Fighting in Cuban Waters: or, Under Schley on the Brooklyn

Each that was a blow in the face, one on the cheek, another on the nose, and a third directly in Haskett's left eye. They were heavy, and Haskett roared with pain.

"Let up!" he sputtered. "Let go of me," – the latter to Caleb, who still held him. "Oh, my eye! Is this fair fighting, two to one?"

"It is as fair as you treated Walter," answered Caleb. "Give him another, Si; he deserves it." And Si followed directions by planting a blow on Haskett's neck, something which spun the former mate of the Sunflower around like a top. At last Haskett broke loose and backed away.

"I'll get square on all of you!" he foamed, shaking his fist first at Caleb and then at the others. "I'm not done yet."

"I've a good mind to report you," put in Walter. "I reckon you'd be good for a month in irons, on bread and water."

At this Haskett grew pale. "The officers won't believe your story. Ellis, and the rest of you haven't any witnesses," he replied, but his voice shook. "Just wait; my day will come some time." And then, as Si started to advance again, he beat a hasty retreat.

"That settles that mystery," remarked Caleb, when the excitement was over. "I calculate, Walter, that you are not sorry the way matters came out."

"No, indeed." Walter turned to George Ellis. "I owe you one for your kindness. I'll not forget it."

"That's all right – I only did what any fair-minded fellow would do," answered the chief yeoman, and strolled away.

It was time for dinner, and Walter hurried off arm in arm with Si, who was still somewhat worked up over what had happened. "Walter, don't you go for to imagine I thought you guilty," said the Yankee boy. "I know you are honest to the core."

"Even if I do talk in my sleep," said Walter, from whose heart a great load had been lifted.

Once more the course of the Flying Squadron had been changed and now they were making straight for the coast of Florida. Tuesday passed quietly, although the same vigilance prevailed as before. It was evident, come what might, Commodore Schley did not mean to allow the enemy to catch him napping.

They had passed through the Straits of Florida, and now they turned to the westward, past a number of the Florida Reefs. Far across the ocean could be seen the low-lying shore, backed up by stately palms and other trees. The weather was now much warmer.

"You see, we are drawing closer to the equator," remarked Caleb. "I reckon we are bound for Key West." And his surmise proved correct, for they dropped anchors in Key West Harbor early on the morning following.

"What a lot of warships around here," cried Walter, as he came on deck. "What is that big fellow over yonder?"

"That is the Iowa," answered the old gunner. "You can well say big fellow, for the Iowa is the largest seagoing battleship we possess. She has a displacement of over eleven thousand tons and can speed in any sea at over seventeen knots. She carries four 12-inch guns and a whole host of others. Her armor belt is solid steel, fourteen inches thick."

"She's a beauty. I wonder if she will go out with us?"

"That is according to what Rear Admiral Sampson has to say about it, lad. You see, this campaign in Atlantic waters is largely in his hands."

The Iowa lay quite close, and during the day several messages were transmitted from one warship to the other by means of the wig-wag system. Walter had now mastered the mysteries of wig-wagging and amused himself by spelling out the messages as they passed to and fro.

A salute had been fired when the commodore entered the harbor, eleven rounds being shot off. "If he was a rear-admiral, he'd get thirteen guns," explained Caleb. "You see the salute varies from the President down. McKinley gets twenty-one guns, the Vice-President or Secretary of the Navy nineteen guns, a foreign minister fifteen guns, a consul seven guns, and so on. By counting the guns every man on the ships can tell what sort of a dignitary has arrived."

It was a cloudy day, and the air was so close that Walter was glad enough to take it easy. Presently he saw a boat leave the side, containing several petty officers and George Ellis and Jim Haskett.

"I wonder where they are going," said Walter to Si.

"Some special business for Captain Cook," answered Paul, who stood near. "Oh, but Haskett is in an ugly mood to-day. It will be a big wonder if he and Ellis don't get into a fight before they come back."

"Ellis is too much of a gentleman to fight with any one," returned Walter. "By the way, what is his real position on board?"

"He is chief yeoman," replied Si. "He is going ashore to look after some ship's stores, so I heard him tell one of the paymasters."

