Munroe Kirk
"Forward, March": A Tale of the Spanish-American War
CHAPTER XXVI
MUTINY ON A TRANSPORT
On the memorable morning of July 3d the sun had risen from the fog-bank that promised a hot day before our young trooper, wearied and mud-bespattered with his journey, and his face still powder-grimed with the smoke of the day's fighting, rode into the village of Siboney. It no longer presented the scenes of excited bustle and eager enthusiasm that had marked it on the eve of Las Guasimas, for the army had departed long since, and only its shattered wrecks of humanity had drifted back. Now Siboney was a place of suffering and death; for here had been established the hospitals to which wounded men limped painfully from the distant front, or were brought in heavily jolting army wagons.
On this peaceful Sunday morning–for it was Sunday, though Ridge did not know it at the time–a great stillness brooded over Siboney, and almost the only persons visible were medical attendants, who moved quietly about the big hospital tents or the fever-infested buildings that had been pressed into the same service.
In the little harbor lay but a single steam-vessel, a transport, though others could be dimly seen far out at sea, where they spent most of their time, which fact largely accounted for the woful lack of supplies at the front. A boat from the single ship that had ventured into the harbor lay on the beach discharging freight. To it Ridge hurried, and, addressing himself to the man who appeared to be in charge, said:
"I have an important communication for the Captain of your ship. Will you take me off to her?"
With a contemptuous glance at the disreputable-looking young trooper, the man answered:
"See about it when I get ready to go."
"Please make haste, then, for my business is very important, and I am in a great hurry."
"Oh, you be. Reckon you'd better swim out, then, for I've been hurried by you landlubbers 'bout as much as I propose to be on this v'y'ge."
Ridge's face flushed, and he wanted to make an angry retort; but there was no other boat available, and he could not afford to throw away this chance. So he bit his lips and silently watched the deliberate movements of the men, who seemed to find a pleasure in aggravating him by their slowness.
The boat could have been unloaded in five minutes, but the operation was made to consume a half-hour, during which time Ridge stood silent, though with finger-nails digging into the palms of his clinched hands. All at once, without a word of warning, the boat's crew began to shove their craft from the beach.
"Hold on!" cried Ridge, springing forward. "I am going with you."
"Why aren't you aboard, then?" asked the mate, with a grin, as his men gave another shove that launched the boat into deep water.
Leaping into the sea, Ridge barely succeeded in clutching a gunwale and pulling himself aboard, amid chuckles of laughter from the crew. His ducking had not improved his personal appearance, and as he now sat in the bow of the boat dripping water from every point, he formed an object for so much rude wit and coarse merriment, that upon reaching the transport he was furious with pent-up wrath.
On gaining the deck of the ship he hurried forward, and found her Captain smoking an after-breakfast cigar in his comfortably appointed cabin.
"Well, sir, who are you? and what do you want?" demanded this individual, as Ridge presented himself at the door.
"I am an army officer bearing a message of the utmost importance from General Sumner to Admiral Sampson; and as this is the only steam-vessel in the harbor, I have come to ask that you will carry me to the flag-ship."
"If you haven't got cheek!" ejaculated the Captain. "So you are an army officer, are you?"
"That is what I said."
"You don't look it. Are you the Quartermaster-General?"
"Certainly not."
"Thought not. Didn't know but what you'd claim to be, though, since he's the only army officer that I take orders from."
"But I am not giving an order. I am making a request that any American should be glad to grant, seeing that my message concerns the safety of the United States fleet, and may alter the whole course of the war."
"What is it?" demanded the Captain, bluntly.
"You have no business to ask," replied Ridge. "At the same time I will tell you, that you may be induced to get your ship under way the more quickly. The Spanish squadron is about to make a dash from Santiago Harbor with the hope of taking our fleet by surprise and escaping."
"What is that to me?" asked the Captain, coolly.
"What is that to you!" cried Ridge. "Why, some of our ships may be destroyed if they are not warned in time."
"That is their lookout, not mine. Besides, Uncle Sam can afford to pay for them; while if this ship should be injured the loss would fall on the owners, and I should lose my job."
"Do you mean that you refuse to take me out to the flag-ship?"
"Of course I do," responded the Captain; "and not one foot nearer to it, or to any other warship, does my vessel move this day than she is at present."
"Then, sir," said Ridge, still struggling to maintain his calmness, "I will thank you to set me ashore again, as speedily as possible."
"Why should I set you ashore?" asked the Captain, with exasperating indifference. "You came on board without an invitation, and now you may stay here until the next boat is ready to run in, which will be in the course of an hour or two."
