Dewey Attacks the Enemy.
With Old Glory flying at every masthead, and with the beating of drums, the American squadron, after a brief reconnoitering detour in the harbor, sailed in a straight line past the fleet of the enemy. Each ship was to hold its fire until near enough to inflict the most damage, when as many shots should be fired as possible. Then to steam as quickly as possible out of effective range; to wheel and return—keeping close to the opposite shore—to the original point of starting, when the same manœuvre was to be repeated—and so again and again till the enemy was destroyed or defeated.
On the Spanish fleet, too, all was bustle and preparation; the national flag, that symbol of mediæval tyranny, floated from every masthead, the Admiral’s flag on the Reina Cristina being the cynosure of all eyes.
The Reina Cristina; Flagship of Admiral Montojo.
The Americans had left their supply-ships behind, and their fleet, according to pre-arranged plan, steamed slowly past the enemy. Meanwhile, the batteries of Cavité kept up an incessant roar, and now Montojo’s flagship thundered a deadly welcome; while over the American flagship was hoisted a code-flag, with the watchword “Remember the Maine!” This was the signal for a concerted yell from the sailors in the fleet. And thus with colors flying, and with fire reserved till a closer range should make it more effective, the Commodore and his brave officers bore down toward the Spaniards, who were awaiting their approach with curiosity not unmixed with alarm, at the same time they sent a thunderous fusillade as a greeting to the hated Yankees.
But the Americans, undeterred, grimly kept their course, notwithstanding one or two mines exploded beneath the water,—one near the Raleigh and one beside the Baltimore. Again and again the Spanish guns thundered, until the roar became incessant and shells were bursting all around.
When about six thousand yards the Commodore shouted to Captain Gridley, who was in the conning tower: “Fire, as soon as you get ready, Gridley.”
Hardly had he given the word—which also was passed down the line—when the whole ship shivered, and the eight-inch gun in the front turret burst into a sheet of flame, while a dull muffled roar belched forth, that awoke the apparent torpor of the whole fleet to instant activity.
The Baltimore and the Boston now took up the cue, and sent their tremendous shells crashing into the enemy, who replied vociferously. The din was deafening, and over and around all the American ships was the shriek and scream of terrifying shells. Some of these fell upon the decks, some smashed into the woodwork; but—as if providentially—not an American was hit.
“Open with all the guns,” signaled the Commodore; and all the ships joined together in a roaring chorus, as if Cerberus and all the dogs of hell had opened their mighty throats.
And thus with incessant firing, the battle-line passed the whole length of the stationary Spanish fleet, then slowly swang round and began the return to its starting-point, keeping up the same flash and clatter, the Spaniards responding furiously. It was at this time that a shot passed clean through the Baltimore, though, fortunately, no one was hurt. Lieutenant Brumbuys had the signal halyard shot out of his hands; while on the Boston a shell burst in the state-room of Ensign Dodridge, and another passed through the Boston’s foremast.
During the third round the Raleigh was carried by the strong current against the bows of two of the Spanish cruisers, where all aboard seemed too bewildered to take advantage of their opportunity. Captain Coughlan, however, did not lose his presence of mind, but poured a destructive broadside into the enemy. His vessel was then carried back into the line.