et had almost passed the harbor mouth, before its presence was
discovered. Then the shore batteries opened, but without effect, and the
entire squadron passed safely into the harbor. Then followed long hours
of waiting for the dawn, and at five o'clock came the signal, "Prepare
for action," for the Spanish fleet had been sighted at anchor far down
the harbor.

Fifteen minutes later, the Spaniards opened fire, but Dewey went
silently on toward his goal. Suddenly, a short distance away, there was
a dull explosion, and a great mass of water and mud sprang into the air.
A mine had been exploded; the fleet had entered the mine fields. Now, if
ever, it would be blown into eternity, but there was no pause in the
progress of that silent line of battle. From the bridge of the Olympia,
the most exposed position in the squadron, Dewey watched the progress of
his ships. In the conning tower, eagerly awaiting the word to fire, was
Captain Gridley. At last, with a final glance at the shore, Dewey bent
over the rail.

"You may fire when ready, Gridley," he said, quietly.

Ready! Surely that was satire on Dewey's part, for just one second later
the bridge under his feet leaped like a springboard as the great gun
beneath it gave the signal. Scarcely had the shell left the muzzle when
an answering roar came from the other ships. The battle had begun, the
Spanish ships were riddled with a shower of bursting shells, their crews
cut to pieces, and the ships themselves set on fire. The guns of the
American squadron roared with clocklike regularity, while the firing
from the Spanish ships steadily decreased. Two hours of this work, and
the smoke hung so heavy over the water that it was difficult to
distinguish the enemy's ships.

"What time is it, Rees?" asked Dewey, of his executive officer.

"Seven forty-five, sir."

"Breakfast time," said Dewey, with a queer smile. "Run up the signals,
'Cease firing,' and 'Follow me.'"

Again it was a lesson from Farragut, and Dewey, steaming back down the
harbor, signalled "Let the men go to breakfast." His captains, coming
aboard the Olympia, gave a series of reports unique in naval history.
Not a man had been killed, not a gun disabled, not a ship seriously
injured. Three hours were devoted to cooling off and cleaning the guns,
getting up more ammunition, and breakfast was leisurely eaten.

Meanwhile, across the bay, on the riddled and sinking Spanish ships the
wildest confusion reigned. At ele