CHAPTER XXVI.
“’Tis less to conquer than to make wars cease.”
The Siva steamed out of San Diego harbor at nine o’clock on an April morning in the year 1896, carrying as passengers the naval and ordnance officers commissioned by the various European and American governments to examine and report upon the result of the dynamic exposition. The civil and diplomatic representatives were apportioned among the different members of the fleet, which had gathered from the Pacific squadrons of every naval power in the world, and was now lying in San Diego Bay. The success of the air ship the day before in almost obliterating the Coronado Islands, filled every mind with eager anticipation of the results likely to be achieved by the torpedo boats, and there was an especial pressure for places on board the Siva, which carried the novel engines of destruction.
The Siva had been built at the Union Iron Works in San Francisco, from plans and models furnished by engineers employed by Morning, and no expense had been spared to make her the largest, swiftest, and best-appointed war vessel afloat. Indeed, every other consideration had been sacrificed to speed, and, as a result, a ship was constructed of ten thousand tons’ burden, drawing but twenty-one feet of water when fully loaded, and able, when under a full head of steam, to make twenty-six knots an hour. Relying upon her speed to keep out of range of the guns of an enemy, and intended rather for a carrier of torpedo boats than a war vessel, she was, for her size, neither heavily armed nor heavily armored, yet she was covered with steel plates of sufficient thickness to resist the largest ordnance, and she was equipped with rifled cannon and pneumatic dynamite guns, equal in size and range to any constructed. Her cost was $8,000,000, and it was Morning’s avowed intention to present her to the alliance of nations which he expected would result from the dynamic exposition. The Siva rode the seas like a gull, and was as graceful and beautiful as a swan.
Forward of her engines the hull of the vessel was devoted to accommodations for housing, launching, and rehousing the two torpedo boats, the Etna and Stromboli. Each of these was cigar-shaped, one hundred feet in length and twenty feet in diameter. They were built of steel, with an inner and outer shell. The admission of water between these shells would cause the submersion of the boat to any depth required for the purposes of destroying an enemy, while by the expulsion of water they were enabled to ascend to the surface. In the inner shell was an electric engine, with sufficient power stored in its dynamos to propel the boat under water at a speed of twenty-five miles an hour for a period of five hours. Enough compressed air was stored in steel tanks to supply the needs of ten men for eight hours, and the Etna had, on several occasions, as a test, remained submerged with her crew for four hours without coming to the surface.
The construction of torpedo boats for harbor defense was no longer a novelty, but this was the first attempt made to demonstrate that a submarine torpedo vessel could be used on the high seas to overtake and destroy a flying enemy. The Etna and the Stromboli each carried one hundred shells, each shell being loaded with five hundred pounds of potentite. Chain cradles for holding these shells were suspended to huge fans of finely-tempered steel, shaped like pincers, and the machinery for fastening one or more of these cradles to the bottom of the vessel it was intended to destroy was both simple and ingenious, as were the arrangements for exploding them when fastened. A fuse or wire attached to a steamer running away at the rate of a mile in three minutes would have been impracticable, and the inventor had therefore arranged a time or clockwork cap, which could be set to explode at any given number of minutes from the time the shell should be fastened.
The Siva, containing Mr. Morning, the foreign engineers, and the ordnance officers of the American Navy detailed for the service, left her moorings at nine o’clock and steamed down the bay, followed by the Warspite, flying the British flag, the French corvette Garronne, the Russian frigate Tsar, the Italian ironclad Victor Emanuel, the Spanish ship Pizarro, the Chilean man-of-war Cero del Pasco, the Swedish sloop-of-war Berdanotte, the American iron batteries Charleston and San Francisco, and the great German steel war ship Wilhelm II. It was intended that this latter vessel should follow the Warspite, but there was some delay in getting her under way, and she was the last in the naval procession, being followed only by the Esmeralda—the vessel to be destroyed.
At the termination of the Chilean insurrection it was found that the Esmeralda—the war ship controlled by the insurgents—was, though not unseaworthy, yet too badly damaged by a contest with gunboats to be serviceable for the purposes for which she was constructed, and she was, therefore, sold by the Chilean Government to Mr. Morning for $1,000,000—something less than one-third her cost.
He purchased her for use as a transport in connection with the construction of the Nicaragua Canal, in which he was interested, and he now devoted her to destruction, as a test of the power of the new explosive, and the efficiency of the submarine torpedo boats.
