"Well, it is pretty hot," replied Walter, and then he was glad enough to follow Caleb's advice, for both hands smarted a good deal. Soon Si joined him, to get something for his hands also.

The _Colon_ had now drawn out of range, so firing would have been a useless waste of ammunition. Down to the gunners came the order: "Cease firing." And a moment later, "All hands on deck for an airing." What a laughing and shouting ensued as the jackies poured up, to secure the best viewing places they could within the ship's regulations. Hot, tired, ready to drop from exhaustion, they shook hands with each other, sang, laughed, and whistled.

"Three cheers for Commodore Schley!" came suddenly from somebody, and the cheers came with vigor, and a tiger, and then came a cheer for Captain Cook and a cheer for the _Oregon_, coming up with ever increasing speed. The _Oregon's_ men cheered in return, and for a moment one would have thought this was holiday-making instead of grim war.

The _Colon_ was close to sh.o.r.e, while the _Brooklyn_ and the _Oregon_ lay from two to three miles out to sea. Some miles farther westward the Cuban sh.o.r.e slopes southward to Cape Cruz. If the _Colon_ kept on her present course she would have to make for the cape, thus coming down toward the American warships. "We will catch her there," said Commodore Schley, confidently.

The _Oregon_ was flying the signal "Remember the _Maine_" from her masthead, and as she drew still closer to the _Brooklyn_, another shout of approval went up. The two warships would fight the _Colon_ between them, if only they could get within range.

It was now noontime, and a hasty mess was served all around, and the men continued to air themselves, something easy to do with the ponderous ship speeding the waters at an eighteen-knot rate. Suddenly from the _Oregon_ came the boom of a thirteen-inch gun, and the sh.e.l.l fell just astern of the _Colon_, sending the water up like a fountain. The battle was again on.

"Now for it!" cried Caleb, as the Spanish warship turned southward down the coast, and the Polly spoke up as fiercely as at any time during the contest.

"The Spaniards are losing heart!" came the cry, a few minutes later.

"They ain't doing half the firing they were!"

It was true; the _Colon_ was running short of ammunition, and her officers saw what a hopeless fight a contest with the _Brooklyn_ and _Oregon_ would prove to be. With shot and sh.e.l.l falling all around him, Captain Moreu hauled down his flag and sent his ship ash.o.r.e at Rio Tarquino.

The battle was won, and Dewey's magnificent victory at Manila, which the world in general had declared was a miracle that could not be matched, had been duplicated. Henceforth American warships and American sailors would stand as the equals of any nation on the face of the globe.

And now that the contest was over what was to follow? To me, the hours that came after are even greater in honor than those glorious hours of victory. Already down the sh.o.r.e, the work of rescuing the sailors and marines from the _Maria Teresa_, _Oquendo_, and _Vizcaya_ had begun, and now the crews of the _Brooklyn_ and _Oregon_ turned in to aid the wounded and the dying, and those in danger of drowning, on the _Colon_.

Boat after boat went out, close to the sinking cruiser, now burning fiercely, with abandoned guns going off, loose powder and sh.e.l.ls exploding, and magazines in danger of tearing all asunder. Amid such perils did our n.o.ble jackies work, hauling man after man from the ship, or from the water, and taking them to our own warships, there to be cared for as tenderly as though they were our own. Some of the Spaniards could not understand this treatment. They had been told that the Americans were butchers and had no hearts, and when they realized the truth many burst into tears of joy.

When the battle was all over, some of our officers and men could not comprehend what had been accomplished--that a whole fleet of Spanish warships had been destroyed, that hundreds of men had been killed and many more wounded and taken prisoners, and that the loss to our side had been but one man killed, a handful wounded, and no ship seriously damaged. "It was an act of Providence," said more than one, and Captain Philip of the _Texas_ spoke thus to his crew, as he gathered all around him on this never-to-be-forgotten Sunday, so bright and clear:--

"I wish to make confession that I have implicit faith in G.o.d and in the officers and crew of the _Texas_, but my faith in you is only secondary to my faith in G.o.d. We have seen what He has done for us, in allowing us to achieve so great a victory, and I want to ask all of you, or at least every man who has no scruples, to uncover his head with me and silently offer a word of thanks to G.o.d for His goodness toward us all." The thanks were given, some dropping upon their knees to deliver them, and this outpouring of hearts travelled from one ship to another throughout the entire fleet.

"Poor Ellis!" said Walter; "the only seaman to give up his life! It's too bad!" And when George Ellis's body was buried with all naval honors he wept as bitterly as did anybody on board of the flagship.

The victory had been gained, but the work of the fleet was not yet over.

The army still occupied the outskirts of Santiago, and General Shafter had sent word to General Toral that unless he surrendered, the city would be sh.e.l.led Monday morning. At a conference with Admiral Sampson, later on, it was decided that the fleet should take part in the bombardment even if it was necessary to force an entrance into the harbor. Without delay our warships were gotten into condition for this task.

But the bombardment did not come--for the reason that both on land and sea the enemy had had enough of fighting. Several days pa.s.sed, and the conditions of a surrender were discussed. In the meantime Lieutenant Hobson and his men were released and turned over to us in exchange for a number of Spanish prisoners. Several of the men remembered seeing Walter, and were glad to learn that the youth had escaped.

