Chapter XI

CAPTAIN WINSTANLEY

Captain Winstanley slowly opened his eyes and stared at the low ceiling of his cabin on the white oil-paint of which the sunbeams, entering through the porthole, were painting numerous circles and quivering reflections. Slowly he began to collect his thoughts. Could it have been a dream or the raving of delirium? He tried to raise himself on his narrow bed, but fell back as he felt a sharp pain. There was no mistake about the pain—that was certainly real. What on earth had happened? He asked himself this question again and again as he watched the thousands of circles and quivering lines drawn by the light on the ceiling.

Winstanley stared about him and suddenly started violently. Then it was all real, a terrible reality? Yes, for there sat his friend Longstreet of the Nebraska with his back against the wall of the cabin, in a dripping wet uniform, fast asleep.

"Longstreet!" he called.

His friend awoke and stared at him in astonishment.

"Longstreet, did it all really happen, or have I been dreaming?"

No answer.

"Longstreet," he began again more urgently, "tell me, is it all over, can it be true?"

Longstreet nodded, incapable of speech.

"Our poor, poor country," whispered Winstanley.

After a long pause Longstreet suddenly broke the silence by remarking: "The Nebraska went down at about six o'clock."

"And the Georgia a little earlier," said Winstanley; "but where are we? How did I get here?"

"The torpedo boat Farragut fished us up after the battle. We are on board the hospital ship Ontario with about five hundred other survivors."

"And what has become of the rest of our squadron?" asked Winstanley apprehensively. Longstreet only shrugged his shoulders.

Then they both dozed again and listened to the splashing and gurgling of the water against the ship's side and to the dull, regular thud of the engine which by degrees began to form words in Winstanley's fever-heated imagination—meaningless words which seemed to pierce his brain with painful sharpness: "Oh, won't you come across," rose and fell the oily melody, keeping time with the action of the piston-rods of the engine, "Oh, won't you come across," repeated the walls, and "Oh, won't you come across," clattered the water-bottle over in the wooden rack. Again and again Winstanley said the words to himself in an everlasting, dull repetition.

Longstreet looked at him compassionately, and murmured: "Another attack of fever." Then he got up, and bending over his comrade, looked out of the porthole.

Water everywhere; nothing but sparkling, glistening water, broad, blue, rolling waves to be seen as far as the eye could reach. Not a sign of a ship anywhere.

"Oh, won't you come across," repeated Longstreet, listlessly joining in the rhythm of the engines. Then he stretched himself and sank back on his chair in a somnolent state, thinking over the experiences of the night.

So this was all that was left of the Pacific Fleet—a hospital ship with a few hundred wounded officers and men, all that remained of Admiral Crane's fleet, which had been attacked with torpedo boats by Admiral Kamimura at three o'clock on the night of May eighth, after Togo had destroyed Perry's squadron.

It had been a horrible surprise. The enemy must have intercepted the signals between the squadron and the scouts, but as the Japanese had not employed their wireless telegraph at all, none of the American reconnoitering cruisers had had its suspicions aroused. Then the wireless apparatus had suddenly got out of order and all further intercommunication among the American ships was cut off, while a few minutes later came the first torpedo explosions, followed by fountains of foam, the dazzling light of the searchlights and sparks from the falling shells. The Americans could not reply to the hostile fire until much, much later, and then it was almost over. When the gray light of dawn spread over the surface of the water, it only lighted up a few drifting, sinking wrecks, the irrecognizable ruins of Admiral Crane's proud squadron, which were soon completely destroyed by the enemy's torpedoes.

Kamimura had already disappeared beyond the horizon with his ships, not being interested in his enemy's remains.

"Oh, won't you come across," groaned and wailed the engine quite loudly as a door to the engine-room was opened. Longstreet jumped up with a start, and then climbed wearily and heavily up the stairs. The entire deck had been turned into a hospital, and the few doctors were hurrying from one patient to another.

