At 5.50 general quarters was sounded, and the flag-ship headed in toward Aguadores, about three miles east of Morro Castle. The other ships retained their blockading stations. Along the surf-beaten shore the smoke of an approaching train from Altares was seen. It was composed of open cars full of General Duffield’s troops.

At a cutting a mile east of Aguadores the train stopped, and the Cuban scouts proceeded along the railroad track. The troops got out of the cars, and soon formed in a long, thin line, standing out vividly against the yellow rocks that rose perpendicularly above, shutting them off from the main body of the army, which was on the other side of the hill, several miles north.

From the quarter of the flag-ship there was a signal, by a vigorously wigwagged letter, and a few minutes later, from a clump of green at the water’s edge, came an answer from the army. This was the first coöperation for offensive purposes between the army and navy. The landing of the army at Daiquiri and Altares was purely a naval affair.

With the flag in his hand, the soldier ashore looked like a butterfly.

“Are you waiting for us to begin?” was the signal made by Rear-Admiral Sampson to the army.

“General Duffield is ahead with the scouts,” came the answer from the shore to the flag-ship.

By this time it was seven A. M. The admiral ran the flag-ship’s bow within three-quarters of a mile of the beach. She remained almost as near during the forenoon, and the daring way she was handled by Captain Chadwick, within sound of the breakers, made the Cuban pilot on board stare with astonishment.

The Suwanee was in company with the flag-ship, still closer inshore, and the Gloucester was to the westward, near Morro Castle. From the southward the Newark came up and took a position to the westward. Her decks were black with fifteen hundred or more troops.

She went alongside of the flag-ship, and was told to disembark the troops at Altares.

Then Admiral Sampson signalled to General Duffield:

“When do you want us to commence firing?”

In a little while a white flag on shore sent back the answer:

“When the rest of the command arrives; then I will signal you.”

It was a long and tedious wait for the ships before the second fifty car-loads of troops came puffing along from Altares.

By 9.30 the last of the soldiers had left the open railroad tracks, disappearing in the thick brush that covered the eastern side of Aguadores inlet.

The water in the sponge tubes under the breeches of the big guns was growing hot in the burning sun.

Ashore there was no sign of the Spaniards. They were believed to be on the western bluff.

Between the bluffs ran a rocky gully, leading into Santiago City. On the extremity of the western arm was an old castellated fort, from which the Spanish flag was flying, and on the parapet on the eastern hill, commanding the gully, two stretches of red earth could easily be seen against the brush. These were the rifle-pits.

At 10.15 a signal-flag ashore wigwagged to Admiral Sampson to commence firing, and a minute later the New York’s guns blazed away at the rifle-pits and at the old fort.

The Suwanee and Gloucester joined in the firing.

Of our troops ashore in the brush nothing could be seen, but the ping, ping, of the small arms of the army floated out to sea during the occasional lull in the firing of the big guns, which peppered the rifle-pits until clouds of red earth rose above them.

An 8-inch shell from the Newark dropped in the massive old fort, and clouds of white dust and huge stones filled the air. When the small shells hit its battlements, almost hidden by green creepers, fragments of masonry came tumbling down. A shot from the Suwanee hit the eastern parapet, and it crumbled away. Amid the smoke and débris, the flagstaff was seen to fall forward.

“The flag has been shot down!” shouted the ship’s crew, but, when the smoke cleared away, the emblem of Spain was seen to be still flying and blazing brilliantly in the sun, though the flagstaff was bending toward the earth.

A few more shots from the Suwanee levelled the battlements until the old castle was a pitiful sight.

When the firing ceased, Lieutenant Delehanty of the Suwanee was anxious to finish his work, so he signalled to the New York, asking permission to knock down the Spanish flag.

“Yes,” replied Admiral Sampson, “if you can do it in three shots.”

The Suwanee then lay about sixteen hundred yards from the old fort. She took her time. Lieutenant Blue carefully aimed the 4-inch gun, and the crews of all the ships watched the incident amid intense excitement.

When the smoke of the Suwanee’s first shot cleared away, only two red streamers of the flag were left. The shell had gone through the centre of the bunting.

A delighted yell broke from the crew of the Suwanee.

Two or three minutes later the Suwanee fired again, and a huge cloud of débris rose from the base of the flagstaff.

