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

By dark the bombardment was at an end. It had been brought about by the commodore with the view to ascertain the strength of the enemy, his ability to shoot straight, and the number and location of the shore batteries. Now this information was gained, and it was likely to be of great value in the near future.

It had been decided, should Admiral Cervera's fleet be discovered in Santiago Bay, that Commodore Schley should unload the collier Merrimac as quickly as possible, and then sink the craft directly across the channel at the narrow entrance. If this was accomplished, it would make it impossible for the Spanish warships to escape until the sunken wreck was blown up and cleared away, and in the meantime several other available American vessels could be hurried to the scene of action. A number of spies had been sent ashore, and at last the commodore was positive that the enemy was just where he wanted him. "And now we'll sink the Merrimac and bottle him up," he said.

The Merrimac was an iron steamboat of five thousand tons' burden. She had previously been a "tramp" steamer; that is, one going from port to port, picking up any cargo that came to hand. She carried a large quantity of coal for the various ships, and, as we already know, had followed the Flying Squadron from Key West to Cienfuegos and the present ocean territory. She was a heavily built craft, carrying two masts, and just the right sort for the plan now at hand.

A heavy salute on the morning of June 1 announced the coming of Admiral Sampson with a number of additional warships, – the New York, Oregon, Mayflower, Porter, and others. The New York, it may be added here, was a cruiser, similar to the Brooklyn, only somewhat smaller. The Oregon was a battleship of the first class, of over ten thousand tons' displacement, and carried four 13-inch, eight 8-inch, and four 6-inch guns in her main battery, over twenty guns in her secondary battery, besides several Gatling guns and three torpedo tubes. This noble vessel had just made a record for herself by steaming, at full speed, from San Francisco, around Cape Horn, to our eastern coast, without a break-down, – a journey without precedent for a heavy battleship, so far as our own navy was concerned. In the past, foreign critics had imagined that our vessels were not quite as good as theirs in thoroughness of build; now these critics were silenced, and they stood looking on, and wondering what those "clever Yankees" would do next.

The Merrimac had been under the command of Captain James Miller, but now she was eased of a large quantity of her coal, and turned over to Lieutenant Richmond P. Hobson, an assistant naval constructor. Hobson had his plans arranged in detail for sinking the Merrimac, and all he asked for was a crew of six or seven men, to aid him in running the collier into the harbor channel. "I know it looks like certain death to go in," he said, "and therefore I want only volunteers with me."

"You can get them easily enough," said Rear-Admiral Sampson, with a smile. "I know a hundred men on the New York who will be only too anxious to go, no matter how dangerous the mission." Volunteers were called for, and, to the credit of our navy, be it said, that the crews of the different ships offered themselves almost to a man.

"We can die only once," said one old gunner; "take me!"

"I'd like to go, captain," said Caleb, appealing to Captain Cook. "Can't you put me on the list somehow?"

"I'll go," said Walter, readily, and Si said the same. Paul was so young that he knew they would not take him.

Of course where only seven men were wanted and hundreds had begged to be allowed to go there were numerous disappointments. At last the list was made up of the following – names to be remembered by every patriotic young American: Lieutenant Hobson, in command; O. W. Deignan, helmsman; G. F. Phillips, engineer; F. Kelley, fireman; J. Murphy, coxswain; G. Charette, mine batteries; D. Montague, anchor hand; R. Clausen, extra wheelman. The men were all experienced sailors, and fully realized the extreme peril which awaited them, when they should run the Merrimac in directly under the fire of Morro Castle and the La Zocapa battery.

A start was made late on Wednesday night, the Merrimac cruising up and down before the harbor entrance, trying to gain a favorable opportunity for entering. But none showed itself, and by orders of the rear-admiral the attempt was postponed until the night following. In the meantime a catamaran was built and attached to the Merrimac's side, to be used in getting away in case the small boats became disabled when the craft was wrecked.

CHAPTER XVII

IN WHICH THE "MERRIMAC" IS SUNK

"It's too bad we can't get places on the Merrimac," observed Walter to Si, as the two walked to their quarters after the selection of men had been made. "If Lieutenant Hobson succeeds in getting the collier up in the harbor entrance and sinking her, it will be a big feather in his cap."