Longstreet went up to a lieutenant in a torn uniform who was leaning against the railing with his head between his hands, staring across the water. "Where are we going, Harry?" asked Longstreet.

"I don't know; somewhere or other; it doesn't matter much where."

Longstreet left him and climbed up to the bridge. Here he shook hands in silence with a few comrades and then asked the captain of the Ontario where they were going.

"If possible, to San Francisco," was the answer. "But I'm afraid the Japanese will be attacking the coast-batteries by this time, and besides that chap over there seems to have his eyes on us," he added, pointing to port.

Longstreet looked in the direction indicated and saw a gray cruiser with three high funnels making straight for the Ontario. At this moment a signalman delivered a wireless message to the captain: "The cruiser yonder wants to know our name and destination."

"Signal back: United States hospital ship Ontario making for San Francisco," said the captain. This signal was followed by the dull boom of a shot across the water; but the Ontario continued on her course.

Then a flash was seen from a forward gun of the cruiser and a shell splashed into the water about one hundred yards in front of the Ontario, bursting with a deafening noise.

The captain hesitated a second, then he ordered the engines to stop, turned over the command on the bridge to the first officer and went himself to the signaling apparatus to send the following message: "United States hospital ship Ontario with five hundred wounded on board relies on protection of ambulance-flag."

A quarter of an hour later, the Japanese armored cruiser Idzumo stopped close to the Ontario and lowered a cutter, which took several Japanese officers and two doctors over to the Ontario.

While a Japanese officer of high rank was received by the captain in his cabin in order to discuss the best method of providing for the wounded, Longstreet went down to Winstanley.

"Well, old man, how are you?" he asked.

"Pretty miserable, Longstreet; what's going to become of us?"

Longstreet hesitated, but Winstanley insisted: "Tell me, old chap, tell me the truth. Where are we bound to—what's going to become of us?"

"We're going to San Francisco," said Longstreet evasively.

"And the enemy?"

Longstreet remained silent again.

"But the enemy, Longstreet, where's the enemy? We mustn't fall into his hands!"

"Brace up, Winstanley," said Longstreet, "we're in the hands of the Japanese now."

Winstanley started up from his bed, but sank back exhausted by the terrible pain in his right arm which had been badly wounded.

"No, no, anything but that! I'd rather be thrown overboard than fall into the hands of the Japanese! It's all over, there's no use struggling any more!"

"Longstreet," he cried, with eyes burning with fever, "Longstreet, promise me that you'll throw me overboard rather than give me up to the Japanese!"

"No, Winstanley, no; think of our country, remember that it is in sore need of men, of men to restore the honor of the Stars and Stripes, of men to drive the enemy from the field and conquer them in the end."

At this moment the door opened and a Japanese lieutenant entered, carrying a small note-book in his hand.

At sight of him Winstanley shouted: "Longstreet, hand me a weapon of some sort; that fellow——"

The Jap saluted and said: "Gentlemen, I am sorry for the circumstances which compel me to ask you to give me your names and ships. Rest assured that a wounded enemy may safely rely on Japanese chivalry. If you will follow the example of all the other officers and give your word of honor not to escape, you will receive all possible care and attention in the hospital at San Francisco without any irksome guard. Will you be so good as to give me your names?"

"Lieutenant Longstreet of the Nebraska."

"Thank you."

"Captain Winstanley, commander of the Georgia," added Longstreet for Winstanley.

"Will you give me your word of honor?"

Longstreet gave his, but Winstanley shook his head and said: "You can do what you like with me; I refuse to give my word of honor."

The Jap shrugged his shoulders and disappeared.

"Longstreet, nursed in San Francisco, is that what the Jap said? Then San Francisco must be in their hands." At these words the wounded captain of the Georgia burst into bitter tears and sobs shook the body of the poor man, who in his ravings fancied himself back on board his ship giving orders for the big guns to fire at the enemy. Longstreet held his friend's hand and stared in silence at the white ceiling upon which the sunbeams painted myriads of quivering lines and circles.

