Max had done bravely and well, and no one rejoiced more keenly in the victory than he, though his heart bled for the wounded and slain. He as well as others listened eagerly for the accounts of the captains of the other vessels of the fleet as they came on board to report to the commodore.

"How many killed?" was demanded of each one, as he stepped on the deck, and great was the surprise and satisfaction on learning that none had been killed.

"Only eight wounded, none seriously," was the reply of Captain Dyer of the Baltimore. "But six shells struck us, and two burst inboard without hurting any one."

"Not a dashed one," was the next captain's answer. "None killed and none wounded," said the third, "but I don't yet know how it happened. I suppose you fellows were all cut up."

"My ship wasn't hit at all," was the next report.

It was known that the Boston had been on fire, therefore it was expected that her captain would have to report a serious list of casualties, and when he announced that no one had been killed or wounded on his vessel the news spread quickly through the flagship, and the men cheered vociferously. The Baltimore had been struck by a sixty-pound projectile, fired from a land battery. It struck the ship about two feet above the upper deck, between two guns which were being served; pierced two plates of steel each one-quarter of an inch thick; then ploughed through the wooden deck, striking and breaking a heavy beam, by which it was turned upward; then it passed through a steel hatch-combing; disabled a six-inch gun; hurtled around the semicircular shield which surrounded the gun, missing the men at it; reversed its course and travelled back to a point almost opposite that at which it had entered the ship, and thus passed out. It had passed between men crowded at their quarters and had touched none, but it exploded some loose ammunition, by which eight were wounded.

Max listened to the accounts of the almost bloodless victory with a heart swelling with gratitude to God, and full of hope for the success of America's effort to free the victims of Spanish cruelty and oppression. What glad tidings his next letter would carry to the dear ones at home. They would rejoice over the victory, and his safety too, though that might be again imperilled at any time.

This naval battle had been fought on Sunday. On Monday morning Captain Lamberton went on shore to receive the formal surrender of the fort at CavitÉ. They had hauled down their flag the day before, but now tried to prove that they had never done so. Perceiving that, the captain drew out his watch. Before leaving his ship he had directed that unless he returned in an hour those works should be bombarded. Forty-five minutes of that hour were now gone, and he said to the Spaniards: "Unless you surrender unconditionally so soon that I can get back to my ship in fifteen minutes, the Petrel will open fire on your works."

That had the desired effect; they surrendered at once, and priests and nuns came humbly to beg him to restrain his men from murdering all the wounded in the hospitals. They had been told that that was the invariable practice of the barbarous "Yanquis."

The next day the Raleigh and Baltimore went down to the mouth of the bay and, after a brief attack, captured the forts on Corregidor and Sangley Point. The guns in these works were destroyed by wrapping them with gun cotton and exploding it with electricity. The officer in command at Corregidor went aboard the Raleigh to surrender himself, and while there seemed greatly alarmed to find the ship drifting in the main channel, or Boca Grand, and demanded that he be at once put ashore. Asked the reason of his alarm and haste to get away, he said the channel was full of contact mines, and though the Americans might be satisfied to brave death by them he was not, and it was not fair to expose a prisoner to almost certain destruction. And that was the channel through which the American fleet had entered the harbor.

Four days after his victory Dewey, having all the harbor defences at his command, sent off the McCulloch to Hong-Kong with his first despatches to Washington. So a week had passed after the rumors from Madrid before the American people received definite information in regard to Dewey's successes in the Philippines. These are the despatches:

Manila, May 1.—Squadron arrived at Manila at daybreak this morning. Immediately engaged the enemy and destroyed following Spanish vessels: Reina Cristina, Castilla, Don Antonio de Ulloa, Isla de Luzon, Isla de Cuba, General Lezo, Marques del Duoro, El Correo, Velasco, Isla de Mindanao, a transport, and water battery at CavitÉ. The squadron is uninjured, and only a few men are slightly wounded. Only means of telegraphing is to American consul at Hong-Kong. I shall communicate with him.

Dewey.

Manila, May 4.—I have taken possession of the naval station at CavitÉ, Philippine Islands, and destroyed the fortifications. Have destroyed fortifications at bay entrance, Corregidor Island, parolling the garrison. I control the bay completely, and can take the city at any time. The squadron is in excellent health and spirits. The Spanish loss not fully known, but is very heavy. One hundred and fifty killed, including captain, on Reina Cristina alone. I am assisting in protecting Spanish sick and wounded. Two hundred and fifty sick and wounded in hospital within our lines. Much excitement in Manila. Will protect foreign residents.

Dewey.

A message of congratulation from the President and people of the United States was the immediate response to Dewey's despatches, and with it the information that the President had appointed the victorious commander a rear-admiral. Doubtless a rumor concerning the nature of that despatch quickly reached all the vessels of the fleet, for the next morning watchful eyes on many of them turned to the flagship to see what flag would be run up to the mainmast, and when they saw that it was a blue flag as of yore, but had two stars instead of one, the guns of the squadron roared out a salute to the new admiral. No one there was more rejoiced than Max, who both respected and loved his gallant commander; and no one in America felt happier over the good news in Dewey's despatches than those to whom Max was so dear. It was a blessed relief to their anxiety to learn that no one in the squadron had been killed, and none more than slightly wounded.