Cold Open

It’s 9:40 P.M. on February 15th, 1898, in Havana harbor in the Spanish colony of Cuba.

Captain Charles Sigsbee sits at the desk in his cabin aboard the armored cruiser USS Maine. He fishes an envelope out of the drawer. It's been several days since he last wrote to his wife, and having already dealt with his routine paperwork, he’s just finished a letter home.

He folds the page and is sliding it into the envelope… when a tremendous blast tears through the ship.

The lights flicker, and then go out. Smoke begins drifting beneath the cabin door. Coughing, Sigsbee feels his way into the adjoining cabin and peers through the portholes.

He can’t see a thing in the darkness outside. But he can feel the ship tilting beneath him. He hurries back to the door…and steps into the passage. Acrid smoke swirls through the air as he hurries in the direction of the deck.

He’s already thinking about the orders he’ll give when he reaches his command post. The gunpowder magazine needs to be flooded to stop it from igniting. The lifeboats need to be prepared.

All around him, the USS Maine lurches and groans. Sigsbee has no idea what’s just happened, but one thing is unmistakably clear. His ship is sinking—and fast.

Within only minutes of this explosion, the USS Maine settled into the shallow water of Havana harbor. Although Captain Charles Sigsbee survives, more than three-quarters of his crew perish.

The cause of the explosion is unknown, but suspicion will quickly fall on Cuba’s colonial ruler, Spain. Within weeks, the United States and Spain will be at war—and the conflict that began with a mysterious naval disaster in the Caribbean will end with a bizarre staged battle in the Philippines on August 13th, 1898.

Introduction

From Noiser and Airship, I’m Lindsay Graham, and this is History Daily.

History is made every day. On this podcast—every day—we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is August 13th, 1898: The Mock Battle of Manila.

Act One

It’s 5 A.M. on May 1st, 1898, just outside Manila Bay in the Philippines, two and a half months after the sinking of the USS Maine.

As dawn begins to brighten the sky above the bridge of USS Olympia, Commodore George Dewey raises a telescope to his eye. More than two miles away, a Spanish squadron lies at anchor in the shallow waters near the coast. To Dewey's experienced eye, these aging warships look poorly positioned for battle. And that’s exactly what he’s about to give them.

Relations between the United States and Spain have been deteriorating for years. The main point of contention is Cuba. This island has been a Spanish colony for almost four centuries—and having lost much of the rest of its overseas empire, Spain is determined to keep a hold of it.

But Cuba lies only 90 miles from Florida. The vast majority of its exports go to the United States. So while political power over the island may rest with Spain, the U.S wields enormous economic influence. This has led to tensions between the two countries, and the dynamic has been made even more volatile by the emergence of a Cuban independence movement.

Spain has tried to put down this insurgency using brute force. But it believes the rebels are being supported and funded by sympathizers in America, further deepening the mistrust and antagonism between Madrid and Washington.

Ten weeks ago, those tensions boiled over when the USS Maine exploded and sank in Havana harbor. Sections of the American press blamed it on Spanish sabotage and whipped up a frenzy, insisting that the United States do more to defend its interests in Cuba. The U.S. issued an ultimatum, demanding that Spain give up the island. The Spanish refused, and within days, the two countries were at war. Now, Commodore Dewey has orders to seek and destroy a fleet stationed in Spain’s other major colony on the other side of the world—the Philippines.

But although Dewey has the enemy in sight, he knows that his own ships are silhouetted against the brightening horizon—and will present a tempting target. Fortunately, his guns have greater range than those of the Spanish. So, he signals the fleet not to move any closer. As long as they maintain a safe distance, they will be able to pick off the Spanish one ship at a time.

The plan is soon put to the test. A flash erupts from one of the Spanish ships, followed by a puff of smoke. Moments later, several shore batteries join in, sending shells screaming toward the Americans. But just as Dewey expected, the shells fall short, dropping harmlessly into the water.

So at an almost leisurely pace, Dewey's squadron turns its portside guns to the enemy. At their captain's signal, they unleash a thunderous broadside—and unlike the Spanish fire, their shells find their targets. Thick black smoke soon billows from the Spanish vessels and coastal batteries.

And once every American ship has fired, the fleet makes a wide, deliberate turn and steams back past the Spanish line, this time bringing the starboard guns to bear. And just as before, the Spanish shells fall short, while the American fire lands on target.

Over the next two hours, the Americans repeat this maneuver three more times. And every broadside leaves the Spanish fleet in worse condition than before.

One battered Spanish cruiser raises anchor and surges out of the bay at full steam. It isn’t making a run for freedom, though. Instead, it heads right for the Olympia, trying to bring the American flagship into range of its guns.

But it doesn’t make it. All six warships in Dewey’s squadron concentrate their fire on this attacker. Shell after shell tears into the Spanish vessel, punching holes through its hull and funnel. Listing heavily, the cruiser eventually abandons its hopeless charge and limps back into the bay.

