Manila And Santiago

The record of Spain has not been glorious at sea. She has but one great

victory, that of Lepanto, to offer in evidence against a number of great

defeats, such as those of the Armada, Cape St. Vincent, and Trafalgar. In

1898 two more defeats, those of Manila and Santiago, were added to the

list, and with an account of these our series of tales from Spanish

history may fitly close.



Exactly three centuries p ssed from the death of Philip II. (1598) to that

of the war with the United States, and during that long period the tide of

Spanish affairs moved steadily downward. At its beginning Spain exercised

a powerful influence over European politics; at its end she was looked

upon with disdainful pity and had no longer a voice in continental

affairs. Such was the inevitable result of the weakness and lack of

statesmanship with which the kingdom had been misgoverned during the

greater part of this period.



In her colonial affairs Spain had shown herself as intolerant and

oppressive as at home. When the other nations of Europe were loosening the

reins of their colonial policy, Spain kept hers unyieldingly rigid.

Colonial revolution was the result, and she lost all her possessions in

America but the islands of Cuba and Porto Rico. Yet she had learned no

lesson,--she seemed incapable of profiting by experience,--and the old

policy of tyranny and rapacity was exercised over these islands until

Cuba, the largest of them, was driven into insurrection.



In attempting to suppress this insurrection Spain adopted the cruel

methods she had exercised against the Moriscos in the sixteenth century,

ignoring the fact that the twentieth century was near its dawn, and that a

new standard of humane sympathy and moral obligation had arisen in other

nations. Her cruelty towards the insurgent Cubans became so intolerable

that the great neighboring republic of the United States bade her, in

tones of no uncertain meaning, to bring it to an end. In response Spain

adopted her favorite method of procrastination, and the frightful reign of

starvation in Cuba was maintained. This was more than the American people

could endure, and war was declared. With the cause and the general course

of that war our readers are familiar, but it embraced two events of signal

significance--the naval contests of the war--which are worth telling again

as the most striking occurrences in the recent history of Spain.



At early dawn of the 1st of May, 1898, a squadron of United States

cruisers appeared before the city of Manila, in the island of Luzon, the

largest island of the Philippine archipelago, then a colony of Spain. This

squadron, consisting of the cruisers Olympia, Baltimore, Raleigh, and

Boston, the gunboats Petrel and Concord, and the despatch-boat McCulloch,

had entered the bay of Manila during the night, passing unhurt the

batteries at its mouth, and at daybreak swept in proud array past the city

front, seeking the Spanish fleet, which lay in the little bay of Cavite,

opening into the larger bay.






THE ANNIHILATION OF THE SPANISH FLEET IN THE HARBOR OF MANILA.



Copyright, 1898, by Arkell Publishing Company





The Spanish ships consisted of five cruisers and three gunboats, inferior

in weight and armament to their enemy, but flanked by shore batteries on

each end of the line, and with an exact knowledge of the harbor, while the

Americans were ignorant of distances and soundings. These advantages on

the side of the Spanish made the two fleets practically equal in strength.

The battle about to be fought was one of leading importance in naval

affairs. It was the second time in history in which two fleets built under

the new ideas in naval architecture and armament had met in battle. The

result was looked for with intense interest by the world.



Commodore Dewey, the commander of the American squadron, remained fully

exposed on the bridge of his flag-ship, the Olympia, as she stood daringly

in, followed in line by the Baltimore, Raleigh, Petrel, Concord, and

Boston. As they came up, the shore batteries opened fire, followed by the

Spanish ships, while two submarine mines, exploded before the Olympia,

tossed a shower of water uselessly into the air.



Heedless of all this, the ships continued their course, their guns

remaining silent, while the Spanish fire grew continuous. Plunging shells

tore up the waters of the bay to right and left, but not a ship was

struck, and not a shot came in return from the frowning muzzles of the

American guns. The hour of 5.30 had passed and the sun was pouring its

beams brightly over the waters of the bay, when from the forward turret of

the Olympia boomed a great gun, and an 8-inch shell rushed screaming in

towards the Spanish fleet. Within ten minutes more all the ships were in

action, and a steady stream of shells were pouring upon the Spanish ships.