The small boat was soon out of sight, and Walter turned away to seek the shade, for it was growing hotter and hotter. "If this is a sample of weather in the torrid zone, what shall we do when we get into Cuban waters?" he observed.

"We are not very far from Cuban waters now," said the Yankee youth. "We could make Havana in six or seven hours if it was necessary."

"I wonder how the people of that city feel, Si, all cooped up as they have been for so long."

"I reckon they wish they had some fighting ships to come out after us, Walter. I've heard it said that General Blanco hardly knows how to turn himself, food is so scarce and so many idlers are about. It wouldn't surprise me if they had a riot there, if they haven't had one already. Even soldiers won't keep quiet when the grub fails."

But little could be seen of Key West outside of the numerous shipping. Presently a couple of petty officers came along with marine glasses and one pointed out to his companion several Spanish prizes in the port. "They'll be worth a good bit of money to the sailors on the blockade," he added. "I wish we were in for a share of the spoils."

"There are several transports," said Caleb, on joining his friends. "They are fitting out to go to Tampa. It won't be long before an army of invasion starts for Cuba."

"I wonder if my brother Ben will go along," mused Walter, but just then to get word from his older brother was impossible.

Inside of two hours the small craft came back. Somewhat to his surprise Walter saw that Jim Haskett was missing. He would not have thought much of this had it not been that the Brooklyn was already preparing to continue on her trip.

"Haskett did not come back," he announced to Si. "I'll wager something is wrong."

"Oh, I guess not," said the Yankee youth; nevertheless, he, too, began to watch for the former mate of the Sunflower.

Several hours later Walter passed George Ellis on the upper deck and saluted. The chief yeoman hesitated and then called Walter to him.

"I suppose you and your friend will be interested to know that James Haskett has been left behind at Key West under military arrest," he began.

"Indeed! And what for, if I may ask?"

"For getting into a rough-and-tumble fight with a soldier named Grumbell. It seems Grumbell once owned a fishing-smack down East, and Haskett failed to settle up on a cargo of fish he sold for Grumbell three years ago. They had a quarrel of words and then got to blows, and Haskett hit a captain of the regulars who tried to separate them. Both he and the soldier are now in prison, and I rather imagine it will go pretty hard with the seaman, for striking a captain is no light offence." And after a few words more, George Ellis passed on.

Of course Walter lost no time in carrying the news to his friends. All listened with interest, and Si said he was glad Haskett was gone. "And I hope he doesn't ever come back," he added.

And Jim Haskett never did come back, nor did Walter ever set eyes on the man again. For quarrelling with the soldier and striking the captain of the regulars, Jim Haskett was dishonorably discharged from the navy, and sentenced to a year's imprisonment at hard labor. Thus, in a roundabout way, was the rascal made to suffer the punishment he so richly deserved.

CHAPTER XV

FROM CIENFUEGOS TO SANTIAGO BAY

From Key West the Flying Squadron set sail direct for Cienfuegos. The Brooklyn, Massachusetts, Texas, and Scorpion left together, and were followed, twenty-four hours later, by the Iowa, mentioned in the previous chapter, and by the Castine and the collier Merrimac.

Cienfuegos is a town of good size lying on a small bay on the south coast of Cuba, about midway between the eastern and western extremities. For several days the Navy Department had been watching, or trying to watch, the movements of the Spanish squadron, satisfied at last that it was somewhere in Cuban waters. One report had it that Admiral Cervera was at Cienfuegos, another that he was at Santiago de Cuba, many miles to the eastward. Commodore Schley was now sent out to bring the truth to light, were it possible to do so.

The rainy season, as it is termed, was at its height in this vicinity, and the showers came down nearly all day, striking the hot metal decks, and converting the water into something closely resembling steam. It was so muggy and uncomfortable that hardly any of the jackies could sleep, and more than one poor fellow was overcome and had to be carried to the sick bay for treatment.

"If that Spanish squadron has passed Santiago and Cienfuegos, and is crawling up around the western turn of Cuba, it won't be long before we see some hot work," observed Caleb, as he lounged at a porthole, devoid of any clothing but his shirt and trousers.

"Any kind of work would be hot," said Walter, laughingly. "Why, I think a fellow could cook eggs on deck."

