A NAVAL ENGAGEMENT
The shell from the fort struck the water some hundred yards ahead of
the “Aquadores,” and showed Captain Garcia that unless he stopped his
ship, he would draw the fire of the forts. This would place him at a
decided disadvantage. His best course was to entice the ships of the
enemy away from the protection of the fortifications. That the captain
understood his proper tactics was soon evident.
“Hard astarboard,” he ordered, and the cruiser, obedient to her helm,
quickly swung her bow around and headed directly away from the harbor’s
mouth.
Phil thrilled with the excitement of the moment; he glanced at the
captain’s face; it showed plainly the tremendous strain that he was
undergoing, although he seemed outwardly calm and deliberate. The
gravity of their position came home to the lad; they were on the eve
of a battle between modern ships with modern guns and its outcome meant
either life or death.
“There’s the ‘Barcelo,’ heading out,” cried Captain Garcia. “I believe
she will give us battle; her mate must be behind the fort and we shall
soon see what their intentions are. If they refuse to fight in the
open, out from the protection of the fort guns, I shall be forced to
enter the harbor regardless of the mines and heavy guns ashore.”
Phil paled at the thought of entering the enemy’s fortified harbor,
strongly protected by mines. He knew that the “Aquadores” could have
but little chance in such an undertaking. A single mine exploded within
a few feet of her bottom would send her skyward. But a look at Captain
Garcia’s face showed his intense earnestness; he would risk all in his
endeavor to destroy the rebellious navy of his country.
The enemy’s vessels had now left the harbor. They were in plain
sight, their battle flags waving from their trucks. They presented a
noble appearance, cleared for action, the naked muzzles of their long
high-powered guns pointing toward the apparently fleeing cruiser.
“What a beautiful sight!” Phil exclaimed.
“Yes, but deadly,” Captain Garcia replied, casting an apprehensive
glance at the oncoming ships. “They are both nearly new and formidable.
They doubtless hope for an easy victory, as they know of the
half-heartedness of my men. But we are going to surprise them,” he
added, his face brightening; “I believe they will catch a tartar.”
“We are surely going to win,” cried Phil. “Your men can shoot each of
their guns eight times in a minute; we shall overwhelm them with that
fire. Your crew loads in the American method; our enemy know nothing of
its advantages. We can depend upon my companions to keep their gun’s
crews at work.”
“What is the range?” inquired the captain in a tense voice.
“Four thousand yards,” Phil answered, measuring deliberately with his
instrument, “and gaining rapidly. Your stern guns can open fire now.”
The captain shook his head.
“I know my countrymen better than you do, lad,” he said lowering his
voice, so as not to be heard by the officers and men near him. “If we
should open fire now they would come no further, but remain under the
protecting wing of the fort guns.”
“I see,” cried Phil delightedly; “you are making them believe you are
afraid of them and are running away.”
“Quite right,” replied the captain proudly, pleased at the compliment
to his ability. “We shall draw them far out to sea and then turn on
them and force a fight. I know their speed; it is but seventeen knots;
while with the ‘Aquadores,’ I am sure of twenty-one at any time. So you
see they cannot then escape me.”
“Thirty-eight hundred yards,” Phil reported, taking his eyes from
the instrument and looking at his watch. “What speed are you making,
captain?”
“Fifteen knots,” was the prompt answer.
“Then they are going almost seventeen knots now,” Phil vouched, as
he put his watch away; “they have gained two hundred yards in three
minutes.”
“If that is so, I must go faster,” cried Captain Garcia, signaling
to the engine room to increase the speed. “I wish them to gain slowly
in order that we may be well out from the harbor when they reach an
effective range with their guns.”
“Do you see that sun?” cried Phil, pointing toward the red disk but an
hour high. “That’s a bad thing to have in your gun sights. Get between
your enemy and the sun and you have the advantage at the start.”
“Excellent,” cried Captain Garcia. “It will spoil the enemy’s aim,
and it places me in an advantageous position to head them off if they
attempt to escape me.”
