FINAL SCENES OF THE GREAT FIGHT
"Si has fallen overboard!"
The cry came from half a dozen throats at once, and Walter's heart
almost stopped beating, so attached had he become to the Yankee lad.
"If he's overboard, he'll be sucked under and drowned," he groaned. "I
wonder if I can see anything of him."
Without a second thought he leaped on the gun and began to crawl out, on
hands and knees, as perilous a thing to do, with the vessel going at
full speed, as one would care to undertake.
"Come back!" roared Caleb, trying to detain him. "You'll go overboard,
too."
At that moment came a cry from below, and looking down the steel side of
the _Brooklyn_, Walter beheld Si clinging to a rope ladder, one of
several flung over, to be used in case of emergency. "Si, are you all
right?" he called loudly.
"I--reckon--I--I am," came with a pant.
"But I had an awful tumble and the wind is about knocked out o' me." And
then Si began to climb up to the deck.
"He's on the ladder and he's all right," shouted Walter, to those still
behind the gun. Then a sudden idea struck him. "Hand me another rammer,
Stuben."
"Mine cracious! don't you try dot," cried the hose-man. "You vos fall
ofer chust like Si."
"Yes, come in here," put in Caleb, and Paul also called upon him to
return.
"I'm all right," was the boy's reply. "Give it to me, Stuben." And
catching the rammer from the hose-man, Steve Colton passed it forward.
"In war we have got to take some risks," he reasoned, as Caleb gave him
a severe look.
"Then why didn't you get out on the gun, Steve?" was the old gunner's
dry response; and the second gun captain said no more.
Rammer in hand, Walter edged closer and closer to the muzzle of the
Polly. The _Brooklyn_ was moving up and down over the long green waves,
sending the spray flying on both sides of the bow. He gave one look
down, felt himself growing dizzy, and then kept his eyes on the gun.
[Illustration: RAMMER IN HAND, WALTER EDGED CLOSE TO THE MUZZLE.]
At last the muzzle was gained, and not without difficulty the rammer was
inserted. The projectile had not been very tightly wedged, and a firm
pressure sent it backward, so that Caleb could catch it and pull it out
through the breech. Then throwing the rammer aboard, Walter lost no time
in coming in again. He had been exposed to the direct fire of the enemy,
but no shot had come near him.
"Boy, you're too plucky," exclaimed Caleb, catching him by the shoulder.
"You ought to be flogged for your daring. Let me see your hands. Ah,
just as I thought; both of 'em blistered. Go and put some sweet oil on
'em, and a bit of flour. I'll bet the end of Polly is red-hot."
"Well, it is pretty hot," replied Walter, and then he was glad enough to
follow Caleb's advice, for both hands smarted a good deal. Soon Si
joined him, to get something for his hands also.
The _Colon_ had now drawn out of range, so firing would have been a
useless waste of ammunition. Down to the gunners came the order: "Cease
firing." And a moment later, "All hands on deck for an airing." What a
laughing and shouting ensued as the jackies poured up, to secure the
best viewing places they could within the ship's regulations. Hot,
tired, ready to drop from exhaustion, they shook hands with each other,
sang, laughed, and whistled.
"Three cheers for Commodore Schley!" came suddenly from somebody, and
the cheers came with vigor, and a tiger, and then came a cheer for
Captain Cook and a cheer for the _Oregon_, coming up with ever
increasing speed. The _Oregon's_ men cheered in return, and for a moment
one would have thought this was holiday-making instead of grim war.
The _Colon_ was close to shore, while the _Brooklyn_ and the _Oregon_
lay from two to three miles out to sea. Some miles farther westward the
Cuban shore slopes southward to Cape Cruz. If the _Colon_ kept on her
present course she would have to make for the cape, thus coming down
toward the American warships. "We will catch her there," said Commodore
Schley, confidently.
The _Oregon_ was flying the signal "Remember the _Maine_" from her
masthead, and as she drew still closer to the _Brooklyn_, another shout
of approval went up. The two warships would fight the _Colon_ between
them, if only they could get within range.