At one o'clock the Ontario came in sight of the Golden Gate, where the white banner with its crimson sun was seen to be waving above all the fortifications.

While the Japanese were attacking San Francisco early on the morning of May seventh, their fleet was stationed off San Diego on the lookout for the two American maneuvering fleets. The intercepted orders from the Navy Department had informed the enemy that Admiral Perry, with his blue squadron of six battleships of the Connecticut class, intended to attack San Francisco and the other ports and naval-stations on the Pacific, and that the yellow fleet, under command of Admiral Crane, was to carry out the defense. The latter had drawn up his squadron in front of San Francisco on May second, and on May fifth Admiral Perry had left Magdalen Bay. From this time on every report sent by wireless was read by harmless looking Japanese trading-vessels sailing under the English flag.

The first thing to be done on the morning of the seventh was to render Magdalen Bay useless, in order to prevent all communication with distant ships. A trick put the station in the enemy's possession. Here, too, there were several Japanese shopkeepers who did good business with their stores along the Bay. Early on Sunday morning these busy yellow tradesmen were suddenly transformed into a company of troops who soon overpowered the weak garrison in charge of the signal-station. The Japanese cruiser Yakumo, approaching from the North, had been painted white like the American cruisers, and this is why she had been taken, as the reader will remember, for the armored cruiser New York, which was actually lying off San Francisco assigned to Admiral Crane's yellow fleet. The Yakumo was to prevent the two destroyers Hull and Hopkins from escaping from the Bay, and both boats were literally shot to pieces when they made the attempt. This action hopelessly isolated the maneuvering fleets.

By eight o'clock in the morning Togo's squadron, consisting of the flag-ships Satsuma, the Aki, Katou, Kashimi, Mikasa and Akahi, and forming the backbone of the Japanese battle-fleet, had succeeded in locating Admiral Perry's squadron, thanks to intercepted wireless dispatches. The Japanese refrained from using their wireless apparatus, so as to avoid attracting the attention of the American squadron. The unfinished message sent at nine o'clock from Magdalen Bay told Togo that the surprise there had been successful, and a little later the order to strengthen the American advance, sent in the same way, enabled him to ascertain the exact position of both the main group of cruisers and the scouts and lookout ships. Similarly it was learned that the latter were extremely weak, and accordingly Togo detached four armored cruisers, the huge new 25-knot Tokio and Osaka, and the Ibuki and Kurama, to destroy the American van, and this he succeeded in accomplishing after a short engagement which took place at the same time as the attack on Perry's armored ships.

The Denver and Chattanooga were soon put out of business by a few shells which entered their unprotected hulls, and the five destroyers, which were unable to use their torpedoes in such a heavy sea, were likewise soon done for.

Under cover of a torrent of rain, Togo came in sight of the American ships when the distance between the two squadrons was only 5,500 yards.

At the moment when Admiral Perry's ships emerged out of the rain, Admiral Togo opened the battle by sending the following signal from the Satsuma:

"To-day must avenge Kanagawa. As Commodore Perry then knocked with his sword at the gate of Nippon, so will we to-day burst open San Francisco's Golden Gate."[1]

The signal was greeted with enthusiasm and loud cries of "Banzai!" on board all the ships. Then the battle began, and by the time the sun had reached its zenith, Admiral Perry's squadron had disappeared in the waves of the Pacific. The first eleven minutes, before the Americans could bring their guns into action, had determined the outcome of the battle. The ultimate outcome of the battle had, of course, been accelerated by the fact that the first shells had created such fearful havoc in the fore-parts of three of the American ships, quantities of water pouring in which caused the ships to list and made it necessary to fill the compartments on the opposite side in order to restore the equilibrium.

Admiral Kamimura was less fortunate at first with the second squadron. He was led astray by the wrong interpretation of a wireless signal and did not sight Admiral Crane's fleet till towards evening, and then it was not advisable to begin the attack at once, lest the Americans should escape under cover of darkness. Kamimura, therefore, decided to wait until shortly after midnight, and then to commence operations with his eight destroyers and apply the finishing touches with his heavy guns.

