by this shell. They were: Lieutenant Frank W. Kellogg, and Ensign Noble E. Irwin, with M. J. Buddinger, R. L. Barlow, R. P. Covert, W. O'Keefe, R. Ricciardelli, and E. Snellgrove, of the crew. In addition to these, Boatswain's Mate Heaney, of the Olympia, had his fingers crushed by the recoil of a gun. Mention might be made, too, of the fact that the man at the wheel on the Boston had one cheek skinned by a flake of dried paint that was knocked from the ship's fore-mast by a shell that did not explode. It is said that when this shell came howling at the ship, everybody on the bridge except Captain Wildes involuntarily dodged. The Captain was using a palm-leaf fan and smoking a cigar at the time. He stopped waving the fan for a moment as the shell struck the mast, grinned at the junior officers, said, "We were lucky, gentlemen," and then once more began to wave the palmleaf. In considering this battle the engine-room must not be forgotten. In the old days the men behind the guns were also obliged to look after the motive power as well-after the sails. In these days the motive power is below the deck, and a host of men must stay there in a temperature running from 125° up to 160°, and keep the wheels turning. And their work is even harder in advance of the battle than it is during the actual combat, for the whole complication of machinery must be adjusted to a pitch that will show the right timbre, no matter what rude call may come from the man on the bridge. That Dewey's ships were manoeuvred at will without break or mistake, was due to the fact that able engineers stood at the throttles. The list in Dewey's fleet was: Olympia, James Entwistle; Baltimore, John D. Ford; Raleigh, Frank H. Bailey; Boston, Richard Juch; Concord, George B. Ransom, all chief engineers, and Petrel, Past-Assistant Engineer Reynold T. Hall. And then there was Paymaster John R. Martin, of the Boston, who, having no place at a gun, and no wounded to carry to the surgeon, lighted a spirit-lamp, and made coffee which he carried to those who were working hardest. His mental attitude was typical of that of the entire crew. Many a year had passed since an American naval officer had had command in a battle between squadrons of ships. It has happened that on the occasions in our history where we have engaged an enemy with a squadron the commanding officer has been, with few exceptions, without previous experience in such a position. Dewey had been under fire as a lieutenant in the Mississippi Valley, and he won distinction at Port Hudson and Donelson ville-but Manila Bay was the first scene of his work as a commanding officer in a squadron battle. His success recalls the famous message of Perry on Lake Erie. In recognition of Dewey's achievement, Secretary of the Navy Long cabled: "The President, in the name of the American people, thanks you and your officers and men for your splendid achievement and overwhelming victories. In recognition he has appointed you Acting-Admiral and will recommend a vote of thanks to you by Congress as a foundation for further promotion." The name of Admiral Dewey was on the lips of the whole people within a day, and within a week the show-windows of every town blossomed with his portrait. The people saw and appreciated their hero-a most significant fact in the eyes of one who loves his country. For who shall estimate the influence of the hearty healthful cheer that swept across the nation when the story of Manila was told. Many comments on the battle of Manila have been written by naval men. Of them all none is so valuable as those which point out the fact that while the Spaniards were utterly reckless of danger, the Americans showed cool courage; where the Spaniards fought in a frenzy of rage, the Americans made and maintained the attack with deliberate and relentless determination. The difference is in the blood, and the hope of the world lies in the racial distinction that was there manifested. A SQUADRON WITH THE SPEED OF A TON-OF-COAL BARGES SENT THE important business that had called Admiral Sampson to Key West, as mentioned in a preceding chapter, was nothing less than a search for the mystifying Spanish squadron that had been lying at the Cape Verde Islands for some time before the war actually began. Not only was it a mysterious squadron in its movements; to a large part of our alongshore population it was positively fearsome. And there was good reason, when the makeup of the squadron only is considered, for vigilance if not for alarm in our more weakly fortified harbors. The Spanish Admiral had át command three sister ships of a displacement each of 7,000 tons, each protected by a twelveinch armor belt, besides a three-inch protective 194 |