Читать книгу Exploits and Adventures of a Soldier Ashore and Afloat - William Llewellyn Adams - Страница 9

Admiral’s Orderly on the U. S. Cruiser New York—​A Storm on the Atlantic—​Duties of a Marine—​The Author Reads his own Obituary—​Under the Guns of Gibraltar—​A Bull-fight in Spain—​Pressing an Indemnity Against the Sultan of Morocco—​An American Subject Burned at the Stake by Moors—​Burial in Morocco of a Shipmate.

The Boxer outbreak in China in 1900 attracted the attention of the entire civilized world, and was the incitement that inspired many of an adventurous turn of mind to cast their fortunes with the allied forces in suppressing the depredations of the Tartar tribes in the land of the Heathen Chinee. In August, 1900, while a spectator at the Corbett-McCoy bout, in “Madison Square Garden,” New York, I learned, from a chief petty officer of the battleship Massachusetts, that the United States cruiser New York, lying in dry dock at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, was being rapidly prepared to be put in commission, and was to be the “flag-ship” of Rear Admiral Rodgers, who was destined for a cruise to the Chinese coast. Upon further inquiries at the Navy Yard, I heard this news authentically corroborated, and at once determined to see the Orient.

A battalion of marines under the command of Major Waller had won laurels in Tien Tsin and Pekin, being among the first to enter the Forbidden City. Keeping tabs on the daily progress of the war, I became more and more interested, and, having learned that marines were the first landing force during hostilities, I enlisted in this branch of the service, and ere long was installed in the “Lyceum” of the Brooklyn Navy Yard operating telephone switches. From my window in the “Lyceum” I could gaze on the sailors who were rapidly putting the big cruiser in readiness for her cruise around the world; for, contrary to expectations, the order to proceed direct to China was abrogated in lieu of an indemnity which required pressure in Morocco.

Having made application for the “marine guard” of the New York, which consisted of seventy-two men, one captain, and one lieutenant, I was very much pleased when informed that my application had been approved of, and that I was to prepare to board the vessel in the capacity of “orderly” to the admiral. I was relieved from duty in the “Lyceum” and ordered to join the “guard,” which had been undergoing a process of special drill.

On being ordered aboard the ship, we were assigned to quarters, instructed as to our stations for boat drill, fire drill, large gun drill, abandon ship, arm and away, strip ship for action, collision drill, and the positions of alignment on the quarter-deck, where the “present arms,” the courtesy extended to military and civil dignitaries at home and abroad, had to be daily executed.

The New York, which had been the “flag-ship” of Rear Admiral Bunce, who commanded the “North Atlantic Squadron,” and later the “flag-ship” of Rear Admiral Sampson at the battle of Santiago, was in 1900 the show ship of the navy, making a magnificent appearance while under way. She carried a complement of six eight-inch guns, twelve four-inch, and ten six-pounders, and had a speed of more than twenty-one knots per hour.

A feature of the New York was her enormous engine strength compared with her weight, the battleship Indiana developing nine thousand horse-power on a ten thousand two hundred ton displacement, while that of the cruiser New York was seventeen thousand horse-power on a displacement of eight thousand two hundred tons.

The day having arrived for placing the vessel in commission, a galaxy of army and navy officers, civilians, and beautiful women assembled on the quarter-deck, which was inclosed and draped with flags of all nations. Orderlies were kept busy announcing the arrival of the guests to the admiral and captain, many of whose names included exclusive members of New York’s “Four Hundred,” whose ancestral genealogies, emblazoned with ensigns of heraldry, adorn their multitudinous—​what not?—​though ofttimes, let it be known, the power and honor behind the throne can be traced to the purchasing power of filthy lucre. Not unlike the “Sons and Daughters of the Revolution,” whose sacred heritage and portals have been defiled by the presence of incognizable descendants of ancestors who in reality were unloyal to the colonies, Tories of King George III., some of whom sat in that august body the “General Assembly” and cried Treason! Treason! as Patrick Henry introduced his famous resolutions in denunciation of the Stamp Act, and in a passionate burst of eloquence uttered those never-to-be-forgotten words, “Cæsar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the Third”—​pausing awhile during the interruption by Tories, calmly added—“may profit by their example.”

