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  YOUNG PEOPLES' HISTORY
  OF THE
  WAR WITH SPAIN


  BY
  PRESCOTT HOLMES


  WITH EIGHTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS


  ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY


  Copyright 1900 by Henry Altemus Company

  PHILADELPHIA
  HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY


  [Illustration: (Decorative Frame)]



[Illustration: BATTLE OF MANILA FROM THE DECK OF THE PETREL.]




INTRODUCTORY.

[Illustration: (Battle at sea)]


The brief war between the United States and Spain was the outgrowth of
the humanity of the American people and their love of fair play. They
did not stand idly by when Spain was literally starving the people of
Cuba into subjection to her will, but freely and generously sent food,
medicine and clothing to the sufferers.

When Spain's cruelty to the Cubans became intolerable to the civilized
world, the United States intervened in the name of humanity and right,
and demanded that the oppression should cease. Spain resented this,
and the war followed.

Much has been said and written regarding our conduct of the war, and
the grave scandals that arose from it; but it is not the purpose of
this volume to discuss these other than to say that, the work of the
navy was clean and beyond question, while it is clear to every one
that there was gross mismanagement on the part of army officials.

The army performed as splendid achievements as the navy, but did it
under much greater difficulties. Regulars and volunteers fought side
by side, and equally deserve our praise; but they were corralled in
filthy camps, stowed between the dirty decks of crowded transports,
and despatched to Cuba in a manner of which a cattle shipper would be
ashamed. They were flung against the ingenious defences of the
Spaniards, cold, wet and hungry, and to their indomitable spirit alone
we owe the victories in Cuba.

The boys and girls of America cannot fail to be deeply interested in
the story of the splendid deeds of our army and navy in the year of
our Lord 1898, and it is for them that this history has been prepared.

[Illustration: (Soldiers encampment)]



YOUNG PEOPLES' HISTORY OF THE WAR WITH SPAIN.




CHAPTER I.

THE CAUSE OF THE WAR.

[Illustration: (Battle at sea)]


On April 21st, 1898, a war began between the United States and Spain.
All the other countries of the world felt an interest in it, but did
not take any part in it. They were what we call "neutral"--that is,
they did not help either side.

As soon as the war was proclaimed a great wave of excitement swept
through the United States, from shore to shore. Flags were hung out in
every city and town; thousands of men offered to serve in the
army--volunteers they were called; and many persons offered to help in
other ways. The people were not glad that war had begun, but they felt
that their country was doing right, and that they ought to support her
efforts.

And what was the cause of the war? Spain, a large country across the
Atlantic Ocean, in the southwestern part of Europe, owned some of the
islands, called "West Indies," near the United States. Spain had been
unjust and cruel to the people living in one of these islands, for
many years. Several times the unhappy islanders tried to drive the
Spanish from the island, and set up a government of their own, but
Spain sent so many soldiers there that they could not get their
freedom. They fought bravely, however, but matters kept getting worse
and worse, and at last Spain sent a very cruel general to take charge
of affairs in the island. His name was Weyler, and he determined to
conquer the islanders. After a while he found he could not do it by
fighting them, so he sent his soldiers to drive those who were not
fighting away from their homes and farms and make them live in or near
the large cities. When he had done this, the people had no way to earn
money to buy food for themselves and their families, and soon they
began to get sick and to die of starvation. The cruel Weyler would not
give them anything to eat, and so they died by thousands.

[Illustration: Cuban Flag.]

When this dreadful state of affairs became known in the United
States, kind people sent several ship-loads of food and medicines and
clothing to the sufferers. This did a great deal of good, but all the
poor people could not be reached and they continued to die. Finally,
the United States told Spain that she ought not to have such a cruel
man at the head of affairs, and after a while Spain sent another
general to take his place. This new governor's name was Blanco, and he
really tried to help the poor people, but Spain had very little money
to send him to buy food for them, and so they went on dying. The
soldiers, too, were in a very bad condition; they had not been paid
for a great many months; they did not have enough to eat, and so they
too sickened and died by thousands. You can see that unless something
was done to help the poor people, they would all die and their
beautiful island would become a wilderness.

Besides being very proud, Spain was very poor. She had spent millions
of dollars trying to conquer the islanders, and had no money to buy
food for the sufferers that she had driven from their homes and
huddled like cattle in yards and gloomy inclosures. So she asked the
United States to help feed them, and the Red Cross Society, of which I
will tell you later, sent hundreds of tons of food, medicines and
clothing to them. These supplies were distributed by competent
persons, and the relief was very great, but very soon some of the
Spaniards began to say that the United States had no business to
interfere in the affairs of the island, and to stir up the people.
The feeling became so strong that our representative, Consul-General
Lee, notified the authorities in the United States that, the lives and
property of American citizens living in the island were not safe. It
was for this reason that the battleship Maine was sent to Havana, the
chief city of the island. I will tell you about this ship later.

[Illustration: President McKinley.]

Well, in spite of all that the United States had done to help Spain,
matters grew worse, and finally the United States was obliged to tell
Spain that, unless she took her soldiers away from the island and let
the people govern themselves, she would help them to become a free and
independent nation. When Spain received this message, she regarded it
as a declaration of war, and both sides prepared for the conflict.

But before telling you about the war, shall I tell you something about
the island and the group to which it belongs?

[Illustration: Map of the West Indies.]

The island is called Cuba. It belongs to a large group of islands
known as the West Indies; a changed form of the old name, West Indias,
given by Christopher Columbus, who thought that by sailing westward he
had reached islands off the shore of India. If you look on a map of
the Western Hemisphere, you will find the West Indies between the
Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean.

Most of these islands are high and rocky, seeming like a chain of
mountains in the ocean, with their tops above the waves. They are in
the tropical regions, and the climate is very hot in the lowlands and
on the coasts, but is delightful in the high parts all the year round.
There are only two seasons--wet and dry. The rainy season begins in
the spring or early summer, and lasts about six months.

What grows in these islands? Delicious fruits: mangoes, oranges,
cocoanuts, limes, pineapples, and bananas; many other valuable crops:
coffee, tobacco, maize, rice, sugar-cane, and cotton; immense forests
of mahogany and other valuable trees. This beautiful vegetation makes
these lands fair to look upon. Then, too, there are many birds with
gorgeous plumage. The islands have gold, silver, copper, and iron
mines; there are quarries of marble; and some kinds of precious stones
are found.

But this region is not a paradise. Snakes and other horrid things
crawl among the beautiful trees and foliage, and poisonous insects
swarm in every place. Earthquake shocks are often felt, and fearful
hurricanes sweep over the islands nearly every year, doing much
damage.

A gentle race of Indians dwelt in these islands at the time of their
discovery, but the Spanish settlers treated the natives so cruelly
that after a few years they had ceased to exist. Many of the Indians
were sent to Spain and other countries and sold as slaves; the rest
were made to work in the mines, and as the Indians had never been used
to such work, they died from the hard labor. In later times some of
the islands were bought from Spain, others were captured, others were
gained by treaty, by the nations to whom they now belong.

At the beginning of the war between the United States and Spain, in
1898, Cuba, as I have already said, belonged to Spain. Spain owned
another large island, Puerto Rico, which we call Porto Rico, a name
meaning "rich port." But I need not say anything more about Porto Rico
at present.

[Illustration: King Alfonso.]

Cuba is the largest and most valuable of the West India Islands. It
was discovered by Columbus about two weeks after his first landing at
San Salvador. According to his custom, he gave it a Spanish name, but
somehow the old name clung to it, and to-day the whole world knows the
island by its native Indian name, Cuba. On account of its position, it
is often called the "Key to the Gulf of Mexico;" and Havana, the
capital, has a key upon its coat of arms. Cuba looks very small upon
our maps, yet it contains nearly as much land as the State of
Pennsylvania.

[Illustration: Queen Regent of Spain.]

Perhaps I should tell you just here that Spain is a kingdom. Its
ruler, King Alfonso XII., died in 1885. His widow, Queen Christina,
has ruled since then, but her son will be crowned king as soon as he
is old enough. The "little king," as he is often called, was twelve
years old when this war began. Christina is a good and noble woman,
and it is not her fault that the people in distant islands have been
badly treated.




CHAPTER II.

THE "MAINE."


Before the United States joined in the war, the Cubans had succeeded
in driving the Spaniards out of many places in the eastern part of the
island, but could not get possession of the western part and the chief
harbors. We have seen that the war between the United States and Spain
began in April, 1898. But, two months before that time something
happened in the harbor of Havana, the capital of Cuba, which caused
terrible excitement in our country. You must understand that many
persons belonging to the United States have business in Cuba, own
property there, and even live there. Though these Americans did not
take part with the Cubans against Spain, yet it seemed sometimes as if
they were in danger on account of the disturbance in the island. So
our country decided to send one of our battleships--a man-of-war--to
stay awhile in the chief harbor of Cuba, so that the Americans might
feel safer by having such a ship to help them if they should need
help, as I have told you. Spain made no objections to this plan, and
said she would send a ship in return to visit New York. The ship
chosen from our navy was the Maine, commanded by Captain Sigsbee. On
January 25th, early in the morning of a bright warm day, the Maine,
with all her colors flying, and with all her men dressed in their best
clothes, drew near the harbor of Havana. A Spanish pilot went out to
meet her, took her carefully through the narrow entrance to the fine
harbor, and anchored her near some other ships. Though the entrance is
narrow, yet the harbor itself is large enough to accommodate a
thousand ships. The entrance is guarded by several fortresses, one of
which, called "Morro Castle," is nearly three hundred years old. It
stands on a high point of land, and for this reason is called "Morro,"
a name that means in Spanish, headland, or promontory.

[Illustration: U.S. Battleship "Maine."]

[Illustration: Morro Castle, Havana.]

No doubt the place seemed very attractive to the men on board the
Maine that bright sunny morning. The new part of Havana is pretty, the
old part is quaint and interesting. There are a number of famous
buildings, one of which is the Cathedral, where the remains of
Columbus were treasured at that time, but they have since been removed
to Spain. All the buildings are low, for low buildings are the fashion
in countries that are subject to earthquakes; they are built of
stone, and generally adorned with bright colors. There are wide
avenues, and large parks and gardens.

If you should visit Havana, you would see many curious sights. All the
houses, hotels and stores have iron-barred windows, which gives one
the impression that the inmates are confined there. Many houses have
large gates which open into beautiful gardens and court yards. Some of
the streets have very funny names, such as "Ladies' Delight," and "Fat
Stick," when the Spanish names are translated into our language; and
they have bright-colored awnings stretched across, from side to side.

The fish market is one of the most noted buildings in the city. It has
one long marble table running the entire length of the building, which
has one end open to the harbor. Poultry and fruits are brought to the
doors of the houses in baskets which are carried on donkeys or the
little horses of the country. Often you can see what looks like a
large bunch of grass, slowly moving over the pavements, but as it gets
nearer you will see the head of a donkey sticking out of one side,
while his tail alone is visible on the other side. This is the way
that food for horses and mules is brought into the city; no hay is
used, only green feed. The milkman does not call at the house, as with
us, but instead drives his cow up to the door and supplies you direct
from her with as much milk as you wish to buy. Charcoal is almost the
only fuel used in cooking, and the ranges look like benches placed
against the walls with holes in the tops of them. But we must return
to the battleship Maine.

[Illustration: Columbus Chapel, Havana.]

There was no special work for the Maine to do; she was simply to stay
in the harbor till further orders. The Spanish officers called on
Captain Sigsbee, and he returned their visits, according to the rules
that naval officers of all countries are bound to observe. Yet it was
easy for the men of the Maine to see that they were not welcome
guests. The Maine had twenty-six officers, and a crew of three hundred
and twenty-eight men. With her guns, ammunition, and other valuable
stores, she was worth $5,000,000. She had been three years in service,
having left the Brooklyn navy-yard in November, 1895.

The evening of February 10th, 1898, was dark and sultry. At eight
o'clock Captain Sigsbee received the reports from the different
officers of the ship that every thing was secure for the night. At ten
minutes after nine the bugler sounded "taps," the signal for "turning
in," and soon the ship was quiet. At forty minutes after nine a sharp
explosion was heard, then a loud, long, roaring sound, mingled with
the noise of falling timbers; the electric lights went out, the ship
was lifted up, and then she began to sink. The Captain and some of the
other officers groped their way to the deck, hardly knowing what had
happened. They could do nothing; the ship was sinking fast, and was on
fire in several places.

The force of the explosion was so great that it threw Captain Sigsbee
out of his cabin, where he sat writing a letter, and against William
Anthony, a marine who was on duty as a sentry. As coolly as though
nothing had happened, Anthony saluted the Captain and then said:

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

[Illustration: Captain Charles D. Sigsbee.]

Small boats came out from the other ships, and rescued many men from
the Maine. The Spaniards helped the sufferers in every possible way,
taking them to the hospitals in Havana, where they received the best
care that the hospitals could give.

In that awful destruction of the Maine, two officers and two hundred
and fifty-four of the crew were lost. Several of those who were
rescued, died afterward.

The next day divers went down into the water to see what they could
find in the wreck, and nineteen dead bodies were brought up. The
Spanish officers of Havana asked Captain Sigsbee to permit the city to
give the a public funeral; and a plot of ground in Colón Cemetery,
outside the city, was given to the United States free of expense
forever. The day of the funeral all the flags were put at "half mast,"
as a sign of mourning, and the stores were closed. Crowds of people
joined the long funeral procession.

In the latter part of the year 1899, however, the Maine dead were
brought from Havana by the battleship Texas, then commanded by Captain
Sigsbee, formerly of the Maine. They were laid away in Arlington
Cemetery, near Washington, on December 28th, with simple religious
services and the honors of war, in the presence of the President of
the United States and his Cabinet, officers of the army and navy, and
many other spectators.

Besides Captain Sigsbee and Father Chidwick, who was chaplain of the
Maine at the time she was blown up, three others who lived through
that awful night were present. They were Lieutenant Commander
Wainwright, who was the executive officer of the Maine and who
afterwards sank the Furor and Pluton at Santiago; Lieutenant F.C.
Bowers, formerly assistant engineer of the Maine; and Jeremiah Shea, a
fireman of the Maine, who was blown out of the stoke-hole of the ship
through the wreckage.

[Illustration: Wreck of the "Maine."]

After three volleys had been fired over the dead, and the bugles had
rung out the soldiers' and sailors' last good night, Captain Sigsbee
introduced Shea to President McKinley. Being asked for an explanation
of his escape, he responded, as he had done to Father Chidwick when
he visited him in the hospital in Havana, where he lay covered with
wounds and bruises, and with nearly every bone in his body broken:

"I don't know how I got through. I was blown out. I guess I must have
been an armor-piercing projectile!"

The work of saving the guns and other valuable things on the Maine was
carried on for some time. Among other things that the divers recovered
was a splendid silver service that had been presented to the ship by
the state of Maine. The keys to the magazines were found in their
proper places in the captain's cabin, and his money and papers were
also recovered. Finally, it was found that the hull of the great ship
could not be raised, and in April the United States flag, that had
been kept flying above the wreck since the night of the fatal
explosion, was hauled down and the ship formally declared out of
commission.

Of course, the awful disaster caused deep sorrow in the United States.
There was great excitement also, for many persons thought that some of
the Spaniards had wrecked the Maine on purpose. The harbor was full of
"mines" or immense iron shells filled with stuff that will explode.
All countries at war protect their harbors in this way.

President McKinley appointed men to examine the wreck and find out all
they could about the explosion. They found that the ship was destroyed
by a "mine," but could not prove that the Spaniards had purposely
caused the "mine" to explode.

[Illustration: Captain-General's Palace, Havana.]

So there will always be a mystery connected with the horrible
destruction of the Maine.

On April 10th, Consul-General Lee and such Americans as wished to do
so, left Havana and returned to the United States. From that time on,
it seemed to the people of the United States that war with Spain was
inevitable, and preparations for it were carried on rapidly. On April
19th--which, by the way, was the anniversary of the first battle of
the war of the Revolution and also of the Civil War--Congress declared
that the United States must interfere in the affairs of Cuba and help
the Cubans to become a free and prosperous people. This declaration
was signed by President McKinley on the following day, and then our
minister to Spain, Mr. Woodford, was instructed to tell the Spanish
government what had been done, and also what would be done, if Spain
did not promise before the 23d to withdraw her soldiers from Cuba and
give up the island to the Cubans.

The message was sent by one of the submarine cables which connects
America with Europe, and the operator who received it told the Spanish
officials about it before sending it to its destination. So, before
Mr. Woodford could deliver his message, the Spanish government sent
him his passports, which was a polite hint to leave the country, and
he did so, at once. This action on the part of Spain was virtually a
declaration of war, and was so regarded by the President and the
people of this country. On the 22d, a blockade of Cuban ports was
established by the navy, and a Spanish ship was captured.




CHAPTER III.

THE BLOCKADE.


I have already told you that the Cubans, in their rebellion, had
driven the Spaniards out of many places in Cuba, but had not been able
to get possession of the chief harbors. So now it was thought best
that our ships should blockade the large harbors of Cuba. Do you know
what blockade means? It means to surround a place held by the enemy,
and stay there, doing any damage that can be done, cutting the enemy
off from outside help, and so, in time, if he is not strong enough to
break the blockade, he must surrender, as his supply of food will give
out.

[Illustration: Rear-Admiral Sampson.]

On the morning of April 22d, a squadron under the command of Acting
Rear-Admiral Sampson sailed from Key West to establish a blockade of
the most important Cuban ports. The ships which were to be stationed
off Havana reached that port on the same day; others were sent to
different ports along the coast, and so the blockade was begun.

All kinds of vessels were employed in this blockading service. There
were huge battleships, splendid cruisers, and gunboats that could go
into shallower waters than the large ships. There were also
monitors--immense fighting machines with decks but a little height
above the water and big guns in circular turrets. Then there were
torpedo boats--very swift vessels armed with deadly torpedoes, any one
of which could sink the largest ship afloat.

Some of our large passenger steamships had been appropriated by the
Government for war service, and did good work for the blockade, as
they can move very fast. They flew about from place to place as
"scouts" or "spies"; they carried messages; they cut the Spanish
cables under water, and were useful in other ways.

The gunboat Nashville sailed from Key West with the squadron, and
before the sun had fairly risen she saw the smoke of a steamer away
off to the westward. She gave chase at once, and, as the vessels drew
near, the stranger was flying the flag of Spain. The Nashville fired a
shot across her bows, and this was the first shot in the war between
the United States and Spain. The Spaniard was not inclined to stop,
and it required another shot before she would stop her engines. The
Nashville sent an officer in a boat to inform the steamer that she was
a prize to the United States. She was found to be a Spanish
merchantman, the Buena Ventura, and was sent in charge of a prize-crew
to Key West. During the next thirty days, many other Spanish ships,
with cargoes worth millions of dollars, were captured by different
vessels of the navy. A few were released, but the larger part were
condemned by a prize-court and sold.

