Wind of Destiny

by Christopher Nicole

  Standing beside him in the lounge of the Officers’ Mess in Key West, at the southern end of Florida, were his senior captains, as well as a distinguished looking man in military uniform, with a formidable moustache, whom the assembled officers recognised as General Nelson Miles, Commander-in-Chief of the Army. Because they were all in this together, Joe thought, as he took his place at the back of the room, his heart pounding in anticipation. The fleet, anchored in the harbour behind him, had been alive with rumour for the past couple of days. But now they were to discover what was really happening.

  ‘Gentlemen, be seated,’ Sampson said, and sat down himself, Miles taking his place next to him. ‘I have to tell you,’ the Commodore said, speaking very slowly and carefully, ‘that all the efforts of the Administration to obtain adequate compensation from Spain for the wanton destruction of the USS Maine, and the murder of two hundred and sixty members of her complement, as well as the identification and punishment of those responsible for this dastardly act, having proved unsuccessful, the President has been authorised by Congress to issue an ultimatum to Madrid that unless our legitimate demands are met within forty-eight hours, we shall consider ourselves to be at war with Spain. This ultimatum was delivered yesterday, and I have just been informed from Washington that on its receipt, our ambassador to Spain, General Woodford, was summarily expelled from that country.’ He paused, and looked over their faces. ‘It is therefore considered unlikely that the Spanish Government intends to comply with our demand, and therefore that by tomorrow morning we shall be at war with that country. This fleet will therefore put to sea at dawn tomorrow.’

  There was a restless movement round the room, then someone cried, ‘Hurrah!’ and the cheer was taken up in a huge crescendo of sound.

  Sampson’s rather grim face relaxed into a smile. ‘I had no doubt that would be your reaction, gentlemen. Well, then, let me now tell you that, as I have had the honour to be appointed to the command of this first fleet to engage in a foreign naval war since 1815, the President has seen fit to give me the rank of Rear-Admiral.’ He unbuttoned his tunic, removed it, and replaced it with the one which had been hanging, unnoticed, on the back of his chair, with the single broad stripe of an admiral on each sleeve.

  Once again cheers rang out.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘As you may have gathered from reading the newspapers, it is the impression of the public that once war is formally declared, the task of the Navy will be to bombard Havana into submission, occupy the harbour and the city, and end proceedings without delay. That is the opinion of the newspapers. It is, unfortunately, not a practicable proposition in the opinion of either General Miles or myself. I may say that Commodore Dewey, in Hong Kong, has also received orders to seize the city of Manila, the capital of the Spanish Philippines. Well, he may be able to accomplish that task. He has a powerful squadron, and it is known that the very weak Spanish Pacific squadron is based on Cavite, just outside Manila, so the Commodore has every prospect of bringing it to battle and destroying it, and then reducing Manila at his leisure. Things are somewhat different here in the Atlantic.’

  He paused to take a sip of water, while the officers exchanged glances. Was he telling them they were not going to fight?

  ‘In the first place,’ Sampson went on, ‘Havana is a very strongly fortified city, particularly with regard to attack from the sea. General Miles and myself are both of the opinion that it will only be reduced by regular military operations, and it will of course take a few months for the United States Army to be ready to undertake such operations. Our primary duty, then, will be to blockade the northern part of Cuba, to prevent any accretion of strength to the Spanish forces there, and to prepare to escort the Army from Florida the moment its mobilisation is completed. But … ’ he paused for emphasis. ‘We also have another duty, gentlemen, that of meeting and destroying the Spanish Atlantic fleet, commanded by Admiral de Cervera. Our problem is that, unlike Commodore Dewey, we do not know where Admiral Cervera and his ships are. We possess nothing but rumours. We do know that he is not in Havana. I have received a report that he is actually still in Cadiz, three thousand miles away. But I have also had a report that he is in the harbour of San Juan, Puerto Rico. In these circumstances, gentlemen, I regard it as futile to attempt to seek the enemy in the Atlantic or on the coast of Spain. He might easily give us the slip, and we would be neglecting our duty here. So we shall proceed with our blockade, and let him come to us. I have no doubt he will. However, once the blockade is established, I intend to pay San Juan a visit, and if he is there, bring him to battle. If he is not, we shall at least know for sure that he is not.’ This time he grinned at them. ‘But you will have your battle, never fear, one way or the other. The Spanish government cannot just let Cuba go by default.’

