Danger Signals Part 42

The first message was from the Secretary of War to General Shafter directing him to sail at once, as he was needed at the destination which was known at this time only to about five officers in Tampa. General Shafter replied that he would be ready to sail the next morning at daylight. Then, by the President's direction, a message was repeated that had been received from Admiral Sampson, saying he had that day bombarded the outer defenses of Santiago, and if ten thousand men were there the city and fleet would fall within forty-eight hours. The President further directed that General Shafter should sail as indicated by him with not less than ten thousand men. Then followed an interchange of messages, more or less personal in their nature, between the generals and the Was.h.i.+ngton contingent. Finally all was over and the line was cut off. The whole conversation lasted about fifty minutes, but the beginning of new history was started in that time and the curtain was going up on the grand drama of war. All the time this was going on I could hear faintly his strains of '_Auf Wiedersehn_,' together with the merry jest of the officers and the light laughter of the women. Brave men, braver women--soon their laughter was turned to tears and many of the officers who went out of the Tampa Bay hotel on that warm June night are now sleeping their last sleep, having given up their lives that their country's honor might live. The train carrying the headquarters to Port Tampa left at five o'clock in the morning. There was very little sleep that night and the next morning the big hotel was well nigh deserted. And all this time the destination of the fleet was unknown to all but those high in rank and myself.

CHAPTER XXVI

CENSORs.h.i.+P CONCLUDED

My own sleep on that night was limited to about two hours s.n.a.t.c.hed between work, and the following morning was a very busy one. About once every hour I would report to the White House how things were progressing at the port. As the big transports received their load of living freight, one by one they would pull out in the stream and anchor, waiting until the time should come when all would be ready, and then like a big swarm they would pull out together. They did not sail at daylight; unexpected delays occurred, and eight, nine, ten, eleven and twelve o'clock pa.s.sed and still they had not sailed, although the twelve o'clock report said they would be gone by twelve-thirty.

At one o'clock a messenger came hurriedly to me and said the White House wanted me at the key at once. When I answered, Colonel Montgomery said, "_The President wants to know if you can stop that fleet?_" Now the wire to Port Tampa was on a table right back of me and calling him with my left hand I said:

"Can you get General Miles or General Shafter?" and with my right hand I said to the President, "I'll try, wait a minute."

Then said the White House, "_It is imperative that the fleet be stopped at once._"

From Port Tampa, "No sir, I can't find General Miles or General Shafter."

I replied, "Have all the transports pulled out of the slip?"

"Yes sir, so far as I can see they are all gone."

From Was.h.i.+ngton, "Have you stopped the fleet?"

"Wait a minute--will let you know later, am trying now."

To Port Tampa, "Go out and find a tug and get this message to either General Miles or General Shafter, 'The President directs that you stop the sailing of Shafter's army until further orders.' Now fly."

Just then Port Tampa said, "Here comes General Miles now," and in a minute more the message was delivered and the fleet stopped. I then reported to the President:

"I have delivered your message to General Miles and the fleet will not sail until further orders."

They came back wondering what had stopped them and that evening we learned of the appearance of the "Phantom" Spanish fleet in the Nicholas Channel _heading westward_. "Cervera wasn't bottled up in Santiago,"

said some, "and before morning he will be here and blow us out of the water." Great was the consternation and as a precaution all the s.h.i.+ps were ordered back into the slip. It must be said, however, that General Miles _never had any idea that the Spanish fleet was approaching our sh.o.r.es_.

The transport fleet was tied up and then followed six days of weary waiting, and the duties of the censor became more arduous than ever, and the utmost vigilance was exercised. Private messages were almost all hung up, in fact, very little else than government business was allowed to pa.s.s over the wires. And yet, every day for a week, copies of the daily papers that reached me had, under flaming headlines, the startling news that Shafter's fleet had sailed--destination--Havana, San Juan, Matanzas,--yes--even the Spanish coast. All this was announced from Was.h.i.+ngton, and made the correspondents snort; they made every excuse to let their papers know they were still there. They wanted money, they wanted to send messages to their families, in fact, they wanted everything under the sun, but to no avail. Finally, on the 14th of June the army sailed away, filled with hope and courage, on their mission that resulted in victory for the American arms; but that was a foregone conclusion, while we less fortunate ones were left behind to pray for the success that we knew would be theirs.

