“CLEAR SHIP FOR ACTION!”
“Do you know much about this island of Luzon?” asked Larry of Striker,
after the two had been at the gun again, seeing that everything was
oiled and in perfect order, and after Larry had taken an additional
lesson in handling the stout canvas bags containing fifty and a hundred
pounds of brown prismatic powder.
“Well, I know a little,” answered the tall down-easter, as he took a
long look ashore, for now the coast line loomed up quite plainly to
his trained eye. “The island is by far the largest of the Philippines,
and is one of the most northern. Away to the south of the group is
Mindanao, and, as you know, there are any quantity of islands, big an’
little, betwixt the two. I once heard say that Luzon was about the size
of all of our down-east states combined.”
“It’s larger then than I thought it was,” cried Larry, somewhat
astonished. “And what about the cities?”
“The biggest city is Manila, on the east shore of Manila Bay, a big
harbor shaped like a camel’s head, with the opening at the neck of the
animal, and Manila sittin’ like a wart on the critter’s nose. Years an’
years ago the city was only a Spanish military post, but it grew an’
grew, until I reckon there are several hundred thousand folks――Chinese
and Japanese and all――in and around Manila. A good many of the people
are what they call Tagals, a branch of the Malay race――a good enough
set if the Spanish would only treat ’em half decently.”
“Something was said about their being in rebellion,” went on the boy.
“I wonder if they are fighting now.”
“To be sure they are fighting,” put in Barrow, the gunner. “I heard
the lieutenant say, and I guess he got it straight from headquarters,
that there are between thirty and forty thousand Tagals and others in
revolt, under General Emilio Aguinaldo and other leaders. Oh, they’ll
make it as hot on land in these quarters as we’ll make it on the sea,
if we can catch sight of those will-o-the-wisp Dons.”
There had been a vigorous signalling going on between the vessels of
the squadron, and now all but the _Concord_ and the _Boston_ slowed up.
The two craft mentioned put on extra steam, and in a short while were
lost to sight in the distance.
“They are out on a scout,” announced Striker. “Nothing like being
careful, you know. There’s a bay ahead, and they are no doubt under
orders to search it.”
Striker’s surmise was correct. The opening ahead was that of Subic Bay,
a number of miles west of the bay of Manila. The _Boston_ and _Concord_
were to examine every corner and shelter of it carefully, and hurry
back at the first sign of the enemy. Later on the _Baltimore_ joined
her two sister ships.
“If the Spanish fleet is in Subic Bay, we’ll have some fun getting at
them,” Larry heard one of the sailors say. “The water there is mighty
shallow in spots, and rocks are there a-plenty.”
“Yes, and it’s likely if the Dons are there they’ll plant some shore
batteries, and give us the hottest kind of a plunging fire,” added
another. “Splice the anchor chain, but I hate a plunging fire,” was
added with a growl. All sailors hate such a fire, coming from an
elevated battery capable of throwing shot and shell directly down upon
a vessel’s deck.
The hours passed slowly, until, towards evening, the three warships
sent out on the scout were seen coming back “empty handed,” as Striker
expressed it. No vessels but a few fishing and merchant craft had been
seen.
The warships were now called closer together, and the various
commanders were summoned by Commodore Dewey to the flagship, to hold a
council of war. The coming of so many small boats to the _Olympia_ was
an event of interest to Larry, and he viewed each captain with combined
curiosity and respect. The council of war was held in the after-cabin
of the flagship, and, of course, the sailors heard nothing of what was
going on. But we will take a peep behind the curtain.
Having satisfied himself that Admiral Montojo’s ships were not in Subic
Bay, Commodore Dewey was strongly of the impression that the Spanish
officer had taken his fleet into Manila Bay. There were a number of
reasons for this, the principal one of which was that it seemed likely
that the admiral would think it his duty to remain close to Manila, to
protect it both from American attack and from the fiercer and fiercer
attacks of the insurgents.
The whole question was, then, Should the American warships risk a run
into Manila Bay? That was a question to be carefully considered, and
why my young readers will soon learn.
As Striker had mentioned, the bay was shaped somewhat like the head
of a camel, with the neck of the animal forming the entrance to the
waters. Manila was situated twenty-nine miles from this entrance, and
eight miles out from the city was a long, low neck of land, at the
extremity of which stood Fort Cavite, an old but massive stronghold,
mounting sufficient pieces to cover the shipping in front of Manila
proper.
Almost in the centre of the entrance to Manila Bay lay Corregidor
Island, with a smaller island beside it. Corregidor Island was also
fortified, with guns well able to sweep the channels on both sides.
More than this, it was reported that the entrance to the bay was
strongly mined by what are known as contact mines; that is, mines which
will explode the moment a ship comes into contact with them. What a
marine mine can do has already been only too well illustrated in the
case of the ill-fated _Maine_.
