FROM CIENFUEGOS TO SANTIAGO BAY
From Key West the Flying Squadron set sail direct for Cienfuegos. The
_Brooklyn_, _Massachusetts_, _Texas_, and _Scorpion_ left together, and
were followed, twenty-four hours later, by the _Iowa_, mentioned in the
previous chapter, and by the _Castine_ and the collier _Merrimac_.
Cienfuegos is a town of good size lying on a small bay on the south
coast of Cuba, about midway between the eastern and western extremities.
For several days the Navy Department had been watching, or trying to
watch, the movements of the Spanish squadron, satisfied at last that it
was somewhere in Cuban waters. One report had it that Admiral Cervera
was at Cienfuegos, another that he was at Santiago de Cuba, many miles
to the eastward. Commodore Schley was now sent out to bring the truth to
light, were it possible to do so.
The rainy season, as it is termed, was at its height in this vicinity,
and the showers came down nearly all day, striking the hot metal decks,
and converting the water into something closely resembling steam. It was
so muggy and uncomfortable that hardly any of the jackies could sleep,
and more than one poor fellow was overcome and had to be carried to the
sick bay for treatment.
"If that Spanish squadron has passed Santiago and Cienfuegos, and is
crawling up around the western turn of Cuba, it won't be long before we
see some hot work," observed Caleb, as he lounged at a porthole, devoid
of any clothing but his shirt and trousers.
"Any kind of work would be hot," said Walter, laughingly. "Why, I think
a fellow could cook eggs on deck."
"Puts me in mind of a voyage I took to South America," put in Si, who
had just soused his head into a bucket of water, and was dripping from
nose, ears, and chin in consequence. "We lay off the mouth of the Amazon
for two days, waiting to get on a cargo of rubber. It was right under
the equator, and the tar just poured out of all our seams. One afternoon
I ran across the deck in my bare feet, for I was taking a swim, and as
true as I live I blistered my feet."
"Oh, that's nothing," returned Caleb, dryly. "I was under the equator
once, off the coast of Columbia in the bark _Sally D_. The captain let
us go fishing in the jolly-boat. We caught about a dozen fish and threw
'em in the bottom as fast as they came in, and when we got back to the
bark hang me if the first two fish we had brought up weren't baked as
nice as you please, all fit for the captain's table." And Caleb turned
away and began to whistle softly to himself, while Si continued his
ablutions without another word. Among old sailors, "matching yarns" is a
constant pastime, and the stories sometimes told would shame even a
Baron Munchausen.
The watch on board of the warship was now more strict than ever, and the
men slept at their guns, sometimes not seeing a hammock for several
nights. Everybody, from the captain down to the apprentices, felt that a
crisis could not be far off.
It must not be imagined that while Commodore Schley was skirting the
southern coast of Cuba, the northern coast was neglected, for such was
not the case. The blockade of Havana and vicinity still continued, and
in addition Rear-Admiral Sampson took his own flagship, the _New York_,
and several other warships, and sailed eastward, thinking to occupy the
St. Nicholas Channel. Thus, if Admiral Cervera tried to gain the
vicinity of Havana by the northern coast, he would be likely to fall in
with Sampson; if he took the southern way, Schley would intercept his
path. By keeping his ships in the St. Nicholas Channel Sampson remained
ever ready to dash northward should the Spanish destroyers take a new
course and show themselves along our own coast.
"We are coming in sight of land," cried Walter, toward nightfall, two
days after leaving Key West. "I suppose this is some port on the
southern coast of Cuba."
"It is Cienfuegos Bay," returned Caleb. "I just heard one of the
officers say so. We're to lie at anchor until morning, and then perhaps
the fun will commence."
At this announcement Walter's heart beat quickly, and it must be
admitted that he did not sleep a wink that night for speculating on what
the morrow might bring forth. In this particular, his thoughts were not
far different from those of every one else on board.
Daybreak brought more rain, and the big warship rode on the long swells
of the ocean grim and silent. Not far away lay the _Texas_, and several
newcomers could be seen approaching from a distance. "This looks like
business," observed Si to Walter, and the boy nodded.
Immediately after breakfast the signal was hoisted to clear ship for
action, and once more the jackies rushed to their various places and got
into fighting trim. Then the great engines of the _Brooklyn_ began to
work, and they crept slowly toward the entrance to the harbor.
"If Cervera is there, he keeps himself pretty well hidden," remarked one
of the officers, within hearing of Walter. "I don't see anything that
looks like a warship."
