In vain officers tried to stem the torrent of humanity that poured out
in the wake of the volunteers. The wildest rumors had deprived them of
all reason. They had heard that the city would be shelled by the foreign
fleet within six hours and reduced to ashes. It was reported that the
enemy’s giant submarines had already passed the forts at Sandy Hook and
the Narrows and were now taking their places around the city in the
North and East Rivers. The guns of these dreadnaught submarines threw
five-inch shells and New York was already at their mercy.
It was useless to argue with these terror-stricken people. They merely
stared in dumb misery and trudged on, mothers leading children, dirty,
bedraggled, footsore and hungry--little boys and girls carrying their
toys and pets--the old, the young, scrambling, crowding, hurrying they
knew not where for safety.
Vassar arrived at General Hood’s headquarters in time to witness the
clash of our squadron with the advance fleet of the enemy.
The battle was not more than five miles at sea in plain view of the
shore.
He watched the struggle in dumb misery.
It was magnificent. But it was not war. He felt this from the moment he
saw our five ships with their little flotilla of torpedo boats and
submarines head for the giant armada that moved toward them with the
swift, unerring sweep of Fate.
Our great red, white and blue battle flags suddenly fluttered in the
azure skies as the _Pennsylvania_’s forward turret spit a white cloud of
smoke. A long silence, ominous and tense followed and the sand dunes
shivered with the roar of her mighty guns.
The big cruiser leading the van of the advancing foe answered with two
white balls of smoke and Vassar saw the geysers rise from their
exploding shells five hundred yards short of our ship.
From out of the distant sky above the armada emerged a flock of gray
gulls--tiny specks at first, they gradually spread until their steel
wings swept a space five miles in width. The hydroplanes of the enemy
had risen from the sea and were coming to meet our brave airmen with
their pitiful little fleet of biplanes.
Higher and higher our boys climbed till but tiny specks in the sky. The
great gray fleet of the hostile gulls began to circle after them.
The guns of our battleship were roaring their defiance now in salvos
that shook the earth. The imperial armada, with twenty magnificent
dreadnaughts, advanced to meet them with every gun thundering.
“O my God!” Vassar groaned. “To think our people closed their eyes and
refused to see this day!”
Had his bill for national defense become a law our navy would have
ranked second, if not first, in the world. It would not have been
necessary to shift it from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We could have
commanded both oceans. It would be too late when our main fleet returned
by the Straits of Magellan.
Our ships were putting up a magnificent fight. One of them had been
struck and was evidently crippled, but her big guns were still roaring,
her huge battle flags streaming in the wind.
Vassar lowered his glasses and turned to General Hood.
“They’re going to die game!”
The General answered with his binoculars gripped tight, gazing seaward.
“They’re gamecocks all right--but I’m just holding my breath now. You
notice the enemy does not advance?”
“Yes, by George, they’re afraid! There’s not a dreadnaught among them
that can match the guns of our flagship!”
“Nonsense,” Hood answered evenly, “they’ve slowed down for another
reason. Unless I’m mistaken they’ve led our squadron into a school of
submarines--”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth before a huge column of water
and smoke leaped into the heavens beside the flagship, her big hull
heeled on her beam’s end and she hung in the air a helpless, quivering
mass of twisted steel slowly sinking.
“They’ve got her!” Vassar groaned.
Before the _Pennsylvania_ had disappeared her three sister ships had
been torpedoed. They were slowly sinking, the calm waters black with our
drowning men.
The sea was literally alive with submarines. The conning towers of
dozens could be seen circling the doomed ships.
The _Oklahoma_ had been disabled by shell fire before the submarines
appeared. She was running full steam now for the beach, with a dozen
submarines closing in on her. The white streak of foam left by their
upper decks could be distinctly seen from the shore. Utterly reckless of
any danger from the after guns of the dying dreadnaught they were racing
for the honor of launching the torpedo that would send her to the
bottom.
Her after guns roared and two submarines were smashed. Their white line
of foam ended in a widening mirror of oil on the dark surface of the
sea.
At almost the same moment a torpedo found her bow and sent the huge prow
into the air. She dropped and her stern lifted, the propellers still
spinning. Two swift submarines making twenty-two knots an hour had
circled her on both sides and brought their torpedoes to bear on her bow
at the same moment. Her battle flag was flying as she sank headforemost
to her grave.
The wind suddenly shifted and the men who watched with beating hearts
heard the stirring strains of “The Star Spangled Banner” floating across
the waters from her slippery decks. Weird and thrilling were its notes
mingling with the soft wash of the surf at low tide. The music was
unearthly. Its strains came from the deep places of eternity.
Instinctively both men lowered their glasses and stood with uncovered
heads until the music died away and only the dark blue bodies of our
boys were seen where a mighty ship had gone down.
“We’ve but one life to give!” Hood exclaimed. “It’s a pity we haven’t
the tools now to make that life count for more!”
The little torpedo boat flotilla closed in and dashed headlong for the
submarines. To the surprise of the watchers not one of the undersea
craft dived or yielded an inch. Their five-inch disappearing guns leaped
from the level of the water and answered our destroyers gun for gun.
Their decks were awash with the sea and armored so heavily that little
danger could be done by our shells.
The battle of the sharks was over in thirty minutes. Not a single
destroyer escaped. They had dashed headlong into a field of more than a
hundred dreadnaught submarines. One by one our destroyers broke in
pieces and sank to rise no more.
A few dark blue blots on the smooth waters could be seen--all we had
left afloat--and they were sinking one by one without a hand being
lifted to their rescue.
The imperial armada was mistress of the seas. The great ships moved
majestically in and prepared to shell the shores to clear the way for
their landing.