These words inspired every ship in the line, and we immediately strained forward, except the _McCulloch_, which I despatched at once to Hong-kong to cable my last words to you in time for the Adirondack edition of your Sunday issue leaving New York Thursday afternoon. The rest of us immediately proceeded. In a short while, taking advantage of the darkness for which I had provided by turning the clock back so that the sun by rising at the usual hour should not disclose our presence, we turned Corregidor and headed up the Boca Grande towards Manila. As we were turning Corregidor the telephone-bell rang, and somebody who refused to give his name, but stating that he was aboard the _Petrel_, called me up. "Hello!" said I. "Is this Dewey?" said the _Petrel_. "Yes," said I. "There are torpedoes ahead," said the _Petrel_. "What of it?" said I. "How shall we treat 'em?" "Blow 'em off--to soda water," I answered, sarcastically. "Thank you, sir," the _Petrel_ replied, as she rang off. Then somebody from the _Baltimore_ rang me up. "Commodore Dewey," said the _Baltimore_, "there are mines in the harbor." "Well, what of it?" I replied. "What shall we do?" asked the _Baltimore_. "Treat them coldly, as they do in the Klondike," said I. "But they aren't gold-mines," replied the _Baltimore_. "Then salt 'em," said I, dryly. "Apply for a certificate of incorporation, water your stock, sell out, and retire." "Thank you, Commodore," the _Baltimore_ answered. "How many shares shall we put you down for?" "None," said I. "But if you'll use your surplus to start a life-insurance company, I'll take out a policy for forty-eight hours, and send you my demand note to pay for the first premium." I mention this merely to indicate to your readers that I felt myself in a position of extreme peril, and did not forget my obligations to my family. It is a small matter, but if you will search the pages of history you will see that in the midst of the greatest dangers the greatest heroes have thought of apparently insignificant details. At this precise moment we came in sight of the fortresses of Manila. Signalling the _Raleigh_ to heave to, I left the flag-ship and jumped aboard the cruiser, where I discharged with my own hand the after-forecastle four-inch gun. The shot struck Corregidor, and, glancing off, as I had designed, caromed on the smoke-stack of the _Reina Cristina_, the flag-ship of Admiral Montojo. The Admiral, unaccustomed to such treatment, immediately got out of bed, and, putting on his pajamas, appeared on the bridge. [Illustration: A CLEVER CAROM] "Who smoked our struck-stack?" he demanded, in broken English. "The enemy," cried his crew, with some nervousness. I was listening to their words through the megaphone. "Then let her sink," said he, clutching his brow sadly with his clinched fist. "Far be it from me to stay afloat in Manila Bay on the 1st of May, and so cast discredit on history!"