SANTIAGO DE CUBA

1898

The United States Navy had taken a decisive part in securing victory for the Union in the War of Secession. It had effectively blockaded the Atlantic and Gulf coasts of the Confederacy, captured New Orleans, given valuable help to the army, in seizing the line of the Mississippi, and by the combined effect of these operations isolated the Confederate States from the rest of the world, destroyed their trade, and cut off their supplies.

One would have expected that the importance of sea-power would have been fully appreciated in the United States after such experiences, and that steps would have been taken to form and maintain an effective fleet. But for some twenty years after the war the American Navy was hopelessly neglected. During this period the fleet consisted mainly of some of the miscellaneous collection of ships of various types built or purchased during the years of conflict. Old monitors that had engaged the batteries of Charleston figured in the Navy List, beside sloops and steam frigates that were little better than armed merchantmen. The only good work that was done by the Navy Department was the training and maintenance of a corps of excellent officers, and to their influence it was due that at last a beginning was made of the building of a new navy.

The first ships built were of two classes. Public opinion was still clinging to the idea that the “Monitor” was a supremely effective type of warship, and accordingly considerable sums were expended on the building of coast-defence vessels of this type, low-freeboard turret-ships, carrying a couple of heavy guns in an armoured turret. But ships were also required that could make ocean voyages, and show the flag in foreign waters, and for this purpose a number of protected cruisers were built, full-rigged, masted steamers, with their guns in broadside batteries.

Still, the United States possessed only a fourth or fifth-rate fleet, and could not have sent to sea a squadron that could rank with the fleets kept in commission regularly by several of the European powers. Advocates of the old American plan of “having no foreign policy” even maintained that the country had no need of an ocean-going fleet, and required only coast-defence ships and a few light cruisers.

It was not till the end of the ’eighties that American opinion was aroused to the danger of neglecting the sea-power of the States. The splendid American Navy of to-day is the creation of less than twenty years of systematic development. When the war broke out between the United States and Spain over the Cuban question several of the new cruisers and battleships were available, but many older ships were still in the service, and a number of armed liners and other makeshift auxiliaries were taken into the navy.

During the period of tension that immediately preceded the war two fleets were concentrated on the Atlantic coast. The North Atlantic Fleet, under Admiral Sampson, at Key West, Florida, and the reserve fleet, officially known as the “Flying Squadron,” under Commodore Schley, at Hampton Roads. The Pacific Squadron, under Commodore Dewey, was at Hong Kong, waiting to sail for the Philippines as soon as war was declared.

These were the two fleets available for the blockade of Cuba, and the operations of attacking coast fortifications, covering the transportation of the army of invasion, and dealing with any naval force Spain might send to these waters.

Other units were subsequently added to the fleet after both squadrons had concentrated under Sampson’s command.

In West Indian waters the Spaniards had only a few light craft and the old cruiser “Reina Mercedes” at Santiago, with her boilers and engines in such a state that she could not go to sea. For many years the Spanish Navy had been sadly neglected, but since 1890 some armoured cruisers had been built, and a flotilla of torpedo-boat destroyers added to the navy. A number of antiquated units figured on the Navy List, including useless “battleships” dating from the ’sixties, and small unarmoured cruisers little better than gunboats. There was one fairly modern battleship, the “Pelayo,” dating from 1887, but expert opinion was very divided about her value.

When the war broke out the Spanish Pacific Squadron, under Admiral Montojo, was at Manila. To use the words of an American naval officer, it was made up of “a number of old tubs not fit to be called warships.” It was promptly destroyed by Commodore Dewey’s squadron from Hong Kong (Battle of Manila Bay, Sunday, 1 May, 1898). It was the first American victory in the war, and in the national rejoicing there was much exaggeration as to Dewey’s exploit, which was compared to Nelson’s victories!

On the eve of the war a Spanish fleet, officially known as the Atlantic Squadron, had been concentrated, under the command of Admiral Cervera, in the Portuguese harbour of St. Vincent, in the Cape de Verde Islands, and the local authorities somewhat strained the laws of neutrality by allowing Cervera to use the port to complete his preparations for some time after the outbreak of the war.

