The Old Navy

by Daniel P. Mannix

  Another story we heard is that an observation balloon was sent up directly over a body of our troops; the Spaniards opened fire on it and their “lows” created so many casualties among our men that they commenced firing at the balloon too and got it back to earth again as quickly as possible.

  We went to General Quarters last night at midnight and remained at our battle stations until two o’clock this morning. Our duty was to run within a mile of Morro and kept our searchlights on the entrance. One ship has to do this every night to make sure the Spanish Fleet does not slip away under cover of darkness and escape. The steam launches are stationed inshore of the vessel on searchlight duty to act as pickets. They are armed with 1-pounder boat guns and have rocket signals ready to fire if they see anything. Their duty is to keep close to the beach, outside of the searchlight beam and make sure that no destroyer can slip out and torpedo the illuminating ship.

  Great excitement was caused last night by one of the auxiliaries firing a whole batch of rockets and blazing away with all her guns; every ship in the fleet went to quarters and closed in. The cause of the disturbance reported that she had distinctly seen a strange destroyer speeding along close to the shore. What she did see was a train running along the bank. The commander of our picket launch got so excited that he dropped his 1-pounder gun overboard; it’s just as well, for him at least, that the Spaniards were obliged to confine their maneuvers to the railroad tracks.

  The dynamite cruiser Vesuvius has worked out a great system. Every night, between darkness and dawn, she fires three dynamite shells — no more, no less — into the forts. They may be fired at short time intervals or hours apart. The result being that after one aerial earthquake has landed in their midst, it is only natural for the enemy’s garrison to speculate as to the exact time of the landing of the succeeding ones and such speculation is certainly not conducive to restful sleep.

  It is a very uncanny performance as the projectiles are not fired from a gun but from a pneumatic tube. There is no loud noise at discharge, only a prolonged whine taken up by the whiz of the body as it goes through the air, then a period of absolute silence followed by a tremendous detonation in the far distance, as if a powder magazine had exploded in the enemy’s works.

  The Spaniards managed to blow up that railroad bridge last night which caused considerable scurrying among the smaller craft but this time the damage was done before they could get in close enough to drive away the soldiers.

  It is the general opinion that the enemy has to be careful of their ammunition as a number of our converted yachts have run very close inshore without having been fired upon, while it would be dangerous for a jackrabbit on the beach to show itself to one of our picket boats.

  This evening there occurred an event which has not been given its proper place in history. The hero of this exploit was the redoubtable Juggy Nelson. Personally, I think it surpasses Hobson’s feat with the Merrimac.

  Juggy was serving on the New Orleans and was given picket duty on the ship’s launch. As it was a hot night, he and the fireman of the launch stripped themselves and went swimming. Not content with that, they swam ashore and started walking along the beach. Their white bodies shining in the moonlight attracted the attention of the Spaniards who, although they had grown reconciled to seeing our pickets close inshore, obviously considered this as going too far. They rushed to the attack from all directions, firing their rifles and even throwing a barrage of stones, bottles, and every other missile they could find. Juggy and the fireman fled down the beach stark naked with the Spanish Army in hot pursuit. As the enemy began to gain on them, they plunged into the surf, followed by rifle bullets, brickbats, and curses in choice Castilian. When Juggy got back to his ship, his captain, who had no sense of humor, put him under suspension for ten days.

  [The captain’s name was William Folger and the incident made an impression on him, as it would on most people. Many years later I was serving under him on the Kearsarge and we were cruising along this same coast passing Morro. I was officer of the deck and Captain Folger was on the bridge. Suddenly he gave a loud exclamation and I naturally sprang forward to see what the matter was. Captain Folger pointed toward the coast and announced, “That’s where that damned fool Juggy Nelson swam ashore and had half the Spanish army firing at him.”]

  JULY 1ST

  We have just received notice that our class from Annapolis has had its first battle casualty. William Boardman has been killed at Cape San Juan Light House where he had landed with a party “for the defense of women and children”. There is now a tablet to his memory in Memorial Hall at the Naval Academy. He was our first casualty but by no means our last.

  This is a Friday and we have been ordered to Guantanamo Bay to coal. Guantanamo lies some forty-five miles to the east of Santiago and was occupied by our forces some weeks ago. Every few days one or more of our ships go there to replenish their bunkers.

  We were still coaling at noon when we heard that a combined land and sea attack on Santiago had begun. Of course, we were wild as we had orders not to return until our bunkers were full and the engagement might be over by then. The news of the attack was spread among the men and a feverish activity ran through the ship. Despite the tropical heat they worked until they dropped from exhaustion and then, before they could be sent to sick bay, staggered to their feet and started loading again.

  We swung the last bag of coal on board at midnight. The anchor, previously hove in to a short stay, was weighed and we started for Santiago with the coaling booms still rigged, masses of coal still cluttering up the decks, and everyone black as a sweep.

  At four o’clock we rejoined the fleet and found to our delight that the action hadn’t started as yet. At daylight, we cleared for action and the whole fleet advanced on the Morro. The bombardment, which lasted nearly four hours, exceeded in violence anything I had hitherto seen. One of our shells knocked over the Spanish flag but some brave man instantly ran out and hoisted it again on the stump of the mast. Our ship was not hit although shells from the Morro and Socapa batteries fell all around us.