The correspondents were all on the transport "Olivette," and just before they pulled out I sent them a message saying I would release the news that night about the _sailing of the fleet only_, and they might file their messages. They did in large numbers and here is where the joke came in. When the messages reached the papers they thought it was all a bluff to mislead the public, and many of them refused to publish the news, but the fleet had gone this time for certain. As late as two days afterwards I received messages from the managing editors of two of the greatest papers in the country, asking me if the fleet had really sailed. I a.s.sured them it had. One thing is certain, the destination of that fleet was a well-kept secret. Mr. Richard Harding Davis in his admirable book on the Cuban and Porto Rican Campaigns, says that credit is due the censor because it was so well kept. I am afraid that this is about the only good word the censor ever received from the said Mr.

Davis.

The "Olivette," on which the correspondents sailed, was the last boat to leave Port Tampa. She left about six-thirty P. M. in the glory of the setting sun of a tropical evening. About five-thirty P. M. Mr. Edward Marshall, that prince of good fellows, who represented the New York Journal, came into my office to write a message for his paper, to be left with me and sent when the story was released. Marshall was a typical newspaper man and a thorough American, and had just returned from New York where he had been in attendance upon the sick-bed of his wife. He was very anxious to get his story written before he sailed. I knew the "Olivette" was about to pull out, and if he expected to go on her it was high time he was moving. As Port Tampa was nine miles away, I told him to fly and cut his story short or send it from Port Tampa. He thanked me and reached Port Tampa just in time to save being left. It was this same Edward Marshall who so daringly pushed to the front during the Guasimas fight of the Rough Riders, and was seriously wounded by a Mauser bullet near his spine. He was supposed to be dying, but true to his newspaper training and full of loyalty to his paper, he dictated a message to his journal between the puffs of a cigarette, when it was supposed each breath would be his last. But thank G.o.d he did not die, and now gives promise of many years of useful life. I have often thought if I had not warned him in time to go he would not have been shot; but then all war is uncertain, and in warning him I was only, "Doing unto others as I would be done by."

During all these stirring times just described there were two women correspondents, poor souls, who were indeed sad and lonely. They were very ambitious and wanted to go to Cuba with the army, but the War Department wisely forbade any such a move and then my trouble began. At all hours of the day or night I was pestered by these same women. One of them represented a Canadian paper and was most anxious to go. She tried every expedient and tackled every man or woman of influence that came along. Even dear old Clara Barton did not escape her importunities. She wanted to go as a Red Cross nurse, but didn't know anything about nursing. However, I reckon she was as good as some of the women who did go. She was an Irish girl with rich red hair, and as mine was of an auburn tinge we didn't get along worth a cent. She didn't do much telegraphing but sent all of her stuff by mail. However, it was her intention to send _one telegram_ to her paper and "scoop" all the other chaps in so doing. She wrote a letter to her managing editor in Toronto and told him there was a censor down there who thought he could bottle up Florida as regards news, but she intended to outwit him. Particular attention was being paid so as to preserve the secrecy of the sailing day of Shafter's army. Cipher and code messages bearing on this occurrence were to be strictly interdicted. But that didn't make any difference to her; she could beat that game. So on the day the fleet actually sailed she would send a message to her paper saying, "_Send me six more jubilee books._" This would indicate that the fleet had really gone. Brilliant scheme from the brain of a very bright woman, but she lost sight of the fact that Messrs. Carranza and Polo y Bernabe were at that time in Canada spying on the United States, and that all the Canadian mail was most carefully watched. Such, however, was the case, and in a short time the contents of her letter were known to General Greely, and by him communicated to me. One evening Miss Correspondent was standing in the lobby of the Tampa Bay hotel surrounded by a group of her friends, when I approached and said:

"Excuse me, Miss J--, but I should like to speak to you for a moment."