For a few seconds it was impossible to tell what had been the effect of the shot. Then it was seen that the shell had only added to the ruin of the fort.

The flagstaff seemed to have a charmed existence, and the Suwanee only had one charge left. It seemed hardly possible for her to achieve her object with the big gun, such a distance, and such a tiny target.

There was breathless silence among the watching crews. They crowded on the ships’ decks, and all eyes were on that tattered flag, bending toward the top of what had once been a grand old castle. But it was only bending, not yet down. Lieutenant-Commander Delehanty and Lieutenant Blue took their time. The Suwanee changed her position slightly.

Then a puff of smoke shot out from her side, up went a shooting cloud of débris from the parapet, and down fell the banner of Spain.

Such yells from the flag-ship will probably never be heard again. There was more excitement than witnessed at the finish of a college boat-race, or a popular race between first-class thoroughbreds on some big track.

The Suwanee’s last shot had struck right at the base of the flagstaff, and had blown it clear of the wreckage, which had held it from finishing its fall.

“Well done!” signalled Admiral Sampson to Lieutenant-Commander Delehanty.

At 11.30 General Duffield signalled that his scouts reported that no damage had been done to the Spanish rifle-pits by the shells from the ships, and Admiral Sampson told him they had been hit several times, but that there was no one in the pits. However, the Suwanee was ordered to fire a few more shots in their direction.

At 12.18 P. M. the New York having discontinued fire at Aguadores, commenced firing 8-inch shells clear over the gully into the city of Santiago de Cuba. Every five minutes the shells went roaring over the hillside. What destruction they wrought it was impossible to tell, as the smoke hid everything. In reply to General Duffield’s question:

“What is the news?”

Admiral Sampson replied:

“There is not a Spaniard left in the rifle-pits.”

Later General Duffield signalled that his scouts thought reinforcements were marching to the battered old fort, and Admiral Sampson wigwagged him:

“There is no Spaniard left there. If any come the Gloucester will take care of them.”

A little later the Oregon joined the New York intending 8-inch shells into the city of Santiago. This was kept up until 1.40 P. M. By that time General Duffield had sent a message saying that his troops could not cross the stream, but would return to Altares.

On the report that some Spanish troops were still in the gully, the New York and Gloucester shelled it once more, and Newark, which had not fired, signalled:

“Can I fire for target practice? Have had no previous opportunity.”

Permission for her to do so was signalled, and she blazed away, shooting well, her 6-inch shells exploding with remarkable force among the rocks.

At 2.40 P. M. Admiral Sampson hoisted the signal to cease firing, and the flag-ship returned to the blockading station.

On the railroad a train-load of troops had already left for Altares.

Mr. A. Maurice Low, of the Boston Globe, thus relates his personal experience:

“When the fighting ceased on Friday evening, July 1st, every man was physically spent, and needed food and rest more than anything else. For a majority of the troops there was a chance to cook bacon and make coffee; for the men of the hospital corps, the work of the day was commencing. At convenient points hospitals were established, and men from every company were sent out to search the battle-ground for the dead and wounded.

“It is the men of the hospital corps who have the ghastly side of war. There is never any popular glory for them; there is no passion of excitement to sustain them. The emotion of battle keeps a man up under fire. Something in the air makes even a coward brave. But all that is wanting when the surgeons go into action.

“Men come staggering into the hospital with blood dripping from their wounds; squads of four follow one another rapidly, bearing stretchers and blankets, on which are limp, motionless, groaning forms.

“To those of us at home who are in the habit of seeing our sick and injured treated with the utmost consideration and delicacy, who see the poor and outcast and criminal put into clean beds and surrounded with luxuries, the way in which the wounded on a battle-field are disposed of seems barbarous in the extreme. Of course it is unavoidable, but it is nevertheless horrible.

“As soon as men were brought in they were at once taken off the litters and placed on the bare ground. Time was too precious, and there were too many men needing attention for a soldier to monopolise a stretcher until the surgeon could reach him.

“There was no shelter. The men lay on the bare ground with the sun streaming down on them, many of them suffering the greatest agony, and yet very few giving utterance to a groan. Where I watched operations for a time there was only one surgeon, who took every man in his turn, and necessarily had to make many of them wait a long time.

