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| Painting of the USS Maine from the US Naval Academy Museum collection. |
On February 15, 1898, the battleship
USS Maine exploded in Havana Harbor, touching off the Spanish-American War shortly thereafter. Here is an account written by Charles D. Sigsbee, the captain of the
Maine who survived the destruction of his ship and later went on to become an Admiral in the United States Navy.
About an hour before the explosion I had completed a report called for by Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, Assistant Secretary of the Navy, on the advisability of continuing to place torpedo-tubes on board cruisers and battleships. I then wrote a letter home, in which I struggled to apologize for having carried in my pocket for ten months a letter to my wife from one of her friends of longstanding. The cabin mess-attendant, James Pinckney, had brought me, about an hour before, a civilian's thin coat, because of the prevailing heat. I had taken off my blouse, and was wearing this coat for the only time during the cruise.
In the pocket I had found the unopened and undelivered letter. Pinckney, a light-hearted colored man, who spent much of his spare time in singing, playing the banjo, and dancing jigs, was for some reason in an especially happy frame of mind that night. Poor fellow! He was killed, as was also good old John R. Bell, the colored cabin steward, who had been in the navy, in various ratings, for twenty-seven years.
At taps ("turn in and keep quiet"), ten minutes after nine o'clock, I laid down my pen to listen to the notes of the bugle, which were singularly beautiful in the oppressive stillness of the night. The marine bugler, Newton, who was rather given to fanciful effects, was evidently doing his best. During his pauses the echoes floated back to the ship with singular distinctness, repeating the strains of the bugle fully and exactly. A half-hour later, Newton was dead.
I was inclosing my letter in its envelop when the explosion came. The impression made on different people on board the Maine varied somewhat. To me, in my position, well aft, and within the superstructure, it was a bursting, rending, and crashing sound or roar of immense volume, largely metallic in character. It was followed by a succession of heavy, ominous, metallic sounds, probably caused by the overturning of the central superstructure and by falling debris. There was a trembling and lurching motion of the vessel, a list to port, and a movement of subsidence. The electric lights, of which there were eight in the cabin where I was sitting, went out. Then there was intense blackness and smoke.
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| The USS Maine explodes in Havana Harbor in this period illustration. |
The situation could not be mistaken: the Maine was blown up and sinking. For a moment the instinct of self-preservation took charge of me, but this was immediately dominated by the habit of command. I went up the inclined deck into the starboard cabin, toward the starboard air ports, which were faintly relieved against the background of the sky. The sashes were out, and the openings were large. My first intention was to escape through an air-port, but this was abandoned in favor of the more dignified way of making an exit through the passageway leading forward through the superstructure. I groped my way through the cabin into the passage, and along the passage to the outer door. The passage turned to the right, or starboard, near the forward part of the superstructure.
At the turning, someone ran into me violently. I asked who it was. It was Private William Anthony, the orderly at the cabin door. He said something apologetic, and reported that the ship had been blown up and was sinking. He was directed to go out on the quarter-deck, and I followed him. Anthony has been pictured as making an exceedingly formal salute on that occasion. The dramatic effect of a salute cannot add to his heroism. If he had made a salute it could not have been seen in the blackness of that compartment Anthony did his whole duty, at great personal risk, at a time when he might have evaded the danger without question, and deserved all the commendation that he received for his act. He hung near me with unflagging zeal and watchfulness that night until the ship was abandoned.
I stood for a moment on the starboard side of the main-deck, forward of the after-superstructure, looking toward the immense dark mass that loomed up amidships, but could see nothing distinctly. There I remained for a few seconds in an effort to grasp the situation, and then asked Anthony for the exact time. He replied: "The explosion took place at nine-forty, sir."
It was soon necessary to retire from the main-deck, for the after-part of the ship was sinking rapidly. I then went up on the poop-deck. By this time Lieutenant-Commander Wainwright and others were near me. Everybody was impressed by the solemnity of the disaster, but there was no excitement apparent; perfect discipline prevailed.
