THE BLOWING UP OF THE MAINE

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIV, Issue 43, 12 August 1911, Page 10 (Supplement)

THE BLOWING UP OF THE MAINE

A GREAT MYSTERY SOLVED. A cable message received recently informed us that the American battleship Maine, which sank in Havana Harbor 13 years ago, had been raised. Her destruction on February 15, ISDB, when she took with her to the bottom two officers and 270 men, did as much as anything to bring about the open rupture between the United States arid Spain, because it was generally believed in the States that the Spaniards in Ouba had destroyed her with a mine. "Remember the Maine" was a populaf cry during the progress of the war, and now, years after the happening, it has been proved beyond doubt that the Spaniards had nothing to do with it, but that the explosion which sank the vessel occurred in the magazine. Strange to say, only a few weeks ago, in Harper's Weekly, Mr. Walter Scott Merewether, who was in Havana, on the night of tho explosion, tells a graphic story of the catastrophe. Mr. Merewether, who was special correspondent of the New York Herald, says: I was making my way to the Ingleterra Hotel, when I spied a group of newspaper correspondents entering a cafe. Joining them, 1 had barely time to exchange greetings, before there came a' gleam as of sheet lightning, and on its heels the boom of some great explosion. There was an immediate rush for the street, and there a baffled pause; for, owing to some peculiar acoustic quality of that neighborhood, none could say from what direction that muffled, jarring boom had come. One report had it that the Regla Arsenal had been blown up by Cuban patriots, and as there had been blowing up Havanese theatres with great regularity, it was conceivable that the report was true. My quarters being on the top floor of the Inglcterra—an eyrie ifrom which the site of the arsenal was visible—l took occasion to hurry to my rooms, but only to discover that darkness lay in the regioh of the arsenal, and nowhere was visible any such glare as might have followed that terrific blast. Making my way downstairs, through the in the wildest disorder—l regained the street and eneonntered a cavalry squadron rushing by at a gallop. The street was then a melee of frantically excited people, some asserting that the Morro Castle had been destroyed by an explosion, some others telling tales equally as wild. While endeavoring to gain some clue as to the location of the explosion, I was suddenly caught by the shoulder and inconsistently whirled out of a group where I had been a listener.

"It's the Maine," a voice panted in my ear. "I was out to the dry dock, just coming back, when flash!—bang!— up she went."

I had recognised my informant, and was gazing into his face. He was a Mr. Rolfe, one of the managers of the big English dry dock which had recently ben towed into Havana. But as I listened I could hardly believe my ears. The Maine destroyed, and in Havana Harbor!

There was no time for thanks. The cable office had been closed. The first thing to do was to see if it could be reopened. Dr. Congosta was then Secre-tary-Guneral of Cuba, and, as such, exercised a supervision over the cable and the censorship. Hurrying to the palatfe, I reached his apartment and encountered his secretary, Senor Gaceres. The secretary was much distressed. "My God!" ho exclaimed. "I would have given my right arm if this had not happened." Curious to discover what he knew, I asked him what had occurred. "The Maine has blown up," he said, "her boilers, or maybe her magazines, we don't know which; come here to the window and you can see.' I followed him to the window, and got a glimpse of a dark object rimmed round with Are. Caceres kept mechanically repeating, "Her boilers or the magazines." As I looked at the flames, which gave an almost perfect outline of the wreck as it lay in the dark waters of the bay, I knew that no boiler explosion could have brought about that dire disaster, and I knew, moreover, that our ships of war are not given to magazine explosions. Shortly after midnight I learned that some of the survivors had been taken on board the Ward Line steamship City of Washington. We immediately secured a boat and set out for the vessel, our course carrying us close to the torn and riven Maine, with whom 270 brave American seamen had perished. The wreck was still on fire. • .

Languid tongues of flame forking upward looked like the arms of drowning men. In that wavering light little could be distinguished, but that little was enough to show how complete was the ruin that the blow had wrought. The forward part of the ship was merely a jumbled, high-flung heap of twisted frames and girders, and tangled, shapeless mass of scrap-iron and steel. I knew full well how strong all of iheae plates and stanchions had been for I had watched the Maine built.