“’Tis less to conquer than to make wars cease.”
The _Siva_ steamed out of San Diego harbor at nine o’clock on an April
morning in the year 1896, carrying as passengers the naval and ordnance
officers commissioned by the various European and American governments
to examine and report upon the result of the dynamic exposition. The
civil and diplomatic representatives were apportioned among the
different members of the fleet, which had gathered from the Pacific
squadrons of every naval power in the world, and was now lying in San
Diego Bay. The success of the air ship the day before in almost
obliterating the Coronado Islands, filled every mind with eager
anticipation of the results likely to be achieved by the torpedo boats,
and there was an especial pressure for places on board the _Siva_, which
carried the novel engines of destruction.
The _Siva_ had been built at the Union Iron Works in San Francisco, from
plans and models furnished by engineers employed by Morning, and no
expense had been spared to make her the largest, swiftest, and
best-appointed war vessel afloat. Indeed, every other consideration had
been sacrificed to speed, and, as a result, a ship was constructed of
ten thousand tons’ burden, drawing but twenty-one feet of water when
fully loaded, and able, when under a full head of steam, to make
twenty-six knots an hour. Relying upon her speed to keep out of range of
the guns of an enemy, and intended rather for a carrier of torpedo boats
than a war vessel, she was, for her size, neither heavily armed nor
heavily armored, yet she was covered with steel plates of sufficient
thickness to resist the largest ordnance, and she was equipped with
rifled cannon and pneumatic dynamite guns, equal in size and range to
any constructed. Her cost was $8,000,000, and it was Morning’s avowed
intention to present her to the alliance of nations which he expected
would result from the dynamic exposition. The _Siva_ rode the seas like
a gull, and was as graceful and beautiful as a swan.
Forward of her engines the hull of the vessel was devoted to
accommodations for housing, launching, and rehousing the two torpedo
boats, the _Etna_ and _Stromboli_. Each of these was cigar-shaped, one
hundred feet in length and twenty feet in diameter. They were built of
steel, with an inner and outer shell. The admission of water between
these shells would cause the submersion of the boat to any depth
required for the purposes of destroying an enemy, while by the expulsion
of water they were enabled to ascend to the surface. In the inner shell
was an electric engine, with sufficient power stored in its dynamos to
propel the boat under water at a speed of twenty-five miles an hour for
a period of five hours. Enough compressed air was stored in steel tanks
to supply the needs of ten men for eight hours, and the _Etna_ had, on
several occasions, as a test, remained submerged with her crew for four
hours without coming to the surface.
The construction of torpedo boats for harbor defense was no longer a
novelty, but this was the first attempt made to demonstrate that a
submarine torpedo vessel could be used on the high seas to overtake and
destroy a flying enemy. The _Etna_ and the _Stromboli_ each carried one
hundred shells, each shell being loaded with five hundred pounds of
potentite. Chain cradles for holding these shells were suspended to huge
fans of finely-tempered steel, shaped like pincers, and the machinery
for fastening one or more of these cradles to the bottom of the vessel
it was intended to destroy was both simple and ingenious, as were the
arrangements for exploding them when fastened. A fuse or wire attached
to a steamer running away at the rate of a mile in three minutes would
have been impracticable, and the inventor had therefore arranged a time
or clockwork cap, which could be set to explode at any given number of
minutes from the time the shell should be fastened.
The _Siva_, containing Mr. Morning, the foreign engineers, and the
ordnance officers of the American Navy detailed for the service, left
her moorings at nine o’clock and steamed down the bay, followed by the
_Warspite_, flying the British flag, the French corvette _Garronne_, the
Russian frigate _Tsar_, the Italian ironclad _Victor Emanuel_, the
Spanish ship _Pizarro_, the Chilean man-of-war _Cero del Pasco_, the
Swedish sloop-of-war _Berdanotte_, the American iron batteries
_Charleston_ and _San Francisco_, and the great German steel war ship
_Wilhelm II._ It was intended that this latter vessel should follow the
_Warspite_, but there was some delay in getting her under way, and she
was the last in the naval procession, being followed only by the
_Esmeralda_—the vessel to be destroyed.
