Fighting in Cuban Waters Part 15

For some time Walter was afraid that the executive officer would hear of the encounter and bring him to book for it; but if the "mix-up" was reported, nothing came of it. As a matter of fact, Uncle Sam's officers just then had affairs of more importance requiring their attention.

For every hour on board of the warships composing the Flying Squadron increased the anxiety concerning the Spanish ships which it was felt were preparing to make a quick dash for Cuba or for our own coast. How soon would these warships sail, and where would they make their presence felt? those were the all-important questions commodore and captains asked of each other. "They'll most likely try to break the blockade at Havana," said one. "No, they'll bombard one of our down-east seacoast cities," said another. "I think they'll rush through the Suez Ca.n.a.l to fight Dewey," was the conclusion reached by a third. Under-officers and men speculated quite as much as did their superiors, arriving at equally opposite conclusions. "They have our whole seacoast and Cuba to pick from," Commodore Schley said. "They will go where they can do the most good--to their way of thinking. I think they'll go to Cuba or Porto Rico." How correct the commander was history has shown.

Although the _Scorpion_ was patrolling the ocean just outside of the capes, a strict watch was kept on every one of the warships, night and day. Rumors were numerous, and one was to the effect that the Spaniards had a submarine craft in their service and that this boat would soon arrive along our eastern seacoast, to destroy the shipping from Maine to the Gulf of Mexico. In these days, when we know the truth, we can afford to laugh at such a report, but to the jackies on the warships, who remembered only too well the fate of the _Maine_, it was no laughing matter. Even when off duty, many would go on the spar deck and lie flat, gazing into the dark waters for the best part of a night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the unknown terror, should it come to that vicinity.

Sunday, with its deeply impressive church service, came and went, and still the squadron lay at anchor. In the meantime it was rumored that Sampson would soon take his most powerful vessels from the blockade and bombard Havana. The newspapers reported this, but if such was the plan of the Navy Department, it was altered at the last moment.

On May 12 came news of a fierce fight in the harbor of Cardenas, a seaport a hundred and twenty miles east of Havana. In an attempt to effect a landing, the torpedo boat _Winslow_ had her boiler blown to pieces and several men were killed and injured, among them Ensign Worth Bagley, who was thus the first American officer to fall in the war. Two other warships, the _Wilmington_ and the _Hudson_, also took part in the contest, but were repulsed after a gallant onslaught lasting over an hour.

"This is war," said Caleb, as he read the news from the paper that one of the gunners had just brought on board. "Those fellows on the _Winslow_ caught it hot. Think of running right into that harbor and having a sh.e.l.l drop and smash your boiler and send the live steam all over you. I tell you Ensign Bagley was a plucky one, all honor to his memory."

The next day brought even more important news. Dewey had gained a foothold in the Philippines, the main city of Cuba was in a state of blockade, and now Rear-Admiral Sampson had shifted the scene of action to Porto Rico, by sh.e.l.ling the forts of San Juan, the princ.i.p.al city of Spain's only other possession in the West Indies.

"We're getting there!" cried Caleb, excitedly. "We'll soon give the Dons all they want."

"If Sampson succeeds in making the San Juan forts surrender, the whole city will be at our mercy," said Walter. "Hurrah for the American navy, and every ship and man in it."

"We are bound to get them on the run," put in Si. "Here is another report about a fight at Cienfuegos. Where is that?"

"On the southern coast of Cuba," answered Walter, who had always had a good head for geography, and who, since the war had started, had studied the map of Cuba closely. "Havana, San Juan, and Manila! Say, but this is becoming a war of magnificent distances."

"It's a naval war, that's what it is," said Caleb. "If we--hullo! Did any of you see this telegram?" He pointed to his newspaper. "The Spanish Squadron under Admiral Cervera has slipped away from Cape Verde Islands and is undoubtedly bound westward."

"And here is another report that some strange vessels, supposed to be warships, have been sighted off Martinique, Windward Island," added Walter, quickly. "I'll wager we leave soon!"

"But where to--the Windward Islands?" queried Si.

"That's for Commodore Schley to decide. Rest a.s.sured he'll find this Admiral Cervera sooner or later, just as Dewey found old Admiral Montojo."

The news was spreading, and officers and men gathered in knots to discuss the situation. As for Commodore Schley and Captain Cook, they smiled knowingly, but said nothing. Everybody in the Flying Squadron remembered what Dewey and his men had accomplished, and all were on their mettle accordingly.

CHAPTER XI

THE SAILING OF THE FLYING SQUADRON

"We are off at last!"

It was Walter who broke the news, as he came tumbling down the stairs to the berth deck, where Si and Caleb were engaged in a friendly game of checkers on the top of a ditty-box.

"Off!" cried the old gunner, and leaped up, scattering the men on the checkerboard in all directions. "Who told you?"

"The signal has just been hoisted on the military mast. I couldn't read it, but Sandram could and he translated it for me."

Caleb waited to hear no more, but rushed on deck, with Walter and the others following. The news was true, the signal flew the words, "Weigh anchor and follow the flagship," and the heavy black smoke was pouring in dense volumes from every warship's funnels.

"I wonder where we are bound?" questioned Walter, whose heart was thumping within him at the thought war might soon become a stern reality to him. "Of course we are going after Admiral Cervera's ships."

"I reckon that's right, but there's no telling," responded Caleb. "The officers don't consult us when they want to move, you know." And he said this so dryly that both Walter and Si had to laugh.

The warships at hand were four in number,--the _Brooklyn_, which I have already described, and the _Ma.s.sachusetts_, _Texas_, and _Scorpion_.

With them was the collier _Sterling_, loaded to the very rail with huge bags of coal, for the exclusive use of the Flying Squadron.