The battle on sea had taken place on July the third, and my readers can imagine what a glorious Fourth of July followed, not only among the soldiers and sailors, but among our people at large. All over the land cannons boomed, pistols cracked, rockets flared, bells pealed forth, and bands played for the marching of thousands. It was a real old-fashioned "Yankee Doodle time," as one down-east paper put it, and North, South, East, and West united in celebrating as never before. Less than two weeks later Santiago surrendered, a peace protocol followed; and the war with Spain came to an end.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

TOGETHER ONCE MORE--CONCLUSION

"And now that business is finished, an' I'm most awfully glad on it; yes, I am!"

It was Job Dowling who spoke. The uncle and guardian of the three Russell boys was sitting by the side window of his home in Buffalo. In his lap lay a small, flat package, which had been wrapped in heavy brown paper and well sealed. In his hand was an open letter which he had just finished reading.

"It was a dreadful price to pay thet detective," he resumed. "But I couldn't git them hairlooms back no other way, and I'm afraid the boys would raise the roof ef I didn't git 'em back. It's a comfort to know thet thief was caught and is going to be tried for even a wuss crime than stealin' them rings an' the watch an' the Australian diamond. I hope they give him about twenty years in prison." He paused to put the package away in his dilapidated secretary. "So Ben is coming home this week? I wonder what he'll have to say when he faces me? Somehow, I don't know wot I'm going to say myself." And he dropped into his chair again.

Job Dowling was a different man from what he had been. The determined stand taken by Larry, Walter, and Ben had opened his eyes to the knowledge that he had no mere children to deal with, but boys who were almost men, and who were fully capable of taking care of themselves. His visit to New York, when he was robbed of the Russell heirlooms, had caused him considerable loss of self-confidence, and the trip to Boston after the thief had awakened him to the fact that, after all, he was of but little importance in this world. His efforts to help the police recover the heirlooms had been laughed at, and even the detective had shown him plainly that he was hindering more than he was helping.

Finally he had returned home in disgust, and the detective had finished the work on the case alone, recovered everything, and sent Deck Mumpers to jail to stand trial on half a dozen charges. The detective's bill had been over two hundred dollars, a sum the paying of which had nearly given Job Dowling a fit; but now the whole thing was settled and he was awaiting Ben's return, for the gallant young volunteer had been shot in the left arm on the day before Santiago surrendered, and was coming home on sick leave.

Ding! ding! it was a double ring at the front-door bell, and before Mrs.

Graham, the new housekeeper, and a great improvement on the tartar-like Mrs. Rafferty, could get to the door, Job Dowling was there himself.

"Ben an' Walter!" he exclaimed, as he found himself confronted by two nephews instead of one, as expected. "Well--er, how is this?"

"How do you do, Uncle Job!" exclaimed Ben, extending his hand.

"Aren't you glad to see me too, Uncle Job?" put in Walter.

"Why--er--of course, of course!" came with a stammer; and Job Dowling held out both of his bony hands. "Come right in. This is Mrs. Graham, my new workwoman." And the lady of the house, dressed in a neat wrapper and with a clean kitchen ap.r.o.n on, came forward and bowed. "Knows a sight more than Mrs. Rafferty did," went on the uncle, in a whisper.

"I didn't know Walter was coming on till day before yesterday,"

continued Ben. "We met quite by accident in New York, and we made up to come on together and surprise you."

"I see--I see." Job Dowling was still very nervous, and he could hardly tell why. At one instant he thought he ought to quarrel with them, the next that it would be quite proper to embrace them and tell them they were forgiven and could henceforth do as they saw proper. But he chose a middle course and did neither. "Sit down and make yourselves to hum, and, Mrs. Graham, you had best get a few extry chops--three won't be enough. Tell Boggs to send me the best on the stand."

At this order Walter nudged Ben, and both looked at each other and smiled. "He's reforming," whispered the young sailor. "Only give him time, and he'll be all right."

"Yes, Mr. Dowling," put in the housekeeper. "And you said something about pie yesterday, when Master Ben should come. What of that?"

"Ah, yes, so I did, so I did." The former miser wrinkled his brow. "How much does a pie cost?"

"Ten and twenty cents."

"Boys, do you think you could eat a twenty-cent pie?"

"Do we?" cried Walter. "Just try us and see, Uncle Job." And now he clasped his guardian half affectionately by the shoulder.

"Then get the twenty-cent pie, Mrs. Graham, and be sure an' pick out the best. You--er--have the other things?"

"Yes, sir--potatoes, green corn, and coffee."

"Very good." And as the housekeeper retired, Job Dowling turned to the boys again. "And how is your arm, Ben? Not seriously hurt, I trust?"

"It's only a scratch," was the answer.

"And you, Walter?"

"I'm all right. But how have you been, Uncle Job, and what of that stolen stuff?"

"Oh, I'm only tolerable--got quite some rheumatism. The hairlooms is all safe--but they cost me two hundred and twenty-seven dollars an' a half to git 'em!" And the guardian nodded to emphasize his words.

"Well, they're worth it," answered Ben, promptly; and Job Dowling did not dare dispute the a.s.sertion. "Where are they?"

"In the desk. I'll show 'em to you, and then ye can both tell me all about yer adventures on the water and in Cuby."