is way. Those dagoes are not fools by any means. They have selected
good places for their batteries, and they know earthworks are hard to
destroy. They aren't like the old-style stone forts that could be
knocked to pieces in no time. When a shell, even a thirteen-incher, hits
a mound of earth it tears up the dirt and spoils the look of the
parapet, but it really doesn't do much harm. To completely ruin an
earthwork battery, you must dismantle every gun in it. And that's pretty
hard to do. Mark my words, those fellows will give us a shot of defiance
after we quit."
"What's the idea of all this bombarding then?" asked "Stump." "We'd be
much better 'caulking off,' seems to me."
"And think what it costs the Government," I suggested. "The cost of the
projectiles and the wear and tear to guns and ships must be something
enormous."
Tommy's answer was drowned in the thundering roar of the "New York's"
battery, which opened fire just then a short distance away, but it was
evident he agreed with me. A moment later Number Eight went into action
once more, and we worked the breechloader without cessation until the
conclusion of the bombardment, which came a half hour later.
The fortifications ashore had entirely ceased firing, and at ten
o'clock a signal to stop bombarding appeared on the flagship. It was
obeyed with reluctance, and it was evident the crews of the various
ships were anxious and eager to continue. As the fleet drew off there
was a puff of smoke in one corner of Punta Gorda battery and a shell
whizzed over the "Massachusetts." A second shot came from one of the
earthworks, and still another from Punta Gorda; then the firing ceased
again.
"Didn't I tell you so?" quietly remarked Tommy. "The beggars ain't
licked yet."
"But they got a taste of Uncle Sam's strength," said Flagg.
"And I'll bet anything they haven't enough whole guns left to equip one
small fort," added "Stump."
"I heard the skipper say the destruction of life must be enormous,"
spoke up the "Kid," stopping on his way aft to deliver a message. "He
watched the whole thing with his glass. He told 'Mother Hubbub' the
moral effect was worth all the trouble."
"That's an expert opinion," observed "Hay," wiping off the breech of the
gun. "Now you've had your little say, youngster, so just trot along."
The fleet presently reached its former station several miles off shore,
and the bombardment of Santiago was at an end.
No attempt was made
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