The first action of the war was a small affair, but I shall mention
it, as it was much talked about at the time. It took place on April
27th, a few days after our ships had begun the blockade. The Spaniards
were building new forts at Matanzas, a port about sixty miles east of
Havana. With the exception of Havana, Matanzas has the finest harbor
on the northern coast of Cuba. The city itself lies between two small
rivers and contains many beautiful homes. The houses are often
decorated with colored tiles, and with their luxuriant gardens make a
charming picture against the background of hills that rise beyond the
beautiful valley of the Yumurri, which is one of the loveliest spots
in Cuba. In times of peace the exports of sugar and molasses from
Matanzas have been very large, but the Cuban army burned many of the
finest plantations in the district.

The ships that engaged the new forts that the Spaniards were adding to
the castle of San Severino and other defences of Matanzas, were the
flagship New York, the monitor Puritan, and the cruiser Cincinnati.
The Spaniards fired the first gun, and then the New York took up a
position between two batteries and delivered broadsides right and
left. Then the Puritan's big guns came into play, and then the
Cincinnati poured a stream of shells into the forts. It did not take
long to knock the Spanish defences into sand-heaps--only about half an
hour--and then the American ships stood out to sea. As they were doing
so, the Spaniards fired one more shot. The Puritan had the range and
sent a twelve-inch shell in reply. It was one of the best shots of the
war. It struck the Spanish gun fairly, dismounted it, and then burst,
throwing the sand high in the air. The Spanish account of the
engagement stated that no damage whatever was done, except the killing
of one mule!

Great excitement and great anxiety were caused by the news that a
large and powerful fleet was coming from Spain. Our Government could
not tell whether these ships would come to a Spanish port in the West
Indies, or whether they would attack one of our large cities on the
Atlantic coast. We had not ships enough to protect all our ports as
well as to blockade Cuba, so much care was needed to make good plans,
and our naval officers were kept busy. It was most important to watch
for the Spanish ships.

[Illustration: The "Cape Verde" Fleet.]

The "Cape Verde" fleet, as the Spanish ships were called, troubled the
Navy Department of the United States day and night. They knew that it
sailed from the Cape Verde Islands in the latter part of April, but
that was about all they did know regarding it. At last it was seen off
the Island of Martinique and then it was lost again. It was next heard
from at Curacoa, an island in the Caribbean Sea, off the north coast
of Venezuela, but before the American ships could reach it, the
Spanish admiral had coaled and provisioned his ships at Willemstad,
the chief city on the island, and was off again to sea.

[Illustration: U.S. Battleship "Oregon."]

There was some reason to think that the Spanish fleet might catch our
great battleship Oregon, coming as fast as it could to the Eastern
Coast. I must take time to tell you about the Oregon. Shortly before
the war began, the Oregon was in the Pacific Ocean; but when she
received a message to come to an Atlantic port, to be ready for war
with Spain, she took coal at San Francisco and started--March 19th--on
her long voyage. She went south through the Pacific Ocean, east
through the Strait of Magellan, and then turned northward into the
Atlantic Ocean. Then the closest watch was kept for the enemy; the
guns were always ready, the lights were covered every night. Though
Captain Clark did not know that war had really begun before that time,
still he knew that there was danger. On May 24th the Oregon arrived at
a port in Florida, having come 14,000 miles, through all kinds of
weather, in two months' time, without breaking anything about the
ship. So the Spaniards did not catch the Oregon, but later in the year
she helped to catch them.

[Illustration: Captain Charles E. Clark.]

When the Oregon arrived at. Jupiter Inlet, Florida, she was as able
to fight or to run as on the day she was put into commission. When she
left San Francisco she had nine hundred tons of coal on board. During
the voyage she consumed almost four thousand tons. Callao was the
first port where the Oregon stopped. From there she ran down the
Pacific coast, and after passing through the straits sailed up the
eastern coast of South America to Rio Janeiro, where she was notified
by the American consul that the United States and Spain were really at
war. There were now two other American warships at Rio. The gunboat
Marietta had joined the Oregon near the straits, and the Buffalo,
which the United States had bought from Brazil, was waiting for them
at Rio. I will let Captain Clark tell you the story of the remainder
of the voyage, in his own way:

"Several long cablegrams were exchanged between the Government and
myself. Nothing whatever in the way of instructions was issued that
would hamper me or in any way abridge my responsibility for bringing
the Oregon home. We sailed from Rio on May 4. I decided, when we had
been at sea a little while, to leave the Buffalo and the Marietta to
shift for themselves. They were so slow that I feared the Oregon might
be late in arriving where she was most needed. I left these ships off
Cape Frio, one hundred miles above Rio, after signaling them, 'Come to
Bahia, or run ashore if attacked by overwhelming force.' I reached
Bahia on the 8th, but we were told to 'Come on.' We sailed next
morning, and this run to Barbadoes was the most thrilling of the
entire voyage. We steamed absolutely without a light.

"Indeed, the entire trip from Sandy Point to Jupiter Inlet was a
lightless voyage. In pitchlike darkness we drove along at our highest
speed--seeing lights many times, but always avoiding the ships that
bore them. We were out of court. We had no right of way without a
light. Even if we met a vessel on our port, we gave way.

"Night and day the men stood at the guns. Not for a single moment was
vigilance relaxed. The strain on the men was terrible. For four days
at a time hammocks were never strung. Watch and watch about, the men
lay beside the guns, sound asleep, while the men on duty stood
silently above them. All the lookouts were doubled and changed with
unusual frequency.

"Barbadoes was reached just before daylight, May 18, and after rushing
two hundred and fifty tons of coal aboard, we sailed the same evening.
Still the orders read, 'Come on.' From our consul I learned that
Cervera's fleet was at Martinique, just to the north of us. This fleet
had been extolled for speed and fighting qualities. I am not a rash
man. I was not looking for that fleet. The situation seemed critical.
Sailing just before dark, I headed northwest, apparently into the
heart of the Caribbean Sea. This information, I have no doubt, was
promptly communicated to Admiral Cervera. But as soon as the darkness
of a moonless night had thoroughly set in, I changed the course to due
south; and ran below Barbadoes and thence far to the eastward before
I took the Oregon to the northward. We thus passed far to sea east of
Martinique, and eventually turned into the north Atlantic beyond St.
Thomas. I carefully avoided the Windward Channel and the shallow
waters of the Bahamas.

"I didn't know where the Department wanted to use me. I was in the
dark as to the location of the two fleets. I knew one had been at
Hampton Roads and another at Key West, and the charts told me that
Jupiter Inlet was in telegraphic reach of all points on the coast.
From that place I had coal enough to make the run to either of the two
fleets."

With scarcely a day's delay, the Oregon joined the North Atlantic
Squadron, in Cuban waters, and was one of the vessels under Commodore
Schley when that officer trapped the Spanish fleet in the harbor of
Santiago.

When we think of the officers and men on the decks of a warship, we
must not forget the force of men below the decks. The engineers,
firemen and stokers do as good work, and are entitled to as much
praise, as the fighting force above. In battle they are kept under the
hatches, and, as a rule, never know of the progress or the result of a
fight until it closes. They work in a temperature of from one hundred
to one hundred and fifty degrees, by half-hour stretches. The roaring
furnaces make the fire-rooms almost beyond a man's power to endure,
and we should give a great deal of our praise to the brave fellows who
make the power that moves the ship.

[Illustration: The Men Who Make the Power.]

You know that we saw in the first chapter, that Spain owned another
large island some miles east of Cuba--an island called Porto Rico.

This island was sighted by Columbus on November 16, 1493, and, three
days later, he anchored in one of its bays. In 1510, and again a year
later, Ponce de Leon visited the island and established a settlement,
to which he gave the name of San Juan Bautista. Spain did not always
hold it peaceably, however, for at different times the Dutch and the
English tried to take it from her. The people of the island used to be
terribly annoyed by pirates and buccaneers, but that was a long time
ago.

The Spanish used to call San Juan the "Rich Port of John the Baptist,"
and it was a great source of profit to them for nearly four hundred
years. Ponce is the largest city in the island, but San Juan has the
advantage of a large, protected harbor. Like Havana and Santiago, San
Juan has its Morro Castle, and within its walls are the buildings of a
small military town,--houses for troops, a chapel, bake-house, and
guard-room, with dungeons down by the sea, and underneath it.

[Illustration: Palace and Sea-wall, San Juan, Porto Rico.]

The city of San Juan lies upon an island connected with the mainland
by a bridge and a causeway. The streets are narrow, the houses are
low, mostly of a single story, and are built in the old-fashioned
Spanish style, with thick walls around the courtyard. The fronts are
ugly and are painted all sorts of brilliant colors--pink, blue,
purple and yellow. There are heavy shutters in the windows for
protection, but there are no panes of glass in the town. Behind the
gloomy walls are splendid gardens and courtyards, with splashing
fountains, shaded by palms. The city contains a cathedral, a theatre,
a city hall, the Governor-General's palace, and several fine churches,
and in the center is quite a large park, with concrete walks and
seats, as with us. There is no turf, however. All around this park the
market women gather every morning, selling poultry, eggs, vegetables
and flowers, and in the evening there is music by a military band.

It was thought that the Spanish fleet, which had caused our Government
so much anxiety, might go to San Juan, the capital of the island, and
so, before the Oregon arrived, and before any of the Spanish ships had
been seen, Admiral Sampson took some of his vessels from Cuba to Porto
Rico in hope of meeting Admiral Cervera, the Spanish commander, and
his fleet. Our ships reached San Juan in the evening of May 11th, but
could see nothing of the Spanish ships. Next morning our ships fired
upon the forts guarding the harbor, to try the strength of the enemy.
But finding the forts stronger than he thought they were, Admiral
Sampson drew off his fleet. He could not spare the time, or spend his
powder and shells, upon San Juan then. The important thing to do was
to find the Spanish fleet. So Admiral Sampson again sailed toward
Havana.

The two ports on the northern coast of Cuba that seemed most likely to
attract the Spanish fleet were Havana and Matanzas. There was one port
on the southern coast that seemed to be a good one for the Spanish
fleet--the port of Cienfuegos. So our ships continued the blockade of
Havana and Matanzas, and now Commodore Schley was sent with several
vessels to watch Cienfuegos.

The city of Cienfuegos is situated some distance back from the sea, in
a harbor which winds and twists about between high hills, completely
obscuring it from ships a little distance from the shore. The word
Cienfuegos means "a hundred fires." Close by the water's edge there
stood a cable-house, where one end of a submarine cable, which reached
to Santiago, some three hundred miles to the eastward, was secured. On
one side of the cable-house was an old fort or lookout, such as the
Spaniards used to have all along the coast. On the other side was a
light-house. The Americans wished to destroy communication between
Cienfuegos and Santiago, so they sent an expedition to cut the cable
and destroy anything that would be of use to the Spaniards.

The ships that were sent to do this work were the Marblehead, the
Nashville and the Windom. You will remember that the Nashville fired
the first gun in the war with Spain. She is not a pretty boat at all.
She is built differently from other vessels of her class, and her two
tall funnels, or smokestacks, give her an ungainly appearance. Her
commander was a splendid officer, though, and her crew were the
bravest of the brave. I must tell you a little of her work after she
captured the first prize of the war.

One day, while in company with the Marblehead and the Eagle, she saw a
big Spanish mail steamer leave the harbor of Cienfuegos and put to
sea, followed by nine Spanish gunboats. The Nashville started in
pursuit of the big steamer, leaving the other American ships to attend
to the gunboats. She soon overhauled the steamer, which proved to be
the Argonata, and took possession of her. Her cargo was a very rich
one, and among the passengers were twenty-nine Spanish soldiers and
officers. These were taken on board the Nashville. Meanwhile, the
Marblehead and the Eagle had disposed of the gunboats. It only took
them half an hour to drive them back into the harbor, with their
smokestacks shot off, and several of them in a sinking condition. The
Nashville then turned over her prize to the Marblehead and started for
Havana.

On her way she discovered a big gunboat, and, as the two ships drew
near, the Spanish officers, who had been allowed on deck, saw that she
was not an American vessel, and danced for joy. An instant later they
were shoved down a hatchway and placed in the hold. As the stranger
came closer it was plainly seen that she was nearly twice as large as
the Nashville and more heavily armed, but the commander of the
American vessel did not hesitate an instant. He cleared his ship for
action and trained his guns on her. Just then she hoisted English
colors and dipped them in salute to the stars and stripes that were
floating above the Nashville. She proved to be the Talbot, an English
ship cruising in those waters. The whole affair was a splendid display
of courage on the part of the Nashville in clearing ship and showing
fight to the big English gunboat. Every man on the American ship knew
that if the stranger proved to be a Spanish war vessel the chances
were ten to one against the Nashville; but none of them stopped to
think of that, but made ready to fight her. Now we will return to
Cienfuegos and see how our splendid seamen cut the Spanish cables in
the very face of death.

Volunteers from the Marblehead and the Nashville manned the boats that
were sent into the shallow waters to grapple for the cable. Each ship
furnished a cutter and a launch, under the command of a lieutenant.
The men who were to do the work were in the cutters, and each of the
launches carried a small rapid-fire gun to protect the workers as much
as possible. The Nashville shelled the shore and then the boats were
ordered in. They went within one hundred yards of the shore and then
began to grapple for the cable. As calmly as though they were fishing,
the men worked with their hooks. At last the cable was caught, and
soon it was brought to view. It proved not to be the Santiago cable,
but about a hundred feet of its length were cut out of it, and the
brave fellows grappled for another. They found it, hauled it up, and,
with what tools they had, hacked it in two.

They were not unmolested, however, for Spaniards began to show
themselves on the shore, and a perfect hail of bullets dimpled the
water around the Americans as they worked. When a man in the boats was
hit, another took his place. Sturdy arms at the oars held the boats
against the strong current, while others hacked away the tough wires.

Then the guns of the ships sent an iron storm among the rocks and
trees and the soft sands. They drove the Spaniards to shelter, and
then they knocked the cable-house, the fort and the light-house to
bits. It was not intended at first to destroy the light-house, but
when it was discovered that the Spaniards used it for a shelter while
firing upon the Americans, the gunners were ordered to cut it down,
and in a short time nothing remained of it but a heap of ruins.

The personal bravery of the men in the boats was wonderful. Although
untried in warfare, they conducted themselves like veterans in the
hour of trial. Cable cutting is one of the new features of modern
warfare, but that made no difference to the brave jackies and marines
that volunteered for the work. One of their number was killed and
several were wounded, but officers and men performed their work with
the utmost coolness and bravery.

[Illustration: Cutting the Cables Under Fire.]

Before we leave the subject of cutting an enemy's cables, and thus
destroying one of their best means of communication, I will tell you
of another exploit. The St. Louis, which was one of the big ocean
steamships that the Government hired during the war, was the vessel
that performed it. A few days after the cables were cut at Cienfuegos,
the St. Louis was ordered to Santiago to cut the cables at that point.
One very dark night the boats left the big ship and began to grapple
for the cables. About three o'clock in the morning they returned with
a long piece which they had cut out of one of the cables. About eight
o'clock the St. Louis went to work to find the other cable, and after
working for three hours, the batteries on shore opened fire on her.
They kept up a furious fire for three-quarters of an hour, but the St.
Louis replied so vigorously that the batteries were silenced and the
garrisons sent running in all directions. Then they found the cable,
hauled it on board and cut it. Afterwards the St. Louis cut another
cable at San Juan, the capital of Porto Rico.

Do you wonder why these three ports were thought to be the best for
the Spanish fleet to enter? You know that Havana is the capital of
Cuba; most of the citizens were Spaniards; thousands of Spanish
soldiers were there; all the chief officers also. So it was thought
that the Spanish Navy would try to unite with the Spanish Army. From
Matanzas and from Cienfuegos the troops from the Spanish ships could
go easily by railroad to Havana, through a part of the country still
in the hands of the Spaniards. I may have told you more than you care
to hear about the coming of the enemy's fleet, but I want to give you
an idea of the great anxiety felt by our Government at this time, and
to help you to understand what follows. You must remember that we had
not vessels enough to blockade every port, so we blockaded the ports
that seemed most dangerous.

Where was the Spanish fleet all this time, while our Navy was so
troubled? If you look at a map of Cuba you will find that the eastern
end of the island--the eastern province--is called Santiago de Cuba.
The chief city of the province is on the southern coast, and bears the
same name. The city of Santiago is next in importance to Havana, and
is said to be the oldest city in the Western Hemisphere.

Santiago is a picturesque city, five miles from the coast. It was
founded by Don Diego de Velasquez, who named it for the patron saint
of Spain. Santiago, San Diego and St. Jago are really one name, which
is translated St. James in our language. The city is built along a
sloping hillside, and its massive buildings are tinted pink, blue,
green and purple. There are plenty of red-tiled roofs, among which
rise towers, steeples and palms. The houses are low and built around
courtyards, where flowers and palms grow in profusion. The floors are
of brick or marble. There is a plaza, or central square, and a great
cathedral. The streets are narrow and dirty, and in the quarters
where the poorer class live, babies and pigs roll together in the
gutters, and boys and girls without a rag of clothing on them hold out
their hands for alms.

The first impression of Santiago is one of filth and poverty,
dilapidated buildings and general decay; but if you climb the hills
that encircle the city and look over the red-topped buildings to the
glistening bay, the prospect is lovely.

As you approach the mouth of the harbor from the coast, you can at
first see nothing but a break in the hills; but soon you discover,
perhaps, the most picturesque fort in the western hemisphere. It is
the Morro Castle, one hundred years older than its namesake at Havana,
perched on a rock at the entrance to the channel. This channel is very
narrow, but it winds and twists about until it opens into a broad,
land-locked bay--the famous harbor of Santiago--with houses running
down to the water's edge.

Into this beautiful harbor, while our ships were watching other ports
and looking in other directions, Admiral Cervera and his fine Spanish
ships quietly sailed at daybreak on the 19th of May. It was a strange
port for the Spaniards to seek, and it was a fatal one.

[Illustration: Morro Castle, Santiago.]

While Sampson was looking in one direction for Admiral Cervera's
ships, Commodore Schley, with another squadron, was close upon their
track. For awhile he thought they were in Cienfuegos, but when he
found they were not there, he kept on up the coast. His flagship was
the splendid cruiser Brooklyn, and among his ships were the
Massachusetts, the Texas and the Iowa--all immense battleships. He
also had a number of smaller vessels, and the swift St. Paul, another
of the famous ships hired by the Government. The St. Paul was
commanded by Captain Sigsbee, who, you will remember, was in command
of the Maine when she was blown up in Havana harbor.

At last Commodore Schley became satisfied that the long-looked-for
fleet was in the harbor of Santiago. On the morning of May 29, Captain
Sigsbee, in the St. Paul, ran close enough to the mouth of the harbor
to see some of the Spanish ships inside, and the long game of
hide-and-seek was over. Commodore Schley at once established a strict
blockade, and then sent word to Admiral Sampson that the Spanish ships
had been found and that he had them safe. He very shrewdly said:

"We have bottled them up, and they will never get home!" A few days
later, the two squadrons were consolidated, with Commodore Schley the
second in command.

I want to tell you a little about Commodore Schley--one of the finest
officers of the navy. He graduated from the Naval Academy at
Annapolis, at the head of his class, and from that time entered upon a
career in which he served his country in nearly every quarter of the
globe. When the Civil War broke out, he staid by the old flag when
many of his brother officers went with the Confederacy, and during the
war performed many gallant and meritorious services. He had seen all
kinds of naval service, and was at home among conditions that required
dash and courage, zeal and persistency, before he was given the
command of the "Flying Squadron," and sent to find the Spanish ships.