At the termination of the Chilean insurrection it was found that the
_Esmeralda_—the war ship controlled by the insurgents—was, though not
unseaworthy, yet too badly damaged by a contest with gunboats to be
serviceable for the purposes for which she was constructed, and she was,
therefore, sold by the Chilean Government to Mr. Morning for
$1,000,000—something less than one-third her cost.
He purchased her for use as a transport in connection with the
construction of the Nicaragua Canal, in which he was interested, and he
now devoted her to destruction, as a test of the power of the new
explosive, and the efficiency of the submarine torpedo boats.
The _Esmeralda_ was an ironclad steamer of the largest size, capable of
a speed of twenty miles an hour. She was armored with steel plates, and
in every way staunch. On this occasion she carried only sufficient force
to navigate her, and she towed a large steam launch, into which her crew
would be transferred and conveyed to a place of safety so soon as the
torpedoes should be fastened to her. Two lifeboats were also swung,
ready for launching in case of accident.
Baron Von Eulaw had been indulging the previous night in deep potations,
and was, consequently, so belated that the carriage containing the
baroness and himself did not reach the Coronado wharf until the _Siva_
had steamed away, and was being followed by the other vessels in the
order described. The launches and small steamers, with the guests
apportioned among the different vessels of the fleet, had also left the
wharf, and two-thirds of the vessels which were to accompany the _Siva_,
with their steam up and whistles blowing, were impatiently awaking the
signal to move, and were uneasily churning into a foam the placid waters
of the harbor.
Hastily summoning a boat lying at the wharf, the baron escorted the
baroness on board, and, seating himself beside her, directed the crew to
row for “that ship,” pointing to the _Esmeralda_. It will never be known
whether this direction was the result of accident or design, for the
_Esmeralda_, in size and general appearance, strongly resembled the
_Wilhelm II._, which was anchored just ahead of her in the stream, and
it was the _Wilhelm II._ to which the Baron Von Eulaw, as one of the
representatives of the German Empire, had been assigned.
Arrived at the _Esmeralda_, however, the anchor of which was then being
hoisted, the baron was politely informed by the officer in charge of the
deck that no arrangements had been made to receive guests on board the
vessel, as she was destined to destruction. The baron, with real or
affected dismay, remarked that the _Wilhelm II._ was already under way;
that it would be impossible for him now to gain her deck, and, unless
permitted to board the _Esmeralda_, and remain upon her, they would lose
altogether the great spectacle they had, by designation of his imperial
majesty Wilhelm II., come all the way from Berlin to San Diego to
attend.
He would be in lasting disgrace at home if compelled to admit that,
through his own negligence and error, he had not witnessed the
destruction of the _Esmeralda_ at all. Might not the baroness and
himself, under the circumstances, be suffered to trespass upon the
hospitalities of the officers of the _Esmeralda_ until the time came for
abandoning the vessel, when they could join the officers and crew on the
steam launch, and be placed on board the _Wilhelm II._, or one of the
other vessels of the fleet, or return on the launch to San Diego, as
might be most convenient?
With some hesitation, the deck officer of the _Esmeralda_, after brief
consultation with his superior, consented to the request of Von Eulaw,
and, apologizing for the condition of the cabin, which, in anticipation
of the destruction of the vessel, had been stripped of everything save
the standing furniture and a few chairs, he invited them to make
themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit.
With salvos of cannon and music of bands, the gaily-decked fleet sped
out to sea. Through the narrow channel they steamed, past Point Loma,
with brow of purple and feet of foam. When they reached the open sea,
they spread out in line abreast, the _Siva_ taking a position on the
extreme north, and slackening her speed a little so as to accommodate it
to that of her companions.