The armoured cruisers were all of the same type, ships with an armoured deck under water protecting the engines and magazines, a 6-inch armour belt, and an armoured barbette fore and aft, mounting a 9 1/2-inch Hontoria gun. They had a secondary armament of ten 6-inch quick-firers, besides a number of lighter guns for defence against torpedo craft, and had maxims mounted in their fighting tops. The “Cristobal Colon,” originally built for the Italian Navy as the “Giuseppe Garibaldi,” and purchased by Spain and renamed, had only the quick-firers, and had no guns in her barbettes. These had originally been armed with Armstrong guns. The heavy Armstrongs were taken out of her at Cadiz to be replaced by Hontorias, but these were not ready when the war came, and the “Cristobal Colon” sailed for St. Vincent without them. The torpedo-boat destroyers were of the best and latest type of their class, and recently built on the Clyde.

The war in the Atlantic began by Sampson’s squadron leaving Key West, establishing the blockade of Western Cuba, reconnoitring the sea defences of Havana, and exchanging some shells with them at long range. Then, in order to satisfy popular feeling in America, Sampson bombarded the batteries of San Juan, in Puerto Rico, an operation that had no real effect on the fortunes of the war, and inflicted only trifling local loss on the Spaniards.

An army had been assembled at Tampa, in Florida, and a huge fleet of transports was collected to ferry it over to Cuba. Its destination was supposed to be the western end of the island, where, in co-operation with the insurgents by land and the fleet by sea, it would besiege and capture Havana. But again and again the sailing of the fleet was delayed, and there was alarm in the cities of the Atlantic states, because the newspapers published wild reports of phantom armadas hovering off the coast. When news came that Cervera had sailed from St. Vincent, and for many days there was no trace of his movements, there was a quite unnecessary alarm as to what the Spanish squadron might do. A wise Press censorship would have been very useful to the United States, but there was little or no attempt to control the wild rumours published by the newspapers.

For some days after the declaration of war (23 April) Cervera’s squadron lay at St. Vincent. All the ships were repainted a dead black, some coal was taken on board, and quantities of ammunition transferred from the holds of the “Ciudad de Cadiz” to the magazines of the cruisers. At last, on 29 April, Cervera sailed, leaving the torpedo-boats and the armed liner in port, and taking with him only his high-speed ships, the four armoured cruisers, and the three destroyers.

His course was westward, and it was conjectured that San Juan de Puerto Rico was his destination. The distance is about 2400 miles, and supposing that he would proceed at a cruising speed of ten knots, in order to economize his coal, it was calculated that he would be across the Atlantic in ten days, reaching the West Indies about 9 May. Two swift armed liners that had been attached to Schley’s squadron were sent out to sweep the Western Atlantic, and it was expected that by the end of the first week in May they would bring back news of the enemy, but 7 May came and brought no news. Ships arriving in ports on both sides of the ocean told of having seen the smoke of a squadron on the horizon in so many places that it seemed as if the Atlantic must be full of fleets. Look-out stations as far north as the New England States told of glimpses of warships seen far off in the morning twilight, or vaguely distinguished through mist and rain. But definite news of Cervera there was none. It seemed as if his squadron had vanished into space.

Then there were theories started to account for his disappearance. It was suggested that he had altered his course and gone to the coast of South America, to intercept the battleship “Oregon,” which had come round from the Pacific to reinforce Sampson’s fleet; or perhaps he was making for the Cape or the Horn, bound on a long voyage for Manila, to destroy Dewey’s unarmoured cruisers and restore Spanish supremacy in the Philippines; or he was ranging the oceans to prey upon American commerce.

Then came a strange report, worth remembering as a caution against too easily accepting the rumours of wartime. From Cadiz came American Press dispatches, duly passed by the Spanish censor, stating that Cervera’s squadron had steamed back into that port. The start westward from St. Vincent was said to be a mere feint. The Spaniards had hoped to draw some of the swifter American ships out into the Atlantic, and score a victory by fighting them in European waters. Naval experts gravely discussed Cervera’s tactics. Correspondents described the position of his fleet in Cadiz harbour. Perhaps the Spanish censor helped the misleading rumours into circulation by letting Americans at Cadiz imagine that ships fitting out in the harbour were the missing fleet.

At last, on 12 May, came definite news of one unit of the squadron. The night before the destroyer “Furor” had paid a flying visit in the dark to the French port of St. Pierre, in Martinique, probably calling for cabled information and orders. On the 12th the “Terror” visited the same port in broad daylight. That evening, from the hills of Martinique, four large cruisers were seen far out at sea, steering northwards, under easy steam. The cable from Martinique by St. Lucia to the States was out of order, and it was not till the 15th that Admiral Sampson received the news. Several of his heavy ships were coaling at Key West. He hurried on the work, and sent his lighter ships to watch the Windward and Mona Passages. He sent off Schley with the Flying Squadron to the south of Cuba, with orders to sweep the island-fringed Caribbean sea and watch the Yucatan Channel with his cruisers. As soon as he had completed coaling he himself sailed for the waters north of Cuba.

