WE ENGAGE IN A SEA FIGHT.
"Watch on deck, put on your oilers," shouted the boatswain's mates.
The order came none too soon, for as the last man ran up the
companion-way ladder, the rain began to drop in sheets.
The rising wind drove the rain in our faces with stinging force, and we
were soon wet as drowned rats.
The white-capped seas raced alongside, and the "Yankee" heaved and
tossed like a bucking bronco. The lookouts at the masthead swayed
forward and back, to and fro, dizzily, and the officer of the deck on
the bridge had difficulty in keeping his feet. The pots and pans in the
galley banged noisily, and ever and anon the screw was lifted out of the
water, and for a few turns shook the ship from stern to stem with its
accelerated speed.
A number of men who had partaken too freely of tropical fruits manned
the rail and seemed too much interested in the seething water below to
notice the rain that was dripping down their necks.
For a time, things were very lively aboard the old hooker, and, though
in the main unpleasant, the grandeur of the sea in the tempest made up
for all discomforts. The flash of the lightning, the roar of the
thunder, the hum and whistle of the wind through the rigging, and the
swish of the seas as they dashed themselves to spray against the sides
of the ship--all this made an impressive chorus, more stirring even than
the roar of cannon and the shriek of shell.
When "hammocks" was blown by the ship's bugler at a quarter to seven, we
found it difficult to make our way forward to the nettings. One moment
we were toiling up the deck's steep incline; the next, the ship would
bury her prow, and we were rushing forward pell mell. The boat seemed to
be endowed with diabolical intelligence that night. A man might,
perchance, stoop to tie his shoe or examine a freshly stubbed toe, when
the ship would seem to divine that she had him at a disadvantage, and
would leap forward so that he would immediately stand on his head, or
affectionately and firmly embrace a convenient stanchion. "Pride cometh
before a fall," and the man who thought he had caught the swing and
could walk a chalk line on the deck, soon found that the old boat knew a
new trick or two, and in a twinkling of an eye he was sawing the air
frantically with his arms, in his efforts to keep his balance.
Though the force of the tropical storm was soon spent, the sea continued
high, and locomotion was difficult.
The hammocks were given out by the "hammock stowers" of the watch on
duty. They called out the numbers stenciled on our "dream bags," and the
owners stepped forward and claimed them. As soon as a man secured his
hammock he immediately slung it in place, unlashed it, and arranged the
blankets to his liking.
A group gathered around the capstan aft, after the hammock ceremony had
been completed.
Some one said, "I'm glad I can sleep in a hammock a night like this; the
heave of the ship will be hardly felt."
"Yes," responded the "Kid," "I wouldn't swap my 'sleeping bag' for the
captain's bed, to-night."
"That reminds me," said "Stump." "Speaking of beds--when we were in New
York a friend of mine came aboard to see me. He had a sister, but left
her at home."
"You can thank your lucky stars he did. If she'd seen your weary,
coal-covered visage, you could not even have been a brother to her,"
interrupted "Hay."
"I guess you're right," responded "Stump," with an appreciative grin.
"Anyhow, she did not come. So when her brother got home she plied him
with questions--this he wrote me afterwards--wanted to know how I
looked, asked what the ship was like, inquired about our food, and then
she questioned him about my stateroom. Was it prettily decorated? Whose
photograph occupied the place of honor on my dressing table?
"Billy, my friend," explained "Stump," "is a facetious sort of chap, so
he told her that of course such a large crew could not _all_ have
staterooms, but _I_ had a very nice one, that could be folded when not
in use, and put to one side out of the way. It was made of canvas, he
said, so constructed that it would always swing with the ship, and so
keep upright in a rolling sea.
"She listened intently, and finally broke out enthusiastically: 'How
nice!'
"Billy almost had a fit at that, and I nearly had, when I read his
letter."
We all laughed heartily and trooped below to enjoy a few hours' sleep
in our "folding staterooms."
The next day dawned bright and clear, and warm; with nothing to remind
us of the storm of the night before except the seedy look on the faces
of some of the "heroes" who were prone to seasickness.
The sun had not been up many hours when the masthead lookout shouted,
"Sail ho!" To which the officer of the deck replied, "Where away?"
"Dead ahead, sir. Looks like one of the vessels of the fleet, sir."
And so we joined the squadron again, after an absence of twenty-four
hours.
Nothing had occurred while we were away. Cervera's fleet was still
"bottled up" in Santiago harbor, and the American fleet held the cork so
effectively that even a torpedo boat could not get out.
After preparing the ship for the usual Sunday inspection, and arraying
ourselves in clean whites, polished shoes, and stockings, we thought we
had done all the work that would be required of us for the day. But when
the gig returned, bringing the skipper from the flagship, we learned
that we were to get under way right after dinner, and steam to the
westward.
After "turn to" was sounded at 1:15 o'clock, we noted a long string of
signal flags flying from the signal yard, which we found requested
permission from the flagship to proceed at once. As the affirmative
pennant on the "New York" slowly rose to its place on the foremast, the
"Yankee's" jingle bell sounded, and the ship began to gather headway.
