A Gunner Aboard the "Yankee" Part 20

At the order, "Knee stoop, one," we bent our knees till we sat on our heels. "Heads up, hands on the hips, there!" said Mr. Greene of our division, as some one obeyed an almost irresistible impulse to keep his balance by putting out his hand. The man obeyed, but at that instant the ship gave a lurch, and the poor chap fell over on his head and almost rolled down the berth-deck hatch.

The laugh that followed was promptly suppressed, and though the exercise was not carried out with a great deal of grace or ease, Mr. Greene seemed to be satisfied with the first attempt.

We steamed along all the afternoon past the coast of Cuba and within plain sight of the beautiful, surf-rimmed beach. We looked for signs of the enemy, but not a living thing could be seen. Not a sign of human habitation; not an indication that any human being had ever set foot on this desolate land. So beautiful, so grand, so lonely was it that we longed to go ash.o.r.e and shout, just to set a few echoes reverberating in the hills.

Toward night, we turned seaward, and the land was lost to view; at the same time the "Yosemite," manned by the Michigan Naval Reserves, who had accompanied us thus far, dropped out of sight in the haze. She was bound for Jamaica.

A ship painted the "war color" now in vogue in the United States navy, will disappear as if by magic when dusk comes on. The lead color makes any object covered with it invisible in half light or a haze.

There had been much speculation during the day and evening as to our probable destination, but we remained in ignorance until the next morning, when it became known that our orders were to call at the port of Cienfuegos, a prominent city of southern Cuba, some three hundred and thirty miles from Santiago.

It was reported that the object of our visit was to intercept and capture a blockade runner said to be aiming for that port. The news received an enthusiastic welcome fore and aft. The billet of "fleet messenger" was becoming tiresome.

The land had been sighted at two bells (nine o'clock), and all hands were looking for Cienfuegos, but it was past one before the mouth of the harbor was gained. The "Yankee's" crew were at regular quarters at the time, but a hurried order to dismiss and clear ship for action sent the different guns' crews scurrying to their stations.

To add to the interest, word came from the bridge to train the guns aft and to do everything possible to disguise the cruiser.

"We are to masquerade as a blooming merchantman," chuckled "Dye." "This reminds me of my boyhood days when I read pirate stories. Do you remember that yarn about Kydd, where he rigged painted canvas about his ship and hid all the ports, 'Stump'? It was great. The whole piratical crew, with the exception of a dozen men, kept below, and when a poor unfortunate ship came along, the bloodthirsty villains captured her."

"I wish they had caught you at the same time," retorted "Stump." "Then we wouldn't be bothered with your infernal cackle. Here, give me a hand with this mess chest."

By this time the task of preparing for action was an old story, and we made short work of it. The call to "general quarters" followed without delay, and, as we prepared the battery for action, word came from above that a large gunboat, showing Spanish colors, was leaving the harbor in our direction.

"Which means a sc.r.a.p of the liveliest description," muttered Tommy.

"They evidently take us for a trader without guns, and they'll attack us sure."

Boom!

A six-pounder gave voice from the spar deck, instantly followed by a five-inch breechloader in the waist. Number Eight was loaded, and "Hay,"

who held the firing lanyard, s.n.a.t.c.hed another sight, then stood erect with left hand in the air.

"Ready, sir," he called out to the officer of the division.

"Fire!" came the reply promptly.

With the word a vicious report shook the deck, and the gun muzzle vanished in a cloud of smoke. Eager hands opened the breech, others inserted another cartridge, there was a shifting of the training lever, a turn of the elevating wheel, then "Hay" stood back once more, and coolly made the electrical connection.

Following the second report came a dull, booming sound, apparently from a distance. We eyed one another significantly.

"It's a fort," quoth "Dye." "We've got to tackle both sea and land forces."

Presently, while we were hard at work sending shots at the Spanish gunboat, which was in lively action a short distance away, we became aware of a peculiar whirring noise--a sound like the angry humming of a swarm of hornets. It would rise and fall in volume, then break off short with a sharp crash. Suddenly, while glancing through the port, I saw something strike the surface, sending up a great spurt of water. It was followed by a dull, m.u.f.fled report which seemed to shake the ship.

It was a sh.e.l.l!

"Whiz! they are coming pretty fast," remarked Flagg. "That last one didn't miss us by a dozen yards."

"This isn't Santiago shooting," put in Tommy. "These beggars know how to aim."

