CHAPTER VIII.
Max had done bravely and well, and no one rejoiced more keenly in the victory than he, though his heart bled for the wounded and slain. He as well as others listened eagerly for the accounts of the captains of the other vessels of the fleet as they came on board to report to the commodore.
"How many killed?" was demanded of each one, as he stepped on the deck, and great was the surprise and satisfaction on learning that none had been killed.
"Only eight wounded, none seriously," was the reply of Captain Dyer of the Baltimore. "But six shells struck us, and two burst inboard without hurting any one."
"Not a dashed one," was the next captain's answer. "None killed and none wounded," said the third, "but I don't yet know how it happened. I suppose you fellows were all cut up."
"My ship wasn't hit at all," was the next report.
It was known that the Boston had been on fire, therefore it was expected that her captain would have to report a serious list of casualties, and when he announced that no one had been killed or wounded on his vessel the news spread quickly through the flagship, and the men cheered vociferously. The Baltimore had been struck by a sixty-pound projectile, fired from a land battery. It struck the ship about two feet above the upper deck, between two guns which were being served; pierced two plates of steel each one-quarter of an inch thick; then ploughed through the wooden deck, striking and breaking a heavy beam, by which it was turned upward; then it passed through a steel hatch-combing; disabled a six-inch gun; hurtled around the semicircular shield which surrounded the gun, missing the men at it; reversed its course and travelled back to a point almost opposite that at which it had entered the ship, and thus passed out. It had passed between men crowded at their quarters and had touched none, but it exploded some loose ammunition, by which eight were wounded.
Max listened to the accounts of the almost bloodless victory with a heart swelling with gratitude to God, and full of hope for the success of America's effort to free the victims of Spanish cruelty and oppression. What glad tidings his next letter would carry to the dear ones at home. They would rejoice over the victory, and his safety too, though that might be again imperilled at any time.
This naval battle had been fought on Sunday. On Monday morning Captain Lamberton went on shore to receive the formal surrender of the fort at Cavité. They had hauled down their flag the day before, but now tried to prove that they had never done so. Perceiving that, the captain drew out his watch. Before leaving his ship he had directed that unless he returned in an hour those works should be bombarded. Forty-five minutes of that hour were now gone, and he said to the Spaniards: "Unless you surrender unconditionally so soon that I can get back to my ship in fifteen minutes, the Petrel will open fire on your works."
That had the desired effect; they surrendered at once, and priests and nuns came humbly to beg him to restrain his men from murdering all the wounded in the hospitals. They had been told that that was the invariable practice of the barbarous "Yanquis."
The next day the Raleigh and Baltimore went down to the mouth of the bay and, after a brief attack, captured the forts on Corregidor and Sangley Point. The guns in these works were destroyed by wrapping them with gun cotton and exploding it with electricity. The officer in command at Corregidor went aboard the Raleigh to surrender himself, and while there seemed greatly alarmed to find the ship drifting in the main channel, or Boca Grand, and demanded that he be at once put ashore. Asked the reason of his alarm and haste to get away, he said the channel was full of contact mines, and though the Americans might be satisfied to brave death by them he was not, and it was not fair to expose a prisoner to almost certain destruction. And that was the channel through which the American fleet had entered the harbor.
Four days after his victory Dewey, having all the harbor defences at his command, sent off the McCulloch to Hong-Kong with his first despatches to Washington. So a week had passed after the rumors from Madrid before the American people received definite information in regard to Dewey's successes in the Philippines. These are the despatches:
Manila, May 1.—Squadron arrived at Manila at daybreak this morning. Immediately engaged the enemy and destroyed following Spanish vessels: Reina Cristina, Castilla, Don Antonio de Ulloa, Isla de Luzon, Isla de Cuba, General Lezo, Marques del Duoro, El Correo, Velasco, Isla de Mindanao, a transport, and water battery at Cavité. The squadron is uninjured, and only a few men are slightly wounded. Only means of telegraphing is to American consul at Hong-Kong. I shall communicate with him.
