The Boys of '98

The fleet had drifted three miles or more from the land. The battle-ship Massachusetts, the protected cruiser New Orleans, and Commodore Watson’s flag-ship, the cruiser Newark, were absent, coaling fifty miles or more away.

Shortly before nine o’clock Admiral Sampson, desiring to ascertain the exact condition of the Spanish coast defences about Aguadores, ordered the flag-ship to go that way, and after flying the signal, “Disregard the motions of the commander-in-chief,” the New York steamed leisurely off to the eastward.

The little Gloucester lay nearest the shore; the Vixen was opposite in a straight line, and to the eastward of her about five miles. A mile or less from the Gloucester, to the seaward, was the Indiana. Nearly as far from the latter ship, and southeast of her, lay the Oregon. The Iowa was the outermost ship of the fleet, lying four miles from the harbour entrance; next her, to the eastward, each vessel slightly nearer inshore, were the Texas and the Brooklyn in the order named.

Shoreward, inside the harbour, could be seen a long line of black smoke. On board the fleet religious services were being held, but the lookouts of every ship were at their stations.

Suddenly, at about half past nine, a dark hull was seen coming out past the point of the harbour, and instantly all was seemingly confusion on the big fighting machines.

“The enemy is escaping,” was the signal run up on Commodore Schley’s flag-ship, and within a few seconds the roar of a 6-pounder on the Iowa broke the stillness of the Sabbath morning.

It was as if every American vessel was put in motion at the same instant, and even as the flag-ship’s signal appeared, the clouds of dense smoke from their stacks told that the men in the furnace-rooms had already begun their portion of the task so unexpectedly set for all the fleet.

John R. Spear, author of “The History of our Navy,” who was with Sampson’s fleet, wrote this complete story of the marvellous naval battle off Santiago and along the southern shore of Cuba, for the World:

“The enemy was first seen at 9.30, and at 9.32 the men of the American batteries were standing erect and silent beside their loaded guns, waiting for the order to commence firing, and watching out of the corners of their eyes the boys who were still sprinkling the decks with sand that no one’s foot might slip when blood began to flow across the planks.

“But though silence prevailed among the guns, down in the sealed stoke-hole the click and ring of the shovels that sprayed the coal over the glowing grate-bars, the song of the fans that raised the air pressure, and the throb of pump and engine made music for the whole crew, for the steam-gauges were climbing, and the engineers were standing by the wide-open throttles as the ships were driven straight at the enemy.

“For, as it happened, the Texas had been lying directly off the harbour, and a little more than two miles away the Iowa was but a few lengths farther out and to the westward, while Capt. Jack Philip of the one, and ‘Fighting Bob’ Evans of the other, were both on deck when the cry was raised announcing the enemy. Hastening to their bridges, they headed away at once for the Spaniards, while the Oregon and the Brooklyn went flying to westward to intercept the leader.

“The mightiest race known to the history of the world, and the most thrilling, was begun.

“They were all away in less time than it has taken the reader to get thus far in the story, and in much less time still, – indeed, before the gongs in the engine-rooms of the Yankee ships had ceased to vibrate under the imperative order of ‘Ahead, full speed!’ – the Almirante Oquendo, fugitive as she was, had opened the battle. With impetuous haste, and while yet more than two miles away, the Spaniard pointed one of his long 11-inch hontoria rifles in the direction of the Texas and pulled the lanyard. The shell came shrieking out to sea, but to sea only.

“Instantly the great guns of the Morro, 180 feet above the water, and those of the Socapa battery, lying higher still, with all the batteries beneath those two, began to belch and roar as their crews strove with frantic energy to aid the flying squadron.

“Now, it was about three minutes from the appearance of the first Spaniard to the firing of the first American gun.

“In these three minutes the distance between the squadrons was lessened by at least a mile, – the range was not more than two thousand yards.

“But while two thousand yards is the range (about one and one-sixth miles) selected for great gun target practice, it will never do for an eager fight, and as the trend of the land still headed the Spanish off to southward, the battle-ships were able to reduce the range to fifteen hundred yards before they were obliged to head a course parallel with the Spaniards.

