by Tom McCarthy
To steer directly for Morro Castle would be to keep the Merrimac full in the moon’s path, and to avoid this she stood to the eastward of the course and stole along at a slow rate of speed. The small crew onboard, a commander and seven men, were stripped to their underclothes and wore life preservers and revolver belts. Each man had taken his life in his hand when he volunteered for this night’s work. They wanted to sink the Merrimac at a narrow point in the harbor and bottle up the Spanish fleet beyond it.
As they neared the great looming fortress of the Morro, it was impossible to keep the ship hidden; the sentries on the castle must see the dark object now and wonder what she intended. The Merrimac gave up its oblique course and steered straight ahead. The order “Full speed!” went from Lieutenant Hobson, a naval constructor in command, to the engineer. Foam dashed over the bows, and the long shape shot for the harbor entrance, regardless of what the enemy might think or do. Soon the Morro stood up high above them, the moon clearly revealing the great central battery that crowned the fortress top.
The Spanish guns were only five hundred yards away, and yet the enemy had given no sign of having seen the Merrimac. Then suddenly a light flashed from near the water’s edge on the left side of the entrance, and a roar followed. The Merrimac did not quiver. The shot must have fallen astern. Again there was a flash, and this time the crew could hear the splash of water as the projectile struck back of them. Through their night glasses, they saw a picket boat with rapid-fire guns lying close in the shadows of the shore. Her guns had probably been aimed at the Merrimac’s rudder, but so far they had missed their aim. With a rapid-fire gun to reply, the Merrimac might have demolished the other boat in half a minute, but she had no such equipment. She would have to pass within a ship’s length of this picket. There was nothing to do but pay no heed to her aim at the Merrimac’s rudder and steer for the high wall off Morro Castle, where the deepwater channel ran close inshore. “A touch of port helm!” was the order. “A touch of port helm, sir,” came the answer, and the vessel stood toward the wall.
There came a crash from the port side. “The western battery has opened on us, sir!” reported the man on the bridge to Hobson. “Very well; pay no attention to it,” was the answer. The commander knew he must take the Merrimac at least another ship’s length forward and wondered if the enemy would give him that much grace. A shot crossed the bridge and struck. No one was hurt. They had almost reached the point where they were to stop. Another moment or two, and over the engine telegraph went the order, “Stop!” The engineer obeyed. The Merrimac slowed off Morro rock.
A high rocket shot across the channel entrance. From each side came the firing of batteries. Hobson and his men were too busy to heed them. The Merrimac, still swinging under her own headway, brought her bow within thirty feet of the rock before she righted. Another ship’s length, and she would be at the point where her commander had planned to take her; then the steering gear stopped working, and she was left at the mercy of the current.
The ship must be sunk before the current could carry her out of the course. This was done by exploding torpedoes on the outside of the vessel. Hobson gave the order, and the first torpedo went off, blowing out the collision bulkhead. There was no reply from the second or third torpedoes. Hobson crossed the bridge and shouted, “Fire all torpedoes!” In the roar of the Spanish batteries, his voice could hardly be heard.
Meantime the guns on the shores back of the harbor were pouring their shot at the black target in the moonlight, and the din was terrific. Word came to Hobson that some of the torpedoes could not be fired, as their cells had been broken. The order was given to fire the others, and the fifth exploded promptly, but the remaining ones had been shattered by Spanish fire and were useless. The commander knew that under these circumstances it would take some time for the Merrimac to sink.
The important point was to keep the ship in the center of the harbor, but the stern anchor had already been cut away. Hobson watched the bow move against the shoreline. There was nothing to do but wait and see where the tide would swing them.
The crew now gathered on deck. One of them, Kelly, had been dazed by an exploding shell. When he had picked himself up, he started down the engine-room hatch but found the water rising. Then he remembered the Merrimac’s purpose and tried to reach the torpedo of which he had charge. The torpedo was useless, and he headed back to the deck, climbing up on all fours. It was a strange sight to see him stealing up, and Hobson and some of the others drew their revolvers, thinking for the moment that he must be an enemy who had boarded the ship. Fortunately they recognized him almost immediately.
The tide was bearing them to the center of the channel when there came a blasting noise and shock. A mine had exploded beneath them. “Lads, they’re helping us!” cried the commander. But the mine did not break the deck, and the ship only settled a little lower. For a moment it seemed as if the coal might have closed the breach made by the explosion, but just as the crew feared that they were to be carried past the point chosen for sinking the current from the opposite shore caught them, and the Merrimac settled crosswise. It was now only a matter of time before she would sink in the harbor.
The crew could now turn their attention to themselves. Hobson said to them,
We will remain here, lads, till the moon sets. When it is dark, we will go down the after hatch to the coal, where her stern will be left out of water. We will remain inside all day and tonight at ebb tide try to make our way to the squadron. If the enemy comes onboard, we will remain quiet until he finds us and will repel him. If he then turns artillery on the place where we are, we will swim out to points farther forward.