Phil’s nerves had become quieter, although the long strain of the stern
chase had been heavy. He glanced below him on the gun deck to observe
the behavior of the crew. Silence was ponderous over the ship. The men
at first had talked in low excited tones to each other, but as they saw
the enemy draw nearer, they stood quietly, dreading the first screech
of their enemy’s shell. Sydney and O’Neil seemed cool and collected
as they stood with their officer assistants. Sydney glanced anxiously
through the gun-port, frequently judging the distance of the enemy,
but O’Neil appeared to give the enemy but scant thought. He seemed to
be as calm as if he were at target practice. To him the excitement of
battle was not new; he had served in Admiral Sampson’s fleet during the
Cuban campaign, and the sound of shells screeching about him gave him
no fears.
“There she goes,” Phil exclaimed loudly in excitement, as a flash of
fire sprang from the leading ship.
A tremor ran through the crew. Their evident nervousness showed on
their faces and in the muscular twitching of their hands.
The first shell struck short, but from the bow guns of the two chasers
flash after flash appeared. The screech and hiss of steel missiles
filled the air.
Phil looked at the captain anxiously. The latter stood surveying the
scene, nervously, with his hand on the wheel rim.
The menace of the enemy’s fire was becoming more intense. The
geyser-like splashes threw water on to the decks of the fleeing
cruiser. Then a crash below him on the battery deck sent the hot blood
pulsating through the lad’s veins. He looked, a terrible fear in his
eyes. He saw fresh blood on the clean white decks amid the suffocating
smell of an explosion. The swarthy faces below him had paled with an
unknown, unreasonable terror--men scrambled over the mutilated bodies
of their stricken comrades, then stopped, wild-eyed and frenzied, for
they saw no escape. He glanced appealingly at Captain Garcia; the
latter’s face had blanched but his voice rang out true:
“Hard astarboard! Full speed!” Then he turned to Phil:
“We are ready to open fire.”
The lad, with hands trembling with agitation, read the range and
transmitted it by his electrical instrument to the guns. The notes of
the bugle rang out clear on the battery deck: “Commence firing.”
Sydney and O’Neil drove the men to their guns at the point of the
revolver.
“If any of you fellows shoot when you ain’t pointing at that leading
ship,” O’Neil sang out in Spanish, in a voice that could be heard above
the crash of exploding shell and the frightened prayers of the sailors,
“I am going to pitch you to the sharks with my own hands,” and he
looked as if he meant every word. No doubt the little brown sailormen
thought he would carry out his dire threat, for they moved slowly back
to their stations.
The next moment the situation was relieved. The “Aquadores” swung her
port broadside to the enemy and the sharp detonating discharge of her
guns made her crew forget their fear of the enemy’s shells.
Phil with glasses to his eyes watched their shells wing their way
toward the enemy. The roar of discharges now grew incessant. The
leading cruiser was fairly blotted out by the splashing of steel all
about her.
The “Aquadores” was not escaping unscathed; the dead and dying littered
the decks, but the crew, with desperation born of their dread for their
officers’ revolvers, worked like madmen.
Phil saw a heavy pall of smoke rising from the leading cruiser, now
heading about in an endeavor to seek the shelter of their fort’s guns.
It was the “Barcelo.” The “Soledad” was yet unharmed and stood boldly
on, using her guns with terrific effect. He rushed down to the battery
deck. He found his companions drawing their men back to reload the guns.
“One enemy is disabled,” he cried desperately. “Back to your guns. If
you desert now it means death. Shoot at the other ship!”
The men went once more to their guns, a sullen scowl on their terrified
faces.
“For our lives, keep them at it,” he shouted to O’Neil as he swung
himself up the ladder to the bridge.
The “Soledad” was heading directly for the “Aquadores.” The white foam
under the bow of the former showed she was making a rush to close with
her enemy.
Captain Garcia was undecided. He stood with his hand ready to clutch
the wheel to retreat. The “Soledad,” a blaze of destruction, came on
with a speed that seemed well-nigh incredible. At the shorter range
her shots were falling thickly about their decks, and the cries of the
wounded were heartrending.
Phil saw with consternation that she was approaching on a converging
course, and if the “Aquadores” stood on the two vessels must meet in
but a few minutes. What would Captain Garcia do? Sydney and O’Neil were
nowhere in sight. The battery fire had been reduced alarmingly; but
four guns were now firing against ten of their enemy. What could have
happened to his companions? Then a sudden wave of joy filled his heart.
