I did not miss the entrance to the harbor, I turned east until I got my bearings and then made[6] for it, straight in. Then came the firing. It was grand,[11] flashing out first from one side of the harbor and then from the other, from those big guns[2] on the hills, the Spanish ship Vizcaya, lying inside the harbor, joining in.
Troops from Santiago had rushed down when the news of the Merrimac’s coming was telegraphed and soon lined the foot of the cliff, firing wildly across and killing each other with the cross fire. The Merrimac’s steering gear broke as she got to Estrella Point. Only three of the torpedoes on her side exploded when I touched the button. A huge submarine mine caught her full amidships, hurling the water high in the air and tearing[25] a great rent in the Merrimac’s side.
Her stern ran upon Estrella Point. Chiefly owing to the work done by the mine she began to sink slowly. At that time she was across the channel, but before she settled the tide drifted her around. We were all aft, lying on the deck. Shells[13] and bullets whistled around. Six-inch shells from the Vizcaya came tearing into the Merrimac, crashing into wood and iron and passing clear through while the plunging shots from the fort broke through her decks.
“Not a man[3] must move,” I said, and it was only owing to the splendid discipline of the men that we all were not killed, as the shells rained over us and minutes became hours of suspense. The men’s mouths grew parched, but we must lie there till daylight, I told them. Now and again one or the other of the men lying with his face glued to the deck and wondering whether the next shell would not come our way would say: “Hadn’t[3] we better drop off now, sir?” but I said: “Wait[12] till daylight.”
It would have been impossible to get the catamaran or raft anywhere but to the shore, where the soldiers stood shooting, and I hoped that by daylight we might be recognized and saved. The grand old Merrimac kept sinking. I wanted to go forward and see the damage done there, where nearly all the fire was directed, but one man said that if I rose it would draw all the fire on the rest. So I lay motionless. It was splendid[11] the way these men behaved. The fire[6] of the soldiers, the batteries and the Vizcaya was awful.
When the water came up on the Merrimac’s decks the raft floated amid the wreckage, but she was still made fast to the boom, and we caught hold[23] of the edge and clung on, our heads only being above water. One man thought we were safer right[6] there; it was quite light; the firing had ceased, except that on the launch which followed to rescue us, and I feared[20] Ensign Powell and his men had been killed.
A Spanish launch[2] came toward the Merrimac. We agreed to capture her and run. Just as she came close the Spaniards saw us, and a half-dozen marines jumped up and pointed[2] their rifles at our heads. “Is there any officer in that boat to receive a surrender of prisoners of war?” I shouted. An old man leaned out under the awning and held out[6] his hand. It was the Spanish Admiral Cervera.