"Well, what is it, pray? Surely you haven't anything to say but what my friends can hear, have you?" Sa.s.sy, wasn't she?

"Oh! well if that is the case?" I replied, "I am sorry to inform you that you are suspended from correspondent's privileges and from the use of the telegraph until further orders."

"And what for pray?"

"I don't just exactly know," I answered, "but I think it has something to do with sending you 'six more jubilee books' from Canada."

Well! she turned all the colors of the rainbow, and snapped out, "Goodness gracious! how did you--where did you hear that?"

I smiled politely and walked away. The next morning, shortly after I reached my office, a timid knock was heard at the door.

"Come in," I yelled, thinking it was a messenger boy. In walked Miss J----, woebegone, crestfallen and disheartened, with a letter of apology and explanation. I forwarded this to General Greely and kept her suspended for seven days. She never offended again, and the last I heard of her she was in Key West gazing with longing eyes towards the Pearl of the Antilles. She never reached there.

The other woman correspondent was different. She was an American widow, bright, das.h.i.+ng and vivacious. She had heard of the ogre of a censor; she would conquer him through his susceptibility. I'll admit that the censor in question was susceptible of some things--but not in business matters. One day she filed an innocent little telegram to her paper, saying, "For ice cream read typhoid." The operator glanced at it and said, "You'll have to get Captain B----'s O. K. on that message before I can send it."

She talked sweetly to him, but that didn't happen to be one of his "susceptible" days. Then she came to me, and as my "susceptibility" had run to a pretty low ebb I refused to permit the message to go on, on account of its hidden meaning.

"Oh, pshaw! Captain, I wrote a story for my paper and in it described the death of a man from the effects of eating too much ice cream, and now I learn that he died of typhoid fever."

I was pretty hard-headed that morning and couldn't a.s.sist the lady and she left the office vowing vengeance. The next edition of her paper contained the most charmingly sarcastic article about the red-headed, white-shoed censor I have ever seen, but I had become case-hardened by this time and did not mind it in the least.

It might be supposed that as soon as the army had sailed and the correspondents had gone, that the censors.h.i.+p duties would be lighter.

They were, officially, but otherwise they became harder than ever. The army had gone, but the women had been left behind. The husbands were away--fighting--dying--while the wives were waiting with dry eyes and aching hearts for the news that would mean life or death to them. There were some forty wives, daughters, and sweethearts remaining in the Tampa Bay hotel, and to them the censor became a most interesting party. They knew that any news that came to Tampa would come through him, and they wanted it whether his orders would allow him to divulge it or not.

Before, I had to contend with the importunities of zealous correspondents, now it was the longing eyes of sweet women whose hearts were breaking with suspense, whose lives had stood still since the 14th day of June when the fleet sailed away. Of the two, I would rather contend with the former.

The long and trying days dragged slowly by and still no news. Finally, on the 22nd of June, it was known that the army was landing; June 24th, the Guasimas fight of the cavalry division took place, and from that time on life was made miserable for me by importunate women. Many telegrams--yes, hundreds of them--came to me every day, and each time one of those cursed little yellow envelopes was put in my hands, if I happened to be in the lobby of the hotel, I could feel forty or fifty pairs of anxious eyes concentrated on me, as if to read from the expression of my face whether the news was good or bad. Colonel Michler of General Miles's staff was there, and if we should happen to be together talking, the women would surmise that the news was bad; and many times their surmises were just about right. One sweet little black-eyed woman always said she could tell from my face whether I was bluffing or not. July 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, were very gloomy days for we poor chaps who had been left behind--and for the women. We--they--knew the fight was on, that men were heroically dying, and _we_ also knew that the army was in a hard way. Strive as we might, no gleam of hope could be culled from the news of those three days. Cervera's fleet was still in the harbor of Santiago, and the army not only had the Spanish troops to fight but the navy as well. Flesh and blood might stand the rain of Mauser bullets, but they could not stand rapid-fire guns and eight-inch sh.e.l.ls. The third of July dragged by, and at eleven o'clock Colonel Michler retired for the night not feeling in a very pleasant frame of mind. The lobby was well nigh deserted, but Colonels Smith and Powell and a few more officers sat by one of the big open doors having a farewell smoke and chat before going to bed. At eleven-thirty I was standing by the desk talking to the clerk, when the night operator came charging out of the office and gave me a little piece of yellow paper. I quickly opened it and read, "Sampson entirely destroyed Cervera's fleet this morning." News like that, if true, was too good to keep, so I went into the telegraph office and had a wire cut through to the New York office and asked for a confirmation or denial of the report. They confirmed it and gave me the text of the official report. I bounded out in the hall and shouted out the glorious news at the top of my voice.