“And yet these men were much more fortunate than many others, some of whom lay on the battle-field for twenty-four hours before they were found. There was no chloroform; very little of anything to numb pain. Painful gunshot wounds were dressed hastily, almost roughly, until ambulances could be sent out to take the men to the divisional hospitals in the rear.

“It is claimed that the hospital arrangements were inadequate, and that many regiments went into action without a surgeon. From what I saw I think the criticism to be justified. Naturally the wounded were taken care of first, – the last duties to the dead could be performed later.

“It was ghastly as one moved over the battle-field to come across an upturned face lying in a pool of blood, to see what was once a man, bent, and twisted, and doubled. And still more horrible was it as the moonlight fell over the field, and at unexpected places one ran against this fruit of war and saw faces in the pallor of death made even more ghostlike by the light, while the inevitable sea of crimson stood out in more startling vividness by the contrast.

“We had won the battle, but our position was a somewhat precarious one.

“Our line was long and thin, and there was a danger of the Spaniards breaking through and attacking us in the rear or left flank. To guard against this possibility, Lawton’s division at El Caney was ordered to move on to El Pozo, and Kent’s division was under orders to draw in its left. The men who had fought at El Caney were hoping to be allowed to sleep on the battle-field and obtain the rest which they so badly needed, but after supper they were placed under arms and the march commenced.

“The Seventh U. S. Infantry led. It was a weird march. Immediately after leaving El Caney we crossed an open field, a skirmish line was thrown out, and the men were commanded to maintain absolute silence. We were in the heart of the enemy’s country, and caution was necessary.

“After crossing this field we came to a deep gully through which ran a swift stream almost knee-deep. Our way led across this stream, and there was only one means of getting over. That was to plunge in and splash through. Tired as we all were, after getting thoroughly wet our feet felt like lead, and marching was perfect torture. Still there was no let-up.

“We pressed steadily forward until we came to where the road forked off. Our directions had not been very explicit, we had no maps, and our commander took the road which he thought was the right one. It soon led between high banks of dense growth of chaparral on either side. The moon had disappeared behind the clouds, and had the Spaniards wanted to ambuscade us we were at their mercy.

“I will not say that we were nervous, exactly, but I think we would all rather have been out of that lane. The fear that your enemy may be crouching behind bushes, that you know nothing of his presence until he pours a rifle fire into you, is rather trying on the nerves.

“The command was frequently halted for the officers to consult, and after we had gone about a mile they concluded they were on the wrong road, and went to the right about. When we came out where we had started we found Brigadier-General Chaffee sitting silent on a big horse and watching a seemingly never-ending line of men marching past him. We fell into position and pushed on the road to Santiago.

“How long we marched that night I cannot tell. It seemed interminable. My watch had run down and no one around me had the time. Finally we were ordered to halt, and the men were told to stack arms, take off their packs, and rest.

“I dropped my blanket roll, which seemed to me weighed not less than two hundred pounds, on the muddy road, and sat down to rest. The next thing I knew some one tapped me on the shoulder. It was three o’clock, and I had been asleep for some hours. The regiment was again under arms, and was receiving ammunition from a pack-train which had come up from the rear. We pressed on until early dawn, when we were well in front of Santiago. Entrenchments were hastily thrown up, and we were ready for the enemy. The enemy did not give us much time for rest. They made an assault upon our position early in the morning, which we repulsed…

“While the Spaniards were unable to dislodge us, they succeeded in forcing our artillery back, which had taken a position that subjected it to a withering infantry fire. Later in the day this position was recovered and entrenchments thrown up, which, it was claimed, made the position impregnable. The guns were so placed they could do tremendous destruction.

“There was a lull that afternoon, but in the evening the Spaniards opened up an attack along our entire line, with the intention, evidently, of taking us by surprise and rushing us out of our entrenchments. But their purpose was a failure.”

General Lawton, in his report after the assault upon and the capture of El Caney by his division during the first day’s fighting, says:

“It may not be out of place to call attention to this peculiar phase of the battle.

“It was fought against an enemy fortified and entrenched within a compact town of stone and concrete houses, some with walls several feet thick, and supported by a number of covered solid stone forts, and the enemy continued to resist until nearly every man was killed or wounded, with a seemingly desperate resolution.”

