​

"Under Dewey at Manila," the first of the "Old Glory Series," was written with a twofold object. The first was, to present to young readers a simple and straightforward statement concerning the several causes leading up to the war with Spain; to give a brief view of the conditions prevailing in the ill-fated islands of Cuba and the Philippines; and to trace, incident by incident, just as they actually occurred, the progress of that wonderful battle of Manila Bay, which has no parallel in either ancient or modern history, from the fact that complete defeat upon one side was entirely outbalanced by almost total exemption from harm upon the other. In this battle Commodore Dewey, since made Admiral, and his gallant officers and men, fought a fight ever to be remembered with pride by the American people, for it placed the United States Navy in its proper place, among the leading navies of the world.

​The other object of the story was to tell, in as interesting a fashion as the writer could command, the haps and mishaps of a sturdy, conscientious American lad, of good moral character and honest Christian aim, who, compelled through the force of circumstances to make his own way in the world, becomes a sailor boy, a castaway, and then a gunner's assistant on the flagship Olympia. While it is true that Larry Russell has some hazardous adventures, the author believes that they are no more hazardous than might fall to the lot of another situated as Larry was; and if at times the boy escapes some grave perils, it must be borne in mind that "the Lord helps those who help themselves," and that he had an abiding trust in an all-wise and all-powerful Providence.

The author cannot refrain from saying a word regarding the historical portions of this work. What has been said concerning Cuba and the Philippines are simply matters of fact, known to all students of history. The sketch of Admiral Dewey is drawn from the narratives of several people who knew him well at his home in Montpelier, Vermont, at the Annapolis Naval Academy, and in the Navy itself. The record of the battle of Manila Bay has been ​furnished by over fifty officers and men who took part in the contest and wrote the details, for publication, and in private letters to relatives at home, and this record has been supplemented by Admiral Dewey's own reports to the authorities at Washington.

Newark, N.J., August 1, 1898. ​

​

Larry and his Trials

​

"Well, my boy, what is it?"

"I stopped in to see if there was any opening, sir, that I might fill. I'm willing to work hard for small wages."

The man addressed shook his head slowly. "There is no opening. Times are bad, and it is all I can do to keep my regular help employed. Better try your luck down in Honolulu."

"I've been through the city from end to end. It's the same story everywhere," answered the youth, soberly. "I thought there might be a chance up here at the Pali; so many carriages coming and going. I'm used to horses, too."

"Do you belong in Honolulu?"

​"Hardly; although I've been there for nearly a month now. I came in on the bark Rescue, Captain Morgan, from San Francisco."

"As a passenger?"

"Oh, no; as a foremast hand. Didn't have money to pay my passage."

"Why didn't you stay on the bark?"

"She has been condemned and is laid up for repairs. She'll not be able to go to sea for two or three months."

"And you've got to hustle in the mean time, eh? It's hard luck for a boy of your age, sure enough. Can't you get another berth?"

"I haven't tried yet. Captain Morgan was a very nice man to sail under, and I'll stick to him if I can. Besides, I thought I should like to stay in the Hawaiian Islands for a bit and look around. They tell me there is nothing like looking around."

"That's true; although it's also true that a rover never gets a pocket full of money." The man hesitated and glanced sharply, at the boy, who looked hot and tired. "Did you tramp from down in town?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's a good six miles, and all up hill at that. ​Come in and have a bit to eat. It won't cost you anything."

The invitation was well meant, but the boy shook his curly head decidedly. "I'm not that kind—thank you just the same. If you've got any work—"

"I'll let you work it out. Come."

The boy and the man had been standing in front of a long, low one-story building, set close to a broad highway, and surrounded by tall palm and other tropical trees. On one side of the structure were accommodations for a dozen or more horses, and on the other a small restaurant where light refreshments of various kinds were to be had.

The spot was an ideal one, near the brow of a lofty precipice standing out twelve hundred feet above sea-level, and overlooking a vast expanse of the mighty Pacific Ocean. Here the island of Oahu, upon which Honolulu, the principal city of the Hawaiian Islands, is situated, seemed to split in two, and the sun, glaring down upon that afternoon, lit up one side and cast the other into the deepest of shades.