O’Neil and Sydney were both shooting guns themselves and the officer
assistants had taken two others. The excited sailors were working as
hard as their limited strength allowed them, and from the guns of the
Americans, Phil saw with delight, the one hundred pound shells in a
perfect stream were hurled, true to their aim against the side of the
advancing ship.
Phil read his range finder.
“Two thousand yards,” he cried, then he froze with sudden fear. “Have
they torpedoes?” he questioned anxiously.
There was no time for an answer. A puff of white smoke, low down on the
“Soledad’s” leaden side; a flash of bright metal in the sunlight, and
a silent splash in the water, told our lad only too plainly that five
hundred pounds of high explosive had been launched on its deadly errand
against their ship.
Phil’s voice refused obedience. The “Aquadores” stood on at full speed,
while he saw a white wake of air bubbles in a straight line, ever
extending, marking the path of the Whitehead torpedo.
Captain Garcia hesitated but a moment; then he grasped the spokes of
the wheel and spun it around, swinging the bow of the cruiser toward
the approaching destroyer.
The men below, intuitively, knew that some new danger threatened. An
ominous murmur arose from the guns. The dread of an unknown danger had
put the fear of death into their simple minds.
The “Aquadores” turned swiftly, yet it seemed to the anxious watchers
that she must place herself directly in the path of the torpedo. Our
lad knew that the captain had now made the only correct maneuver; by
presenting his bow to the torpedo, it would give less surface to the
steely fish, and a glancing blow on the curved under-water side of the
cruiser might not explode its death-dealing head.
Through his glass Phil watched the fast approaching tube of steel. It
was running but a few feet under the clear blue water, leaving behind
it a trail of bubbles from the air exhausted through its tiny engines.
It seemed to the lad that the torpedo could not miss. He grasped the
hand-rail near him to brace himself against the terrific impact of the
explosion he knew would come with the speed of light when the deadly
point of the tube plowed into the “Aquadores’” steel plates. He could
not withdraw his fascinated gaze from the approaching menace; yet he
heard ominous sounds on the deck below him that showed him the awful
plight of the cruiser.
The torpedo was now very near, pointing directly for the bow of the
“Aquadores,” ever swinging toward its small enemy.
A flash of steel across the cruiser’s bow; a whir of tiny propellers;
a white streak of foam, and the danger had passed. Death had brushed
close by and gone beyond on a futile errand.
“Back to your guns,” Captain Garcia cried, steering his vessel toward
the now retreating enemy.
“If you don’t put them out of business now,” Phil heard O’Neil shout
to the uncertain men, “they’ll let loose another one of them torpedoes,
and they’ll hit us sure next time.”
As the gunners returned to the battery, the roar of discharges brought
confidence to the panic-stricken crew.
It was soon the “Aquadores’” turn to be joyful. The demoralized enemy
were running for cover. Their fire had almost ceased, but the deck of
the cruiser, strewn with dead and dying, told of the havoc while it had
lasted.
Those on the bridge had, by a miracle, escaped unharmed. Phil had felt
many a shell pass him, scorching him with its hot blast.
“Concentrate on the nearest vessel,” Phil shouted to his companions
below him. The range was but scant two thousand yards. The “Aquadores’”
shell went true to their aim. The smoke of explosions on the deck of
the nearer vessel rose in clouds, almost concealing her from view. She
had fired a few shots with a stern gun as she turned to follow her
fleeing mate; this now ceased. She was bending all efforts to escape.
Once under the cover of their shore batteries they could refit the
ships and again be ready for battle.
Captain Garcia’s face wore a look of determination as he took in his
hand the flexible speaking-tube to the engine room.
“Make all speed possible,” he ordered.
“Cripple her,” he cried to his gunners below. “Let neither escape us.”
The intense excitement was fairly stifling. Both vessels of the enemy
were making more speed than Captain Garcia had given them credit
for being able to do. The distance was not increasing but they were
persistently holding their own, and the “Aquadores’” shooting had not,
despite the volume of fire, succeeded in reducing their speed by even
the fraction of a knot.
“Aim at her water line,” Phil shouted to his companions, pointing at
the “Soledad.”
The next few shots from the “Aquadores” were fired singly by O’Neil.
Phil sent him the exact range from his range finder, while Sydney saw
the sight bar was accurately set.