At "afternoon quarters"--1:30--a drill, new to us, was taught; called by
the officers "physical drill," and by the men "rubber-necking." We
hardly felt the need of exercise. The swinging of a swab and use of sand
and canvas, to say nothing of "scrub and wash clothes" before breakfast,
seemed to us sufficient work to keep our muscles in good condition; but
it is one of the axioms in the navy that "Satan finds some mischief
still for idle hands to do," so the men were soon lined up--sufficient
space being given each man to allow him to swing his arms, windmill
fashion, without interfering with his neighbor.
A regular calisthenic exercise was gone through, such as may be seen in
gymnasiums all over the country; but instead of a steady, even floor,
upon which it would be quite easy to stand tiptoe, on one foot, or
crouched with bended knees, it was quite a different matter to do these
"stunts" on the constantly rolling deck.
At the order, "Knee stoop, one," we bent our knees till we sat on our
heels. "Heads up, hands on the hips, there!" said Mr. Greene of our
division, as some one obeyed an almost irresistible impulse to keep his
balance by putting out his hand. The man obeyed, but at that instant the
ship gave a lurch, and the poor chap fell over on his head and almost
rolled down the berth-deck hatch.
The laugh that followed was promptly suppressed, and though the exercise
was not carried out with a great deal of grace or ease, Mr. Greene
seemed to be satisfied with the first attempt.
We steamed along all the afternoon past the coast of Cuba and within
plain sight of the beautiful, surf-rimmed beach. We looked for signs of
the enemy, but not a living thing could be seen. Not a sign of human
habitation; not an indication that any human being had ever set foot on
this desolate land. So beautiful, so grand, so lonely was it that we
longed to go ashore and shout, just to set a few echoes reverberating in
the hills.
Toward night, we turned seaward, and the land was lost to view; at the
same time the "Yosemite," manned by the Michigan Naval Reserves, who
had accompanied us thus far, dropped out of sight in the haze. She was
bound for Jamaica.
A ship painted the "war color" now in vogue in the United States navy,
will disappear as if by magic when dusk comes on. The lead color makes
any object covered with it invisible in half light or a haze.
There had been much speculation during the day and evening as to our
probable destination, but we remained in ignorance until the next
morning, when it became known that our orders were to call at the port
of Cienfuegos, a prominent city of southern Cuba, some three hundred and
thirty miles from Santiago.
It was reported that the object of our visit was to intercept and
capture a blockade runner said to be aiming for that port. The news
received an enthusiastic welcome fore and aft. The billet of "fleet
messenger" was becoming tiresome.
The land had been sighted at two bells (nine o'clock), and all hands
were looking for Cienfuegos, but it was past one before the mouth of the
harbor was gained. The "Yankee's" crew were at regular quarters at the
time, but a hurried order to dismiss and clear ship for action sent the
different guns' crews scurrying to their stations.
To add to the interest, word came from the bridge to train the guns aft
and to do everything possible to disguise the cruiser.
"We are to masquerade as a blooming merchantman," chuckled "Dye." "This
reminds me of my boyhood days when I read pirate stories. Do you
remember that yarn about Kydd, where he rigged painted canvas about his
ship and hid all the ports, 'Stump'? It was great. The whole piratical
crew, with the exception of a dozen men, kept below, and when a poor
unfortunate ship came along, the bloodthirsty villains captured her."
"I wish they had caught you at the same time," retorted "Stump." "Then
we wouldn't be bothered with your infernal cackle. Here, give me a hand
with this mess chest."
By this time the task of preparing for action was an old story, and we
made short work of it. The call to "general quarters" followed without
delay, and, as we prepared the battery for action, word came from above
that a large gunboat, showing Spanish colors, was leaving the harbor in
our direction.
"Which means a scrap of the liveliest description," muttered Tommy.
"They evidently take us for a trader without guns, and they'll attack
us sure."
Boom!
A six-pounder gave voice from the spar deck, instantly followed by a
five-inch breechloader in the waist. Number Eight was loaded, and "Hay,"
who held the firing lanyard, snatched another sight, then stood erect
with left hand in the air.
"Ready, sir," he called out to the officer of the division.
"Fire!" came the reply promptly.
With the word a vicious report shook the deck, and the gun muzzle
vanished in a cloud of smoke. Eager hands opened the breech, others
inserted another cartridge, there was a shifting of the training lever,
a turn of the elevating wheel, then "Hay" stood back once more, and
coolly made the electrical connection.
Following the second report came a dull, booming sound, apparently from
a distance. We eyed one another significantly.
"It's a fort," quoth "Dye." "We've got to tackle both sea and land
forces."
Presently, while we were hard at work sending shots at the Spanish
gunboat, which was in lively action a short distance away, we became
aware of a peculiar whirring noise--a sound like the angry humming of a
swarm of hornets. It would rise and fall in volume, then break off short
with a sharp crash. Suddenly, while glancing through the port, I saw
something strike the surface, sending up a great spurt of water. It was
followed by a dull, muffled report which seemed to shake the ship.
It was a shell!
