The Battle of Manila Bay and Irwin’s Shoes

Navy Captain Edward L. Beach Sr. graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1888 as a passed midshipman and received his commission in 1890. He had early sea duty on board the USS Philadelphia (C-4), New York (ACR-2), and training ship Essex before joining the protected cruiser USS Baltimore (C-3) in 1897, on which he would participate in the Battle of Manila Bay. Following the Spanish-American War, he continued tours afloat and ashore, including a teaching assignment at the Naval Academy and service as secretary-treasurer of the U.S. Naval Institute, signing the Institute copyright on the first edition of The Bluejacket’s Manual. At the conclusion of World War I, he became commanding officer of the battleship New York (BB-34), flagship of the American Battleship Squadron, and was at Scapa Flow for the surrender of the German High Seas Fleet.

Captain Beach captured his memories of the action on board the Baltimore in “Manila Bay in 1898” in the April 1920 Proceedings and again in his autobiography, From Annapolis to Scapa Flow.¹

In these edited excerpts from his 1920 article, Beach put his memories of the Battle of Manila Bay in perspective: “No attempt is made to give a connected account or description of Admiral Dewey’s campaign,” he wrote. “A person in a battle, particularly if he plays a subordinate part, sees but a small part of the actual battle, and his mental vision generally is limited.” With that qualification, he continued with his narrative:

At about 1 o’clock Sunday morning, May the first, we slowly steamed into the South Channel entrance to Manila Bay. . . . Everybody except those on duty below was on deck. No one wished to sleep. We all knew that soon we would be in battle and a tense expectancy possessed us. . . .  Ahead of us could be seen the dim shape of Commodore Dewey’s flagship, the Olympia. Astern of the Baltimore were the other four ships of the squadron. I was in the starboard waist, amidships, looking toward the shadowy shore less than a mile distant. Suddenly, in the direction I was looking, there was a vivid streak of fire, the reverberating roar of a great gun, and a violent rush of wind. I was wild with delight. Always had I hoped that sometime I might have the sensation of being “under fire.” I had longed to know just how I would feel. Would I be scared or excited? Or would I be “calm, cool, and collected?” Such had been boyish thoughts. . . .

Again and again the fort fired at us, at me, I felt in my heart, the shots all missing me by but a narrow margin. . . . First I estimated the shots had cleared me by 50 feet. But the more I thought about the distance, the closer I felt each shot had come. So I reduced my first estimate to 40 feet, then to 20, and finally, with further thought, came down to two. I thought of taking off these two feet, but realized that this would have taken off my head, so I felt two feet was about right. . . . I later quarreled with officers from the five other ships, each of them foolishly maintaining that each shot had   passed close to him. So this question was never settled.

We were now headed for Cavite. . . . Here the Spanish Navy Yard was located, and here the Spanish warships were awaiting us.

The Baltimore began to shoot at 20 minutes to 6 that Sunday morning, May 1, 1898. I shall describe only that part of the battle, of which, when it was over, I had intimate, personal knowledge. . . . All I saw of the Battle of Manila Bay was the inside of the Baltimore’s engine room, with its hot steam pipes, and valves, and cylinders, and pumps. The oilers and machinists, dripping with perspiration, rushing about. And I saw something else—Irwin’s shoes; and kept up seeing them throughout the fight.

I was at my station in the after engine room, operating the reversing and starting levers and throttle valves of the starboard engine. Assistant Engineer Price had the same duty for the port engine; Assistant Engineer Cone was in the forward fireroom. Chief Engineer Ford was with me. . . . My station was directly under the engine-room hatch. Looking up through the hatch gratings, I could see the bottoms of the soles of Irwin’s shoes. Vertically upward from these shoes for a distance of six feet and three inches, extended one hundred and ninety pounds of vibrant Americanism, known as Irwin. He had taken a place which gave him a clear view of the enemy’s ships, and where he could advantageously direct the fire of his four 6-inch guns. . . .

Although our ships were all firing, and were all close to the Baltimore, I never heard a shot from any of them. At the end of the battle, my impressions were a dripping, sweating engine room, a series of hundreds of deafening, ear-bursting explosions, and Irwin’s shoes. . . .

I remember that after the battle of Manila Bay I wanted to write home all that I saw of the fight, and of how little I had at first to write about. I believe that in the Battle of Manila Bay I made a record never equaled in the history of warfare, that of looking steadily, hour after hour, through the ear-blasting roar of great guns, at the bottom of a man’s shoes. I was constantly interrupted by signals from the bridge to increase or decrease speed of the starboard engine, to reverse it, and stop it, and occasionally gave orders to machinists and oilers. But when not so employed, was constantly looking upward and shoe-ward.

At my station were the speaking tubes connecting with the bridge and with different places, amongst them the firerooms. Price and I were the only means of communication between the firerooms, which for protection against bursting shell were caged down by heavy armored gratings.

Some minutes after the shooting began I was called up by the forward fireroom.    

“What is it?” I shouted through the speaking tube.

“Hello, Beach. This is Cone speaking. Send me some news to cheer up my men.”

“No one has sent me any news, Cone, but I’ll bet Irwin’s shoes—”

“I’m not interested in Irwin’s shoes nor in excuses. Send me some news of the fight right away.”

Down the hatch crashed the language of 8-inch guns, stopping conversation for the moment. Then I called up the forward fireroom.

 “Hello,” I shouted, “report to Mr. Cone that the Olympia has just sunk the Spanish flagship.”

I kept my ear to the tube. “Hooray!” was all the answer given me. But I heard my message repeated. Then a wild cheer. . . 

Five minutes later I was again called by Cone.

“The temperature in here is 170 degrees,” he said. “Send more news, lots of news, omit all references to Irwin’s shoes.”

And then I started in earnest. Every few minutes I sent a bulletin to the forward fireroom. My ferocity was ungovernable. I sank Spanish battleships, cruisers, gunboats and torpedo boats, without count. For four hours, at five-to-ten-minute intervals, I destroyed Spanish warships. Commodore Dewey that day sank 11 ships. My record was afterward counted up to be 96. . . .

At different times I would ask the chief engineer, Mr. Ford, a fine old veteran of the Civil War, questions. He had been with Farragut in the latter’s battles, and therefore was an authority.

“Chief,” I asked, “is this a real battle?”

Mr. Ford smiled. “Yes,” he replied, “this is a real fight, and a big one, too.” And to accentuate his remark, deafening answers came down the hatch.

“Chief,” I later asked, “do you think Irwin’s shoes—”

But my question was lost in a wild, overwhelming uproar. . . . Right over my head was a terrific crash. The effect was so shattering I momentarily thought a tremendous shell had burst in the hatch. It afterward developed that a 4.7 solid shot from the Isla de Cuba had pierced the Baltimore’s starboard bulkhead, the sides of the engine-room hatch, passing 18 inches below Irwin’s shoes; it struck the curved inside of the shield of a port 6-inch gun, caromed as a billiard ball, and at the end of its mad flight lay spinning in the starboard waterway. It had entirely encircled one of Irwin’s gun crews but had hit none of them.

The Baltimore was struck in all seven times and had eight men slightly wounded. Most of the other ships were struck, but none received injuries that were serious.

This ends my description of the Battle of Manila Bay. . . . For further technical information the reader is referred to official reports. For further information concerning Irwin’s shoes, apply to the captain of the super-dreadnought Oklahoma.