  ‘Now, it is my intention to be off Havana by dusk tomorrow night. Our first task will be the disruption of all shipping around Cuba, and the sealing up of the main ports. As you know, I am hoisting my flag on the New York. The battleships Iowa and Indiana, and the cruisers Cincinatti, Montgomery, Detroit and Marblehead will follow. The monitors will come along later. You torpedo boat and gunboat skippers will accompany the fleet, not only for scouting pin-poses, but because your speed and shallow draft will be useful for seizing Spanish shipping inside the reefs.’

  Joe gave a sigh of relief; for the moment he had supposed that the smaller ships might be being left behind.

  ‘Now,’ Sampson went on, ‘you’ll be pleased to know that Commodore Schley has been appointed to serve with us.’ He paused. ‘Under my command.’ He waited for that to sink in, watched the glances being exchanged; Winfield Scott Schley, another Civil War veteran, was actually senior to Sampson. ‘The Commodore is presently in Hampton Roads, with the battleships Texas and Massachusetts, the armoured cruiser Brooklyn, and the cruisers Columbia and Minneapolis. It is my intention that Commodore Schley’s ships will form our general reserve, a flying squadron if you like, able to reinforce any part of the main fleet should it suddenly find itself face to face with Admiral Cervera. I may also add that the battleship Oregon is on its way round from the Pacific coast to join us. So if Admiral Cervera delays, he will find himself against an even stronger force. Now, are there are any questions?’

  ‘Do we have any idea of the size or quality of Admiral Cervera’s fleet, sir?’ someone asked.

  ‘Well, we know he possesses three battleships,’ Sampson replied. ‘But two of them, the Numancia and the Vitoria, are thirty years old, and although they have recently undergone an extensive refit, I don’t rate them very highly. That leaves the Pelayo, just on ten thousand tons, and armed with two twelve-and-a-half-inch Hontoria guns, one forward and one aft. She was built in France and is heavily armoured. She’s quite a ship, from all accounts. But as I say, she’s the only really good battleship they have. On the other hand, they have seven good, fast, modem armoured cruisers, each the equivalent of our New York or Brooklyn, and no fewer than fourteen ordinary cruisers, so we could very well find ourselves outnumbered in terms of ships, even if not in weight or metal. Here again, however, it is known that one of these cruisers, the Reina Mercedes, is actually in Cuba, in the harbour of Santiago de Cuba, as a matter of fact, where she is awaiting repairs to her engines. Once we get our blockade going, that should effectively rule her out of action as long as we control the waters around the island. Very well, gentlemen, thank you, and may I say, I look forward to encountering the enemy.’ He looked over their faces. ‘Remember the Maine, and the hell with Spain.’

  That roused both a laugh and a cheer, and the admiral saluted his officers. ‘Lieutenant McGann,’ he said. ‘Will you remain behind, please.’

  Joe stood up, waited while the other officers filed out, giving him curious glances, with the occasional wink or grin. He was too exhilarated to care what the admiral had to say to him. At long last, they were going to tackle the Cuban situation. The end was in sight, for Toni, and for Christina. And he was going to see action. When he had
despaired of ever doing so.

  And he would be avenging those good men of the Maine, blown to bits by … he didn’t know what, for sure. He did not suppose anyone would ever know, for sure. He did know that if he ever found out that it had been a human agency and could encounter the man … Rafael Diaz? He could only hope and pray not.

  ‘Sit down, Mr McGann,’ Sampson invited, gesturing him to a chair around the table. ‘How does the idea of a special assignment take you?’

  ‘I’d be honoured, sir.’

  ‘Well, I am informed that not only do you speak Spanish, but that your sister is married to one of the insurgent generals.’

  ‘My sister is married to Rafael Diaz de Obrigar,’ Joe said carefully.

  ‘And is actually in the mountains with him?’

  ‘So far as I know, sir.’

  ‘Well, I think you should listen to what General Miles has to say. General?’