Admiral Crane's squadron consisted of six battleships—the three new battleships Virginia, Nebraska and Georgia, the two older vessels Kearsage and Kentucky, and, lastly, the Iowa. Then there were the two armored cruisers St. Louis and Milwaukee, and the unprotected cruisers Tacoma and Des Moines, which, on account of their speed of 16.5 knots and their lack of any armor, were as useless as cruisers as were their sister ships in Admiral Perry's squadron. One single well-aimed shell would suffice to put them out of action.

It was a terrible surprise when the Japanese destroyers began the attack under cover of the night. Not until dawn did the Americans actually catch sight of their enemy, and that was when Kamimura left the field of battle, which was strewn with sinking American ships, with his six practically unharmed battleships headed in a southwesterly direction to join Togo's fleet, who had already been informed of the victory. The work of cleaning up was left to the destroyers, who sank the badly damaged American ships with their torpedoes. The hospital ship Ontario, attached to the yellow fleet, and a torpedo boat fished up the survivors of this short battle. Then the Ontario started for San Francisco, while the leaking Farragut remained behind.

The Americans had been able to distinguish, with a fair degree of certainty, that Kamimura's squadron consisted of the Shikishima, the battleships Iwami (ex Orel), the Sagami (ex Peresvjet), and Tumo (ex Pobjeda), all three old Russian ships, and of the two new armored cruisers Ikoma and Tsukuba. Then there were the two enormous battleships which were not included in the Japanese Navy List at all, and the two huge cruisers Yokohama and Shimonoseki which, according to Japanese reports, were still building, while in reality they had been finished and added to the fleet long ago.

The circumstances connected with these two battleships were rather peculiar. The report was spread in 1906 that China was going to build a new fleet and that she had ordered two big battleships from the docks at Yokosuka. This rumor was contradicted both at Pekin and at Tokio. The Americans and everybody in Europe wondered who was going to pay for the ships. The trouble is, we ask altogether too many questions, instead of investigating for ourselves. As a matter of fact, the ships were laid down in 1908, though everybody outside the walls of the Japanese shipyard was made to believe that only gunboats were being built. We have probably forgotten how, at the time, a German newspaper called our attention to the fact that not only these two battleships—of the English Dreadnought type—but also the two armored cruisers building at Kure ostensibly for China, would probably never sail under the yellow dragon banner, but in case of war, would either be added directly to Japan's fleet or be bought back from China.

And so it turned out. Just before the outbreak of the war, the Sun Banner was hoisted quietly on the two battleships and they were given the names of Nippon and Hokkaido, respectively; but they were omitted from the official Japanese Navy List and left out of our calculations. How Pekin and Tokio came to terms with regard to these two ships remains one of the many secrets of east Asiatic politics. The generally accepted political belief that China was not financially strong enough to build a new fleet and that Japan, supposedly on the very verge of bankruptcy, could not possibly carry out her postbellum programme, was found to have rested on empty phrases employed by the press on both sides of the ocean merely for the sake of running a story. There has never yet been a time in the history of the world when war was prevented by a lack of funds. How could Prussia, absolutely devoid of resources, have carried on the war it did against Napoleon a hundred years ago, unless this were so?

In the redistribution of our war vessels in the Atlantic and the Pacific after the return of the fleet from its journey round the world, the Navy Department had calculated as follows: Japan had fifteen battleships, six large new ones and nine older ones; in addition she had six large new and eight older armored cruisers. We have one armored cruiser and three cruisers in Manila, and these can take care of at least five Japanese armored cruisers. Japan therefore has fifteen battleships and nine armored cruisers left for making an attack. Now if we keep two squadrons, each consisting of six battleships—the Texas among them—off the Pacific coast and add to these the coast-batteries, the mines and the submarines, we shall possess a naval force which the enemy will never dare attack.

