“The thing was to save the _Cristobal Colon_, as she is one of the finest modern ships of her class. We hurried a prize-crew aboard from the _Oregon_, closed all water-tight doors, as she was evidently leaking somewhere, but for all we could do she settled down on the beach after floating with the rising tide. It was a great pity, but the rascally engineers’ force had opened all the valves connecting with the sea, and we could not get at them. “We finally, after eight hours of hard work, left her in charge of the _Texas_ and _Oregon_, and are now steaming back to our post off Santiago. The failure to save the _Colon_ was too bad. It is possible to do so, of course, with the assistance of a wrecking company, but she was practically in an undamaged condition. She had one man killed and twenty-five wounded. “I am only too thankful we did not get ashore this morning. Poor Higginson, who was down at Guantanamo coaling, will be full of grief, as also Watson, in the _Newark_. “I had forgotten to mention that day before yesterday we bombarded the forts very heavily, knocking off a good deal of the poor old Morro, and bringing down the flagstaff and the flag which was so proudly flaunted in our eyes for more than a month. “We did this at the request of the army, as a demonstration while they attacked. They did not, however, make the attack, as it turned out. “These bombardments are very unsatisfactory; one reads lurid accounts of them in the papers, but nothing really is gained unless we strike the guns themselves, and this we have not done. “As we steamed by to-day in close range, our friends of the western battery, who paid a great deal of attention to us yesterday, banged away at us in fine style, and a number of shells burst around us. Finally, when I had them entirely off my mind and was paying attention only to the torpedo-boat destroyers, came a tremendous screech, and everybody on the forecastle dodged. It was their last; it fell about two hundred yards to our right. We did not reply as we came along. I thought it a waste of material, and thought they might have their amusement so long as they did no damage. “There—the engines have stopped and we are back at Santiago; it is 4.30, and I shall turn in again for a final nap. The captain of the _Colon_ is occupying my room; very nice fellow, about fifty-six, indeed, as are most Spanish naval officers, who, as a Cuban officer said to me, are the flower of the Spanish blood. “We also have a general and his aid-de-camp, whom we took in the _Colon_, a nice old boy and very chirpy. The captain, of course, takes the loss of his ship to heart very much, but the general and his aid seem as cheerful as possible. I suppose they think ‘it’s none of their funeral.’ “I stored the general in Staunton’s room, Staunton going to Santiago in a torpedo-boat to send the news. “We have got off our Spanish friends, and are now loafing. It is a great relief to feel that there is nothing to look after to-night.