THE BATTLE OF MANILA BAY
Boom! bang! crack! boom! boom! boom!
Loud and clear came the reports over the waters of the inner bay, and
over and around the American warships whistled and screamed a dozen
balls and shells ere they plunged into the briny element. The shore
battery near old Manila had “opened the ball,” as Striker declared,
and, though not a shot took effect, the firing thoroughly aroused Uncle
Sam’s jackies to the fact that “the real thing” was on them.
“Now, boys, roll up your sleeves and be prepared to pitch in!”
exclaimed Barrow. “It’s no loafing allowed for the next few hours, I’ll
warrant you! Larry, you must do the double-quick now if you never did
it before.”
“I’m more than willing to pitch in,” answered the youth, with a nervous
little laugh. “Anything is better than this waiting around.”
“That’s true,” put in Striker. “I know I won’t get my nerves settled
until we’re in the thick on it――kind o’ like your second wind in a fist
fight, you know.”
The men were crowded together at the ports, watching eagerly whatever
might be seen, which just then was not much, for they were getting
away from the shore batteries, and the first of the battleships of
the enemy was still some distance off. Barrow’s reference to shirt
sleeves was entirely superfluous, since the shirts worn were altogether
of the short-sleeved variety, revealing full many a tough and brawny
arm, ready to do battle as long as the breath of life remained in its
owner’s body.
“We’re getting closer to ’em,” said Striker, a few minutes later. “If
only the commodore――”
The tall Yankee did not finish, but stared before him in open-mouthed
amazement. About a thousand yards away the waters of the bay had
suddenly gone up into a gigantic fountain. A rumble followed, felt
quite distinctly by all on board.
“Gracious, what’s that, an earthquake?” ejaculated Larry.
“Sort of one, lad,” answered Barrow. “That was a connection mine going
up. They’ve got ’em out here, it would seem, but they made a bad miss
of it that trip――about half a mile, I calculate. It’s lucky we weren’t
sailing closer in, eh?”
“I should say so.” Larry drew a long breath. “I think I’d rather fight
with the guns, any day.”
“So would all of us, lad; but we have to take what comes, and so does
the enemy. We’ve got a whole lot of warships against us, but the
_Olympia’s_ all right, and so are the others, and we’ll knock the spots
off those Spaniards. Hurrah for Uncle Sam and remember the _Maine_!” he
added loudly.
“Remember the _Maine_!” came back from a hundred voices, in heavy
unison. That was the battle-cry, uttered thousands of times during
those trying hours, just as during the Mexican War the cry was,
“Remember the Alamo!” and during the Revolutionary War, “Remember
Concord and Lexington!” Soldiers and sailors must have some cry to
stir up their blood, and what cry was better for that purpose than
one calling upon them to remember the martyrdom of two hundred and
fifty-three of their comrades in arms?
The signal was now displayed from the American flagship to close up and
prepare for general action, and the vessels fell into a single column,
four hundred yards apart, and went ahead at a speed of six knots an
hour. The _Olympia_, as usual, led, and from each masthead and gaff
floated Old Glory, whipping out a breezy defiance to the enemy as the
line swept on.
Commodore Dewey’s plan of battle was exceedingly simple. Unless
something unusual occurred, the ships were to make a number of courses
in front of the enemy’s line, the vessels taking part to be the six
cruisers and gunboats. The despatch boat and the boats with coal and
stores were to lie just out of range of the Spanish guns. The first
course was to be at forty-five hundred yards, and each circuit was to
come in a little closer, the tide of battle permitting. It was Dewey’s
plan, just as it was Nelson’s plan at the famous battle of Trafalgar,
to give the enemy no rest, but to go at him with all vigor from the
start.
The commodore was on the bridge of the _Olympia_ with his powerful
field-glasses in his hand. When about five thousand yards away from the
_Castilla_, which was seen to be flying the Spanish admiral’s pennant
for the time being, he turned to Captain Gridley, who stood watching
him eagerly.
“You can open up as soon as you please, Gridley,” he said. “And give it
to them good and strong.”
“I’ll train the forward turret gun myself,” Captain Gridley is reported
to have answered, as he made off, to later on command his ship from the
conning tower.
“Ready there!” the cry running along the larboard guns made everybody
jump. “Prepare to fire.”
“Don’t hold your ears shut!” screamed Striker at Larry. “They are
better off open, and throw your arms out like this, and open your
mouth,” he went through the motions himself. “Now, then!”
Larry had scarcely time to follow directions than the final signal was
given, and with what seemed little short of a thunderclap to the youth,
the _Olympia_ let drive with her four eight-inch turret guns. The aim
was directed at the _Castilla_, and when the smoke cleared away the
Spanish flagship was seen to be struck in one, if not two, places.
