Fighting in Cuban Waters: or, Under Schley on the Brooklyn

"You – you brute!" gasped the boy, as the tears came. He was about to try retreating again, when Haskett caught him once more.

"Now answer me, or I'll thrash the life out of you," he hissed into Paul's ear. "And mind you tell the truth."

"He said that he had a – a – " the boy broke off short. "I won't tell you, there! Now let go!" And he began to squirm.

"I know what he said," blustered Haskett. "Said he had had a ten-dollar gold piece in his valise, didn't he?"

"Ye-es."

"And he accused me of taking it, eh?"

"He didn't say so outright. He said you had been where you could get at the bag."

"It amounts to the same thing. As a matter of fact I couldn't get at the bag any more than could you, or Russell, or Walton, or any of the others."

"I suppose that is so. Now let me go."

"I will in a minute, but I want to tell you something, for it's not nice to have folks taking you to be a thief," went on Haskett, tactfully.

"I haven't said anything about the affair."

"Perhaps not, Paul, but Doring talks, and I reckon so do Russell and Walton. During the past couple of days I've found more than one fellow aboard the Brooklyn looking at me queer-like, and I can put two and two together as quick as the next man. If I allow this to go on, there won't be a soul speak to me after a while."

"I shan't say a word – I'll promise you."

"It's Russell who will talk the most, I reckon," went on Haskett, with apparent bitterness. "Russell, the very fellow who ought not to say a word."

"I'll caution him, if you want me to," went on Paul, who was tender-hearted and very willing to help anybody out of trouble.

"Caution Russell! Not for the world. See here, I'll tell you something, and you can tell Doring or not, just as you please. To the best of my knowledge Russell is the thief."

"Walter!" ejaculated Paul. "Oh, no, you must be mistaken. Why, why – how could he get at the satchel? He was with Doring."

"I don't know about that. But I'm almost positive Russell is guilty."

"Have you any proof? You shouldn't say such a thing unless you have," retorted Paul, anxious to stick up for Walter, who had served him several good turns since they had become acquainted.

"I've got more proof against Russell than Doring has against me," answered Jim Haskett, boldly. "And what is more, I can prove what I've got to say."

"But what have you to say?" came in a cold, heavy voice behind Haskett, and turning swiftly the former mate of the Sunflower found himself confronted by Caleb Walton. The old gunner's face looked stern and angry.

"Why – er – where did you come from?" stammered the seaman.

"I asked you what you have to say against Walter Russell," demanded Caleb. "Come, out with it, or by the jumping beeswax, I'll wipe up this deck with you!" And he doubled up his fists.

"I'm not afraid, if you want to fight, Walton," replied Haskett, recovering somewhat from his fright. "What I said about Russell, I'll stick to."

"But what have you got to say? out with it," was the old gunner's demand.

"I've got this much to say. I think Russell took Doring's gold piece, and I am not the only one that does either. If you think I'm wrong, ask Cal Blinker, the shellman. He heard almost as much as I did."

"Heard what?"

"Heard Russell talk in his sleep. It was last night. I got up to get a drink of water and slipped and roused up Blinker. Then, when I went to the water tub, I passed Russell's hammock. He was dreaming and talking about the gold piece and saying that Doring would never learn that he had it, and a lot more about hiding it under the gun. He went on about the money and about hiding it for fully ten minutes. If you don't believe me, go to Blinker about it."

CHAPTER X

WALTER SHOWS HIS PLUCK

"And is that all you have to say?" asked Caleb Walton, after a few seconds of silence, during which he gazed so sharply at Jim Haskett that the fellow felt compelled to drop his eyes. "Because a fellow dreams about a gold piece, must you accuse him of stealing?"

"That's all right, too," responded Haskett, doggedly. "I know he wouldn't dream that way unless there was something in the wind. I'm satisfied he took the money."

"And I am satisfied that he is innocent," cried Caleb. "That boy would never steal a cent from anybody."

"Why, he was after a thief himself before he left Boston," put in Paul, who had now sought protection behind the old gunner.

"Well, suit yourselves," answered Haskett, with a shrug of his somewhat rounded shoulders. "But let me tell you that I won't allow Russell, Doring, or anybody else to speak of me as having taken the money – mind that!" And he shook his fist savagely.