"Puts me in mind of a voyage I took to South America," put in Si, who had just soused his head into a bucket of water, and was dripping from nose, ears, and chin in consequence. "We lay off the mouth of the Amazon for two days, waiting to get on a cargo of rubber. It was right under the equator, and the tar just poured out of all our seams. One afternoon I ran across the deck in my bare feet, for I was taking a swim, and as true as I live I blistered my feet."

"Oh, that's nothing," returned Caleb, dryly. "I was under the equator once, off the coast of Columbia in the bark Sally D. The captain let us go fishing in the jolly-boat. We caught about a dozen fish and threw 'em in the bottom as fast as they came in, and when we got back to the bark hang me if the first two fish we had brought up weren't baked as nice as you please, all fit for the captain's table." And Caleb turned away and began to whistle softly to himself, while Si continued his ablutions without another word. Among old sailors, "matching yarns" is a constant pastime, and the stories sometimes told would shame even a Baron Munchausen.

The watch on board of the warship was now more strict than ever, and the men slept at their guns, sometimes not seeing a hammock for several nights. Everybody, from the captain down to the apprentices, felt that a crisis could not be far off.

It must not be imagined that while Commodore Schley was skirting the southern coast of Cuba, the northern coast was neglected, for such was not the case. The blockade of Havana and vicinity still continued, and in addition Rear-Admiral Sampson took his own flagship, the New York, and several other warships, and sailed eastward, thinking to occupy the St. Nicholas Channel. Thus, if Admiral Cervera tried to gain the vicinity of Havana by the northern coast, he would be likely to fall in with Sampson; if he took the southern way, Schley would intercept his path. By keeping his ships in the St. Nicholas Channel Sampson remained ever ready to dash northward should the Spanish destroyers take a new course and show themselves along our own coast.

"We are coming in sight of land," cried Walter, toward nightfall, two days after leaving Key West. "I suppose this is some port on the southern coast of Cuba."

"It is Cienfuegos Bay," returned Caleb. "I just heard one of the officers say so. We're to lie at anchor until morning, and then perhaps the fun will commence."

At this announcement Walter's heart beat quickly, and it must be admitted that he did not sleep a wink that night for speculating on what the morrow might bring forth. In this particular, his thoughts were not far different from those of every one else on board.

Daybreak brought more rain, and the big warship rode on the long swells of the ocean grim and silent. Not far away lay the Texas, and several newcomers could be seen approaching from a distance. "This looks like business," observed Si to Walter, and the boy nodded.

Immediately after breakfast the signal was hoisted to clear ship for action, and once more the jackies rushed to their various places and got into fighting trim. Then the great engines of the Brooklyn began to work, and they crept slowly toward the entrance to the harbor.

"If Cervera is there, he keeps himself pretty well hidden," remarked one of the officers, within hearing of Walter. "I don't see anything that looks like a warship."

Presently the flagship came to a halt, and the Texas steamed past her and quite close to the harbor. Here the Spaniards had a small land battery, but it kept silent. The inner portion of the bay was hidden from view by a high spur of land.

What to do next was a problem. If the Spanish squadron was really there, it would be foolhardy to rush in and do battle while the enemy would have the support of the shore battery. Commodore Schley thought the matter over and, ever on the alert, decided to play a waiting game.

Sunday passed without anything unusual developing, and so did the day following. The strain on the men at the guns was great, for they were on duty constantly. Night and day the bosom of the outer bay was closely watched, for it was known that Cervera had with him one or two torpedo-boat destroyers, and these were dreaded more than anything else.

"Let one of those torpedo destroyers get near us, and we'll go up as quickly as did the Maine," said Caleb. "I'm not afraid of the dagos, but let me get out of the way of a torpedo boat every time." And this opinion was shared by all Walton's messmates.

"There's another boat coming up," announced Si, at six o'clock on Tuesday morning. "Walton, what do you make her out to be?"

"She's the Marblehead," was the old gunner's answer, after a long look at the craft. "And she's got despatches for the commodore," he added, as the signal went up and a small boat put off for the Brooklyn. Soon Commander McCalla of the Marblehead came on board, and a long conference with Commodore Schley resulted, after which the newly arrived officer departed for his own warship with all possible speed. McCalla's mission was to communicate with the Cuban insurgents who were encamped near Cienfuegos, with a view to ascertaining if Admiral Cervera's ships were really in the harbor.

