spectator of the whole affair from beginning to end. Thrilled with such excitement as he had never before known, he had seen ship after ship wearing the proud colors of Spain driven helplessly to the beach by the withering blasts of Yankee gunnery, until all were destroyed. Never before had our young American been so proud of his country and his countrymen. Now his wonderful day was to be crowned with a great honor; for, no sooner was it certain that the Colon had surrendered, than a message from the flag-ship bade the Speedy return with all haste to Siboney and land the army officer whom she had brought out, that he might convey the glorious news to General Shafter and the men in the trenches before Santiago.
"That's you, old man!" cried Ensign Comly, "And I envy you your present job a heap more than I did the one you were undertaking the last time we set you ashore."
So back past the blazing wrecks of Cervera's squadron and on to Siboney dashed the despatch-boat. The transport from which Ridge had been rescued that morning still lay in the harbor, and her Captain, hailing the Speedy, eagerly asked for news; but none was given him, and he was treated to a contemptuous silence that caused him to grow more purple-faced than ever.
As Ridge was rowed ashore he directed Ensign Comly's attention to a large steam-yacht painted lead-color in imitation of the war-ships, but flying a Red Cross flag, that had evidently just arrived.
"She looks a little like Rollo Van Kyp's Royal Flush," he said; "but what is her name? G-r-a-y--Gray man? Gray mare? Oh no, Gray Nun. Queer name for a yacht, isn't it?"
"Yes; and those nurses on her deck don't look a bit like nuns," replied Ensign Comly. "Believe I'll make a call if we lie here this evening, for I understand that some of the nicest girls in the country have enlisted under the Red Cross since you chaps were sent to Santiago."
"Wish I could join you," sighed Ridge; "only I haven't spoken to a girl in so long that I shouldn't know what to say."