"Here comes Walter now," announced Paul. "Walter, come here!" he called out, before Caleb could stop him.

At once Walter came up, an inquiring look upon his manly face, which was now becoming sunburnt through exposure on deck. "What do you want, Paul?" he asked.

"It's only some of Haskett's nonsense," answered Caleb, ere the boy could speak. "Tell us, lad, do you remember dreaming anything about Si's gold piece?"

For the instant Walter looked puzzled, then his face brightened. "I do," he answered. "What of it?"

"Tell us what you dreamed first."

"Why – I – I can't remember exactly, excepting that I was having a good lot of worry about it," he stammered. "You know how dreams come and go."

"To be sure, Walter."

"You dreamt about the money you hid, didn't you?" said Haskett, sneeringly.

"The money I hid? I hid no money."

"Oh no, of course not!"

"See here, Haskett, what do you mean?" And Walter strode over to the seaman, his face flushing deeply. "Do you mean to insinuate that I took Si's gold piece and hid it away?"

"He just does," burst out Paul. "And he says you talked in your sleep about it, too."

"It is false – at least, it is false that I took the money. I might have dreamed about it and talked in my sleep. We are not accountable for what we do when we are sleeping."

"Perhaps you took the gold piece when you were asleep," said Haskett, squinting suggestively at those surrounding him.

"The gold piece was taken while Si and I were left behind in Washington. It was taken by somebody on the train."

"That's your story – and you've been trying to lay the thing at my door. But I shan't stand it – not me," stormed Haskett. "I heard what you said in your sleep, and so did Cal Blinker. If anybody is guilty, it is you!" And he pointed his long, bony finger full in Walter's face.

By this time a crowd of a dozen or more had gathered round, realizing that a quarrel of some sort was in progress. "It's about a gold piece," said one. "Haskett says Russell took it. Say, fellows, we don't want anything to do with a thief."

"Not much we don't!" answered a messmate. "Heave him overboard if he is guilty."

"This matter ought to be reported to the officer of the deck," put in a third. "If there is a thief on board, no man's ditty-box will be safe."

At Haskett's concluding remark Walter's face grew as red as a beet, then deadly pale. For a moment he stood stock still, breathing heavily. Suddenly he leaped forward with clenched fist and struck Haskett a stunning blow on the chin which sent the seaman staggering up against a gun-carriage.

"That, for talking to me in this fashion!" he exclaimed.

"Oh!" grunted the ex-mate of the Sunflower, as he caught at the gun just in time to prevent himself from falling to the deck. "You – you young rascal, what do you mean by hitting me?"

"A fight! a fight!" cried several, and soon a crowd of about fifty jackies surrounded the pair.

"Wasn't that a pretty blow though! And he's only a boy, too!" came from a gunner's mate.

"I'll fix you for this!" went on Haskett, putting one hand to his chin, where a lump was rising rapidly. "I never before allowed anybody to hit me – leastwise a boy." And he rushed at Walter with a fierceness which boded the youth no good.

"Don't you hit him, Haskett," put in Caleb, catching the seaman by the arm. "If you do, you'll have to settle this affair with me."

"He hit me."

"And you as much as said he was a thief."

"And so he is."

"I am not, and I've a good mind to hit you again for saying so," burst out Walter, and before anybody around could separate them he and Haskett had closed in. Several ineffective blows were struck on each side, when they were pulled apart.

"This won't do, Walter," whispered Caleb. "If you're not careful, you'll spend a week in the brig."

"But – but it's awful to have him say I'm a – a – "

"I know, I know. But keep cool, lad; it's best, take my word for it. You've been on board only a few days, but you have made lots of friends, while I reckon most of the men have already sized up Haskett for the meanest chap on board."

"He has no right to talk about me."

"He says you and Si Doring talked about him."

Haskett now pushed his way forward again. "I don't want trouble with the officers, so we'll let this matter drop for the present," he blustered. "But I'll remember you, and some day you'll be mighty sorry we had this little mix-up." And muttering some more that nobody could understand he strode off, the majority of the crowd gazing after him curiously.

"Ran away from a boy!" said one old tar. "He must be a regular coward, and no mistake!"