It was Sergeant McKinnery, of Company B, Ninth Infantry, who shot and disabled General Linares, the commander of the Spanish forces in Santiago. The Spanish general was hit about an hour after San Juan Hill was taken, during the first day’s fighting. The American saw a Spaniard, evidently a general officer, followed by his staff, riding frantically about the Spanish position, rallying his men.

Sergeant McKinnery asked Lieutenant Wiser’s permission to try a shot at the officer, and greatly regretted to find the request refused. Major Bole was consulted. He acquiesced, with the injunction that no one else should fire. Sergeant McKinnery slipped a shell into his rifle, adjusted the sights for one thousand yards, and fired. The shell fell short. Then he put in another, raised the sights for another one thousand yards, took careful aim, and let her go. The officer on the white horse threw up his arms and fell forward.

“That is for Corporal Joyce,” said McKinnery as he saw that his ball had reached the mark. The officer on the white horse was General Linares himself. It was afterward learned that he was shot in the left shoulder. He immediately relinquished the command to General Toral.

On the evening of July 3d, General Shafter sent the following cablegram to the War Department:

“Headquarters Fifth Army Corps,
“Near Santiago.

“To-night my lines completely surrounded the town from beyond the north of the city to point of San Juan River on the south. The enemy holds from west bend San Juan River at its mouth up the railroad to the city. General Pando, I find to-night, is some distance away, and will not get into Santiago.

(Signed) “Shafter.”

July 4th Secretary Alger received the communication given below:

“Headquarters Fifth Army Corps, July 3.

“The following is my demand for the surrender of the city of Santiago:

“ ‘Headquarters U. S. Forces, Near San Juan River, Cuba,
July 3, 1898, 8.30 A. M.

“ ‘To the Commanding General of the Spanish Forces, Santiago de Cuba.

“ ‘Sir: – I shall be obliged, unless you surrender, to shell Santiago de Cuba. Please inform the citizens of foreign countries and all women and children that they should leave the city before ten o’clock to-morrow morning. Very respectfully,

“ ‘Your obedient servant,
“ ‘W. R. Shafter,
“ ‘Major-General, U. S. A.’

“Following is the Spanish reply which Colonel Dorst has returned at 6.30 P. M.:

“ ‘Santiago de Cuba, 2 P. M., July 3, 1898.

“ ‘His Excellency, the General Commanding Forces of United States, San Juan River.

“ ‘Sir: – I have the honour to reply to your communication of to-day, written at 8.30 A. M. and received at 1 P. M., demanding the surrender of this city; on the contrary case announcing to me that you will bombard this city, and that I advise the foreigners, women, and children that they must leave the city before ten o’clock to-morrow morning. It is my duty to say to you that this city will not surrender, and that I will inform the foreign consuls and inhabitants of the contents of your message.

“ ‘Very respectfully,
“ ‘Jose Toral,
“ ‘Commander-in-chief, Fourth Corps.’

“The British, Portuguese, Chinese, and Norwegian consuls have come to my line with Colonel Dorst. They ask if non-combatants can occupy the town of Caney and railroad points, and ask until ten o’clock of fifth instant before city is fired on. They claim that there are between fifteen thousand and twenty thousand people, many of them old, who will leave. They ask if I can supply them with food, which I cannot do for want of transportation to Caney, which is fifteen miles from my landing. The following is my reply:

“ ‘The Commanding General Spanish Forces,

“ ‘Santiago de Cuba.

“ ‘Sir: – In consideration of the request of the consuls and officers in your city for delay in carrying out my intention to fire on the city, and in the interest of the poor women and children, who will suffer very greatly by their hasty and enforced departure from the city, I have the honour to announce that I will delay such action solely in their interest until noon of the fifth, providing, during the interval, your forces make no demonstration whatever upon those of my own. I am, with great respect,

“ ‘Your obedient servant,
“ ‘W. R. Shafter,
“ ‘Major-General U. S. A.’

(Signed) “Shafter,
“Major-General Commanding.”

CHAPTER XII.
THE SPANISH FLEET

“Don’t cheer; the poor devils are dying.”

It was Sunday morning (July 3d), and the American squadron lay off Santiago Harbour intent only on blockade duty. No signs of life were visible about old Morro. Beyond and toward the city all was still. After two days of fighting the armies of both nations were resting in their trenches.