Dewey.
Manila, May 4.—I have taken possession of the naval station at Cavité, Philippine Islands, and destroyed the fortifications. Have destroyed fortifications at bay entrance, Corregidor Island, parolling the garrison. I control the bay completely, and can take the city at any time. The squadron is in excellent health and spirits. The Spanish loss not fully known, but is very heavy. One hundred and fifty killed, including captain, on Reina Cristina alone. I am assisting in protecting Spanish sick and wounded. Two hundred and fifty sick and wounded in hospital within our lines. Much excitement in Manila. Will protect foreign residents.
Dewey.
A message of congratulation from the President and people of the United States was the immediate response to Dewey's despatches, and with it the information that the President had appointed the victorious commander a rear-admiral. Doubtless a rumor concerning the nature of that despatch quickly reached all the vessels of the fleet, for the next morning watchful eyes on many of them turned to the flagship to see what flag would be run up to the mainmast, and when they saw that it was a blue flag as of yore, but had two stars instead of one, the guns of the squadron roared out a salute to the new admiral. No one there was more rejoiced than Max, who both respected and loved his gallant commander; and no one in America felt happier over the good news in Dewey's despatches than those to whom Max was so dear. It was a blessed relief to their anxiety to learn that no one in the squadron had been killed, and none more than slightly wounded.
[CHAPTER IX.]
The news of the destruction of the Maine was quite as exciting to our friends at Ion as to those of Woodburn. All saw that war between the United States and Spain could not be long delayed, and when it was declared, both Harold and Herbert Travilla volunteered their services as physicians and surgeons to the troops to be sent to Cuba or Puerto Rico. Their mother gave consent, though her heart bled at thought of the toils and dangers they would be called upon to endure, but she felt that they were right in their desire to help the poor Cubans to such freedom as we enjoy. No one had felt a deeper sympathy for the despoiled and starving reconcentradoes than she. Her sons were not going as soldiers, to be sure, but as greatly needed help to those who were to do the fighting.
Captain Raymond was strongly inclined to offer his services to the government, but was deterred by the earnest, tearful entreaties of his wife and daughters. They urged him to refrain, for their sakes, as there seemed to be no lack of men who could be better spared—at least so it seemed to them.
"Oh, father," said Grace, "don't think of such a thing! There are plenty of other men who are not so much loved and needed in their own homes; so that the poor Cubans will be sure to get free without our risking the loss of the dearest father that anybody ever had."
It was shortly after breakfast on a beautiful May morning, and the whole family were together on the front veranda, the captain occupying an easy chair, while looking over the morning paper. Grace had come close to his side, and was standing there as she spoke.
"Is that your opinion of him?" he asked, smiling up into her eyes.
"Yes, sir; and always has been," she answered, accepting a silent invitation to a seat upon his knee, and putting an arm around his neck. "Oh, father, I don't know how I could live without you!" she exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears at the very thought.
"Nor I," said Lucilla. "No greater calamity than the loss of our father could possibly befall us. And there are plenty of other people to look after the Cubans."
"So I think," said Violet. "If our country was in peril it would be a different matter. And, my dear, as your eldest son is in the fight—such a dear fellow as he is too!—I am sure that ought to be considered your full share of giving and doing for the Cuban cause."
"I should think so indeed!" chimed in Lucilla and Grace in a breath.
"And, oh, I can't bear to think that my dear brother Max may get wounded!" exclaimed Elsie; and Ned added, "And if he does, I'd just like to shoot the fellow that shoots him."
"We must try not to feel revengeful, my little son," said his father.
"Well, papa, please promise not to offer to go into the fight," pleaded Grace, and the others all added their earnest solicitations to hers, till at length they won the desired pledge. They were too dear to the captain's heart to be denied what they pleaded for so earnestly and importunately.