Once more there was for a while no news of Cervera. After dark on 12 May he had altered his northern course and steered a little south of west, making for the Dutch island of Curacao, where he expected to find some tramp steamers laden with coal and other supplies awaiting him. On Saturday, 14 May, the “Maria Teresa” and the “Vizcaya” entered the port, the two other cruisers, accompanied by two destroyers, remaining outside. The expected colliers had not arrived; the Dutch authorities insisted on Cervera leaving Curacao within twenty-four hours, and he sailed on the Sunday without being able to fill up his bunkers. Once more the United States cruisers failed to sight him, as he steamed slowly across the Caribbean Sea, husbanding his coal and steering for Cuba.

On Wednesday, 18 May, three American warships were off Santiago de Cuba. They came so close in that the Morro battery at the entrance fired upon them. Before sundown they steamed away. They had missed Cervera by a few hours, for at sunrise next morning he brought his four cruisers and two destroyers into Santiago harbour.

Santiago is the oldest Spanish city in Cuba, and was its capital in the early days before Havana was founded.

The old city stands at the head of a landlocked arm of the sea, surrounded by forest-clad hills, and approached through narrow ravine-like straits. Cervera had come there to obtain coal and supplies. If he had made it only a temporary base, and had been able to coal immediately, and put to sea to attack the American cruisers scattered over the Caribbean waters, he might have scored successes for a while. But he waited at Santiago till he was hopelessly blockaded.

For some days the Washington Government, mindful of the Cadiz hoax, refused to believe reports that the Spanish fleet was hidden behind the headlands of Santiago harbour. It was not till 27 May that Admiral Schley obtained definite proof of the fact, and formed the blockade of Santiago with his squadron. Admiral Sampson then brought his fleet round, and took over the command.

Until he reached Santiago Cervera had shown no lack of energy, but now he was strangely devoid of enterprise. He allowed an American armed liner to capture, off the port, a steamer that was bringing him 3000 tons of much-needed coal, though he might have saved her by sending one of his cruisers outside the headlands. He allowed an inferior force to blockade the entrance for some days, without bringing out his cruisers by day to engage them, or sending out his destroyers by night to torpedo them. He waited until there was an overwhelming force assembled off the harbour.

Then came a month of deadlock. He was blockaded by a vastly superior force that watched the narrow pass through which, if he left the harbour, his fleet must come out one by one. But so long as he was within the headlands he was unassailable.

Admiral Sampson declined to risk his ships in an attempt to force the narrow entrance and destroy the Spanish squadron inside. An attempt to “bottle up” Cervera, by sinking a tramp steamer, the “Merrimac,” in the entrance, proved a failure. Long-ranging bombardments produced no effect on the Spaniards. All the plans formed at Washington for the Cuban campaign were disorganized. The blockade of the island had become the blockade of the one port of Santiago. If the United States Government had known how short of supplies were the city and garrison of Santiago and Cervera’s fleet, it might have trusted to the blockade by sea and the operations of the insurgents by land, with the help of a few regulars, to force the Spanish admiral either to surrender or come out and fight. But it was decided to abandon for the present the projected attack on Havana, and send the army, collected for this purpose at Tampa, to attack Santiago by land, and so deprive Cervera of his refuge in the harbour.

Santiago was defended by lines of entrenchments with some improvised outworks, and garrisoned by a division under General Linares. The American transports from Tampa began to arrive on 20 June, and the expeditionary force, under General Shafter, was disembarked during the following days some miles east of the city. There was then an advance over mere forest tracks through hilly country covered with dense bush. Cervera landed seamen gunners with machine-guns and light quick-firers to strengthen the defence, and anchored one of his cruisers so that her heavy artillery could enfilade an attack on the entrenchments nearest the harbour.

On 1 July Shafter made his attack. The Spaniards defended themselves with such obstinate energy that after fighting through a long summer day only two outposts had been taken by the Americans, and at the cost of heavy loss. Next day there was desultory fighting along the front, but no progress. It was difficult to bring up supplies along the forest tracks, now sodden with tropical rains. Sickness had broken out in the American lines. The resistance of the Spaniards showed a dogged determination that was a surprise to the invaders.

