THE MERRIMAC.
While Admiral Sampson had been fixing the blockade he had also been
forming plans to close the channel, and so keep any large ship from
stealing out of the bay. For, although our men watched closely, there
was always a chance that in a fog or storm the Spanish ships might
slip out without being seen. Admiral Sampson knew that the Spaniards
could remove anything that might be sunk to close the channel, but the
work would take time, and meanwhile our Army might arrive on the land
back of Santiago, and then our Army and Navy could help each other.
Time was what was needed in order to have all things ready for
forcing the Spaniards out of Santiago and taking possession of the
city.
[Illustration: Lieut. Richmond P. Hobson.]
So, plans were made for sinking a coal steamer across the narrowest
part of the channel, and thus blocking the way. Now you shall hear of
one of the bravest deeds ever done in war.
The work of closing the channel was put into the hands of Lieutenant
Hobson. The collier Merrimac was chosen as the vessel to be sunk. You
have no idea how much had to be done before the Merrimac was ready.
There were hours and hours of work. The crew had to take off all the
things that were not to be sunk, the machinery had to be fixed in
certain ways, the heavy anchors had to be placed in the right parts,
and the torpedoes, which Lieutenant Hobson made for blowing holes in
the vessel at the right moment, had to be fitted into their places.
More than two thousand tons of coal had to be shoveled away from
certain places in the hold to make room for the torpedoes and to leave
spaces for the water to rush in and sink the vessel. So, much hard
work was done before the good collier was ready to be forced under the
waves.
There was only a small chance that the men who took the Merrimac into
the channel would ever see their friends again. Death in the waves, or
death in the hands of the Spaniards, was the prospect. Lieutenant
Hobson said that he would not take one man more than was needed. A
signal was put up on all the ships, to find out the men who were
willing to go in the Merrimac. Hundreds of brave fellows sent in their
names, begged to go, gave good reasons why they thought they ought to
go, and were grieved to be refused. Lieutenant Hobson chose only six,
but at the last minute a seventh man got his chance; so, counting
Lieutenant Hobson, there were eight men going to almost certain death.
After the passing away of the old wooden ships of the navy, and before
our war with Spain, it was often said that opportunities for
individual bravery and daring had departed from the navy; but this was
disproved in the case of Lieutenant Hobson and his men, and in many
other instances. Every man in the fleet was ready to go on the
Merrimac and do what he was told to do; and so long as such men man
our ships our navy can never be conquered. They will fight to the
uttermost and go down with their colors rather than strike them.
Thursday evening, the second of June, arrives, and the Merrimac is all
ready for her last voyage. The men are on board, waiting for the time
to start. Quietly and fearlessly they pass the night, but they do not
sleep, they cannot sleep. Behind the Merrimac, farther out at sea,
stand the faithful vessels of our fleet, huge, pale shadows in the
night. The full moon lights up the channel that the Merrimac will
enter after awhile when the moon is low. On both sides of the channel
rise the high cliffs with their forts. Morro Castle frowns upon the
scene. Beyond--far beyond, are the mountain tops.
A basket of food and a kettle of coffee had been sent on board by the
flagship, and after midnight the men sit down on deck to eat their
last meal on board the Merrimac.
A little before two o'clock, Friday morning, June 3d, the Merrimac
starts for the channel. Each man is at his post; each knows his duty
and intends to do it. The men are not wearing their naval uniforms,
but are clad only in woolen underclothes, woolen stockings, with no
shoes. Each man wears a life-preserver, and a belt with a revolver
fastened to it.
On, on goes the vessel, swiftly, surely, heading for the channel.
Suddenly shots begin to pour upon the Merrimac; the Spaniards in the
forts have seen her approach. Still she plunges on, not heeding the
fire from the forts. Lieutenant Hobson gives the signal to stop the
engine, to turn the vessel in the right way across the channel, to
fire the torpedoes, to drop the anchors. Shells from the forts are
exploding all around, and the noise is terrible. But hard luck meets
the Merrimac. A shot has broken her rudder, so she cannot be steered;
a shot has broken the chain of one of her anchors, so the anchor is
gone; some of the torpedoes will not go off, so not enough holes can
be made to sink the Merrimac quickly; the tide is sweeping her into
the channel farther than she ought to go.