He had done such things as to rescue seven men who were starving to
death in the Arctic regions. He had been sent by the Government to do
this, and, realizing that it must be done quickly, he pushed on so
fast that he found the seven men alive. If he had been slower in his
movements they would have been dead, for they were in the last stages
of starvation and exhaustion. At another time, some of his sailors
were stoned in the city of Valparaiso, and one of them was killed.
Schley trained his guns upon the city and kept them there until the
murderers were given up to justice. He was the right kind of a man to
have around the coasts of Cuba, wasn't he?

[Illustration: Rear-Admiral W.S. Schley.]

Now I am going to tell you the names of the Spanish vessels, and give
you an idea of the blockade.

Within the harbor were four large Spanish ships and two new, fast
torpedo-boat destroyers, all commanded by Admiral Cervera. The ships
were the Infanta Maria Teresa, named for a Spanish princess; the
Vizcaya, named for a province in Spain; the Cristóbol Colón, which is
the Spanish name for Christopher Columbus; and the Almirante Oquendo.
Many years ago Spain had a famous admiral whose name was Oquendo, and
in recognition of his services the Spanish Government made a law that
there should always be a ship in their navy bearing his name. That is
how they had the Almirante Oquendo, which means Admiral Oquendo. The
names of the torpedo-boat destroyers were the Furor and the Pluton.
All these warships were splendid vessels, and were commanded by brave
men. We shall hear about them later.

Our ships were outside the harbor--a few miles from its mouth, in a
line like a half-circle. Our big ships were the New York, the
Brooklyn, the Texas, the Iowa, the Oregon, the Indiana, and the
Massachusetts. There were a number of smaller vessels, and one of
them, the Gloucester, afterwards gained great fame. Our ships could
not anchor, as the water was too deep, so they were always moving back
and forth.

As I have told you, between the sea and the harbor, or bay, is a long,
narrow channel with high cliffs on each side, and on these cliffs are
forts, which guard the entrance to the harbor.

Our men could not see the Spanish ships in the harbor, but could see
only the narrow channel and the hills and forts above it. Our men
watched carefully, to see that no Spanish ship came out. For the
first few nights of the blockade a bright moon lighted up the channel,
but after the moon failed, the place was wonderfully lighted by the
great "search-lights" of our ships. Four battleships took turns of two
hours each in standing at the entrance of the channel and moving the
"searchlights." The ships were always headed toward the shore, and
steam was kept up.

And so our great gray vessels, grim monsters of the sea, waited and
watched near the harbor of Santiago de Cuba.

Blockading work is very hard upon officers and men. It requires
ceaseless vigilance at all hours of the day and night. Besides
preventing an enemy's ships from coming out of a blockaded port, it is
very important to prevent vessels with supplies from running in.
During the Cuban blockade our vessels captured at least one large ship
loaded with coal that was intended for Admiral Cervera's fleet. When
nations are at war, they do not allow other nations to supply their
enemies with anything that will help them. There are international
laws about this, and if a warship belonging to a nation which is at
war with another, puts into a neutral port for coal or provisions, it
is only allowed to buy enough to last it to its nearest home port. It
is not allowed to remain in a neutral port more than twenty-four
hours, either.

The purpose of a blockade is to cut off supplies and stop all
communication with the enemy by sea. When this is done, merchant
vessels of all nations are therefore forbidden to pass or even to
approach the line, and the penalty for disobedience is the
confiscation of both ship and cargo, whether the latter is contraband
or not. If a ship does not stop when hailed, she may be fired upon,
and if she is sunk while endeavoring to escape, it is her own fault.
Blockade running is perilous business, and is usually attempted under
cover of night, or in stormy weather, and it is as full of excitement
and adventure as war itself. The motive is usually either to take
advantage of famine prices, or to aid the enemy by bringing supplies
or carrying despatches. Neutral ships are entitled to some sort of
warning that a blockade exists, and in the case of Cuba, the United
States notified neutral Governments, announcing the fact, and stating
exactly the extent of coast covered.

Before we were at war with Spain, the Government restrained and
punished those who organized expeditions to help the Cubans. We were
obliged to do this because we were a neutral nation. But after our war
with Spain began, we sent all kinds of war material to the Cubans, so
as to help them to fight Spain. I will tell you about one of these
expeditions.

About the middle of May, the steamer Florida sailed from a port in the
State for which she was named, with supplies for the Cuban army. In
addition to a great quantity of provisions, clothing, shoes and
medicines, she carried several thousand rifles and an immense amount
of ammunition. Down in the hold were a hundred horses and mules, and
among the passengers were several hundred recruits for the Cuban army.

The Florida reached the Cuban coast in safety, and was met at the
appointed place by more than a thousand Cubans. It required three days
and one night to unload the cargo. Small boats conveyed the stores to
the eager hands that hurried them inland. The mules and horses swam
ashore. Women and children flocked to the scene, bringing fruit and
vegetables to exchange for coffee and meat--the first they had tasted
for a long time.

[Illustration: Searching for Contraband.]

When the cargo was all ashore, the Florida prepared to return to the
United States. Then the Cuban soldiers ranged themselves along the
shore; women and children grouped behind the ranks, and a Cuban
marching song burst from happy hearts as the Florida steamed away.

A great deal of blockading duty was done by the small vessels of the
fleets, the torpedo-boats and the armed tugboats. Many strange
encounters took place during those nights when these little craft
rolled about in the Caribbean swells, or moved along in hostile waters
without a light visible on board.

The tug-boat Leyden had one of these. With her two or three small guns
she held up a big ship one night, firing across her bow, and
demanding, "What ship is that?" It was the same vessel that had the
encounter with the Nashville, the story of which I have told you; and
so the answer came back:

"This is Her Majesty's ship, Talbot."

The idea of a tug-boat like the Leyden halting a warship in this
fashion was not particularly pleasing to the British Captain. Neither
was he better pleased when some one on the tug-boat called out, "Good
night, Talbot!" But he took it as a new experience, and solemnly
replied:

"You may go, Leyden."

The spirit that animated the officers of our navy in these trying
times was well expressed by Lieutenant Fremont, who commanded the
torpedo-boat Porter. Fremont was the son of John C. Fremont, whom you
may possibly remember as a noted explorer and pioneer in the western
part of the United States, and a general during the Civil War; and he
possessed the bravery and daring of his father. Some one said to him:

"Those Spanish destroyers have heavier batteries than yours. What
would you do if you ran across one of them out here?"

"Well," replied Fremont, "it's my business to keep them from getting
in among the fleet. I'd try to do it. I'd engage a destroyer, and if I
found his battery was too heavy for me I'd close in. If a chance
offered, I'd torpedo him. If not--well, this boat has made twenty-six
knots. I'd go at him full speed. I think the Porter would go half way
through him before we stopped."

"And then?"

"And then, I think, there would be a swimming match. It saves time to
have your mind made up in advance in such matters."

[Illustration: Lieutenant John C. Fremont.]




CHAPTER IV.

THE BATTLE OF MANILA BAY.


The greatest event of the war between the United States and Spain took
place in a strange part of the world, far from both of those
countries. If you look on a map of Asia, you will find a large group
of islands in the Pacific Ocean, east of the China Sea. They are
called the Philippine Islands. The largest of them is called Luzon,
and its chief city is Manila, on a large bay of the same name.

These islands were discovered nearly four hundred years ago, by
Magellan, as we call him in English, a famous sailor and explorer. He
was the first to sail through the strait that is south of South
America; and so that strait is still called by his name. After passing
through that strait he led his fleet on, farther west, northwest, over
the Pacific Ocean, till he came to the islands east of the China Sea.
Magellan took possession of them in the name of the King of Spain;
for, though not a Spaniard, he was working in the interests of Spain.
He gave the islands a name, but the name did not cling to them; and
some time after, they were named Islas Filipinas--or, as we say in
English, Philippine Islands in honor of King Philip II., of Spain.
But the savage tribes dwelling in the islands did not submit tamely to
Magellan's conquest, and in a fight with them he was killed. Still,
the Spaniards held the islands, and established towns there, some of
which have become very important. It is said that there are people
from all parts of the world living in Manila.

Have you ever heard any one speak of the Filipinos? They are natives
of the islands, descendants of the Spanish settlers; besides these
there are the native savage tribes, still living in many places. The
Filipinos had often tried to gain their independence, but had not been
successful. When they heard of the rebellion in Cuba, they thought
they would make another attempt against Spain, and so began a new
rebellion. And this is just how matters stood when the war began
between the United States and Spain.

The United States, having some ships in one of the ports of China,
sent word to their commander, Commodore Dewey, to turn his attention
to the Philippine Islands. So Commodore Dewey prepared his fleet in
the best way possible and started for Manila. The ships sailed
Wednesday afternoon, April 27th.

You must not think that Commodore Dewey had big battleships in his
fleet. He had only what we call "cruisers," not big battleships. The
ship on which the commander of a whole fleet sails is always the
"flagship." Then, of course, each ship has its own captain and other
officers. Would you like to know the names of the ships that won such
fame in Manila Bay? The "flagship" was the Olympia; then there were
five other cruisers: the Baltimore, the Boston, the Raleigh, the
Concord, the Petrel; and a small vessel called the Hugh McCulloch.
There were also two steamers carrying coal and provisions. All the
fleet had been newly painted gray, to match our other vessels in this
war.

During the voyage, the men were very busy getting ready for a battle,
for they knew that the Spaniards had ships in Manila Bay, and that
they would fire upon the new comers. Everything made of wood that
might be shot and splintered, was thrown overboard; for flying
splinters are very dangerous on shipboard. Tables, benches, chests,
and rails were thrown into the sea. The men were told what to do in
time of battle, and how to help the wounded, and the doctors arranged
the rooms to be used as hospitals, so that every thing would be handy.

We have seen that the fleet sailed Wednesday afternoon, and the next
Saturday morning land was sighted--the island of Luzon. On, on, the
ships sped, and that evening they reached the entrance to Manila Bay.
Then they stole along in the darkness, with their lights covered, so
that the Spaniards might not see them. Our men were doing a daring
deed. They were entering a strange bay, by night, where not one of
them had ever been before; they did not know the soundings, they had
no harbor pilot. The entrance to the bay was guarded by fortresses
containing big Krupp guns, and there was good reason to think that
there were "mines" in the water, which might blow the ships to pieces.
Still, every man was ready to do his duty.

[Illustration: The "Olympia," Admiral Dewey's Flagship.]

Some of the forts did discover our ships, and fired a few shots; but
no harm was done, and our ships steamed on. At daybreak they drew near
the city of Manila. The Spaniards were expecting them, having had
notice of their approach. The Spanish ships, under Admiral Montojo,
were waiting at a place called Cavité, seven miles from Manila. They
were protected by batteries on the shore. Having steady guns on the
shore should have been a great help to the Spaniards, as it is easier
to fire a steady gun than to fire a gun on a ship that is riding up
and down on the waves.

[Illustration: Battle of Manila Bay.]

The battle began a little after five o'clock, Sunday morning, May 1st,
1898. The Spaniards fired the first shot. All the vessels of our fleet
were out in the bay, but, as soon as the Spaniards began to fire, our
fighting ships started forward. They did not answer the Spanish fire
at first, but steamed up the bay, in a wide circle, toward the city of
Manila, then turned and came back toward Cavité. The Olympia led the
way. After her came the Baltimore, Raleigh, Concord, Petrel, and
Boston. All had their battle-flags flying.

[Illustration: Admiral Montojo.]

Uninjured by the enemy's shots, the Olympia and her train drew near
the Spanish forts and ships. At a distance of a little more than four
thousand yards, the Olympia fired, and the roar of her first gun was
the signal to her companions to open fire. Then the firing from both
sides became fast and furious. Our ships moved rapidly about, up and
down, past Cavité five times. Admiral Montojo came out in his
flagship, the Reina Christina, to attack the Olympia. The Olympia
poured such a storm of shot at her that she was compelled to turn back
toward the harbor. But the Reina Christina had met her doom. As she
turned, a huge shell from the Olympia struck her, set her on fire, and
killed her captain and many of her men. Admiral Montojo changed his
flag to another ship and came forward again, but soon had to turn
back. But a moment of great peril came to the Olympia. Two fierce
little torpedo-boats came toward her, ready to hurl her to
destruction. The gunners of the Olympia instantly opened such a shower
of shells from the smaller guns that the surface of the water was
covered with foam. The little boats, without having had time to send
forth a torpedo, were overcome. One of them blew up, then sank, with
her crew, beneath the waves. The other, pierced with shots, turned
toward the shore and ran upon the beach, a wreck.

[Illustration: The "Olympia" Leading the Way.]

After more than two hours of fierce fighting, Commodore Dewey led his
ships out into the center of the bay, and the battle ceased for a
time. The true reason for this movement was known only to some of the
officers. The men were told that they were to haul off to get a little
rest and some breakfast. The men believed that they had done great
damage to the Spaniards, and were eager to finish the battle at once.
In fact, no one really knew then how much damage had been done to the
Spanish fleet. The results were not known till afterward. Though the
men were hopeful and in good spirits, Commodore Dewey and his staff
thought the situation serious. Three of the Spanish ships were on
fire, and the Boston had also broken out in flames. The Olympia had
not enough ammunition to continue the fight two hours longer. Our
ships were far from home, and could not get a supply of ammunition in
less than a month's time. There was good reason to think that the
Spanish forts were well supplied.

The Spaniards thought, when our ships drew away from the shore, that
the Americans had been overcome and were leaving in order to bury
their dead. They found themselves sadly mistaken.

Our men, strengthened by the rest and a breakfast of bread and cold
meat, started again to battle a little before eleven o'clock. Soon
several of the Spanish ships were on fire, and some of them sank.
After the Spanish fleet had been destroyed, some of our ships attacked
the forts on the shore and made them surrender. At five minutes after
one o'clock the Spaniards hauled down their flag.

The Spaniards did many brave things that day, and fought desperately,
but they were not good marksmen. They did not aim their guns well.
They lost eleven ships, and had many men killed and wounded. Our ships
were not much injured, only seven of our men were wounded, and none
were killed.

When our ships drew together after the battle, and our men found that
they had suffered so little, and that no one had been killed, they
knew not how to control their feelings. Some of them cried like little
children. But such tears are not childish. It is said that when the
Spanish forts gave the signal of surrender, Commodore Dewey turned
to his officers near him, and said: "I've the prettiest lot of men
that ever stepped on shipboard, and their hearts are as stout as the
ships."

[Illustration: The Destroyed Spanish Fleet.]

You must notice that the city of Manila had not been taken in this
battle. We shall see later about its surrender. But the battle of
Manila Bay was one of the most remarkable naval battles ever fought.

When Commodore Dewey received his orders to "capture or destroy" the
Spanish fleet, that was known to be somewhere about the Philippine
Islands, the Asiatic squadron, as his ships were called, was lying in
the harbor of Hong Kong, which is an English port. After the blowing
up of the Maine, which occurred in February, you will remember, he
began to put his ships in the very best possible condition for a war
with Spain, which he and his officers now thought inevitable. Every
emergency was provided for; all the vessels were in complete fighting
trim.

Because of the neutrality laws, of which I have told you, after war
was declared Dewey's ships could not stay at Hong Kong more than
twenty-four hours, so he moved them to Mirs Bay, a Chinese port, and
from there set out to find the Spanish fleet.

A naval officer, now retired from the service, told me not long ago,
the words "capture or destroy" have been used in instructions to naval
officers for three hundred years. He also spoke of his acquaintance
with Dewey during the Civil War, and upon long cruises when they were
shipmates; and particularly dwelt upon the ability and good judgment
that characterized him as a naval officer.

When Dewey received his orders to "capture or destroy" the Spanish
fleet, he is said to have remarked: "Thank the Lord! at last I've got
the chance, and I'll wipe them off the Pacific Ocean." He did not know
what he was to meet in the way of resistance, but there was not a man
in the fleet that doubted the outcome of the encounter. He found the
Spanish fleet, fought it until not a ship was left to fly the flag of
Spain, and then sent word to the Spanish Governor-general that if
another shot was fired at his ships he would lay the city of Manila in
ashes.

[Illustration: Admiral George Dewey.]

The Island of Corregidor guards the entrance to Manila Bay, but it
seemed to be asleep as Dewey's gray ships stole silently by. Once a
shell screamed over the Raleigh, followed by another; but the Raleigh,
the Concord and the Boston answered the challenge and soon all was
silent. At daybreak the fleet was about five miles from Manila, the
American flag flying from each ship.

[Illustration: Church of the Friars, Manila.]

Day breaks quickly in the tropics, and as the sun flashed his beams
above the horizon, a beautiful picture revealed itself to the men of
Dewey's fleet. Before them lay the metropolis of the Philippines,
walled in part like a mediæval town; the jangle of church bells came
from lofty towers. To the right, and below the city, lay the Spanish
fleet for which they had been searching.

[Illustration: Dewey on the Bridge.]

The Spaniards fired the first gun from a powerful battery in front of
the city, and the Concord sent two shells in reply, as the American
fleet swept grandly past. Before them were the Spanish ships-of-war
and the fortifications at Cavité; between, were shallow waters where
they dared not go. Still they swept on, preserving their distances as
though performing evolutions in time of peace, the Olympia in the van,
drawing nearer and nearer to the ships that flew the red and yellow
flag of Spain. The shore batteries again roared defiance to the
invaders, but Dewey stood quietly on the bridge of the Olympia,
surrounded by the members of his staff. He wore the usual white
uniform of the service, and a gray cap such as travelers and bicyclers
wear. A huge jet of water now sprang from the peaceful sea, showing
that the Spaniards had fired a submarine mine, but no harm was done.
Then Dewey gave the quiet order to Captain Gridley, who was in the
conning tower:

"Gridley, you may fire when you are ready."

Then the guns of the Olympia spoke, and those of the other ships
followed her example. During the five times they passed and repassed
the Spanish ships and forts, their courses resembled a gigantic figure
8.

Between the entrance to the bay and the city of Manila is an arm of
land or promontory, pointing upwards and towards the city. It is on
the right hand side of the bay and is called Cavité. The word means a
fishhook, and the promontory looks something like one. Behind Cavité
and in the bay of the same name, the Spanish ships were stationed, and
at the little town of Cavité was an arsenal and quite a respectable
navy-yard.

[Illustration: Landing the Marines at Cavité.]

When Dewey withdrew his ships to ascertain what damage the Spaniards
had inflicted upon them, the Spaniards thought they had driven them
off, and so they sent a dispatch from Manila to Spain saying that they
had won a great victory over the Americans; but when Dewey made the
second attack, after breakfast, there was not much more for him to do,
for the Spaniards were well whipped. Dewey had met a foreign foe in
its own waters, and added another victory to the glorious record of
the navy of the United States.

[Illustration: Signaling.]

After the battle, one of the signal boys on the flagship wrote a very
interesting letter to his friends at home:

"... We are all nearly wild with the effects of victory. The pride of
Spain is here under our feet. No doubt before this letter reaches you,
you will read full accounts of the battle--a battle that was hard
fought and bloodless for the victorious. Not a man in our fleet was
killed. Six men were slightly wounded on the Baltimore.