Shafter himself was ill. Late on Saturday, 2 July, he appealed to Admiral Sampson to help him by forcing the narrows at all costs, and in the early hours of Sunday, the 3rd, he sent off to his Government a dispatch which was a confession of failure.

This discouraging report was cabled to Washington early on the Sunday morning, and caused deep dismay at the White House, but before evening news arrived of events that had changed the whole situation.

The evening before (2 July) Mr. Ramsden, the British Consul at Santiago, had written in his diary:

“It seems incredible that the Americans with their large force have not yet taken the place. The defence of the Spaniards has been really heroic, the more so when you consider that they are half-starved and sick. It was affirmed to-day that the squadron would leave this evening, but they have not done so, though the pilots are on board. I will believe it when I see them get out, and I wish they would. If they do, they will fare badly outside.”

During the Saturday Cervera had re-embarked the seamen landed for the defence of the city, and had got up steam. He was going out because the presence of his crews now only added to the difficulty of feeding the half-starved garrison and population of the place. He had a short supply of inferior coal, and the most he hoped for was that some of his ships would elude, or fight their way past, the blockading squadron, and reach Havana. It is impossible to understand why, having decided to go out, he did not make the attempt in the darkness of Saturday night, instead of waiting for broad daylight next day.

In one respect he was fortunate. His coming out was a complete surprise for the Americans, and found them quite unprepared, with some of their best ships far from the scene of action. Admiral Sampson had steamed off to the eastward in his flagship, the “New York,” intending to land at Siboney for his interview with General Shafter. The battleship “Massachusetts” had gone with two of the lighter cruisers to coal at Guantanamo. But there were quite enough ships left off the seaward opening of the narrows, where four battleships, an armoured cruiser, and two light craft were keeping up the blockade.

It was a bright summer day, with a light wind and a smooth sea. Due south of the harbour entrance, and about 5 1/2 miles from it, lay the battleship “Iowa.” To the east of her lay the “Oregon,” with the “Indiana” between her and the land, and about two miles nearer in, west of the “Iowa,” was the battleship “Texas,” with the armoured cruiser “Brooklyn,” Commodore Schley’s flagship, lying between her and the land, and still nearer in the small armed revenue cruiser “Vixen,” lying about three miles south-west of Morro Castle. On the other side of the entrance, close in to the land, was a small armed steamer, the “Gloucester.” She had been purchased by the Navy Department on the outbreak of the war from Mr. Pierpont Morgan, the banker, and renamed. Before this she had been known as the steam yacht “Gloucester.” She was commanded by one of the best officers of the United States Navy, Captain Wainwright, who had been second in command of the “Maine” when she was blown up in Havana harbour. Wainwright was to show this day that even an armed steam yacht may do good service in a modern naval action. All the ships except the “Oregon” and the little “Gloucester” had let their fires burn low, and had hardly any steam pressure on their boilers. At half-past nine the order was given for the crews to fall in for general inspection. A few minutes later an apprentice on board the “Iowa” called attention to a mass of black smoke rising over the headlands of the harbour mouth. And then between the cliffs of Morro and Socapa Points appeared the bows of Cervera’s flagship. An alarm gun rang out from the “Iowa,” the signal, “Enemy escaping clear for action,” fluttered out from the halyards of the “Brooklyn,” and on every ship the bugles sounded, the men rushed to their battle stations, and the stokers worked madly to get steam on the boilers.

Admiral Cervera, guided by a local pilot, Miguel Lopez, had led his fleet down the harbour, the “Maria Teresa” being followed in succession by the cruisers “Vizcaya,” “Cristobal Colon,” and “Oquendo,” and the destroyers “Pluton” and “Furor.” As the flagship entered the ravine of the narrows Cervera signalled to his captains, “I wish you a speedy victory!” Miguel Lopez, who was with him in the conning-tower, remarked that the admiral gave his orders very deliberately, and showed no sign of anxiety or excitement. He had asked Lopez to tell him how soon he could turn to the westward. On a sign from the pilot, he gave the order, “Starboard!” to the helmsman, put the engine-room indicator to “Full speed,” and told his captain to open fire. As the guns roared out Cervera turned with a smile to Lopez and said, “You have done your part well, pilot; I hope you will come out of this safe and be well rewarded. You have deserved it.”