The morning passed quietly, and by noon the Marblehead and her commander returned. The Cuban spies had made an investigation, and not a single ship of war belonging to Spain had been found, outside of a little harbor vessel of small moment.

It was now thought that if Admiral Cervera was not at Cienfuegos he must either be on his way hither or at Santiago. Accordingly, toward evening, the squadron received orders to sail for Santiago.

"We're off for Santiago Bay," said Caleb. "And if we don't find the dagos there, I'll give up where they are. Perhaps they have gone back to Spain." He continually alluded to the Spaniards as dagos, – a term which became quite common among soldiers and sailors during the war, although many referred to the enemy as the Dons.

It had cleared off, and the sun shone down fiercely on the deck and elsewhere. Inside of the steel turrets the air was stifling, and no one could remain at his post over a couple of hours. From below, the engineers, firemen, and coal-heavers came up constantly for a whiff of fresh air.

"We're badly enough off," remarked Walter. "But look at those poor chaps. Why, some of the firemen look ready to melt."

"Yes, and the worst of it is they never get any credit when it comes to a battle," added Caleb. "Now to my mind, the engineer who sticks to his engine during a battle, obeying orders and running the risk of having a shot plough through a boiler and scald him to death, is just as much of a hero as the chap behind a gun – and in one way he's more of a hero; for if the ship should start to sink, a gunner has got the chance to leap overboard and swim for it, while the man below is likely to be drowned like a rat in a trap."

"And the coal-heavers work harder than negroes," put in Paul. "Just think of the tons and tons of coal they shovel every twenty-four hours when we are under full steam. I'm quite certain such work would break my back."

"Oh, life on a warship isn't all a picnic," was Si's comment. "If a fellow enlists to have an easy time of it, he deserves to get left. I enlisted to serve Uncle Sam, and I'm going to do it – if Providence will give me the chance."

As Commodore Schley sailed toward Santiago from Cienfuegos, Rear-Admiral Sampson, gaining additional information concerning the whereabouts of the enemy, moved slowly and cautiously eastward toward Cape Maysi and the Windward Passage. Thus, if Cervera was where he was supposed to be, he was bound to be discovered before many more days passed.

"Do you know anything about Santiago Bay?" asked Si of Walter. "I've travelled to South America and Central America, but I never stopped anywhere in Cuba."

"I know only what the geographies teach," answered Walter. "It is on the south side of Cuba, a hundred and some odd miles from the eastern end of the island. It is said to be a very pretty harbor, about eight miles long and one to two miles wide. Santiago, which is the next largest Cuban city to Havana, is located on the northeast shore. I heard Caleb say that the entrance to the harbor is shaped like the neck of a crooked bottle, and that on the eastern side there is a strong fortress called Morro Castle, and opposite to it a heavy concealed battery called La Zocapa. Somehow, it's in my mind that we'll see a good deal of the harbor before we come away," concluded the boy.

CHAPTER XVI

THE FINDING OF ADMIRAL CERVERA'S FLEET

"Well, this doesn't look much like fighting."

It was Paul who uttered the remark. The youngest member of the gunners' crowd rested in the shadow of one of the long guns, half asleep. Near by sat Walter and Si, each writing letters, although there was no telling when the communications would be taken from the Brooklyn and sent home. At Key West Walter had looked for some word from Ben and from Job Dowling, but none had come.

"I'd like to know if my uncle went to Boston, and if he learned anything concerning that Deck Mumpers and the stolen heirlooms," Walter observed to Si, after nodding to Paul, in agreement that it didn't look like fighting.

"Well, you'll have to possess your soul in patience," answered the young Yankee. "But oh, this is dead slow!" And thrusting his letter into an envelope, he addressed it and laid it away.

Several days had been spent around the mouth of Santiago Bay, without anything being brought to light. If the Spanish fleet was within the harbor, it knew enough to keep out of sight, that was certain.

"If I was Commodore Schley, I'd rush past old Morro and make short work of this," grumbled Paul, stretching himself and yawning. "Why, we'll all die of laziness if this keeps on."