"You've been in Honolulu a month, eh?" went on the man, as he motioned the lad to a seat by a side-table, and brought him several dishes which ​were already prepared. "Then you've been up here before?"

"No, sir, I haven't been anywhere but to Hilo and to the great volcano. I had a chance to take the trip to Hilo on a lumber boat, and I took it, just to take a run up to Kilauea. My, but that volcano is a grand sight!" and the boy shook his head enthusiastically.

"It's the greatest volcano in the world. Evidently you like to travel around."

"I do."

"You're an American, I take it?"

"Yes, sir, and I guess you are, too."

"Yes, but I'm not from the States. I came from Canada. I've been in the Sandwich Islands eight years now, doing one thing and another. I used to have a restaurant down in Honolulu, but the Chinese cut me out of my trade, and so I thought I'd try my luck up here. But business is awfully dull. Everybody said it would be better after the monarchy was overthrown and we had set up our own republic, but I don't find it so."

"I guess they are going to annex Hawaii to the United States—at least, I heard them talk about it in San Francisco, and down in Honolulu."

​"I shouldn't be surprised. I don't care, one way or the other, if only times pick up. I'm alone in the world, but I want to make my living and a little besides, if I can. Last month we had quite a few excursion parties up here,—folks from the Australian steamers and others,—but this month there hasn't been anybody but city folks, and they either don't want anything or else bring it along."

"The Pali ought to be a big attraction, to my notion," answered the boy, as he fell to eating, with more good manners than the average ship hand, as Ralph Harmon noticed. "Captain Morgan was telling me about it—how King Kamehameha the First gathered his fellow-tribesmen around him in the valley and fought the savage hosts of the mighty Oahu and literally drove them over the edge of the precipice. That must have been a battle worth looking at."

"There was nobody here to look at it but those that took part—and it happened a good many years ago. Here, have another cup of coffee; it will do you good." The coffee was served; Ralph Harmon looked out of the doorway, to find the broad highway still deserted, and dropped into a nearby rustic chair. "So you're from San Francisco?" he continued.

​"I shipped from San Francisco, but I'm not from there originally. I came from Buffalo, New York."

"You're a good distance from home."

"I haven't any home there, any more." The boy stopped eating and drew a deep breath. "No, I haven't any home anywhere," he added, in a lower tone. "I'm what they call a rolling stone."

"What is your name? Mine is Ralph Harmon, as you probably know by the sign over the door."

"My name is Lawrence Russell—although everyone that knows me calls me Larry. I used to have as nice a home as anybody in Buffalo, but that's some years ago."

"I'll wager you have quite a story to tell—if you've a mind to spin the yarn, as you sailors call it."

"Yes, I have a story; but whether it would interest a stranger or not I don't know, Mr. Harmon. I ran away from home, or rather, from what was supposed to be my home, after my mother died."

"Running away isn't, generally speaking, a good business, Larry."

"I know it, and I wouldn't have gone only I was forced to it. You see, I never knew what it was to have a father. My father died when I was a baby, ​and I lived with my mother until I was thirteen years old, when she was killed in a railroad accident, and then I was turned over to my uncle, Job Dowling, my mother's half-brother. He was a very queer man,—the neighbors called him a crank,—and he was so miserly that living with him was entirely out of the question."

"So you cut sticks, to use another of your sailor sayings."

"Yes, I cut sticks, and so did my two brothers, Ben and Walter. None of us could stand his—his infernal meanness—I can't find any other word to describe it. We had money coming to us, but he didn't half clothe us, nor feed us; and whenever the least thing went wrong he had his cane ready, and would strike at one or the other with all his might. Once he hit Ben in the arm and nearly broke it. But I went for him then, and threw him down, and Ben got away. That capped the climax, and he was in for having us all arrested, but before he could do it, Ben and Walter ran away, and I left about three months later."