The first shell struck only a few yards short, in her white wake. The
next shot struck under her counter and exploded with an echoing report.
“You jammed her rudder,” Phil shouted jubilantly, as he saw the
“Soledad” sheer widely to starboard and expose half of her broadside
to the bow fire of the chaser. O’Neil saw his opportunity to plant a
number of shells against her water line. Putting the cross wire of his
telescope sight fairly and steadily on her water line amidships, he
fired. The watchers on the bridge anxiously followed with their eyes
the shell speeding toward the “Soledad.” Then the sound of a mighty
explosion filled the air and the hindmost enemy was blotted out in a
cloud of white, vapor-like smoke.
“Her boilers have exploded!” cried Phil, grasping Captain Garcia’s arm
in his excitement.
The “Barcelo,” as if fearing the terrible punishment of her mate would
be visited upon her, had stopped dead on the water.
Captain Garcia steamed his vessel cautiously up to the vanquished enemy.
The “Soledad” was a pitiful sight as she rolled a shattered hulk on the
ocean swell; smoke-stacks gone; her decks blackened with the fire of
explosions, and torn and rent by the terrific violence of the blown up
boilers.
“She’s sinking,” cried Phil in horror, turning anxiously to Captain
Garcia.
The captain nodded his head in the affirmative.
“I fear many of her crew have perished. We must save every life we can.”
The “Aquadores” was stopped near the sinking ship and boats were
lowered promptly. But as Captain Garcia had feared, there were but
a handful of survivors left on the surface after the “Soledad,” her
colors still flying, sank beneath the surface of the sea.
In a half hour more a prize crew from the “Aquadores” had been sent
on board the captured “Barcelo” and the two vessels, now no longer
enemies, lay quietly awaiting the darkness to finish the work of
destruction of the insurgent navy; a torpedo-boat must yet be accounted
for before Captain Garcia could sail back to La Boca and report to his
president that his work had been successfully accomplished.
“The ‘Barcelo’ is quite serviceable,” Captain Garcia informed the
American lads, after his return on board the “Aquadores” from his visit
to the captured vessel. “She suffered badly from our shells and has
lost many men; fortunately her surgeons are uninjured, and are now
attending to her wounded. Our losses have been heavy; I weep for my
poor countrymen, fighting against their own flesh and blood.”
Captain Garcia burst into tears. The sight quite unmanned the youths.
It was a new sight for them--a man, who had borne himself with so much
bravery through the terrible trials of the last few hours, breaking
down and crying like a child.
The lads tried to console the sorely tried man, but he was
inconsolable. The reaction on his Latin nature was more than his nerve
could stand.
“You have placed me under a heavy debt,” the captain said, his voice
breaking with emotion. “I believe in my heart that without your superb
assistance, my ship would now be beneath the waves instead of the
‘Soledad,’ or, which is far worse for an honorable man, lying there
vanquished, my flag trailing in the dirt.” He pointed through the
gun-port at the battle-scarred “Barcelo,” her lowered flag still
trailing from her mast in sign of surrender.
“Don’t think of it in that way,” Phil hastily assured him. “We have
served our own ends as well as yours.”
“But you have risked your lives many times for our sacred cause,” cried
Captain Garcia. He took each by the hand, while tears of gratitude
streamed down his face. “I take your hands as brothers; and that superb
sailorman! if he would join our navy our president would make him a
captain.”
Both lads were pleased and proud that their work had been appreciated
so highly by their friend. Their short acquaintance with his noble
character tended to change the opinion they had formed of the men of
his race. This man was surely one of nature’s noblemen.
The boys thanked him warmly for his words.
“We have risked our lives, Captain Garcia, in your cause,” Phil replied
earnestly, “because your cause happens to be our cause.”
Captain Garcia looked puzzled.
“However you put it,” he declared, “I shall always consider that you
three Americans have given us this victory. We could never have won
without your aid, and our president shall richly reward you.”
“That will be impossible, sir,” Phil explained quickly. “Do not believe
us unappreciative, but you must not tell any one of the part we have
played in this battle. I pray you will counsel secrecy to your officers
and men. It will do us much harm if the truth were known.”
Captain Garcia was more perplexed than ever. He shrugged his shoulders
as much as to say:
“Young man, your American ways are entirely too complicated for me to
understand.”