VI.
THE FLAG WITH THE LONE STAR.
As it was manifestly impossible to obtain fifty millions of dollars in specie and foreign notes within New York—for all the money in the vaults of the banks and the treasury had long since been sent to other cities—the general government assumed payment of the amount demanded by the Spaniards, which, however, it was decided not to make until just before the expiration of the last of the five days of grace.
As will now be seen, this was a fortunate decision. The unremitting bombardment which had been maintained by the four vessels off the Long Island shore had so greatly reduced their supply of ammunition that it became necessary to send for more: and for this purpose the "Vittoria" was dispatched to meet a transport which had been ordered to sail from Cuba at about this time.
On the evening of the third day the weather assumed a threatening appearance, and the "El Cid" left her position near Fort Hamilton for a more secure anchorage near Sandy Hook. The other ships stood out to sea.
It stormed heavily during that night, and before evening on the morrow one of the strongest gales ever known in this vicinity had set in.
The situation in which the Spanish flag-ship now found herself was critical. She had put down her two bower anchors, but they were clearly insufficient to hold her. To veer out cable was dangerous, for it was not known how near the ship was to sunken torpedoes; to allow her to drag was to run the double chance of striking a torpedo or going ashore.
During the night she parted both cables, and the morning found her firmly imbedded in the beach off the Hook. Of the other vessels, the "Numancia" only was in sight.
The signal men, however, could see black smoke on the horizon; and this they anxiously watched, expecting momentarily to make out the "Arapiles" and "Zaragoza." Shortly after daybreak, a thick fog settled down, completely cutting off the seaward view.
In the signal station were General Grant and several members of the Safety Commission. The ransom money was in readiness, and the intention was to pay it over during the morning.
At about eight o'clock, heavy firing was heard from the sea.
It was too far distant to be accounted for by a supposed renewal of the bombardment by the Spanish ships, even under the assumption that they had thus broken the truce.
The watchers at the signal station looked at each other in astonishment, and eagerly waited for the fog to lift.
An hour later, the mist began to clear away. The sight that met the eyes of the spectators was one never to be forgotten.
The "Numancia" was evidently ashore on the East bank. Her fore and mainmasts were gone, and clouds of dark smoke were lazily ascending from her forecastle. Suddenly, the whole ship seemed to burst into a sheet of flame, there was a deep explosion, the air was filled with flying fragments, and a blackened hull was all that was left of the proud man-of-war.
The "Arapiles," about two miles further out to sea, was making a gallant defense against three strange vessels. Two, lying at short range on her quarters, were pouring in a fearful fire; the third, which had evidently been engaged with the "Numancia," was rapidly bearing down upon her, apparently intending to ram.
Who could the strangers be?
The flags which floated from their mast-heads bore a strong resemblance to our own, yet they were not the stars and stripes; for the stripes were replaced by but two broad bands of red and white, and in the blue field there was but a single star.
"Chili, by Jove!" ejaculated some one in the signal station.
He was right.
The new-comers were the "Huascar," the "Almirante Cochrane" and the
"Blanco Encelada," the three armored vessels of the South American
Republic.
It was the "Huascar" which was now bearing down upon the "Arapiles."
Suddenly, the Chilian monitor was seen to slacken her speed and change her course.
She no longer meant to ram; the necessity had ceased. At the same time, the other Chilian vessels ceased firing.
The Spanish ensign on the "Arapiles" had been lowered. In a few minutes after it rose again, but this time surmounted by the Chilian flag.
Then the four vessels stood in toward the Hook.
The watchers on the signal station now waited in breathless suspense.
The "Arapiles," with a prize crew from the other vessels to work her guns, was to be made to attack her former consort, the stranded "El Cid;" and that vessel, aware of her danger, was now firing rapidly at her approaching enemies.
It was not reserved, however, for the Chilians to complete their victory by the capture of the great ironclad.
The giant was to be killed by a pigmy scarce larger than one of his own huge weapons. A smaller steam-launch slowly crept out from the Staten Island shore. But two men could be seen on board of her—one in the bow, the other at the helm.