"By which time half the American fleet may have been destroyed for lack of warning," groaned Ridge. Then he added, his face blazing with anger: "I hope you are not an American, and I don't believe you can be, for you are a traitor, a coward, and a contemptible cur. I only hope I may meet you again some time when I am off duty, and can give you the thrashing you deserve."
"All right, my young mud-lark," replied the Captain. "I'll give you a dose of medicine whenever you want it. Now clear out of here, and don't let me catch sight of you again!"
Ridge did not hear these last words, for he was already walking rapidly aft, filled with a tumult of rage and perplexity. What ought he to do? What could he do? Was ever any one so utterly helpless in a crisis of such importance? Not until he reached the extreme after part of the ship did a ray of light break upon the situation. Then he caught sight of a yacht steaming swiftly into the harbor. She might be a despatch-boat, or a destroyer, or any one of half a dozen things; but whatever she was, she could help him if she only would.
Close at hand was a jack-staff upholding an American ensign. Acting upon the impulse of his despair. Ridge hauled down this flag, and then half-masted it, union down, thus making a signal of distress that called for prompt aid from any vessel sighting it. Then he gazed eagerly at the swiftly approaching yacht. She must have noticed his signal, for she was now headed directly for the transport, and Ridge, clinging with one hand to an awning stanchion as he stood on the rail, frantically waved his hat.
Suddenly a bellow of rage close at hand caused him to look in-board. The Captain of the transport, his face purple with passion, was rushing towards the jack-staff.
"How dare you hoist the signal of a mutiny?" he howled. "I'll show–"
"Because there is one on board," shouted Ridge, springing in front of the infuriated man, and at the same moment whipping out his revolver. "Halt where you are!" he added, fiercely. "For if you dare touch that flag before I am through with it I will blow out your traitorous brains!"
The Captain, cowed by the steadily levelled muzzle of that pistol, obeyed this order and stood still; but at the same time he yelled for any of the transport's crew who might be within hearing to tumble aft in a hurry.
In another minute they came–mates, deck-hands, engineers, stewards, and stokers–blocking the narrow gangways on either side of the deck-house. But beyond this they dared not go; for they too were confronted by that levelled pistol, and its holder's assurance that he would fire at the first man who advanced another step.
Thus the single figure with a cocked revolver and the unarmed mob that it held at bay faced each other for a full minute, during which time the purple-faced Captain raved, foamed at the mouth, and, with bitter curses, ordered his men to make a rush at the young pirate. That they did not obey was because of the unflinching steadiness of the young pirate's gaze, which they realized would detect their slightest forward movement.
All at once Ridge caught a glimpse of a man on the roof of the deck-house, just as he dodged from sight behind the life-raft. He thought he had also seen a gun in the man's hand. The next instant he sprang over the ship's rail into the sea, and as he did so a shot rang out behind him. It was not repeated when he came to the surface, for the very good reason that an armed boat from the steam-yacht was so close at hand, that ere the young trooper had cleared his eyes of salt water, its occupants were hauling him aboard.
"Sergeant Norris!" cried an amazed voice from the stern sheets. "Can it be possible?"
"Lieutenant Norris, if you please," answered our dripping hero, with what dignity he could command. "But oh, Comly! get me aboard your ship as quick as you can. It is a matter of life or death!"
"But I am ordered to investigate the mutiny on that transport" replied the bewildered Ensign.
"I am the mutiny, and in capturing me you have got the whole of it," declared Ridge. "So, as you value your future prospects, get me aboard the Speedy, before it shall be too late."
"All right," answered the young naval officer. "I'll risk it for your sake. So here goes."
Once on board the despatch-boat our young trooper placed the whole situation in a few words before Captain Boldwood, who no sooner comprehended it than he ordered his little ship headed up the coast with all speed.
"It will be almighty rough on the Admiral," he said to Ridge, "if Cervera comes out while he is away, after all his careful planning and weeks of weary waiting."
"What do you mean?"
"Only that Admiral Sampson has chosen to-day, of all days, to come down here for an interview with General Shafter, and we were sent ahead to make things ready for him at Siboney. He was to have followed us within half an hour; but perhaps we can turn him back in time. At any rate, we'll do our best."
So the little Speedy flew back over the way she had just come, displaying from her masthead as she went a string of gay bunting that read:
"The enemy's ships are escaping."
CHAPTER XXVII
DESTRUCTION OF THE SPANISH SHIPS
As the Speedy rounded the first headland those on board saw the great war-ship they were to intercept coming leisurely down the coast, not more than a mile away. The yacht fired a gun to call attention to her momentous signal, and within a few seconds an answer, showing that it was seen and understood, was displayed from the New York. At the same time the latter began to turn, so as to retrace her course. She had hardly begun the movement before the Speedy slipped up under her quarter.
