There was one more Spanish ship, the Cristobal Colon. (This is the Spanish for Christopher Columbus.) She was the fastest of them all, and for a time it looked as if Spain might save one of her ships.
But there were bloodhounds on her track, the Brooklyn, six miles behind, and the Oregon, more than seven miles away.
Swiftly onward fled the deer, and swiftly onward followed the war-hounds. Mile by mile they gained on the chase. About one o'clock, when she was four miles away, the Oregon sent a huge shell whizzing from one of her great 13-inch guns. It struck the water just behind the Colon; but another that followed struck the water ahead.
Then the Brooklyn tried her eight-inch guns, and sent a shell through the Colon's side, above her belt of steel. For twenty minutes this was kept up. The Colon was being served like her consorts. At the end of that time her flag was pulled down and the last of the Spanish ships ran ashore. She had made a flight for life of nearly fifty miles.
This, you see, is not the story of a sea-fight; it is the story of a sea-chase. Much has been said about who won the honor at Santiago, but I think any of you could tell that in a few words. It was the men who ran the engines and who aimed the guns that won the game. The commanders did nothing but run after the runaway Spaniards, and there is no great honor in that. What else was there for them to do? They could not run the other way.
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will appear.