The Boys of '98. Otis James
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had barely steerageway.
The men were allowed to sleep beside their guns.
The moon had set, the darkness and the silence was almost profound, until suddenly day broke, as it does in the tropics, like unto a flash of light, and all that bay, with its fighting-machines in readiness for the first signal, was disclosed to view.
From the masthead of the American vessels rose tiny balls of bunting, and then were broken out, disclosing the broad folds of the stars and stripes.
Cavite was hardly more than five miles ahead, and beyond, the city of Manila.
The Reina Christina, flying the Spanish rear-admiral’s flag, lay off the arsenal. Astern of her was moored the Castilla, her port battery ready for action. Slightly to seaward were the Don Juan de Austria, the Don Antonio de Ulloa, the Isla de Cuba and Isla de Luzon, the El Correo, the Marques del Duero, and the General Lezo.
They were under steam and slowly moving about, apparently ready to receive the fire of the advancing squadron. The flag-ship Reina Christina also was under way.
“Prepare for general action! Steam at eight-knot speed!” were the signals which floated from the Olympia as she led the fleet in, keeping well toward the shore opposite the city.
The American fleet was yet five miles distant, when from the arsenal came a flame and report; but the missile was not to be seen. Another shot from Cavite, and then was strung aloft on the Olympia a line of tiny flags, telling by the code what was to be the American battle-cry: “Remember the Maine,” and from the throat of every man on the incoming ships went up a shout of defiance and exultation that the moment was near at hand when the dastardly deed done in the harbour of Havana might be avenged.
Steaming steadily onward were the huge vessels, dropping astern and beyond range the transports as they passed opposite Cavite Point, until, having gained such a distance above the city as permitted of an evolution, the fleet swung swiftly around until it held a course parallel with the westernmost shore, and distant from it mayhap six thousand yards.
Every nerve was strained to its utmost tension; each man took a mental grip upon himself, believing that he stood face to face with death; but no cheek paled; no hand trembled save it might have been from excitement.
The ships were coming down on their fighting course when a shell from one of the shore-batteries burst over the Olympia; the guns from the fort and from the water-batteries vomited jets of flame and screaming missiles with thunderous reports; every man on the American fleet save one believed the moment had come when they should act their part in the battle which had been begun by the enemy; but up went the signal:
“Hold your fire until close in.”
Had the American fleet opened fire then, the city of Manila would have been laid in ashes and thousands of non-combatants slain.
The Olympia was yet two miles from Cavite when, directly in front of the Baltimore, a huge shaft of water shot high into the air, and with a heavy booming that drowned the reports of the Spanish guns.
“The torpedoes!” some one on the Olympia said, in a low tone, with an indrawing of the breath; but it was as if Dewey did not hear. With Farragut in Mobile Bay he had seen the effects of such engines of destruction, and, like Farragut, he gave little heed to that which might in a single instant send his vessel to the bottom, even as the Maine had been sent.
Then, so near the Raleigh as to send a flood across her decks, another spouting of water, another dull roar, and the much vaunted mines of the Spaniards in Manila Bay had been exploded.
The roar and crackle of the enemy’s guns still continued, yet Dewey withheld the order which every man was now most eager to hear.
The Spanish gunners were getting the range; the shells which had passed over our fleet now fell close about them; the tension among officers and men was terrible. They wondered how much longer the commodore would restrain them from firing. The heat was rapidly becoming intense. The guns’ crews began to throw off their clothes. Soon they wore nothing but their trousers, and perspiration fairly ran from their bodies.
Still the word was not given to fire, though the ships steadily steamed on and drew nearer the fort. Orders were given by the officers in low voices, but they were perfectly audible, so great was the silence which was broken only by the throbbing of the engines. The men hugged their posts ready to open fire at the word.
A huge shell from Cavite hissed through the air and came directly for the Olympia. High over the smoke-stack it burst with a mighty snap. Commodore Dewey did not raise his eyes. He simply turned, made a motion to a boatswain’s mate who stood near the after 5-inch gun. With a voice of thunder the man bellowed an order along the decks.
“Remember the Maine!” yelled a chorus of five hundred gallant sailors. Below decks in the engine-rooms the cry was taken up, a cry of defiance and revenge. Up in the turrets resounded the words, and the threatening notes were swept across the bay to the other ships.
“Remember the Maine!”
In that strange cry was loosed the pent-up wrath of hundreds of American sailors who resented the cowardly death of their comrades. It bespoke the terrible vengeance that was about to be dealt out to the defenders of a detestable flag.
“You may fire when you are ready, Gridley,” was Commodore Dewey’s quiet remark to the captain of the Olympia, who was still in the conning-tower.
The Olympia’s 8-inch gun in the forward turret belched forth, and an instant later was run up the signal to the ships astern:
“Fire as convenient.”
The other vessels in the squadron followed the example set by the Olympia. The big 8-inch guns of the Baltimore and the Boston hurled their two hundred and fifty pound shells at the Spanish flag-ship and at the Castilla.
The Spanish fleet fired fast and furiously. The guns on Cavite hurled their shells at the swiftly moving vessels; the water-batteries added their din to the horrible confusion of noises; the air was sulphurous with the odour of burning powder, and great clouds of smoke hung here and there, obscuring this vessel or that from view. It was the game of death with all its horrible accompaniments.
One big shell came toward the Olympia straight for the bridge. When a hundred feet away it suddenly burst, its fragments continuing onward. One piece struck the rigging directly over the head of Commander Lamberton. He did not wince.
The Olympia continued on. It was evident Commodore Dewey was making straight for the centre of the enemy’s line, which was the big cruiser Reina Christina.
Being the nearest ship, the Olympia received more attention from the Spaniards than any of the other vessels.
The water was now getting shallow. Commodore Dewey did not wish to run aground. He altered his course when about four thousand yards from the Spanish vessels, and swung around to give them his broadside.
A small torpedo-boat was seen to emerge from the shore near the arsenal, making for the coal-laden steamers at a high rate of speed. The secondary batteries on the ships nearest were brought to bear upon her; it was a veritable shower of shot and shell which fell ahead, astern, and either side of her. To continue on would have been certain destruction, and, turning in the midst of that deadly hail which had half disabled her, the craft was run high and dry on the beach, where she was at once abandoned, her crew doubtless fearing lest the magazines would explode.
“Open with all guns,” came the signal as the course of the American vessels was changed, and soon all the port guns were at work.
The American fleet was steaming back and forth off Cavite Bay as if bent on leaving such a wake as would form a figure eight, delivering broadside after broadside with splendid results.
All this time the enemy’s vessels were keeping up a steady fire, the smaller ships retreating inside the mole several times during the action. The forts were not idle, but kept thundering forth their tribute with no noticeable effect. The enemy’s fire seemed