"And where are your brothers?"

"I don't know exactly, excepting that Ben said he was going to try his luck in New York, and ​Walter said he was going to Boston. I wanted to follow Ben to New York, but when I ran away, my uncle came after me, and I hid in a freight car partly filled with boxes of mineral water, and before I knew it I was locked in and rolling westward at the rate of thirty miles an hour. Try my best, I couldn't get out nor make anybody hear me, and I should have starved to death if it hadn't been for the mineral water and a lot of eating that I had along, for I had expected to tramp to New York."

"And when you reached San Francisco, you shipped on the Rescue?"

"Not right away. I worked at several odd jobs, hoping to earn enough to pay my way to New York. Then one day I fell in with Captain Morgan, and took the notion to ship to Honolulu and back, and here I am—and likely to stay for a while," concluded Larry.

"How did you like the water?"

"First rate. You see, I was rather used to it—for I was around the lake at home a good deal. But I should like to hear from my brothers."

"Have you tried to reach them by letters?"

"Yes; I wrote to New York and Boston from San Francisco, and also from Honolulu, as soon as I ​arrived. Before they left we arranged between us to write. I wish we had all remained together." The youth finished his meal, then arose, and began to gather up the dishes. "I'm much obliged, Mr. Harmon. Now I'll wash the things up, and then you can let me do that work we spoke of."

"There isn't much to do. I was going to split up some of the logs in the back for firewood. You might do a little of that." The proprietor of the wayside resort arose and stretched himself. "To tell the truth, I never supposed it could get so dull. If it keeps so—Hullo, here comes a carriage-load of folks now! By George, look!"

He ran to the doorway and pointed with his finger. Larry Russell followed, and through the dust saw a large carriage containing three men approaching at a breakneck speed. It was moving to one side of the highway, and two of the wheels were constantly bumping over the rocks in a fashion calculated to overturn the vehicle.

"Those horses are running away!" gasped the boy. "See, the reins are dangling on the ground!" And he ran out into the road in front of the building.

"Help! stop the hosses!" sang out a voice full ​of terror from the carriage. "Whoa, there, whoa, consarn ye! Whoa!"

"They are making for yonder gully!" burst out the keeper of the resort. "If the carriage goes into that, they'll all be smashed up! The gully is fifty feet deep!"

"I'll stop them if I can!" came from Larry Russell's lips, and with a sudden determination he bounded off in the direction of the runaway team.

An Adventure on Pali

​

Larry Russell was a youth of sixteen, tall, broad-shouldered, and of good weight. His curly hair was of deep brown, as was also the color of his eyes, and his handsome, manly face was thoroughly tanned by constant exposure to the sun.

As the youth had said, he was one of three brothers, of whom Ben was the oldest and Walter next. The boys had never known what it was to have a sister, and now they were entirely alone in the world, saving for the step-uncle Larry had mentioned.

The boys had been brought up in a home which was comfortable if not elegant, and during her life Mrs. Russell had been all that a devoted mother can be, giving the lads a good education and a strict moral and religious training as well. Taking after their father, who had been a great traveller, the boys were inclined to be of a roving nature, but this ​spirit had been constantly curbed by the mother, who dreaded to think of having any one of them leave her.

At Mrs. Russell's untimely death, life had changed for her sons as a summer sky changes when a cold and wild thunder storm rushes on. The pleasant home had been broken up by the harsh and dictatorial Job Dowling, a man who thought of nothing but to make money and save it. He took charge of everything, sold off the household treasures at the highest possible prices, placed the cash in the best of the Buffalo banks, and took the boys to live with him in a tumble-down cottage on a side street, presided over by an old Irishwoman, for Dowling was a bachelor.

The first strife had arisen from the selling of some little articles which had belonged to Mrs. Russell's personal effects, and which the boys wished to save as keepsakes. "It's all foolishness, a-keepin' of 'em," Job Dowling had cried. "I won't cater to no such softheartedness. I'll sell the things and put the money in the bank, where it will be a-drawin' interest;" and this he did with the majority of the articles. A few the boys hid, and these were all that were left to them when the final break-up came.