The cruisers had run out with an interval of about 600 yards between the ships. There was a longer gap between the last of them and the destroyers, but the “Furor” was out within a quarter of an hour of the “Maria Teresa’s” appearance between the headlands. That quarter of an hour had been a busy time for the Americans. The “Brooklyn” and the four battleships had at once headed for the opening of the harbour, the “Oregon” making the best speed till the steam pressure rose on the boilers of her consorts. They were no sooner moving than they opened fire with their forward guns, the Spanish cruisers and the batteries of Socapa and Morro replying with shots, every one of which fell short.

As Cervera turned westward the American ships also altered their course in the same direction. And now as the huge ships of the blockading squadron, each wrapped in a fog of smoke from her guns, converged upon the same course, there was a momentary danger of disastrous collision between them, a danger accentuated by an unexpected manoeuvre of Commodore Schley’s ship, the “Brooklyn.” The “Texas” and the “Iowa” just cleared each other in the smoke-cloud. As they sheered off from each other, the “Oregon,” which had been following the “Iowa,” came rushing between the two ships, and the “Brooklyn” circled past their bows, suddenly crossing their course. Schley, in the first dash towards the Spaniards, had brought his great cruiser within 3000 yards of the “Maria Teresa,” then seeing the Spanish flagship turning, as if to ram, he swung round to starboard, bringing his broadside to bear on the enemy, but at the same time heading for his own battleships. He cleared them by completing a circle, coming back thus to the westward course, which had at the same time been resumed by the Spanish flagship. As the “Brooklyn” turned the battleships swept up between her and the enemy, masking her fire, the “Oregon” leading, but the speed of Schley’s ship soon enabled him to secure a forward place in the chase near the “Oregon.”

While the giants were thus manoeuvring the little “Gloucester” had come pluckily into action. Running in close under the Morro batteries, Commander Wainwright had fired some shots at the enemy’s cruisers. Then realizing that his light guns could do them no vital harm, he almost stopped the way on his ship, and waited to engage the destroyers. Out came the “Furor” and “Pluton,” turning eastward as they cleared the entrance, and dashing for the “Gloucester” with a mass of foam piling up over their bows. The “Indiana,” the rearmost of the battleships, fired some long-range shots at them, but it was a stream of small shells from the “Gloucester’s” quick-firers that stopped their rush. The “Furor” was soon drifting towards the cliffs, enveloped in clouds of escaping steam. The “Gloucester’s” fire had killed her helmsman, wrecked her steering gear, and cut up several of her steam-pipes, making her engine-room uninhabitable. The “Pluton,” not so badly crippled, but with her hull penetrated in several places, was next turned back. The “New York,” hurrying up from the eastward at the sound of the firing, escorted by the torpedo-boat “Ericsson,” fired on her at long range. The “Pluton” kept her engines going just long enough to drive her ashore under the Socapa cliffs. The “Furor” sank before she could reach the land.

There was now a running fight, the four Spanish cruisers steaming westward close to the wooded shore, the American ships following them up and pouring in a deadly fire from every gun that could be brought to bear. It was soon evident that the Spaniards could not get up anything like their trial speed, and their gunnery was so defective that there was small chance of their stopping any of their pursuers by well-aimed fire, or even of inflicting any appreciable loss or damage on them. The “Maria Teresa” was the first to succumb. As she led the line out of the harbour she had received the converging fire of the American ships, but she had not suffered any serious injury. Until the American ships got up full steam the Spaniards had gained a little on them. An Englishman, Mr. Mason, who watched the cruisers from a hill near Morro, till at ten o’clock the curve of the coast westward hid them from view, thought they were successfully escaping. So far as he could see they had not been badly hit, and none of the Americans were yet abreast of them. But soon after the ships disappeared from the point of view near Morro, and when the “Maria Teresa” was only some six miles from the entrance, she suffered a series of injuries in rapid succession that put her out of action.