Wafting adieu to old New York town, our sea-going home steamed out of New York harbor and down along the Atlantic coast to Hampton Roads, our first stop, anchoring midway between Fortress Monroe and the “Rip Raps,” where tons of coal were placed in the bunkers.

Coaling ship is the most disagreeable work a sailor can perform, but, as the task is usually accomplished in one day, each man tackles the work with that heroic resolve which has so characterized the American “man-of-war’s-man” in battle.

Immediately after coaling, the ship is thoroughly cleansed from truck to kelson; the decks are holy-stoned and the berth deck is shackled, after which the men take a thorough shower-bath, don immaculate uniforms, and all has the refreshing appearance of a swan on a lake.

The essential duty of a “marine” on board a ship is to preserve order; he fulfils the position of both sailor and soldier, and, while he is sometimes dubbed a leather-neck, on account of his tight-fitting uniform, by his more aquatically uniformed shipmate, it is nevertheless noticeable that he is the first to cross the gang-plank when there is trouble in the wind; and the number of “medals of honor” and “certificates of merit” that have been awarded to marines since 1898 is the mute indubitable evidence of his fidelity and bravery; however, this is not to be construed in any way to detract from the loyalty of our brave “Jack tars.”

Our ocean voyage from the Atlantic coast to the Fortress of Gibraltar was beset with difficulties, due to a severe storm we encountered the second day out, in which one of our cutters or life-boats was washed away. This it seems was picked up by a “liner” en route to Havre, France, and, as we were four days overdue at Gibraltar, it was believed that the cruiser had gone down with all on board. Some time later along the African coast, it was amusing to read, in the Paris edition of the New York Herald, our own obituary, and to see the picture of the “flag-ship” and her crew going down to “Davy Jones’s locker.”

The storm abated as we came in sight of the Madeira Islands, but, owing to our being overdue at the “Rock,” we were compelled to pass this beautiful place without stopping. The voyage from the Madeiras to the straits was quite calm, and we were again able to eat soup without the aid of a dipper.

When off duty I spent a great deal of time playing chess and reading. We had an excellent library stocked with the best editions from the pens of the most famous authors; besides a piano and excellent performers, among these being the ship’s printer, E. Ludwig, well known prior to his enlistment by the author.

As outlines of the “Pillars of Hercules” appeared on the horizon, it was evident that in a very few hours we would be plowing the waters of the great Mediterranean Sea. The quartermaster and signal-men were busy getting their signal-flags in shape, ammunition was hoisted for the salute, and the marine guard and band were busy policing themselves for the part they had to play in entering a foreign port.

Passing through the Straits of Gibraltar, which separate the mainland of Europe and Africa, we beheld, looming into the clouds, the most magnificent and impregnable fortress of the world, Gibraltar.

As we entered the bay of Algesiras, the huge guns of the fortress and battleships of various nations belched forth an admiral’s salute of thirteen guns; these were responded to by the American “flag-ship.”

Gibraltar is an impregnable promontory fortress, seven miles around at the base, and forms the southern extremity of Spain. It is fourteen hundred and forty feet high at its highest point, is studded with disappearing guns, and its honeycombed caverns contain munitions of war for a campaign of many years.

The population of Gibraltar is composed of English, Spaniards, Jews, and Moors. A causey separates the town from the mainland of Spain. The British side is patrolled by British soldiers, who are so close to the Spanish sentries that the challenge can be heard at night by either side.

We remained in Gibraltar ten days, and had the pleasure of meeting a large number of English soldiers and sailors at the “Royal Naval Canteen,” where we swapped stories over a can of “shandy gaff,” which is a mixture of stout and ginger ale.

