The first happy stroke was his assignment to the battleship Massachusetts, sister ship of the Oregon and Indiana. These three were the most modern and heaviest ships in the newly augmented U.S. armada. Laid down in 1891, the Massachusetts displaced 10,288 tons and was capable of 16 knots. She boasted four 13-inch guns in two turrets, eight 8-inch guns, four 6-inch guns, and twenty 6-pounders. In addition, she was armed with numerous smaller weapons and six Whitehead torpedo tubes. For defense, she boasted an 18-inch steel belt and a 2¾-inch armored dec1: to protect against plunging fire. Even during normal times, landing an assignment on the Massachusetts would be a plum, but the fall of 1897 was not a normal time. For tensions were increasing between Spain and the United States over that ancient European power’s handling of troubles in Cuba.
The stage was small and although the resulting conflict would seem to present-day Americans to be minor, to students of international affairs the implications were vast, the change in the nation’s course portentous. Participants would doubtless agree: it was the first real conflict since the Civil War more than a generation before; and while some may argue about the modernity of that struggle, there was no question that for the navy, at least, the Spanish-American War was far more modern than transitional.
The man elected president in 1896, William McKinley, was explicitly and emphatically opposed to war—at least so he had said during his campaign and privately afterwards. It is difficult to be entirely sure about McKinley, though, and historians continue to bicker about his strength of character, resolve, malleability, political acumen, and ultimately his room for maneuver.16 One thing is certain, however: on 15 February 1898, his options became considerably more restricted. On that date the battleship Maine, sent to Havana presumably to protect American lives and property during the impending civil conflict, blew up and went to the bottom of Havana Harbor, the victim of a dastardly attack, or so the American press concluded.17 A Naval Board of Inquiry rushed to Havana, where with full Spanish cooperation, an investigation was conducted. Meanwhile diplomatic negotiations went forward between the Spanish and the U.S. governments with the object of ending the rebellion in Cuba. The United States wanted the Spanish to take a series of steps and make guarantees; Spain believed the Americans were interfering in its internal affairs, but reluctantly and very slowly conceded point after point.
According to the Naval Board’s findings, which were reported to Washington on 21 March, the Maine was sunk by an external explosion, most probably caused by a mine. The buckling of her plates and keel surrounding one of her bunkers pointed ineluctably to this conclusion. Pressure now was exerted in earnest against Spain, while the press and segments of the public went wild. “Remember the Maine. To hell with Spain” became the cry. Congress responded to the public clamor and McKinley either lost his will to resist the tide of emotion or decided to drift in the direction he wanted to go, anyway. Regardless of his intent, the result was demands that the Spanish felt compelled to reject. Albeit reluctantly, Spain declared war on the United States, and the United States responded similarly, albeit retroactively, on 25 April 1898, declaring war as of 21 April.
War! On 25 April 1898 the word raced through the 384-foot-long Massachusetts as she lay at anchor off Hampton Roads. The government had finally elected to take action and, since that was the case, there would surely be action for the modern battleship, but how and where? News soon arrived that Admiral Pascual Cervera was sailing for the Western Hemisphere from his base in the Cape Verde Islands.18 While the more dramatically inclined considered it possible that he might bombard the Atlantic coast of the United States, the newly formed Naval War Board considered it far more likely that he would head for Cuba. The public furor was so intense, however, that it was decided to divide the North Atlantic Squadron in two. The force that retained the name “Atlantic Squadron” was sent to Key West under the command of Acting Rear Admiral William T. Sampson. Part of Sampson’s job was to guard against an attack on Key West, but more importantly to prepare to take offensive action against Cuba or Puerto Rico. The remainder of the ships were christened the “Flying Squadron” and stationed at Norfolk under command of Commodore Winfield Scott Schley. Schley’s job was to prepare for defensive action against an attack anywhere along the Atlantic coast.
Sampson, as his last name implies, was not inclined to passively await his opponent’s moves; Cervera was at sea and the U.S. admiral wanted to intercept him at the earliest possible moment. Therefore, on 3 May he removed some of the ships from the blockade he had established two weeks earlier outside Havana Harbor and sailed east. Sampson calculated that Cervera and his fleet, which consisted of four cruisers and two destroyers, would duck into Puerto Rico for coaling. If Sampson could find him there, the U.S. force, which included the battleships Iowa and Indiana, the armored cruiser New York, two monitors, and a torpedo boat, should be able to end the naval war in the Atlantic very quickly. The problem proved to be finding the Spanish admiral, who figured things pretty much the way Sampson did. As Sampson arrived off Puerto Rico, Cervera was a thousand miles to the south, passing Martinique, whence he proceeded to Curaçao, and arrived at Santiago de Cuba on 19 May.
On that same day, Sampson, realizing the wily Spaniard had given him the slip, ordered Schley to sail for Cuba. Since the Massachusetts was part of Schley’s Flying Squadron, Tommy Hart’s first wartime action was about to begin. Within four days the squadron stood in to reconnoiter Cienfuegos Harbor. Since smoke was sighted, Schley considered it possible that Cervera lurked within, so he established a blockade four miles offshore. Amidst growing criticism of Sampson’s inability to find Cervera, as well as indications that the Spanish fleet might be at Santiago, on 23 May Sampson ordered Schley to steam for that port. In a movement later condemned for its slowness, Schley sailed west. Hampered by bad weather, high seas, a declining supply of coal, and perhaps some doubt that Cervera was at Santiago, Schley did not arrive off that port and establish a picket line until 28 May. The next morning, much to his pleasure and no doubt the general excitement of his crew, the masts of the cruiser Cristóbal Colón were clearly sighted. At last the enemy had been found. Word was sent to Sampson, who arrived on 1 June, his force strengthened by the battleship Oregon, which had steamed from the Pacific, through the Strait of Magellan, to join the war.
So, the North Atlantic Squadron was now reunited, but what next? Cervera, extremely gloomy about his chances, was not ready to sail out and face the guns of a superior fleet. For Sampson, the prospect of entering the harbor to engage the Spanish ships was made unattractive by the narrowness of the harbor entrance: therefore, he did what the navy had done so much of during the Civil War—he established a blockade. As had been learned in that earlier conflict, sailing back and forth on blockade duty was not very stimulating. So the senior officers, eager for action, began to seek likely sites for a landing or for another way to get at the Spaniards. The best landing place would be on the western side of Santiago Harbor, but no one in the squadron was familiar with its topography. Therefore, it was decided to send in two cutters to scout the area: one was from the New York and was commanded by Hart’s classmate and close friend Joseph W. Powell; the other was from the Massachusetts and put under Hart’s command. The idea was to slip into Cabañas Bay in the early hours of 17 June, explore the shoreline for a possible landing spot, and then slip back out. They started into the bay at 4:45 a.m., but even in the pale light of predawn they were soon spotted and brought under heavy fire. So heavy and at such close range, much of it from approximately fifty yards, that the two cutters were forced to retreat. But before they could clear the harbor entrance they were struck seventeen times; miraculously there were no casualties. The official report of the action concluded: “The attempt though unsuccessful, deserves high praise for the coolness and courage shown by all aboard, particularly the conduct of young Powell and Hart.”19
Since they could not get in and Cervera was not coming out of his own volition, there remained only one possibility; perhaps the army could be induced to force the Spanish fleet out by attacking Santiago from the land side. But getting the army to agree on an objective was almost as difficult as getting Cervera to do battle. Major General William R. Shafter had been given wide latitude by the War Department and since there was no one