  ‘Well, McGann,’ the General said. ‘You heard what Admiral Sampson said earlier. The issue of this war is Cuba, and the quickest way for us to bring the Dons to their senses is by taking the island. But this has to be an army matter, with logistical as well as armed support from the Navy, of course. Now it is going to take me several months to mobilise our forces. As you probably know, there are only twenty-seven thousand regular doughboys in the United States, and these are all scattered in garrisons all over the country. They have to be assembled here in Florida. But on their own they aren’t going to suffice. General Blanco has twice that number of regulars in Cuba. I have therefore to call out such of the State militias as are available, and also raise some volunteer regiments. This is under way. But it will, as I have said, take time. Which is probably no bad thing, if you fellows can seal Cuba off; I’m not too keen on beginning a campaign there just as the wet season begins. However, and this is the point, our task will be immeasurably eased if we can obtain the full support of the insurgents who have been fighting the Dons these past three years, men like your brother-in-law, and even more important, Pedro Garcia. We want someone to make contact with these people, tell them that we are on our way, ask them to coordinate their campaign with us. We also would like to pick their brains as to where would be the best place to land our army, the weakest places in the Spanish defences, and that sort of thing. Now it seems to us, that with your connections, and your knowledge of the language, you’re the ideal guy for the job. How about it?’

  ‘I’d be happy to do it, sir.’

  ‘We don’t want you to be under any false conceptions, now, McGann,’ Admiral Sampson said. ‘We’re asking you to penetrate country which so far as we know is held by an enemy. This is a dangerous mission.’

  ‘General Garcia holds out in the mountains behind Santiago de Cuba, sir,’ Joe told him. ‘That is where my sister’s husband had his plantation. I know the area well. I am confident I can get ashore and make contact with the insurgents without being caught.’

  ‘Well, that sounds pretty good to me, Lieutenant,’ Miles said. ‘I hope you bring it off, for all of our sakes.’

  ‘Okay, McGann,’ Sampson said. ‘This is of course top secret. You won’t communicate a word of it even to your officers until your mission actually commences. You say you reckon to go ashore in the south?’

  ‘Yes, sir. There are gaps in the reef, and beaches suitable for landing, just east of the little port of Daiquiri. From there it is only a short distance to the mountains.’

  ‘Right. Then you will accompany the fleet tomorrow on a regular basis, remain with us for several days, and when I peel off a squadron to attack San Juan, you will depart for your destination. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very good. Well, good sailing, Lieutenant.’

  ‘And good luck from the Army, Mr McGann,’ General Miles said.

  Joe saluted, and left the room. Now he was more exhilarated than ever. He was actually being sent back to Cuba. He’d see Toni again. And Christina. Oh, he would do that. And he would bring them out, too.

  As he went down the steps and looked out at the sea, he felt a breeze, coming out of the east, playing across his face. The Wind of Destiny, he thought. Leading us, where?

  Chapter 13

  The Caribbean — 1898

  The USS Dahlgren was a new ship, only launched in 1896, and commissioned the following year. Displacing one hundred and eighty tons, she was a hundred and twenty feet long, and was capable of speeds of up to twenty-eight knots; Joe had given her the gun on her voyage down from Hampton Roads and had been most impressed. Armed with a one-and-half inch quick-firer forward, and another aft, and manned by forty officers and men, she was also equipped with four twenty-one inch torpedoes, very destructive weapons indeed, which, it was intended, her great speed would enable her to deliver from close, and therefore effective, range, against enemy cruisers and even battleships, and then escape again unscathed. This was of course theoretical warfare, never yet tested in actual combat, but there were already naval strategists who saw in the appearance of the torpedo boat the extinction of the ram, as because of the torpedo weapon battleships would never be able to get close enough to each other to use their underwater projections. There had, indeed, been only one ramming attack brought to a successful conclusion in all naval history, in the Adriatic in 1866, when the Austrian ironclad Erzherzog Ferdinand Maximilian sank the Italian Re d’Italia at the Battle of Lissa. Joe, well versed in naval lore, could remember how four years before Lissa the Confederate ironclad Virginia, known to posterity by her previous name as a Federal frigate, Merrimac, had rammed the wooden USS Cumberland and holed her in the Battle of Hampton Roads during the Civil War. But the Cumberland had been anchored at the time, and she had actually been sunk by fire which had caused an explosion — while the Confederate warship had left part of her ram embedded in her victim, snapped off by the force of the impact, with the result that when, the following day, she had tried to repeat the tactics against the Federal Monitor, which was made of iron, she had failed completely to inflict any damage.

