And yet, when it was all over, what was the result? The Spanish ships lay along the shore, riddled with shot and shell and burning fiercely. Hundreds of Spanish sailors had been either shot or drowned, and those who had escaped to land were hurrying, panic-stricken, toward Manila and the mountains. More than this, Cavité itself had surrendered, and the arms and ammunition at the arsenal were our own.
We had pulled out once from the fight, to learn how matters were faring with the other ships. Commodore Dewey was afraid that one or another had been lost, and his delight was without measure when he found that not a single ship had sustained any serious injury. "Good, boys!" he said. "Go in and finish them up!" And they went in, with the vigor that only the Anglo-Saxon race knows.
Dan had been hurt by a splinter flying from some of the rigging, and I carried him into the wardroom, where the surgeons waited in readiness for any demand that might be made upon them.
He was unconscious, and I looked on anxiously as a surgeon made an examination.
"Is it serious?" I asked.
"Not very; but he must remain quiet for a while," was the answer. "I will plaster up the wound and bind it."
