"THE ENEMY IS ESCAPING!"
"Is he dead, surgeon?"
"Oh, doctor, he'll live--say he'll live!"
Caleb and Si had followed the senseless form of Walter to the sick bay
of the warship, the Yankee youth with the blood streaming from a deep
cut in his left cheek. Both were in distress for fear their comrade was
seriously injured.
"Yes, he'll live, but he has had a narrow escape," was the reply of the
medical man in charge of the case. "The bit of shell scraped his left
temple, as you see. Had it come a little closer, it would have gone
through his brain."
Walter had been placed on a swinging cot, and now his head was bound up.
Before this operation was over he opened his eyes.
"Whe--where am I?" he stammered. "Wh--what hit me?"
"Praise God, he's himself again!" murmured Caleb, reverently. "I was
afraid he was a goner."
"So was I," whispered Si. "And I don't know how I could spare Walter--he
seems so like a brother."
"You must lie quiet for a while," said the surgeon. "You'll be all right
by to-night." And then he gave Walter some medicine to brace his nerves,
for they had been sadly shattered by the shock. The remainder of that
Saturday was spent in bed.
On this memorable day the fighting on land had been even more fierce
than on the sea. The army of invasion had taken the various outposts of
Santiago, and the very city itself now lay at General Shafter's mercy.
It was felt that a day or two longer would bring matters to a climax.
When Walter joined his comrades after supper he looked rather pale and
scared. Almost silently he took Si's hand and wrung it.
"You are all right?" he whispered.
"No hurt to speak of," was the answer.
"But we were pretty close to death. Oh, Si, I never realized before how
quick one could be put out of this world!"
"Neither did I, Walter. After this I'm going to--well--I'm going to
attend church more regularly, that's all. I never did take much to sech
matters afore, like you do."
"It's always well to be prepared for death, Si--I'm going to try to be
prepared after this," was Walter's low answer, and in the darkness of
the berth deck they clasped hands again. They understood each other
pretty well, these boys.
On Sunday morning the sun arose clear and strong, and early in the day
an awning was spread over the quarterdeck of the flagship _Brooklyn_,
and preparations were made to pass a hot day as comfortably as possible.
"We will rest to-day," was the word passed around, and the jackies were
not sorry, for the bombardment on Saturday morning had tired them out.
The _Brooklyn_ rested about three miles out from Santiago Bay, and not
far off lay the _Texas_. Between the two ships the long, green waves
rose and fell, only making a soft slish-slish as they struck the
vessels' sides. The jackies lolled here, there, and everywhere, some
talking, some reading old newspapers which from frequent handling would
scarcely hold together, while a few studied the Bibles they had brought
with them.
Presently from the _Texas_ came the musical bugle-call for church
service. "I'd like to go on board of her once," said Walter to Si, as
they listened to the bell that followed. "She's certainly a fine-looking
craft."
"Three bells," put in Caleb, as he came up. "Come on, lads, first Sunday
in the month, remember, and the Articles of War have got to be hearkened
to."
"That's so; I had forgotten," answered Walter. And he and the others
dropped below, to don their cleanest and neatest "rigs," for general
muster. Soon the call came, and from all parts of the big cruiser the
men hurried to their various divisions, while the higher officers
buckled on their swords, and the executive officers prepared to make
their inspections.
On the quarterdeck, near the hatchway, sat Commodore Schley, musing
thoughtfully, as he gazed over the waters in the direction of Morro
Castle. The fighting commodore undoubtedly felt as hot as anybody, for
he wore a thin, black alpaca coat and an equally thin, white summer hat.
He was now in sole command of the blockading fleet, for the _New York_
had carried Admiral Sampson many miles away, to confer with General
Shafter.
For some time there had been smoke in the harbor entrance in front of
the warships, and many were wondering what it meant. "Must be a supply
boat for the batteries," said several under-officers, and this theory
was accepted as correct. Nevertheless, Commodore Schley glanced toward
that smoke more than once.
"We are going to have general muster, commodore," announced Captain
Cook, as he presented himself, followed by Executive Officer Mason, and
the commander of the fleet _pro tem._ nodded. But those keen eyes were
still bent shoreward.
Suddenly, from the forward bridge there came a yell through a megaphone,
a yell that electrified everybody who heard it.
"After bridge there! Report to the commodore and the captain that _the
enemy's ships are coming out of the harbor_!"
There was no necessity to report, for commodore, captain, and all others
heard the cry. There was a second of silence. Could this news be true?
Then came the command of the executive officer.
"_Clear ship for action!_"
"Hurrah! the enemy is coming out at last! To your guns, boys! Remember
the _Maine_!" These and a score of other cries rang out, while men
rushed hither and thither, dropping one garment or another as they ran,
and kicking shoes right and left, for no jackie will do work worth the
counting unless he is barefooted. Everybody had on his best clothing,
but that did not matter, and down into the grimy depths of the big
vessel dropped the firemen, coal heavers, and all the rest of the "black
gang," as they are termed, for steam must be gotten up in a tremendous
hurry or the enemy would surely get away. Ton after ton of coal was
thrown onto the fires, and the firemen coaxed and coaxed until the black
lumps grew first red and then white, and converted the water in the
boilers into high-pressure steam. "Fire up! for the sake of the ship's
honor, fire up!" came in a hoarse cry down the speaking-tube, and the
men did fire up as never before, until all were ready to drop from the
terrific heat. And all this while the engineers were watching their
engines, oiling this part and that, and making every pound of steam do
its utmost to send the great armored cruiser dashing and hissing through
the sea to that point where the Spanish fleet was trying to escape.