The _Ma.s.sachusetts_ was a battleship of the first-cla.s.s, a sister ship to the _Indiana_. She had a displacement of over ten thousand tons, and a speed of sixteen knots per hour. Her ma.s.sive armor was eighteen inches thick--enough to withstand some of the heaviest shots ever fired from any gun. Her armament consisted of a main battery of four 13-inch and eight 8-inch guns and four 6-inch slow-fire guns. The secondary battery comprised twenty 6-pounders, four 1-pounders, four Gatlings, and two field-guns. Besides this she carried three torpedo tubes and an immense quant.i.ty of small-arms. Captain Francis J. Higginson was in charge, with Lieutenant-Commander Seaton Schroeder.

The _Texas_ was a battleship of the second cla.s.s, her displacement being only 6315 tons. She had the honor to be the first vessel built when our navy began its reconstruction, in 1886. Her armor was just one foot thick, and she could speed along at the rate of nearly eighteen knots an hour. Two 12-inch and six 6-inch slow-fire guns made up her main battery, while her secondary battery counted up six 1-pounders, four Hotchkiss and two Gatling guns. There were two torpedo tubes. The _Texas_ was under the command of Captain John W. Philip and Lieutenant-Commander Giles B. Harber.

The _Scorpion_ was a despatch boat of the gunboat pattern, with a displacement of six hundred tons, and a rapid-firing battery of four 5-inch and six 6-pounders. She was a swift craft, and had done duty as a scout for a long time.

The signal to weigh anchor was hoisted on the flagship at four o'clock in the afternoon, and inside of half an hour the Flying Squadron and the collier were standing down Hampton Roads toward the capes, each ploughing the waters at a twelve to fifteen knot rate. The wharves alongsh.o.r.e were lined with people, who waved their hats and their handkerchiefs, and shouted out their best wishes for the departing ones.

"Remember the _Maine_, boys, and send us a good account of yourselves!"

shouted one old Southern veteran, as he shook a partly empty coat sleeve at them. "I wish I was younger; I'd go along and fight as well for the old stars and stripes as I once did for the stars and bars."

"Now you're talking," responded a Union veteran. "That other quarrel was our own, eh, neighbor? Let foreign nations keep their hands off Uncle Sam's family and the children seeking his protection. Three cheers for Old Glory and Free Cuba!" And the cheers were given with a will, while Fortress Monroe thundered out a parting salute.

A number of other vessels, including the protected cruisers _Minneapolis_ and _New Orleans_ and the auxiliary cruiser _St. Paul_ had been left behind, to join their sister ships later on. The _New Orleans_ was a warship but recently purchased from the Brazilian government, and formerly known as the _Amazonas_. The _St. Paul_ had formerly been a trans-Atlantic steamer, and was commanded by Captain Charles E. Sigsbee, who had so gallantly stuck to his post until the last moment when the _Maine_ was destroyed.

Each of the warships had a harbor pilot on board and proceeded under a full head of steam for the pa.s.sage between the capes, which were pa.s.sed a little after seven o'clock in the evening. Leaving Cape Henry well to starboard, the pilots were dropped, and the warships, taking the middle course, as it is termed, disappeared from the gaze of those who had watched their departure so eagerly.

"We're out for a fight now, sure enough," said Caleb, as he and Walter went below, each to the mess to which he had been a.s.signed. "Orders are to prepare for action, so I've just been told."

"I noticed that lights were being extinguished," answered the youth. "Do you suppose they are afraid that the Spanish warships are coming up this way?"

"No telling, lad. It's a game of hide and seek, until one fellow or the other sneaks up and thumps his opponent in the neck. I only hope we're in it to do the first thumping."

Mess was scarcely over when there came a call to quarters. Ports were closed with ma.s.sive steel covers, the battle hatches were put down, and the big guns were carefully loaded. Watches had, of course, already been established, and now the men were ordered to take turns at standing by the guns.

"Which way are we pointing, eastward or down the coast?" questioned Walter of Si, who had come up during his off hours to take a look at the cloudy sky from which only a few stars were peeping.

"We are moving almost directly southward," was the slow reply of the Yankee youth, after a long look overhead.

"And where will that bring us to, Si?"

"It will take us to Cape Hatteras first, and if we keep on long enough it will bring us to the neighborhood of San Salvador Island. But I reckon we'll change our course after Hatteras is pa.s.sed."

"Isn't Hatteras a bad point to pa.s.s?"

"Is it? You just ought to try it in dirty weather. Many a craft has left her hulk off that cape. But such a craft as the _Brooklyn_, with her high bow, ought to weather almost anything. To my mind, the worst thing we can run into is a fog-bank, and that's just what we are likely to do in this vicinity."

The regular lights of the warship had been extinguished, but behind its hood the great searchlight glowed and spluttered, ready to be turned to one point or another at a second's notice. All was quiet on board, save for the rumble and quiver of the powerful engines which were driving this floating fort on her way through the rolling ocean. While daylight lasted the vessels kept more or less apart, but with the coming of night they closed in, and the fretting and puffing little _Scorpion_ darted ahead on picket guard.

Walter's duty at his gun came to an end at midnight, and none too soon for the lad, whose head had suddenly begun to spin around like a top. "I guess I'm getting seasick," he murmured to Si; and the Yankee lad at once led him away to a secluded corner, where he might have matters all his own way, and where none might look on and enjoy his misery. Once Haskett started to pa.s.s some uncomplimentary remarks about Walter, but a single stern look from Caleb silenced the seaman, who tumbled into his hammock without another word. For several days Jim Haskett had kept his distance, but he was only biding his time to "even up," as he termed it.

"I'll make young Russell feel mighty sore before I'm done with him," was what he promised himself.