"Say, it was grand! We left Mirs Bay, in China, at two a.m.,
Wednesday, April 27th. Saturday afternoon we sighted Subig Bay. The
Boston and the Concord were sent ahead of the fleet as scouts. We
expected to find the Spanish fleet and have our first engagement. We
could not find them there, so the Commodore and Captains held a
council of war and decided to run past the forts at night.

"It was nine-thirty that night when we sighted the entrance. We went
quietly to quarters, loaded our guns, shook hands with each other and
trusted to luck. I was on signal watch on the aft bridge and could see
everything. Not a sound was heard. At twelve o'clock we were under the
guns of the first fort. It was an island called Corregidor. I tell you
I felt uneasy. The moon was well up, but not a light could be seen.

"There were two signal officers and three other boys with me. We were
laughing and joking with one another to steady our nerves. When we
were well under the guns a rocket was fired, and every man braced
himself. Then you could hear the breech blocks closing and the
officers telling the men to aim steady and to kill.

"Well, all the ships passed that fort, but there were twenty-six miles
to go yet, and God and the Spaniards alone knew how many batteries,
mines and torpedoes were ready to send us all to eternity.

"The Olympia passed two more forts The Baltimore was next to us. She
passed all right, but when the Raleigh came under the guns of the
second fort, there was a flash and I heard the shriek of the first
shell. Then almost before the shell struck, there was a spout of
flame from the Raleigh, and her shell killed forty men, as we learned
yesterday. Two more shells were fired at us, but we were well past
them. Then the men were told to lie down.

[Illustration: Rapid-fire Gun.]

"Now, commenced the signal corps work. Soon our signal lights were
flashing the order to close up. At four o'clock I was told by the
signal officer to lie down and catch a nap.

"At four, coffee was given to all the men and at fifteen minutes to
five, the shore batteries had shells dropping all around, but we did
not fire until sixteen minutes past five. The Spanish fleet was in
sight off the navy yard. Then the fight started in earnest. For a
while I thought my time had come. After we made the signal 'commence
firing,' we had nothing to do but watch the fight. The shells flew
over our heads so quick I paid no attention to them.

[Illustration: The Olympiads Military Mast.]

"After an hour and fifteen minutes, the Spanish admiral had two ships
sunk under turn. We withdrew for a short time, not knowing we had them
whipped. As we were leaving, three ships were burning. At
nine-twenty-five, we started again. In a short time the arsenal went
up and the Government buildings were in flames.

"The battle lasted altogether three hours and some minutes. At
eleven-fifteen the white flag was shown, and you might hear us cheer.
The ship was hit about six times. The Spaniards lost terribly. The
rebels attacked the enemy. It is something wonderful when you consider
the advantage they had over us. They had eleven ships to our six.
Their ships could run behind a neck of land near the navy yard. The
shore batteries were firing on us from three points. But our
marksmanship was too much for them; our fire was so rapid they could
not stand it. They lost about two thousand men, so the rumor says. We
sank four ships and burned seven. It was a grand, beautiful sight to
see those ships burn.

"I was ashore yesterday, and we destroyed all the guns. I managed to
get a few souvenirs. Two torpedo boats attempted to blow us up, but
one was sunk and one was beached. I saw her. She was full of holes and
blood was all over her bow ...

"I hope the ships at home have as good luck as us. I wrote this on
captured paper with a Spanish officer's pen."

Like many other vessels in the navy, the Olympia has a complete
printing outfit on board, and issues, at intervals, a very creditable
sheet called the "Bounding Billow." This is its account of a Spanish
shot:

"One shot struck the Baltimore in the starboard waist, just abaft one
of the six-inch guns. It passed through the hammock nettings, exploded
a couple of three-pounder shells, wounding six men, then across the
deck, striking the cylinder of a gun, making it temporarily useless,
then running around the shield it spent itself between two
ventilators, just forward of the engine-room hatch. The shell is in
possession of the captain."

[Illustration: Strange course of a Spanish Shell.]

When the news of the glorious victory in Manila Bay reached the United
States, the people went wild with joy. Commodore Dewey was thanked by
Congress, and afterwards was made a rear-admiral. In December,
Congress revived the grade and rank of admiral and conferred it upon
Rear-Admiral Dewey, and he and all of his men were presented with
medals of honor made expressly for the purpose. The raising of Admiral
Dewey's new flag on the Olympia was an interesting ceremony. As the
blue bunting with its four white stars fluttered to the peak of the
flagship, the crews of all the vessels in the fleet were at quarters;
the officers in full dress for the occasion. The marines paraded; the
drums gave four "ruffles" as the Admiral stepped upon the deck; the
Olympiads band struck up "Hail to the Chief," and an admiral's salute
of seventeen guns echoed across Manila Bay from every American ship;
followed by salutes of the same number of guns from each foreign war
vessel in the harbor.

[Illustration: The Dewey Medal of Honor.]




CHAPTER V.

THE MERRIMAC.


While Admiral Sampson had been fixing the blockade he had also been
forming plans to close the channel, and so keep any large ship from
stealing out of the bay. For, although our men watched closely, there
was always a chance that in a fog or storm the Spanish ships might
slip out without being seen. Admiral Sampson knew that the Spaniards
could remove anything that might be sunk to close the channel, but the
work would take time, and meanwhile our Army might arrive on the land
back of Santiago, and then our Army and Navy could help each other.
Time was what was needed in order to have all things ready for
forcing the Spaniards out of Santiago and taking possession of the
city.

[Illustration: Lieut. Richmond P. Hobson.]

So, plans were made for sinking a coal steamer across the narrowest
part of the channel, and thus blocking the way. Now you shall hear of
one of the bravest deeds ever done in war.

The work of closing the channel was put into the hands of Lieutenant
Hobson. The collier Merrimac was chosen as the vessel to be sunk. You
have no idea how much had to be done before the Merrimac was ready.
There were hours and hours of work. The crew had to take off all the
things that were not to be sunk, the machinery had to be fixed in
certain ways, the heavy anchors had to be placed in the right parts,
and the torpedoes, which Lieutenant Hobson made for blowing holes in
the vessel at the right moment, had to be fitted into their places.
More than two thousand tons of coal had to be shoveled away from
certain places in the hold to make room for the torpedoes and to leave
spaces for the water to rush in and sink the vessel. So, much hard
work was done before the good collier was ready to be forced under the
waves.

There was only a small chance that the men who took the Merrimac into
the channel would ever see their friends again. Death in the waves, or
death in the hands of the Spaniards, was the prospect. Lieutenant
Hobson said that he would not take one man more than was needed. A
signal was put up on all the ships, to find out the men who were
willing to go in the Merrimac. Hundreds of brave fellows sent in their
names, begged to go, gave good reasons why they thought they ought to
go, and were grieved to be refused. Lieutenant Hobson chose only six,
but at the last minute a seventh man got his chance; so, counting
Lieutenant Hobson, there were eight men going to almost certain death.

After the passing away of the old wooden ships of the navy, and before
our war with Spain, it was often said that opportunities for
individual bravery and daring had departed from the navy; but this was
disproved in the case of Lieutenant Hobson and his men, and in many
other instances. Every man in the fleet was ready to go on the
Merrimac and do what he was told to do; and so long as such men man
our ships our navy can never be conquered. They will fight to the
uttermost and go down with their colors rather than strike them.

Thursday evening, the second of June, arrives, and the Merrimac is all
ready for her last voyage. The men are on board, waiting for the time
to start. Quietly and fearlessly they pass the night, but they do not
sleep, they cannot sleep. Behind the Merrimac, farther out at sea,
stand the faithful vessels of our fleet, huge, pale shadows in the
night. The full moon lights up the channel that the Merrimac will
enter after awhile when the moon is low. On both sides of the channel
rise the high cliffs with their forts. Morro Castle frowns upon the
scene. Beyond--far beyond, are the mountain tops.

A basket of food and a kettle of coffee had been sent on board by the
flagship, and after midnight the men sit down on deck to eat their
last meal on board the Merrimac.

A little before two o'clock, Friday morning, June 3d, the Merrimac
starts for the channel. Each man is at his post; each knows his duty
and intends to do it. The men are not wearing their naval uniforms,
but are clad only in woolen underclothes, woolen stockings, with no
shoes. Each man wears a life-preserver, and a belt with a revolver
fastened to it.

On, on goes the vessel, swiftly, surely, heading for the channel.
Suddenly shots begin to pour upon the Merrimac; the Spaniards in the
forts have seen her approach. Still she plunges on, not heeding the
fire from the forts. Lieutenant Hobson gives the signal to stop the
engine, to turn the vessel in the right way across the channel, to
fire the torpedoes, to drop the anchors. Shells from the forts are
exploding all around, and the noise is terrible. But hard luck meets
the Merrimac. A shot has broken her rudder, so she cannot be steered;
a shot has broken the chain of one of her anchors, so the anchor is
gone; some of the torpedoes will not go off, so not enough holes can
be made to sink the Merrimac quickly; the tide is sweeping her into
the channel farther than she ought to go.

[Illustration: The "Merrimac."]

The men, having done their work, lie flat on deck to avoid the shots,
and wait anxiously for the moment when the vessel shall go down. In
a few minutes the Merrimac tosses low to one side, then to the other,
then plunges, bow foremost, into the waves. Now the men are thrown
into the whirling water. But see! they manage to swim to the
life-raft, which had been fastened by a long rope to the Merrimac and
is now floating on the waves. They cling to the raft, only heads and
hands above water. They keep quiet, for the Spaniards are out in small
boats now, looking to see what damage has been done. The Spaniards do
not see our men clinging to the flat raft. So Lieutenant Hobson and
his crew stay in the water, which is very chilly in the early morning;
their teeth chatter, their limbs ache. Meanwhile day dawns beautifully
over the hills of Santiago.

An hour passes in this way. Now a steam-launch is seen coming toward
the raft. Lieutenant Hobson hails the launch, asks for the officer in
charge, and surrenders himself and his men. They are helped into the
launch, prisoners in the hands of the Spaniards. The officer is
Admiral Cervera.

Naval Cadet Powell, of the New York, performed a feat in many respects
as heroic as that of Hobson and his men. He volunteered to take the
launch of the flagship and a small crew, patrol the mouth of the
harbor and attempt to rescue Hobson and his plucky crew should any of
them survive after the Merrimac had been blown up. This is his story:

"Lieutenant Hobson took a short sleep for a few hours, which was
often interrupted. A quarter to two o'clock he came on deck and made a
final inspection, giving his last instructions. Then we had a little
lunch.

"Hobson was just as cool as a cucumber. About two-twenty I took the
men who were not going on the trip into the launch and started for the
Texas, which was the nearest ship, but had to go back for one of the
assistant engineers, whom Hobson finally compelled to leave. I shook
hands with Hobson the last of all. He said: 'Powell, watch the boat's
crew when we pull out of the harbor. We will be cracks, rowing thirty
strokes to the minute.'

[Illustration: Naval Cadet Jos. W. Powell.]

"After leaving the Texas, I saw the Merrimac steaming slowly in. It
was only fairly dark then, and the shore was quite visible. We
followed about three-quarters of a mile astern. The Merrimac stood
about a mile to the westward of the harbor, and seemed a bit mixed,
turning completely around; finally, heading to the east, she ran down,
then turned in. We were then chasing him, because I thought Hobson
had lost his bearings. When Hobson was about two hundred yards from
the harbor the first gun was fired from the eastern bluffs.

"We were then half a mile off shore, close under the batteries. The
firing increased rapidly. We steamed in slowly and lost sight of the
Merrimac in the smoke, which the wind carried off shore. It hung
heavily. Before Hobson could have blown up the Merrimac the western
battery picked up and commenced firing. They shot wild, and we only
heard the shots. We ran in still closer to the shore, and the gunners
lost sight of us. Then we heard the explosion of the torpedoes on the
Merrimac. Until daylight we waited just outside the breakers, half a
mile to the westward of Morro, keeping a bright lookout for the boat
or for swimmers, but saw nothing. Hobson had arranged to meet us at
that point, but, thinking that some one might have drifted out, we
crossed in front of Morro and the mouth of the harbor to the eastward.
About five o'clock we crossed the harbor again, within a quarter of a
mile, and stood to the westward.

"In passing we saw one spar of the Merrimac sticking out of the water.
We hugged the shore just outside of the breakers for a mile, and then
turned towards the Texas, when the batteries saw us and opened fire.
It was then broad daylight. The first shot fired dropped thirty yards
astern, but the other shots went wild. I drove the launch for all she
was worth, finally making the New York. The men behaved splendidly."

How did our brave men fare as prisoners? They were taken to one of the
Spanish warships, were fed and clothed, and treated as friends.
Admiral Cervera sent a message to Admiral Sampson, saying that all the
men were safe and would be well treated. But they were not allowed to
stay long on the ship. After a few hours they were taken to Morro
Castle, which they did not find a pleasant prison, though they were
not badly treated. Lieutenant Hobson, by climbing up to the little
window in his cell, could see our ships far out at sea. In a few days
the prisoners were taken from Morro Castle to another prison in the
city of Santiago. You shall hear of them again.

[Illustration: Hobson's Cell.]




CHAPTER VI.

MORE WORK DONE BY THE NAVY.


I have not told you all the brave deeds done by our Navy soon after
our ships had reached Cuba, but I will go back, for a few minutes, to
the 11th of May. A very sad affair took place at Cardenas, a port
about twenty miles east of Matanzas, the place where the first shots
were fired. Some of our smaller vessels blockading Cardenas were bold
enough to go into the harbor to fight some Spanish gunboats. Though,
our men gained a victory, it was dearly bought, for our torpedo-boat
Winslow was nearly destroyed, and five of her men were killed. That
same day, across the island, at Cienfuegos, on the south shore of
Cuba, our men succeeded in cutting the cables under the water, the
story of which I have told you.

Before the Cubans began to fight the Spaniards, in 1895, Cardenas was
a very pleasant city in which to live. So many Americans who had
business interests in Cuba lived there, that it was frequently spoken
of as the American city. Like Matanzas, it was the shipping point for
a great sugar-growing district, and one of the finest sugar
plantations in Cuba was in the vicinity of the city. The bay used to
be a famous resort for pirates, but they were exterminated a great
many years ago by war vessels of the United States. Now I will tell
you the story of the Winslow.

The blockading vessels off Cardenas were the Machias, the Wilmington
and the Hudson. It was determined to enter the inner harbor and attack
three small gunboats which were known to be there. While preparations
for the attack were being made, the Winslow came in from off Matanzas,
for coal, and was given a place in the attacking force. The Winslow,
Wilmington and Hudson entered the inner harbor through a small channel
to the eastward, near Blanco Cay. The Winslow went in closer than the
others, and almost before her plucky commander knew it, the fire of
the Spanish gunboats and of some shore batteries was concentrated on
this frail craft.

The Winslow was a torpedo-boat, and this class of vessels do not have
very thick sides or carry heavy guns. They are very fast and the
powerful torpedoes they carry can destroy the largest and heaviest
ship afloat.

The Winslow returned the Spanish fire splendidly, but at last a shot
crashed into her bow and disabled her boiler. Another tore away her
steering gear; and then she rolled helplessly while the Spaniards made
her a target for every gun they could bring to bear. Seeing her
helpless condition, the Hudson came to her assistance and tried to get
a line on board. After awhile she succeeded, but when she attempted to
tow her away the line parted. She made a second attempt, but just at
the instant the little group on the Winslow caught the line, a shell
burst in their very faces. Several of the crew, including the
commander of the Winslow, were wounded, and Ensign Bagley and four
seamen were instantly killed. There was scarcely a man left on the
torpedo-boat to make the line fast, but it was done at last, and the
Hudson towed the shattered Winslow out of danger. It was a very brave
thing that the officers and men of the Hudson did, and later they were
thanked by Congress, and a medal of honor was presented to each of
them.

I think you will be pleased to learn that the next day the Wilmington
went into the harbor again, and with her big guns tore the forts and
batteries to atoms, sank two gunboats and two other vessels, and
burned a blockhouse.

[Illustration: Ensign Worth Bagley.]

Ensign Bagley, the first and the only line officer in the navy to fall
in the war with Spain, was one of the most popular of young naval
officers. While at the Academy at Annapolis he became known as an
all-round athlete, but his greatest triumphs were on the foot-ball
field. His record throughout his naval career was stainless, and the
news of his death was received with sorrow by the people of the United
States.

Now I will tell you the story of how the United States flag was raised
for the first time on the island of Cuba during the war; and I will
tell it in the words of Ensign Willard, of the Machias, the officer
who performed the deed. It was done while the fight was going on in
Cardenas harbor.

"The Machias drew too much water for the channel to the eastward, and
moved up the main channel to within one mile of its narrowest part
abreast of Diana Cay. This channel was supposed to be mined and the
mines operated from the blockhouse and signal station on Diana Cay.
This place was shelled, and, under cover of this fire, a boat's crew
of nineteen sailors and marines, under my command, made a landing on
the opposite side of the Cay.

"The Spanish hastily left the place, disappearing completely. A
Spanish flag, signal flags, etc., and a quantity of ammunition, were
captured, and the United States flag raised. Then search was made for
mines and the channel dragged for two hours. Before leaving,
everything at the station was burned or destroyed, including nine
large row-boats. For the raising of this flag I was later awarded,
through the New York 'Herald,' a prize of one hundred dollars, which
was divided pro rata by me among the men who accompanied me on the
expedition."

Early in June, brave work was done by our sailors at Guantanamo, a
short distance east of Santiago. They took the harbor and destroyed
the forts there, in order that our ships might have a place where they
could get coal without going far from Santiago. The coal steamers
could not supply the whole fleet, so our vessels had been going for
coal all the way back to Key West, south of Florida. It was a great
help to have a coaling place at Guantanamo, but our sailors had much
hard work to take the place. Now I will tell you about some of this
hard work, and something about two men who made it possible to land
the marines and establish a coaling station in Guantanamo Bay. The men
were Commander McCalla, of the Marblehead, and Captain Brownson, of
the Yankee.

[Illustration: Commander B.H. McCalla.]

Long before the Spanish fleet put into the harbor of Santiago, the
Marblehead was along the southern coast of Cuba, poking her nose into
every inlet, cutting cables, and communicating with the Cubans.
McCalla had her stripped of everything but her guns and her steering
gear, and everywhere she went she became a terror to the Spaniards.
She dared to go anywhere and do anything. Every man on the ship was
devoted to McCalla, and every gunner on board was a crack shot,
because they were kept shooting at something all the time. If they
couldn't find a Spanish gunboat to shoot at, they fired at floating
targets.

When it was decided to clear everything Spanish out of the bay, so our
ships could use it, McCalla and Brownson were sent down there to do
the work; but first I will tell you a story about Brownson, so you can
see that he was just the right kind of a man to go along with McCalla.

In the early part of 1894 there was a civil war in Brazil. The entire
Brazilian navy had taken sides with the insurgents and completely
blockaded the harbor of Rio de Janeiro. Ships of all nations were
there, waiting to enter the harbor, but the insurgents would not let
them. Admiral Benham was sent there to look after American interests,
with his flagship, the San Francisco; and Captain, then Commander,
Brownson, was there with his ship, the Detroit. The blockade had to be
broken, and Brownson was selected as the man to do it.