Japan, on the other hand, figured as follows: We have two squadrons, each consisting of six battleships, among which there are six that are superior to any American fighting ship; these with the nine armored cruisers and the advantage of a complete surprise, give us such a handicap that we have nothing to fear. As a reserve, lying off San Francisco, are the ironclads Hizen (ex Retvisan), Tango (ex Poltawa), Iki (ex Nicolai), and the armored cruisers Azuma, Idzumo, Asama, Tokiwa, and Yakumo. Besides these there are the two mortar-boat divisions and the cruisers sent to Seattle, while the armored cruiser Iwate and two destroyers were sent to Magdalen Bay. All that remained in home waters were the fourth squadron, consisting of former Russian ships, and the cruisers which would soon be relieved at the Philippines.

The enemy had figured correctly and we had not. The two battles of the seventh and eighth of May were decided in the first ten minutes, before we had fired a single shot. And would the Japanese calculation have been correct also if Perry had beaten Togo or Crane Kamimura? Most decidedly so, for not a single naval harbor or coaling-station, or repairing-dock on the Pacific coast would have been ready to receive Perry or Crane with their badly damaged squadrons. On the other hand, the remnants of our fleet would have had all the Japanese battleships, all the armored cruisers and a large collection of torpedo-boats continually on their heels, and would thus have been forced to another battle in which, being entirely without a base of operations, they would without a doubt have suffered a complete defeat.

Our mines in the various arsenals and our three submarines at the Mare Island Wharf in San Francisco fell into the enemy's hands like ripe plums. It was quite superfluous for the Japanese to take their steamer for transporting submarines, which had been built for them in England, to San Francisco.

Nothing remained to us but the glory that not one of our ships had surrendered to the enemy—all had sunk with their flags flying. After all, it was one thing to fight against the demoralized fleet of the Czar and quite another to fight against the Stars and Stripes. Our blue-jackets had saved the honor of the white race in the eyes of the yellow race on the waves of the Pacific, even if they had thus far shown them only how brave American sailors die. But the loss of more than half our officers and trained men was even a more severe blow than the sinking of our ships. These could not be replaced at a moment's notice, but months and months of hard work would be required and new squadrons must be found. But from where were they to come?

Only a single vessel of the Pacific fleet escaped from the battle and the pursuing Japanese cruisers: this was the torpedo-destroyer Barry, commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Dayton, who had been in command of the torpedo flotilla attached to Admiral Perry's squadron. He had attempted twice, advancing boldly into the teeth of the gale, to launch a torpedo in the direction of the Satsuma, but the sea was too rough and each time took the torpedo out of its course.

The badly damaged destroyer entered the harbor of Buenaventura on the coast of Colombia on May eleventh, followed closely by the Japanese steamer Iwate, which had been lying off the coast of Panama. Grinding his teeth with rage, Dayton had to look on while a Colombian officer in ragged uniform, plentifully supplied with gilt, who was in the habit of commanding his tiny antediluvian gunboat from the door of a harbor saloon, came on board the Barry and ordered the breeches of the guns and the engine-valves to be removed, at the same time depriving the crew of their arms. The Japanese waiting outside the harbor had categorically demanded this action of the government in Bogota. This humiliating degradation before all the harbor loafers and criminals, before the crowds of exulting Chinese and Japanese coolies, who were only too delighted to see the white man compelled to submit to a handful of marines the entire batch of whom were not worth one American sailor, was far harder to bear than all the days of battle put together. And even now, when Admiral Dayton's fame reaches beyond the seas and the name of James Dayton is in every sailor's mouth as the savior of his people, yes, even now, he will tell you how at the moment when, outside the Straits of Magellan, he crushed the Japanese cruisers with his cruiser-squadron, thereby once again restoring the Star Spangled Banner to its place of honor, the vision of that grinning row of faces exulting in the degradation of a severely damaged American torpedo-boat appeared before him. It is only such men as he, men who experienced the horrors of our downfall to the bitter end, who could lead us to victory—such men as Dayton and Winstanley.