The Esmeralda was an ironclad steamer of the largest size, capable of a speed of twenty miles an hour. She was armored with steel plates, and in every way staunch. On this occasion she carried only sufficient force to navigate her, and she towed a large steam launch, into which her crew would be transferred and conveyed to a place of safety so soon as the torpedoes should be fastened to her. Two lifeboats were also swung, ready for launching in case of accident.
Baron Von Eulaw had been indulging the previous night in deep potations, and was, consequently, so belated that the carriage containing the baroness and himself did not reach the Coronado wharf until the Siva had steamed away, and was being followed by the other vessels in the order described. The launches and small steamers, with the guests apportioned among the different vessels of the fleet, had also left the wharf, and two-thirds of the vessels which were to accompany the Siva, with their steam up and whistles blowing, were impatiently awaking the signal to move, and were uneasily churning into a foam the placid waters of the harbor.
Hastily summoning a boat lying at the wharf, the baron escorted the baroness on board, and, seating himself beside her, directed the crew to row for “that ship,” pointing to the Esmeralda. It will never be known whether this direction was the result of accident or design, for the Esmeralda, in size and general appearance, strongly resembled the Wilhelm II., which was anchored just ahead of her in the stream, and it was the Wilhelm II. to which the Baron Von Eulaw, as one of the representatives of the German Empire, had been assigned.
Arrived at the Esmeralda, however, the anchor of which was then being hoisted, the baron was politely informed by the officer in charge of the deck that no arrangements had been made to receive guests on board the vessel, as she was destined to destruction. The baron, with real or affected dismay, remarked that the Wilhelm II. was already under way; that it would be impossible for him now to gain her deck, and, unless permitted to board the Esmeralda, and remain upon her, they would lose altogether the great spectacle they had, by designation of his imperial majesty Wilhelm II., come all the way from Berlin to San Diego to attend.
He would be in lasting disgrace at home if compelled to admit that, through his own negligence and error, he had not witnessed the destruction of the Esmeralda at all. Might not the baroness and himself, under the circumstances, be suffered to trespass upon the hospitalities of the officers of the Esmeralda until the time came for abandoning the vessel, when they could join the officers and crew on the steam launch, and be placed on board the Wilhelm II., or one of the other vessels of the fleet, or return on the launch to San Diego, as might be most convenient?
With some hesitation, the deck officer of the Esmeralda, after brief consultation with his superior, consented to the request of Von Eulaw, and, apologizing for the condition of the cabin, which, in anticipation of the destruction of the vessel, had been stripped of everything save the standing furniture and a few chairs, he invited them to make themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit.
With salvos of cannon and music of bands, the gaily-decked fleet sped out to sea. Through the narrow channel they steamed, past Point Loma, with brow of purple and feet of foam. When they reached the open sea, they spread out in line abreast, the Siva taking a position on the extreme north, and slackening her speed a little so as to accommodate it to that of her companions.
Arrived at the scene of the proposed experiment, sixteen miles west of San Diego bar, the speed of all the vessels was slackened so as to afford only steerage way, and the Esmeralda was signaled to leave her position next the Siva, and steam away at full speed to the north. Simultaneously with this order, the hatches on the Siva were opened, chains and ropes tightened, the vast power of the engines applied, and the Stromboli, with her crew and cargo in place, was lifted from the hold of the Siva, swung over the side, and launched in the ocean.
It was four minutes from the time the whistle sounded until the launch of the Stromboli, and in the meantime the Esmeralda steamed quite one mile away. The Siva was a few hundred yards ahead of the other vessels, and the Stromboli was launched form her port side, so that the launch was witnessed by those who thronged the starboard side of the other vessels. The entire fleet then resumed its former rate of speed, and the distance between it and the Esmeralda was soon placed at one mile, at which it was subsequently maintained.
The Stromboli glided away for a minute on the surface of the sea, and then, admitting water to the space between her steel shells, rapidly sank to a depth of forty feet. The Esmeralda was still at full speed, and making twenty knots an hour, but the Stromboli was pushing her way under the sea, propelled by her powerful electric engines, at the rate of twenty-five knots an hour, and in fifteen minutes had overtaken the doomed vessel, and was preparing to make fast the torpedo which should destroy her.
One pair of great steel claws, holding a chain basket containing five hundred pounds of potentite set by clockwork to explode in sixty minutes, was, by the power of the electric engine, raised above the cigar-shaped steel monster gliding through the cool, quiet waters, and driven through the plates of the Esmeralda, just forward of the stern of that vessel. A second was placed amidship, and a third near the bow.