Arrived at the scene of the proposed experiment, sixteen miles west of
San Diego bar, the speed of all the vessels was slackened so as to
afford only steerage way, and the _Esmeralda_ was signaled to leave her
position next the _Siva_, and steam away at full speed to the north.
Simultaneously with this order, the hatches on the _Siva_ were opened,
chains and ropes tightened, the vast power of the engines applied, and
the _Stromboli_, with her crew and cargo in place, was lifted from the
hold of the _Siva_, swung over the side, and launched in the ocean.
It was four minutes from the time the whistle sounded until the launch
of the _Stromboli_, and in the meantime the _Esmeralda_ steamed quite
one mile away. The _Siva_ was a few hundred yards ahead of the other
vessels, and the _Stromboli_ was launched form her port side, so that
the launch was witnessed by those who thronged the starboard side of the
other vessels. The entire fleet then resumed its former rate of speed,
and the distance between it and the _Esmeralda_ was soon placed at one
mile, at which it was subsequently maintained.
The _Stromboli_ glided away for a minute on the surface of the sea, and
then, admitting water to the space between her steel shells, rapidly
sank to a depth of forty feet. The _Esmeralda_ was still at full speed,
and making twenty knots an hour, but the _Stromboli_ was pushing her way
under the sea, propelled by her powerful electric engines, at the rate
of twenty-five knots an hour, and in fifteen minutes had overtaken the
doomed vessel, and was preparing to make fast the torpedo which should
destroy her.
One pair of great steel claws, holding a chain basket containing five
hundred pounds of potentite set by clockwork to explode in sixty
minutes, was, by the power of the electric engine, raised above the
cigar-shaped steel monster gliding through the cool, quiet waters, and
driven through the plates of the _Esmeralda_, just forward of the stern
of that vessel. A second was placed amidship, and a third near the bow.
The upper deck of the _Stromboli_ had a dozen plate-glass openings,
through which a number of powerful electric lights illuminated the
depths of the ocean, and enabled the men in charge of the machinery to
direct with accuracy the work of fastening the torpedoes. If it had been
necessary, men in submarine armor, fastened to steel arms projected from
the _Stromboli_, and supplied with air through rubber tubes, could have
been placed at work on the bottom of the _Esmeralda_, and maintained
there for hours, even while she was coursing through the seas. But it
was not necessary to invoke this process, for, by the aid of the
ordinary machinery of the _Stromboli_, the three great shells were
fastened in twenty minutes’ time, and the _Esmeralda_ was proceeding on
her journey with fifteen hundred pounds of potentite fastened to her
keel. The officers and crew of the _Esmeralda_ all subsequently
testified that this work was performed noiselessly and without jar, or
any evidence that it was going forward.
But had they possessed all knowledge, they could not have prevented it.
No rate of speed possible to the doomed vessel would have enabled her to
outrun the speedier submarine torpedo boat, and no machinery or
appliance could have reached her under the keel of the _Esmeralda_, or
prevented her work, and once the potentite shells were in place, it was
beyond the power of man to remove them, and no human skill could prevent
the explosion taking place at the appointed time.
The introduction of this deadly force into naval warfare was not
intended to be unaccompanied with some merciful provisions for
preventing unnecessary destruction of human life, and a code of signals
had been prepared for all naval powers, to be used whenever a vessel was
to be destroyed.
The _Stromboli_, having performed her duty, glided from under the keel
of the _Esmeralda_, and, at a distance of a few hundred yards, shot up a
signal pipe above the surface of the ocean, and with her electric
whistle shrieked through it a succession of signals that were heard by
the multitude upon the fleet a mile away.
“Submarine torpedo boat has been underneath your keel,” said one short
shriek, and one more prolonged.
“Fifteen hundred pounds of the most powerful explosive known to science
are fastened to you,” said fifteen short shrieks.
“Make ready to count your minutes of life,” said one long and two short
shrieks.
“In thirty-six minutes your ship will be hurled in fragments into the
air,” said thirty-six short shrieks.
