Adventures of a Sea Hunter: In Search of Famous Shipwrecks

muffled through the water, alternating screams and shrieks of laughter that had convinced some of them that the wreck was haunted.

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The state of preservation of Frances, like that of King Philip, was mirrored by what we found on other shipwrecks buried in the sand on other beaches. The fact that ships lost on storm-tossed coasts in violent surf conditions did not break up into matchsticks was not widely recognized by maritime archaeologists. Murphy and I had presented a paper on that topic in 1984, to our colleagues at an annual conference in Williamsburg, Virginia, though it was ignored in favor of more exciting deep- water discoveries. But the evidence we gathered, as well as some of the interesting real-life stories behind some of these ships, ultimately showed that you never know where a fascinating shipwreck is going to show up, be it buried below high rises in a modern city or in a sand dune on a long stretch of coastline.

CHAPTER TEN HEROES UNDER FIRE

THE COAST OF CUBA

The long swell of the sea rolls in from the open Caribbean and breaks against the steep rocks of the promontory known as El Morro. The coast of Cuba, rocky and steep, stretches to the east and the west, defining the narrow gap that is the entrance to Santiago Harbor. Rising above the gap and the stone-lined terraces carved out of the cliff is the masonry mass of Castillo del Morro San Pedro de la Roca, also known, like the promontory it dominates, as El Morro. The ancient fortification, first built in the early seventeenth century and subsequently rebuilt numerous times to defend Santiago from the attacks of pirates and privateers, no longer bristles with guns. Fluttering atop its parapets is the flag of Cuba, which has flown here for a scant one hundred years in the five centuries since Christopher Columbus first circumnavigated the island’s shores and planted a colony. For much of Cuba’s history, the banner of Spain flew atop El Morro, though the rich harbor and island it claimed were contested by other powers and internal rebellions. It was supplanted in 1898, albeit briefly, by the flag of a newly awakened imperial power, the United States.

THE LAST MISSION OF USS MERRIMAC: JUNE 3, 1898

In February 1898, Cuba’s three-year struggle for independence from Spain and fears for American lives and property in Cuba convinced President William McKinley to send the battleship Maine to “show the flag.” American interest in Cuba — including demands from various quarters for the outright takeover of the island — dated back half a century, and Spanish officials were highly suspicious of the United States government’s motives in sending the Maine to Havana. When Maine mysteriously exploded in Havana Harbor on the evening of February 15, suspicions of Spanish “treachery,” fanned by the U.S. press, swelled public outrage and led Congress to declare war on April n. Volunteers enlisted around the country, and soon camps were filled with troops training and assembling to sail to Cuba with the slogan: “Remember the Maine and to hell with Spain!”

The U.S. Navy dispatched a squadron of ships to hit Spain’s fleet in the Philippines, and another to both blockade Cuba and counter the Spanish naval forces assembled there. But the Americans arrived off Cuba to find an enemy who would not come out to fight. The Spanish fleet lay out of reach of the American ships inside the harbor of Santiago de Cuba, protected by a series of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century forts that Spanish marines and sailors had hastily fortified with more modern breech-loading weapons. They also had protected the narrow entrance to the harbor with “torpedoes,” or mines. The Cape Verde Fleet of the Spanish Navy, under the command of Admiral Pascual Cervera y Topete, consisted of four battle cruisers and two torpedo boat destroyers. The U.S. Navy’s North Atlantic Squadron was a force of two battleships, five cruisers and more than a dozen other vessels, commanded by Rear Admiral William T Sampson. Sampson’s forces were augmented by a second group of ships, the Flying Squadron (so-called because it was intended to be a fast-response group of ships that would “fly” to wherever needed), commanded by Commodore Winfield Scott Schley. Schley’s squadron of two battleships, three cruisers and the collier Merrimac (laden with coal to fuel the other ships) further stacked the odds against Cervera.

The Spanish admiral, a highly respected veteran, knew all too well that he was in a hopeless situation. Cervera had already resigned as Spain’s Minister of the Marine when his inspections found the Spanish Navy was in poor condition, ill-equipped to fight, and ravaged by political machinations and corruption. When Spain prepared for war against the United States, he returned to uniform out of a sense of duty, but his correspondence with his superiors minced no words when he was ordered to sail to Cuba to try and break the American naval blockade. “It is impossible for me to give you an idea of the surprise and consternation experienced by all on the receipt of the order to sail. Indeed, that surprise is well justified, for nothing can be expected of this expedition except the total destruction of the fleet or its hasty and demoralized return.” His concerns rebuffed, Cervera wrote back: “With a clear conscience I go to the sacrifice.”

To forestall that sacrifice, Cervera kept his fleet in the protected anchorage of Santiago Harbor, his guns pointing at the entrance, because the large American force was too powerful to confront. The guns protecting Cervera and the threat of mines kept the Americans out, but to prevent the Spanish fleet from slipping away under cover of darkness, Sampson decided to “bottle them up” in the harbor. To do that, he turned to a young and eager engineering officer and to the most untrustworthy ship in his fleet, the collier Merrimac.

Merrimac, a four-year-old, British-built collier, was one of Schley’s Flying Squadron, though the 333-foot vessel had slowed the fleet to a slow crawl across the ocean. Plagued with engine and steering problems, Merrimac probably would have been sent home had it not been loaded with coal. Merrimac’s crew fueled Schley’s ships by filling bags with coal, hoisting them on deck and then slinging them over to whatever warship was moored alongside. It was hard, dirty work, not only for the stokers in Merrimac’s holds but also the receiving ship, as the thick black coal dust clung to everyone and everything.

Sampson picked the unreliable Merrimac to trap the Spanish fleet in the harbor by sinking herself to block the narrow entrance. On May 30, as the American fleet assembled off Santiago, Sampson ordered

^{Inside El Castillo del Morro de San Pedro de la Roca, also known as El Morro, built in the early seventeenth century to defend Santiago de Cuba. Below these ramparts steamed the collier Merrimac in a brave but failed attempt to block the harbor entrance. James P. Delgado}

Commodore Schley to prepare Merrimac for the mission. Schley disagreed with Sampson. He argued that if the Spanish were trapped inside Santiago Harbor, their guns would help to defend the city against the American troops preparing to march overland to seize Santiago. Schley thought it would be better to lure Cervera out of the protected harbor and destroy him, but Sampson reiterated his orders to use “the promptest and most efficient use of every means” and sent a bright but untested twenty-seven-year-old lieutenant, naval constructor Richmond Pearson Hobson, to ready Merrimac for the suicide mission.

Hobson, who was attached to Sampson’s staff to make observations on how well the ships performed after recent work in the Navy Yard (that’s what a naval constructor did), was vain, stubborn and eager to prove himself. He was also very unpopular with his fellow officers. But he was brilliant, and his enthusiasm made him a perfect choice for Sampson. Hobson’s plan was to strip Merrimac of “useful gear” and to rig her to sink quickly with charges once she was in position immediately inside the harbor entrance. There, if the charts were accurate, the 333-foot length of the ship would block much of the narrow channel.

Hobson set ten charges along Merrimac’s hull and connected them to electric batteries linked by wire to a central station on the bridge. Crews worked in the hot Cuban sun to grease the seacocks (valves in the engine room) so that they would open quickly to help flood the ship, and “all openings, hatches, manhole covers, etc. were opened.” Hobson had the anchors rigged at the bow and stern, near the