The upper deck of the Stromboli had a dozen plate-glass openings, through which a number of powerful electric lights illuminated the depths of the ocean, and enabled the men in charge of the machinery to direct with accuracy the work of fastening the torpedoes. If it had been necessary, men in submarine armor, fastened to steel arms projected from the Stromboli, and supplied with air through rubber tubes, could have been placed at work on the bottom of the Esmeralda, and maintained there for hours, even while she was coursing through the seas. But it was not necessary to invoke this process, for, by the aid of the ordinary machinery of the Stromboli, the three great shells were fastened in twenty minutes’ time, and the Esmeralda was proceeding on her journey with fifteen hundred pounds of potentite fastened to her keel. The officers and crew of the Esmeralda all subsequently testified that this work was performed noiselessly and without jar, or any evidence that it was going forward.
But had they possessed all knowledge, they could not have prevented it. No rate of speed possible to the doomed vessel would have enabled her to outrun the speedier submarine torpedo boat, and no machinery or appliance could have reached her under the keel of the Esmeralda, or prevented her work, and once the potentite shells were in place, it was beyond the power of man to remove them, and no human skill could prevent the explosion taking place at the appointed time.
The introduction of this deadly force into naval warfare was not intended to be unaccompanied with some merciful provisions for preventing unnecessary destruction of human life, and a code of signals had been prepared for all naval powers, to be used whenever a vessel was to be destroyed.
The Stromboli, having performed her duty, glided from under the keel of the Esmeralda, and, at a distance of a few hundred yards, shot up a signal pipe above the surface of the ocean, and with her electric whistle shrieked through it a succession of signals that were heard by the multitude upon the fleet a mile away.
“Submarine torpedo boat has been underneath your keel,” said one short shriek, and one more prolonged.
“Fifteen hundred pounds of the most powerful explosive known to science are fastened to you,” said fifteen short shrieks.
“Make ready to count your minutes of life,” said one long and two short shrieks.
“In thirty-six minutes your ship will be hurled in fragments into the air,” said thirty-six short shrieks.
“Leave your ship to her inevitable fate. Launch your boats and save your lives. Your enemy will pick you up and receive your honorable surrender,” said one shriek, continued for five minutes.
Standing on the deck of the Warspite, King Edward the Seventh looked at his watch. If in thirty-six minutes the Esmeralda should sink beneath the waves, the navies of England, with those of all other powers, would be as obsolete for the purposes of attack or defense upon the high seas as the galleys of Cæsar, or the barge of Cleopatra. Another Trafalgar would be as impossible as another Actium. The little Stromboli and Etna, carried in the hold of the Siva, could destroy every ironclad afloat. The latter vessel, with her immense speed, could keep out of range of the enemy’s guns, and she could send forth the torpedo boats and destroy ship after ship. She could pick up the torpedo boats, recharge their storage batteries, refit their magazines with potentite shells, and their tanks with compressed air, and send them forth again and proceed with such work of destruction until not a ship should live on any sea, except by license of the Siva, and subject to her rule.
What revolutions and what changes would this dynamic exposition not precipitate upon the mistress of the seas? India would give her new emperor the choice between walking out and being potentited out, and Canada, and Australia, and every other colony, would be taking leave. And Ireland—well, here was a state of things! Ireland would have whatever Davitt, and McCarthy, and Dillon should agree upon asking, or else every British war ship would be blown up, and every Irishman who could raise the money, would try the effect of a balloon loaded with potentite, upon his friends across the channel. Of course, it was a game in which one could give blows as well as take them, but that is a very unequal game between an anarchist and a king. It looked as if King Edward might be compelled to “rustle” to keep the British crown on his royal brow. It might be well to look up a good cattle range in Colorado where he and nephew William, with the Hapsburgs, the Bourbons, and the Romanoffs might retire, should it be necessary.
Among the stores of the Esmeralda which had not been sent ashore was a decanter of brandy, which the baron found in the cabin, and to which he devoted himself so assiduously that when the whistles sounded, announcing that the torpedoes were fastened to the ship, he was, from the combined effects of past and present potations, in a condition closely bordering upon delirium tremens.
The first officer proceeded to the cabin, where Von Eulaw and the baroness had withdrawn, and, attempting to open the door, found it locked. The voice of the baroness in a pleading tone was heard, followed by oaths and maniacal laughter from the baron.
