As the Admiral’s flagship, the Olympia, drew nearer all was as silent on board as if the ship had been empty, except for the whirr of blowers and the throb of the engines. Suddenly a shell burst directly over us. From the boatswain’s mate at the after 5-inch gun came a hoarse cry. “Remember the Maine!” arose from the throats of five hundred men at the guns. This watchword was caught up in turrets and fire-rooms, wherever seaman or fireman stood at his post.
“Remember the Maine!” had rung out for defiance and revenge. Its utterance seemed unpremeditated, but was evidently in every man’s mind, and, now that the moment had come to make adequate reply to the murder of the Maine’s crew, every man shouted what was in his heart.
The Olympia was now ready to begin the fight. “You may fire when ready, Captain Gridley,” said the Admiral, and at nineteen minutes of six o’clock, at a distance of 5,500 yards, the starboard 8-inch gun in the forward turret roared forth a compliment to the Spanish forts. Presently similar guns from the Baltimore and the Boston sent 250-pound shells hurtling toward the Spanish ships Castilla and the Reina Christina for accuracy. The Spaniards seemed encouraged to fire faster, knowing exactly our distance, while we had to guess theirs. Their ship and shore guns were making things hot for us.
The piercing scream of shot was varied often by the bursting of time fuse shells, fragments of which would lash the water like shrapnel or cut our hull and rigging. One large shell that was coming straight at the Olympia’s forward bridge fortunately fell within less than one hundred feet away. One fragment cut the rigging exactly over the heads of some of the officers. Another struck the bridge gratings in line with it. A third passed just under Dewey and gouged a hole in the deck. Incidents like these were plentiful.
“Capture and destroy Spanish squadron,” were Dewey’s orders. Never were instructions more effectually carried out. Within seven hours after arriving on the scene of action nothing remained to be done. The Admiral closed the day by anchoring off the city of Manila and sending word to the Governor General that if a shot was fired from the city at the fleet he would lay Manila in ashes.
What was Dewey’s achievement? He steamed into Manila Bay at the dead hour of the night, through the narrower of the two channels, and as soon as there was daylight enough to grope his way about he put his ships in line of battle and brought on an engagement, the greatest in many respects in ancient or modern warfare. The results are known the world over—every ship in the Spanish fleet destroyed, the harbor Dewey’s own, his own ships safe from the shore batteries, owing to the strategic position he occupied, and Manila his whenever he cared to take it.
Henceforth, so long as ships sail and flags wave, high on the scroll that bears the names of the world’s greatest naval heroes will be written that of George Dewey.
THE SINKING OF THE SHIPS.
This is an excellent selection for any one who can put dramatic force into its recital. Picture to your imagination the “Sinking of the Ships,” and then describe it to your hearers as though the actual scene were before you. You have command in these words, “Now, sailors, stand by,” etc.; rapid utterance in these words, “And the Oregon flew,” etc.; subdued tenderness in the words, “Giving mercy to all,” etc. In short, the whole piece affords an excellent opportunity for intense dramatic description.