[Illustration: The "Merrimac."]
The men, having done their work, lie flat on deck to avoid the shots,
and wait anxiously for the moment when the vessel shall go down. In
a few minutes the Merrimac tosses low to one side, then to the other,
then plunges, bow foremost, into the waves. Now the men are thrown
into the whirling water. But see! they manage to swim to the
life-raft, which had been fastened by a long rope to the Merrimac and
is now floating on the waves. They cling to the raft, only heads and
hands above water. They keep quiet, for the Spaniards are out in small
boats now, looking to see what damage has been done. The Spaniards do
not see our men clinging to the flat raft. So Lieutenant Hobson and
his crew stay in the water, which is very chilly in the early morning;
their teeth chatter, their limbs ache. Meanwhile day dawns beautifully
over the hills of Santiago.
An hour passes in this way. Now a steam-launch is seen coming toward
the raft. Lieutenant Hobson hails the launch, asks for the officer in
charge, and surrenders himself and his men. They are helped into the
launch, prisoners in the hands of the Spaniards. The officer is
Admiral Cervera.
Naval Cadet Powell, of the New York, performed a feat in many respects
as heroic as that of Hobson and his men. He volunteered to take the
launch of the flagship and a small crew, patrol the mouth of the
harbor and attempt to rescue Hobson and his plucky crew should any of
them survive after the Merrimac had been blown up. This is his story:
"Lieutenant Hobson took a short sleep for a few hours, which was
often interrupted. A quarter to two o'clock he came on deck and made a
final inspection, giving his last instructions. Then we had a little
lunch.
"Hobson was just as cool as a cucumber. About two-twenty I took the
men who were not going on the trip into the launch and started for the
Texas, which was the nearest ship, but had to go back for one of the
assistant engineers, whom Hobson finally compelled to leave. I shook
hands with Hobson the last of all. He said: 'Powell, watch the boat's
crew when we pull out of the harbor. We will be cracks, rowing thirty
strokes to the minute.'
[Illustration: Naval Cadet Jos. W. Powell.]
"After leaving the Texas, I saw the Merrimac steaming slowly in. It
was only fairly dark then, and the shore was quite visible. We
followed about three-quarters of a mile astern. The Merrimac stood
about a mile to the westward of the harbor, and seemed a bit mixed,
turning completely around; finally, heading to the east, she ran down,
then turned in. We were then chasing him, because I thought Hobson
had lost his bearings. When Hobson was about two hundred yards from
the harbor the first gun was fired from the eastern bluffs.
"We were then half a mile off shore, close under the batteries. The
firing increased rapidly. We steamed in slowly and lost sight of the
Merrimac in the smoke, which the wind carried off shore. It hung
heavily. Before Hobson could have blown up the Merrimac the western
battery picked up and commenced firing. They shot wild, and we only
heard the shots. We ran in still closer to the shore, and the gunners
lost sight of us. Then we heard the explosion of the torpedoes on the
Merrimac. Until daylight we waited just outside the breakers, half a
mile to the westward of Morro, keeping a bright lookout for the boat
or for swimmers, but saw nothing. Hobson had arranged to meet us at
that point, but, thinking that some one might have drifted out, we
crossed in front of Morro and the mouth of the harbor to the eastward.
About five o'clock we crossed the harbor again, within a quarter of a
mile, and stood to the westward.
"In passing we saw one spar of the Merrimac sticking out of the water.
We hugged the shore just outside of the breakers for a mile, and then
turned towards the Texas, when the batteries saw us and opened fire.
It was then broad daylight. The first shot fired dropped thirty yards
astern, but the other shots went wild. I drove the launch for all she
was worth, finally making the New York. The men behaved splendidly."
How did our brave men fare as prisoners? They were taken to one of the
Spanish warships, were fed and clothed, and treated as friends.
Admiral Cervera sent a message to Admiral Sampson, saying that all the
men were safe and would be well treated. But they were not allowed to
stay long on the ship. After a few hours they were taken to Morro
Castle, which they did not find a pleasant prison, though they were
not badly treated. Lieutenant Hobson, by climbing up to the little
window in his cell, could see our ships far out at sea. In a few days
the prisoners were taken from Morro Castle to another prison in the
city of Santiago. You shall hear of them again.
[Illustration: Hobson's Cell.]