"They don't see us yet, Ned," said the man in the bow.
"No; they have all they can do to take care of the other fellows. Look out! Are you hurt?"
A shell from the Chilians just then came over the Hook, and, bursting under the water near the launch, deluged the boat with spray.
"Not a bit," said the other.
"Is your boom clear?"
"All clear."
Bang! A shot, this time from the Spaniard came skipping along the water in the direction of the launch, and flew over the heads of the daring pair.
"Hang them! They've seen us."
"Rig out your boom. We're in for it now!"
The man in the stern pushed shut the door of the boiler furnace, and turned on full steam.
The little craft fairly leaped ahead.
The two men set their teeth. He of the stern lashed the tiller amidships, and crept forward, aiding the other to push out the long boom which projected from the bow.
Ten seconds passed. Then the torpedo on the end of the boom struck the "El Cid" under the stern. There was a crash—a vast upheaval of water and fragments.
The great ironclad rolled over on her side and lay half submerged.
Of the two men who had done this, one swam ashore bearing the other, wounded to the death.
A mighty cheer arose from the Chilian fleet, repeated from the shore with redoubled volume.
"El Cid" lay sullen and silent; two of her guns were pointing under water, two up to the clouds.
The "Arapiles" fired the last shell at her own admiral—now a corpse, torn to pieces by the torpedo.
Then some one scrambled along the deck of the wrecked monster and lowered the Spanish flag.
"I think we'll keep that money," remarked Grant, as he lit another cigar.
* * * * *
The Chilian fleet had relieved New York. Elated by her victory over Peru, and thirsting for revenge against Spain for the latter's merciless bombardment of Valparaiso in 1866, the Chilians, as soon as they had learned of the declaration of war against the United States, tore up the treaty of truce and armistice made with Spain in 1871, and announced themselves an ally of this country. Realizing the weakness of our navy, and the unprotected position of our seaports, Chili instantly dispatched her three ironclads to New York. They made the voyage with remarkable celerity, stopping only for coal and provisions, and reached the beleaguered city just in the nick of time, as has already been detailed.
It was fortunate that the "Zaragoza" had been obliged to put so far out to sea that she could not return in season to take part in the conflict, otherwise the result might have been different.
As it was, when she came back a day later, and discovered the position of affairs, she took to her heels without delay.
It is not necessary here to speak of the greeting which the Chilians received, or the thanks which were lavished upon them by the people of the United States. Neither need we picture the dismay of the citizens of New York when they came to realize the fearful damage which had been inflicted upon their city. Fully one-half of the town lay in ruins. The metropolis was the metropolis no longer. The proudest city of the Great Republic had been at the mercy of a conqueror, and, as if this humiliation were not deep enough, she owed her preservation from utter destruction to the guns of an insignificant Republic of South America.
* * * * *
Six months after the relief of the city, a Chilian sailor belonging to the "Huascar," which was lying off the Battery, stopped to watch a crowd of workmen who were busily engaged in clearing away the ruins of some tenement buildings near Tompkins Square.
The face of one of the workmen had evidently attracted the foreigner's attention, as he gazed at him intently and curiously.
Suddenly there was a sharp detonation. The crowd scattered in all directions. An unexploded shell which had lodged in the building had been struck by a pick in the hands of one of the laborers, and had been fired.
The sailor helped carry out the dead.
Among the victims was the man at whom he had been so intently looking a moment before. This one he took in his arms and bore him apart from the rest.
Nervously he tore open the dead man's shirt. On the bared breast was a curiously shaped mole.
The sailor sank on his knees in prayer beside the body for a moment. Then he turned, and addressing an officer who, with a file of soldiers, had come upon the scene, and was directing the removal of the dead, he asked in broken English, pointing to the corpse:
"Will you give me this?"
"Why?"
"He was my brother—Leon Sangrado."
The war had found a victim in him who had caused it.
[3] Fiction, October 31, 1881.