Sailors dragging water for mines
(Most of this article is based on official Naval Records and “Lifting the Caimanera Mines,” an article by Arthur H. Dutton in The Overland Monthly Magazine, July 1904. The illustrations are adopted from photos published in the Dutton article. The infographic on the mine is original.)
The Texas had already hit
a mine. So had the Marblehead, and both ships were still afloat.
That
was the good news. The bad news was that nobody knew how many more mines were
waiting under the water.
It
was June 1898. American warships were pushing into Cuba’s Guantánamo Bay.
They’d secured the lower harbor, but getting farther inland toward Caimanera
meant crossing water the Spanish had turned into a floating ambush.
A
mine didn’t need a gun crew or good aim. It just had to sit there until
something expensive bumped into it.
The Texas and Marblehead had
caught mines with their propellers during a bombardment on June 15. Somehow,
they hadn’t gone off.
You could call that luck, but you couldn’t build a naval campaign around getting lucky twice.
Commander Bowman McCalla of the Marblehead decided the mines had to come out. Commander H. W. Lyon of the Dolphin would help, and the sailors in their small boats would handle the unpleasant end of the arrangement.
 |
| Gunboats Dolphin and Marblehead bombing trenches on shore |
Their equipment wasn’t much to look at. Two steam launches, a chain dragged between them, some tools, and smaller boats trailing behind.
They’d
sweep the chain through the channel until it caught a mine’s mooring. Then
they’d haul the mine up and deal with it.
It
sounds simple until someone has to lean over the side of a boat and put his
hands on it. A projecting contact arm, an unexpected movement, a boat rocking
at the wrong moment—and that’s all she wrote.
They
packed rifles and small rapid-fire guns in case the Spanish interfered; and
bandages and tourniquets in case the Spanish succeeded.
Back
aboard the warships, sailors piled bedding-filled hammocks around the exposed
guns. Neither vessel had armor to keep rifle bullets out of its gun crews, so
mattresses and blankets would have to do.
On
the morning of the expedition, the launches headed out with the Marblehead and Dolphin
Diagram showing the mines at Caimanera and how they operate
Ahead lay the minefield. The men hadn’t gone far before the boats stopped and began easing together.
They
caught one. Now, they had to bring it up without setting it off.
The
mine came out of the water coated with weed and barnacles, looking like
something that belonged on the bottom. Every man handling it had good reason to
wish it had stayed there.
The
crews worked to keep its contact gear from moving while they disabled it. A
Navy account describes wedges used to hold the arms in place until the primer
could be removed.
The
work required steady hands. Unfortunately, those hands were attached to men
sitting in small boats on the water.
Once
the mine was safe, they put it in a trailing boat and took it to the Dolphin.
Then they went back for another.
The
barnacles raised an interesting possibility. Marine growth could jam the moving
parts, which might explain why the mines caucht by the Texas and Marblehead had not exploded.
Sailors on an American warship during Spanish American War
That didn’t make the next one safe. It just meant some barnacles might’ve done the Navy an enormous favor.
Meanwhile,
the men had another problem. Spanish troops still held stretches of the shore,
and the launches made inviting targets.
A
rifleman didn’t have to sink a boat to wreck the operation. Hitting a man while
he handled a mine could be enough.
When
figures appeared among the trees on Cayo del Hospital, the Marblehead lowered
boats full of marines. The Spaniards cleared out before the landing party could
get at them.
More
riflemen showed up near Hicacal Point. They lost interest when the Dolphin pointed
its guns their way.
By
the midday break, the crews had recovered seven mines. They’d also cleared more
than a mile of channel, giving the ships behind them a little more room to
maneuver.
Sword drill on an American warship during Spanish American War
The sailors stopped to eat and rest. Along the shore, Spanish troops got busy digging.
That
afternoon, a lookout on the Dolphin spotted men near a bluff
overlooking the area where the launches had been working. A closer look showed
they were preparing firing positions.
They
evidently expected the small boats to come back. The Dolphin got
there first.
It
shelled the unfinished works, and the Marblehead came up to
help. Whatever protection the Spaniards hoped to get from their new trenches,
they hadn’t finished digging it yet.
The
launches kept working over the following days. Mine after mine came up, each
one requiring another careful bit of handling before anyone could relax.
One
recovered mine carried a deep dent where a ship had struck it between its
firing points. A little farther either way, and the ship might’ve left a very
different souvenir.
The
June sweep opened the channel, but it didn’t finish the job. American sailors
were still clearing mines from the approaches to Caimanera in late July when a
later operation recovered and disabled another 27.
By
then, Spain’s fleet had been destroyed off Santiago, and the fighting in
eastern Cuba was winding down. The mines, of course, hadn’t received the news.
They
still had to be found and brought up.
The
big ships got the attention with their heavy guns, towering smoke, and
photographs fit for the front page. But getting those ships safely through the
water came down to men in tiny boats, dragging a chain until it caught
something nobody wanted to touch.
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