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Stories of American Heroes - Brought to you from the "Home of Heroes" - Pueblo, Colorado |
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The
Naval Battle |
Because of the high degree of publicity the charge at San Juan Hill received in the media, it is often erroneously though of as the climax to the ground war in Cuba. To the contrary it was, but for the brief skirmishes at Guantanamo Bay, Cuzco Well and Las Guasimas, the opening volley in that campaign. Despite a subsequent truce, two weeks of fighting would follow as the American soldiers struggled to survive not only enemy snipers and heavy guns, but deadly tropical illness that would claim more lives than bullets.
When General Shafter's forces took San Juan and Kettle Hills, they simply pushed the Spanish defenders back to their second line of defense, a line perhaps even more formidable than the position they had held on the heights. Throughout the night following the famous charge, General Lawton's troops moved south from El Caney to link up to the right of the cavalry. It took until 2 in the morning to move the American artillery forward to support the troops now camped on and around the hills. Theodore Roosevelt later recorded that:
"We finished digging the trench soon after midnight, and then the worn-out men laid down in rows an their rifles and dropped heavily to sleep. About one in ten of them had blankets taken from the Spaniards....if the men without blankets had not been so tired that they fell asleep anyhow, they would have been very cold, for, of course, we were all drenched with sweat, and above the waist had on nothing but our flannel shirts, while the night was cool, with a heavy dew. Before anyone had time to wake from the cold however, we were all awakened by the Spaniards, whose skirmishers suddenly opened fire on us." The sun rose on July 2nd to cast its light across long lines of trenches in which young soldiers had prepared themselves against an expected counter-attack. Some of the trenches were filled with water, and the hardships of the night along with the wet tropical climate began taking its toll on the men's health.
It was near 10 o'clock when the Spanish came. Though tired and miserable in their trenches, still surrounded by the bodies of dead and dying comrades, the American line was well prepared and repulsed the enemy all along the front. The total failure of the enemy attack however, did not mean it was any the less deadly.
As the Spanish attacked the trenches held by the 9th U.S. Infantry, a young American was shot in the chest. Reacting to his agonizing wound, the soldier jumped up and then fell over the embankment...rolling toward the enemy. One of the nearby leaders was 2nd Lieutenant Ira C. Welborn who, just months earlier, had graduated from West Point. Heedless of the angry Mauser bullets that whipped through the air and kicked up dirt all along the embankment, Lieutenant Welborn jumped from his sheltered position to rush to the injured private's side. While his men watched in amazement from their trenches, the young lieutenant, now completely exposed to enemy fire, quickly carried the wounded private to safety. For that act, Lieutenant Welborn was subsequently awarded the Medal of Honor.
Though the initial counter-attack was quickly and soundly repulsed, the bombardment continued throughout the day. The Spanish were nearly surrounded at Santiago with 16,000 Americans to the east, General Garcia and his 3,000 Cuban insurgents to the west, and the harbor blockaded by the US Navy to the south. General Vara del Rey had been killed at El Caney the previous day, and when the top ground commander General Arsenio Linares y Pombo was wounded by an American round in his left shoulder, General Jose Toral took command of the Spanish forces at Santiago.
Estimates of the Spanish strength in Santiago vary, depending upon which historical account one reads. The numbers range from 6,000 to 10,000 troops, deployed throughout heavily fortified positions. Though surrounded and outnumbered, they were not ready to admit defeat and comforted themselves with the knowledge that any attempt by the American forces to storm the city would meet with formidable opposition. During the darkness of night on July 2nd, their numbers were increased when 3,000 Spanish soldiers under Colonel Escario managed to move past General Garcia's insurgents to reinforce the city.
Under that same darkness, American soldiers huddled in their trenches for another chilling night in the jungles. The not-so-splendid legacy of the Spanish-American war was quickly taking a toll on them. The trenches themselves were filled knee-deep with mud and water from the daily rain storms, and quickly became breeding grounds for the mosquitoes. Dysentery, malaria, and yellow fever spread rapidly through the ranks. Provisions were either non-existent or slow in arriving, and the canned beef that the men referred to as "embalmed beef" was of little value to those who became hungry enough to endure it.