​Larry had told but a small portion of the particulars concerning that quarrel—leaving out how Job Dowling had struck him senseless with his cane, and how he had recovered to find himself a prisoner in the garret of the cottage, with his step-uncle gone off to swear out a warrant for his arrest. It had been an easy matter for the lad to escape from the garret by dropping from the window to the roof of the kitchen addition, and with the housekeeper also gone, to the market, the boy had had matters his own way in supplying himself with food. The chase to the freight yard had been a close one, and he had been all but exhausted when the door was shut and locked and the long train rolled on its way.

The train had taken him only as far as Oakland, and there he had remained for several days, with not enough money to take him across the bay to the metropolis of the Golden Gate. Hard times had followed,—for runaways do not always fare so well as boys imagine they do,—and more than once Larry had crept away to some secluded corner, to go to sleep whenever the pangs of hunger would allow. It was hunger as much as anything else which had driven him to accept the offer to ship ​with Captain Morgan, and the first square meal he had had for ten days had been eaten in the dingy forecastle of the Rescue.

Yet life on shipboard had pleased him greatly, and with the knowledge derived from days spent upon Lake Erie he had soon learned to do his full duty as a foremast hand, and as he was both strong and fearless, the climbing of the shrouds and the taking in of sail in the teeth of a storm had no terrors for him.

The calculation had been that the Rescue would not remain at Honolulu more than two weeks, before starting on the return to San Francisco, but a fierce gale had opened some of her seams, and after unloading, an inspection had showed that she must undergo a thorough overhauling before putting to sea again, or else run the risk of sinking in mid ocean. Upon learning this. Captain Morgan had put her into the basin at the ship-yard, and told the crew that they could either wait until repairs were finished or ship elsewhere, just as they chose.

The first few days spent in and around the capital city of the Hawaiian, or Sandwich, Islands had pleased Larry greatly, for there was so much ​to see that was new and strange. In San Francisco he had met many Chinese and Japanese, but here in addition were the Kanakas, the natives of the Islands, a race quite distinct in itself, although allied to the Maoris of New Zealand. He had seen them first in the bay, hundreds of them swimming about,—for the native Hawaiian takes to the sea like a fish,—their heads bobbing up and down like so many cocoanuts.

The city itself was also of interest, with its broad, smooth streets, lined with stately palms, and dotted everywhere with broad, low villas and huts, each in a veritable bower of green. Down in the business portion the stores were very much like those in a small American city, excepting that they were kept by all sorts of people,—Kanakas, Americans, Germans, Frenchmen, and numerous Chinese and Japanese. It was not an uncommon thing to hear two men talking, each in a different language, yet each understanding the other. On his first trips around he had visited the Royal Palace, now the abode of royalty no longer, the Government Buildings on Palace Square and King Street, and also the quaint Kawhaiahoa church, a structure composed entirely of coral, and erected ​by the natives shortly after the missionaries arrived and prevailed upon them to give up idolatry.

Then had come the chance to sail to Hilo, a town situated upon the eastern coast of Hawaii, the largest of the group of islands. Arriving there, he had had time enough to travel on horseback with a small party to the great volcano. It was a two days' journey, and at night the party slept in a native hut, under kapas, or bark cloths, and in the morning Larry had his first taste of the great national dish, poi, which did not suit him at all, although the natives and some others eat it with great relish.

The journey to the volcano was a hard one, but once arriving at the top, the youth felt himself well repaid for his trouble. He was nearly forty-five hundred feet above sea-level, and before him was stretched the grand crater of Kilauea, nine miles in diameter, with the active portion, called Halemau-mau, or House of Everlasting Fire, occupying one portion of it. Nearly a day was spent here, and Larry went down into the silent depths of the crater, approaching so closely to the terrible fires that his shoes were burnt from the heat of the lava beds upon which he trod.