"I hear the Merrimac has broken down," put in Caleb, who had just come below. "That means another wait of twenty-four hours or more, even if Cervera isn't in the harbor. Why under the sun must those dagos play such a game of hide-and-seek? Why can't they come up and fight like men?"

"Perhaps Admiral Cervera is bombarding some of our cities at this very moment – " began Si, when a sudden loud hurrah caused all hands to leap up and make for the deck.

"What's up?" came from a hundred throats.

"The Iowa has just signalled that she has seen a big Spanish warship showing her nose around the harbor point!" was the wild answer. "We've found the Dons at last!"

And then came another hurrah and a wild yell. "Let us get at 'em! Down with the Spaniards! Remember the Maine and Dewey's victory at Manila!"

Commodore Schley was on the afterbridge of the flagship. As the yelling broke loose, he smiled grimly. "Yes, they must be in there," he said to Captain Cook. "And if they are, they'll never get home." Prophetic words, as the events of just five weeks later proved.

Owing to the heavy swells of the ocean, the warships under the commodore's command had drifted somewhat apart, but now, when it was known definitely that Admiral Cervera's ships were in the harbor before them, the various craft were signalled to draw closer, until they lay within four to six miles of the entrance. This may seem a long way off to some of my readers, but it must be remembered that guns of the present day can carry as far as ten to twelve miles when put to it, and a destructive fire can be maintained at seven or eight miles.

The night that followed was a trying one, for no one knew but that Admiral Cervera's warships might come dashing out of the bay at any instant ready to do them deadly battle. The Brooklyn had long since been stripped for action, many articles of wood being thrown overboard, to avoid splinters when shot and shell began to fall. The small boats were covered with strong nets, also to keep splinters away, and everywhere throughout the ship the hoses were connected with the water-plugs, to be used in case of fire, and all water-tubs were kept filled for a like purpose. The magazines were kept open, and every gun, big and little, stood ready to be fired at the word of command. Even the wardroom tables were cleared off and covered with the sick-bay cloths, and the surgeons saw to it in a quiet way that their bandages, knives, and saws were ready to hand.

"Say, but that looks like war, eh?" whispered Paul, jerking his thumb in the direction of one of the improvised operating tables. "Gracious, it's enough to give a fellow a cold shiver."

"Then don't look that way, Paul," answered Walter. "As Si said, life here isn't expected to be a picnic. We may gain lots of glory, but we'll have to work for it, – and maybe suffer, too."

It was the 30th of May, Decoration Day, but no services of a special character were had, although the Civil War was talked of by a dozen veterans of both the North and the South, who were now standing once more shoulder to shoulder, as Washington, Jefferson, and a hundred other patriots of old had intended that they should stand, once and forever. "We're under the stars and stripes to stay," said one man who had worn the gray at Gettysburg. "Just let those Dons show themselves, and we'll lick 'em out of their boots." The man's name was Berkeley, and he was as good a soldier as he was a sailor, and wore both Union and Confederate medals for bravery.

Walter had just fallen into a light doze early in the morning when a dull booming awoke him with a start, and made him leap to his feet. "What is that – guns firing?" he asked.

"That's it, lad," came from Caleb. "The commodore is giving his defiance to the enemy, I reckon. There she goes again," he went on, as half a dozen sullen reports rolled over the water. "I just wish we were in this."

A Spanish warship, the Christobal Colon, had again showed herself at the entrance to Santiago Bay, and the Iowa, the Massachusetts, and the New Orleans, had been ordered to move to within seven thousand yards and open fire. Away they darted, and passed and re-passed the harbor entrance twice, firing as they sailed. What damage was done it was impossible to tell, but that the Colon was hit seemed very probable, for she soon disappeared. The shore batteries also took part, and sent one big shell directly over the Iowa, where it burst with a noise that was deafening, but without doing any damage.

"Gracious! what a racket!" exclaimed Walter, as he watched the bombardment from afar.

"Racket!" repeated Caleb, who stood beside him. "Why, lad, this is nothing to what we'll have when we get mixed up. I only hope the commodore signals us to line up for the scrap," he went on, for Commodore Schley had left the Brooklyn temporarily, and hoisted his pennant on the Massachusetts. But the signal did not come, much to the old gunner's disappointment.