“Come, lad, pick yourself up and hustle!” cried Barrow, for Larry had
gone down with the unusual roll caused by the discharge. “Lively now,
for there’s no time to waste before the next shot.”
The man at the breech, a good-natured chap named Castleton, was already
opening the gun. As the breech fell back a cloud of smoke and soot
entered the gun-room, nearly choking Larry. When the boy had cleared
his eyes and throat he saw to his astonishment that all the highly
polished brass-work on the cannon had turned a sickly green.
The soot cleared away, Striker began to swab out the gun, which
contained a quantity of matter looking like red chalk. This was what
was left of the burnt powder. Barrow felt of the piece, to find it cool
enough to do without a washing with cold water, and then the process of
reloading began.
During this time the other ships in the line began to fire at the
enemy, and now the Spanish warships fired in return. The noise was
something fearful, and in a short while every ship in the harbor was
enveloped in a dense cloud of smoke.
As was natural, the opening fire on the American side was directed
principally to the ship flying the Spanish admiral’s colors, and by the
time one course had been taken down the line, and the _Olympia_ was
sweeping closer to try it again, the _Castilla_, as well as the _Reina
Cristina_, was seen to be struck in a dozen places, and on fire.
“It’s first blood for us!” yelled Striker, enthusiastically. “I don’t
believe we’ve been struck once.”
He had hardly spoken when the whining shriek of a hundred and fifty
pound shell was heard, coming straight at the _Olympia_. “We’re struck
now!” cried Barrow, when, as shells sometimes do, the unwelcome missile
took a turn in the air and went sailing through the flagship’s upper
works, doing damage that was but trifling.
In less than half an hour Larry felt at home at his work. He now knew
what real fighting meant, and was getting used to the noise and smoke.
Strange to say, he did not feel in the least alarmed. Perhaps this
was because some awful shot had not yet brought home to him the true
horrors of the dreadful combat. He was working like a Trojan, with the
perspiration pouring from his whole body, and the smoke and soot had
made him the color of a true African.
The _Olympia’s_ gunners had now obtained the correct range of the
Spanish ships, and in addition to the smaller shots were pouring in a
number of two hundred and fifty pound shells. As the flagship came down
the second course, these shells struck fairly and squarely upon the
deck of the _Castilla_, doing fearful damage.
“She’ll be out of it in a few minutes more!” cried Striker. “See,
she is burning in two places. Her crew had better leave before the
magazines blow up, if they want to save their lives.”
“Their other ships are catching it, too,” said Barrow, as a sudden
breeze sent the smoke flying. “I wonder how the rest of our squadron
are making it?”
That was a question which could not be answered just then, but, later
on, word drifted into the gun-room that the _Baltimore_ had been hit
rather heavily and some of the men injured. The _Raleigh_ had had her
largest whaleboat smashed, and the splinters had caught some of the men
on deck, but the injuries were trifling.
As the smoke went up, the _Castilla_ was seen to be turning, as if
to retire to a small inlet partly behind Fort Cavite. She was now in
flames in every part. Quick orders were given, and just as the Spanish
flagship showed her stern fully, a big shot from the _Olympia_ went
crashing straight through her. It is said this shot killed over fifty
of her crew, and exploded one of her boilers. However that was, it is
a fact that she sank immediately afterwards, the majority of her crew
going with her.
“The game is up with ’em!” cried Striker. “I reckon the Dons will give
it up now!”
But the tall Yankee was mistaken, not knowing the stern fighting
qualities of Admiral Montojo. Scarcely had the _Castilla_ gone down
when the admiral’s flag was hoisted on the _Reina Cristina_, and the
fire on board of that boat was put out.
“Their flag is up again!” said Barrow. “Now to give the new flagship
the same dose that we gave the other! Come, Castleton, clean out the
gun good.”
Castleton, very much exhausted, staggered forward and did as bidden.
The terrible heat was beginning to tell upon all sides. Larry brought
some powder, and then turned to get a drink from the hose pipe, his
mouth feeling as though it was filled with cotton. Striker had obtained
permission to take a peep on deck, and the other men were working along
as well as the smoke and exhaustion would permit.
How it all happened it was impossible, afterward, for Larry to tell.
He had obtained all the powder necessary and was getting his drink
as before mentioned. A fall beside him made him turn, and through the
smoke he saw Castleton lying beside him. The gunner’s mate had been
overcome by the heat.
“Poor chap!” thought the boy, and turned the hose upon the prostrate
man’s head, as the best available means of restoring him to
consciousness.
Then, while still working over Castleton, Larry happened to glance
towards the gun, which Barrow was on the point of firing. A sight
met his gaze which nearly paralyzed him. The gun breech was closed
but still unlocked! Should Barrow discharge the gun while in that
condition, every one of them would be blown to atoms!