“Leave your ship to her inevitable fate. Launch your boats and save your
lives. Your enemy will pick you up and receive your honorable
surrender,” said one shriek, continued for five minutes.
Standing on the deck of the _Warspite_, King Edward the Seventh looked
at his watch. If in thirty-six minutes the _Esmeralda_ should sink
beneath the waves, the navies of England, with those of all other
powers, would be as obsolete for the purposes of attack or defense upon
the high seas as the galleys of Cæsar, or the barge of Cleopatra.
Another Trafalgar would be as impossible as another Actium. The little
_Stromboli_ and _Etna_, carried in the hold of the _Siva_, could destroy
every ironclad afloat. The latter vessel, with her immense speed, could
keep out of range of the enemy’s guns, and she could send forth the
torpedo boats and destroy ship after ship. She could pick up the torpedo
boats, recharge their storage batteries, refit their magazines with
potentite shells, and their tanks with compressed air, and send them
forth again and proceed with such work of destruction until not a ship
should live on any sea, except by license of the _Siva_, and subject to
her rule.
What revolutions and what changes would this dynamic exposition not
precipitate upon the mistress of the seas? India would give her new
emperor the choice between walking out and being potentited out, and
Canada, and Australia, and every other colony, would be taking leave.
And Ireland—well, here was a state of things! Ireland would have
whatever Davitt, and McCarthy, and Dillon should agree upon asking, or
else every British war ship would be blown up, and every Irishman who
could raise the money, would try the effect of a balloon loaded with
potentite, upon his friends across the channel. Of course, it was a game
in which one could give blows as well as take them, but that is a very
unequal game between an anarchist and a king. It looked as if King
Edward might be compelled to “rustle” to keep the British crown on his
royal brow. It might be well to look up a good cattle range in Colorado
where he and nephew William, with the Hapsburgs, the Bourbons, and the
Romanoffs might retire, should it be necessary.
Among the stores of the _Esmeralda_ which had not been sent ashore was a
decanter of brandy, which the baron found in the cabin, and to which he
devoted himself so assiduously that when the whistles sounded,
announcing that the torpedoes were fastened to the ship, he was, from
the combined effects of past and present potations, in a condition
closely bordering upon delirium tremens.
The first officer proceeded to the cabin, where Von Eulaw and the
baroness had withdrawn, and, attempting to open the door, found it
locked. The voice of the baroness in a pleading tone was heard, followed
by oaths and maniacal laughter from the baron.
“The torpedoes are fastened to us, and in thirty-four minutes this ship
will be in the air,” said the officer through the closed door. “Our
orders are to leave the vessel ten minutes before the explosion. You had
better go on board of the launch at once.”
“Is that so?” yelled the baron. “Well, we will go into the air along
with the ship, my American wife and myself. My estates are all gone. The
Queen of Diamonds has seized them and given them to the Jack of Spades.
This earth has nothing more for me, and we will take now a trip to the
stars above.”
The officer comprehended the situation in an instant. “He has the
jimjams, sure enough,” he muttered, “Best way is to humor him.” “All
right, baron,” said he, in a conciliatory tone. “But you don’t want your
wife to go with you, you know. Open the door and let her come with us.”
“Ah, no!” said the maniac. “The Baroness Von Eulaw will go to heaven
along with her dear husband, that she loves so much, so much!”
“Madam,” said the officer, “can you not unlock the door? If not, I will
have it broken down.”
“No,” shrieked the baron, “she cannot unlock the door, for I have thrown
the key into the sea through the window, and if anybody makes any
trouble with the door, I have a little pistol, and I will shoot first my
beloved American wife, and then the man at the door, and at last myself,
and we will all go to the skies in one trip.”
“Madame,” said the officer, “is he armed?”
“He is, and will, I fear, do as he threatens,” replied Ellen, with
trembling voice.