One morning there was a stir on board the Detroit. The awnings came
down, her flag was sent aloft and her guns were shotted. Brownson
ordered the anchor hoisted, and, with the men at the guns, the cruiser
headed towards the city. The flags of the English, German and Italian
ships were dipped in salute as she moved ahead. Two American ships,
the Amy and the Good News, were anchored under the guns of two of the
insurgent fleet. As the Detroit passed close by the Trajano, a marine
on that ship raised a musket and fired a bullet over the heads of the
sailors on the Amy, which was following close behind the Detroit.

[Illustration: Capt. Willard H. Brownson.]

When the shot was fired Brownson turned to a gunner and ordered him to
shoot into the Trajano at the water line and about six feet from the
stern. The order was misunderstood and was sent across the Trajano's
bow instead.

"Trajano, ahoy!" hailed Brownson. "If you fire again I will sink you."
Not a shot was fired.

"You go ahead," shouted Brownson to the Amy, "and I'll protect you";
and although there were insurgent ships all about, the Amy passed into
the harbor unmolested, with the ships of other nations closely
following her. Then the Detroit returned to her anchorage. Brownson
had raised the blockade.

Guantanamo Bay is one of the most famous harbors on the southern coast
of Cuba. It is deep, wide and smooth as a mill pond. At the entrance
the harbor is broad and open, but afterwards it is narrower, and in
this place the Spaniards had placed a lot of mines and two little
gunboats.

[Illustration: A Marine.]

When the Marblehead and the Yankee steamed into the bay they began to
make trouble for the Spaniards at once. There was a blockhouse on a
hill, but they quickly knocked that to pieces. Then they silenced the
fire of the fort and chased the gunboats as far as they could go. Next
they shelled the woods, and, having made a general cleaning out, they
sent word to the fleet that they could land the marines at any time.

On June 10, a detachment of marines from the Oregon landed, and soon
afterwards six hundred more were landed from the troop-ship Panther.
They found plenty of evidence that the Marblehead's shells had
induced the Spaniards to depart in a hurry. Watches, hammocks, two
field guns, and a lot of ammunition, were lying around. There were a
few buildings left, but the marines soon set fire to them. They then
drove off a few Spaniards who were about, and then pitched their
tents. Pretty soon they were attacked by a large body of Spaniards,
but they drove them off after having several men killed and quite a
number wounded. The place of encampment was named Camp McCalla, in
honor of the gallant commander of the Marblehead.

Before the marines were reinforced they were fighting nearly all the
time. It was the first time that most of them had been in battle, but
they fought like veterans. The Spaniards were very cunning and
constantly planned surprises for them, but the marines finally drove
them away and held their position until reinforcements came. One of
the marines, in writing home, said:

"They fight Indian fashion, and the guerillas strip off all their
clothing and dress themselves with leaves and crawl along the ground
like snakes, and at night it is very hard to see or hear them. Then,
again, they dig holes in the ground and cover them over with brush and
conceal themselves there until their prey comes along. Their signals
are very hard to understand, and they sound like birds and are very
deceiving.

[Illustration: A Spanish Guerilla.]

"We have to carry our rifles and ammunition with us wherever we go.
Yesterday morning, while we were eating our breakfast, they fired
upon us, and we immediately pursued them. We had quite a battle and
came out victorious by a big score. We killed sixty and left about
fifteen or twenty badly wounded. We had a lucky escape, only two men
being wounded. We stayed out all night, and were relieved by another
company this morning, and we had nothing to eat for forty-eight hours;
but this is not the first time that we have missed our meals--it is an
every-day occurrence. We had four hardtacks, a little piece of butter
and a cup of coffee.

"We were reinforced by sixty Cuban insurgents last night. They were
fitted out with uniforms and rifles by the Marblehead, and they all
carry that deadly-looking weapon, the machete."

The machete is the national weapon of Cuba. It looks somewhat like a
sword, but instead of being pointed like that weapon, it is broader at
the part farthest from the hilt. A strong man can strike a terrible
blow with it. It is used all over the island as an agricultural tool
as well, for it serves the purpose of a scythe or an axe.

[Illustration: In the Trenches at Guantanamo.]

A brave deed was done by a young officer of the Navy all by himself--a
deed as brave as that done by Lieutenant Hobson. It was not really
known how many Spanish ships were in the harbor of Santiago. I have
told you that they could not be seen by our ships on account of the
narrow entrance and high cliffs. It was very important to know how
many Spanish ships there were. So Lieutenant Blue went ashore at some
safe point, and climbed round the hilltops of Santiago at night,
looked at the harbor, and counted the ships twice, in order to make no
mistake. It was a long journey and full of danger. Lieutenant Blue
might have been taken as a spy, but he reached our ships again, and
made his report to Admiral Sampson.

Early in June our blockading ships made efforts to destroy the forts
at the harbor of Santiago, but did not succeed, though the shells from
our ships did a good deal of harm. It was on account of these attacks
that Lieutenant Hobson and his crew were removed from their cells in
Morro Castle and taken to another prison, as I have told you. The
English Consul at Santiago, a wise and good man, told the Spanish
general that Lieutenant Hobson and his men could not, in honor, be
kept where they might be killed by shells from their own ships. So the
prisoners were removed.

[Illustration: Lieutenant Victor Blue.]

The forts at Santiago received a terrible punishment, if they were
not destroyed, and one of Admiral Cervera's ships, the Maria Teresa,
was considerably damaged by shells that went over the forts into the
harbor. There were several other warships in the harbor besides those
that came with Admiral Cervera. The Reina Mercedes was nearly
destroyed by the shells from our ships. Our old friend, the Oregon,
sent a big shell over the hills that swept nearly everything off her
decks. Other shots riddled her hull and sank her.

The Santiago fortifications were bombarded a number of times and some
splendid shots were made. There was a battery to the west of the
harbor that fired more accurately than the others, and so the Texas
got the range and dropped a shell into the powder magazine one day.
Everything about that battery seemed to be in the air at once when
that shell exploded. Nothing was left of it but a pile of ruins and a
big hole in the ground.

There is a ship in the United States navy that is unlike any other in
the world. She has three long guns which are built into the ship and
do not turn to one side or the other. The whole ship has to be pointed
at the object which the gunners wish to hit. She does not fire shells
loaded with powder, as other warships do, but uses a long shell filled
with gun-cotton, or dynamite, both of which are deadly explosives.
When one of these shells strikes anything the effect is terrible. The
Vesuvius, for that is the name of this ship, fired several of these
shells over the fortifications at Santiago, in the direction where
the Spanish fleet was lying. She did not hit any of them, but she tore
great holes in the sand and rocks near by. It is said that the
Spaniards called the Vesuvius "The Hurler of Earthquakes" because of
the damage her shells did. The guns of the Vesuvius are really firing
tubes. No powder is used in them, compressed air being the power that
expels the shells. Very little noise is made, and there is no smoke.

[Illustration: Forward Deck and Guns of the Vesuvius.]

If one small shell should strike the Vesuvius it would send men and
boat to the bottom at once, because she has so much deadly gun-cotton
on board. Her crew is almost afraid to move.

"Why, I'm afraid to even snore in my sleep," said one of them, "for
fear I'll discharge the gun-cotton; and as for kicking in my
sleep--why, I'm as quiet as a drugged snake."

[Illustration: A Jacky.]

"We slide along," said another; "we're afraid to walk at first. I went
on tiptoe for the first three days."

"Well, I went on my hands and knees the day it was so rough," said a
third. "A fellow has to learn to walk on any part of his anatomy in
this ship when the sea is rough."

The Vesuvius has been described as a ship which fights and then runs
away. That is, she fires three shells and then takes herself out of
the range of an enemy's fire.

I think this is a good place to tell you about a few more of the odd
ships that belong to Uncle Sam's navy, for no nation beside ours has
anything like them.

The Katahdin is an armored ram which relies upon her sharp prow to
disable an adversary. Her armament is only four six-pounder rapid-fire
guns.

Then there is a fleet of vessels whose duty it is to repair the
damages that ships receive in battle, supply fuel and water to
fighting ships, and to care for the wounded. All of these are novel
additions to the navy, but are practical auxiliaries in modern naval
operations.

The Vulcan is one of the repair ships. It is, in fact, a navigable
machine shop, fitted with steam tools for executing any work in metal.
It carries duplicates of nearly every article belonging to a modern
warship; and when you understand that some of these contain nearly
seventy sets of engines, you can easily see the advantage of having a
repair ship attached to a fleet.

Then there are the refrigerating ships, or "pantries," as the sailors
call them. Their mission is to assist in feeding the navy. They are
most valuable additions to a fleet, for they supply fresh meat and
vegetables to improve "Jack's" diet of "salt horse."

Next come the ships that supply fresh water to the crews of our
warships. These are fitted up with distilling apparatus, which
converts salt water into fresh. The Iris, as one of these is named,
belongs to the "sweet water squadron." The water consumption of a
vessel is enormous. A battleship will use seven thousand gallons every
day, which gives you an idea of the work such vessels as the Iris have
to perform.

Now we come to such ships as the Solace and the Relief. These are
hospital ships, and are provided with every appliance and convenience
to be found in a modern hospital, including X-ray outfits to aid in
locating bullets, a microscopic department, and a carbonator for
supplying mineral waters. The hull of the Solace is painted white,
with a wide stripe of green along the sides, and, as befits her
mission, carries no guns or weapons of any kind. Hospital ships fly
the "Red Cross" flag from their mastheads.

[Illustration: (Ships at sea)]

Our ships could guard Santiago and fire at the forts, but our naval
officers had good reasons for thinking that they could not take the
city unless our soldiers were on shore to help in different ways. Our
ships could not go safely into the harbor till the "mines" under the
water had been removed; the "mines" could not be removed till the
forts on the cliffs had been taken. So now the time had come for our
soldiers to go to Cuba.




CHAPTER VII.

OUR ARMY GOES TO CUBA.


Our soldiers--thousands of "Regulars" and thousands and thousands of
"Volunteers"--were waiting in camps in the eastern and southern parts
of the United States, in order to be ready to start for Cuba at short
notice. Thousands of them were never ordered to go, but stayed in camp
during all the war. Still, they were ready to go if needed.

About the middle of June more than 16,000 soldiers, under General
Shafter, sailed from Tampa, on the west coast of Florida, for the
southeastern shore of Cuba. It was hard work to ship so many men, and
2,000 horses and mules, and food, and all the things needed for war.
It took one week to load the ships. How many ships were needed for
this big "excursion party"? Thirty-four. Do you think our soldiers had
a pleasant voyage? They had not. They were crowded together, the
weather was very hot, some of the vessels were old and slow, and it
was six days before our Army drew near our Navy at Santiago, and
waited till plans were made for further movements.

Perhaps you are wondering where the Cubans were all this time, and
what they were doing. As our country was trying to help them, did not
the Cubans now come forward to join our forces? Yes. Several times
brave Americans had made their way in secret to distant parts of Cuba,
had met the Cuban generals, had talked with them, and brought back
messages. And now Admiral Sampson came out in a small boat to meet our
soldiers, and he took General Shafter on shore, a few miles west of
Santiago, to hold an important council with a number of Cuban
generals. The Cuban generals, chief of whom were General Garcia and
General Rabi, told our officers a good deal about the country, the
roads, etc., and planned to unite the Cuban troops with ours.

[Illustration: A Volunteer.]

When General Shafter returned, he ordered the soldiers to sail on
fifteen miles beyond Santiago, to a point called Daiquiri. This was
their landing-place. It was harder to land in Cuba than it had been to
leave Florida. Admiral Sampson sent some of his ships to fire upon
the shore and drive away the Spaniards, and he also sent small boats
to take our soldiers from the ships to the land. There were not boats
enough, so the landing was slow work. There was great trouble in
getting the horses and mules to swim ashore. But it takes less time to
unpack than to pack, and after four days our Army was on shore.

Our men were in a rough part of the country. Steep hills were
everywhere, the valleys were narrow, the roads were more like ditches.
Thick underbrush, prickly bushes and tall grasses grew in many places.
A number of men were set to work making roads, so that the wagons with
the army supplies could push on. It was the wet season, and rain fell
every day. Sometimes the streams would rise quickly and flood the new
roads. When the rain was not falling the air was hot, and a steam
seemed to rise from the ground. It seemed as if our men had no chance
at all.

Spanish soldiers had been sent out from Santiago, and were now busy
building log forts on hills a few miles from our camps, and piling up
stones and branches of trees to make mounds, and putting up fences of
barbed wire. In such places of shelter the Spaniards waited for our
troops to march forward.

You must understand that the city that our troops wanted to reach was
Santiago, but between them and it lay this rough country, where
marching would be so hard, and where the Spaniards had forts on some
of the hilltops.

[Illustration: Landing Troops at Daiquiri.]




CHAPTER VIII.

THE BATTLE OF LAS GUASIMAS.


A Number of our officers thought it would be best not to go forward
till some roads had been made, so that the army wagons could be sent
on; but General Shafter thought it would be best to march on at once.
He feared that after a week or ten days in that climate many of our
men might have fever and be unfit for service. So, even before all the
men had landed, General Shafter ordered the first ones to go forward
and drive the Spaniards from a place near Siboney. Thus, some of our
troops began their march just after landing from the boats. About two
hundred Cuban soldiers went with them, to lead the way and watch for
the hiding places of the Spaniards.

The troops reached the place in the evening, but found that the
Spaniards had left it and gone about three miles further westward to a
stronger fort. Our men rested all night, and before daylight the next
morning--Friday, June 24th--they marched on to hunt the enemy.

Now I must tell you something about these soldiers who were going to
fight their first battle in Cuba. There were nearly a thousand men;
some were "Regulars," others were "Volunteers." They belonged to the
Cavalry division of the Army--the soldiers who go on horses. But for
this first work in Cuba they had to go on foot, without their horses.

The "Volunteers" numbered about five hundred. They belonged to a
regiment called the "Rough Riders," and a strange regiment it was.
Most of these men were from the prairies and cattle-ranches in the
West; some were "cowboys," some were Indians. The others in the
regiment were young men from the East--business men, college men, sons
of rich men; all were brave, hardy fellows, fond of out-door life,
fond of excitement, not afraid of work. These young men had been
trained for the war by a man who was now one of their officers,
Lieutenant Colonel Roosevelt. He had given up a high position in order
to serve his country in this way. People in the United States laughed
when this company of "Rough Riders" was formed, and said that the
"cowboys" and Indians would not obey orders, and that the others would
not stand the hardships of war. But the people in the United States
did not laugh after the battle of Las Guasimas.

That June morning it was thought best to separate and march by two
roads, meeting near the Spanish fort. The way of the "Rough Riders"
led them up steep hills. Thick bushes grew all around, so that the men
could hardly see how to go; the sun rose, and the heat was so awful
that some of the men dropped down, faint and sick. Suddenly, from
among the trees and bushes came bullets, and the men began to fall,
wounded and dead. The Spaniards could not be seen at all, and they
were using smokeless powder that left no trace in the air. But our men
heard the whizz of the bullets, and felt their sting. The "Rough
Riders," as they pressed on quickly toward the fort, fired again and
again into the bushes. At last they met their comrades, who had come
by the other road and who had also had a hard fight, and all now
toiled up the hill, firing as they went. The Spaniards had to retreat,
and could now be seen by our men. The top of the hill was reached at
last, the fort was taken, and the Spaniards fled toward Santiago.

This hard fight, which lasted less than two hours, is called the
Battle of Las Guasimas, from the name of the poisonous kind of trees
in the thicket where the "Rough Riders" were shot down.

[Illustration: Last Stand of the Spaniards at Las Guasimas.]

It would require volumes to tell the bravery and heroism of the men
who fought the Spaniards at Las Guasimas. Every one entered into it
with enthusiasm. All stood their ground while the Spanish bullets were
singing around them, and then, when they were allowed to do so, poured
volley after volley into the brush in the direction from which the
shots came. Colonel Wood walked along his lines as coolly as though on
parade. Lieutenant-Colonel Roosevelt led his men through the brush
when the air seemed full of bullets. Captain Capron, the fifth from
father to son in the United States army, fell early in the fight, but
before he was hit by a Spanish bullet he used his revolver whenever he
saw a Spanish head.

[Illustration: Captain Allyn K. Capron.]

Everybody had confidence in their officers and in themselves. If they
were hit they fought on if the hurt was not mortal. If they could not
stand, they propped themselves against trees, and kept on firing as
the line went forward. Men fought with their arms in slings and with
bandaged heads.

Lieutenant Thomas, of Captain Capron's troop, and who was wounded
himself during that sweltering June day, tells some interesting
stories of the battle. He comes of a fighting family. His father
fought in the Civil War, his grandfather was killed in the Mexican
War, and three ancestors fell in the war of the Revolution.

"I am sorry that I did not have a chance to see more of the fighting,
but what I saw was of the warmest kind. On the 24th of June I was
with Troop L, under Captain Capron. We formed the advance guard, and
went out on a narrow trail toward Siboney. On the way we met some of
the men of the Twenty-second Infantry, who told us we were close to
the enemy, as they had heard them at work during the night. Captain
Capron, with six men, had gone on ahead of us and had come across the
body of a dead Cuban. Ten or fifteen minutes later Private Isbell saw
a Spaniard in the brush ahead of him and fired. This was the first
shot from our troop, and the Spaniard fell dead. Isbell himself was
shot seven times that day, but managed to walk back to our field
hospital, which was fully four miles in the rear.

"It has been said that we were ambushed, but this is not so. Poor
Captain Capron received his death wound early in the fight, and while
he was lying on the ground dying, he said: 'Let me see it out; I want
to see it all.' He lived an hour and fifteen minutes after the bullet
struck him, and up to the moment he fell had acted fearlessly, and had
exposed himself all the time to the enemy's fire.

"I was then next in command of the troop, and I noticed that some of
our men lay too closely together as they were deploying. I went down
the line ordering them to their proper distances, and as I passed
along, poor Hamilton Fish was lying, mortally wounded, a few feet from
me. When he heard my voice, Fish raised himself on his elbow and said:
'I am wounded; I am wounded.' That was the last I saw of him in life.
He was very brave and was very popular among the men of the troops.

"Sergeant Joe Kline, of Troop L, was wounded early that day, and was
ordered to the rear with several other wounded men. On his way to the
rear, Kline discovered a Spanish sharpshooter in a tree and shot at
him. The Spaniard fell dead, and Kline picked up a silver-mounted
revolver, which fell from the man's clothes, as a souvenir, which he
highly prizes. Several of the Spanish sharpshooters had picked up
cast-off clothing of the American soldiers, and wore them while they
were at their deadly work.

"Sergeant Bell, of our troop, was badly injured from an exploding
shell while on the firing line. He was ordered to the rear, but
quickly came back again. He was ordered away a second time, but a few
minutes later he was at the front again, firing away. For a third time
he was sent back, and once more he insisted on going to the front, and
when the other men saw him they greeted him with rousing cheers, and
he fought till the end of the day, although painfully wounded in the
back.

[Illustration: Col. Theodore Roosevelt.]