During the next ten minutes the fighting was fast and furious. It was load and fire and load again without cessation. There was the old trouble in regard to the smoke, and half the time we had to aim blindly.

Notwithstanding that fact, "Hay" did so well that word came from Captain Brownson complimenting him warmly.

The "Yankee" seemed to be the centre of a series of eruptions. The Spanish sh.e.l.ls kept the water continually boiling, and with the splashing of each projectile there would arise a geyser-like fountain accompanied by a m.u.f.fled explosion which could be plainly felt on board the ship.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THERE WAS TEMPORARY CONFUSION"]

It was the first real naval battle experienced by us--the bombardment of Santiago being of an entirely different calibre--and it needed only the grewsome setting of surgeons and wounded and blood to make it complete.

That soon came.

We of Number Eight gun were working at our stations, so intent on our duties that the uproar of shot and sh.e.l.l outside claimed little attention, when suddenly there came a louder explosion than usual directly in front of the open port.

There was a blinding flash, a puff of stifling smoke, and then Kennedy, who was just approaching the gun with a sh.e.l.l, staggered back, and almost fell to the deck. Tommy, the first captain, made a gesture as if brushing something from his breast, and then leaped to the injured man's a.s.sistance.

"It was a piece of sh.e.l.l," cried "Stump." "It came through the port."

There was temporary confusion. The surgeon and his a.s.sistants came on a run, but before they could reach the spot, Kennedy recovered and advanced to meet them. He presented a horrible spectacle, with his face and neck and body spattered with blood, and we who were nearest saw that he had been frightfully wounded in the left shoulder.

Notwithstanding that fact, he remained cool and steady, and never made the slightest indication that he was suffering. When he finally disappeared down the berth-deck ladder we exchanged glances of surprise and sympathy.

"That isn't Kennedy," murmured "Stump," softly.

"We didn't know him after all," said "Hay." "Poor devil! I hope he isn't badly injured."

"He has been in the hardest kind of luck since we left New York," spoke up Tommy. "Seasick half the time, always in trouble, and bucking against homesickness and everything else. And now he has to be wounded. It's a shame."

Our thoughts were with our comrade as we served the gun, and when word came a few moments later that he was doing fairly well, we could hardly repress a cheer.

There was little time, however, for displaying emotion. We were right in the thick of the fight, and the "Yankee's" battery was being worked to the limit. It seemed as if the air fairly reeled with the noise and clamor of combat. Sh.e.l.ls buzzed and shrieked about us, and smoke gathered in thick, stifling clouds all about the ship.

While we were laboring, stripped to the waist, and trying our utmost to disable or sink the Spanish gunboat, an incident was occurring on deck which seemed more fitted for the pages of a novel than those of a story of facts.

It was a display of daredevil courage seldom equalled in warfare.

The lad whom we familiarly termed the "Kid" was the central figure and the hero. The diary of No. 5 of the after port gun, from which this narrative is taken, says of him: "'Kid' Thompson is the ship's human mascot and all-round favorite with officers and men. His b.u.mp of respect is a depression, but his fund of ready wit and his unvarying good nature are irresistible. He is eighteen years of age, and is a 'powder monkey'

on Number Sixteen, a six-pounder on the spar deck. This gun and Number Fifteen were the last to obey the order to cease firing during the bombardment of Santiago."

During the fight with the Spanish gunboat it chanced that the port battery was not engaged for a brief period, so the "Kid," with the rest of Number Sixteen crew, were at rest. To better see the shooting the "Kid" climbed upon the after wheel-house roof. The sh.e.l.ls from the gunboat and the forts were dropping all around, fore and aft, port and starboard; they whistled through the rigging, and exploded in every direction, sending their fragments in a veritable hail of metal on all sides.

The fact that the "Yankee" had so far escaped injury aroused in the "Kid's" breast a feeling of the utmost contempt for the Spanish gunners.

Coolly standing upon his feet, he a.s.sumed the pose of a baseball player, and holding a capstan bar in his hands, called out tauntingly:

"Here, you dagoes, give me a low ball, will you? Put 'em over the plate!"

As a sh.e.l.l would fly past with a shriek, he would strike at it, shouting at the same time:

"Put 'em over the plate, I say. Do you expect me to walk up to the fo'c's'le to get a rap at 'em? Hi, there! wake up!"

Then as a shot fell short, he laughed: "Look at that drop, will you? Do you think I'm going to dive for it?"