"Where did you get your information?" called out Captain Chadwick through a megaphone.
"Messenger from the Commanding General," was the answer.
"All right. Keep on, and warn the fleet, if you reach them before we do."
"Ay, ay, sir!" and then the swift yacht had moved beyond range even of a megaphone.
All at once the little group of officers gathered on the Speedy's bridge, of course including Lieutenant Ridge Norris, knew that they were not to have the honor of warning the fleet; for a line of smoke, evidently moving seaward, appeared above the hills from the direction of Santiago Bay.
"They are coming out!" cried the Speedy's Captain; "and, if they have the pluck to keep on, we are about to witness one of the greatest sea-fights of the century."
If the entire American blockading fleet had been on hand the coming contest would have been too unequal to be interesting. As it was, the Massachusetts, New Orleans, and Newark had gone to Guantanamo after coal, while the New York was too far away to take any active part in the fighting. This left only the Brooklyn, Oregon, Iowa, Indiana, and Texas on guard, with the converted yachts Gloucester and Vixen acting as picket-boats.
The American ships lay some three miles off shore under low steam, and their crews were preparing for Sunday morning inspection. Two of the battle-ships were overhauling their forward turrets, and repairing damages received during a bombardment of the forts on the previous day. The Brooklyn lay farthest to the westward, and the Indiana at the eastern end of the line, with the Texas, Iowa, and Oregon between them. Inshore of these were the two yachts.
In Santiago Bay, about to rush out on these unsuspecting ships, were four of the finest cruisers in the world, possessed of greater speed than any of the Americans except the Brooklyn, and under a full head of steam: with them were two torpedo-boat destroyers, ranking among the most powerful and swiftest of their class.
At half-past nine o'clock of that peaceful Sunday morning, as the Speedy was still some five miles to the eastward of Santiago Bay, with the New York just completing her turn, two miles farther down the coast, a shot from the Iowa drew attention to her fluttering signal, "The enemy is escaping."
Almost at the same moment the same startling signal broke out from a masthead of the Texas, which opened the battle with the mighty roar of a twelve-inch shell. The Brooklyn was also flying signal 250–"The enemy is escaping"–and within three minutes from the discovery of that moving smoke behind the Morro her forward eight-inch battery was in full play against the Maria Teresa, first of the Spaniards to show her glistening hull around the point.
Dashing at full speed from the harbor-mouth, outlined by the smokeless flames of her forward turret and port batteries, Admiral Cervera's flag-ship was quickly headed to the westward, and for the most open point of the blockade. Behind her steamed the Vizcaya, Colon, Oquendo, and the torpedo-boats Furor and Pluton.
During the whole long blockade, the one standing order given by Admiral Sampson to cover an emergency like the present had been, "Should the enemy come out, close in and engage."
Now the ships that he had left on guard did close in with what speed they could command, while their sweating stokers toiled like demons in the hideous heat of the fire-rooms to produce still greater heat and more steam. As the on-rushing Spaniards cleared the harbor's mouth, every American ship was moving towards them and delivering a fire so incredibly terrific and of such deadly accuracy that its like was never known in the whole history of naval warfare.
At the outset the little Gloucester, commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Richard Wainwright, who had been navigating officer of the Maine at the time of her destruction, made a dash for her legitimate opponents, the two torpedo-boats. They in turn sought shelter behind the Oquendo, and for a minute it looked as though the yacht were about to attack the big cruiser. Then the Texas began to pay particular attention to the Oquendo; and, seemingly content to leave her in such good hands, the Gloucester again started after the destroyers. Suddenly a great shell from the Indiana, hurled over the yacht, struck one of them fairly amidships, and, with a roar heard high above the din of firing, the unfortunate boat plunged to the bottom, carrying with her all on board.
The Gloucester now directed her energies against the remaining destroyer, running well within range of the shore batteries to get at her, and within ten minutes had so riddled her with a storm of small projectiles that she lowered her colors, turned in towards the beach, struck on a reef, and in another moment was being helplessly pounded to pieces by the surf. At the same time small boats from the plucky yacht that had placed her in this sad plight were busily engaged in rescuing such of her crew as could be reached.
In the mean time both the Teresa and Oquendo had received so frightful a fire from the Indiana, Iowa, and Texas, that within six miles of Santiago Harbor the former, enveloped in flames, and no longer capable of defending herself, was also headed for the beach, where the gallant little Gloucester soon afterwards came to her assistance and rescued hundreds of her perishing crew, including brave old Admiral Cervera.