Grace was feebler and oftener ailing that spring than she had been for several years before, and Dr. Arthur Conly, or one or the other of his partners,—Harold and Herbert Travilla,—was often there to give advice and see that it was followed. It had been Harold oftener, of late, than any one else, and he had grown very fond of the sweet girl who always listened with such deference to his advice, and called him "uncle" in her sweet voice. The thought of leaving her gave him a keener pang than anything else, as he contemplated leaving his home for the labors and dangers of the seat of war. He was glad indeed when he learned that the captain would remain at home to take care of her and the rest of his family.
Grace noticed with pleasure that as the time of his leaving drew near his manner toward her grew more affectionate, till it seemed almost as tender as that of her father, and she thought it very nice that Uncle Harold should be so fond of her. She looked up to him as one who was very wise and good, and wondered that he should care particularly for her, as she was not really related to him at all. He was fond of Lucilla also, but Grace seemed to him the lovelier of the two. He had always been fond of her, but did not know until about to leave her for that dangerous field of usefulness that his affection was of the sort to make him long for her as the partner of his life. But so it was. Yet could it be? Would the captain ever consent to such a mixture of relationships? He feared not; and at all events it was quite certain that he would not be allowed to try to win his coveted prize for years to come—she being so young, and far from strong and well. Then as he was about to risk his life on battlefields, it would be cruelty to her to try to win her love before he went.
He resolved to go without revealing his secret to any one. But he had never had an important secret from his mother; all his life he had been used to talking freely with her, telling of his hopes, aims, and wishes, his doubts and perplexities, and almost before he knew it he had said enough of his feelings for Grace to show to that mother's keen-sighted affection how the land lay.
"Grace is very lovely, and a dear child," she said low and gently; "but, as you know, she is not well or strong. Also she is so young that her father would not hear of her marrying for years to come."
"No, mother, nor would I advise it; unless," he added with a low, embarrassed laugh, "to a physician who would take special care of her health."
"You refer to one physician in particular, I perceive," returned his mother, with a low, musical laugh, and laying her hand in his, for they were sitting side by side on the veranda. "Well, my dear boy. I advise you to wait till your return home before you say anything to either her or her father. But have you thought what a mixture of relationships such a marriage would make? Your brother-in-law would be also your father-in-law, and Grace aunt to her half-brother and sister."
"Yes, mother, it would cause some awkward relationships; but as there is no tie of blood between us, perhaps that need not matter. But I shall say nothing till I come home, and not then without the captain's permission."
"That is right. But do you think Grace suspects?"
"Hardly, mother; I am only her 'uncle,' you know," Harold answered, with a laugh in which there was little or no mirth.
"Although I am certainly very fond of Grace," said his mother, "I cannot help regretting that your affections have not gone out to some one else rather than to her—because of her feeble health and the connection through your sister and her father."
"Yes, they are objections," he returned, with a sigh; "but mother dear, you will not consider them insuperable if I can persuade the captain not to do so?"
"Oh, no! not if you win, or have won, her heart. I should not think of raising the least objection, and surely the captain, who is a devoted father, would not, should he see that her affections are engaged."
"That is my hope," said Harold; "and, as I have said, I do not intend to offer myself without his knowledge and consent, though I had hard work to refrain to-day when Grace and I were left alone together for a few minutes, and she expressed, with tears in her sweet blue eyes, such anxiety at the thought of my being in danger of wounds or death in the coming struggle in Cuba. Mother dear, Herbert and I will not, of course, be in as great danger as will the fighting men of our army and navy, but there is a possibility that we may not return unharmed, and in case I should not I would not have Grace know of my love and intention to—ask her to become my wife."
"I think you are right, my son," his mother said, with emotion. "But, ah, I hope and shall pray constantly that my dear boys may come back to me unharmed."
"And it will be a great help and comfort to them to know that their dear mother's prayers are following them," rejoined Harold, tenderly pressing the hand she had laid in his.
The next moment Herbert joined them, and he too had a farewell talk with his mother, for the brothers were to leave for Tampa the next morning to join the troops about to sail for Cuba.