Many wanted Walter to relate his version of what had brought the encounter about, but Caleb hurried the lad away to a corner, where he took a wash up and brushed off his clothing.

"I want to interview that Cal Blinker," said the youth. "Where can I find him?"

"Down around the forward ammunition hoist," answered Paul, and Walter hurried off, accompanied by his friends.

"Yes, I did hear you say something about a gold piece," the shellman admitted. "You didn't talk very plainly and I understood very little. Haskett said he understood every word. Well, maybe he did. I've been in the navy so long that the noise of the big guns has affected my hearing."

"Did I say I stole the piece?" insisted Walter.

"I don't know as you did. All I could make out was 'ten dollars in gold' and 'the gun – just the place.'"

This was all Cal Blinker had to say. He was rather old and it was plain to see that he wanted nothing to do with the controversy, one side or the other.

Si Doring had been attending a special boat drill, and it was not until an hour had passed that he came below and heard what had occurred. Without hesitation he slapped Walter on the shoulder.

"Don't you take this to heart," he said. "No matter what that mean old rascal of a Haskett says, he'll never make me believe that you are anything but perfectly straight. I believe yet that he took the gold piece and that some day I'll be able to prove it." And there the incident, for the time being, dropped.

The manner in which Walter had "sailed into Haskett," as Caleb expressed it, made the youth many friends among the crew, for if there is one thing a jack tar loves it is to see a messmate stand up for himself. "You're all right, you are," said more than one, and caught Walter's hand in a grip calculated to break the bones. Several, who had thought to play a few tricks on the "greeny," reconsidered their ideas on the subject and concluded that it was best not to run any chances with such a spirited lad.

For some time Walter was afraid that the executive officer would hear of the encounter and bring him to book for it; but if the "mix-up" was reported, nothing came of it. As a matter of fact, Uncle Sam's officers just then had affairs of more importance requiring their attention.

For every hour on board of the warships composing the Flying Squadron increased the anxiety concerning the Spanish ships which it was felt were preparing to make a quick dash for Cuba or for our own coast. How soon would these warships sail, and where would they make their presence felt? those were the all-important questions commodore and captains asked of each other. "They'll most likely try to break the blockade at Havana," said one. "No, they'll bombard one of our down-east seacoast cities," said another. "I think they'll rush through the Suez Canal to fight Dewey," was the conclusion reached by a third. Under-officers and men speculated quite as much as did their superiors, arriving at equally opposite conclusions. "They have our whole seacoast and Cuba to pick from," Commodore Schley said. "They will go where they can do the most good – to their way of thinking. I think they'll go to Cuba or Porto Rico." How correct the commander was history has shown.

Although the Scorpion was patrolling the ocean just outside of the capes, a strict watch was kept on every one of the warships, night and day. Rumors were numerous, and one was to the effect that the Spaniards had a submarine craft in their service and that this boat would soon arrive along our eastern seacoast, to destroy the shipping from Maine to the Gulf of Mexico. In these days, when we know the truth, we can afford to laugh at such a report, but to the jackies on the warships, who remembered only too well the fate of the Maine, it was no laughing matter. Even when off duty, many would go on the spar deck and lie flat, gazing into the dark waters for the best part of a night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the unknown terror, should it come to that vicinity.

Sunday, with its deeply impressive church service, came and went, and still the squadron lay at anchor. In the meantime it was rumored that Sampson would soon take his most powerful vessels from the blockade and bombard Havana. The newspapers reported this, but if such was the plan of the Navy Department, it was altered at the last moment.

On May 12 came news of a fierce fight in the harbor of Cardenas, a seaport a hundred and twenty miles east of Havana. In an attempt to effect a landing, the torpedo boat Winslow had her boiler blown to pieces and several men were killed and injured, among them Ensign Worth Bagley, who was thus the first American officer to fall in the war. Two other warships, the Wilmington and the Hudson, also took part in the contest, but were repulsed after a gallant onslaught lasting over an hour.

"This is war," said Caleb, as he read the news from the paper that one of the gunners had just brought on board. "Those fellows on the Winslow caught it hot. Think of running right into that harbor and having a shell drop and smash your boiler and send the live steam all over you. I tell you Ensign Bagley was a plucky one, all honor to his memory."

