Strive as we might, no gleam of hope
could be culled from the news of those three days. Cervera's fleet was
still in the harbor of Santiago, and the army not only had the Spanish
troops to fight but the navy as well. Flesh and blood might stand the
rain of Mauser bullets, but they could not stand rapid-fire guns and
eight-inch shells. The third of July dragged by, and at eleven o'clock
Colonel Michler retired for the night not feeling in a very pleasant
frame of mind. The lobby was well nigh deserted, but Colonels Smith and
Powell and a few more officers sat by one of the big open doors having a
farewell smoke and chat before going to bed. At eleven-thirty I was
standing by the desk talking to the clerk, when the night operator came
charging out of the office and gave me a little piece of yellow paper. I
quickly opened it and read, "Sampson entirely destroyed Cervera's fleet
this morning." News like that, if true, was too good to keep, so I went
into the telegraph office and had a wire cut through to the New York
office and asked for a confirmation or denial of the report.
Pages:
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509