The difference in effect was striking. The American gunners were trained

to accurate aiming; the Spanish idea was simply to load and fire. In

consequence few shells from the Spanish guns reached their mark, while few

of those from American guns went astray. Soon the fair ships of Spain were

frightfully torn and rent and many of their men stretched in death, while

hardly a sign of damage was visible on an American hull.



Sweeping down parallel to the Spanish line, and pouring in its fire as it

went from a distance of forty-five hundred yards, the American squadron

swept round in a long ellipse and sailed back, now bringing its starboard

batteries into play. Six times it passed over this course, the last two at

the distance of two thousand yards. From the great cannon, and from the

batteries of smaller rapid-fire guns, a steady stream of projectiles was

hurled inward, frightfully rending the Spanish ships, until at the end of

the evolutions three of them were burning fiercely, and the others were

little more than wrecks.



Admiral Montojo's flag-ship, the Reina Cristina, made a sudden dash from

the line in the middle of the combat, with the evident hope of ramming and

sinking the Olympia. The attempt was a desperate one, the fire of the

entire fleet being concentrated on the single antagonist, until the storm

of projectiles grew so terrific that utter annihilation seemed at hand.

The Spanish admiral now swung his ship around and started hastily back.

Just as she had fairly started in the reverse course an 8-inch shell from

the Olympia struck her fairly in the stern and drove inward through every

obstruction, wrecking the aft-boiler and blowing up the deck in its

explosion. It was a fatal shot. Clouds of white smoke were soon followed

by the red glare of flames. For half an hour longer the crew continued to

work their guns. At the end of that time the fire was master of the ship.



Two torpedo-boats came out with the same purpose, and met with the same

reception. Such a rain of shell poured on them that they hastily turned

and ran back. They had not gone far before one of them, torn by a shell,

plunged headlong to the bottom of the bay. The other was beached, her crew

flying in terror to the shore.



While death and destruction were thus playing havoc with the Spanish

ships, the Spanish fire was mainly wasted upon the sea. Shots struck the

Olympia, Baltimore, and Boston, but did little damage. One passed just

under Commodore Dewey on the bridge and tore a hole in the deck. One

ripped up the main deck of the Baltimore, disabled a 6-inch gun, and

exploded a box of ammunition, by which eight men were slightly wounded.

These were the only men hurt on the American side during the whole battle.



At 7.35 Commodore Dewey withdrew his ships that the men might breakfast.

The Spanish ships were in a hopeless state. Shortly after eleven the

Americans returned and ranged up again before the ships of Spain, nearly

all of which were in flames. For an hour and a quarter longer the blazing

ships were pounded with shot and shell, the Spaniards feebly replying. At

the end of that time the work was at an end, the batteries being silenced

and the ships sunk, their upper works still blazing. Of their crews,

nearly a thousand had perished in the fight.



Thus ended one of the most remarkable naval battles in history. For more

than three hours the American ships had been targets for a hot fire from

the Spanish fleet and forts, and during all that time not a man had been

killed and not a ship seriously injured. Meanwhile, the Spanish fleet had

ceased to exist. Its burnt remains lay on the bottom of the bay. The forts

had been battered into shapeless heaps of earth, their garrisons killed or

put to flight. It was an awful example of the difference between accurate

gunnery and firing at random.



Two months later a second example of the same character was made. Spain's

finest squadron, consisting of the four first-class armored cruisers Maria

Teresa, Vizcaya, Almirante Oquendo, and Cristobal Colon, with two

torpedo-boat destroyers, lay in the harbor of Santiago de Cuba, blockaded

by a powerful American fleet of battle-ships and cruisers under Admiral

Sampson. They were held in a close trap. The town was being besieged by

land. Sampson's fleet far outnumbered them at sea. They must either

surrender with the town or take the forlorn hope of escape by flight.



The latter was decided upon. On the morning of July 3 the lookout on the

Brooklyn, Commodore Schley's flag-ship, reported that a ship was coming

out of the harbor. The cloud of moving smoke had been seen at the same

instant from the battle-ship Iowa, and in an instant the Sunday morning

calm on these vessels was replaced by intense excitement.