He started toward the bow to reconnoiter but was persuaded not to expose himself to the enemy’s fire. One of the men discovered a break in the bulwarks that gave a good view, and Hobson stood there. The moon was bright, though now low, and the muzzles of the Spanish guns were very near them. The crew, however, remained safely hidden behind the rail. From all sides came the firing, and the Americans, lying full length on the Merrimac’s deck, felt the continual shock of projectiles striking around them. Some of the crew suggested that they should take to the small boat, but the commander knew that this would be certain destruction and ordered them to remain. Presently a shot struck the boiler, and a rush of steam came up the deck near where they lay. A canteen was passed from hand to hand. Hobson, having no pockets, carried some tourniquets around his left arm and a roll of antiseptic lint in his left hand, ready in case any of his crew was wounded.
Looking through the hole in the bulwarks, the commander saw that the Merrimac was again moving. Sunk deep though she was, the tide was carrying her on and might bear her some distance. There seemed to be no way in which they could make her sink where she was. Two more mines exploded but missed the ship, and as she floated on, it became evident that they could not block the channel completely. But shortly the Merrimac gave a lurch forward and settled to the port side. Now the Spanish Reina Mercedes was near at hand, and the Pluton was coming close inboard, but their guns and torpedoes did not hasten the sinking of the collier. She plunged again and settled in the channel.
A rush of water came up the gangway, and the crew were thrown against the bulwarks and then into the sea. The life preservers helped to keep them afloat, but when they looked for the lifeboat, they found that it had been carried away. A catamaran was the largest piece of floating wreckage, and they swam to this. The firing had now stopped. The wreckage began to drift away, and the crew were left swimming about the catamaran, apparently unseen by the enemy. The men were ordered to cling to this rude craft, their bodies in the water, their heads hidden by the boards, and to keep quiet, as Spanish boats were passing close to them. All the crew were safe, and Hobson expected that in time some Spanish officers would come out to reconnoiter the channel. He knew that his men could not swim against the tide to the harbor entrance, and even had they been able to do so, it would have be
en too dangerous a risk, as the banks were now lined with soldiers and the water patrolled by small boats. Their hope lay in surrendering before they were fired upon.
The moon had now nearly set, and the shadow of the high banks fell across the water. Boats rowed by Spanish sailors pulled close to the catamaran, but acting under orders from their commander, the crew of the Merrimac kept well out of sight. The sun rose, and a new day came. Soon the crew could see the line of distant mountains and the steep slopes leading to Morro Castle. A Spanish torpedo destroyer was heading up the harbor, and a bugle at one of the batteries could be heard across the waters. Still the Americans clung to the catamaran, although their teeth were chattering, and they had to work their arms and legs to keep warm.
Presently one of the men said, “A steam launch is heading for us, sir!” The commander looked about and saw a large launch, the curtains aft drawn down, coming from around a point of land straight toward the catamaran. As it drew near, the launch swerved to the left. When it was about thirty yards away, Hobson hailed it. The boat instantly stopped and began to back, while some riflemen appeared on the deck and took position for firing. No shot followed, however. Hobson called out again, asking whether there were any officers on the boat and adding that if there were he was ready to surrender himself and his American sailors as prisoners of war. The curtain at the stern was lowered, a Spanish officer gave an order, and the rifles dropped. The American commander swam to the launch and climbed onboard, being helped up by the Spanish officer, who turned out later to be no other than Admiral Cervera himself. Hobson surrendered for himself and his crew. The launch then drew close to the catamaran, and the sailors clinging to it were pulled onboard. Although the Spaniards knew that the Merrimac’s men had bottled up their warships in the harbor, they could not help praising their bravery.
The Spanish launch took them to the Reina Mercedes. There the men were given dry clothes and food. Although all were scratched and bruised, only one was wounded, and his wound, though painful, was not serious. The American officer was invited to join the Spaniards at breakfast and was treated with as much courtesy as if he had been an honored guest. Afterward Hobson wrote a note to Admiral Sampson, who was in command of the American fleet. The note read, “Sir: I have the honor to report that the Merrimac is sunk in the channel. No loss, only bruises. We are prisoners of war, being well cared for.” He asked that this should be sent under a flag of truce. Later in the day, the Americans were taken from the warship in a launch and carried across the harbor to Morro Castle. This course brought them within a short distance of where the Merrimac had sunk, and as Hobson noted the position, he concluded that the plan had only partly succeeded and that the channel was not completely blocked.
Landing at a small wharf, the Americans were marched up a steep hill that led to the Morro from the rear. The fortress stood out like one of the medieval castles of Europe, commanding a wide view of sea and shore. The road brought them to the bridge that crossed the moat. They marched under the portcullis and entered a vaulted passage. The American officer was shown into the guard room, while the crew were led on. A few minutes later Admiral Cervera came into the guard room and held out his hand to Hobson. The admiral said that he would have liked to send the American’s note under a flag of truce to his fleet but that this had been refused by the general in command. He added, however, that some word should be sent to inform their friends of the safe escape of the Merrimac’s men. Hobson was then led to a cell in the tower of the castle. As the jailer stopped to unlock the door, Hobson had a view of the sea and made out the line of the American battleships moving in two columns. He was told to enter the cell, which was a bare and ill-looking place, but a few minutes later, a Spanish captain arrived with apologies, saying that he hoped soon to provide the Americans with better quarters.