"My idea is that the heavy guns of old Morro will blow the Merrimac clean out of the water before she gets within quarter of a mile of where she is to be sunk," answered the Yankee lad. "Those on board are running the greatest risk of their lives."

"But the glory, Si!"

"No glory if you're killed."

"But you said you would go."

"So I would – but I wouldn't expect to come back alive. I'll wager we never see Hobson again, nor none of his men."

The fierce heat of the day had given Walter a headache. As evening came on it grew worse, and he was not able to sleep during the night.

"I hope I'm not getting the Cuban fever," he remarked to Caleb, who had offered several simple remedies ready at hand.

"Better report and go on the sick list," advised the old gunner. "If it's fever, the sooner you take it in hand the better."

At first Walter demurred, but finally, as the ache in his head began to creep all over him, he reported to one of the surgeons. "I don't want to go into the sick bay," he said, "but I wish you would give me something."

"Yes, you need something," was the answer. "We don't want any men to get down so soon. We may have to stay on the blockade here for some time, if Cervera refuses to come out and fight us."

"Or we block him in with the wreck of the Merrimac," said Walter, with a faint smile.

"Oh, that will be only a temporary check, to give Admiral Sampson time to get his fleet into shape and give the army authorities time to send on an army of invasion. The army is already gathering at Tampa," replied the surgeon.

The medicine was forthcoming, and Walter was at once given a big dose and told to repeat every two hours. "It has quinine in it and will make your ears ring and your head buzz, but that won't hurt you," said the surgeon. "If you feel worse by to-morrow morning, report to me again."

This was at eight o'clock. By noon Walter felt as if a buzz saw was in full operation in his head, while he could not hear at all. But he continued to take the medicine, and rested in a hammock slung up in the coolest spot to be found between decks.

"Oh dear!" he murmured, when left alone. "How my head does spin around! If I get very sick, whatever will become of me?" And he buried his face in his jacket sleeve, to suppress a groan that was bound to come.

By nightfall he was worse, if anything, and both Caleb and Si advised him to go into the sick bay for further treatment. But he shook his head. "No, I reckon I can stand it till morning," he said. "There may be a turn for the better by that time."

Midnight found him on deck, under the impression that the fresh night air would do him some good. To tell the truth, he was hardly responsible for what he was doing, for his head was in a worse whirl than at any time previous. He staggered to the side and leaned over. The warship rose and fell on the bosom of the ocean, and the water danced and twinkled before his eyes. Nobody was near him.

How it all happened he could never tell afterward. He must have leaned over too far, or slipped, for suddenly he seemed to awake as by a shock, and felt himself going down and down into the greenish element which washed up against the Brooklyn's sides. He tried to scream, but his mouth filled with water and he could only splutter.

When at length he arose to the surface, the waves had carried him a hundred feet away from the ship. He tried to cry out, but he was too weak to utter more than a whisper. He threw out his hands and began to swim in a mechanical way. But instead of carrying him back whence he had come, the mighty waves lifted him closer and closer to shore.

Ten minutes had passed, and Walter felt that he could keep up no longer, when he came into contact with a large box which had at one time been filled with naval stores, but which, on being emptied, had been thrown overboard from one of the warships. The box was over four feet in length and built of heavy slatting, and afforded a fair degree of buoyancy. Lying across the top of the receptacle he floated on, wondering in a bewildered way how this strange adventure was going to end.

"If only I could get to one of our ships," he thought. "If I don't, I must either drown or else be cast up on the coast, in which case the Spaniards will most likely capture me. If I – Oh, there is a ship now!"

Walter was right; a two-masted vessel was bearing directly down upon him. The vessel carried no lights and moved along as silently as a ghost.

"I'll be run down!" was the boy's agonizing thought, when, on coming within a few hundred feet, the craft began to turn in a small circle. Then, when halfway around, her engines came to a stop and she drifted idly on the waves.