The stream of wounded that had been making its way to the make-shift hospital back at Siboney was soon joined by scores of soldiers who fell victim to an enemy more formidable than the Spaniards. If General Shafter's soldiers hoped that by surrounding Santiago they needed only to outlast the isolated Spaniards, they would be doomed to failure. Quickly the jungle was exacting more American casualties than enemy bullets or artillery. General Shafter recognized this, and wanted to move quickly. President McKinley and Secretary of War Alger were all that held him in check, refusing him permission to attack the city in a move that would create a mass grave of American war dead.
In desperation, on the morning of July 3rd, General Shafter cabled Washington, D.C. to request permission to withdraw his troops five miles to the northeast where they would be further removed from the deadly enemy fire. Though it would mean giving up the hard earned ground above Santiago, the general saw it as his only salvation. Secretary of War Alger promptly denied the request. At a loss for what to do, one of Shafter's aides made an unusual suggestion...that General Shafter issue a demand to the Spanish general to surrender the city. Within an hour the American commander sent word to General Toral that unless he received word of surrender by 10 o'clock the following day, he would immediately begin shelling the city.
In the open sea along the Cuban shoreline, Admiral Sampson was still at odds with General Shafter's tactics. Early on the morning of Sunday, July 3rd he sailed east to Siboney aboard his flagship USS New York to meet with the American ground commander. In a sense, the American ground forces had fallen victim to a third foe, an inter-service rivalry between the Navy and the Army as to how to proceed. Shafter felt that the Navy was not giving proper support to his troops, and Sampson felt that Shafter had taken the wrong approach to capturing Santiago, denying him the opportunity to engage the blockaded enemy fleet. Neither man realized that, even as they contemplated the stalemate, events beyond either man's control were unfolding that would settle the matter once and for all.
The
ship's bell had just rung three times... 9:30 A.M., as the Brooklyn's quartermaster
noticed a black cloud rising to the sky near the entrance of Santiago
Harbor. It was a cloud that was quickly moving towards the open sea, and
he instantly realized what was happening. "Report to the
commodore and the captain that the enemy ships are coming out," he
shouted into his megaphone. There was no need. Commodore Schley
had already witnessed the surprising site on the horizon. "We'll
give it to them now!" he shouted exuberantly. Looking
eastward he could no longer see the New York. The Admiral's
flagship was already well away from the blockade on its brief trip to Siboney
for the meeting with General Shafter. The long awaited Caribbean
counterpart to Admiral Dewey's earlier victory in the Pacific was now in
the hands of the fleet's second in command.
Less
than half-an-hour had passed since the Teresa had emerged from Santiago
Harbor when Admiral Cervera ordered the burning Spanish cruiser to head
towards the shoreline. His hopes of scuttling his flagship were thwarted
by the fires that prevented surviving sailors from reaching the sea cocks that
would flood the vessel and send it to the bottom. Near the shore only a
few miles from the opening at Santiago Harbor, Cervera struck the colors and
ordered his men to leave the ship and swim for the shore. Stripped to
his underwear and assisted by his son, Lieutenant Angel Cervera, the legendary
Spanish admiral then followed his crew to safety. The Infanta Maria
Teresa had taken 29 direct hits from the American guns.
The
attrition in the ranks forced the wounded Captain Lazaga to resume command of
his own doomed ship. He ordered all remaining torpedoes launched in a
desperate hope of exacting some damage on the American war ships before he
lost his own, then ordered the decks of the Qquendo sprayed with oil
and set on fire to insure that his vessel would never be salvaged by his
enemies. Only ten minutes after the Teresa was abandoned, the Oquendo
ran aground less than a mile from the flagship and broke in two.
Fifty-seven large rounds had pierced the armor of the Oquendo to seal
its fate. Captain Lazaga was not among the few survivors, and was assumed lost in the
flames that destroyed his once proud armored cruiser. 