It was now noontime, and a hasty mess was served all around, and the men
continued to air themselves, something easy to do with the ponderous
ship speeding the waters at an eighteen-knot rate. Suddenly from the
_Oregon_ came the boom of a thirteen-inch gun, and the shell fell just
astern of the _Colon_, sending the water up like a fountain. The battle
was again on.
"Now for it!" cried Caleb, as the Spanish warship turned southward down
the coast, and the Polly spoke up as fiercely as at any time during the
contest.
"The Spaniards are losing heart!" came the cry, a few minutes later.
"They ain't doing half the firing they were!"
It was true; the _Colon_ was running short of ammunition, and her
officers saw what a hopeless fight a contest with the _Brooklyn_ and
_Oregon_ would prove to be. With shot and shell falling all around him,
Captain Moreu hauled down his flag and sent his ship ashore at Rio
Tarquino.
The battle was won, and Dewey's magnificent victory at Manila, which the
world in general had declared was a miracle that could not be matched,
had been duplicated. Henceforth American warships and American sailors
would stand as the equals of any nation on the face of the globe.
And now that the contest was over what was to follow? To me, the hours
that came after are even greater in honor than those glorious hours of
victory. Already down the shore, the work of rescuing the sailors and
marines from the _Maria Teresa_, _Oquendo_, and _Vizcaya_ had begun, and
now the crews of the _Brooklyn_ and _Oregon_ turned in to aid the
wounded and the dying, and those in danger of drowning, on the _Colon_.
Boat after boat went out, close to the sinking cruiser, now burning
fiercely, with abandoned guns going off, loose powder and shells
exploding, and magazines in danger of tearing all asunder. Amid such
perils did our noble jackies work, hauling man after man from the ship,
or from the water, and taking them to our own warships, there to be
cared for as tenderly as though they were our own. Some of the Spaniards
could not understand this treatment. They had been told that the
Americans were butchers and had no hearts, and when they realized the
truth many burst into tears of joy.
When the battle was all over, some of our officers and men could not
comprehend what had been accomplished--that a whole fleet of Spanish
warships had been destroyed, that hundreds of men had been killed and
many more wounded and taken prisoners, and that the loss to our side had
been but one man killed, a handful wounded, and no ship seriously
damaged. "It was an act of Providence," said more than one, and Captain
Philip of the _Texas_ spoke thus to his crew, as he gathered all around
him on this never-to-be-forgotten Sunday, so bright and clear:--
"I wish to make confession that I have implicit faith in God and in the
officers and crew of the _Texas_, but my faith in you is only secondary
to my faith in God. We have seen what He has done for us, in allowing us
to achieve so great a victory, and I want to ask all of you, or at least
every man who has no scruples, to uncover his head with me and silently
offer a word of thanks to God for His goodness toward us all." The
thanks were given, some dropping upon their knees to deliver them, and
this outpouring of hearts travelled from one ship to another throughout
the entire fleet.
"Poor Ellis!" said Walter; "the only seaman to give up his life! It's
too bad!" And when George Ellis's body was buried with all naval honors
he wept as bitterly as did anybody on board of the flagship.
The victory had been gained, but the work of the fleet was not yet over.
The army still occupied the outskirts of Santiago, and General Shafter
had sent word to General Toral that unless he surrendered, the city
would be shelled Monday morning. At a conference with Admiral Sampson,
later on, it was decided that the fleet should take part in the
bombardment even if it was necessary to force an entrance into the
harbor. Without delay our warships were gotten into condition for this
task.
But the bombardment did not come--for the reason that both on land and
sea the enemy had had enough of fighting. Several days passed, and the
conditions of a surrender were discussed. In the meantime Lieutenant
Hobson and his men were released and turned over to us in exchange for a
number of Spanish prisoners. Several of the men remembered seeing
Walter, and were glad to learn that the youth had escaped.
The battle on sea had taken place on July the third, and my readers can
imagine what a glorious Fourth of July followed, not only among the
soldiers and sailors, but among our people at large. All over the land
cannons boomed, pistols cracked, rockets flared, bells pealed forth, and
bands played for the marching of thousands. It was a real old-fashioned
"Yankee Doodle time," as one down-east paper put it, and North, South,
East, and West united in celebrating as never before. Less than two
weeks later Santiago surrendered, a peace protocol followed; and the war
with Spain came to an end.