A little later furniture was brought to the cell and food, cigars, cigarettes, and a bottle of brandy provided for the American officer. In fact, he and his men fared as well as the Spanish officers and soldiers themselves. The governor of the fortress sent a note to ask what he could do to improve Hobson’s comfort. Officers of all ranks called to shake hands with him and express their admiration for his courage. That first night in the castle, after the sentries had made their rounds, Hobson climbed up on his cot-bed and looked through a small window at the top of the cell. The full moon showed a steep slope from the fortress to the water, then the wide sweep of the harbor, with a picket boat on duty as it had been the night before and beyond the boat the great Spanish warships and still farther off the batteries of Socapa. It was hard to believe that, only twenty-four hours before, the center of that quiet moonlit water had been ablaze with fire aimed at the small collier Hobson had commanded. As he studied the situation, he decided that the Merrimac probably blocked the channel. The enemy would hesitate a long time before they would try to take their fleet past the sunken vessel, and that delay would give Admiral Sampson time to gather his ships. Even if the channel were not entirely blocked, the Spanish ships could only leave the harbor in single line and with the most skillful steering. Therefore, he concluded that his perilous expedition had been successful.
Next morning a Spanish officer brought him news that a flag of truce had been carried to Admiral Sampson with word of the crew’s escape and that the messengers had been given a box for Hobson and bags of clothes, some money, and other articles for him and his crew. The men, now dressed again in the uniform of American marines, were treated as prisoners of war and lived almost as comfortably as their captors.
While Hobson was having his coffee on the morning of June 6th, he heard the whiz and crash of an exploding shell, then another, and another and knew that a general bombardment of the fortress had begun. He hastily examined the cell to see what protection it would offer from bricks and mortar falling from the walls and roof. At the first shot, the sentry on guard had bolted the door and left. The American pulled the table and washstand in front of the door and stood the galvanized iron box that had been sent him against the end of the table; this he thought would catch splinters and stones, which would probably be more dangerous than actual shells. He lay down under the protection of this cover. He knew that the gunners of the American fleet were good shots and figured that they could easily demolish all that part of the Morro in which his cell was situated. One shell after another against the walls of the fortress made the whole structure tremble, and it seemed as if part of the walls would be blown away. Fortunately, however, the firing soon turned in another direction, and Hobson could come from his shelter and, standing on his cot-bed, look through the window at the battle. Several times he took shelter again under the table and several times returned to watch the cannonade. The shells screamed through the air, plowed through shrubs and earthworks, knocked bricks and mortar from the Morro, and set fire to some of the Spanish ships. But no serious damage was done, and the bombardment ended in a stand-off between the two sides.
The American officer had no desire to pass through such a cannonade again, and he wrote to the Spanish governor to ask that his crew and himself be transferred to safer quarters. Next day an officer arrived with orders to take all the prisoners to the city of Santiago. So, after a four days’ stay in Morro Castle, the little party set out on an inland march, guarded by some thirty Spanish soldiers. It was not far to Santiago, and there the Americans were housed in the regular army barracks. These quarters were much better than those in the fortress, and the British consul secured many comforts and delicacies for the Americans.
The men of the Merrimac stayed in Santiago during the siege of that city. On July 5th arrangements were made to exchange Hobson and his men. In the afternoon they were blindfolded and guided out of the city. Half a mile or more beyond the entrenchments, they were told that they might remove the handkerchiefs and found themselves facing their own troops on a distant ridge. Soon they were being welcomed by their own men, who told them of the recent victories won by fleet and army. Not
long afterward they reached their ships and were received onboard the New York by the officers and men who had watched them set out on their dangerous mission on that moonlit night of June 3d. They gave a royal welcome to the small crew who had brought the collier into the very heart of the Spanish lines and sunk her, taking their chances of escape. They were the heroes of a desperate adventure, from which every man returned unharmed.
9
Beheaded
By Daniel Collins
Daniel Collins thought the trip from Wiscasset to Cuba would be quick and uneventful. An unmarked reef, a shipwreck, and an indecisive captain were the first indications that things would not be normal. But that was only the beginning.
On the 28th of November, 1824, I sailed from Wiscasset (Maine) for Matanzas, in the island of Cuba, onboard the brig Betsey, laden with lumber; our officers and crew consisting of seven: Ellis Hilton of Wiscasset, master; Joshua Merry of Edgecomb, first mate; Daniel Collins of Wiscasset, second mate; Charles Manuel (a Portuguese), Seth Russell, and Benjamin Bridge, seamen; and Detrey Jeome, cook. On the 18th of December, we passed the Berry Islands and early next morning came to anchor within a league of Orange Key, on the Bahama Banks. It was the morning of the Sabbath, so calm and clear that even the lengthened billows of the Gulf Stream seemed sleeping around us, and the most untutored son of Neptune could not but remember that it was a holy day, consecrated to devotion and rest. Here we continued until noon, when a fresh breeze from the north invited us to weigh anchor and unfurl our sails, which, swelling with a fair wind, were as buoyant as our own spirits at the increasing prospect of reaching our port of destination.
