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LIEUTENANT HOBSON 
 
HOBSON'S CHOICE 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY AUSTIN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 Vagabond Verses," " In the Name of the People," 
 "Two Days of History,"" Ktc, Ktc. 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 R. F. FENNO & COMPANY 
 
 9 AND II East i6th Street 
 i8q8 
 
Copyright, 1898 
 
 BY 
 
 R, V. FENNO & COMPANY 
 
 
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 Hohson's Choice 
 
Hell throned on high where Heaven should be ! 
 
 Symbol of Cuba— a blazing sky 
 
 Floods with flame a glowing sea 
 Whose foamless, long, slow swells roll high, 
 
 Rippling in purple revelry ; 
 And to the mad Sun's molten beams 
 Flash back a myriad golden gleams 
 
 In a dazzle-dance of devilry. 
 
 Hell throned on high and on the deep 
 
 And where the Spanish warships hide 
 In Santiago's bay, asleep, 
 
 Rocked softly on the slumbrous tide. 
 Beneath an awning richly hued, 
 
 With fringes like flamingo wings, 
 Proud lord of splendid solitude, 
 The Admiral in his hammock swings ; 
 
 Blows dreamy smoke in violet rings ; 
 Nor lets the g.loom of real things — 
 His country's doom and shame — intrude 
 Upon his old, hidalgo mood. 
 
Poor fox, Cervera, holed at last ! 
 
 And yet, mayhap, abides with him, 
 In his hot den, one solace grim : 
 The harbor's close, torpedoed mouth 
 
 By his keen foe may not be passed. 
 
 Death lurks beneath each billow there 
 With grisly grin of dynamite ; 
 
 Death rides upon the winds of drouth, 
 The Yellow Monster of the South ; 
 
 And with a stolid, stony glare 
 
 Death watches from Zocapa's height, 
 From Morro's and Estrella's walls ; 
 And to the Yankee hunter calls, 
 In cannons' thunderous delight, 
 With voice as ready as the wave : 
 " The Spanish fox, you say, is holed. 
 So ho, my hunter, blithe and bold. 
 He bids you welcome to his cave — 
 Thrice welcome to your Cuban grave ! 
 
So muses Sampson, muttering there 
 
 A curse — or an inverted prayer ; 
 
 Then turns his futile glass to view 
 
 The towers of Morro where they loom 
 
 Fantastic, with aerial hue, 
 
 As clouds that steal the virgin bloom 
 
 Of Dawn upon a mountain's crown : 
 
 Vain towers Spain builds in many a town 
 
 Of her swift-minishing domain 
 
 To stand for brags of old renown. 
 
 To vaunt how Progress tumbled down, 
 
 When the wise, brave Moor was hurled from Spain. 
 
 Vain towers, vain Spain, misguided still, 
 
 Quixote of Nations, bound to be 
 
 A puppet of illusions — till 
 
 From trammels of tradition free ! 
 
Thus muses Sampson with a thrill 
 Of generous pity for the foe — 
 
 For the brave nation sunk so low 
 And sinking fast and faster yet 
 
 Into a slough of deeper ill ; 
 
 But oh ! although her sun hath set, 
 
 Shall it not rise again, some time, 
 
 Noble and beautiful and sublime. 
 
 When flourishes upon her sod 
 
 The freedom of the sons of God ? 
 
 Pensive the Admiral sets aside 
 
 The far-detecting glass ; when lo ! 
 Confronts him there, in manly pride. 
 
 Saluting with an easy, slow, 
 Grave grace that hints of Southern race, 
 A tall broad youth on whose bright face, 
 
 Frank as the ocean and the sky. 
 Rests with a humorous pleasantness 
 
 The elder sailor's calmer eye. 
 
" Lieutenant Hobson — and, I guess, 
 You've something you are keen to say ? 
 Out with it ! I am listening. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, 
 I reckon what I wish to lay 
 Before you, Admiral, cannot wait. 
 I've a plan to shut yon gate ; 
 I can block that narrow strait 
 So the foe will have to stay, 
 Till their ships are out of date. 
 Cooped in Santiago's bay." 
 
 ' ' Well ? " the Admiral cries, " Go on ! 
 I am listening." 
 
 "Sir, in brief," 
 Hobson says, " 'tis my belief 
 'Spite of every mine or gun, 
 Planted there, that I can run 
 The old collier, Merrimac, 
 Up that channel's narrow throttle 
 Like a cork into a bottle ; 
 Swing her round athwart the track ; 
 Blow her down and — run away, 
 So's to fight another day." 
 
On him, smiling, Sampson smiled 
 
 By the closing turn beguiled, 
 
 And he answered half in earnest, half in sport : 
 
 " If you got the Merrimac 
 
 Up so far, I rather guess 
 
 That your chance of getting back 
 
 Your adventure to report 
 
 "Would be, surely, somewhat less 
 
 Than the little end of nothing, whittled short.'* 
 
 " Admiral, that's my look-out. 
 
 Give me six men for a crew — 
 
 Chaps who know just what to do — 
 And I'll ram the vessel in beyond a doubt. 
 
