THE CHASE.
Bill Jones found time to change his opinion as to the speedy
termination of the war after the _Merrimac_ had been sunk at the
entrance of Santiago Bay.
Instead of displaying any anxiety to surrender, the Spaniards on the
island appeared to be making every preparation for a stubborn defence,
and the fleet of war-vessels had little opportunity to do much more
than blockade duty.
Teddy Dunlap, looked upon by the crew of the _Texas_ as a lad who had
every right to be among them, might have enjoyed this cruising to and
fro, keeping watch over the entrance to the harbour, now and then
overhauling a suspicious-looking vessel that ventured too near, and at
times throwing shells ashore from the big guns, but for the fact that
he burned with impatience to be with his father.
The _Brooklyn_ remained in view nearly all the time, now so close at
hand that it seemed as if the two ships must immediately come within
hailing distance, and again so far away that she appeared only as a
tiny speck against the white sky, yet the stowaway was as completely
separated from his father as if they were thousands of miles apart.
"If only the captains couldn't talk with those little flags, it might
be that the ships would come side by side!" he said, with a long-drawn
sigh, to Bill Jones. "There'll never be any need for them to sail
nearer than within sight, an' I won't get a chance to speak to
father,--perhaps not this year."
"The prospect don't look very encouragin' just at the present time,
an' that's a fact," Bill said, thoughtfully, filling his pipe with
unusual care. "Two or three days ago it seemed as if the war was
mighty nigh at an end; but now there 'pears to be a good deal of fight
left in the Dagoes."
"An' while we're loafin' 'round here, Captain Miller will come aboard
some fine day. Then where'll I be?"
"Right here, my lad, an' there's no use lookin' ahead. He won't come
the sooner, or stay away any longer, no matter how much you fuss, so
why not save the wear an' tear of thinkin'?"
"See here," and Teddy leaned forward to look the little sailor full in
the eyes, "do you believe I'll ever have a chance of lettin' daddy
know where I am?"
"It stands to reason there must be a show for it in course of time."
"When?"
"Now you're askin' me a question I ain't in condition to answer. It
may be two or three weeks, or, then again, the show might come sudden,
within an hour. At sea you can't ever tell what's goin' to happen,
Teddy Dunlap, an' there's nothin' for it but to keep your ears an'
eyes open all the time, ready to jump on the first promisin' chance
that comes your way."
There is no good reason why such a conversation as this should be set
down, save that it is similar to a hundred others which were held
between the two comrades during the weeks which followed the sinking
of the _Merrimac_, when Teddy Dunlap, without effort on his part, was
transformed from a stowaway to a lad apparently in the employ of Uncle
Sam.
Never for a single moment did he lose sight of the possible fact that
either the _Brooklyn_ or the _Texas_ might be ordered away from this
particular station, in which case it was reasonable to suppose that
many months must elapse before he could inform his father of his
whereabouts.
There was grave danger the two might be separated so widely that
months, perhaps years, would elapse before they could meet again, and
Teddy was never comfortable in mind, but, despite all the good advice
given by Bill Jones, continued to look out into the future, searching
for trouble.
Meanwhile both he and the little sailor were kept at work on board the
_Texas_ exactly as if they had been regularly enlisted; but the duties
were so light among such a large number, that he who complained of the
work must indeed have been an indolent fellow.
And while Teddy worried over his own seeming troubles, the two
nations continued at war, killing and wounding men at every
opportunity, and ever striving to strike some decisive blow.
As a matter of course Teddy and Bill Jones took their small part in
the bombardment of the batteries at the entrance to Santiago Harbour
two days after the _Merrimac_ had been sunk.
The _Texas_ was the third vessel in the first column, headed by the
_Brooklyn_, when, shortly after sunrise, the fleet steamed inshore and
opened fire with the heavy guns.
It was to the boy as if he went into action almost by the side of his
father, and he worked with a will at whatsoever was set him to do,
although at times the terrific roar literally stunned him, while the
heat was so great that it seemed as if he was on the verge of
suffocation during every moment of the four hours the bombardment
continued.
Then the squadron steamed back to its blockading station, and at no
time had the _Brooklyn_ and _Texas_ been so near each other as to have
rendered it possible for Teddy to see his father, even though the
latter had stood on the battle-ship's deck every moment.
Again and again, as the days passed, did the _Texas_ go into action,
and at no time were the little stowaway and his small comrade remiss
in their duties.
They did their full share of the work, despite Bill Jones's assertion
that he was only a "plain, every-day sailor with no fightin' timber
about him," and as the weeks wore on these two became more and more
closely identified with the battle-ship to which chance had sent them.