A few minutes later the Almirante Oquendo, with colors lowered and flames pouring from her open ports, also turned slowly inshore, and was beached within half a mile of the Spanish flag-ship. It was only forty minutes since the fight began; but in that short space four of the Spanish squadron had been destroyed, without loss of life to the Americans, and but slight damage to their ships. With the burning Teresa and Oquendo stayed the battle-ship Indiana, her men working in eager emulation with those of the Gloucester to save the lives of their recent enemies.
The next victim to succumb beneath the terrible American fire was the superb Vizcaya, which, pounded to death by the Brooklyn, Oregon, and Texas, was run on the beach at Aserraderos, seventeen miles west of Santiago Bay, a few minutes after eleven o'clock. Like her unfortunate consorts, she also was a mass of flame, and had no sooner struck than scores of her people leaped overboard to escape being roasted alive. Among these swimmers a body of Cuban troops poured a cowardly fire from the beach; but Captain Evans of the Iowa quickly put a stop to that, and stood by the blazing wreck so long as there was a Spaniard left to be rescued from flame or flood.
Of all Cervera's powerful squadron only a single ship was now left, the swift Cristobal Colon, which, by keeping behind the others, had as yet come to little harm. When the Vizcaya was run ashore, the Colon was more than four miles ahead of her leading pursuer, the Brooklyn. Close on the heels of the latter came the wonderful battle-ship Oregon, which had unexpectedly developed such extraordinary speed that, although starting next to the last of the American ships, she now very nearly led the chase. Next behind her came the Texas, while the superb New York, though still far in the rear, was overhauling all three, and had the race been long enough would eventually have exchanged broadsides with the Colon.
But she was not to be granted that satisfaction; for shortly after one o'clock, when the chase had lasted two hours, the Oregon threw a couple of great thirteen-inch shells, at a range of five miles, so close to the flying Spaniard that they deluged her with tons of water. Upon this, to the surprise of every one, and without making any sort of a fight, the finest ship of the Spanish navy lowered her flag and was headed in for the beach. After she had thus surrendered, and before the Americans could board, she was wrecked by her own crew, who opened sea-valves, smashed out dead lights, threw overboard the breech-blocks of their great guns, and in many other ways worked what destruction they could in the time allotted. As a result of this vandalism, the fine ship rolled over on her side soon after striking, and would have slipped off into deep water had not the New York rammed her to a better position higher up the beach.
Thus was destroyed the fine squadron that had been a menace to the Americans ever since the war began. Spain's loss was 600 human lives, 1200 prisoners, and six ships, valued at $12,000,000; while that of the Americans was one man killed and three wounded, all on the Brooklyn, together with a few trifling injuries to the Brooklyn, Iowa, and Texas.
And Ridge Norris, from the deck of the little Speedy, had been a spectator of the whole affair from beginning to end. Thrilled with such excitement as he had never before known, he had seen ship after ship wearing the proud colors of Spain driven helplessly to the beach by the withering blasts of Yankee gunnery, until all were destroyed. Never before had our young American been so proud of his country and his countrymen. Now his wonderful day was to be crowned with a great honor; for, no sooner was it certain that the Colon had surrendered, than a message from the flag-ship bade the Speedy return with all haste to Siboney and land the army officer whom she had brought out, that he might convey the glorious news to General Shafter and the men in the trenches before Santiago.
"That's you, old man!" cried Ensign Comly, "And I envy you your present job a heap more than I did the one you were undertaking the last time we set you ashore."
So back past the blazing wrecks of Cervera's squadron and on to Siboney dashed the despatch-boat. The transport from which Ridge had been rescued that morning still lay in the harbor, and her Captain, hailing the Speedy, eagerly asked for news; but none was given him, and he was treated to a contemptuous silence that caused him to grow more purple-faced than ever.
As Ridge was rowed ashore he directed Ensign Comly's attention to a large steam-yacht painted lead-color in imitation of the war-ships, but flying a Red Cross flag, that had evidently just arrived.
"She looks a little like Rollo Van Kyp's Royal Flush," he said; "but what is her name? G-r-a-y–Gray man? Gray mare? Oh no, Gray Nun. Queer name for a yacht, isn't it?"
"Yes; and those nurses on her deck don't look a bit like nuns," replied Ensign Comly. "Believe I'll make a call if we lie here this evening, for I understand that some of the nicest girls in the country have enlisted under the Red Cross since you chaps were sent to Santiago."
"Wish I could join you," sighed Ridge; "only I haven't spoken to a girl in so long that I shouldn't know what to say."