For Admiral Cervera could stand it no longer inside of the harbor. With
the army of invasion at the very outskirts of Santiago, and with the
American fleet beyond his bay of refuge, something must be done, and
done quickly. He would run for it,--run at the top of his speed--and
trust to luck, if not Providence, to get out of range and reach
Cienfuegos or Havana. Santiago Bay was "too hot to hold him."
It was the big prow of the _Maria Teresa_ that first showed itself,
quickly followed by the _Vizcaya_, _Oquendo_, and _Colon_, with the
torpedo boats _Pluton_ and _Furor_ bringing up closely in the rear. All
were under a full head of steam, and the thick smoke shot up in heavy
clouds from every funnel. For an instant all seemed to pause at the
gateway to the sea, then, led by the _Maria Teresa_, they turned
westward along the coast. To this side of the blockade now lay but three
American warships, the _Brooklyn_, _Texas_, and the little _Vixen_. If
he could only get out of range of these, Admiral Cervera felt that he
would, for the time being at least, be safe.
Boom! It was a three-pounder, fired from the _Iowa_, lying some distance
to the eastward of the _Texas_. She, too, was flying the signal, "The
enemy is escaping," in red and white and blue flags. Beyond the _Iowa_,
still further eastward, lay the pride of the western coast, the mighty
_Oregon_, and it was this ship that first started up her engines in
pursuit, having, by chance, a good head of steam up. And as the _Oregon_
turned in one direction, the little _Resolute_ turned in the other, to
carry the news to the absent rear-admiral.
Three minutes had not yet passed, yet a complete transformation had
occurred on the _Brooklyn_. Five hundred men had scuttled to as many
different directions, battle hatches had been lowered, water-tight
compartments closed, hose attached and decks wet down, fire tubs filled,
magazines opened, hoists put into operation, and ammunition delivered to
turret, decks, and to the fighting-tops. Down below, fire had been
started under four fresh boilers, and a dozen different connections
between engines made.
Nor was this all. Splinter nets had been spread as before, all useless
woodwork thrown overboard, and the surgeons' operating tables made
ready. The warning gun from the _Iowa_ was followed by a gun from the
_Texas_, and then the _Brooklyn_ helped to "open the ball" with her
forward eight-inch guns. Another great naval battle, fully equal to that
of Manila Bay, was now on.
"It's a question of do or die, boys!" cried Caleb, as he worked over the
heavy gun before him. "Hustle now, as you never hustled before, or the
dagos will get away. Now then, Polly, do the best you can!" And _bang!_
went the gun, with a noise that was deafening. Ten minutes later Walter
felt as if his hearing had left him entirely, so incessant was the
firing.
The first fire from the enemy came from the _Maria Teresa_, and was an
eleven-inch shell directed at the _Brooklyn_. Hardly had this been
discharged when the _Indiana_, coming up behind the _Iowa_, took a
long-range chance and sent a shell directly upon the _Teresa's_ deck,
doing not a little damage. Then the firing became general, and shot and
shell was hurled in every direction.
So far, the _Brooklyn_ had been headed directly for the harbor entrance,
commodore and captain being intent upon cutting off the enemy's westward
flight, if possible. This course soon brought the _Maria Teresa_,
_Vizcaya_, and the _Brooklyn_ into close proximity, and presently all
were lost to view in a dense cloud of smoke, from which shot long
streaks of fire, as battery after battery was discharged at close range.
"Give it to 'em!" was the cry that rang throughout the _Brooklyn_.
"Don't let up on 'em! We must do as well as Dewey did, and better!
Remember the _Maine_, and three cheers for Uncle Sam!" Such cries were
truly inspiring, but presently the men became silent, as the work began
to tell upon them, and they realized what a fearful task still lay
before them.
"The second ship's flag is down!" was the welcome news which soon
drifted down from the fighting-tops. It was true, the _Vizcaya's_ big
silk flag had been riddled completely and the halyard shot away; but
soon another flag was run up. Later on the _Brooklyn's_ flag also came
down, but it did not remain so more than two minutes before a jackie had
it up again.
The battle had but fairly begun, and the _Brooklyn_ and the _Maria
Teresa_ were having it "hot and heavy," when suddenly the bow of the
_Vizcaya_ began to turn swiftly. At once a cry rang out. "That ship is
going to ram the _Brooklyn_! See, she is turning full toward her!"
The warning proved true. The _Vizcaya_ was turned fairly and squarely
for Commodore Schley's flagship. Bells were ringing on board of her for
"Full speed ahead." On and on she came, like a demon of the deep, in one
wild, terrible effort to ram the vessel Walter was on and sink her!