“An awful lot of building going on out here, Mr. Roosevelt,” I said, watching fire tenders and riveters holler to each other and toss red-hot plugs of steel through the black night.
“Yes,” Mr. Roosevelt answered, looking around like a kid on Christmas morning. “We launched the Maine from here two years ago, and there have been several others since. Many more to come, as well!”
Out of the corner of my eye I caught the Doctor giving Miss Howard a look: a quiet reminder of how important it was that Mr. Roosevelt not find out just whose baby it was we were trying to rescue or why we’d been forced to go about it the way we had. The daughter of a high Spanish official, missing; that same official beating his wife and not seeming to care if he never saw his child again; the lies about the case what’d been issued by the Spanish consulate; suddenly all these things seemed very connectable to the humming activity in the navy yard, in a way what could have spelled bigger trouble than even we’d experienced lately.
The torpedo boats what Mr. Roosevelt and Lieutenant Kimball had spoken of were tucked away along one concrete wharf at the far end of the yard-and quite a collection they were, too. Not all that much bigger than the steam yachts and launches what generally shot around the harbor, the boats had much more powerful engines what required two and even three smokestacks; at the same time, they were much sleeker in design than the private and commercial vessels, having a graceful bullet shape what made it seem impossible that they were actually plated with steel. Not that there was much plating on them-as Mr. Roosevelt’d said, the boats sacrificed safety for speed, and they could go better than thirty miles an hour when required. Each boat appeared to be manned by just twenty-five or thirty men, and at various spots on their decks they carried the deadly weapons what gave them their names: torpedoes, fourteen-foot steel cylinders filled with compressed air and tipped with powerful explosive devices. The air, when it was released, shot the missiles on their way out of the boats’ torpedo tubes and through the water for upwards of hundreds of yards: plenty of time for the fast little boats what delivered them to get clear of the resulting explosions. All in all, a very ingenious bit of inventing, one what stood in very great contrast to the enormous battleships with their huge artillery turrets what were being built in other parts of the yard. It would certainly be interesting to see, I thought to myself, if the battleships of other countries would one day be laid low by the same kind of fast, hard-hitting little craft as we were on our way to board that night.
Along with the crews of the torpedo boats, there were another twenty or so sailors lined up on the wharf, men who looked like they’d been specially selected for the job ahead of us. I’d seen a lot of brawling seamen in my day and in my neighborhood, and watched more than one dive and concert saloon get dismantled when a group of them were taken by some fast-talking “dancer” or quick-handed faro dealer; but no bunch I’d ever come across could’ve matched those boys what were waiting for us at the yard that night. Muscle-bound, scarred, and obviously itching for a genuine, top-drawer brawl, the men appeared to be having a tough time controlling their high spirits enough to stand to attention when Lieutenant Kimball and Mr. Roosevelt got out of the landau. Lieutenant Kimball had some words with the three torpedo boat commanders, who then mustered their crews on the wharf next to the bruisers what were already there. Stepping in front of this collected force-which, I had to admit, looked to be a fair match even for the Dusters-Lieutenant Kimball ordered them to stand at ease, then began to walk up and down the wharf as he explained the evening’s business.
“Gentlemen!” he called out, his strong voice giving no hint of either his near fifty years or his usual assignment as a strategy planner. “Most of you, I’m sure, know that it is absolutely impossible to sail salt water in Uncle Sam’s service for thirty, ten, or even five years without becoming imbued with the feeling that the United States of America is the finest and most glorious thing that has ever happened, and that it must lead-in everything.” Here the men broke into cheers, cheers what Mr. Roosevelt heartily joined. The rest of us held back, feeling that it wasn’t really our place to take part-though I felt an urge to. “But,” the lieutenant went on, “I suspect you also know that the United States cannot lead in everything so long as enemies stand in its way. Enemies without-who will, with any luck, soon feel the power of the great ships being built around us-and enemies within, who must feel our power on this very night!” That got the boys going again, and Lieutenant Kimball had to work hard to get them to quiet back down. “I ask you now to give your attention to the honorable assistant secretary of the navy, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt!”
Stepping to the fore, Mr. Roosevelt narrowed his eyes and took the measure of the company before him. “Men,” he said, in that crisp, choppy way of his, “some of you may find the job ahead of us a strange one. Why, you might reasonably ask yourselves, should we be assigned the task of enforcing the laws of this great nation on our own soil?” Balling up one fist, Mr. Roosevelt began to smack it into his other palm as he continued to bellow over the sounds of the construction what was going on all around the yard: “The answer, men, is a simple one-because those persons to whom the safety of the public and the enforcement of justice in this part of our nation have been entrusted are failing to perform their duty! And who is it that the United States invariably calls on when its citizens are in danger-anywhere in the world-and no one else can or will assume the responsibility of protecting them?!”
With a unity of voice what was both very shocking (given the men) and very thrilling (given the situation), the sailors all roared out, “The United States Navy, sir!”The sound nearly knocked those of us behind Mr. Roosevelt over, but he only grinned and shook his fist in the air.
“Indeed!” he called out. “I expect you to fight fairly, men, but I expect you to fight hard! Thank you all!” Then Mr. Roosevelt stepped aside to let Lieutenant Kimball speak again.
“Officers will carry sidearms, petty officers and seamen will carry nightsticks! Force will be applied when force is encountered! This is a military police action, gentlemen-I know you will conduct yourselves accordingly. Now-fall out to board your boats!”
With another mighty roar, this one of pure excitement and lust for action, the men broke ranks and started for the torpedo boats, jumping into them as the engineers let off loud, hissing blasts of steam from the power plants of each vessel. Lieutenant Kimball directed our party to the lead boat, where we took up positions just behind the steering house. Orders to cast off were barked out over the rising grind of the steam pistons, and then-very suddenly, it seemed-the boat’s propellers began to churn up the waters of the bay and we shot out toward the river, at a speed I’d certainly never experienced on the water and what made me stumble back a bit. As the air forced against our faces and bodies by the quickening pace of the boat became ever more powerful, Mr. Roosevelt put one of his strong arms around my shoulders and held me steady. Smiling up at him, I turned to watch the other two boats fall in behind us.
I don’t know that I’ve ever truly been able to describe the feeling what came over me at that moment, though I’ve tried many times. I was heartened past words by the sight of the two boats behind us, and by the rumble of the powerful engines in our own vesseclass="underline" all the emotions of the night and the day what’d just passed-not to mention those of the tough and often frightening weeks what’d come before-suddenly jumped out of my mouth in a loud holler, one what Mr. Roosevelt joined me in. Turning forward again, I caught sight of the same Brooklyn Bridge what we’d crossed just half an hour earlier, and which we were currently moving toward at a speed what was beginning to seem impossible. Viewing the bridge from below was so peculiar as to seem like a dream, especially given how fast we passed under it; yet we were about to go faster still. As we motored past Hickie the Hun’s best-loved swimming spot, the Fulton Fish Market, and on toward the base of Manhattan and Battery Park, the commander of our boat gave the signal to turn the engine fully loose, so that by the time Lady Liberty came into view it seemed that we could’ve reached her island in just a matter of seconds.