The Message From the Kearsarge
As the enemy covered the sea, so he filled the air. Constantly, all day long, floating and drifting with the soft white clouds far beyond the farthest extent of the cordon, his aeroplanes surveyed the water-world. And all day long, and all night long, the ships’ wireless tore the air.
The American wireless, too, played forth its electric waves of air night and day. From daring scouts to relay-ships, and from relay-ships to hidden fleet and to waiting Nation, went the story out of the far sea. The American millions knew the progress of the coming enemy as if the fleet were an army moving along a populous highway of the land.
The Nation watched the implacable, remorseless advance breathlessly, apprehensively; but behind its apprehension there was hope. “Surely, surely,” men said to each other, “our splendid sailors will get at them!”
Accustomed by its history to expect thrilling deeds of dash and enterprise that should wrest success out of disaster, the United States waited for The Deed.
It came. Out of the far Atlantic came the story. It came from the battle-ship Kearsarge and went to the Chester, it was passed on by the Chester and picked up by the Tacoma, and the Tacoma tossed it into the air and sent it to the coast.
“Engaged,” said the Kearsarge, “have—sunk,” and then there came a break in the message. “Destroyer—light—cruiser—” spoke the wireless again, and stopped. “Armored—cruiser,” spoke the wireless again in half an hour. “Port—beam—disabled—withdrawing—pre-dreadnaught—abaft—starboard—beam—firing—14,000—yards—dreadnaught—port beam—” Again there came an abrupt check to the wireless.
To the men on the fleet “somewhere off the Virginia Capes,” and to the men in newspaper offices from ocean to ocean, it was as if they were witnessing the fight. Indeed, the presses had some of it printed and on the streets before the battle-ship’s story was done.
“Dreadnaught—” started the wireless again. “17,000—yards—am struck—after—gun—upper—turret—am struck—forward—gun—lower—turret—dismounted—am struck—after—gun—lower—turret—”
The air fell silent. It was the last word from the Kearsarge.