Admiral Schley.
Still beyond was the famous Vizcaya, doing her best to escape. But the Brooklyn, Commodore Schley's flagship, gained on her and poured shells into her, so that with the Oregon now rushing up in a burst of speed which astonished all who saw her, her race was soon run, and she, too, went to her grave on the strand, a shattered, blazing hulk.
Yet one more, the Colon, newest, fastest, and best of the squadron, was now about four miles ahead; but our ships gained steadily upon her, and in less than two hours she hauled down her flag and ran ashore forty-five miles from Santiago.
360. After the Battle at Santiago.—The sun that shone in the morning upon six of Spain's finest ships looked down at noon upon a row of half-sunken wrecks along the coast.
At the risk of their lives our men rescued their foes from the mangled hulks, the burning decks, and the surging water.
"Don't cheer, boys," cried one gallant captain, "the poor fellows are dying."
Another captain said in his report, "So long as the enemy showed his flag, our men fought like American seamen; but when the flag came down, they were as gentle and tender as American women."
The Spanish loss, according to their own accounts, was three hundred and fifty killed or drowned, and about one hundred officers and one thousand six hundred and seventy-five men prisoners, including the brave Admiral Cervera. Their loss in value was over twelve million dollars. Upon our side only one man was killed, and three were wounded, all on the Brooklyn. Not one of our ships was badly injured. Evidently the Spanish gunners could not shoot straight!
So ended this famous naval engagement. Never, perhaps, has the world seen two such instances of the utter destruction of an enemy's naval force as in the battles of Manila and Santiago.