The fleet had drifted three miles or more from the land. The battle-ship Massachusetts, the protected cruiser New Orleans, and Commodore Watson’s flag-ship, the cruiser Newark, were absent, coaling fifty miles or more away.

Shortly before nine o’clock Admiral Sampson, desiring to ascertain the exact condition of the Spanish coast defences about Aguadores, ordered the flag-ship to go that way, and after flying the signal, “Disregard the motions of the commander-in-chief,” the New York steamed leisurely off to the eastward.

The little Gloucester lay nearest the shore; the Vixen was opposite in a straight line, and to the eastward of her about five miles. A mile or less from the Gloucester, to the seaward, was the Indiana. Nearly as far from the latter ship, and southeast of her, lay the Oregon. The Iowa was the outermost ship of the fleet, lying four miles from the harbour entrance; next her, to the eastward, each vessel slightly nearer inshore, were the Texas and the Brooklyn in the order named.

Shoreward, inside the harbour, could be seen a long line of black smoke. On board the fleet religious services were being held, but the lookouts of every ship were at their stations.

Suddenly, at about half past nine, a dark hull was seen coming out past the point of the harbour, and instantly all was seemingly confusion on the big fighting machines.

“The enemy is escaping,” was the signal run up on Commodore Schley’s flag-ship, and within a few seconds the roar of a 6-pounder on the Iowa broke the stillness of the Sabbath morning.

It was as if every American vessel was put in motion at the same instant, and even as the flag-ship’s signal appeared, the clouds of dense smoke from their stacks told that the men in the furnace-rooms had already begun their portion of the task so unexpectedly set for all the fleet.

John R. Spear, author of “The History of our Navy,” who was with Sampson’s fleet, wrote this complete story of the marvellous naval battle off Santiago and along the southern shore of Cuba, for the World:

“The enemy was first seen at 9.30, and at 9.32 the men of the American batteries were standing erect and silent beside their loaded guns, waiting for the order to commence firing, and watching out of the corners of their eyes the boys who were still sprinkling the decks with sand that no one’s foot might slip when blood began to flow across the planks.

“But though silence prevailed among the guns, down in the sealed stoke-hole the click and ring of the shovels that sprayed the coal over the glowing grate-bars, the song of the fans that raised the air pressure, and the throb of pump and engine made music for the whole crew, for the steam-gauges were climbing, and the engineers were standing by the wide-open throttles as the ships were driven straight at the enemy.

“For, as it happened, the Texas had been lying directly off the harbour, and a little more than two miles away the Iowa was but a few lengths farther out and to the westward, while Capt. Jack Philip of the one, and ‘Fighting Bob’ Evans of the other, were both on deck when the cry was raised announcing the enemy. Hastening to their bridges, they headed away at once for the Spaniards, while the Oregon and the Brooklyn went flying to westward to intercept the leader.

“The mightiest race known to the history of the world, and the most thrilling, was begun.

“They were all away in less time than it has taken the reader to get thus far in the story, and in much less time still, – indeed, before the gongs in the engine-rooms of the Yankee ships had ceased to vibrate under the imperative order of ‘Ahead, full speed!’ – the Almirante Oquendo, fugitive as she was, had opened the battle. With impetuous haste, and while yet more than two miles away, the Spaniard pointed one of his long 11-inch hontoria rifles in the direction of the Texas and pulled the lanyard. The shell came shrieking out to sea, but to sea only.

“Instantly the great guns of the Morro, 180 feet above the water, and those of the Socapa battery, lying higher still, with all the batteries beneath those two, began to belch and roar as their crews strove with frantic energy to aid the flying squadron.

“Now, it was about three minutes from the appearance of the first Spaniard to the firing of the first American gun.

“In these three minutes the distance between the squadrons was lessened by at least a mile, – the range was not more than two thousand yards.

“But while two thousand yards is the range (about one and one-sixth miles) selected for great gun target practice, it will never do for an eager fight, and as the trend of the land still headed the Spanish off to southward, the battle-ships were able to reduce the range to fifteen hundred yards before they were obliged to head a course parallel with the Spaniards.

“Meantime the Oregon and the Brooklyn, as they were stretching away toward the coast, had opened fire also, and then the last of the big Spaniards, the Infanta Maria Teresa, having rounded the point, the magnificent spectacle of a squadron battle on the open sea – of a battle between four of the best modern armed cruisers on the Spanish side, against three battle-ships and an armoured cruiser on our side – was spread out to view.