At the solicitation of some of the soldiers of the Royal Artillery, we Americans accompanied them to the town of Algesiras, in Spain, to witness a bull-fight. Engaging passage to a point of landing about five miles across the bay, we embarked with a pent-up feeling of excitement, overly eager to see the gay Castilians in their holiday attire turn out en masse for their national sport.

On our arrival in town, we found business practically suspended, and all making their way to the arena, which was enclosed by a high board fence. On being admitted, we at once became objects of considerable scrutiny, as the war fever had scarcely died out.

Venders were busy disposing of their wares; senoritas, gayly bedecked in flowers and loud colors, seemed to bubble over with enthusiasm; horsemen galloped through the enclosure, and bands of music thrilled this novel audience with inspiration. As we took our seats and patiently awaited the onslaught, a sickening silence cast its pall over this picturesque assemblage. This was momentary, however, as a blast from a bugle was followed by the entrance of the alguazil and mounted toreadors in costumes of velvet; the arrival of these gladiators of the arena was heralded with a tumult of cheers, which became deafening as the gate was thrown open and the bull rushed in.

Mounted picadors were stationed in various parts of the arena, whose duty it was to infuriate the animal by thrusting banderillas, or spikes with ribbons attached, into the animal’s shoulders, others waved robes or capes for the same effect. Charge after charge was made on the matadore, who gracefully side-stepped the attack and awaited the return of the bull, which had become frantic from the sting of the banderillas.

The last charge is made with defiance, but alas! is met with the undaunted courage of the matadore, whose fatal blade reaches a vital spot, adding another victory to his list of successful combats. “Bravo! Bravo!” yell the maddened crowd, as the victor is showered with compliments and carried from the arena. Preparations immediately follow for a continuance of this semi-barbaric sport, and in like manner each encounter was attended with the same skill of the matadore and enthusiasm of the spectators.

On leaving the arena, it was with little wonder at the Spanish for their marked devotion to this their national sport, as it proved to be exceedingly fascinating and fraught with great excitement.

On our return to Gibraltar we journeyed to the naval canteen, where sailors and marines of the British battleships Endymion and Ben-bow were laying the foundation for a session of joy, the Boer war being the chief topic of discussion.

During the day the Governor-General of Gibraltar, Sir George White, whose appointment had recently followed his winning the “Victoria Cross” while in command of troops in South Africa, had been entertained on board the American ship, in company with other notables of the army and navy.

After the ship had been coaled and various stores taken aboard, anchors were weighed and the vessel steamed for Morocco, a sultanate on the northwest coast of Africa. On reaching the straits the signal was given to strip ship for action, all unnecessary impediment was removed from the gun-decks and superstructure, awnings were furled and secured by gasket, spars and davits lowered and all secured in places of safety, while the big eight-inch turret guns free from tompions were trained abeam or at right angles to the ship’s keel.

On entering the harbor of Tangier, the customary salute was fired; this was answered by the crumbling old forts of the Moors, relics of the Dark Ages and monuments of antiquity.

As the cruiser anchored with her starboard battery trained on the city, it was evident that the visit was of far greater import than that of a mere social call.

The pressure of an indemnity is a matter of deep concern, the wilful disregard of which is usually followed by hostilities. When one sovereign nation calls on another sovereign nation to apologize, the first nation is expected to resort to arms if the apology is not forthcoming. Though not representing a sovereign nation, the mission of the New York in the harbor of Tangier was clearly perceptible as an expounder of a precedent.

The grand vizier of the Sultan of Morocco had made himself obnoxious to America by refusing an interview with Mr. Gummere, United States consul at the port of Tangier. For this discourtesy and other claims of the United States long pending against the government of Morocco, it was found necessary to despatch a war-ship to put pressure on the Moors.

