The Colon had now drawn out of range, so firing would have been a useless waste of ammunition. Down to the gunners came the order: "Cease firing." And a moment later, "All hands on deck for an airing." What a laughing and shouting ensued as the jackies poured up, to secure the best viewing places they could within the ship's regulations. Hot, tired, ready to drop from exhaustion, they shook hands with each other, sang, laughed, and whistled.
"Three cheers for Commodore Schley!" came suddenly from somebody, and the cheers came with vigor, and a tiger, and then came a cheer for Captain Cook and a cheer for the Oregon, coming up with ever increasing speed. The Oregon's men cheered in return, and for a moment one would have thought this was holiday-making instead of grim war.
The Colon was close to shore, while the Brooklyn and the Oregon lay from two to three miles out to sea. Some miles farther westward the Cuban shore slopes southward to Cape Cruz. If the Colon kept on her present course she would have to make for the cape, thus coming down toward the American warships. "We will catch her there," said Commodore Schley, confidently.
The Oregon was flying the signal "Remember the Maine" from her masthead, and as she drew still closer to the Brooklyn, another shout of approval went up. The two warships would fight the Colon between them, if only they could get within range.
It was now noontime, and a hasty mess was served all around, and the men continued to air themselves, something easy to do with the ponderous ship speeding the waters at an eighteen-knot rate. Suddenly from the Oregon came the boom of a thirteen-inch gun, and the shell fell just astern of the Colon, sending the water up like a fountain. The battle was again on.
"Now for it!" cried Caleb, as the Spanish warship turned southward down the coast, and the Polly spoke up as fiercely as at any time during the contest.
"The Spaniards are losing heart!" came the cry, a few minutes later. "They ain't doing half the firing they were!"
It was true; the Colon was running short of ammunition, and her officers saw what a hopeless fight a contest with the Brooklyn and Oregon would prove to be. With shot and shell falling all around him, Captain Moreu hauled down his flag and sent his ship ashore at Rio Tarquino.
The battle was won, and Dewey's magnificent victory at Manila, which the world in general had declared was a miracle that could not be matched, had been duplicated. Henceforth American warships and American sailors would stand as the equals of any nation on the face of the globe.
And now that the contest was over what was to follow? To me, the hours that came after are even greater in honor than those glorious hours of victory. Already down the shore, the work of rescuing the sailors and marines from the Maria Teresa, Oquendo, and Vizcaya had begun, and now the crews of the Brooklyn and Oregon turned in to aid the wounded and the dying, and those in danger of drowning, on the Colon. Boat after boat went out, close to the sinking cruiser, now burning fiercely, with abandoned guns going off, loose powder and shells exploding, and magazines in danger of tearing all asunder. Amid such perils did our noble jackies work, hauling man after man from the ship, or from the water, and taking them to our own warships, there to be cared for as tenderly as though they were our own. Some of the Spaniards could not understand this treatment. They had been told that the Americans were butchers and had no hearts, and when they realized the truth many burst into tears of joy.