A chain was dangling from the vessel's stern. It was but three yards away, and making a frantic leap Walter clutched it and hung fast. Scarcely had this been accomplished than the steamer moved off again, dragging him behind her.

In his weak state it is a wonder that Walter was not compelled to relinquish his hold; but life is sweet to us all, and he hung on grimly, and setting his teeth, began to climb up the chain hand over hand. In a few minutes he reached the taffrail, fell, rather than climbed, over, and dropped unconscious on the deck.

How long he lay in this state Walter did not know. He came to his senses to find himself being shaken by somebody bending over him.

"What are you doing here?" was the rough demand. "Don't you know that all of the regular crew were ordered off at three o'clock?"

"I – I – where am I?" stammered Walter, sitting up.

"Where are you? Don't you know?"

"No, sir."

"You're on board of the Merrimac."

"The Merrimac!" echoed the boy, and attempted to rise to his feet. He was still very weak, but otherwise his involuntary bath had done him much good.

"Exactly; the Merrimac. How dare you remain on board against orders?"

"I didn't remain on board. I – I fell off of my own ship, the Brooklyn, and came near drowning, when this vessel came along and I managed to catch hold of a chain that is dragging over the taffrail. I climbed up and then – then I don't remember anything more."

"Humph! that's a likely story. How did you happen to fall overboard?" went on the man, who was one of the volunteers on this never-to-be-forgotten expedition.

In a few words Walter told him. By this time the youth felt stronger, and got up on his feet. "I hope I shan't be in the way," he said, as he concluded.

"You had better keep out of the way," was the grim return. "Come forward, and I'll report the matter to Lieutenant Hobson. If you have to go in with us, the best thing you can do is to strip off your clothing, and buckle a life preserver around you – just as the rest of us have done. Of course if you were on the Brooklyn you know what we intend to do, and let me tell you we've some mighty hot work ahead of us." And throwing him a life preserver, the man stalked off, leaving Walter standing on the forward deck of the collier in the darkness.

It was a little after three o'clock in the morning, and the Merrimac was headed north-northeast, directly for the harbor entrance. From far ahead shone a Spanish flashlight, located on a hill, and by steering for this, Lieutenant Hobson knew the craft would be taken just where he wanted her.

Walter was but lightly attired, and without stripping off any more clothing he placed the life preserver around him, under the arms. "When the Merrimac goes down, we may not even have the catamaran to fall back on," he thought.

Boom! It was the report of one of the Spanish guns on shore, and a heavy shot whizzed over the bridge of the Merrimac, where Lieutenant Hobson and the helmsman were standing, and fell into the waves on the starboard side. The aim was so close that the wind from the shot carried off the helmsman's cap!

Other shots soon followed, and in the excitement of the moment Walter's presence on board was forgotten. The Merrimac was now running at a tremendous rate of speed, her fires roaring fiercely and her boilers threatening to burst at any instant. Quivering from stem to stern under such high pressure, she shot into the harbor entrance and straight for the narrowest part of the channel. By this time the Spanish guns from all sides were sending down on her a shower of shot and shell, awful to contemplate. Seeing he could do nothing, Walter ran for the shelter of one of the companionways.

"Put the wheel hard a-port!" came the order from the bold commander, who, if he was excited did not show it. "Lively now!"

"Ay, ay, sir!" came from the helmsman, and the wheel went over, and was lashed fast.

"She isn't coming over!" came another cry, a moment later, and while shot and shell were flying, in all directions.

"What's the matter there? Charette, go down and look at the steering gear."

At once Charette ran off at his best speed. He was gone but a moment, and came back all out of breath.

"One of the rudder chains has been shot away, sir," he reported.

"Shot away!" came from several. "That's bad."

To this Hobson did not answer, but instantly ordered the engines stopped. "And open the sea-valves and come up," he added. "There is not a minute to lose now, lads, if we want to sink her and escape alive."

Morro Castle and the battery opposite had heretofore been firing alone, but now came shots from Smith Cay, up the harbor, and from a Spanish warship which was bearing down upon the scene.

"We must fire the mines now!" Walter heard somebody say. "Fire them as closely together as possible, and then make for the starboard side amidships."