Presently the flagship came to a halt, and the _Texas_ steamed past her
and quite close to the harbor. Here the Spaniards had a small land
battery, but it kept silent. The inner portion of the bay was hidden
from view by a high spur of land.
What to do next was a problem. If the Spanish squadron was really
there, it would be foolhardy to rush in and do battle while the enemy
would have the support of the shore battery. Commodore Schley thought
the matter over and, ever on the alert, decided to play a waiting game.
Sunday passed without anything unusual developing, and so did the day
following. The strain on the men at the guns was great, for they were on
duty constantly. Night and day the bosom of the outer bay was closely
watched, for it was known that Cervera had with him one or two
torpedo-boat destroyers, and these were dreaded more than anything else.
"Let one of those torpedo destroyers get near us, and we'll go up as
quickly as did the _Maine_," said Caleb. "I'm not afraid of the dagos,
but let me get out of the way of a torpedo boat every time." And this
opinion was shared by all Walton's messmates.
"There's another boat coming up," announced Si, at six o'clock on
Tuesday morning. "Walton, what do you make her out to be?"
"She's the _Marblehead_," was the old gunner's answer, after a long look
at the craft. "And she's got despatches for the commodore," he added,
as the signal went up and a small boat put off for the _Brooklyn_. Soon
Commander McCalla of the _Marblehead_ came on board, and a long
conference with Commodore Schley resulted, after which the newly arrived
officer departed for his own warship with all possible speed. McCalla's
mission was to communicate with the Cuban insurgents who were encamped
near Cienfuegos, with a view to ascertaining if Admiral Cervera's ships
were really in the harbor.
The morning passed quietly, and by noon the _Marblehead_ and her
commander returned. The Cuban spies had made an investigation, and not a
single ship of war belonging to Spain had been found, outside of a
little harbor vessel of small moment.
It was now thought that if Admiral Cervera was not at Cienfuegos he must
either be on his way hither or at Santiago. Accordingly, toward evening,
the squadron received orders to sail for Santiago.
"We're off for Santiago Bay," said Caleb. "And if we don't find the
dagos there, I'll give up where they are. Perhaps they have gone back to
Spain." He continually alluded to the Spaniards as dagos,--a term which
became quite common among soldiers and sailors during the war, although
many referred to the enemy as the Dons.
It had cleared off, and the sun shone down fiercely on the deck and
elsewhere. Inside of the steel turrets the air was stifling, and no one
could remain at his post over a couple of hours. From below, the
engineers, firemen, and coal-heavers came up constantly for a whiff of
fresh air.
"We're badly enough off," remarked Walter. "But look at those poor
chaps. Why, some of the firemen look ready to melt."
"Yes, and the worst of it is they never get any credit when it comes to
a battle," added Caleb. "Now to my mind, the engineer who sticks to his
engine during a battle, obeying orders and running the risk of having a
shot plough through a boiler and scald him to death, is just as much of
a hero as the chap behind a gun--and in one way he's more of a hero; for
if the ship should start to sink, a gunner has got the chance to leap
overboard and swim for it, while the man below is likely to be drowned
like a rat in a trap."
"And the coal-heavers work harder than negroes," put in Paul. "Just
think of the tons and tons of coal they shovel every twenty-four hours
when we are under full steam. I'm quite certain such work would break my
back."
"Oh, life on a warship isn't all a picnic," was Si's comment. "If a
fellow enlists to have an easy time of it, he deserves to get left. I
enlisted to serve Uncle Sam, and I'm going to do it--if Providence will
give me the chance."
As Commodore Schley sailed toward Santiago from Cienfuegos, Rear-Admiral
Sampson, gaining additional information concerning the whereabouts of
the enemy, moved slowly and cautiously eastward toward Cape Maysi and
the Windward Passage. Thus, if Cervera was where he was supposed to be,
he was bound to be discovered before many more days passed.
"Do you know anything about Santiago Bay?" asked Si of Walter. "I've
travelled to South America and Central America, but I never stopped
anywhere in Cuba."
"I know only what the geographies teach," answered Walter. "It is on the
south side of Cuba, a hundred and some odd miles from the eastern end of
the island. It is said to be a very pretty harbor, about eight miles
long and one to two miles wide. Santiago, which is the next largest
Cuban city to Havana, is located on the northeast shore. I heard Caleb
say that the entrance to the harbor is shaped like the neck of a crooked
bottle, and that on the eastern side there is a strong fortress called
Morro Castle, and opposite to it a heavy concealed battery called La
Zocapa. Somehow, it's in my mind that we'll see a good deal of the
harbor before we come away," concluded the boy.