“The torpedoes are fastened to us, and in thirty-four minutes this ship will be in the air,” said the officer through the closed door. “Our orders are to leave the vessel ten minutes before the explosion. You had better go on board of the launch at once.”
“Is that so?” yelled the baron. “Well, we will go into the air along with the ship, my American wife and myself. My estates are all gone. The Queen of Diamonds has seized them and given them to the Jack of Spades. This earth has nothing more for me, and we will take now a trip to the stars above.”
The officer comprehended the situation in an instant. “He has the jimjams, sure enough,” he muttered, “Best way is to humor him.” “All right, baron,” said he, in a conciliatory tone. “But you don’t want your wife to go with you, you know. Open the door and let her come with us.”
“Ah, no!” said the maniac. “The Baroness Von Eulaw will go to heaven along with her dear husband, that she loves so much, so much!”
“Madam,” said the officer, “can you not unlock the door? If not, I will have it broken down.”
“No,” shrieked the baron, “she cannot unlock the door, for I have thrown the key into the sea through the window, and if anybody makes any trouble with the door, I have a little pistol, and I will shoot first my beloved American wife, and then the man at the door, and at last myself, and we will all go to the skies in one trip.”
“Madame,” said the officer, “is he armed?”
“He is, and will, I fear, do as he threatens,” replied Ellen, with trembling voice.
“The situation is serious,” said the officer. “The torpedoes won’t wait for us, and the crew will be getting nervous. In fact, I am nervous myself,” added the officer, sotto voce. “Suppose one of those infernal machines should go off ahead of time?”
“Leave us, sir,” said the baroness. “If I can get the pistol from him by persuasion, I will discharge it as a signal, and you can then break down the door. If I cannot do this, you must save yourselves without us. It would be useless for you to jeopardize your lives for us, for he will surely kill me, and will probably shoot you if you attempt to force the door now.”
“What is the matter there aft, Mr. Morton?” shouted the captain.
“Dutch baron crazy drunk, sir. Has locked the door, and swears he will be blown up with the ship. Has a pistol, and will kill his wife if we try to force the door, sir.”
“Get a rifle, Mr. Morton, and stand ready to shoot him through the skylight. But I will first signal the Siva for orders.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said the first officer cheerily.
“Something wrong on board the Esmeralda, sir; she is signaling us,” said the first officer of the Siva to the captain.
Morning, who was conversing with a Russian admiral, overheard the speaker and came forward to where the signal officer—the code spread before him—had just answered, “Ready to receive signal.”
The little scarlet flag in the hand of the signal officer on the foretop gallant yard of the Esmeralda rapidly spelled out the message.
“Baron Von Eulaw and wife came on board as we were starting. He has delirium tremens, and is locked in cabin with her. Refuses to board launch, and threatens to shoot her if we break down door. We can kill him with a rifle through the skylight. We wait orders.”
The face of David Morning was white with the whiteness of death, but, with a voice in which there was scarcely a tremor, he addressed himself to the commander of the Siva.
“Captain, how far are we from the Esmeralda?”
“About a mile, sir.”
“How long will it be before the explosion?”
“Twenty-two minutes, sir.”
“Is there any way by which the torpedoes now fastened to her can be removed, or their explosion prevented, captain?”
“None whatever, sir.”
“Captain, signal the Esmeralda to have riflemen in place, but not to shoot the baron unless he offers violence to his wife. Signal her also to slacken speed while we run down to her. Signal the fleet to slacken speed, and fall behind. Get out a boat with crew to put me on board the Esmeralda.”
There was a rapid fluttering of scarlet flags from main and foretops, and the orders were obeyed.
“I will go with you, Mr. Morning,” said the captain of the Siva.
“And so will I, and I, and I,” came in chorus from a dozen officers and guests who had remained breathless auditors of the conversation.
“No,” said Morning quietly, “I will go alone. I do not propose to risk a single one of these valuable lives, or this ship.”
Morning picked up a coil of light rope from where it hung on a belaying pin, and descended into the boat, which, with crew in place, was now suspended a few feet from the water. “Captain,” said he, “as soon as we are launched you will steam away with the Siva, and rejoin the fleet: The steam launch towed by the Esmeralda will be sufficient to provide for the safety of all. Run us as close to the Esmeralda as you can, captain, before you drop us,” and Morning rapidly knotted a slip noose in the rope.