  Again I noticed, as I had in all previous bombardments, the extraordinary spectacle produced by the Spanish shells striking near the ship. An enormous geyser of smoke, steam, and water would rise to an incredible height and then STAY there for an incredible length of time, suspended between sea and sky. We were too busy to watch these geysers but when, in a calm moment, we looked aft, there they would still be, their number being continually augmented by new arrivals.

  Our range transmitters were put out of commission by the concussion of our own guns and we went back to the days of 1812 and used the ships’ boys to carry messages. I especially remember one little fellow, the liveliest of the lot, who hadn’t had a chance to wash his face since coaling the ship the day before. He was having a wonderful time and that black face, with its grinning white teeth and hair standing on end, which kept appearing in the conning tower entrance, made me think of the blackamoor in Punch and Judy.

  JULY 3RD

  The next morning, July third, was, in the words of historian Frank Freidel, to be “one of the most momentous days in American history”. It was the first Sunday of the month and in accordance with Navy custom, we expected to have Captain’s Inspection followed by Divine Service and the reading of the Articles of War. These Articles consist mainly of intimations of the unpleasant things that would happen to anyone who “treacherously yields or pusillanimously cries for Quarter” or who “while on shore plunders or abuses the inhabitants” or who “sends or accepts a challenge to fight a duel or acts as second in a duel”. I would never have believed it, but a few years later I was to get into trouble over that one myself while in Imperial Germany.

  In anticipation of the inspection everyone had on his cleanest white uniform. It was one of those dazzling mornings so common in the tropics; not a cloud in the sky, the atmosphere clear as gin,
visibility absolutely perfect.

  About 8:45, the New York, Admiral Sampson’s flagship, ran up the signal “Disregard motions of commander in chief” and started down the coast toward Siboney, about eight miles away. We guessed that the admiral was going to a conference with General Shafter about how best to invest Santiago. Although the army had taken San Juan Hill and controlled the land approaches to the city, Santiago was well fortified and a direct assault would be very costly in men and material. We had heard scuttlebutt (rumors) that General Shafter was insisting that the fleet run the narrow gut leading into the bay, sink Cervera’s fleet where it lay at anchor, and then shell the city, forcing it to surrender. But as long as the gut was protected by the Morro and Socapa batteries, and the gut itself was sown with dynamite mines that could be exploded from shore by the touch of a button, this was impossible, as we hoped the admiral would explain to General Shafter.

  Admiral Sampson’s withdrawal left Commodore Winfeld S. Schley senior officer present and in command of the fleet. Admiral Sampson had been junior to Commodore Schley until recently when for some reason involving Washington politics, he had been promoted over Schley’s head. Commodore Schley had originally been in command of the fleet at Santiago until Sampson had been sent out to supplant him, so Schley had not only lost his command but was in the humiliating position of being commanded by a former junior. [This was the origin of what was later to be the famous Sampson-Schley controversy which the newspapers seemed to regard as more important than the battle itself.]

  Our captain started his inspection beginning with the quarterdeck. As midshipman of the navigator’s division I was on the signal bridge with a clear range of vision covering the entire horizon; we were about two miles to the south and a little to the east of Morro Castle, which seemed much closer owing to the marvelous brightness of the day.

  Just as the officer commanding the quarterdeck division ordered his men to open ranks and the front rank to face about, preparatory to inspection, we heard a light caliber gun fired and saw the smoke of the discharge mounting from the Iowa’s superstructure. There was a second or two of dead silence; we thought, if we thought anything, that the discharge had been accidental. Then Captain Taylor, turning to the bugler at his elbow, said quietly, “Sound General Quarters.”

  At the first notes of the bugle the sleepy Sunday morning spell was broken, the ranks dissolved and a mad rush began for hatches, turret openings, and casemate doors, each man struggling to be the first through, regardless of his clean Sunday clothes. As they ran they threw off their neckerchiefs, jumpers, and undershirts, arriving at the gun stations stripped to the waist.

  I looked at Morro and for the first time saw Cervera’s squadron. The Maria Teresa, his flagship, was already clear of the entrance. The brilliant sun shone full on her, she had been newly painted, black smoke poured from her funnels and she was rushing forward with a “bone in her teeth”, (a white bow wave). At her masthead was the red-and-gold banner of Spain and, as she swung westward, she fired every gun that could bear. We could see the flickering light of their discharge against the shiny black of her side. Then, as her shells passed screaming overhead or, dropping short, raised great geysers between us and her, we heard the sound of her guns.

  Behind her came three other armored cruisers: the Oquendo, the Vizcaya and the Cristobal Colon. As they passed through the narrow entrance between Morro and Socapa they seemed tremendous. In the lee of the Colon came the destroyers Pluton and Furor. They did not follow the cruisers down the coast but came straight for us.

  [As we later discovered, the Spanish government had ordered Cervera to come out against his better judgment. The government knew that the fall of Santiago could not be long delayed and then the squadron would be trapped in the bay and forced tamely to surrender. For purposes of national prestige they insisted that the squadron go down fighting.]