This order had scarcely been given when the wires attached to the mines were touched off. A sullen roar from beneath the Merrimac followed, and the vessel was thrown high up in the air, while great columns of water spouted up on every side. Then slowly but surely the collier began to sink.

CHAPTER XVIII

WALTER'S ADVENTURE ON SHORE

Although the Merrimac had been blown up and was sinking, the Spaniards continued to fire upon her without interruption, and as before, the air was filled with solid shot, bursting shells, and the whistling of leaden messengers from rapid-firing rifles.

The order to gather at the starboard was a wise one, for this spot was the best protected on the deck, as the port side was settling rapidly. To take to a small boat or the catamaran would have been the height of foolishness, for a strong searchlight was being thrown on the scene, and the men would have been picked off by the Spanish gunners at will.

With the others Walter rushed to starboard and found a hiding-place close to the rail. "I wonder what will happen next," he muttered. He was certain that something would take place very soon, for the waves of the harbor channel were already rolling over a portion of the Merrimac's deck.

A few anxious minutes passed, when suddenly the doomed collier gave a heavy list to starboard, and Walter found himself sliding along the rail and unable to stop himself.

"Hold on!" shouted somebody. "Who is that?"

Still weak, and with the flying spray drenching his face, Walter could not answer, and in a second more the questioner had disappeared amid the gloom, smoke, and flying water. Again came a lurch of the collier, and Walter was hurled flat and sent spinning against the smoke-stack. As he arose he saw Lieutenant Hobson and his men climbing over the starboard rail. Realizing, even in his bewildered state of mind, that he could not do better than to follow them, he, too, made for the rail, going over at one point as the courageous commander of the expedition went over at another. The crew were swimming for the catamaran, which had been shoved off from the Merrimac's side, and Walter came after them. Hardly had the catamaran been gained, than, with a final lurch and quiver, the Merrimac went down, partly across the narrow channel, but not exactly in the position in which she would have been placed had not the rudder chain been shot away.

As the craft sank, a yell came from the Spanish battery nearest at hand, the gunners thinking they had sunk an American man-o'-war and not dreaming that the sinking had been done by those on board and purposely. But none of the Americans paid any attention to these cries, all thinking only of escape, now the work of the night was over.

A steam launch under the command of Ensign Joseph Powell had been moving up and down the harbor waiting for a chance to pick Hobson and his men up. But a Spanish picket boat lay between those on the catamaran and the launch, so escape in this direction was now cut off.

The float was still attached by a long rope to the wreck of the Merrimac, and the men were now ordered to remain where they were, clinging to the catamaran with only their heads showing above water. "If you try to swim away, the Spanish sharpshooters will pick you off as quick as a wink," was the word passed around.

Thus cautioned, all the brave crew remained where they were until daylight began to show itself. Then a large launch steamed up, carrying several oarsmen, half a dozen sharpshooters, and Admiral Cervera himself.

"Do you surrender?" came in Spanish, while every sailor on the catamaran was carefully covered.

"We surrender as prisoners of war," was Lieutenant Hobson's reply, and then he and his men were ordered to swim to the launch one at a time and give up their arms, if they had any. This was done, and the steam launch returned to the Reina Mercedes, one of the Spanish warships. Later on, Hobson and his men were sent ashore under a strong guard, marched up a hill to Morro Castle, and turned over to General Toral, the military governor of Santiago Province.

When he made the leap for the catamaran Walter was not as fortunate as those around him. He entered the water close to the Merrimac, and when the great collier sank, the suction drew him under, and he went so far down that he fancied he would never come up. His breath was gone, a gulp partly filled him with water, and when at last the surface of the bay was again reached he came up more dead than alive.

He set out to swim instinctively, the life preserver holding him up, although it had not been light enough to counteract the suction of the sinking ship. Where he was going he did not know, for the glare of the searchlight and the splashing of shots on the water was perfectly bewildering. "I'm lost!" he thought a dozen times. "O God, help me to get out alive!" And that prayer was answered, for presently his foot touched bottom and he saw land ahead, – a bit of sandy beach between Morro Castle and a battery located on Estrella Cove, for the tide was coming in, and had carried him up the harbor instead of down.