It was the secondary armament of the American ships, the guns of medium calibre, that proved most effective in the running fight. It appears that the big 13 and 12-inch barbette and turret guns only made two hits in the whole day. Two 12-inch shells fired simultaneously from a pair of guns struck the “Maria Teresa” just above the waterline on the port side, aft and below her stern turret. They burst in the torpedo-room, killing and wounding every one there, blowing a jagged hole in the starboard side, and setting the ship on fire. An 8-inch shell came into the after battery and exploded between decks, causing many casualties. A 5-inch shell burst in the coal-bunkers amidships, blew up the deck, and started a second fire. Another destructive hit was made by an 8-inch shell a few feet forward of the point where the pair of 12-inch shells had come in. The official report thus describes its course:

“An 8-inch shell struck the gun-deck just under the after-barbette, passed through the side of the ship, and exploded, ranging aft. The damage done by this shell was very great. All the men in the locality must have been killed or badly wounded. The beams were torn and ripped. The fragments of the shell passed across the deck and cut through the starboard side. This shell also cut the fire main.”

Shells from the lighter artillery of the American ships riddled the funnels, and cut up the deck-houses. One of these shells, bursting near the forward bridge, wounded Admiral Cervera slightly in the arm. He had come outside the conning-tower the better to watch the progress of his squadron. The armour belt had kept the water-line of the ship intact, and her barbettes and heavy guns were also protected efficiently by the local armour, but the enemy’s shell fire had told on the unarmoured structure, inflicted heavy loss, and started two serious fires. All efforts to get these under failed. The blazing tropic heat had scorched the woodwork of the ship into tinder, the movement of the vessel produced a draught that made the burning bunkers and decks roaring masses of flame. The men were driven by the heat from battery and engine-room. The “Maria Teresa,” with silent guns and masses of black smoke ascending to the sky, was headed for the land. At a quarter-past ten she drove ashore at Nimanima, 6 1/2 miles west of Morro Castle. Some of the men swam ashore, others were taken off by the boats of the “Gloucester,” which came up just in time to help in saving life. Commander Wainwright had to land a party to drive off a mob of Cuban guérillas, who came down to the shore, and were murdering the hapless Spaniards as they swam to the land. One of the “Gloucester’s” boats took out of the water Admiral Cervera and his son, Lieutenant Cervera. They were brought on board the yacht, where Wainwright chivalrously greeted the unfortunate admiral with the words: “I congratulate you, sir, on having made as gallant a fight as was ever witnessed on the sea.”

At half-past ten another of the Spanish cruisers was a helpless wreck only half a mile westward of the stranded and burning flagship. This was the “Almirante Oquendo,” whose station had been last in the line. This drew upon her a converging fire from the guns of the pursuing battleships and cruisers. The destruction was terrible. Two guns of the secondary battery were disabled. A shell came through the roof of the forward turret, killed and wounded all the gun crew, and put the gun permanently out of action. Ventilators and deck-fittings were swept away, the funnels cut up, and the unarmoured part of the sides repeatedly pierced by shells that started several fires amidships. It was these that made further effort to keep up the fight hopeless. After her captain, Juan Lazaga, had been killed by a bursting shell, the “Oquendo,” now on fire in a dozen places, was driven ashore to save life. She blew up on the beach, the explosion of her magazines nearly cutting the wreck in two.

Of the Spanish squadron only the “Cristobal Colon” and the “Vizcaya” still survived. The “Colon,” best and newest of the cruisers, was making good speed, and was furthest ahead. The “Vizcaya” lagged behind her, hard pressed by several American ships, led by the “Iowa.” The “Vizcaya” had suffered severely from the fire of the pursuit. Her coal-bunkers were ablaze on one side, and there was another fire making steady progress in the gun-deck. Schley, in the “Brooklyn,” urging his engines to the utmost, rushed past the “Iowa,” and attempted to head off the “Vizcaya.” Her gallant captain, Antonio Eulate, realized that the “Brooklyn” was the swiftest ship in the pursuit, and that her destruction would materially increase the chance of the “Colon” escaping. So he made a last effort to ram or torpedo the “Brooklyn” before his own ship succumbed. He headed for Schley with a torpedo ready in his bow over-water tube. A shell from the “Brooklyn’s” battery struck it fair, exploded the torpedo in the tube, and blew up and set fire to the forepart of the “Vizcaya.” Eulate then headed his ship for the land, and she struck the shore under the cliffs at Asseradores, fifteen miles west of Morro, at a quarter-past eleven. The “Brooklyn,” the “Iowa,” and the “Oregon” were pouring their fire into her as she ran aground. Another explosion blew up part of her burning decks, and Eulate hauled down his flag. The Americans cheered as they saw the flag come down amid the clouds of smoke, but Captain Robley Evans, of the “Iowa,” called out from the bridge to stop the cheers of his men. “Don’t cheer, boys. Those poor fellows are dying,” he said. Evans, with the “Iowa,” stood by the burning ship to rescue the survivors.