  By this time we were under forced draft and headed for the entrance. To port of us was the Iowa and to starboard the converted yacht Gloucester. This yacht was commanded by Lieutenant Commander Richard Wainwright who had been executive officer of the Maine when she was destroyed in Havana Harbor. [The Wainwrights have always been fighting men. Commander Wainwright’s father, also a naval officer, was killed at Galveston during the Civil War while in command of the Harriet Lane, and the General Wainwright who fought so gallantly against the Japanese at Bataan is Richard Wainwright’s nephew.]

  As the destroyers advanced against us the fire of our secondary battery and the starboard 8-inch turret guns was shifted from the cruisers to them and at the same time we sent a signal to the Gloucester, “Destroyers coming out”. This signal was misunderstood (perhaps purposely). [The Gloucester claimed later that she thought our signal was “Gunboats close in”.] She headed for the Spaniards at full speed running directly into our zone of fire and, before “Cease firing” could be transmitted to the secondary battery, we barely missed sinking her. Just before the order was obeyed one of our 8-inch shells struck the Spanish destroyer Pluton, and she disappeared in a great cloud of flame and smoke which, as it dissipated, showed a few of her people struggling in the water.

  Meanwhile the Gloucester engaged the Furor at point-blank range; they were almost alongside of each other. We could see the Gloucester’s guns tearing her to shreds. Then something happened to the Furor’s steering gear and she commenced running around in circles eventually crashing on the rocks.

  From my station on the bridge I could look aft down the entire length of our ship. The broadside guns of the secondary battery were mounted along the superstructure rail high above the deck, so high that the crew manning them stood on swinging gratings at least eight feet above the deck level. They had no protection whatever, not even gun shields, and a fall from that height would have been serious under any circumstances. The men were stripped to the waist and the tremendous exertion which they were putting forth emphasized the splendid muscular development of their arms and chest. They made me think of gladiators in a Roman arena.

  All this time the 13-inch guns in our forward turret were firing at the cruisers. The leading ship, Cervera’s flagship, was clear of the entrance and headed west before we could bring our speed up to maximum but the two following ships, the Oquendo and the Vizcaya, received the full volume of our fire and that of the Iowa. We could clearly see every movement they made; we were so close to them that we could see their crews running around the decks, replacing casualties at the guns and trying to put out fires.

  Because we had no smokeless powder in those days, after a few salvos everything and everybody were in the midst of a dense cloud of thick white smoke. It frequently became necessary to sound “Cease firing” to permit the gun pointers to see their targets.

  This certainly didn’t add to efficiency in gunnery but it did add tremendously to the spectacle. At one stage of the battle we saw what seemed to be a great cloud of smoke traveling at high speed on the surface of the water. The advanced part of the cloud became disturbed and we could see the white foam of a bow wave. Then out of the smoke, breasting the wave, came the bows of a great ship, the Oregon, starting the famous race in which she, a battleship, actually ran down a fast cruiser, the Cristobal Colon.

  The first Spanish ship to give up was their flagship the Maria Teresa. There was a tremendous burst of fire from all our ships to which she gallantly responded and then a great wave of flames appeared in her bow rapidly spreading aft as it was fanned by her own speed. Our men cheered wildly as she put her helm hard-a-port, headed for the shore and grounded, her engines still running full speed.

  About this time we passed several torpedos floating vertically in the water, their propellers clear of the surface, the only time I have ever seen a torpedo do this. They must have been fired by the Spanish destroyers before they themselves were destroyed.

  Meanwhile the Vizcaya and the Colon had drawn ahead and were being engaged by the Brooklyn,
Texas, and Oregon. We concentrated our fire on the Oquendo and, just like her sister, the Teresa, she burst into flames and headed for the beach.

  Just then something else attracted our attention. The troopships and other auxiliaries which ordinarily lay at anchor in Guantanamo Bay had all put to sea and were scattering in every direction, tooting their whistles and giving every indication of frantic excitement. One of them, the Resolute, bore down on us and, as she passed close aboard, her captain shouted that a Spanish battleship was approaching from the eastward and that she had attempted to attack the Resolute, who had barely escaped by clever maneuvering and superior speed.

  Following the Resolute came a newspaper tug, the Hercules, fairly bursting with excitement. Her people shouted that it was a big battleship flying the Spanish flag. Captain Taylor asked if they had made out the stranger’s name; the newspaper man replied that he hadn’t waited long enough for that.

  Just then the New York, Admiral Sampson’s flagship, passed us heading for the sound of the guns. The admiral had seen the battle from Siboney and was racing back to be in on the fight. Admiral Sampson must have been mad with rage that on this day of all days, he had left his post and now Commodore Schley would get all the credit for the victory. Our captain hailed her and said a Spanish battleship had been sighted and we were going to engage her. The New York’s crew gave us a great cheer as she sped past.

  As we headed east we wondered what Spanish battleship it could be. The consensus was that it must be the Pelayo as that ship had been reported by the papers as having left Spain with the apparent intention of reinforcing Cervera.