Gloom was dispelled instanter, and joy reigned supreme. At just twelve o'clock midnight, we drank a toast to the army and navy, and to our country.

Santiago surrendered and the army went to Porto Rico only to be stopped in the midst of a most brilliant campaign by the signing of the protocol. The censors.h.i.+p was ended and willingly did I lay down the blue pencil and take up my sword.

CHAPTER XXVII

CONCLUSION

I cannot refrain from concluding this little volume by a tribute to the telegraphers of the country.

It is but fifty-five years since Professor S. F. B. Morse electrified the civilized world by the completion of his electro-magnetic telegraph.

Since that time great improvements have been made until now it is difficult to recognize in the delicate mechanisms of the relay, key, sounder, duplex, quad, and multiplex, the principle first promulgated in the old Morse register. Its influence was at once felt in all walks of life; it was an art to be an expert telegrapher. Keeping pace with the strides of advancing civilization, the telegraph has spread its slender wires, until now almost the entire world is connected by its magnetism.

Away back in the early fifties when railroads and comforts were few, while danger and trials were plenty, these faithful knights of the key carried on their work under the most adverse circ.u.mstances. Since its first appearance it has manifestly been the possessor of millions of secrets, public and private. In times of joy you flash your congratulations to distant relatives or friends; in minutes of sorrow and tribulation, your message of sympathy is quickly carried as a balm to aching hearts; in the worries of business its use is of the most vital importance; and while you are peacefully slumbering on some swiftly moving railroad train the telegraph is one of the princ.i.p.al means of insuring a safe and speedy trip. Pick up your favorite daily paper--the one that is always reliable--read the market or press reports accurately printed, and then think that the telegraph does it all. Read news from foreign countries--from out-of-the-way places--and think of the miles of mountains, deserts, plains and valleys pa.s.sed over; think of the slender cable down deep in the throbbing bosom of the ocean and of the little spark that brings the news to your door; and then reflect on the men whose abilities accomplish these results. Think of his work in the countries where it is so hot that it seems as if the land beyond the River Styx is at his elbow; in lands where it is always cold and the days and nights are long. In season and out; in times of death, pestilence and famine, with never a murmur, these st.u.r.dy, loyal men, and true-hearted women do their work. All these are incidents of peace. Now think, when war, grim-visaged and terrible, spreads its mighty power over the earth. What is responsible for the news of victory? What brings you the list you so anxiously scan of the dead and wounded? What means are employed by the subdivisions of the army in the field to keep in constant communication, so that they may act as the integral parts of an harmonious whole? In the late Spanish-American war what first brought news, authentic in character, to the Navy Department that Cervera with his doomed fleet was in Santiago harbor? And during the dark and trying days from June 22nd until July 14th, the telegraphers of the army--the signal corps men--were ceaseless and tireless in their efforts, and as a result within five minutes of its being sent, a message would be in Was.h.i.+ngton. While the army slept they worked, without any regard to self or comfort. And to-day in the far-off Philippine islands they are still striving with the best results. The telegraphers are honest, loyal, patriotic men--a little Bohemian, perhaps, in their tastes--and deserve a better recognition for the good work they do.

"30"

"Filed, 2:35 A. M."

"Received, 2:43 A. M."