“Meantime the Oregon and the Brooklyn, as they were stretching away toward the coast, had opened fire also, and then the last of the big Spaniards, the Infanta Maria Teresa, having rounded the point, the magnificent spectacle of a squadron battle on the open sea – of a battle between four of the best modern armed cruisers on the Spanish side, against three battle-ships and an armoured cruiser on our side – was spread out to view.

“And their best was the worst struggle the world ever saw, for it was a struggle to get out of range while firing with hysterical vehemence their unaimed guns.

“The first shot from the American ships fell short, and a second, in like fashion, dropped into the sea. At that the gunner said things to himself under his breath (it was in the forward turret of the Iowa), and tried it once more.

“For a moment after it the cloud of gun smoke shrouded the turret, but as that thinned away the eager crew saw the 12-inch shell strike into the hull of the Infanta Maria Teresa. Instantly it exploded with tremendous effect. Flame and smoke belched from the hole the shell had made, and puffed from port and hatch. And then in the wake of the driven blast rolled up a volume of flame-streaked smoke that showed the woodwork had taken fire and was burning fiercely all over the after part of the stricken ship.

“The yell that rose from the Yankee throats at that sight swelled to a roar of triumph a moment later, for as he saw that smoke, the captain of the Teresa threw her helm over to port, and headed her for the rocky beach. The one shell had given a mortal wound.

“And then came Wainwright of the Maine, – Lieut. – Commander Richard Wainwright, who for weeks conducted the weary search for the dead bodies of shipmates on the wreck in the harbour of Havana. He was captain of the Gloucester, that was once known as the yacht Corsair. A swift and beautiful craft she, but only armed with lean 6-pounders.

“ ‘Ahead, full speed,’ said Wainwright.

“And fortune once more favoured the brave, for in the wake of the mighty Maria Teresa came Spain’s two big torpedo-boats, called destroyers, because of their size, – the Pluton and the Furor. Either was more than a match for the Gloucester, for one carried two 12-pounders, and the other two 14-pounders, besides the 6-pounders that both carried.

“Moreover, both overmatched the speed of the Gloucester by at least ten knots per hour. But both had thin-plated sides. The shells of the Gloucester could pierce them, and at them went Wainwright, with the memory of that night in Havana uppermost in his mind.

“The two boats – even the whole Spanish fleet – were still within easy range of the Spanish forts, and to reach his choice of enemies the Gloucester was obliged to risk not only the land fire, but that of the Vizcaya and the Teresa. Nevertheless, as the torpedo-boats steered toward the Brooklyn, evidently bound to torpedo her, Wainwright headed them off, and they never got beyond range of the forts.

“The shots they threw at him outweighed his three to one, but theirs flew wild, and his struck home.

“The day of the destroyers was done. As the big Maria Teresa turned toward the shore, these two destroyers, like stricken wild fowl, fled fluttering and splashing in the same direction, and they floundered as they fled.

“While the Infanta Maria Teresa was on fire, and running for the beach, her crew was still working their guns, and the big Vizcaya was handily by to double the storm of projectiles she was hurling at the Iowa and Texas.

“It was not that the Vizcaya’s crew were manfully striving to protect the Teresa; they were making the snarling, clawing fight of a lifetime to escape the relentless Yankees that were closing upon them. For both the Texas and the Iowa had the range, and it was only when the smoke of their own guns blinded them that their fire was withheld, or a shot went astray.

“The Iowa and the Texas had headed off both the Vizcaya and the Infanta Maria Teresa, while the Indiana was coming with tremendous speed to join them.

“And then came the finishing stroke. A 12-inch shell from the Texas went crashing into the stoke-hole, and the Vizcaya, – the ship whose beauty and power once thrilled the hearts of New Yorkers with mingled pleasure and fear – was mortally wounded. Hope was gone, and with helm aport she headed away for the beach, as her consort had done.