“The situation is serious,” said the officer. “The torpedoes won’t wait
for us, and the crew will be getting nervous. In fact, I am nervous
myself,” added the officer, _sotto voce_. “Suppose one of those infernal
machines should go off ahead of time?”
“Leave us, sir,” said the baroness. “If I can get the pistol from him by
persuasion, I will discharge it as a signal, and you can then break down
the door. If I cannot do this, you must save yourselves without us. It
would be useless for you to jeopardize your lives for us, for he will
surely kill me, and will probably shoot you if you attempt to force the
door now.”
“What is the matter there aft, Mr. Morton?” shouted the captain.
“Dutch baron crazy drunk, sir. Has locked the door, and swears he will
be blown up with the ship. Has a pistol, and will kill his wife if we
try to force the door, sir.”
“Get a rifle, Mr. Morton, and stand ready to shoot him through the
skylight. But I will first signal the _Siva_ for orders.”
“_Aye_, aye, sir,” said the first officer cheerily.
“Something wrong on board the _Esmeralda_, sir; she is signaling us,”
said the first officer of the _Siva_ to the captain.
Morning, who was conversing with a Russian admiral, overheard the
speaker and came forward to where the signal officer—the code spread
before him—had just answered, “Ready to receive signal.”
The little scarlet flag in the hand of the signal officer on the foretop
gallant yard of the _Esmeralda_ rapidly spelled out the message.
“Baron Von Eulaw and wife came on board as we were starting. He has
delirium tremens, and is locked in cabin with her. Refuses to board
launch, and threatens to shoot her if we break down door. We can kill
him with a rifle through the skylight. We wait orders.”
The face of David Morning was white with the whiteness of death, but,
with a voice in which there was scarcely a tremor, he addressed himself
to the commander of the _Siva_.
“Captain, how far are we from the _Esmeralda_?”
“About a mile, sir.”
“How long will it be before the explosion?”
“Twenty-two minutes, sir.”
“Is there any way by which the torpedoes now fastened to her can be
removed, or their explosion prevented, captain?”
“None whatever, sir.”
“Captain, signal the _Esmeralda_ to have riflemen in place, but not to
shoot the baron unless he offers violence to his wife. Signal her also
to slacken speed while we run down to her. Signal the fleet to slacken
speed, and fall behind. Get out a boat with crew to put me on board the
_Esmeralda_.”
There was a rapid fluttering of scarlet flags from main and foretops,
and the orders were obeyed.
“I will go with you, Mr. Morning,” said the captain of the _Siva_.
“And so will I, and I, and I,” came in chorus from a dozen officers and
guests who had remained breathless auditors of the conversation.
“No,” said Morning quietly, “I will go alone. I do not propose to risk a
single one of these valuable lives, or this ship.”
Morning picked up a coil of light rope from where it hung on a belaying
pin, and descended into the boat, which, with crew in place, was now
suspended a few feet from the water. “Captain,” said he, “as soon as we
are launched you will steam away with the _Siva_, and rejoin the fleet:
The steam launch towed by the _Esmeralda_ will be sufficient to provide
for the safety of all. Run us as close to the _Esmeralda_ as you can,
captain, before you drop us,” and Morning rapidly knotted a slip noose
in the rope.
Clang! clang! clang! sounded the signal to reverse the engines; the
_Siva_ glided alongside and within three hundred feet of the
_Esmeralda_, and the boat containing David Morning dropped gently into
the foaming water. Clang! again went the gong, and by the time David
Morning sprang up the ladder at the companion-way of the _Esmeralda_,
the _Siva_ was half a mile away.
As the foot of Morning touched the deck of the doomed vessel, it lacked
thirteen minutes of the time set for the explosion.
“What is the situation?” said Morning to the captain of the _Esmeralda_.