As Walter waded out of the water he heard several pickets shouting to each other in Spanish. Without waiting for them to come nearer, he dove out of sight in some bushes back of the beach, and then started to walk to a woods still further inland.

So far, the intense excitement had kept him up, but now came the reaction, and he felt as sick as he had while on the Brooklyn. His head began to spin and strange lights flashed before his eyes, while chills crept up and down his backbone. "I reckon I'm in for a spell of sickness, whether I escape or not," he groaned, and reaching the woods, threw himself down under a mahogany tree to rest.

Walter thought he could not sleep, but presently the pain became less and he sank into a troubled slumber. He roused up to find a tall, fine-looking negro shaking him. As soon as he opened his eyes, the negro began to question him in Spanish.

"I can't understand you," said the youth, and shook his head.

"Americano, mistair?" questioned the negro, and Walter nodded. "You come from big fight, maybe?" he went on, brokenly.

"What fight do you mean?"

"Fight down by Morro last night. Spanish sink your ship, maybe, not so?" And the negro laughed.

"Our men did the sinking. But who are you? a Spaniard?"

"No, me Cuban, Carlos Dunetta."

"My name is Walter Russell, but I suppose it might be Smith for all the difference it makes to you," replied Walter, moodily. "What do you intend to do? turn me over to the Spanish authorities?"

"To de Spanish? No, no!" Carlos Dunetta leaned forward. "Cuba libre! 'Member de Maine! Not so?" And he smiled broadly.

"Now you are talking!" ejaculated Walter, joyfully. "You are an insurgent, I suppose. Do you belong to General Garcia's troops?"

Again the negro leaned forward. "Carlos Dunetta spy for de general," he whispered. "Come, want to get away, must hurry!" And he took hold of Walter's arm.

Their course was directly into the woods, under broad mahogany and grenadillo trees, and over rough rocks overgrown with rank vines. Insects and bugs were numerous and spider-webs hung everywhere.

"Udder men all caught and taken to prison," said the Cuban as they progressed. "I hear dat from udder spy."

"Well, I'm not out of the woods yet," said Walter, seriously.

"Woods safe place in daytime," answered the negro, not catching his true meaning.

They had progressed less than half a mile when Walter began to lag behind. "I can't go any farther," he declared. "I've been sick and I'm about used up."

"Sick? What is de mattair?"

"I don't know – unless it is malarial fever."

At the word "fever" Carlos Dunetta drew down the corners of his broad mouth. "Fever? Dat is werry bad —Americano canno stand dat. Maybe I best carry you to Josefina's hut. Josefina she my sistair. She take care of you if so you be sick."

The tall negro took Walter upon his back with ease and continued on his way. Presently they reached a trail, and passing along this for the distance of a hundred yards, came within sight of a long, low hut, thatched with palm.

The negro gave a peculiar whistle, and immediately a short, fat negro wench put in an appearance, followed by a man of twenty-five or thirty. The man was fairly well dressed, and evidently a Cuban of Spanish descent.

"It is all right, Carlos!" cried the wench. "This is Señor Ramona."

"Señor Ramona!" exclaimed the negro, and rushing up he dropped Walter and took the out-stretched hand of the Cuban gentleman. A long talk in Spanish, followed, of which Walter understood hardly a word. Yet he felt certain the pair were talking about the American warships outside of the harbor, the blowing up of the Merrimac, and about himself. Suddenly the negro ran back to him, at the same time calling the wench.

"You sick – I forget," he said. "Come; nice bed here." And he pointed to a grass hammock suspended from one of the rear corner posts of the hut to a near-by tree. "You lay dare; Josefina make good drink for you; den you feel bettair."

Walter was glad enough to accept the invitation, for standing unaided was now out of the question. As soon as he was in the hammock the negro woman ran off for a wet bandage, which she tied tightly over his forehead.

Carlos Dunetta evidently had an important message for Señor Ramona, for no sooner was the talk between the pair at an end, than the Cuban brought out a horse from the shelter of the trees, and dashed down the trail at a breakneck speed.