 That's the point, I reckon. Whether 
 
 We get back or have to stay 
 Is a bird of another feather — 
 
 And the wind may blow our way. 
 
 But suppose our lives are lost. 
 
 Still, the gain exceeds the cost. 
 
 Still, we win the game we play ; 
 And as for life, why, Admiral, who can tell ? 
 
 One may lose it any day 
 Without any gain to speak of. So, a man, 
 
 Sure, does well to lose it well, 
 
 By my reckoning, if he can. ' ' 
 13 
 
"Ay," quoth Sampson, " for a man 
 That's the doctrine ! Now, your plan ! 
 If it suits me like your creed, 
 You can have the men you need ; 
 And more, too, 
 
 Well I know, will volunteer. 
 
 For my sailors have no fear ; 
 They are all, Lieutenant Hobson, just like you." 
 
 "Thank you, Admiral, six will do. 
 
 More would be a waste of power. 
 
 Now— to give you a rough draft 
 
 Of the plan which many an hour 
 
 Has been steaming in my head — 
 
 I will take and strip the ship fore and aft, 
 
 Iveaving nothing but her engines and her coal. 
 
 Two thousand tons. 
 Which will drive her down like lead 
 And will hold her down like dead. 
 
 When through many a bursting hole 
 
 With one rush the ocean runs. 
 
 15 
 
For below her water-line and secure from random shots, 
 
 Right in her most vital spots, 
 On the outside 'gainst her bulkheads ten torpedoes will be laid, 
 
 Each one eighty pounds of powder- 
 Any more would overcrowd her, 
 I'm afraid. 
 These, of course, will be connected 
 
 By a wire beneath her keel, 
 
 Running for some distance aft, 
 So their force can be projected 
 In one blow, 
 
 From a battery on the raft, 
 Just the moment that I feel 
 
 It is time to let her go. 
 
 By the forward anchor placed 
 
 Is a man with ax at hand 
 And a cord runs round his waist 
 
 From the bridge where I shall stand. 
 When we reach the proper spot. 
 
 Just beyond Estrella's fort, 
 Then the helmsman like a shot 
 
 Puts her helm hard-a-port ; 
 Lashes it and plunges aft 
 For the dingy or the raft. 
 
 17 
 
Next, I signal the engineer, 
 Close at his reversing-gear, 
 And lie stops the engines' work, 
 Breaks for deck and takes to sea ; 
 Then the forward line I jerk 
 And the bowman, swinging free, 
 Cuts that anchor's lashings through. 
 As it slumps, why, he jumps, too, 
 Swimming back the raft to gain. 
 In another moment, goes 
 The stern anchor down its chain 
 And my last companion throws 
 Open all the sea-connections 
 Of the vessel's various sections, 
 So the waves from all directions 
 Will come pouring in amain. 
 We, too, then, to save our mutton, 
 For the raft now swim our best; 
 When that's reached, I press a button 
 And — the powder does the rest." 
 
 19 
 
• ' That's capital, ' ' the Admiral cries, 
 Promoting with enkindled eyes 
 Brave Alabama's bravest son, 
 As if the pictured deed were done 
 Already and the whole world lit 
 By the lofty flame and fame of it. 
 ' ' But stay ! One point neglected lies 
 Of your well-thought-out enterprise : 
 May not the raft be blown up, too ? 
 Or, barring that, what chance have you 
 In a hot rain of shot and shell 
 To get away? Must you not stay, 
 At the best reckoning, many a day 
 Starving in a Spanish cell ? ' ' 
 
 "No, sir, as for getting blown up 
 I am thoroughly assured 
 By my firm faith in my plan 
 
 We shall be too far to leeward. 
 On our Httle catamaran, 
 
To be more than slightly thrown up 
 
 By the spread of my explosion ; 
 
 And we may to outer ocean 
 
 Slip away, before the foe, 
 
 In their panic and confusion, 
 
 Can recover from the blow 
 
 Or get over their delusion 
 
 That we also, with our ship, 
 
 Must have made the downward trip. 
 But supposing as to trend and force 
 
 Of the Merrimac's destruction 
 I have figured wrongly, why, of course. 
 
 It's a very fair deduction 
 From the doctrine of chances we may get struck 
 By a flying splinter ; or — worse luck ! — 
 Drawn down, to drown, by her suction ; 
 Or, possibly, hit by a Spanish gun. 
 Though that as a miracle might be classed ; 
 Or captured and into a prison cast — 
 Which of all events is the likeliest one — 
 But the deed, the deed, sir, will be done. ' ' 
 
 23 
 
Oh ! volunteers by hundreds — " Ay, volunteers to burn," 
 
 Sing out the jolly sailor-boys from every ship in turn, 
 
 When spreads the call among them all like fire from stem to stern ; 
 
 For the chance to share a shining deed not every day befalls 
 
 And e'en on the free and wholesome sea men feel their prison-walls 
 
 And pine to 'scape from dull routine and shine in action high 
 
 For Country, Freedom, Glory — ideals that never die. 
 