The question of what destroyed the
Maine — whether it was an external mine or sabotage by the Spanish, or a accidental internal explosion — has been a matter of debate for over a century with researchers reaching different conclusions. Here is Captain Sigsbee's view:
The question has been asked many times if I believed then that the Maine was blown up from the outside. My answer to this has been that my first order on reaching the deck was to post sentries about the ship. I knew that the Maine had been blown up, and believed that she had been blown up from the outside. Therefore I ordered a measure which was intended to guard against attack. There was no need for the order, but I am writing of first impressions. There was the sound of many voices from the shore, suggestive of cheers....
When trying to organize damage-control, Sigsbee soon understood that his ship was lost and that many of his men had perished in the blast:
...We then began to realize more clearly the full extent of the damage. One of the smoke-stacks was lying in the water on the starboard side. Although it was almost directly under me, I had not at first identified it. As my eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, I could see, dimly, white forms on the water, and hear faint cries for help. Realizing that the white forms were our own men, boats were lowered at once and sent to the assistance of the injured and drowning men. Orders were given, but they were hardly necessary: the resourceful intelligence of the officers suggested correct measures in the emergency....
...Those of us who were left on board remained quietly on the poop-deck.
Nothing further could be done; the ship was settling rapidly. There was one wounded man on the poop; he had been hauled from under a ventilator on the main-deck by Lieutenants Hood and Blandin just as the water was rising over him. Other boats, too, were rescuing the wounded and drowning men. Chief among them were the boats from the Alfonso XII, and from the steamer City of Washington. The visiting boats had arrived promptly, and were unsparing of effort in saving the wounded. The Spanish officers and crew did all that humanity and gallantry could compass.
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| A model of the USS Maine from the collection of the US Naval Academy Museum. |
Realizing that nothing further could be done to save his stricken vessel, Captain Sigsbee reluctantly abandoned his ship.
It was a hard blow to be obliged to leave the Maine; none of us desired to leave while any part of her poop remained above water. We waited until satisfied that she was resting on the bottom of the harbor. Lieutenant-Commander Wainwright then whispered to me that he thought the forward ten-inch magazine had been thrown up into the burning material amidships and might explode at any time, with further disastrous effects. He was then directed to get everybody into the boats, which was done....I suggested the propriety of my being the last to leave, and requested them to precede me, which they did....
...The fine conduct of those who came under my observation that night was conspicuous and touching. The heroism of the wounded men I did not see at the time, but afterward good reports of their behavior were very common. The patient way in which they bore themselves left no doubt that they added new honors to the service when the Maine went down. [Taken from, The Maine: An Account of Her Destruction in Havana Harbor by Captain Charles D. Sigsbee, pages 62-73]
The destruction of the
Maine was seized upon in the the American press as a cause célèbre provoking the nation toward a war with Spain. Signals soon went out to US forces overseas, encouraging them to be on high alert. Here is an excerpt from
Three Years Behind the Guns, the memoir of John Tisdale, a sailor aboard
USS Olympia, flagship of the US Asiatic Fleet. In it, Tisdale relates the reaction of the crew when news of the destruction of the
Maine was received:
What a change! Two weeks after writing the above, weary of waiting for the Baltimore, we were returning to Kau-lung to make ready for our home-going. No sooner were we sighted at Hong Kong than every flag in Victoria dropped to half-mast. A signal was given us and we read in consternation: ''United States Battleship 'Maine' was blown up in Havana Harbor on February 15, and 266 men killed."
Before we were at full anchor the American consul was aboard, and the general belief is that the destruction of the Maine was the result of Spanish treachery. Nothing authentic nor authoritative has been given out, but I noticed the governor of Hong Kong waived the salute, and that we are not doing any target practice; in other words, we appear to be husbanding our ammunition.
The little commodore [that is, George Dewey] has taken matters in hand; he has called all of our squadron to meet here in Hong-Kong. He has also bought two ships, which he has provisioned and coaled. As fast as they come in, our ships are run on to the docks and made ready. Should war be declared between the United States and Spain, England, China, and Japan will be neutral, which means we shall be without a berth, our nearest being San Francisco, unless we should go out and capture the Hawaiian Islands, a trick which even for our little Petrel would be "like taking candy from the baby."
Olympia would then sail for Manila Bay and into history. For accounts of what happened next, see:
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