​The youth had sought to obtain work at the Volcano House, a hostelry situated upon the brink of the volcano, but here it was the same tale that was told to him at Pali—the season was dull and no extra help was wanted. So he went back to Hilo, a little place set in a wilderness of tropical growth, and returned to Honolulu on the lumber boat.

The trip to Hilo had brought him in nothing in cash, for he had offered his services in return for the passage, and when he reached Honolulu again he found that all he had left out of his ship's wages was six dollars and a half. "I'll have to economize," he thought, and sought out the cheapest boarding-house he could find. The place was full of sailors, and the next morning he awoke to find that he had been robbed and that his roommate, a burly foreigner, was missing. He had at once reported his loss, but it did no good; and he found himself out in the streets penniless.

Larry might have applied to Captain Morgan for a loan, but such was hot his habit, and he set to work manfully to make the best of the situation. For several days he tramped here, there, and everywhere, doing what he could to pick up a living, ​until at last he came to the resort kept by Ralph Harmon, as already described. And here we will rejoin him, at the moment he resolved to stop the runaway horses, did it lie in his power.

"Look out for yourself," cried Ralph Harmon, as he came after Larry. "If you don't, those beasts will trample you under foot."

"Whoa! whoa!" went on the excited man on the front seat of the carriage. "Consarn ye, whoa!"

He was evidently a nautical fellow, for he was dressed like a son of the sea. He was standing up, waving his hands frantically. On the rear seat of the carriage crouched his two companions, evidently too scared to speak or move.

To Ralph Harmon's words, and to the yells from the turnout, Larry answered not a word, knowing that it would be a sheer waste of breath. But he continued to cover the ground at a lively gait, and as he ran he pulled off his coat.

"You'll be killed!" screamed Harmon, as the boy stepped almost directly in front of the team. Then the man saw the coat sail up in the air and land over the head of the nearest horse. As the animal paused at having the light so suddenly shut from his view, Larry leaped upon his back.

​"Good for you, boy! Now stop 'em!" shouted the nautical fellow on the front seat. "Stop 'em, and I'll give you a five-dollar gold piece, as sure as my name is Captain Nat Ponsberry!"

"I'll stop them if there is any stop to them!" panted Larry, for the run and the leap had somewhat winded him. "Whoa, now, my beauties, whoa!" he went on, soothingly, at the same time reaching for the reins.

"We're going into yonder gully!" suddenly shouted one of the men on the back seat. "We must jump, or we will be killed!"

"No, no, don't jump," answered his companion, a man dressed in clerical black. "The boy will stop the horses; see, he has the reins already;" and he added a half-audible prayer for their safe deliverance.

It was true that Larry had the lines, but the coat had fallen to the ground, the horses still held their bits between their teeth, and it looked as if they did not intend to give in just then. The brink of the gully swept closer and closer. Now it was a hundred feet away—now but fifty—and now twenty-five. The boy's face paled, and he gave an extra pull upon the reins of one horse, and ​the carriage swerved just a bit to the left, but not enough—and they swept nearer.

"Get over there!" he yelled, and hit the horse on the side of the head with all the force of his naked fist. It was a cruel blow, and it skinned his knuckles, while the animal staggered as though struck with a club. But the blow told, the team turned,—the punished beast dragging his mate,—and the turnout swept past the edge of the gully with less than two feet to spare! A hundred feet further on the runaways came to a standstill, and Larry slid to the ground.

"Young man, you have saved our lives," cried the nautical fellow, as soon as he could speak, and lumbering out of the carriage he ran up and assisted Larry in holding the team, which were all a-quiver with excitement, and covered with foam.

"I reckon they are about run out, sir," answered the youth, as coolly as he could. "How did they happen to break away?"

"I guess it was my fault," answered Captain Nat Ponsberry, somewhat sheepishly. "You see, I ain't much used to hosses, and the steerin' of 'em rather bothered me, and I worried 'em until they jest wouldn't stand it no longer. Parson, I ought to ​have let you drive, or Tom Grandon," he continued to the others, who had also alighted.