Mast-head signals told the other ships of what was in view, the men rushed

in mad haste to quarters, the guns were made ready for service, ammunition

was hoisted, coal hurled into the furnaces, and every man on the alert. It

was like a man suddenly awoke from sleep with an alarm cry: at one moment

silent and inert, in the next moment thrilling with intense life and

activity.



This was not a battle; it was a flight and pursuit. The Spaniards as soon

as the harbor was cleared opened a hot fire on the Brooklyn, their nearest

antagonist, which they wished to disable through fear of her superior

speed. But their gunnery here was like that at Manila, their shells being

wasted through unskilful handling. On the other hand the fire from the

American ships was frightful, precise, and destructive, the fugitive ships

being rapidly torn by such a rain of shells as had rarely been seen

before.



Turning down the coast, the fugitive ships drove onward at their utmost

speed. After them came the cruiser Brooklyn and the battle-ships Texas,

Iowa, Oregon, and Indiana, hurling shells from their great guns in their

wake. The New York, Admiral Sampson's flag-ship, was distant several miles

up the coast, too far away to take part in the fight.



Such a hail of shot, sent with such accurate aim, could not long be

endured. The Maria Teresa, Admiral Cervera's flag-ship, was quickly in

flames, while shells were piercing her sides and bursting within. The main

steam-pipe was severed, the pump was put out of service, the captain was

killed. Lowering her flag, the vessel headed for the shore, where she was

quickly beached.



The Almirante Oquendo, equally punished, followed the same example, a mass

of flames shrouding her as she rushed for the beach. The Vizcaya was the

next to succumb, after a futile effort to ram the Brooklyn. One shell from

the cruiser went the entire length of her gun-deck, killing or wounding

all the men on it. The Oregon was pouring shells into her hull, and she in

turn, burning fiercely, was run ashore. She had made a flight of twenty

miles.



Only one of the Spanish cruisers remained,--the Cristobal Colon. She had

passed all her consorts, and when the Vizcaya went ashore was six miles

ahead of the Brooklyn and more than seven miles from the Oregon. It looked

as if she might escape. But she would have to round Cape Cruz by a long

detour, and the Brooklyn was headed straight for the cape, while the

Oregon kept on the Colon's trail.



An hour, a second hour, passed; the pursuers were gaining mile by mile;

the spurt of speed of the Colon was at an end. One of the great 13-inch

shells of the Oregon, fired from four miles away, struck the water near

the Colon. A second fell beyond her. An 8-inch shell from the Brooklyn

pierced her above her armor-belt. At one o'clock both ships were pounding

away at her, an ineffective fire being returned. At 1.20 she hauled down

her flag, and, like her consorts, ran ashore. She had made a run of

forty-eight miles.



About six hundred men were killed on the Spanish ships; the American loss

was one man killed and one wounded. The ships of Spain were blazing

wrecks; those of the United States were none the worse for the fight. It

was like the victory at Manila repeated. It resembled the latter in

another particular, two torpedo-boats taking part in the affair. These

were attacked by the Gloucester, a yacht converted into a gunboat, and

dealt with so shrewdly that both of them were sunk.



The battle ended, efforts to save on the part of the American ships

succeeded the effort to destroy, the Yankee tars showing as much courage

and daring in their attempts to rescue the wounded from the decks of the

burning ships as they had done in the fight. The ships were blazing fore

and aft, their guns were exploding from the heat, at any moment the fire

might reach the main magazines. A heavy surf made the work of rescue

doubly dangerous; yet no risk could deter the American sailors while the

chance to save one of the wounded remained, and they made as proud a

record on the decks of the burning ships as they had done behind the guns.



These two signal victories were the great events of the war. Conjoined

with one victory on land, they put an end to the conflict. Without a

fleet, and with no means of aiding her Cuban troops, Spain was helpless,

and the naval victories at Manila and Santiago, in which one man was

killed, virtually settled the question of Cuban independence, and taught

the nations of Europe that a new and great naval power had arisen, with

which they would have to deal when they next sought to settle the

destinies of the world.