“And their best was the worst struggle the world ever saw, for it was a struggle to get out of range while firing with hysterical vehemence their unaimed guns.

“The first shot from the American ships fell short, and a second, in like fashion, dropped into the sea. At that the gunner said things to himself under his breath (it was in the forward turret of the Iowa), and tried it once more.

“For a moment after it the cloud of gun smoke shrouded the turret, but as that thinned away the eager crew saw the 12-inch shell strike into the hull of the Infanta Maria Teresa. Instantly it exploded with tremendous effect. Flame and smoke belched from the hole the shell had made, and puffed from port and hatch. And then in the wake of the driven blast rolled up a volume of flame-streaked smoke that showed the woodwork had taken fire and was burning fiercely all over the after part of the stricken ship.

“The yell that rose from the Yankee throats at that sight swelled to a roar of triumph a moment later, for as he saw that smoke, the captain of the Teresa threw her helm over to port, and headed her for the rocky beach. The one shell had given a mortal wound.

“And then came Wainwright of the Maine, – Lieut. – Commander Richard Wainwright, who for weeks conducted the weary search for the dead bodies of shipmates on the wreck in the harbour of Havana. He was captain of the Gloucester, that was once known as the yacht Corsair. A swift and beautiful craft she, but only armed with lean 6-pounders.

“ ‘Ahead, full speed,’ said Wainwright.

“And fortune once more favoured the brave, for in the wake of the mighty Maria Teresa came Spain’s two big torpedo-boats, called destroyers, because of their size, – the Pluton and the Furor. Either was more than a match for the Gloucester, for one carried two 12-pounders, and the other two 14-pounders, besides the 6-pounders that both carried.

“Moreover, both overmatched the speed of the Gloucester by at least ten knots per hour. But both had thin-plated sides. The shells of the Gloucester could pierce them, and at them went Wainwright, with the memory of that night in Havana uppermost in his mind.

“The two boats – even the whole Spanish fleet – were still within easy range of the Spanish forts, and to reach his choice of enemies the Gloucester was obliged to risk not only the land fire, but that of the Vizcaya and the Teresa. Nevertheless, as the torpedo-boats steered toward the Brooklyn, evidently bound to torpedo her, Wainwright headed them off, and they never got beyond range of the forts.

“The shots they threw at him outweighed his three to one, but theirs flew wild, and his struck home.

“The day of the destroyers was done. As the big Maria Teresa turned toward the shore, these two destroyers, like stricken wild fowl, fled fluttering and splashing in the same direction, and they floundered as they fled.

“While the Infanta Maria Teresa was on fire, and running for the beach, her crew was still working their guns, and the big Vizcaya was handily by to double the storm of projectiles she was hurling at the Iowa and Texas.

“It was not that the Vizcaya’s crew were manfully striving to protect the Teresa; they were making the snarling, clawing fight of a lifetime to escape the relentless Yankees that were closing upon them. For both the Texas and the Iowa had the range, and it was only when the smoke of their own guns blinded them that their fire was withheld, or a shot went astray.

“The Iowa and the Texas had headed off both the Vizcaya and the Infanta Maria Teresa, while the Indiana was coming with tremendous speed to join them.

“And then came the finishing stroke. A 12-inch shell from the Texas went crashing into the stoke-hole, and the Vizcaya, – the ship whose beauty and power once thrilled the hearts of New Yorkers with mingled pleasure and fear – was mortally wounded. Hope was gone, and with helm aport she headed away for the beach, as her consort had done.

“The battle had opened on our side at 9.33 o’clock, and at 9.58 two of the magnificent armoured cruisers of the Spanish navy were quivering, flaming wrecks on the Cuban beach, with the Texas rounding to less than a thousand yards away off the stern of the Vizcaya.

“For a moment the Texas tarried there to let the smoke clear, and to see accurately the condition of the enemy, but while her gunners were taking aim for a final broadside a half-naked quartermaster on the Vizcaya, with clawing hands on the halliards, hauled down the fever-hued ensign from her peak and hoisted the white flag instead.

“ ‘Cease firing!’ commanded Captain Jack Philip of the Texas.