"While lying in the hospital, I heard a young man named Hall, who
belonged to the Twenty-second Infantry, tell a story which will
illustrate better than anything else the accuracy of the American
shooters. He and five other men had crossed a bend in a road to get
some water in their canteens. As they got into the open they were
attacked by thirty-two Spanish cavalrymen, who cut them up badly with
their sabres. Hall was the only one who was not killed. He was badly
trampled by the horses, and had some sabre wounds on his body. Later
on, Hall was picked up by some comrades to whom he told his story.
These men located the Spaniards who had done the work and opened fire
on them. When they had ceased firing there were thirty live horses,
two dead ones, and thirty-two dead Spaniards. This was pretty good
shooting, wasn't it?"

Many heroic deeds were done in the Battle of Las Guasimas, by the
"Regulars" as well as by the "Hough Eiders." Suffering was bravely
borne. Sixteen of our men were killed, and more than fifty wounded.
Yet all our troops took heart from the victory of that day, and began
to think it would be easy to go on driving the Spaniards back to
Santiago, and then to take that city. But it did not prove to be easy.

There is a little railroad which runs from some mines near Santiago to
the pier at Daiquiri. Before the landing was made, the Spaniards were
driven from the coast by the shells of the American fleet. Before they
hurried away they attempted to disable a locomotive which had steam
up. They took off the connecting rods, throttle gear and other
important parts of the machinery and hid them behind fences and other
places where they thought they would not be found. Then they blocked
the piston guides and ran off. But there were plenty of engineers and
mechanics among the American soldiers, and when they saw the condition
the locomotive was in they started to search for the missing parts.
Most of these were found and the machinery was cleverly patched up.
Then they knocked the blocks of wood out of the slides and threw fresh
coal into the firebox, and in a very short time the locomotive was
pulling a train of ore cars loaded with soldiers.

[Illustration: (Soldiers at rest)]




CHAPTER IX.

EL CANEY AND SAN JUAN.


For a few days after the battle of Las Guasimas no great event took
place. There was no fighting. The other troops were making their way
up from the coast, but the roads were so narrow and so bad that
progress was slow. The army wagons had great trouble to get on, and
many supplies were left at the coast or on the boats, because there
was no proper way of taking them forward. The heavy cannon were hauled
a few miles from the coast and then most of them were left, though
they would have been a great help to our Army, and should have been
taken to the front. It was soon found that many of the doctors'
supplies--the things needed in taking care of the sick and
wounded--had not been taken off the ships that brought the men from
Florida. It was thought by some of our men that now more effort should
be made to clear roads through the woods and thick bushes, but not
much was done. A great deal of fault has been found with the way
things were managed at this time. It seems as if some of the officers
were very much to blame. There need not have been so many men killed
in the battles that followed, or so much suffering and sickness in our
Army, if all our officers had done their duty. Meanwhile, the
Spaniards went on improving their forts on the hills a few miles away.

Nearly two thousand more of our soldiers landed in Cuba about this
time, and more were expected soon.

But I must tell you about another Army that arrived in this part of
Cuba during these days--a very small one beside General Shafter's
Army, but one that did mighty work. Have you ever heard of the Red
Cross Society? This is a society that nurses the sick and wounded. It
has members in all parts of the world. Its chief officer is Miss Clara
Barton, whose work has been so great and noble that it has made the
whole world better. The badge, or flag of the Red Cross Army is a red
cross on a white ground.

[Illustration: Miss Clara Barton.]

The Red Cross Army takes no part in war except to help those who need
help. It does not know the difference between friend and foe. Its work
is a work of love and mercy. No soldiers with any honor would ever
fire upon a tent that has the Red Cross flag floating over it, or harm
any person wearing the Red Cross badge. Yet, to the awful disgrace of
the Spaniards, it is known that some of them, hidden in trees and
bushes, fired upon doctors and nurses who were taking care of the
wounded on the battlefields near Santiago.

This was the new Army, whose soldiers wear the sign of the Red Cross,
that reached this part of Cuba now, and put up a large tent. In this
tent all help that could be given was given, to Spaniards, Cubans and
Americans. There were also "floating hospitals"--ships fitted up as
hospitals. They proved to be great blessings to our Army and Navy.

You will remember that the Red Cross Society took great quantities of
supplies to the suffering Cubans in the early part of 1898. Its work
in Cuba was just well-established when hostilities broke out between
the United States and Spain, and while the members who were on the
ground wanted to stay and carry on the work of relief, General Blanco
told them it was best for them to leave the island. They did so
reluctantly, after doing all they could to insure the proper
distribution of the supplies they left behind them. The result was
that the food and medicines intended for the Cubans were used to
sustain the Spanish army.

When the blockade of Cuban ports was instituted, the Red Cross Society
was asked by the Government to take charge of the steamship State of
Texas which had been loaded with provisions, clothing, medical and
hospital supplies by the generous people of the United States. Miss
Clara Barton instantly responded, but the ship was not allowed to go
to Cuba under a flag of truce, because Acting Rear-Admiral Sampson
would not allow it. He said he was afraid the supplies would fall into
the hands of the Spanish army. But the Red Cross Society would not
give up its errand of mercy, and when the United States army invaded
Cuba, the State of Texas followed the transports and so got to Cuba
after all, and anchored at a little place called Siboney, where the
nurses immediately began to care for the wounded on the hospital ship
Solace.

There had been so much mismanagement about the landing of the troops
and the supplies, that General Shafter's army was without medicines or
shelter for his wounded men. When he learned that the Red Cross ship
had arrived, he sent word to Miss Barton to seize any empty army
wagons and send him a load of hospital supplies and medical stores.
She did this, although there were no boats obtainable to convey the
supplies to the shore. There were only two old scows which had been
thrown away as useless, but the Red Cross men patched them up as best
they could, and then loaded them with the material asked for. They
worked all night, and just as the sun rose in the morning, they
managed to get them to the shore. It was the hardest kind of work
unloading the scows in the surf, but they did it, and loaded some
wagons with the precious supplies. Then the women nurses, who had been
drenched to the skin in the surf, mounted on top of the load and
started on a terrible ride over a roadless country. They reached the
army, and the whole world knows the splendid work they did there. It
was no fault of the surgeon-general of the United States that they
were able to accomplish it, though, for he was opposed to female
nurses and his action sadly hampered the work.

But now I must tell you about the next hard work that our soldiers had
to do. On the last day of June, General Shafter gave orders that the
whole Army was to move on toward Santiago the next day. General
Shafter was sick, and stayed at headquarters in his tent, two miles
away. Before Santiago could be reached, El Caney and San Juan had to
be taken. So, on the first of July, early in the morning, six thousand
of our troops, under brave officers, marched to attack El Caney.
General Shafter thought this place could be taken in about an hour.

[Illustration: Church at El Caney, Wrecked by American Shells.]

The town of El Caney, four miles northeast of Santiago, lies in a
broad valley. Beyond it, on the Santiago side, is a high, level piece
of country. The houses in the town are built of stone, and have thick
walls. The town was protected by a stone fort on a hill, and also by
log forts, trenches, and covered places, where the Spaniards could
stay under shelter while they fired. The stone fort on the hill was
first attacked by our men, and if they had had more heavy cannon the
work might have been easy. As it was, more than half the day passed,
and, in spite of the hard work of our men, the fort still stood. Our
men had no smokeless powder, and their firing made a big black cloud
around them all the time, so that they could not see clearly. At last
the stone walls of the fort began to weaken, and then our men were
ordered to "storm." They ran along the valley, broke through fences of
barbed wire, and went up the hill with such a rush that the Spaniards
could not meet them, but fled down into the town. The other forts kept
up firing for a while, but our men, now having the fort on the hill,
forced the Spaniards farther and farther, and, by four o'clock, our
men held the town. The whole place was strewn with dead Spaniards, and
our own loss was heavy. Both sides had fought bravely, and the
struggle had lasted nearly nine hours.

[Illustration: General Henry W. Lawton.]

At El Caney the Spaniards made the strongest resistance that the
American army met in Cuba. One of the foremost figures in this
battle was Brigadier-General Henry W. Lawton. I must tell you
something about him. Lawton was but seventeen years old when the Civil
War in this country broke out. He enlisted at once and was made a
sergeant in an Indiana regiment. When his term of service expired he
re-enlisted and fought gallantly throughout the remainder of the war.
After the war was over Lawton enlisted in the regular army and was
sent to the frontier, where he developed into one of the best Indian
fighters in the army. When our country went to war with Spain, Lawton
was holding an important position in the War Department at Washington.
His splendid services were remembered and he was promoted to be a
brigadier-general of volunteers and sent to Cuba. After the war with
Spain was over, Lawton was again promoted, and in 1899 was sent to the
Philippines to assist in putting down the Filipino insurrection.

[Illustration: Battle of El Caney.]

Meanwhile, our other regiments had been ordered to attack San Juan, a
village on steep heights, less than a mile east of Santiago. Our men
went to the place by two different roads, and had to go through woods,
wade through streams, and wind along narrow paths. A number of men
from each regiment went before, with tools, and cut the fences of
barbed wire. Fences of barbed wire had been put, like a network, all
around Santiago, to keep our men away.

[Illustration: Assault of San Juan Hill.]

San Juan was protected by trenches and forts, and from these places
Spanish bullets rained down upon our men. During the early hours of
the morning there was much confusion among our troops. They were
looking for further orders from headquarters, but none came. So, at
last, the captains and colonels took things into their own hands and
did what seemed best. Again there was need of more heavy cannon, and
again our men were troubled by having powder that made a thick black
smoke. Just as it was at El Caney, so it was at San Juan; not having
cannon enough to destroy the forts, our men had to take the place by
storm. Colonel Roosevelt led his "Rough Riders" in one of the finest
charges ever made. The other troops, nearly all "Regulars," did noble
work. With bullets pouring down upon them, our men made a wild rush up
the heights, and the Spaniards fled. The struggle to take San Juan had
lasted more than five hours, and cost many lives.

Though our men were worn and weary, they took no rest that night. They
buried the dead, they repaired the forts and trenches. Our men knew
that the Spaniards would try to win back the heights of San Juan, the
last stronghold on the outskirts of Santiago.

At daybreak the next morning the Spaniards attacked our troops, and
the fighting went on all day. A sharp attack was made in the evening,
but our men still held the place. Yet they did not feel secure. The
Spanish Army in Santiago was a large one, and might force our men
back. Our men, though weary from marching and fighting and digging,
hungry, for food was scarce, wanted to hold the heights that had been
so dearly won.

The attack upon the Spanish defenses of Santiago began early in the
morning of July 1st, as I have told you, and I wish I could tell you
the one hundredth part of the brave and gallant deeds that were done
by our brave soldiers on that and the next day.

[Illustration: Lieutenant John H. Parker.]

Battery A, of the Second United States Artillery, fired the first shot
of the engagement known as the battle of El Caney. The Spaniards
replied, after it had sent five shells among them. The Spanish forces
were much stronger than our men thought they were, and it took General
Lawton nearly all day to gain possession of El Caney. Early in the
day, Lieutenant Parker's battery of four Gatling guns began to hurl
bullets into the Spanish trenches, and so well did it keep up the work
that it played a very important part in the battle and a great deal of
the credit of the victory is due to Lieutenant Parker. Afterwards,
Lieutenant Parker, in speaking of these wonderful machine guns, said:

"We trained the guns on the top of the hill. They were fired above the
heads of the slowly advancing line of blue which had started up the
slope. I ordered the men to work the Gatlings as fast as they could.
The result was astounding. With each of the four guns firing at the
rate of eight hundred shots a minute, the bullets formed a canopy over
the heads of the men at the foot of the hill. A Gatling gun in action
is a sight to remember; so thick and fast do the bullets fly that one
can actually see the stream of lead leaving the gun and, as if
handling a hose, train it on any desired point.

"I remember one incident of the first day which showed how deadly was
the fire of these machine guns. Away off, across the valley, we saw a
clump of Spanish cavalrymen. I ordered the guns turned on them. They
were so far away we had to use glasses to find them accurately, but
when the little wheels began to turn, those who stood in the front
line of the clump fell as grass falls before a mower, and it didn't
take the rest of those Spaniards long to get behind something.

"As the day wore on, and the troops kept climbing up the hill, Colonel
Roosevelt, who had been watching the work of the Gatlings, came along
and placed his light battery of two Colt machine guns and one dynamite
gun in my command."

You can get an idea of the deadly work of the Gatlings when I tell you
that the fire of one of these guns is equal to that of one hundred and
eighty riflemen, each discharging thirteen shots per minute.

The dynamite gun is the latest development in light artillery. One of
them had been supplied to Roosevelt's Rough Riders, or "Teddy's
Terrors," as they were often called, but none of them wanted to handle
it.

[Illustration: Sergeant Borrowe Working the Dynamite Gun.]

They were willing to face Spanish bullets, but they were afraid of the
dynamite gun. They thought it was just as dangerous at one end as at
the other. It is an odd looking piece of artillery, having two tubes,
or barrels, one above the other. It throws a long cartridge or shell,
similar in shape, but not so large as those used on the Vesuvius,
about which I have told you. One day Sergeant Borrowe volunteered to
manage the gun that the rest of the men were afraid of. They let him
have it, and he did splendid work with it.

Another famous gun in the fighting before Santiago was gun No. 2, of
Captain Capron's battery. Captain Capron was the father of the young
man who was killed in the battle of Las Guasimas. No guns did more
effective work than his, unless it was Parker's Gatlings, and one shot
from this No. 2 is said to have killed sixteen Spaniards at one time.
After the battery returned to the United States, Lieutenant Henly,
after saying that the battery was in every battle on Cuban soil except
that at Las Guasimas, continued:

"We were peculiarly fortunate in escaping the bullets. The only man
killed in our battery was a horse--I suppose we can count him as a
man. At El Caney, we were directed to support the infantry in an
attack on several blockhouses and a stone fort. We were twenty-four
hundred yards away and soon got the range. The first shot was fired by
Corporal Williams. Corporal Neff fired the shot that brought down the
Spanish flag. We pounded a hole in the fort and the infantry went
through it."

A young soldier who was wounded at San Juan told this story:

"My company got mixed up in the charge, and I pushed on with the
Thirteenth Regulars. When we reached the top of the hill, some of us
took shelter in a blockhouse and began firing from there at the
opposite hills. There wasn't one of the enemy in sight unless you
count dead ones, so we blazed away at nothing at all, for awhile. But
they had us dead in range, and it was no dream the way their bullets
played around us.

[Illustration: The Famous No. 2 Gun.]

"One of the bravest things I saw in the war happened right here. An
officer came up--he was a major of regulars--I don't know his
regiment--and he saw that we didn't know what to aim at, and were
getting a little rattled. So what did he do but quickly walk out in
front of the blockhouse where the bullets were coming thickest, and
proceed to study the hills with his field-glass, just as unconcerned
as you please. And every now and then he would call to us who were
inside, 'Men, sight at eight hundred yards and sweep the grass on the
ridge of the hill'; or, again: 'Men, I can see the Spaniards over
there; try a thousand-yard range and see if you can't get some of
them. Fire low!' I never saw such nerve as that officer had; he'd have
stirred courage in everybody."

"Didn't he get hit?" he was asked.

"I'll tell you about that in a minute; but while he was out there
shaking hands with death, you might say, I was witness to a little
incident in the blockhouse that is worth telling about: A lot of us
were in there from different regiments--some from the Thirteenth, some
from the Sixteenth, and some colored boys from the Twenty-fourth. We
were all blazing away through the firing-openings in the walls.

[Illustration: Bringing Up Captain Capron's Battery.]

"Just beside me was a big negro, who didn't seem more than half
interested in what he was doing. I saw him pull a dead Spaniard out of
the door with a listless movement, and then pick up his rifle as if he
thought the whole thing a bore. Suddenly, a bullet came in with a
zip along the underside of his gun barrel, glanced against the strap,
and took the skin off the negro's knuckles as if they'd been scraped
with a knife. And then you should see the change! He wasn't
scared--not a bit; but he was mad enough to have charged the whole
Spanish army alone. How he did talk--not loud, just quietly to
himself--and how he did grab his cartridges and begin to shoot.

"Speaking of cartridges, some of the boys ran short because they had
thrown away a lot in their haversacks; but I had put two beltfuls in a
pair of socks and pinned them inside my shirt with safety pins, so I
had plenty, and I was peppering away from behind a brick chimney, when
one of the Thirteenth lads called out to me: 'Come over here,
Seventy-one; I've got a fine shot for you.'

"I looked around and saw him standing by a window that was barred with
iron, but had no sash to it. He was kneeling on the floor, just
showing his head over the sill, and looking at the Spanish line. He
was a nice looking lad, not a day over twenty-one, and his face was as
smooth as a girl's. 'All right,' said I, going over to him, 'Where's
your shot?'

"'There,' said he, pointing to one of the hills: 'nobody's fired at
that one yet, but I'm sure the dagos are there. Set your sights at six
hundred yards and we'll try it together!'

"So I fixed my sights, and we both fired out of the window with our
rifles resting on the ledge. As I drew back I saw there was something
queer with the boy, and noticed a splash of red on the lobe of his
ear, just like a coral bead.

"'Did they wing you?' I asked. And even as I spoke, he staggered
against the wall and turned round so that I saw him full in the face.
There was a hole in the other side, just at the cheek bone, that I
could have put my finger in. He had been shot clear through the head.

"'Poor chap,' I said, and lifted him over behind the chimney, where I
had been. He didn't speak. I left him there and went to the door,
thinking that I might see a Red Cross nurse somewhere about, and sure
enough, there was one bending over a man stretched on the ground. It
was the major who had been giving us the ranges.

"'Is he hurt bad?' I asked.

"The Red Cross man had the major's shirt open, looking at his wound.
'He's shot through the heart,' he said.

"'Can you come in here a minute, when you get through with him?
There's a Thirteenth boy just been hit.'

"'Hit where?'

"'In the head.'

"'Hold him by the jowls,' he said, 'until I come,' So I held him by
the jowls, and then he spoke for the first time, and what he said was
this: 'Say, Seventy-one, I done my duty, didn't I?'

"I told him that he did.

"'I had my face toward 'em when they got me, didn't I?

"'Sure, you did.'

"'Well,' he went on, quite cheerful like, 'I may get through this, and
if I do, I'll have another crack at 'em. But if I don't, why I aint
got no kick comin', for there'll be others to stay here with me.'

"That was the last I saw of him, for the Red Cross man came in then,
and I went back to the firing. He was a game boy, though, wasn't he?"

[Illustration: The "Red Cross" in the Field.]

What would have become of the wounded if the Red Cross nurses had not
been on the field to help them, nobody knows, except that thousands of
"mothers' boys" were saved, who in a few hours more would have been
beyond mortal aid. No wonder bearded men wept like babies and blessed
the angels of mercy as they passed. The boys went into the fight
hungry, lay for two days in trenches, almost without food; and when
they were wounded, were ordered to make their way to the rear as best
they could. Men with desperate wounds had to walk or crawl perhaps a
mile; perhaps five or six miles, over the wild, rough country, those
who were least injured, assisting their comrades, and hundreds dying
by the wayside. Had the Red Cross been allowed its way in the
beginning, many of these horrors would have been avoided. The few army
surgeons did all in their power, but nearly everything they-needed to
allay suffering was lacking, and so insufficient was the force that
many of the wounded lay for days before their turn came. Men taken
from the operating table, perhaps having just had a leg or arm cut
off, or with bodies torn by bullets, were laid naked on the
rain-soaked ground, without shelter, and in the majority of cases
without even blankets. And there they lay through two long days and
nights. All honor to the Red Cross Society which finally forced its
way to the spot and knew exactly what to do.

