The Boys of '98

The earth literally trembled; the air suddenly became heavy with stifling smoke. Electric lights on shore were extinguished; the tinkling of breaking glass could be heard everywhere in that portion of the city nearest the harbour.

When the shower of fragments and of fire ceased to fall a dense blackness enshrouded the harbour, from the midst of which could be heard cries of agony, appeals for help, and the shouts of those who, even while struggling to save their own lives, would cheer their comrades.

After this, and no man could have said how many seconds passed while the confusing, bewildering blackness lay heavy over that scene of death and destruction, long tongues of flame burst up from the torn and splintered decks of the doomed battle-ship, a signal of distress, as well as a beacon for those who would succour the dying.

Captain Sigsbee, recovering in the briefest space of time from the bewilderment of the shock, ran out of the cabin toward the deck, groping his way as best he might in the darkness through the long passage until he came upon the marine orderly, William Anthony, who was at his post of duty near the captain’s quarters.

It was a moment full of horror all the more intense because unknown, but the soldier, mindful even then of his duty, saluting, said in the tone of one who makes an ordinary report:

“Sir, I have to inform you that the ship has been blown up, and is sinking.”

“Follow me,” the captain replied, acknowledging his subordinate’s salute, and the two pressed forward through the blackness and suffocating vapour.

Lieutenant Blandin, officer of the deck, was sitting on the starboard side of the quarter-deck when the terrible upheaval began, and was knocked down by a piece of cement hurled from the lowermost portion of the ship’s frame, perhaps; but, leaping quickly to his feet, he ran to the poop that he might be at his proper station when the supreme moment came.

Lieut. Friend W. Jenkins was in the junior officers’ mess-room when the first of a battle-ship’s death-throes was felt, and as soon as possible made his way toward the deck, encouraging some of the bewildered marines to make a brave fight for life; but he never joined his comrades.

Assistant Engineer Darwin R. Merritt and Naval Cadet Boyd together ran toward the hatch, but only to find the ladder gone. Boyd climbed through, and then did his best to aid Merritt; but his efforts were vain, and the engineer went down with his ship.

It seemed as if only the merest fraction of time elapsed before the uninjured survivors were gathered on the poop-deck. Forward of them, where a moment previous had been the main-deck, was a huge mass looming up in the darkness like some threatening promontory.

On the starboard quarter hung the gig, and opposite her, on the port side, was the barge.

During the first two or three seconds only muffled, gurgling, choking exclamations were heard indistinctly; and then, when the terrible vibrations of the air ceased, cries for help went up from every quarter.

Lieutenant Blandin says, in describing those few but terrible moments:

“Captain Sigsbee ordered that the gig and the launch be lowered, and the officers and men, who by this time had assembled, got the boats out and rescued a number in the water.

“Captain Sigsbee ordered Lieut. – Commander Wainwright forward to see the extent of the damage, and if anything could be done to rescue those forward, or to extinguish the flames which followed close upon the explosion and burned fiercely as long as there were any combustibles above water to feed them.

“Lieut. – Commander Wainwright on his return reported the total and awful character of the calamity, and Captain Sigsbee gave the last sad order, ‘Abandon ship,’ to men overwhelmed with grief indeed, but calm and apparently unexcited.”

The quiet, yet at the same time sharp, words of command from the captain aroused his officers from the stupefaction of horror which had begun to creep over them, and this handful of men, who even then were standing face to face with death, set about aiding their less fortunate companions.

As soon as they could be manned, boats put off from the vessels in the harbour, and the work of rescue was continued until all the torn and mangled bodies in which life yet remained had been taken from the water.

Capt. H. H. Woods, of the British steamer Thurston, was among the first in this labour of mercy, and concerning it he says:

“My vessel was within half a mile of the Maine, and my small boat was the first to gain the wreck. It is beyond my power to describe the explosion. It was awful. It paralysed the intellect for a few moments. The cries that came over the water awakened us to a realisation that some great tragedy had occurred.

“I made all haste to the wreck. There were very few men in the water. All told, I do not believe there were thirty. We picked up some of them and passed them on to other vessels, and then continued our work of rescue.

“The sight was appalling. Dismembered legs and trunks of bodies were floating about, together with pieces of clothing, boxes of meats, and all sorts of wreckage. Now and then the agonised cry of some poor suffering fellow could be heard above the tumult.

