There he lay till the break of day. Then he crawled on till he got into a cornfield nearby. Now for the first time he could stand up and walk.

But just as he got to the other side of the field he came face to face with a man.

Cushing was not afraid. It was a black face. In those days no Union soldier was afraid of a black face. The slaves would do anything for "Ma.s.sa Link.u.ms' sojers." The young lieutenant was almost as black as the slave after his long crawl through the mud.

Cushing told him who he was, and sent him into the town for news, waiting in the cornfield for his return. After an hour the messenger came back. His face was smiling with delight.

"Good news, Ma.s.sa," he said. "De big iron ship's gone to de bottom suah.

Folks dar say she'll neber git up agin."

"Mighty good," said Cushing. "Now, old man, tell me how I can get back to the ships."

The negro told him all he could, and with a warm "Good-bye" the fugitive took to the swamp again. On he went, hour by hour, forcing his way through the thick bushes and wading in the deep mud. Thus he went on, mile after mile, until at length, at two o'clock in the afternoon, he found himself on the banks of a narrow creek.

Here he heard voices and drew back. Looking through the bushes he saw a party of seven soldiers just landing from a boat. They tied the boat to the root of a tree and went up a path that led back from the river. Soon they stopped, sat down, and began to eat their dinner. They could see their boat from where they sat, but they were too busy eating to think of that.

Here was Cushing's chance. It was a desperate one, but he was ready to try anything. He lowered himself quietly into the stream, swam across, and untied the boat. Then he noiselessly pushed it out and swam with it down stream. As soon as he was out of sight of the soldiers he climbed in and rowed away as fast as he could. What the soldiers thought and said when they missed their boat n.o.body knows. He did not see them again.

It was a long journey. The creek was crooked and winding. Night came on before he reached the river. Then he paddled on till midnight. Ten hours of hard toil had pa.s.sed when he saw the dark hull of a gunboat nearby.

"Ship ahoy!" he cried.

"Who goes there?" called the lookout.

"A friend. Take me up."

A boat was lowered and rowed towards him. The officer in it looked with surprise when he saw a mud-covered man, with scratched and bleeding face.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Lieutenant Cushing, or what is left of him."

"Cushing!--and how about the _Albemarle_?"

"She will never trouble Uncle Sam's ships again. She lies in her muddy grave on the bottom of the Roanoke."

Cheers followed this welcome news, and when the gallant lieutenant was safe on board the _Valley City_ the cheers grew tenfold.

For Lieutenant Cushing had done a deed which was matched for daring only once in the history of our navy, and that was when Decatur burned the _Philadelphia_ in the harbor of Tripoli.

CHAPTER XXVI

HOW THE "GLOUCESTER" REVENGED THE SINKING OF THE "MAINE"

DEADLY AND HEROIC DEEDS IN THE WAR WITH SPAIN

IF you look at a map of the country we dwell in, you will see that it has a finger pointing south. That finger is called Florida, and it points to the beautiful island of Cuba, which spreads out there to right and left across the sea of the South.

The Spaniards in Cuba were very angry when they found the United States trying to stop the war which they had carried on so mercilessly. They thought this country had nothing to do with their affairs. And in Havana, the capital city of the island, riots broke out and Americans were insulted.

Never before in the history of the United States navy had there been so terrible a disaster as the sinking of the _Maine_ by a frightful and deadly explosion in the harbor of Havana, Cuba, on February 15, 1898, and never was there greater grief and indignation in the United States than when the story was told.

Do you know what followed this dreadful disaster? But of course you do, for it seems almost yesterday that the _Maine_ went down with her slaughtered crew. Everybody said that the Spaniards had done this terrible deed and Spain should pay for it. We all said so and thought so, you and I and all true Americans.

Before the loss of the _Maine_ many people thought we ought to go to war with Spain, and put an end to the cruelty with which the Cubans were treated. After her loss there were not many who thought we ought not to.

Our people were in a fury. They wanted war, and were eager to have it.