The next day brought even more important news. Dewey had gained a foothold in the Philippines, the main city of Cuba was in a state of blockade, and now Rear-Admiral Sampson had shifted the scene of action to Porto Rico, by shelling the forts of San Juan, the principal city of Spain's only other possession in the West Indies.

"We're getting there!" cried Caleb, excitedly. "We'll soon give the Dons all they want."

"If Sampson succeeds in making the San Juan forts surrender, the whole city will be at our mercy," said Walter. "Hurrah for the American navy, and every ship and man in it."

"We are bound to get them on the run," put in Si. "Here is another report about a fight at Cienfuegos. Where is that?"

"On the southern coast of Cuba," answered Walter, who had always had a good head for geography, and who, since the war had started, had studied the map of Cuba closely. "Havana, San Juan, and Manila! Say, but this is becoming a war of magnificent distances."

"It's a naval war, that's what it is," said Caleb. "If we – hullo! Did any of you see this telegram?" He pointed to his newspaper. "The Spanish Squadron under Admiral Cervera has slipped away from Cape Verde Islands and is undoubtedly bound westward."

"And here is another report that some strange vessels, supposed to be warships, have been sighted off Martinique, Windward Island," added Walter, quickly. "I'll wager we leave soon!"

"But where to – the Windward Islands?" queried Si.

"That's for Commodore Schley to decide. Rest assured he'll find this Admiral Cervera sooner or later, just as Dewey found old Admiral Montojo."

The news was spreading, and officers and men gathered in knots to discuss the situation. As for Commodore Schley and Captain Cook, they smiled knowingly, but said nothing. Everybody in the Flying Squadron remembered what Dewey and his men had accomplished, and all were on their mettle accordingly.

CHAPTER XI

THE SAILING OF THE FLYING SQUADRON

"We are off at last!"

It was Walter who broke the news, as he came tumbling down the stairs to the berth deck, where Si and Caleb were engaged in a friendly game of checkers on the top of a ditty-box.

"Off!" cried the old gunner, and leaped up, scattering the men on the checkerboard in all directions. "Who told you?"

"The signal has just been hoisted on the military mast. I couldn't read it, but Sandram could and he translated it for me."

Caleb waited to hear no more, but rushed on deck, with Walter and the others following. The news was true, the signal flew the words, "Weigh anchor and follow the flagship," and the heavy black smoke was pouring in dense volumes from every warship's funnels.

"I wonder where we are bound?" questioned Walter, whose heart was thumping within him at the thought war might soon become a stern reality to him. "Of course we are going after Admiral Cervera's ships."

"I reckon that's right, but there's no telling," responded Caleb. "The officers don't consult us when they want to move, you know." And he said this so dryly that both Walter and Si had to laugh.

The warships at hand were four in number, – the Brooklyn, which I have already described, and the Massachusetts, Texas, and Scorpion. With them was the collier Sterling, loaded to the very rail with huge bags of coal, for the exclusive use of the Flying Squadron.

The Massachusetts was a battleship of the first-class, a sister ship to the Indiana. She had a displacement of over ten thousand tons, and a speed of sixteen knots per hour. Her massive armor was eighteen inches thick – enough to withstand some of the heaviest shots ever fired from any gun. Her armament consisted of a main battery of four 13-inch and eight 8-inch guns and four 6-inch slow-fire guns. The secondary battery comprised twenty 6-pounders, four 1-pounders, four Gatlings, and two field-guns. Besides this she carried three torpedo tubes and an immense quantity of small-arms. Captain Francis J. Higginson was in charge, with Lieutenant-Commander Seaton Schroeder.

The Texas was a battleship of the second class, her displacement being only 6315 tons. She had the honor to be the first vessel built when our navy began its reconstruction, in 1886. Her armor was just one foot thick, and she could speed along at the rate of nearly eighteen knots an hour. Two 12-inch and six 6-inch slow-fire guns made up her main battery, while her secondary battery counted up six 1-pounders, four Hotchkiss and two Gatling guns. There were two torpedo tubes. The Texas was under the command of Captain John W. Philip and Lieutenant-Commander Giles B. Harber.