When the ship was sent to bombard the works at Matamoras, and a
Spanish shell struck near the stern on the port side, passing through
the hull three feet below the main-deck line, and exploding on the
berth-deck, killing one man and wounding eight, Teddy's search for his
father nearly came to an end.
A fragment of the shell passed within ten inches of the boy's head,
striking down a sailor just beyond him, and Teddy won the admiration
of every man on board by springing to the relief of the poor fellow
whose leg had been shattered, instead of taking flight, as might quite
naturally have been expected.
[Illustration]
Later, when the _Texas_ had withdrawn from the action, man after man
congratulated the lad upon his behaviour, predicting that he would in
time prove himself worthy of serving under such a commander as Captain
Philip, and otherwise bestowing so much praise that at the first
opportunity he said confidentially to Bill Jones:
"It makes me ashamed to have them say so much about how I acted. It
wasn't different from what any other feller would have done, because
I forgot all about the danger when Baker fell."
"I'm thinkin' you're out of your reckonin' there, lad, for accordin'
to my idee, there ain't a boy in a thousand who'd handled himself as
well as you did. Now I'm no fightin' man, as I've said before, but
your keepin' such a stiff upper lip, when there was precious good
chance of bein' killed, did me solid good. I knew you had sand, from
the first minute of settin' eyes on you, but never suspected there was
so much of it."
"You're talkin' worse than the others, even when I'm tellin' the truth
about not knowin' there was any danger. I only saw poor Baker, an'
thought I might help him."
"It ain't what you thought, lad, but what you did, that counts, an'
now if Captain Miller comes aboard I'm willin' to guarantee he won't
be allowed to kick up any row because of your stowin' away on the
_Merrimac_. The crew wouldn't allow any funny business with you, after
this day's work. Don't you see how much nearer your father we are than
we were this mornin'?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I say, lad. You've made for yourself a standin' on board
this ship, an' now when the time comes right I'm goin' to tell your
story to one of the petty officers, askin' him to see it reaches
Captain Philip's ears. Once that's been done, Teddy Dunlap, we'll be
hailin' the _Brooklyn_ with signals flyin' to tell the coal-passers
that one of 'em has got a son on board this craft."
"Do you suppose any such plan might work?" Teddy asked, breathlessly.
"There ain't a shadow of doubt about it in my mind."
"Why don't you do it now? I've given up hopin' this war is pretty near
at an end, an' am hungry to see daddy."
"Better wait awhile longer, my boy. It's a little too soon to show
ourselves very big, 'cause it ain't no ways certain the captain has
had time to hear of what you did. We'll hold off a spell, an' then,
when the signs come right, you'll see me put this business along in
great shape."
Because of this promise, and also owing to the many words of praise
which were showered upon him by the men, Teddy Dunlap believed, as he
had several times before, that the hour was very near at hand when he
would be with his father once more; but, as in the past, he was doomed
to disappointment during more days than he cared to count.
The "signs" never came so nearly right as to give Bill Jones courage
to take the responsibility of telling Teddy's story to those who would
repeat it to Captain Philip, and these two refugees from the
_Merrimac_ remained aboard the _Texas_, much to the satisfaction of
the crew.
It was known to them, as to every one on the warships, that hot
fighting was going on ashore in the vicinity of Santiago, and at
frequent intervals the big vessels steamed toward the land, in this
direction or that, to shell the Spanish camps; but they were at such a
distance from the scene of action that such work had little the
appearance of warfare.
In fact, the air of plain, every-day business about the operations
rendered it difficult to believe the huge shot and shell which were
hurled landward carried in their wake death and destruction to many.
When one of the _Texas's_ big guns was discharged, Teddy could hear
the roar, and feel the concussion, as a matter of course; he could
also see the missile as it sped through the air; but he had no means
of knowing where it struck, neither did he have a view of the
desolation and ruin it caused, therefore, like many another man aboard
the battle-ship, he came to look upon this work of war as nothing more
than harmless practice.
The day was near at hand, however, when the stowaway and his little
comrade were to have all too good a view of the butchery and
inhumanity of war.
It was on Sunday morning, the third day of July.
The crew of the _Texas_ had been mustered for religious services, and
while Bill Jones and Teddy waited in their proper places for the
coming of the chaplain, the sailor whispered:
"To-morrow mornin' I'm goin' to start in on your business, lad. So far
as I can see, the fleet is likely to be here a year or more before the
Spaniards are ready to surrender Santiago, and if I don't bring you to
the captain's notice soon, all your good behaviour when the shot came
aboard will have been forgotten."