The question then was, Should the squadron risk an attempt to slip into
the bay, past Corregidor Island, and past the hidden mines? It took
brave men to decide to do this, but the commodore and his captains
voted to a man that this should be done, and furthermore, that the
attempt should be made that very night.
In less than half an hour after the council of war broke up, what was
proposed to be done under cover of darkness was known to every one on
the warships. Perhaps some of the jackies turned pale at the news,
but if so they were lost among the numbers of those who gave their
commodore and their captains “three times three” with a will. Your true
American man-o’-war’s man would rather fight than cruise around, any
day.
In order not to appear off the entrance to Manila Bay while it was
yet light, the squadron steamed slowly southeastward, keeping a good
distance from shore. The extreme heat almost made eating out of the
question, yet supper was served at the usual time,――the last meal to be
had for some hours to come.
The sun went down as in a veritable sea of molten lead, and as the
night drew on, the pale southern moon came up, accompanied by hundreds
of twinkling stars. Perhaps those in command would have preferred
greater darkness, yet it was necessary to have some light, that the
channel might be seen without the aid of search or other lights.
As it grew darker each warship put out a single hooded light, showing
from behind only; this precaution being taken to keep one vessel from
running up into that before her. All the other exposed lights were cut
off, and officers and men were alike warned that no noise that was not
absolutely necessary should be made. If it was possible, Commodore
Dewey intended to run by the batteries on Corregidor Island, and any
other batteries in the vicinity, without being discovered. In naval
warfare, and in military warfare, too, for the matter of that, to come
upon the enemy when he least expects it, and thus throw him into more
or less confusion, often constitutes a large element of success.
On and on went the squadron, looking like dim phantoms of the night,
moving in an irregular line, the _Olympia_ in the lead, and the tiny
_Petrel_ and despatch boat _McCulloch_ bringing up together in the
rear. Corregidor Island was not yet visible, yet the men knew it might
appear in the dim distance at any moment.
“Clear ship for action!”
The command was given quietly, and instead of blowing their bugles
and whistles, and ringing their bells, the under-officers passed the
commands along by word of mouth. Silently the men obeyed, but what a
rushing around ensued! To an outsider the men might have appeared in
helpless confusion, yet nothing could have been more orderly.
As mentioned before, all unnecessary woodwork had already been disposed
of, but now the decks were cleared of even the ventilator pipes
wherever they interfered with the range of the big guns, and chains
were run out, to help work guns from the outside as well as from the
inside. Added to this, a gangway that had been kept until the last
minute was slid into the sea, and then the various hatchways were
fitted with steel covers, to protect those below from the explosion of
a stray shell or the plunging fire of small arms.
In the bowels of the warships the engineers and others had also been
busy, coupling the various engines so that they might work one for
another, attaching the power to the machinery that worked the big guns
and to the electric circuit, for my young readers must remember that
many modern guns are fired by electricity. The pumping-engines were
also connected with the fire-hose, which was laid in every part of the
ship, and final tests were made of the appliances designed to flood
with water any magazine that was in danger of explosion.
Firemen and stokers were at the fires, bringing the heat up to the
highest possible point, and putting tons and tons of coal where it
would be handiest, and also testing the forced draughts and blowers.
They knew only too well that while in action a modern battleship must
keep moving lively, or the enemy will blow her up as soon as guns can
be properly pointed. And they knew, too, that if the battle went the
wrong way, it would be steam alone that might save them from capture.
And while this was going on, Larry, Striker, and those working with
them had not been idle. The magazines had been opened and the work
of delivering powder and projectiles to the various guns started.
Ammunition, too, had been sent to the men in the fighting tops. Each
gun was carefully swabbed out and loaded, and the range-finders tested
by the head gunners. The actual loading of the big gun to which he
had been assigned filled Larry with interest. He wondered how it would
sound when the charge went off, and if they would hit anything on the
first trial.
In the conning tower, a round, steel structure, stood Captain Gridley,
ready to do or die, as the occasion might require. The captain was not
well, but had begged to be allowed to take charge of his vessel upon
this trip, confident that he should come out of any contest with colors
flying. Close behind the captain was the man at the wheel, and half a
dozen others, on duty at the speaking-tubes and ready to carry commands
to any portion of the warship.
The commodore was on the bridge, that curious structure set sidewise
above the deck of every modern battleship. With him, too, were petty
officers, to carry his commands or send them to the other vessels by
the use of night signals. And all was as silent as death, even the big
engines doing their work with nothing more than an indefinite rumble,
and the big fires blazing away without a spark soaring skyward.
A bit of land came out of the distance. Slowly but surely the _Olympia_
crept closer to it, keeping it upon the port side. It was Corregidor
Island. Soon appeared the small island of Pulo Caballo. They were
approaching the entrance to the harbor at last. Would they be able to
pass into the waters beyond in safety?