Clang! clang! clang! sounded the signal to reverse the engines; the Siva glided alongside and within three hundred feet of the Esmeralda, and the boat containing David Morning dropped gently into the foaming water. Clang! again went the gong, and by the time David Morning sprang up the ladder at the companion-way of the Esmeralda, the Siva was half a mile away.
As the foot of Morning touched the deck of the doomed vessel, it lacked thirteen minutes of the time set for the explosion.
“What is the situation?” said Morning to the captain of the Esmeralda.
“Through the skylight we can see that the baroness has evidently abandoned all effort to move the baron, and is on her knees in the corner, apparently in prayer. The baron is walking up and down the cabin floor flourishing a cocked revolver, and muttering to himself. The first officer with three gunners, each with a Winchester rifle, are at the skylight with sites drawn on the baron, anxious to fire as soon as they get the order, and six men with a piece of timber are in place, ready to burst open the cabin door. It is only twelve minutes to the blow-up, sir, and the men are getting uneasy. Shall we shoot and rescue the lady, sir?”
“Not yet, captain. Can you open the skylight from above noiselessly?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do so at once.”
With his noosed rope coiled in hand, Morning approached the skylight. Often in Colorado he had, from love of sport, attended rodeos and learned the trick of the lasso. His skill with it was the admiration of the cowboys. “Kin Dave Morning handle a riata?” said one of his enthusiastic admirers to a correspondent of an Eastern newspaper. “Well, stranger, I should smile! Kin he? He kin throw his lariat a matter of forty feet around any part of a jumping steer, hoof or horn. He kin throw a bull buffalo at the head of the herd. He kin make a buckin’ broncho turn two somersaults, and land him on head or heels, just as he likes. He kin stop a jacksnipe on the wing if he don’t fly too high. Oh, I’m talkin’ to ye, stranger! Often I’ve seen him, when he felt right well, throw his little lasso across the room of the big hotel at Trinidad, and smash a fly on a window pane without breaking the glass. Oh, you can laff, of course! I ain’t got nothin’ agin your hilarity, but if any gentleman feels inclined to doubt the entire truth of anything I’ve been a sayin’, or has anything to say agin Dave Morning, either as a vaquero or a man, he kin get his gun ready, for my name is Buttermilk Bill from the San Juan Range.”
Poising his improvised riata, Morning looked down through the open skylight. The baron, attracted by the shadow, stopped in his nervous walk and looked up. As he did so the noose dropped over his head and shoulders, and pinioned his arms to his side, and he was thrown to the floor, while the cocked pistol he held in his hand was harmlessly discharged. Like a cat, Morning dropped from the skylight upon the floor of the cabin, followed by the first officer and the gunners, all of whom proceeded—none too tenderly—to wrap and tie the rope around the arms and legs of the baron.
“Now, then,” sounded the voice of the second officer outside the cabin door; “now, then, my hearties, once, twice, thrice, and away!” and, with a crash, the door flew from its hinges nearly across the cabin.
Morning half supported and half carried the baroness to the launch, which was now lying alongside with steam up, and they descended to the deck, followed by the crew and officers of the Esmeralda and the crew of the boat from the Siva.
“Where is the baron,” said the baroness faintly.
The captain looked at the first officer, who made reply, “He is in the cabin, sir.”
“We have still five minutes if anybody chooses to bring him aboard,” said the captain.
And after a pause of a few seconds nobody stirred.
Ellen looked at Morning.
And Morning leaped upon the deck of the Esmeralda, followed by the captain, first officer, and one of the men.
In less than a minute the Baron Von Eulaw, writhing, cursing, and foaming at the mouth, was deposited on the deck of the launch, which steamed away rapidly in a direction opposite to that taken by the doomed vessel.
There were just two minutes to spare. The wheel of the Esmeralda had been lashed so as to head her away from the fleet. Her chief engineer was the last man to leave the engine room, and just before he left, he pulled the lever to increase her speed, so that in the two minutes which passed after the steam launch and the Esmeralda separated, they were quite a mile apart.
Suddenly a dull sound like the throb of a great muffled drum was heard. An immense arch of water arose in air. Upon its summit was the Esmeralda, broken into a dozen fragments, which writhed like a python twisting in the agonies of death. For a moment the cloven mail of the giant flashed and scintillated in the sun, and then, with a sound of sucking water—the death gurgle of those engulfed by the sea—each fragment went out of sight forever, and great billows of foam rolled over the spot where the mighty ship went down.