The history of the conflicts between the Moors and the United States had covered a period of more than one hundred years, dating back to the naval wars of the infant nation with the Mediterranean pirates. Discriminations against Americans and interference by officials of the Sultan with Americans doing business in Morocco were largely due to the ignorance of the Moors as to the power of the United States.

Claim after claim was ignored by the Sultan. In 1897, in order to bring this sublime potentate to a realizing sense of the importance of recognizing the demands of the United States, the United States cruisers Raleigh and San Francisco, in command of Rear Admiral Selfridge, were ordered from Smyrna to Tangier for the purpose of lending support to Consul-General Burke. This act had its effect, as promises were given that in the future discriminations would be eradicated.

In June, 1900, however, the strife was renewed when Marcus Ezegui, who was a naturalized American citizen and manager of the Fez branch of the French firm of Braunschweig and Co., while riding horseback through a narrow street in Fez, jolted against the mule of a Moroccan religious fanatic; a dispute ensued, the crowd siding with the Moor. In self-defence Ezegui drew his revolver and fired, wounding a native. This was the signal for a general attack on the American; he received a dozen knife wounds, and was burned at a stake before life had become extinct.

For this atrocious crime the United States asked an indemnity of $5000 and the punishment of the offenders; the request received little adherence by the Moorish government; then the State Department demanded $5000 for the failure of Morocco to punish the offenders.

After much diplomatic correspondence between Washington and Fez, the Moroccan capital, the United States battleship Kentucky was ordered across the Atlantic to procure the necessary demands. In this she was partially successful, though failing to negotiate the demands in their entirety. Time dragged on and promises remained unfulfilled. The capital was moved time and again between the cities of Tangier and Fez purposely to evade negotiations with the United States. It remained for the New York to consummate a successful issue, in the undertaking of which she was ably commanded by Rear Admiral Frederick Rodgers, whose iron-willed ancestors had bequeathed him a priceless heritage,—​the courage of his convictions combined with executive diplomacy.

On the reception of Consul-General Gummere by the admiral, it became known adventitiously that the grand vizier of his Sultanic Majesty, in company with the Sultan, had departed for the city of Fez. This they called moving the capital. With the afore, aft, and waist eight-inch “long toms” trained idly on the city and forts, Admiral Rodgers, with flag-officers and escort and accompanied by Consul Gummere, departed on a small British yacht for the city of Fez, with the determination to promulgate his mission to his excellency’s government,—​namely, its choice of a satisfactory adjustment of the indemnity or the unconditional alternate: a bombardment. It is needless to say that this was the final negotiation, terminating with a successful and honorable issue.

A member of the ship’s crew having crossed the “great divide,” permission for the obsequies and burial in Tangier was granted. In a casket draped with the American colors, the body was conveyed by launch to the beach, where pall-bearers, members of the departed sailor’s division, took charge of the conveyance to the cemetery. With muffled drums the band led off, playing a solemn funeral dirge, followed by the procession, which included an escort of honor and firing squad of marines.

A circuitous route of three miles through narrow streets, with buildings crumbling to decay and indicative of architecture of an early period, led us to the cemetery on a shady plateau near the outskirts of the city. Here the cortege halted, and the last rites were solemnized by Chaplain Chidwick of the New York, well known as the late chaplain of the ill-fated battleship Maine. Three volleys were fired over the sailor’s grave, and the services closed impressively with the sound of “taps,” “lights out.”

As the band struck up “In the good old summer-time,” ranks were broken, and the men roamed at will through the narrow, spicy-scented streets, thronged with semi-barbarians, rough-riding vassals of the Sultan costumed in turbans, sandals, and flowing robes, whose contempt for all foreigners cannot brook restraint. It was a pleasant relief to escape the fumes of this incensed city, to inhale the fresh ozone aboard the man-of-war.

On departing from Morocco, our cruise led to ports along the coast of the great Mediterranean Sea.