“One grand figure stood out in all the terrible scene. That was Captain Sigsbee. Every American has reason to be proud of that officer. He seemed to have realised in an instant all that happened. Not for a moment did he show evidence of excitement. He alone was cool. Discipline? Why, man, the discipline was there as strong as ever, despite the fact that all around was death and disaster.”

The commander of the Maine was the last to leave the wreck, and then all that was left of the mighty ship was beginning to settle in the slime and putrefaction which covers the bottom of Havana harbour.

Calmly, with the same observance of etiquette as if they had been assisting at some social function, the officers took their respective places in the boats, and, amid a silence born of deepest grief, rowed a short distance from the rent and riven mass so lately their post of duty.

A gentleman from Chicago, a guest at the Grand Hotel, was seated in front of the building when the explosion occurred.

“It was followed by another and a much louder one,” he said. “We thought the whole city had been blown to pieces. Some said the insurgents were entering Havana. Others cried out that Morro Castle was blown up.

“On the Prado is a large cab-stand. One minute after the explosion was heard the cabmen cracked their whips and went rattling over the cobblestones like crazy men. The fire department turned out, and bodies of cavalry and infantry rushed through the streets. There was no sleep in Havana that night.”

Soon after the disaster Admiral Manterola and General Solano put off to the wreck, and offered their services to Captain Sigsbee.

There were many wonderful escapes from death. One of the ward-room cooks was thrown outboard into the water.

A Japanese sailor was blown into the air, and, falling in the sea, was picked up alive.

One seaman was sleeping in a yawl hanging at the davits. The boat was crushed like an egg-shell; but the sailor fell overboard and was picked up unhurt.

Three men were doing punishment watch on the port quarter-deck, and thus probably escaped death.

One sailor swam about until help came, although both his legs were broken. Another had the bones of his ankle crushed, and yet managed to keep afloat.

Two hours or more passed before the unsubmerged, wooden portion of the wreck had been consumed by the flames, and at 11.30 P. M. the smoke-stacks of the ill-fated ship fell.

On board the steamer City of Washington, two boats were literally riddled by fragments of the Maine which fell after the explosion, and among them was an iron truss which, crashing through the pantry, demolished the tableware.

When morning came the wreck was the central figure of an otherwise bright picture, sad as it was terrible. The huge mass of flame-charred débris forward looked as if it had been thrown up from a subterranean storehouse of fused cement, steel, wood, and iron.

Further aft, one military mast protruded at a slight angle from the perpendicular, while the poop afforded a resting-place for the workmen or divers.

Of the predominant white which distinguishes our war-vessels in time of peace, not a vestige remained. In its place was the blackness of desolating death, marking the spot where two hundred and sixty-six brave men had gone over into the Beyond.

The total loss to the government as a result of the disaster was officially pronounced to be $4,689,261.31. This embraced the cost of hull, machinery, equipment, armour, gun protection and armament, both in main and secondary batteries. It included the cost of ammunition, shells, current supplies, coal, and, in short, the entire outfit.

The pet of the Maine’s crew, a big cat, was found next morning, perched on a fragment of a truss which yet remained above the water, and near her, as if seeking companionship, was the captain’s dog, Peggy.

Consul-General Lee cabled from Havana on the afternoon of the sixteenth:

“Profound sorrow is expressed by the government and municipal authorities, consuls of foreign nations, organised bodies of all sorts, and citizens generally.

“Flags are at half-mast on the governor-general’s palace, on shipping in the harbour, and in the city.

“Business is suspended, and the theatres are closed.”

On the afternoon of the seventeenth the bodies which had been found up to that time were buried in Havana with military honours, two companies of Spanish sailors from the cruiser Alphonso XII. acting as escort.

A board of inquiry, composed of Capt. W. T. Sampson of the U. S. S. Iowa as presiding officer, Commander Adolph Marix as judge advocate, Capt. F. E. Chadwick, and Commander W. P. Potter, all of the New York, was convened, and on March 28th President McKinley sent a message to Congress, the conclusion of which was as follows:

“The appalling calamity fell upon the people of our country with crushing force, and for a brief time an intense excitement prevailed, which in a community less just and self-controlled than ours might have led to hasty acts of blind resentment.

“This spirit, however, soon gave way to calmer processes of reason, and to the resolve to investigate the facts and await material proof before forming a judgment as to the cause, the responsibility, and, if the facts warranted, the remedy due. This course necessarily recommended itself from the outset to the executive, for only in the light of a dispassionately ascertained certainty will it determine the nature and measure of its full duty in the matter.