The heads of the government at Washington felt the same way. Many millions of dollars were voted by Congress, and much of this was spent in buying ships and hiring and repairing ships, and much more of it in getting the army ready for war.

For Congress was as full of war-feeling as the people. President McKinley would have liked to have peace, but he could no more hold back the people and Congress than a man with an ox-chain could hold back a locomotive. So it was that, two months after the _Maine_ sank in the mud of Havana harbor, like a great coffin filled with the dead, war was declared against Spain.

Now, I wish to tell you how the loss of the _Maine_ was avenged. I am not going to tell you here all about what our navy did in the war. There are some good stories to tell about that. But just here we have to think about the _Maine_ and her murdered men, and have to tell about how one of her officers paid Spain back for the dreadful deed.

As soon as the telegraph brought word to the fleet at Key West that "War is declared," the great ships lifted their anchors and sped away, bound for Cuba, not many miles to the south. And about a month afterward this great fleet of battleships, and monitors, and cruisers, and gunboats were in front of the harbor of Santiago, holding fast there Admiral Cervera and his men, who were in Santiago harbor with the finest warships owned by Spain.

There were in the American fleet big ships and little ships, strong ships and weak ships; and one of the smallest of them all was the little _Gloucester_. This had once been a pleasure yacht, used only for sport.

It was now a gunboat ready for war. It had only a few small guns, but these were of the "rapid-fire" kind, which could pour out iron b.a.l.l.s almost as fast as hailstones come from the sky in a storm.

And in command of the _Gloucester_ was Lieutenant Wainwright, who had been night officer of the _Maine_ when that ill-fated ship was blown up by a Spanish mine. The gallant lieutenant was there to avenge his lost ship.

I shall tell you later about how the Spanish ships dashed out of the harbor of Santiago on the 3d of July and what happened to them. Just now you wish to know what Lieutenant Wainwright and the little _Gloucester_ did on that great day, and how Spain was made to pay for the loss of the _Maine_.

As soon as the Spanish ships came out, the _Gloucester_ dashed at them, like a wasp trying to sting an ox. She steamed right across the mouth of the harbor until she almost touched one of the great Spanish ships, all the time firing away like mad at its iron sides.

The brave Wainwright saw two little boats coming out behind these big ones. These were what are called torpedo-boats.

Do you know what this means? A torpedo-boat is little, but it can dart through the water with the speed of the wind. And it carries torpedoes--iron cases filled with dynamite--which it can shoot out against the great warships. One of these could tear a gaping hole in the side of a battleship and send it, with all on board, to the bottom. A torpedo-boat is the rattlesnake of the sea. It is little, but it is deadly.

But Lieutenant Wainwright and the men of the _Gloucester_ were not afraid of the _Furor_ and the _Pluton_, the Spanish torpedo-boats. As soon as they saw these boats they drove their little vessel toward them at full speed. The _Gloucester_ came under the fire of one of the Spanish forts, but she did not mind that any more than if boys were throwing oyster-sh.e.l.ls at her.

Out from her guns came a torrent of b.a.l.l.s like water from a pump. But the water drops were made of iron, and hit hard. The _Furor_ and _Pluton_ tried to fire back, but their men could not stand that iron rain. For twenty minutes it kept on, and then all was over with the torpedo-boats. They tried to run ash.o.r.e, but down to the bottom they both went. Of all their men only about two dozen were picked up alive.

The rest sank to the bottom of the bay.

Thus Wainwright and his little yacht avenged the _Maine_, and the dreadful tragedy in Havana harbor was paid for in Santiago Bay.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE GREAT VICTORY OF MANILA BAY

DEWEY DESTROYS A FLEET WITHOUT LOSING A MAN

GEORGE DEWEY was a Green Mountain boy, a son of the Vermont hills. Many good stories are told of his schoolboy days, and when he grew up to be a man everybody that knew him said that he was a fine fellow, who would make his mark. And they were right about him, though he had to wait a long time for the chance to show what he would do.