 How envied are the chosen then, when that rare contest ends, 
 
 Alike by officers and men, their rivals and their friends, 
 
 Who proudly give to Hobson's pick a storm of parting cheers 
 
 And eke o'er many an eye hangs thick a mist of manly tears. 
 
 The lights go out: the start is made. Through the blue vast of night, 
 
 Among the shadows, like a shade, the dark hull takes her flight. 
 
 Stripped to the buff, with hatches off, with cargo ports flung back, 
 
 And all agape, a nightmare shape, a monster blind and black. 
 
 Glides o'er the tremble of the tide — the fatal Merrimac ! 
 
 The friendly moon her frightened face behind a cloud conceals. 
 
 While mute as death along the shore the secret vessel steals. 
 
 As yet unseen, unguessed, undreamed the ship of doom glides on 
 
 Till well within the harbor's mouth the first gray shaft of dawn 
 
 Strikes her, so closely hugging shore, that on her deck a stone 
 
 From Morro's glowering parapet might easily be thrown. 
 
 25 
 
The Spaniard wakes; and sudden breaks from Morro's iron eyes 
 A long, thin flash of savage light that rouses fierce replies, 
 The signal for a hell of fire to burst on every side, 
 But the shape of gloom, the ship of doom, 
 
 keeps on with ghostly glide 
 And the riddled hull, like a reckless gull, 
 
 on the hell-storm seems to ride; 
 As her gallant crew, their goal in view, 
 
 though the iron hail strikes near. 
 In answer proud to the tempest loud, send up a stalwart cheer. 
 
 There, black with oil and coal-dust from ankle up to brow, 
 Phillips and Kelly down below " good-bye " are saying now 
 To the good old faithful engines ; and Murphy at the bow 
 Is keen to feel the rope tug hard and swing his ax like mad 
 And at the other anchor another ship- shape lad, 
 Dan Montague, makes ready to cut — and run — and leap. 
 When Deignan lashes fast the helm and plunges in the deep. 
 There, too — his crime must be forgiven, perhaps receive reward — 
 Who, contrary to orders, smuggled himself on board ; 
 Clausen, that lucky stowaway, whom Fame will keep secure 
 As long as love of skill and will and courage shall endure ; 
 And on the bridge with Hobson another — to be set 
 High on the Mount of Memory — graceful and cool Charette. 
 
 a7 
 
Gained is the goal and Hobson's plan perfect as clockwork goes ; 
 For, like their leader, every man a well-trained mettle shows 
 And as the mighty moment nears, with not a thump of heart 
 Or jump of nerve or ghost of fear stands firm and plays his part, 
 Unstunned by roar of guns from shore or thunder soon to come 
 From the burst ship whose downward trip 
 
 shall strike the batteries dumb. 
 
 A touch! 'Tis done — and a sudden sun, like a cannon-ball of gold, 
 Leaps into sight, as a blaze of light, from writhing waves uprolled, 
 Blinds for a second every eye on wave and raft and shore ; 
 The stricken ship, like a geyser's lip, spouts fire — in a second more 
 She makes a plunge like the lightning's lunge, 
 
 to the bottom, with one vast roar. 
 Then over her hugeous hulk's dead bulk 
 
 swirls a pall of purple smoke 
 Which the eight on the raft, now dancing aft, 
 
 would take for a kindly cloak 
 Of cloudy shade, their flight to aid. In vain! Around them close 
 With flattering gaze of wild amaze a legion of their foes ; 
 Surrender? Yes, 'twere foolishness, just for the lust of strife. 
 Now the deed is done and the game is won, lightly to squander life. 
 So the glorious eight, beloved of Fate, with scarce a scratch or sprain, 
 Are brought before Cervera now, the bravest lord of Spain. 
 
 29 
 
" Mother of God ! " The Admiral gasps, "Upon the sea's abyss 
 
 And all the foughten fields of man was never a feat like this ! 
 
 I kiss your hands, brave gentlemen, fair foes, by Fate's decree 
 
 To be as honored captives held in durance kind by me; 
 
 Till soon with your great Admiral I trust we shall arrange — 
 
 Fair tribute to a deed so grand — a courteous exchange; 
 
 And in the name of all brave hearts of every age and race 
 
 I greet you, gallant gentlemen, I praise you to your face. 
 
 Such deeds, meseems, demand a blend of craft and nerve and skill, 
 
 Endurance to the martyr's end, serene and godlike will." 
 
 " Nay, one thing more. Sir Admiral," thus Hobson's answer came 
 * ' A passion for Humanity — a just and noble aim! " 
 
 Shame, or perchance 'twas anger, flushed on the Spaniard's face, 
 But like a passing cloud of dawn to the soul's high light gave place. 
 He bowed his proud head lower still; then swift commandment gave, 
 With a white flag to take the news of their capture o'er the wave 
 Unto his brother Admiral — who shall his captor be 
 Ere many a full-orbed moon hath danced upon the Cuban sea: 
 The Cuban sea that, singing free, with loud, proud, thunderous voice 
 Gives meaning new and grandly true 
 
 to the old phrase, " Hobson's Choice." 
 
 31 
 
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