The “Colon” alone remained. She had a lead of a good six miles, and many thought she would escape. The “Brooklyn” led the pursuit, followed closely by the battleships “Oregon” and “Texas,” and the small cruiser “Vixen,” with Sampson’s flagship, the “New York,” far astern, too far off to have any real share in the action. On her trials the “Colon” had done 23 knots. If she could have done anything like this in the rush out of Santiago, she would have simply walked away from the Americans, but she never did more than fourteen. For some time, even at this reduced speed, she was so far ahead that there was no firing. It was not until ten minutes past one that the “Brooklyn” and “Oregon” at last got within range and opened fire with their forward heavy guns. The “Colon,” with her empty barbettes, had nothing with which to reply at the long range. In the earlier stage of the fight she had been hit only by an 8-inch shell, which did no material damage. As the pursuers gained on her she opened with her secondary battery. Even now she received no serious injury, and she was never set on fire. But her captain, Moreu, realized that lack of speed had put him at the mercy of the enemy. As they closed in upon him and opened fire with their heaviest guns, he turned his ship into the creek surrounded by towering heights amid which the little Tarquino River runs into the sea, forty-eight miles west of Morro Castle. He hauled down his flag as he entered the creek. Without his orders the engineers opened the Kingston valves in the engine-room, and when the Americans boarded the “Colon” she was rapidly sinking. She went down by the stern under the cliffs on the east side of the inlet, and lay with her bow above water and her after decks awash. It was twenty minutes past one when she surrendered.

The men of the “Iowa” and “Gloucester” had meanwhile rescued many of the survivors of the “Vizcaya,” not without serious risk to themselves, for there were numerous explosions, and the decks were red-hot in places. Some of the Spaniards swam ashore, made their way through the bush to Santiago, and joined the garrison. Captain Eulate was brought on board the “Iowa,” and received by a guard of marines, who presented arms as he stepped from the gangway. He offered his sword to Robley Evans, but the American captain refused to take it. “You have surrendered,” he said, “to four ships, each heavier than your own. You did not surrender to the ‘Iowa’ only, so her captain cannot take your sword.”

Never in any naval action was there such complete destruction of a fleet. Of the six ships that steamed out of Santiago that summer morning, the “Furor” was sunk in deep water off the entrance; the “Pluton” was ashore under the Socapa cliff. At various points along the coast columns of black smoke rising a thousand feet into the sunlit sky showed where the burning wrecks of the “Maria Teresa,” the “Oquendo,” and the “Vizcaya” lay, and nearly fifty miles away the “Colon” was sunk at the mouth of the Tarquino River.

And never was success obtained with such a trifling loss to the victors. The Spanish gunnery had been wretchedly bad. The only ships hit were the “Brooklyn” and the “Iowa,” and neither received any serious damage. The only losses by the enemy’s fire were on board the “Brooklyn,” where a signalman was killed and two seamen wounded. Nine men were more or less seriously injured by the concussion of their own guns.

It must be confessed that the gunnery of the Americans was not of a high order. Some 6500 shells were expended during the action. The Spanish wrecks were carefully examined, and all hits counted. Fires and explosions perhaps obliterated the traces of some of them, but so far as could be ascertained, the hits on the hulls and the upper works were comparatively few. And of hits by the heavy 13-inch and 12-inch guns, only two could be traced anywhere.

The Spanish squadron had 2300 officers and men on board when it left Santiago. Of these 1600 were prisoners after the action. It was estimated that in the fight 350 were killed and 150 wounded. This leaves some 200 to be accounted for. Nearly 150 rejoined the garrison of Santiago after swimming ashore. This leaves only fifty missing. They were probably drowned or killed by the Cuban guérillas. The fact that three of the Spanish cruisers had been rendered helpless by fires lighted on board by the enemy’s shells accentuated the lesson already learned from the battle of the Yalu as to the necessity of eliminating inflammable material in the construction and fittings of warships. The damage done to the “Vizcaya” by the explosion of one of her own torpedoes in her bow-tube proved the reality of a danger to which naval critics had already called attention. Henceforth the torpedo tubes of cruisers and battleships were all made to open below the water-line.

The result of the victory was a complete change in the situation at Santiago. The destruction of Cervera’s fleet was the “beginning of the end” for the Spanish power in Cuba.