The Scorpion was a despatch boat of the gunboat pattern, with a displacement of six hundred tons, and a rapid-firing battery of four 5-inch and six 6-pounders. She was a swift craft, and had done duty as a scout for a long time.

The signal to weigh anchor was hoisted on the flagship at four o'clock in the afternoon, and inside of half an hour the Flying Squadron and the collier were standing down Hampton Roads toward the capes, each ploughing the waters at a twelve to fifteen knot rate. The wharves alongshore were lined with people, who waved their hats and their handkerchiefs, and shouted out their best wishes for the departing ones.

"Remember the Maine, boys, and send us a good account of yourselves!" shouted one old Southern veteran, as he shook a partly empty coat sleeve at them. "I wish I was younger; I'd go along and fight as well for the old stars and stripes as I once did for the stars and bars."

"Now you're talking," responded a Union veteran. "That other quarrel was our own, eh, neighbor? Let foreign nations keep their hands off Uncle Sam's family and the children seeking his protection. Three cheers for Old Glory and Free Cuba!" And the cheers were given with a will, while Fortress Monroe thundered out a parting salute.

A number of other vessels, including the protected cruisers Minneapolis and New Orleans and the auxiliary cruiser St. Paul had been left behind, to join their sister ships later on. The New Orleans was a warship but recently purchased from the Brazilian government, and formerly known as the Amazonas. The St. Paul had formerly been a trans-Atlantic steamer, and was commanded by Captain Charles E. Sigsbee, who had so gallantly stuck to his post until the last moment when the Maine was destroyed.

Each of the warships had a harbor pilot on board and proceeded under a full head of steam for the passage between the capes, which were passed a little after seven o'clock in the evening. Leaving Cape Henry well to starboard, the pilots were dropped, and the warships, taking the middle course, as it is termed, disappeared from the gaze of those who had watched their departure so eagerly.

"We're out for a fight now, sure enough," said Caleb, as he and Walter went below, each to the mess to which he had been assigned. "Orders are to prepare for action, so I've just been told."

"I noticed that lights were being extinguished," answered the youth. "Do you suppose they are afraid that the Spanish warships are coming up this way?"

"No telling, lad. It's a game of hide and seek, until one fellow or the other sneaks up and thumps his opponent in the neck. I only hope we're in it to do the first thumping."

Mess was scarcely over when there came a call to quarters. Ports were closed with massive steel covers, the battle hatches were put down, and the big guns were carefully loaded. Watches had, of course, already been established, and now the men were ordered to take turns at standing by the guns.

"Which way are we pointing, eastward or down the coast?" questioned Walter of Si, who had come up during his off hours to take a look at the cloudy sky from which only a few stars were peeping.

"We are moving almost directly southward," was the slow reply of the Yankee youth, after a long look overhead.

"And where will that bring us to, Si?"

"It will take us to Cape Hatteras first, and if we keep on long enough it will bring us to the neighborhood of San Salvador Island. But I reckon we'll change our course after Hatteras is passed."

"Isn't Hatteras a bad point to pass?"

"Is it? You just ought to try it in dirty weather. Many a craft has left her hulk off that cape. But such a craft as the Brooklyn, with her high bow, ought to weather almost anything. To my mind, the worst thing we can run into is a fog-bank, and that's just what we are likely to do in this vicinity."

The regular lights of the warship had been extinguished, but behind its hood the great searchlight glowed and spluttered, ready to be turned to one point or another at a second's notice. All was quiet on board, save for the rumble and quiver of the powerful engines which were driving this floating fort on her way through the rolling ocean. While daylight lasted the vessels kept more or less apart, but with the coming of night they closed in, and the fretting and puffing little Scorpion darted ahead on picket guard.

Walter's duty at his gun came to an end at midnight, and none too soon for the lad, whose head had suddenly begun to spin around like a top. "I guess I'm getting seasick," he murmured to Si; and the Yankee lad at once led him away to a secluded corner, where he might have matters all his own way, and where none might look on and enjoy his misery. Once Haskett started to pass some uncomplimentary remarks about Walter, but a single stern look from Caleb silenced the seaman, who tumbled into his hammock without another word. For several days Jim Haskett had kept his distance, but he was only biding his time to "even up," as he termed it. "I'll make young Russell feel mighty sore before I'm done with him," was what he promised himself.