"I don't know any more about horses than you do, Nat," said the man addressed as Grandon, also a sailor,- by his general appearance. "Don't catch me riding out behind such a mettlesome team again! What do you think, Mr. Wells?"

"I think the boy has done us all a great service," answered the Rev. Martin Wells, soberly. "Were it not for his bravery, and the kindness of an all-wise Providence, we should at this moment be lying at the bottom of yonder gully suffering severe injuries, if not lifeless. I for one thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have done," he added, taking Larry's hand warmly. "I shall remember you as long as I live."

He was so earnest that Larry blushed, although he knew not exactly why. The others also took him by the hand, while Ralph Harmon came forward, and, directed by Captain Ponsberry, turned the team and carriage into his stables.

A few minutes later found the party inside the little wayside resort, where for some time they discussed the adventure and the part each one had played in it. They had come up to look over the ​precipice, but a good deal of their interest in sightseeing was now gone.

"I don't know as I care to drive those horses back to Honolulu," remarked Captain Ponsberry, after he had insisted upon rewarding Larry by literally jamming a five-dollar gold piece down in his trousers pocket. "Have you got a man around here as can do it for us?" he asked of Ralph Harmon.

"I will drive them down, if you'll allow me," put in Larry. "I am going down, and I'll be glad of the ride. I'll give you my word they won't get away from me," he added confidently.

"There is no one around here, now," answered Harmon. "I have a native driver somewhere, but I am sorry to say he drinks and is not reliable."

"I shall feel safe with the boy," put in the Rev. Martin Wells. "Don't you say the same, Grandon?"

"Why not, seeing how well he handled them before? Give the lad the job, Nat, and let us have the best to eat that the house affords;" the last words to the keeper of the resort, who at once bustled off to stir up his fire and his sleepy native cook at the same time.

A Fruitless Chase

​

While the party of three ate the meal prepared for them, Larry worked at the rear of the wayside resort, chopping the wood Harmon had pointed out.

With five dollars in his pocket the youth felt easy again. In Honolulu, where accommodations were cheap, five dollars would last a long while, and he felt that his luck was bound to change before the money was entirely gone.

Close to where he worked was an open window, and from the conversation of the three he learned that Captain Nat Ponsberry was the commander and part owner of the Columbia, a three-masted schooner, which had just come into Honolulu from Panama, and was to leave the following week for Hong Kong, China. Tom Grandon was first mate of the schooner, and evidently he and the captain were old friends, both hailing from Gloucester, the ​original home of the schooner build of sea-going vessels. The Rev. Martin Wells was to be a passenger, bound also for Hong Kong. He had been picked up in Honolulu, where he had been attached to the English missions. He was in no hurry to get to Hong Kong and had chosen the sailing-vessel because it was cheaper than the regular steamer, although, of course, not nearly so fast.

The three made a pleasant party, both the captain and Tom Grandon being full of fun, and the clergyman not being above a joke himself, although never forgetting his cloth. More than once Larry found himself laughing at what was said, as each quizzed the others about being scared to death.

"I'll wager life on the Columbia isn't as dull as it is on some vessels," thought Larry, as he finished cutting the wood and hung up the axe. " I wish she was bound for San Francisco—I'd give the Rescue the go-by and strike Captain Ponsberry for a position. Even as it is I may strike him, if nothing better turns up, although I've no great hankering to visit the land of the heathen Chinee."

"Well, Larry Russell, if that's your name, I reckon as how it's about time we boarded ship and ​sailed for Honolulu!" cried Captain Ponsberry, after he and his companions had made a brief tour of the Pali. "I promised to be back to the Columbia by seven o'clock, and I'm a man as never breaks my word."

"I'll have the team out in a jiffy," answered the youth, and rushed around to the stable. The horses had been left in harness, and it was an easy task to hook them up. He drove around to the front of the resort, the three clambered in, and with a farewell to Ralph Harmon, and a rather unnecessary crack of the whip upon Larry's part, they bowled off down the sweep of the road across which the stately palms were now casting long, wavering shadows.

​