“The battle had opened on our side at 9.33 o’clock, and at 9.58 two of the magnificent armoured cruisers of the Spanish navy were quivering, flaming wrecks on the Cuban beach, with the Texas rounding to less than a thousand yards away off the stern of the Vizcaya.

“For a moment the Texas tarried there to let the smoke clear, and to see accurately the condition of the enemy, but while her gunners were taking aim for a final broadside a half-naked quartermaster on the Vizcaya, with clawing hands on the halliards, hauled down the fever-hued ensign from her peak and hoisted the white flag instead.

“ ‘Cease firing!’ commanded Captain Jack Philip of the Texas.

“So far as the Vizcaya and the Infanta Maria Teresa were concerned, the battle – and for that matter the war – was ended.

“Huge volumes of black smoke, edged with red flame, rolled from every port and shot hole of the Vizcaya, as from the Teresa. They were both furnaces of glowing fire. Though they had come from the harbour to certain battle, not a wooden bulkhead, nor a partition in the quarters either of officers or men had been taken out, nor had trunks and chests been sent ashore. Neither had the wooden decks nor any other wooden fixtures been prepared to resist fire. Apparently the crew had not even wet down the decks.

“But the Texas tarried at this gruesome scene only for a moment. They wished only to make sure that the two Spaniards were really out of the fight, and when they saw the Iowa was going to stand by both, away they went to join the race between the Brooklyn and the Oregon on our side, and the Cristobal Colon and Almirante Oquendo on the other.

“In spite of the original superior speed on the part of the Spaniards, and in spite of the delay on the part of the Texas, the Spaniards were not yet wholly out of range, though the Cristobal Colon was reaching away at a speed that gave the Spanish shore forces hope.

“Under battened hatches the Yankee firemen, stripped to their trousers, plied their shovels and raised the steam-gauges higher. The Yankee ships were grass-grown and barnacled, but now they were driven as never before since their trial trips. The Spaniards had called us pigs, but Nemesis had turned us into spear-armed huntsmen in chase of game that neither tusks nor legs could save.

“For while the Colon was showing a speed that was the equal at least of our own Brooklyn, long-headed Commodore Schley saw that she was hugging the coast, although a point of land loomed in the distance to cut her off or drive her out to sea.

“Instead of striving to close in on the Spaniards, Schley headed straight for that point, – took the shortest cut for it, so to speak, – and in that way drew steadily ahead of the Colon, leaving to the Oregon and Texas the task of holding the Spaniards from turning out across the Brooklyn’s stern.

“It was a splendid piece of strategy, well worthy of the gallant officer, and it won.

“The task of the battle-ships was well within their powers. It is not without reason that both the Oregon and the Texas are the pride of the nation as well as of their crews.

“The Oregon and the Brooklyn had hurled a relentless fire at the flying Spaniards, and it had told on the Almirante Oquendo with increasing effect.

“For the Oregon was fair on the Oquendo’s beam, and there was not enough armour on any Spanish ship to stop the massive 13-inch projectiles the ship from the Pacific was driving into her with unerring aim.

“At ten o’clock sharp the Oquendo was apparently still fore and aft, but within five minutes she wavered and lagged, and a little later, flag-ship though she was, she put her helm to port, as her consorts had done, and fled for life to the beach.

“The Texas was coming with unflagging speed astern, and off to the east could be seen the flag-ship of Admiral Sampson racing as never before to get a shot in at the finish. An auxiliary had been sent by Commodore Schley to call her, and it had met her coming at the call of the guns of the Spanish fleet. She had overhauled and passed the Indiana long since, and was well-nigh abreast of the Texas. So the Oregon, in order to vie with the New York in the last of the mighty race, abandoned the Oquendo to her fate and stretched away after the Cristobal Colon.

“Some of the crew who looked back saw the Texas bring to near the Oquendo, and then the sea trembled under the impulse of a tremendous explosion on board the doomed Spaniard, while a vast volume of smoke filled with splintered wreck rose in the air. Had they been near enough they would have heard the crew of the Texas start in to cheer, and have heard as well the voice of Captain Philip say, as he raised his hand to check it: