Commodore Schley to prepare Merrimac for the mission. Schley disagreed with Sampson. He argued that if the Spanish were trapped inside Santiago Harbor, their guns would help to defend the city against the American troops preparing to march overland to seize Santiago. Schley thought it would be better to lure Cervera out of the protected harbor and destroy him, but Sampson reiterated his orders to use “the promptest and most efficient use of every means” and sent a bright but untested twenty-seven-year-old lieutenant, naval constructor Richmond Pearson Hobson, to ready Merrimac for the suicide mission.

Hobson, who was attached to Sampson’s staff to make observations on how well the ships performed after recent work in the Navy Yard (that’s what a naval constructor did), was vain, stubborn and eager to prove himself. He was also very unpopular with his fellow officers. But he was brilliant, and his enthusiasm made him a perfect choice for Sampson. Hobson’s plan was to strip Merrimac of “useful gear” and to rig her to sink quickly with charges once she was in position immediately inside the harbor entrance. There, if the charts were accurate, the 333-foot length of the ship would block much of the narrow channel.

Hobson set ten charges along Merrimac’s hull and connected them to electric batteries linked by wire to a central station on the bridge. Crews worked in the hot Cuban sun to grease the seacocks (valves in the engine room) so that they would open quickly to help flood the ship, and “all openings, hatches, manhole covers, etc. were opened.” Hobson had the anchors rigged at the bow and stern, near the waterline, to swing the ship hard to starboard at the last moment to position her across the channel. As Hobson later explained: “The general plan contemplated a minimum crew of volunteers … with the simplest form of duty for each… The anchors were to be slung over the sides and held by simple lashings, ready to be cut with an ax, a man stationed at each anchor.” Only two men were to stay below, one in the engine room and one in the boiler room. One man was to take the wheel and one was to assist with the torpedoes, making in all a crew of six. That was not enough, and another man was added.

Hobson selected his crew from hundreds of volunteers from the fleet. Seven men — Randolph Clausen, George Charette, Osborn Deignan, Francis Kelly, Daniel Montague, John Murphy and George Phillips — joined Merrimac as final preparations were made for an early morning run into the harbor on June 3, 1898.

Merrimac’s last trip started at 3 a.m. Fortunately for Hobson, darkness cloaked the collier and the Spanish sentries at El Morro did not spot the ship until she was just 2,000 yards from the harbor entrance. The forts and batteries opened fire. Associated Press reporter “Chappie” Goode, watching from USS New York, reported: “In a few seconds the mouth of Santiago Harbor was livid with flames that shot viciously from both banks … the dull sound of the carronade and its fiery light were unmistakable evidences of the fierce attack that was being waged on Hobson’s gallant crew.” Captain Robley “Fighting Bob” Evans, observing from the bridge of the battleship Iowa, said, “It looks like Hell with the lid off!”

Hobson and his crew, stripped to their underwear to make it easier to swim away when the ship sank, crouched down as shell after shell hit Merrimac. Hobson later wrote: “The striking of projectiles and flying fragments produced a grinding sound, with the fine ring in it of steel on steel. The deck vibrated heavily, and we felt the full effect, lying, as it were, full-length on our faces. At each instant it seemed that certainly the next would bring a projectile among us … I looked for my own body to be cut in two diagonally, from the hip upward, and wondered for a moment what the sensation would be.”

As Merrimac entered the channel, Hobson found that he could not steer the ship. “Our steering gear was gone, shot away at the last moment, and we were charging straight down the channel.” Then, as they neared their planned position to scuttle the ship, most of the explosive charges failed to detonate. Only two out of the ten exploded. Damaged but still afloat, and now ablaze, Merrimac drifted deeper into the harbor and directly into the line of fire of Cervera’s ships and a gun battery on the shore. More shells tore into the collier’s hull. Then came “a blasting shock, a lift, a pull, a series of vibrations, and a mine exploded directly beneath.”

The last blast stopped the ship, and she began “steadily sinking two thirds athwart.” Merrimac, stuck at one side of the channel, burned fiercely as the wind whipped through the torn hull and decks to fan the coal in the hold into a blast furnace. The steel decks began to soften and twist in the heat. “The Merrimac gave a premonitory lurch, then staggered to port in a death-throe,” said Hobson. “The bow almost fell, it sank so rapidly… the stricken vessel now reeled to port… and plunged forward. The stern rose and heeled heavily; it stood for a moment, shuddering, and then started downward, righting as it went.”

Incredibly, not one member of Hobson’s crew was killed or even seriously injured. Two men were cut by shrapnel, but not badly. As Merrimac slipped away beneath them, the eight Americans found themselves in the water. A raft from the wreck washed by, and they grabbed its ropes and clung alongside, hiding from the bullets of Spanish soldiers and marines until the gunfire died away. At daybreak, a steam launch approached, searching for survivors. It was the personal craft of Admiral Cervera, who had insisted on an inspection of the sunken ship. Hobson and his seven men were pulled from the water at Cervera’s order. The Spanish admiral turned to Hobson and spoke one word: “Valiente!”

It was a valiant but a failed mission. Hobson was disheartened, admitting Merrimac “did not completely block the channel,” because at the end the current had swung the ship from its sideways position and straightened her out. Ships could steam past the wreck. But while Hobson and his crew had not succeeded, their bravery inspired more than Admiral Cervera. That afternoon, Cervera sent a launch out to the American fleet, under a flag of truce, to inform Sampson that his men had survived. The news cheered the American sailors, while correspondents filed reports for the papers back home praising the “gallant Hobson” and Merrimac’s crew.

The eight Americans, meanwhile, remained prisoners of Spain, lodged in cells in the imposing fortress of El Morro. From his cell, Hobson could look out each day and see the masts of Merrimac sticking up in the water. He and the crew also watched from their cells when the U.S. fleet bombarded El Morro to weaken Spanish defenses while American troops waded ashore several miles south at Daiquiri and Siboney. Since the Spanish Navy had not been neutralized or defeated, the key to American victory was to seize Santiago by land. Troops pushed inland, joining Cuban rebels as they advanced towards the old city. Tropical disease, heat and tough Spanish resistance slowed the American advance, but finally, the outer defenses of Santiago were breached.

The breakthrough occurred on the city’s outskirts at two small forts atop Kettle Hill and San Juan Hill, where the volunteer regiment of Rough Riders fought their way to victory. They were led into battle by Colonel Theodore Roosevelt after the regiment’s commanding officer, Leonard Wood, was wounded. This was the beginning of a new phase of Roosevelt’s life that would catapult him into the White House within a few years. It was also the death knell for Spain’s empire in the Americas, which had been whittled down to just Cuba and Puerto Rico.