[Illustration: Captain "Buckey" O'Neill.]

Some time after the return of the "Rough Riders" to the United States,
Colonel Roosevelt told some interesting experiences:

"I recollect, as I was sitting, I gave a command to one of my
orderlies, and he rose up and saluted and fell right forward across my
knees dead. The man upon whom I had most to rely--I relied upon all of
those gallant men, but the man upon whom I most relied, Buckey
O'Neill--was standing up, walking up and down in front of his men,
wanting to show them by his example that they must not get nervous,
and to reassure them.

"Somebody said, 'Captain--Captain O'Neill! You will be struck by a
bullet as sure as fate; lie down! lie down!' and he laughed, and said,
'Why, the Spanish bullet is not made that will kill me!' And the next
minute a bullet struck him in the mouth and came out the back of his
head and he was killed right there.

"Captain Jenkins crept up beside one of his sharpshooters and said to
him, 'I see a Spaniard over in that tree, give me your rifle for a
moment.' He fired two or three shots and then turned around and handed
the rifle back to the man, and the man was dead--had been killed
without making a sign or sound as he stood beside him.

"I was talking to a gallant young officer, asking him questions, and
he was answering. I turned around and he had been shot through the
stomach."

But General Shafter, still at headquarters some miles away, did not
know how the men felt, and thought they ought to retreat to some safer
point, and wait for more troops from the United States. Early the next
morning--Sunday, July 3d--General Shafter sent a telegram to the War
Office at Washington, saying that he thought of withdrawing his forces
from the neighborhood of Santiago. An answer was sent to him, asking
him to try to hold his present place, and more troops started for
Cuba.

Fortunately, there were brave commanders in the American army who did
not think as General Shafter did.--They had been doing the fighting,
while he hadn't, and they had no idea of giving up an inch of the
ground they had gained. One of the most prominent of them was General
Joseph Wheeler. He had a splendid record in the Civil War, fighting on
the side of the Confederacy. He was a bold and tireless fighter, and
before he was thirty years old he was the commander of all the
Confederate cavalry. His sabre had flashed in the thickest of many
fights and he had led his splendid horsemen in many a furious charge.

When the war with Spain broke out, General Wheeler offered his
services to the Government and was sent to Cuba, and when there began
to be talk of retreat after those terrible days of fighting before
Santiago, the splendid old Confederate counselled holding the army
where it was, and fighting the Spaniards again, if necessary. He said,
"American prestige would suffer irretrievably if we gave up an inch;
we must stand firm!"

[Illustration: General Joseph Wheeler.]

The message from General Shafter flew through the United States, and
caused great anxiety. It was sad to think that our troops had drawn
near the place they had been striving to reach, had had great labor,
had borne much suffering, and that now, after all, they might have to
retreat because there were not enough of them to finish the work--not
enough to take Santiago.

But that very Sunday something took place that changed the whole color
of the scene.

[Illustration: (U.S. flag flying over building)]




CHAPTER X.

THE SPANISH FLEET LEAVES THE HARBOR.


While our Army had been toiling along narrow roads and through dense
forests, wading the streams and storming the forts, on the way to
Santiago, our Navy had been keeping up its blockade of the harbor.
Perhaps I should explain to you that the Merrimac, sunk by Lieutenant
Hobson, did not really close the channel, because the Merrimac had not
gone down in the right spot on account of the breaking of the rudder.
So our vessels still kept a close blockade.

The Spaniards now felt worried. Our Navy was at one side of Santiago,
and our Army at the other. The Spaniards in the city thought our Army
was larger than it was, and the word passed round that fifty thousand
American soldiers were on the hills. Food was scarce in Santiago;
there would soon be danger of starvation. In this state of affairs,
Admiral Cervera, taking a wild chance for life and liberty, with the
hope of being able afterward to help his countrymen, led his fleet out
of the harbor.

Sunday morning, July 3d, was clear and beautiful. The cliffs of the
harbor, and the old forts, made a fine show under the blue sky. The
red and yellow flag of Spain floated, as usual, on top of Morro
Castle. Far in the distance the mountain tops showed plainly--a dark
line against the sky. The sea was smooth.

Our vessels were in place near the mouth of the harbor, though a few
were missing. The Massachusetts and some smaller vessels had gone to
Guantanamo for coal; the flagship New York had gone eastward to a
place where Admiral Sampson could go ashore, for he wished to arrange
plans with General Shafter. Commodore Schley had been left in charge
of the fleet, and his flagship was the Brooklyn. It was at the western
end of our half-circle of ships.

On Saturday evening, the night before, some of the men on board the
Iowa saw a good deal of smoke rising within the harbor, and thought
the Spanish ships might be getting ready to rush out. These men spoke
to their captain about the smoke, but the captain thought that the
Spaniards were only fixing their fires. The smoke seemed to him no
thicker than it had often been before. The men on the deck could not
help thinking about the smoke, and tried to ease their minds by making
ready the signal, so that it could be run up instantly if the Spanish
ships started out. But the night passed away, the signal was not
needed, and the men concluded that the smoke really had meant nothing.
They never dreamed that the Spaniards would come out in daytime. So it
seemed likely that the day would pass quietly.

As it was Sunday, not much work was going on. By nine o'clock all the
men were dressed in their white clothes, ready for the Sunday morning
"inspection." Some of the officers were gloomy, for they had had news
about the terrible losses in the Army during the last two days.

Suddenly, about half past nine, shouts are heard on some of the ships,
and the signal flies up on the Iowa: "Enemy's ships are coming out,"
and a gun is fired from the Iowa, to attract the notice of all the
fleet. Our ships, so still a moment before, are now full of life.
Every man shouts to his neighbor, "They're coming out! they're coming
out!" Men run in all directions to get to their posts; officers buckle
on their swords; orders are quickly given. "Sound the general alarm!"
"Clear ship for action!" "Bugles call to general quarters!" "Steam and
pressure on the turrets!" "Hoist the battle-flags!" "Close the
hatches!" "Full steam ahead!" "Turn on the current of the electric
hoists!" "Get to your guns, lads!"

Our men are hurrahing and yelling with glad excitement. They throw off
their white clothes, and tumble down the ladders, and throw themselves
through the hatchways in their haste to obey orders. In less than
three minutes every vessel is speeding along, and has obeyed the
signal: "Open fire!"

There are the beautiful Spanish ships running at full speed, in a
line, one behind the other, all their flags flying as if on a holiday
parade. They are coming out of the channel and turning westward,
firing fiercely on the Brooklyn, the nearest of our ships, while the
forts on the cliffs fire on the rest of our fleet. First of the
Spanish ships comes the Maria Teresa, carrying the flag of Admiral
Cervera. The last two in the line are the torpedo-boat destroyers.

Our ships send forth a storm of fire; every instant the roar of our
guns is heard, and the air is so filled with smoke that our men can
hardly see their enemy.

Indeed, it is a wonder that our ships, all rushing toward the Spanish
ships, do not crash into one another. And how can they help injuring
one another with their guns? Ah, there is good management! Not one of
the captains loses his wits--not one of the gunners mistakes a friend
for a foe.

Now the Maria Teresa is on fire in different places, and turns in
toward the shore. Great columns of flame shoot up as the big ship runs
upon the beach and hauls down her flag as a sign of surrender. Now
another Spanish ship is on fire from our guns, and runs ashore,
hauling down her flag. She is as helpless as the Teresa. Not half an
hour has passed since those two ships came out of the harbor, yet now,
after running six or seven miles, they are ashore and in flames; most
of their men are killed or wounded, the others are clinging to parts
of the ships or jumping into the sea, though sharks are plainly seen
in the water.

Meanwhile, the Gloucester, one of our smallest vessels, is attacking
the two torpedo-boat destroyers, and, with a little help from some of
our battleships, soon puts an end to the two little Spanish boats. One
of them sinks, the other is compelled to run ashore; both ruined in
less than eight minutes after the Gloucester fired the first shot at
them.

The chase goes on, the guns keep up their deadly fire. Now another
Spanish ship, the Vizcaya, turns to the shore, flames shooting from
her decks. As she touches the beach, two loud explosions shake her
from end to end. She has held her course for an hour and twenty
minutes, but now she is burning on the shore.

Only one Spanish ship is left, the Cristóbol Colón, flying at full
speed, six miles ahead of our first ship, the Brooklyn. The Oregon and
the Texas follow the Brooklyn, and the New York is only a short
distance behind. For, of course, the New York, though several miles
away when the race began, heard the signal gun, and turned, and flew
back to Santiago on the wings of the wind. Faster and faster flies the
New York, gaining rapidly in the race.

Surely, it is an exciting race, for the Colón is flying for life.
Commodore Schley takes the Brooklyn farther out to sea, to head off
the Colón, when she turns her course; but our other ships follow the
Spaniard. There is little firing now from either side--the ships are
racing.

[Illustration: Destruction of Admiral Cervera's Fleet.]

Two hours pass in this way, and now the Brooklyn and the Oregon fire
heavily at the Cristóbol Colón, again and again. The helpless Colón
hauls down her flag, and turns toward the shore. The last Spanish ship
gives up the struggle at fifteen minutes after one o'clock, fifty
miles west of Santiago.

While Commodore Schley is sending Captain Cook in a small boat to
receive the surrender of the Colón, the crews of the Brooklyn and
Oregon crowd upon the decks and turrets to cheer each other and shout
for joy. Some of the men of the Oregon rush at once for their drums
and bugles, and the notes of "The Star Spangled Banner" rise in place
of the roar of the guns. The New York and the Texas arrive, and the
four ships rest in triumph.

While waiting and resting, a scene took place on the Texas that will
long be remembered. The captain suddenly ordered, "All hands aft!" The
crew of five hundred men went to the deck to hear their captain's
message. The captain, in a few simple words, spoke to the men of his
faith in the Father Almighty, and then said: "I want all of you,
officers and crew, to lift your hats, and in your hearts to offer
silent thanks to God." The men were silent a few minutes, and then
left the deck, giving, as they went, "Three cheers for our captain."

[Illustration: Working the Guns on the Brooklyn.]

While the Brooklyn, Oregon, Texas, and New York were following the
Cristóbol Colón, our other vessels were busy saving the lives of
Spaniards on board the sinking and burning ships. One small boat after
another was lowered from our vessels, and the crews went to the
burning vessels, where stores of powder were exploding every moment,
took off the wounded Spaniards, and saved the men who had jumped into
the sea and were trying to swim ashore. The work of rescue lasted till
eight o'clock that night. A thousand Spaniards, among them Admiral
Cervera and his son, were brought to our ships, and were well tended.
Most of the Spaniards needed clothes, having thrown aside their
garments when jumping into the sea; all needed food; a large number,
being wounded, needed the care of our doctors. What the captain of the
Iowa said of his men may be said of the crews of all our other
vessels: "I cannot express my admiration for my magnificent crew. So
long as the enemy showed his flag, they fought like American seamen;
but when the flag came down, they were as gentle and tender as
American women."

[Illustration: Admiral Cervera.]

Admiral Cervera was picked up by the Gloucester, but afterwards was
taken to the Iowa, where he was received with due honors. The bugles
were sounded as he came over the side of the ship, the officers
saluted him as Admiral, the crew cheered him to show their admiration
for his courage. The Admiral's kindness to Lieutenant Hobson was
remembered by our men, and they showed that they were grateful.
Afterward, the Admiral was asked why the Spanish ships had not left
the harbor during the hours of night, and he answered: "The
searchlights of your ships were too blinding."

What a change had taken place in less than four hours on that Sunday!
The Spanish fleet had been destroyed, six hundred Spaniards had lost
their lives, many were wounded, a thousand were in the hands of the
Americans. Our men had won a great victory, had not lost a ship, and
had only one man killed and one wounded.

The story of the Gloucester's fight with the "destroyers" has been
graphically told by one who was on board her during that exciting
time.

"The Spaniards were beginning to get the range with their deadly
automatic one-pounders. One shot in the right place would sink us.
There was a line of splashes in the water, like that made by jumping
fish, tracing accurately the length of our vessel, and gradually
coming nearer and nearer.

"Crash! crash! went our guns, and suddenly, when within ten yards of
the ship, the splashes ceased. The man at the gun had been killed. We
were saved temporarily, but still the enemy was fighting for dear
life. Both destroyers were trying their best to sink us; we refused to
go down. Suddenly the pin of number four gun dropped out and it was
necessary to remove the breach block and find the pin. It was all done
quietly, quickly, but the nervous strain was awful. We were now within
five hundred yards of the Furor, firing; sometimes at her and
sometimes at the Pluton. At this point the New York went speeding by
and cheered us as she passed. Gradually the Pluton's guns became
silent, and it was evident that she was in distress. She was making
for the shore.

"Suddenly there was a great flash aboard her, a mass of steam rose
into the air, and she had exploded, probably in the engine room. Later
we learned that a shot had passed clear through her boilers. A great
cheer went up from the Gloucester's crew. But what was the Furor
doing? Coming toward us? It was the last act of desperation. Again the
starboard battery had come into use. There was no time to be lost;
either we must sink the Furor or she would sink us.

"Our fire was redoubled. It was too fierce; no vessel could stand it.
Still continuing on the circle, with a starboard helm, the Furor
turned away from us toward Morro. But we kept up our heart-breaking
fire. Like a stag, the boat turned again and made for her companion,
which was now lying on her side amid the breakers, endeavoring, to
escape us, but in vain; and, still turning, she made weakly toward us
again. Then the truth dawned upon us; she was unmanageable, and was,
simply moving in a circle, with a jammed helm. The battle was at an
end.

"But our work was by no means over. We had spent two hours in
slaughtering our friends who had crossed the sea to meet us, and we
now spent twelve hours in rescuing the survivors."

[Illustration: Lieut.-Commander Wainwright.]

The Gloucester was commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Wainwright, a
most gallant and plucky officer. He was the executive officer of the
battleship Maine when she was blown up in Havana harbor shortly before
the war began. His fight with the "destroyers" was one of the bravest
deeds ever recorded in naval history. After rescuing Admiral Cervera
from the water, he placed his cabin at his disposal, did everything to
make him comfortable, and treated him with the deference due his rank.

A midshipman on the Almirante Oquendo, who managed to get ashore
after his ship was beached, told this story:

"The flagship opened fire while we, being the last, were still some
way from the harbor mouth, yet before we cleared the entrance we got
struck by a few shells. I was in the forward central torpedo room, and
as, according to orders, the port holes were shut, I could see but
little of what was taking place outside. We did not at once use our
torpedoes, for shortly after the action began, a heavy projectile
crashed through the upper deck and destroyed the shield near which I
was standing. I was knocked down by the force of the explosion,
receiving a slight leg wound from a fragment of the shell, while a
splinter of the starboard gangway was driven into my chest near the
heart. On recovering my feet, I found that the starboard torpedo tube
was smashed and that the deck was strewn with dead and wounded, a few
of whom were seeking to go up the gangway, which was also destroyed.
Very shortly we all had to clear out of the room, as it became
impossible to breathe there, owing to a lot of material taking fire. I
sank, half choked, on the upper deck, but was revived by someone
turning a hose on my head.

"On rising again, I found myself close to the second commander, Don
Victor Sola, who was encouraging the crew, and Señor Nunoz, who put
his arm around me, exclaiming, 'They are making a man of you to-day.'
At that moment a heavy shell burst behind me, small particles lodging
in my neck. This shell killed Don Victor Sola, whom I saw fall on his
face without uttering a word. Right across his body fell that of the
first gunner. When Captain Lazaga heard that the forward magazines
were ablaze he followed the lead of the Teresa, heading for land and
running the vessel ashore. I went back to the torpedo room and
stripped. When I got back on deck, my companions were gone, so I got
through the port cannon embrasure and slipped down a chain into the
water."

The destruction of the Spanish fleet at Santiago was as complete as
the destruction of the Spanish fleet at Manila. Commodore Schley was
the senior officer in command, and it was fitting that the man who
"bottled-up" Cervera's fleet should be the one to destroy it. After
peace was declared, he was promoted to be a rear-admiral, and the
people of the United States presented him with the costliest sword
ever given a military or naval officer. It was a direct gift from the
people to the man, and showed the estimation in which they held him.

In the running fight at Santiago, as at the battle of Manila, every
officer and man did his duty. The Spanish vessels were out-sailed and
out-fought. The American vessels were not injured and the Spanish were
crushed. The American gunnery was effective at close range and long;
the Spanish gunnery was not good at any range. The American shells
told wherever they struck and the American vessels were maneuvered
with the greater skill. Under the stress of the greatest excitement,
the Americans showed the effect of their splendid drill and
discipline.

Admiral Cervera and the principal Spanish officers were taken to
Annapolis and installed in comfortable quarters. One of them said:
"You ought to be proud of your country, because you have such good
people." Another remarked, "I do not know that I am a prisoner except
that I cannot go home." Eventually they were all sent back to Spain.

It has been truly said that laughter and tears lie very close
together. It is equally true that in the midst of solemn and terrible
events some amusing things happen, even though they may not seem funny
at the time. And so, in connection with the exciting events of July
3d, 1898, some laughable stories are told.

When the Spanish fleet came out of the harbor with all their colors
flying, a lieutenant on the Texas looked up and saw that his ship was
displaying nothing but the Stars and Stripes. "Where are our
battle-flags?" said he. Just then the Texas sent a shell against the
Maria Teresa. "I guess they won't have any doubt about our being in
battle," said Captain Philip. But the lieutenant thought that a battle
was nothing without battle-flags, and sent a messenger after them. But
the flags were locked up, and the man who had the key was busy in
another part of the ship. "Then smash the locker," said the
lieutenant, when informed of this fact. The locker was smashed, and
soon the Texas was fighting under her battle-flags.

In the thickest of the fight a young lad on the Texas was heard to
say: "Fourth of July celebration, eh? A little early, but a good one!"

During the chase after the Colón, the men of the Oregon went in turn
to dinner, Captain Clark having called to them: "Now, children, go and
get something to eat, if it is only a little bread and butter." The
men satisfied themselves with a few bites, and then hurried back to
the deck to watch the exciting race. The Oregon and the Brooklyn were
gaining steadily on the Colón. Suddenly the Brooklyn signaled to the
Oregon: "She seems built in Italy." And the Oregon signaled back: "She
may have been built in Italy, but she will end on the coast of Cuba."

While some of the ships were chasing the Colón, and others were
rescuing the wounded and drowning Spaniards, the Indiana, according to
orders, returned to watch the harbor entrance. Suddenly an excitement
was caused on the Indiana by news that a large Spanish battleship was
coming from the eastward. Captain Taylor at once made ready for
another fight, and sent his men to their guns. The officers on the
bridge looked through their field-glasses at the strange ship, three
miles away. "Yes, it is a Spanish ship." "Yes, she has Spanish
colors." The stranger drew near, the guns of the Indiana were just
about to open fire, but the foreign ship signaled her name and
country--"Kaiserin Maria Theresa, Austria"--in time to save both
parties from further trouble.

