The Boys of '98

The Suwanee was in company with the flag-ship, still closer inshore, and the Gloucester was to the westward, near Morro Castle. From the southward the Newark came up and took a position to the westward. Her decks were black with fifteen hundred or more troops.

She went alongside of the flag-ship, and was told to disembark the troops at Altares.

Then Admiral Sampson signalled to General Duffield:

“When do you want us to commence firing?”

In a little while a white flag on shore sent back the answer:

“When the rest of the command arrives; then I will signal you.”

It was a long and tedious wait for the ships before the second fifty car-loads of troops came puffing along from Altares.

By 9.30 the last of the soldiers had left the open railroad tracks, disappearing in the thick brush that covered the eastern side of Aguadores inlet.

The water in the sponge tubes under the breeches of the big guns was growing hot in the burning sun.

Ashore there was no sign of the Spaniards. They were believed to be on the western bluff.

Between the bluffs ran a rocky gully, leading into Santiago City. On the extremity of the western arm was an old castellated fort, from which the Spanish flag was flying, and on the parapet on the eastern hill, commanding the gully, two stretches of red earth could easily be seen against the brush. These were the rifle-pits.

At 10.15 a signal-flag ashore wigwagged to Admiral Sampson to commence firing, and a minute later the New York’s guns blazed away at the rifle-pits and at the old fort.

The Suwanee and Gloucester joined in the firing.

Of our troops ashore in the brush nothing could be seen, but the ping, ping, of the small arms of the army floated out to sea during the occasional lull in the firing of the big guns, which peppered the rifle-pits until clouds of red earth rose above them.

An 8-inch shell from the Newark dropped in the massive old fort, and clouds of white dust and huge stones filled the air. When the small shells hit its battlements, almost hidden by green creepers, fragments of masonry came tumbling down. A shot from the Suwanee hit the eastern parapet, and it crumbled away. Amid the smoke and débris, the flagstaff was seen to fall forward.

“The flag has been shot down!” shouted the ship’s crew, but, when the smoke cleared away, the emblem of Spain was seen to be still flying and blazing brilliantly in the sun, though the flagstaff was bending toward the earth.

A few more shots from the Suwanee levelled the battlements until the old castle was a pitiful sight.

When the firing ceased, Lieutenant Delehanty of the Suwanee was anxious to finish his work, so he signalled to the New York, asking permission to knock down the Spanish flag.

“Yes,” replied Admiral Sampson, “if you can do it in three shots.”

The Suwanee then lay about sixteen hundred yards from the old fort. She took her time. Lieutenant Blue carefully aimed the 4-inch gun, and the crews of all the ships watched the incident amid intense excitement.

When the smoke of the Suwanee’s first shot cleared away, only two red streamers of the flag were left. The shell had gone through the centre of the bunting.

A delighted yell broke from the crew of the Suwanee.

Two or three minutes later the Suwanee fired again, and a huge cloud of débris rose from the base of the flagstaff.

For a few seconds it was impossible to tell what had been the effect of the shot. Then it was seen that the shell had only added to the ruin of the fort.

The flagstaff seemed to have a charmed existence, and the Suwanee only had one charge left. It seemed hardly possible for her to achieve her object with the big gun, such a distance, and such a tiny target.

There was breathless silence among the watching crews. They crowded on the ships’ decks, and all eyes were on that tattered flag, bending toward the top of what had once been a grand old castle. But it was only bending, not yet down. Lieutenant-Commander Delehanty and Lieutenant Blue took their time. The Suwanee changed her position slightly.

Then a puff of smoke shot out from her side, up went a shooting cloud of débris from the parapet, and down fell the banner of Spain.

Such yells from the flag-ship will probably never be heard again. There was more excitement than witnessed at the finish of a college boat-race, or a popular race between first-class thoroughbreds on some big track.

The Suwanee’s last shot had struck right at the base of the flagstaff, and had blown it clear of the wreckage, which had held it from finishing its fall.

“Well done!” signalled Admiral Sampson to Lieutenant-Commander Delehanty.

At 11.30 General Duffield signalled that his scouts reported that no damage had been done to the Spanish rifle-pits by the shells from the ships, and Admiral Sampson told him they had been hit several times, but that there was no one in the pits. However, the Suwanee was ordered to fire a few more shots in their direction.

At 12.18 P. M. the New York having discontinued fire at Aguadores, commenced firing 8-inch shells clear over the gully into the city of Santiago de Cuba. Every five minutes the shells went roaring over the hillside. What destruction they wrought it was impossible to tell, as the smoke hid everything. In reply to General Duffield’s question:

“What is the news?”

Admiral Sampson replied:

“There is not a Spaniard left in the rifle-pits.”

Later General Duffield signalled that his scouts thought reinforcements were marching to the battered old fort, and Admiral Sampson wigwagged him:

“There is no Spaniard left there. If any come the Gloucester will take care of them.”

A little later the Oregon joined the New York intending 8-inch shells into the city of Santiago. This was kept up until 1.40 P. M. By that time General Duffield had sent a message saying that his troops could not cross the stream, but would return to Altares.

On the report that some Spanish troops were still in the gully, the New York and Gloucester shelled it once more, and Newark, which had not fired, signalled:

“Can I fire for target practice? Have had no previous opportunity.”

Permission for her to do so was signalled, and she blazed away, shooting well, her 6-inch shells exploding with remarkable force among the rocks.

At 2.40 P. M. Admiral Sampson hoisted the signal to cease firing, and the flag-ship returned to the blockading station.

On the railroad a train-load of troops had already left for Altares.

Mr. A. Maurice Low, of the Boston Globe, thus relates his personal experience:

“When the fighting ceased on Friday evening, July 1st, every man was physically spent, and needed food and rest more than anything else. For a majority of the troops there was a chance to cook bacon and make coffee; for the men of the hospital corps, the work of the day was commencing. At convenient points hospitals were established, and men from every company were sent out to search the battle-ground for the dead and wounded.

“It is the men of the hospital corps who have the ghastly side of war. There is never any popular glory for them; there is no passion of excitement to sustain them. The emotion of battle keeps a man up under fire. Something in the air makes even a coward brave. But all that is wanting when the surgeons go into action.

“Men come staggering into the hospital with blood dripping from their wounds; squads of four follow one another rapidly, bearing stretchers and blankets, on which are limp, motionless, groaning forms.

“To those of us at home who are in the habit of seeing our sick and injured treated with the utmost consideration and delicacy, who see the poor and outcast and criminal put into clean beds and surrounded with luxuries, the way in which the wounded on a battle-field are disposed of seems barbarous in the extreme. Of course it is unavoidable, but it is nevertheless horrible.

“As soon as men were brought in they were at once taken off the litters and placed on the bare ground. Time was too precious, and there were too many men needing attention for a soldier to monopolise a stretcher until the surgeon could reach him.

“There was no shelter. The men lay on the bare ground with the sun streaming down on them, many of them suffering the greatest agony, and yet very few giving utterance to a groan. Where I watched operations for a time there was only one surgeon, who took every man in his turn, and necessarily had to make many of them wait a long time.