“Hello, Boston and Concord,” I put in in commanding tones. “I’m Dewey.”
This is the only false statement I ever made, but it was in the interests of my country, and my reply was electrical in its effect. The Boston immediately blew off steam, and the Concord sounded all hands to quarters.
“What do you want, Commodore?” they asked simultaneously.
“Search Subig Bay for Spaniards, as I have already ordered you,” I replied, “and woe be unto you if you don’t find any.”
“What do you want ’em for, Commodore?” asked the Boston.
“To engage, you idiot,” I replied, scornfully. “What did you suppose—to teach me Spanish?”
Both vessels immediately piped all hands on deck and set off. Two hours later they returned, and the telephone subaltern reported, “No Spaniards found.”
“Why not?” I demanded.
“All gone to Cuba,” replied the Boston. “Shall we pipe all hands to Cuba?”
“Wires too short to penetrate without a bust,” replied the Concord.