In
slightly more than half an hour, two of Cervera's ships had been totally
destroyed. His sole hope of any victory lay in the prospect of the Vizcaya
and Colon out-running the American ships. Both had emerged
from the harbor prepared for a race, but the surprised American fleet was
not. Only the USS Iowa on the eastern edge of the blockade was up
to full steam. The nearer Brooklyn, among the speediest of the
American warships, had been at half-power to conserve coal. It would
take twenty minutes for most of the American ships to reach full steam and
give chase. Meanwhile, the last two ships of Cervera's squadron had
emerged. They were the smaller destroyers Pluton and Furor,
capable of outrunning most larger warships but no match for their big
guns. Even worse, the reason that these small destroyers were capable of
high speeds was the fact that each was only lightly armored. The big
shells that began to rain around them were quickly spelling certain doom.
It
was nearly 10:30, and in less than one hour the US Navy had utterly destroyed four of Cervera's
six ships. The cannonade had been among the worst ever witnessed in any
Naval battle. Hundreds of Spaniards had died, many were
wounded, and survivors strained against the sea to reach the safety of
shore. Unfortunately for many, Cuban insurgents were scouring the
shoreline for these survivors, and the insurgents were NOT intent on taking
prisoners. Amazingly, as two enemy ships sped towards Cienfuegos, and
while four others lay sinking and burning, not a single American had been
killed in the battle. 
The
Texas and Brooklyn began firing as they came broadside of the Viscaya,
unleashing a deadly rain from their guns. The Spanish cruiser
had heavy armor, but quickly began to crumple beneath the sheer force of the
multiple guns. The Spaniards returned fire, but most was
ineffective. Two or three enemy rounds did crash through the superstructure
of the Brooklyn, one of them piercing the gun deck. Commodore
Schely instructed Captain Cook to obtain a casualty report, only to learn that
two men had been slightly wounded. Certain the report was in error and
that there must indeed be a higher rate of casualty, Captain Cook ordered the
messenger to, "Go down to the hospital and tell Dr. Fitzsimons to
report to me the number of dead and wounded." As the messenger
departed to reconfirm the amazing but good news that the American sailors had
escaped danger, the only major American casualty of the day fell.
In
the sick bay of the Vizcaya Captain Eulate, a naval officer highly
respected by both sides, lay while being treated for his own wounds. "Almost
faint from the loss of blood I resigned my command to the executive officer
with clear and positive instructions not to surrender the ship but rather to
beach and burn her," he recounted. "In the sick bay I
met Ensign Luis Fajardo, who was having a serious wound dressed. When I
asked him what was the matter with him he answered that they had wounded him
in one arm but he still had one left for his country. I immediately
convened the officers who were nearest and asked them whether there was anyone
among them who though we could do anything more in the defense of our country
and our honor, and the unanimous reply was that nothing more could be
done." As the Viscaya moved towards the shore at
Acceraderes, her decks were awash with flames. As it struck the ground
that would mark the end of her gallant but futile race, burning sailors leaped
into the sea to swim for safety. The American battleships had ceased
firing, and the USS Iowa, now catching up to the other three ships of
Schley's squadron, diverted for a humanitarian mission.
The
Colon was six miles ahead of the battle, but slowing as the Brooklyn
and Oregon continued pursuit. The resulting run would last
until nearly one o'clock, and would cover sixty miles. Shortly after
noon the Colon had used all of its good Spanish coal, and switched to
the inferior coal obtained at Santiago. Loosing speed, the American
warships began overtaking her, firing big guns in its path. All hope of
escape vanishing, the Colon struck her colors and headed for shore,
sailors opening the sea cocks to completely sink the vessel. When at
last the Colon slipped beneath the Caribbean swells, only her port guns
remained visible, pointing skyward. The naval battle of Santiago harbor
was over, and Admiral Cervera's fleet was utterly destroyed.
Valor
abounded on both sides during the battle that destroyed an empire, the
majority of which lasted less than two hours. For his courage
aboard the USS Brooklyn in the face of the enemy fire, Marine
Private Harry MacNeal was awarded the Medal of Honor. He was the
last Marine of the Spanish-American war to earn that honor as, indeed
for all practical purposes, the "Splendid Little War" ended
with the destruction of Admiral Cervera's fleet. Hostilities
would continue for a brief time, and there was to be yet a campaign in
Puerto Rico before the formal end of the conflict. As the
hulking ruins of the once mighty Spanish Armada burned along the
southeastern coast of Cuba, it became the eulogy for an ancient
world order and the birth of a new world super power from the west.
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