That Sunday morning the chaplain of the New York was preparing to hold
service when the sound of a gun caused the ship to turn in her course
and speed back to Santiago. The ship was cleared for action, and the
pulpit was hastily thrown aside. As the ship sped along, some of her
men saw a Spanish sailor struggling in the water. One of the men
quickly picked up the pulpit--a clumsy, awkward affair, with a gilt
cross on the side of it--and heaved it overboard, at the same time
yelling to the poor Spaniard: "Cling to the cross, my lad, cling to
the cross and you'll be saved." The struggling sailor clung to the
cross and was afterward picked up by one of the small boats.

This story is told of two gunners on the Oregon. One was an old fellow
whose name has been on the navy list for thirty years, the other was a
young seaman gunner.

When Admiral Cervera led his ships out of the harbor of Santiago, in
that brave dash for the freedom of the open sea, the veteran was
engaged in his usual occupation of polishing the sleek coat of one of
the big thirteen-inch guns. When the cry went up that the enemy was
escaping, he gave a finishing touch to the muzzle and quickly took his
station in the turret. Presently he turned to a young gunner near him
and said: "Charley, I bet you a month's pay that I make a better shot
at the dago beggars than you. What d'you say?"

"'Done,' was the prompt reply.

"Ten minutes later, the old gunner squinted his eye along the sight,
signalled the man at the training lever to ease off a little, took the
range from the officer in charge of the division, then gave the firing
lanyard a quick jerk. When the smoke lifted, the eager watchers saw a
great yawning hole in the port bow of the Almirante Oquendo. A cheer
came from the men in the turret, and the veteran glanced triumphantly
toward the younger gunner.

"The latter's turn soon came. The Oquendo, battered and helpless,
drifted ashore in flames. The Oregon accompanied by the Brooklyn, sped
on after the fleet-footed Colón. The rapid-fire batteries of both
American ships rattled and shrieked after the fugitive. The eight-inch
guns of the Brooklyn rumbled an unceasing chorus as they belched forth
their shells, and occasionally a deeper roar from the thirteen-inch
monsters of the Oregon would give a mightier volume to the din.

"It was after one of the latter shots that the forward turret of the
Oregon echoed with a rousing cheer. Charley, the young gunner, had
just dropped the firing lanyard from his hand and it was seen the
Colón's conning tower was hit. 'He told me before he pulled the
lanyard that he would fetch it,' exclaimed one of the gun's crew,
admiringly, 'and he did.'"

A proud father, whose son was on one of the battleships during the
destruction of Cervera's ships, said:

"Among the four letters I have received from my son is one which
contains an amusing story of one of the officers of the Indiana. The
officer in question is well known throughout the navy for his
fastidiousness regarding apparel, and even on board his ship, is
always the best-dressed man. He considers it his imperative duty to
appear 'just so,' on every occasion.

"My son writes that when the fight began, everybody had on most of his
clothes, the officers generally being in proper uniform. My boy
started in with a full accompaniment of cap, shirt, coat, pants and
shoes, but says that before the hour and a half was over he had shed
everything except his trousers. The heat was, of course, intense and
the main cause of the boy's throwing off all unnecessary garments. It
has been his duty to carry messages several times from the commanding
officer on the bridge to the rear of the vessel, where our dandy
officer was stationed, and when the fight began he was fully
uniformed. On the second trip back the officer was seen to be the only
person in sight with a coat on his back, but the perspiration was
rolling down his cheeks and dropping off in black beads and his face
was besmeared and almost unrecognizable.

"Just before the last shot was fired, my son was sent to find the
executive officer to deliver him a message from the bridge. He hurried
to the deck, and, in clouds of black smoke endeavored to locate the
lieutenant. He looked in vain, however, and finally stepped up to a
man who at first appeared to be clothed in pajamas, and my son was
just going to inquire for the first officer, when the smoke cleared
away a little revealing our fastidious but brave officer dressed in
his nightgown, with his sword strapped around his waist, and a pistol
stuck in his belt."

Doubtless many more anecdotes could be told in connection with that
day's history.

[Illustration: (Battle at sea)]




CHAPTER XI.

CLOSING EVENTS.


That Sunday morning, after General Shafter received the telegram from
the War Office, he took a step which in the end proved very
successful. He sent men to Santiago bearing a flag of truce and a
message to the Spanish general. When a flag of truce is sent to an
enemy all fighting stops for a number of days or hours, according to
the time fixed for the truce, or quiet, and plans are then made. This
message told the Spanish general that if he did not surrender within a
certain time the American Army would attack the city. The Spanish
general sent word back that he would not surrender, but that he would
give notice to the people in Santiago that they might leave the city
before the attack. Of course, before that day was over, our Army heard
of the great victory of our Navy, and felt more hopeful.

During the week that followed that important Sunday, crowds of women,
children, and old men; Spaniards, Cubans, and people of other nations,
went out of Santiago. They hardly knew where to go. Men who saw that
sight said it was pitiful. All the roads leading from Santiago were
filled with people and wagons, toiling on to some place of safety.
Most of these people had very little food, except the fruit then ripe
on the mango-trees, and so had to be fed by our Army and by the Red
Cross Society. Ever since General Shafter's army had landed, it had
been feeding the hungry Cubans in the country around Santiago--people
who were nearly starved on account of their long war with Spain. Food
was scarce in our Army, because there was trouble in landing the
supplies sent by the United States, and more trouble in sending the
supplies forward to the soldiers. Still, the hungry people from
Santiago could not be neglected, and they were given a share of food
daily.

And with all those crowds upon the narrow roads from Santiago were
many of our wounded soldiers, trying to make their way back to the Red
Cross tent at Siboney. There were not enough army wagons to take the
wounded from Las Guasimas, El Caney, and San Juan, and they could not
all be treated in the field tents. So the men limped and hobbled along
as best they could--wounded, sick, feverish--to Siboney, eight miles
away. To add to the suffering, this was the wet season in Cuba, and
rain fell for hours every day.

During that week of truce, General Shafter arranged with the Spanish
general in Santiago for the exchange of Lieutenant Hobson and his
crew. Half way between the American camp and the city there was a
beautiful ceiba-tree, or silk-cotton tree, so called from the large
seed-pods, full of soft, cotton-like stuff. Under this tall, shady
tree many important councils were held between the Spanish and
American officers. And under this tree, one morning, our officers gave
up eight Spanish prisoners in return for Lieutenant Hobson and his
men. Our soldiers welcomed these brave fellows with shouts of praise
and joy.

[Illustration: The Treaty Tree.]

On July 10th, the truce being ended, our Army and our Navy fired upon
Santiago, and kept up the fire on the morning of the next day. Then a
new truce was made, for the Spaniards wanted time to consult their
Government. General Miles, the Commander-in-Chief of the whole United
States Army, arrived and held councils with the Spanish officers. At
last the Spaniards agreed to surrender the eastern part of Cuba, and
at noon, on July 17th, our flag was hoisted on the governor's palace
in Santiago. Our soldiers took possession of the city, and the
citizens, who had gone away in such sorrow, now returned in joy
because the United States had taken charge.

When General Miles arrived in Cuba with reinforcements, he at once
took charge of the negotiations between General Shafter and the
Spanish General Toral. General Shafter had made such a mess of the
whole campaign that he was inclined to make trouble, thinking he was
to be superseded; but General Miles told him that he had instructions
to settle all matters according to his own discretion. After he had
completed the negotiations with General Toral, General Miles
generously left the honor of receiving the surrender of the Spanish
forces to General Shafter. From the moment of his arrival on the
island, General Miles had control of all military affairs. No greater
discretion was ever given to an officer, but he used it wisely, and
then allowed the honors to pass to another.

[Illustration: General Nelson A. Miles.]

Some of our naval officers went into the harbor and exploded all the
"mines," and the harbor was once more safe and open to all vessels.
The war was not really at an end, but it was known that Spain could
not hold out much longer.

One of the devoted Red Cross workers tells this story: "One of the
most dramatic incidents of the war was the entrance of the Red Cross
into Santiago, a few days later. Recognizing the great services
rendered, the army officers experienced almost a change of heart, and
the relief ship State of Texas was put ahead of anything, even
Shafter, Sampson and Schley following respectfully in the rear. There
were the two armies, the conquerors and the conquered, the wrecked
ships of Spain, the starving Cubans, the silence of the grave hung
over all; the memory of horrors gone before--of battle, murder and
tragedy; and now was coming the first gleaming hope to a perishing
people. Said Miss Barton:

[Illustration: General José Toral.]

"'Can somebody sing the Doxology?'

"'Praise God from whom all blessings flow' rang out in quavering
chorus from the dozen men and women on the deck of the State of
Texas, taken up and repeated here and there on battleships and shore,
till the green hills that mirror Santiago re-echoed the song of
thanksgiving, while gallant soldiers were not ashamed of tears, and
the dying waved their feeble hands."

One of the problems of the war was how to dispose of the Spanish
prisoners. It would cost a big sum to feed them and to guard them, and
so it was decided to send them back to Spain. Ships were provided and
this was done. The Spaniards who were sick and wounded received the
same care and consideration that was given to the Americans who were
in the same conditions. The humorous side of the affair was that, the
contract to convey the troops to Spain was given to a Spanish
Steamship Company.

I have spoken before of the other large island belonging to Spain--the
island of Porto Rico. Late in July General Miles took a large body of
troops there to take possession. These troops had much better supplies
than the troops in Cuba, and they had not such hard work. The people
in Porto Rico welcomed our soldiers. The Spanish soldiers made a few
efforts to fight, but one place after another was taken by our troops,
without any great trouble.

Ponce, near the southern coast of Porto Rico, is a city of importance,
as I have told you. It was named for Ponce de Leon, the famous voyager
of the sixteenth century, who wandered around in search of a fountain
of youth. When our troops approached Ponce, the city and the port
were given up to them gladly, as the Spanish soldiers had gone away.

Our troops now began moving on by different roads to San Juan, on the
northern coast, the capital and chief city. It was known that the
Spaniards were making great preparations to defend this city. As our
Army pushed on, from day to day, there were some skirmishes with the
enemy. On August 12th there seemed likely to be very serious fighting
at different places near San Juan, but messengers arrived suddenly,
saying: "The War is ended; Spain and the United States are arranging
terms of Peace." Spain had lost Cuba and Porto Rico forever.

That afternoon, at four o'clock, the first paper of the Peace was
signed at the White House, in Washington, though the full Treaty was
not made until four months later. Spain agreed to give Porto Rico to
the United States, Cuba to be independent, but our country to govern
the island until the Cubans were able to manage their own affairs. The
officers and soldiers chosen by the United States to stay in Cuba and
Porto Rico to restore order and help the islands to recover from the
effects of war, soon made many improvements.

As the navy began the war with Spain, it was proper that the navy
should finish it. The greater events at Santiago obscured the last
naval battle of the war, but it was a grand triumph for the navy. You
will remember that the Wilmington was in the fight at Cardenas where
brave Ensign Bagley was killed. After the destruction of Admiral
Cervera's fleet, Commander Todd, of the Wilmington, was in command of
a little fleet and at Manzanillo, off to the westward of Santiago, he
destroyed nine Spanish vessels. This engagement gave him the title of
"the Dewey of Manzanillo," and his report of that spirited affair was
as modest as that of his namesake.

[Illustration: Commander Chapman Todd.]

As our troops came pack to the United States, from time to time, they
were received with great joy. But many of our men were very ill after
the war, and had to stay a long time in a sickcamp on Long Island.

On the twentieth of August there was a great naval parade in the
harbor of New York, and the leading vessels from the war made a fine
display.

Later, there were Peace Jubilees held in a number of cities of the
United States. The one in Philadelphia was a splendid affair. There
were receptions and illuminations, but what pleased the spectators
most was the great parade. A great many of the military and naval
commanders of the men who won the splendid victories over the Spanish
were present, and thousands of the men themselves marched past the
miles of spectators who lined the sidewalks, as they passed along the
streets.

It was an inspiring spectacle. General Miles, the Commander-in-Chief
of the Army of the United States, rode at the head of the monster
procession. Cheer after cheer arose from the enthusiastic crowds as
the men who fought with Dewey swung past with rifles at "right
shoulder." They shouted themselves hoarse when a squad of "Rough
Riders" trotted by; Hobson and his men received an ovation; Colonel
Huntington marched at the head of the brave marines who made the bold
stand at Guantanamo. It was a day of heroes, and all were welcomed and
cheered royally.

[Illustration: (Troops on parade ground)]




CHAPTER XII.

THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS.


But in spite of Peace Jubilees and fine parades of returning troops,
our country was still at war. But this war was with the natives of the
Philippine Islands. To explain this trouble, I must go back in my
story.

[Illustration: Aguinaldo.]

In another chapter I told you of the rebellion of the Filipinos
against Spain. One of the leaders in the rebellion was a young man
named Aguinaldo. The name means a "Christmas box." Aguinaldo has been
a good box for some people, a troublesome box for others. Well, to
quiet that rebellion, Spain made many promises, and Aguinaldo and
other leaders went to stay in China. Spain did not keep her promises,
and the rebels took up arms again. Before Spain could quiet this
trouble, Commodore Dewey destroyed the Spanish fleet in Manila Bay,
and the Spanish soldiers fled to the city of Manila. Commodore Dewey
had not forces enough to attack the city then, so he waited for more
troops. But while he waited he blockaded the harbor. In June, General
Merritt sailed from the United States with troops for Manila, and
others were sent afterward.

On the way across the Pacific Ocean, at Guam, one of the Ladrone
Islands, a ludicrous incident occurred. The Charleston steamed into
the harbor, firing a few shots at the fort at its entrance. Several
Spanish officers came out to the warship in a boat to apologize for
not returning the salute, saying they had no powder. What was their
astonishment upon being told they were prisoners, not even having
heard that war had been declared.

The United States flag was raised over the island, and it is now held
as a place to store large quantities of coal for the use of our war
vessels.

Meanwhile, the Filipinos, and some of the savage tribes, had risen in
great numbers against the Spaniards, and Aguinaldo returned and took
command of his troops once more. Commodore Dewey, or Admiral Dewey, as
he must now be called, having been promoted after his victory, tried
to keep the natives in check; he did not think it right to let lawless
people take the city of Manila.

The Spaniards made efforts to drive the Americans away from Manila, as
well as to control the rebels, and sometimes matters seemed very
serious for our men. On the 7th of August Admiral Dewey and General
Merritt sent a notice to the Spanish General that, if he did not
surrender by a certain day, they would attack Manila. They thought
they could easily come to terms with the Filipinos, after settling the
Spaniards.

On August 13th our ships in the harbor and our troops on the shore
began the attack upon Manila. About noon the Spaniards had to
surrender. Later in the day a cable message was received from the
United States, saying that the war with Spain was ended.

Afterward, when the full Treaty of Peace was signed, the United States
agreed to give Spain twenty million dollars for the Philippine
Islands.

Manila had been captured once before from the Spanish. In what is
known in this country as the "French and Indian War," Spain took sides
with France, and England sent an expedition against Manila in 1762.
After a siege of about two weeks' duration, the city was carried by
storm and given over to pillage. Afterwards, terms of capitulation
were agreed upon, and the English withdrew.

In the summer of 1899, Admiral Dewey sailed from Manila in his
flagship, the Olympia. He made a leisurely voyage through the Suez
Canal, stopped at various Mediterranean ports, and finally reached New
York on September 26th. Preparations on a gigantic scale had been
made to welcome him, and distinguished men and deputations from every
state in the Union were on hand to greet him. Splendid receptions and
parades followed; costly presents were showered upon him. The
culmination of this spontaneous greeting of the American people was
reached when, in the city of Washington, President McKinley presented
him with a magnificent sword--the one that had been voted to him by
Congress for his splendid services at Manila.

Through it all Admiral Dewey was as modest as a man could be; he said
that the captains of his ships and the crews of their vessels were the
men that won "all these indescribable honors" for him.

After the surrender of Manila to General Merritt and Admiral Dewey,
Aguinaldo, the leader of the Filipinos, began to make trouble for the
Americans. He proclaimed a new form of government for the islands,
with himself as dictator. He entirely ignored the efforts of the
United States to give his people a good government, and because they
did not agree to his schemes, he began to fight our soldiers. He
succeeded in raising a formidable insurrection, and we had to send
more soldiers to the islands. General Otis was sent there with
reinforcements, and later, a number of the generals who had fought at
Santiago were sent to help him put down the rebellion against the
authority of the United States, who owned the islands by right of
conquest and purchase.

[Illustration: Admiral Dewey Receiving the Sword of Honor Voted by
Congress.]

Many men were killed on both sides, and among them were Major John A.
Logan, Jr., and Major-General Henry W. Lawton.

Major Logan was the son of Hon. John A. Logan, formerly a Senator and
at one time Vice-President of the United States.

[Illustration: General E.S. Otis.]

General Lawton, you will remember, was the famous officer who fought
so gallantly in Cuba, particularly at the battle of El Caney, and was
after wards sent to the Philippines. Upon his arrival in the islands
he was at once given a command, and began to hunt down, the Filipinos.
He fought as bravely and gallantly in the Philippines as he did in
Cuba, capturing many rebel strongholds and considerable quantities of
arms and ammunitions. He took a large number of prisoners and kept up
such a tireless pursuit of the insurgents that they fled before him in
terror. In fighting the Filipinos he used the same tactics that he had
employed against the Indians in this country. He allowed his troops
to fight in Indian fashion, each man for himself, when occasion
required; and he had the love and respect of every man in his command.

General Lawton was specially thanked by President McKinley after his
capture of San Isidro, where he led his men in person, as he almost
invariably did. He was one of the bravest of men, and met a soldier's
death in a skirmish at San Mateo, on December 18th, 1809.

When the news of General Lawton's death reached this country, the
people quickly raised a fund, amounting to about one hundred thousand
dollars, for his wife and children, as a token of their appreciation
of his distinguished services. His remains were brought to the United
States on a Government transport, and after lying in state at Fort
Wayne and Indianapolis, Indiana, were laid to rest in Arlington
Cemetery, near the city of Washington, D.C.

You will remember that our war with Spain began on April 21st, 1808,
and that it ended with the signing of the peace protocol, on August
12th of the same year; but I hardly think you know what these one
hundred and fourteen days cost this country.

The cost in men was two thousand, nine hundred and ten, and of these
one hundred and seven were officers. The total force engaged was two
hundred and seventy-four thousand, seven hundred and seventeen
officers and men.

The cost in money was about $1,250,000 for each day of the war, and
if you reckon that up you will find that it amounts to an enormous sum
of money.

The only American vessel that was lost was the collier Merrimac, which
was sunk in Santiago harbor by our own navy.

Spain's losses will probably never be given out, for national pride
will not permit her to publish the figures. We know, however, that she
lost twelve cruisers, two torpedo-boat destroyers and twenty-one
gunboats from her list of fighting ships. The value of Admiral
Cervera's squadron, which was destroyed at Santiago, alone was
$20,000,000. Besides capturing or destroying these war vessels, we
took from Spain, during the war, twenty-four steam vessels, sixty-one
sailing vessels and sixty-one lighters.

It is impossible to give Spain's losses in men, killed and wounded,
but she surrendered to us in Cuba and the Philippines something more
than thirty-nine thousand men. According to the terms of the
capitulation at Santiago, this country sent nearly twenty-three
thousand prisoners home to Spain.