This was due to a slight accident of the preceding night that
temporarily disabled her steering-gear. The morning of May 1 broke
clear and calm. There was a slight breeze from the south-west that
quickly died away. The North Dakota lay twelve miles off the island.
At the signal the squadrons charged in upon the island, from all
sides, at full speed. Our wireless receiver continued to tick off
warnings from the island. The ten-mile limit was passed, and nothing
happened. I watched through my glasses. At five miles nothing
happened; at four miles nothing happened; at three miles, the New
York, in the lead on our side of the island, opened fire. She fired
only one shot. Then she blew up. The rest of the vessels never
fired a shot. They began to blow up, everywhere, before our eyes.
Several swerved about and started back, but they failed to escape.
The destroyer, Dart XXX, nearly made the ten-mile limit when she blew
up. She was the last survivor. No harm came to the North Dakota,
and that night, the steering-gear being repaired, I gave orders to
sail for San Francisco.
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