  Ironically, the only totally successful ramming had happened five years before, during manoeuvres being carried out by the Royal Navy, when HMS Camperdown had collided with HMS Victoria, when both ships had been steaming at high speed, sending her to the bottom with a catastrophic loss of life. That had caused some diehard traditionalists to claim that the ram could still prove a useful weapon, but as the incident had been a tragic freak caused by faulty orders, Joe felt he would rather put his faith in the torpedo any day. And if it had been a torpedo that had sunk the Maine … it was strange how ambivalent his feelings were on that score. He wanted to fight. Because of the Maine he wanted to see a Spanish ship in his sights, a big one, if possible the Pelayo, and be able to loose one of his deadly silver fish at her hull. Yet he knew there was a strong possibility that the Spanish were not at all responsible for the catastrophe of the Maine, that the crime could very well have been committed by the very people with whom the United States was about to ally herself.

  But the Spanish were guilty of other crimes in Cuba, and the war should have been undertaken years ago. And now it was here. He wanted to throw his cap in the air. Certainly his men had no doubts about the news he was bringing them, as they looked at his face as he came aboard. ‘Prepare for sea, Mr Cotter,’ he told the ensign who was his Executive Officer; the only other commissioned rank on board was Midshipman Lucas. ‘We sail at dawn.’

  ‘Is it war, sir?’ Cotter asked, eyes shining as he joined his captain on the low open bridge which was set just forward of the single funnel. He was a fair young man, rather in awe of his new commander, although neither of them had seen any active service as yet — he had watched Joe drive their little ship through the Gulf Stream in the teeth of a gale and he had been impressed.

  ‘I would say it is going to be war, Mr Cotter. Summon the crew, and I’ll address them.’

  There was in fact little to say beyond the bald announcement that they were putting to sea, as everyone had
a pretty good idea what was about to happen. It had indeed been a little frightening to observe how the war fever had swept across the nation, constantly whipped up by the newspapers until the average American appeared to regard the average Spaniard as nothing less than a monster. That the sailors of the fleet, who had known no active service for thirty-three years, would be anxious to get to grips with a foe was not altogether surprising; their whole lives had been spent preparing for just such an event. But that ordinary men and women who had always subscribed to the theory that the United States should keep the quarrels and absurdities of the rest of the world at arms’ length should now be screaming for blood was a remarkable phenomenon.

  Cheers broke out from all the vessels anchored in the harbour as each captain in turn gave his men the news, and then the rear-admiral’s pennant fluttered to the peak of the armoured cruiser New York, to announce that Sampson had formally taken command of the fleet.

  There was not a great deal to be done. The ships had only assembled at Key West after the destruction of the Maine, and each had arrived in fighting trim, knowing that the nation was sliding inexorably to war. Yet there was an inescapable feeling of tremendous tension, even if, going by what Sampson had told them, it was unlikely there would be any action for a week or two at any rate. Hardly anyone slept as guns were polished, bayonets sharpened in case it came to close work, charts arranged, every last detail in the engine room overhauled, and all minds looked expectantly to the east, and the first signs of daylight. The moment the ships could be discerned, the flags fluttered up the signal halliards of the USS New York, and the fleet proceeded to sea, the flagship leading the line, followed by the battleships Indiana and Iowa, and then the cruisers. The New York was one of the only two armoured cruisers in the United States Navy, and was little inferior to the battleships, as she displaced eight and a half thousand tons, was protected by a formidable belt of armour, and mounted eight-inch guns as well as quickfirers, while she was much faster, being capable of twenty-one knots. But the whole fleet on this occasion maintained no more than six knots, in keeping with Admiral Sampson’s declared intention of arriving off Havana at dusk; the gunboats and torpedo boats were thrown out to either side to provide a screen.