"I'm afraid we've waited too long already," the lad replied, with a
sigh, for the hope had been so long deferred that his "heart was sick"
indeed for a sight of his father.
"I reckon not, Teddy; but if I've made a mistake in holdin' off, it
was done through fear I might speak too soon."
"Don't think I'm blamin' you," the boy replied, quickly, pressing his
comrade's arm in a friendly fashion. "If you never did anything more,
I'd feel as if you'd been mighty good to me, for I couldn't have run
across many sailors who'd lay themselves out to help a stowaway."
"That part of it is--"
Bill Jones was interrupted by a shout,--Teddy will never know who
uttered it, or what the words were,--and instantly, without the
slightest apparent cause, all was seeming confusion on board the ship.
It was to the lad as if the very air bristled with excitement; he saw
men darting here and there, heard sharp, quick words of command, and
as if at the very same instant, the _Texas_ seemed to leap forward
with a bound, huge clouds of black smoke suddenly pouring out of her
stacks.
"The Spaniards! The Spaniards!" Bill Jones yelled in the lad's ear, at
the same time pointing toward the entrance to the harbour, from out of
which could be seen the dark hull of an enemy's ship.
It was as if in that small fraction of time very much took place.
Teddy saw long lines of signal-flags run up to the _Brooklyn's_
masthead; he heard the roar of a 6-pounder as the _Iowa_ fired the
first shot at the foe, and understood, rather than saw, that every
vessel in the squadron was under a full head of steam almost
immediately.
At one instant the blockading squadron lay motionless and apparently
lifeless off the harbour, rocking lazily on the long swell, and then,
before one could speak, as it were, every listless hull was a war
machine, quivering with life, and pouring forth deadly shot and shell.
The transformation was so sudden and complete that it is little wonder
Teddy and Bill Jones stood transfixed with astonishment until the
chase was well under way.
One after another of the Spanish cruisers came at full speed out of
the harbour which it had been believed was closed by the hull of the
_Merrimac_, and as each ship rounded the point her guns were
discharged at the Yankee squadron. The dense smoke pouring out of
their stacks; the clouds of spray from their bows, glistening like
diamonds in the sunlight of that Sabbath morning as it was thrown aft
by the fierce impetus of the huge vessels to mingle with the smoke
that came from every gun; the roar and thunder of the discharges; the
shrieking of the missiles, and the spouting of water as the metal fell
short, made up a scene of war in its most terrific phase.
On the other side, three battle-ships and an armoured cruiser dashing
forward at the full speed of their engines; the heavy reverberations
of guns; black clouds and white of smoke from coal and from burning
powder; men stripped to the waist and working at the pieces with a
fury, haste, and energy that could not have been increased had each
individual member of the crew been fighting against a personal foe,
and words of command, encouragement, or hope, which were heard on
every hand, thrilled the boy who had trembled before the supposed
wrath of a collier's captain, until each nerve was tingling with
excitement,--each pulse bounding with the hot blood that leaped in
feverish throbs from artery to artery.
Teddy Dunlap was in the very midst of what but few had ever seen,--a
sea-battle with the mightiest ships in the world as combatants.
It was while the lad and his elderly comrade stood like statues,
gazing at the wondrous, terrible sight around them, that the former
saw a huge shell leave the turret of the _Iowa_, rise on the arc of a
circle in the air, cleaving its way directly toward the _Teresa_, the
foremost of the fleeing ships.
Teddy was still following the missile with his eyes when it struck the
Spaniard's hull, cutting its way through as if no resistance was
offered, and it seemed that the huge mass had but just disappeared
when great volumes of smoke and flame burst from the aperture made by
the shell, telling that the first of the enemy's fleet was already
vanquished.
Then came a mighty yell from every man aboard the _Texas_ as well as
the _Iowa_, for the gun had been aimed with a precision worthy a
Yankee gunner whose forefathers, perhaps, had been forced to shoot
accurately in order to save their scalps from the lurking Indian.
This cry of satisfaction had not yet died away when the _Maria Teresa_
was headed for the beach, with smoke and flame enveloping all her
after part,--a wreck before she had more than cleared the harbour's
mouth.
"There's one of 'em done for, an' in short order!" Bill Jones
screamed, dancing to and fro like a crazy person, and if he made any
further remark Teddy failed to hear it, because of the cheers of
triumph which came from every vessel in the American fleet.