“Through the skylight we can see that the baroness has evidently
abandoned all effort to move the baron, and is on her knees in the
corner, apparently in prayer. The baron is walking up and down the cabin
floor flourishing a cocked revolver, and muttering to himself. The first
officer with three gunners, each with a Winchester rifle, are at the
skylight with sites drawn on the baron, anxious to fire as soon as they
get the order, and six men with a piece of timber are in place, ready to
burst open the cabin door. It is only twelve minutes to the blow-up,
sir, and the men are getting uneasy. Shall we shoot and rescue the lady,
sir?”
“Not yet, captain. Can you open the skylight from above noiselessly?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do so at once.”
With his noosed rope coiled in hand, Morning approached the skylight.
Often in Colorado he had, from love of sport, attended rodeos and
learned the trick of the lasso. His skill with it was the admiration of
the cowboys. “Kin Dave Morning handle a riata?” said one of his
enthusiastic admirers to a correspondent of an Eastern newspaper. “Well,
stranger, I should smile! Kin he? He kin throw his lariat a matter of
forty feet around any part of a jumping steer, hoof or horn. He kin
throw a bull buffalo at the head of the herd. He kin make a buckin’
broncho turn two somersaults, and land him on head or heels, just as he
likes. He kin stop a jacksnipe on the wing if he don’t fly too high. Oh,
I’m talkin’ to ye, stranger! Often I’ve seen him, when he felt right
well, throw his little lasso across the room of the big hotel at
Trinidad, and smash a fly on a window pane without breaking the glass.
Oh, you can laff, of course! I ain’t got nothin’ agin your hilarity, but
if any gentleman feels inclined to doubt the entire truth of anything
I’ve been a sayin’, or has anything to say agin Dave Morning, either as
a vaquero or a man, he kin get his gun ready, for my name is Buttermilk
Bill from the San Juan Range.”
Poising his improvised riata, Morning looked down through the open
skylight. The baron, attracted by the shadow, stopped in his nervous
walk and looked up. As he did so the noose dropped over his head and
shoulders, and pinioned his arms to his side, and he was thrown to the
floor, while the cocked pistol he held in his hand was harmlessly
discharged. Like a cat, Morning dropped from the skylight upon the floor
of the cabin, followed by the first officer and the gunners, all of whom
proceeded—none too tenderly—to wrap and tie the rope around the arms and
legs of the baron.
“Now, then,” sounded the voice of the second officer outside the cabin
door; “now, then, my hearties, once, twice, thrice, and away!” and, with
a crash, the door flew from its hinges nearly across the cabin.
Morning half supported and half carried the baroness to the launch,
which was now lying alongside with steam up, and they descended to the
deck, followed by the crew and officers of the _Esmeralda_ and the crew
of the boat from the _Siva_.
“Where is the baron,” said the baroness faintly.
The captain looked at the first officer, who made reply, “He is in the
cabin, sir.”
“We have still five minutes if anybody chooses to bring him aboard,”
said the captain.
And after a pause of a few seconds nobody stirred.
Ellen looked at Morning.
And Morning leaped upon the deck of the _Esmeralda_, followed by the
captain, first officer, and one of the men.
In less than a minute the Baron Von Eulaw, writhing, cursing, and
foaming at the mouth, was deposited on the deck of the launch, which
steamed away rapidly in a direction opposite to that taken by the doomed
vessel.
There were just two minutes to spare. The wheel of the _Esmeralda_ had
been lashed so as to head her away from the fleet. Her chief engineer
was the last man to leave the engine room, and just before he left, he
pulled the lever to increase her speed, so that in the two minutes which
passed after the steam launch and the _Esmeralda_ separated, they were
quite a mile apart.
Suddenly a dull sound like the throb of a great muffled drum was heard.
An immense arch of water arose in air. Upon its summit was the
_Esmeralda_, broken into a dozen fragments, which writhed like a python
twisting in the agonies of death. For a moment the cloven mail of the
giant flashed and scintillated in the sun, and then, with a sound of
sucking water—the death gurgle of those engulfed by the sea—each
fragment went out of sight forever, and great billows of foam rolled
over the spot where the mighty ship went down.