The Maria Teresa and the Vizcaya were in flames, heading for shoal water that they might not carry down with their blackened hulks the men who had defended them, although feebly, and there was no longer any reason why the Texas should remain in that vicinity.

The Iowa swung inshore to make certain the ruin was as complete as it appeared from the distance, and when the royal ensign was hauled down that a white flag might be hoisted on the Vizcaya, Captain Philip gave the word which sent the Texas ahead in chase after the survivors of what had, less than half an hour previous, been a mighty fleet.

As one who witnessed the battle has already written concerning this particular time and the wonderfully one-sided engagement, his words had best be quoted:

"Huge volumes of black smoke, edged with red flame, rolled from every port and shot-hole of the Vizcaya, as from the Teresa. They were both furnaces of glowing fire. Though they had come from the harbour to certain battle, not a wooden bulkhead, not a partition in the quarters either of officers or men had been taken out, nor had trunks and chests been sent ashore. Neither had the wooden decks or any other wooden fixtures been prepared to resist fire. Apparently the crew had not even wet down the decks."

It was the experience of a full lifetime, to witness the destruction of these four fighting-machines, and yet Teddy Dunlap and his little comrade almost forgot what they had seen in the excitement of the race, as their ship leaped forward in that mad chase which was to end only with the wrecking of all those vessels that had sailed out of the harbour to make their way past the Yankee fleet.

The two comrades were conscious of nothing save the throbbing and quivering of their own ship, as, under press of every ounce of steam that could be raised, the Texas dashed onward, overhauling first this Yankee vessel and then that, flinging the spray in showers over her deck, and rolling from side to side in the heavy swell as she tore onward at a rate of speed that probably she had never before equalled.

It was a race to the death; now and then the hatches were opened that some one of the engineer's crew, exhausted by almost superhuman efforts and the excessive heat, might be brought up from those fiery depths below, while others took the place of him who had fallen at the post of duty, and the speed was never slackened.

On, on, over the long swell, every man aboard in the highest possible state of excitement, eager that the Texas should be in at the death, and ahead, straining every nerve as it were, fled the Spaniards, knowing full well that there could be but one ending to such a race.

"It's Yankee grit an' Yankee skill that's winnin' this fight!" Bill Jones cried, excitedly, forgetting that he was only a "plain, every-day sailor, with no fightin' timber about him," and at every onward leap of the ship his body swayed forward as if he was eager for a fray.

But neither Bill Jones nor any man aboard the Texas, save those brave souls in the very bowels of the gallant ship, had any opportunity to display personal bravery.

The fight ended when the chase did, for then nothing was left of those mighty Spanish ships save blackened hulks.

The Oregon was sending 13-inch projectiles after the Oquendo at every fair opportunity, and the Texas, more than holding her own with the other vessels, was coming up astern with a speed that threatened to bring the long race to a speedy conclusion.

Then, suddenly, although all had been expecting it, the Almirante Oquendo's bow was headed toward the shore,—she saw the uselessness of further flight,—and all the pursuers, save the Texas, hauled off in pursuit of the Cristobal Colon.

Standing with a group of Texas men, Teddy and Bill Jones saw the Spaniard near the line of surf, and as their vessel's speed was checked there came a roar mightier than when the battle was first opened; the doomed ship rocked to and fro as if she had struck a sunken reef, there was an uprending of the iron decks, and then came a shower of fragments that told of the tremendous explosion within the hull of the Oquendo.

Now it was the Yankee crew burst once more into shouts of triumph; but before the first cheer arose on the morning air Captain Philip cried:

"Don't cheer; the poor devils are dying!"

Then it was that every man realised what had, until this moment, been absolutely forgotten: the game in which they were such decided victors was one of death! While they were triumphantly happy, scores upon scores of the enemy were dying,—mangled, scalded, drowning,—and on the instant, like a flash of light, came the terrible fact that while they rejoiced, others were suffering a last agony.

"Don't cheer; the poor devils are dying!"

At that instant Teddy Dunlap understood what might be the horror of war, and forgetting the joy and exultation which had been his an instant previous, the lad covered his eyes with his hand,—sick at heart that he should have taken even a passive part in that game which could be ended only by suffering and death.

Later, after the men were sufficiently calm to be able to discuss intelligently the doings of that day when the full Spanish fleet was destroyed by Yankee vessels who throughout all the action and chase sustained no injury whatsoever, it was learned that more than six hundred human beings had been sent out of the world in less than four hours, and nearly eighteen hundred men were taken prisoners by the American vessels.

Teddy Dunlap was like one in a daze from the instant he realised what all this thrilling excitement meant, until Bill Jones, who had been ordered to some duty below, came to his side in the greatest excitement.

"What do you think of that, lad?" he cried, shaking the boy vigorously as he pointed seaward, and Teddy, looking in the direction indicated by his outstretched finger, but without seeing anything, asked, hesitatingly:

"Is it the Cristobal Colon?"

"Of course it isn't, my lad! That vessel is a wreck off Tarquino Point, so we heard half an hour ago. Don't you see the ship here almost alongside?"

"Oh, yes, I see her," Teddy replied, with a sigh of relief. "There's been so much that is terrible goin' on around us that it's like as if I was dazed."

"An' that's what you must be, lad, not to see that here's the Brooklyn nearer alongside than she's like to come again for a year or more."

"The Brooklyn!" Teddy cried, now aroused from the stupefaction of horror which had come upon him with the knowledge of all the suffering caused that day. "The Brooklyn!"

"Ay, lad, an' her launch is alongside makin' ready to transfer some of the prisoners. Now's our chance, when such as we don't amount to a straw in view of the great things that have been done this day, to slip over on a little visit to your daddy!"

Probably at no other time could such a thing have been done by two members of the crew; but just now, when every man and officer was overwhelmed by the fever of victory, little heed was given to the movements of any particular person.

Therefore it was that Teddy Dunlap and the little sailor had no difficulty in gaining the Brooklyn's deck without question or check, and the first person they saw on clambering aboard was a coal-passer, stripped to the waist and grimy with dust and perspiration, who stared with bulging eyes at the boy who followed close behind Bill Jones.

"Teddy!"

"Daddy!"

"I reckon this is no place for me," Bill Jones muttered as he made his way forward, and if the "plain, every-day sailor with no fightin' timber about him" had sufficient delicacy to leave father and son alone at such a time, surely we should show ourselves equally considerate.

It is enough to say that Teddy's troubles were at an end after a short visit with his father, and that he did not leave the Texas immediately.

Captain Philip came to hear the boy's story, and an opportunity was given him to enlist for so long a term as his father was bound to the Brooklyn.

Since the purpose of this little story was only to tell how the stowaway found his father, there is no excuse for continuing an account of Teddy's experience off Santiago with Sampson; but at some future time, if the reader so chooses, all that befell him before returning home shall be set down with careful fidelity to every detail.

THE END.