The enemy had counted on cutting his way through the blockading
squadron, but the first of his vessels had come to grief before the
chase was fairly begun.
As the _Teresa_ swung round in order to gain shoal water before the
fire should completely envelop her, Teddy saw two small, swift,
low-lying steamers come out from behind her with a speed which seemed
like that of the wind, and the little sailor cried, in tones nearly
resembling fear:
"There are the destroyers! The _Pluton_ and _Furor_! Our ships are not
speedy enough to keep out of their way! Now is the Spaniard's chance
to pay for the loss of the _Teresa_!"
Teddy had heard of these torpedo-boats, and knew what it was possible
for them to do unless, perchance, they might be checked at long range,
and yet the commanders of the Yankee battle-ships apparently gave no
heed to the dangerous enemies which had been designed for the sole
purpose of destroying such as they.
Straight toward the _Brooklyn_ these formidable craft were headed, and
the stowaway involuntarily cried aloud in terror, for was not his
father on board that vessel which appeared to be in such peril?
Then, coming up swiftly, as a hawk darts out upon its prey, the lad
saw the little yacht _Gloucester_ swim directly inshore to meet these
mighty engines of destruction, when one well-directed shot from their
guns would have sent her to the bottom, crushed out of all semblance
of a vessel.
At that moment Teddy and Bill Jones saw what much resembled the attack
of a fly upon two huge spiders.
The tiny _Gloucester_ steamed straight down upon the destroyers,
cutting them off from their intended prey, and pelting them with
shells from her small 6-pounders, but doing the work with such
accuracy and precision of aim that it seemed as if the battle was no
more than begun before these two mighty machines turned toward the
shore to follow the _Teresa_, but sinking even while one could say
they were beaten.
"Hurrah for Wainwright! Bully little _Gloucester_!"
Two hundred voices rose high with shouts of triumph and exultation
that the Yankee gunners had not only done their work well, but with
bravery such as could not be excelled, and meanwhile the big ships
went tearing madly on lest the _Vizcaya_, the _Cristobal Colon_, and
the _Almirante Oquendo_, all that were left of the Spanish fleet,
should escape them.
The _Iowa_ and the _Texas_ had selected the _Vizcaya_ as their prey,
and while the remainder of the fleet stretched away in pursuit of the
other ships, these two cut off the big Spaniard, forcing her to fight
whether she liked or not.
[Illustration]
Teddy and Bill Jones stood on the port side of the _Texas_, all
unconscious that they were exposed to any chance shot the Spaniard
might send aboard, and realising nothing save the fever of battle. The
odour of burning powder was in their nostrils, and life or death,
danger or safety were alike the same.
The _Texas_ literally reeled under their feet as her big guns were
discharged full at the _Vizcaya_, which ship was hurling shot and
shell with reckless rapidity and inaccuracy of aim.
The roar of the pieces was like the crashing of thunder; the
vibrations of the air smote one like veritable blows, and enormous
smoke clouds rolled here and there, now shutting off all view, and
again lifting to reveal the enemy in his desperate but ill-directed
flight.
"Can we sink her?" Teddy asked once, when the two comrades were so
closely enveloped by the pungent vapour that it was impossible to
distinguish objects five feet away, and the little sailor cried, in a
delirium of excitement:
"Sink her, lad? That's what we're bound to do!"
"She is workin' her guns for all they are worth, an' I've heard it
said that even a ship like this would go down if a big shell struck
fairly."
"Ay, lad, an' so she would, I reckon; but we'll have yonder Spaniard
under the water before her gunners can get the range. Every shot of
ours is hittin' its mark, an' they're not comin' within half a mile of
us! Sink her! We'll--"
Even as Bill Jones spoke, the 12-inch gun in the _Texas's_ forward
turret was discharged. The smoke rolled aside at the same instant, and
the two watchers saw a huge shell dart forth, speeding directly toward
the ship that had so lately been a friendly visitor in the harbour of
New York.
It struck its mark fairly, crashed through the iron plating as if
through paper, and then Teddy saw the mighty vessel reel under her
death-stroke when the shell exploded.
Another howl of triumph; half naked men danced to and fro in their
excitement; the gunners rushed out from the turrets gasping for
breath, but yelling with savage joy, and the _Vizcaya's_ bow was
headed toward the shore!
The fourth vessel of the enemy's fleet had been disabled, and there
only remained the two mighty ships in the distance, from the
smoke-stacks of which poured forth long rolls of black smoke, flecked
with sparks and burning brands, that told of the desperate efforts
being made to escape.