"Whiz! they are coming pretty fast," remarked Flagg. "That last one
didn't miss us by a dozen yards."
"This isn't Santiago shooting," put in Tommy. "These beggars know how to
aim."
During the next ten minutes the fighting was fast and furious. It was
load and fire and load again without cessation. There was the old
trouble in regard to the smoke, and half the time we had to aim blindly.
Notwithstanding that fact, "Hay" did so well that word came from Captain
Brownson complimenting him warmly.
The "Yankee" seemed to be the centre of a series of eruptions. The
Spanish shells kept the water continually boiling, and with the
splashing of each projectile there would arise a geyser-like fountain
accompanied by a muffled explosion which could be plainly felt on board
the ship.
[Illustration: "THERE WAS TEMPORARY CONFUSION"]
It was the first real naval battle experienced by us--the bombardment of
Santiago being of an entirely different calibre--and it needed only the
grewsome setting of surgeons and wounded and blood to make it complete.
That soon came.
We of Number Eight gun were working at our stations, so intent on our
duties that the uproar of shot and shell outside claimed little
attention, when suddenly there came a louder explosion than usual
directly in front of the open port.
There was a blinding flash, a puff of stifling smoke, and then Kennedy,
who was just approaching the gun with a shell, staggered back, and
almost fell to the deck. Tommy, the first captain, made a gesture as if
brushing something from his breast, and then leaped to the injured man's
assistance.
"It was a piece of shell," cried "Stump." "It came through the port."
There was temporary confusion. The surgeon and his assistants came on a
run, but before they could reach the spot, Kennedy recovered and
advanced to meet them. He presented a horrible spectacle, with his face
and neck and body spattered with blood, and we who were nearest saw that
he had been frightfully wounded in the left shoulder.
Notwithstanding that fact, he remained cool and steady, and never made
the slightest indication that he was suffering. When he finally
disappeared down the berth-deck ladder we exchanged glances of surprise
and sympathy.
"That isn't Kennedy," murmured "Stump," softly.
"We didn't know him after all," said "Hay." "Poor devil! I hope he isn't
badly injured."
"He has been in the hardest kind of luck since we left New York," spoke
up Tommy. "Seasick half the time, always in trouble, and bucking against
homesickness and everything else. And now he has to be wounded. It's a
shame."
Our thoughts were with our comrade as we served the gun, and when word
came a few moments later that he was doing fairly well, we could hardly
repress a cheer.
There was little time, however, for displaying emotion. We were right in
the thick of the fight, and the "Yankee's" battery was being worked to
the limit. It seemed as if the air fairly reeled with the noise and
clamor of combat. Shells buzzed and shrieked about us, and smoke
gathered in thick, stifling clouds all about the ship.
While we were laboring, stripped to the waist, and trying our utmost to
disable or sink the Spanish gunboat, an incident was occurring on deck
which seemed more fitted for the pages of a novel than those of a story
of facts.
It was a display of daredevil courage seldom equalled in warfare.
The lad whom we familiarly termed the "Kid" was the central figure and
the hero. The diary of No. 5 of the after port gun, from which this
narrative is taken, says of him: "'Kid' Thompson is the ship's human
mascot and all-round favorite with officers and men. His bump of respect
is a depression, but his fund of ready wit and his unvarying good nature
are irresistible. He is eighteen years of age, and is a 'powder monkey'
on Number Sixteen, a six-pounder on the spar deck. This gun and Number
Fifteen were the last to obey the order to cease firing during the
bombardment of Santiago."
During the fight with the Spanish gunboat it chanced that the port
battery was not engaged for a brief period, so the "Kid," with the rest
of Number Sixteen crew, were at rest. To better see the shooting the
"Kid" climbed upon the after wheel-house roof. The shells from the
gunboat and the forts were dropping all around, fore and aft, port and
starboard; they whistled through the rigging, and exploded in every
direction, sending their fragments in a veritable hail of metal on all
sides.
The fact that the "Yankee" had so far escaped injury aroused in the
"Kid's" breast a feeling of the utmost contempt for the Spanish gunners.
Coolly standing upon his feet, he assumed the pose of a baseball player,
and holding a capstan bar in his hands, called out tauntingly:
"Here, you dagoes, give me a low ball, will you? Put 'em over the
plate!"
As a shell would fly past with a shriek, he would strike at it, shouting
at the same time:
"Put 'em over the plate, I say. Do you expect me to walk up to the
fo'c's'le to get a rap at 'em? Hi, there! wake up!"
Then as a shot fell short, he laughed: "Look at that drop, will you? Do
you think I'm going to dive for it?"
A moment later a shell flew past so close that the windage almost
staggered him, but the daring lad only cried banteringly: "That's more
like it. One more a little closer and I'll show you a home run worth
seeing."
And so it went until he was espied from the bridge and peremptorily
ordered down.
In the meantime, while this little episode was in progress, we on the
gun deck were laboring without cessation. A dozen shots had been fired
from Number Eight alone, when suddenly another fort secured the range,
and began a deadly fusillade.
The situation was becoming extremely serious!