By late morning, the Spanish flagship and most of the rest of the fleet are all in flames. The United States has won.

The scale of the victory is astonishing. Not a single American sailor has been killed by enemy action. The only fatality is a crewman who suffered a heart attack while battling a smokestack fire. Otherwise, Dewey’s fleet has emerged virtually unscathed.

And over the following days, U.S. landing parties secure key Spanish positions around the entrance to the bay. They encounter little resistance. And the strategic waterway is now firmly under American control.

But sitting at the head of the bay, the city of Manila itself remains in Spanish hands. This colonial capital is garrisoned by thousands of troops. Dewey knows that he doesn’t have enough Marines to take the city, so he cables Washington for reinforcements.

But the Americans and the Spanish are not the only players in this conflict. The Filipino people have ambitions of their own—and they have little intention of trading one colonial ruler for another.

Act Two

It’s 4 P.M. on June 12th, 1898, in Cavite el Viejo in the Philippines, six weeks after the U.S. naval victory in Manila Bay.

Standing by the front window of his mansion, Filipino revolutionary leader Emilio Aguinaldo waves to a crowd gathering outside. They’ve all arrived after hearing extraordinary news—this afternoon, Emilio will declare that after more than 300 years, the Philippines is no longer part of the Spanish Empire.

But it’s not the first time Emilio has attempted to overthrow Spanish rule. Two years ago, he had helped lead a rebellion that ended in defeat, and he was forced into exile in Hong Kong. But last month, he received a surprising message from the American forces in the region. After talks with Commodore George Dewey, Emilio was convinced that the Americans would support him in his fight against the Spanish, and he returned to the Philippines to lead his people in rebellion once again.

Since then, Emilio has assembled a revolutionary army with one purpose—to end Spanish rule in the Philippines once and for all.

His men have already driven colonial troops from most of the province, and now the time has come for an announcement three centuries in the making. A lawyer steps forward and reads out a Declaration of Independence. When he finishes, the flag of the new Philippine republic is unfurled, and the crowd solemnly listens to the revolutionary march that’s been adopted as its national anthem.

After the celebrations end, Emilio turns his attention to the final obstacle standing between his people and true independence—the city of Manila, where thousands of Spanish soldiers remain, secure behind their high walls.

The American fleet under the command of George Dewey seals off the harbor, while Emilio orders his army to surround the city on land. They block all roads and dig 14 miles of trenches, preventing any movement in and out of Manila. Then the revolutionaries seize the city’s only pumping station, depriving the Spanish garrison of fresh water. After this, Emilio settles back and waits for hunger and isolation to do the work.

Realizing that reinforcements are unlikely to arrive, the Spanish Governor-General of the Philippines quickly begins negotiations with Emilio. But that news isn’t received well in Madrid. The Governor-General is promptly dismissed and replaced by the city’s military commander, General Fermin Jaudenes. He takes charge with strict instructions to preserve Spanish honor in the Philippines, no matter what.

But General Jaudenes can do little to prevent the city’s slow decline. Food grows scarce, morale sinks, and he privately accepts that defeat is inevitable. Still, he is determined not to capitulate to the Filipino revolutionaries. He fears that would set a dangerous precedent for other Spanish colonies around the world. And just as importantly, he doesn’t want to surrender to what he considers an inferior race.

So, he summons the local Belgian consul. As a neutral party in the conflict, this man will be allowed to cross the siege lines and act as an intermediary. Jaudenes tells him that he is willing to surrender—but only to the United States. The consul delivers this proposal to Commodore Dewey. But Dewey is not enthusiastic. He doubts he has enough men to prevent the Filipino revolutionaries from entering Manila —and if he tried, the result could be a massacre.

But a few days later, American reinforcements arrive in the region, and Dewey reconsiders. He agrees in principle to the Spanish surrender, and over the next week, he and General Jaudenes negotiate an end to the siege.

But Spanish military code strictly forbade surrendering a stronghold without a fight. So the two men agree to stage a fake battle. On the appointed day, American warships will make a show of bombarding one coastal fort. The Filipino forces will be told to stay back for their own safety. And after the mock battle, the Spanish will raise a flag of surrender, and the Americans will move into Manila before Emilio Aguinaldo and his soldiers have a chance to react.

The plan preserves Spanish honor and ensures the Americans take possession of Manila without the Filipino revolutionaries interfering. But for the deception to work, it must be shrouded in secrecy. Only a handful of officers on either side will be entrusted with all the details. But if everything goes according to the script, the Battle of Manila will have an outcome that satisfies everyone—except for the people of the Philippines.

Act Three

It’s 9 A.M. on August 13th, 1898, in Manila Bay, three days after the Spanish and Americans agreed to stage a mock battle.

Captain Joseph Coghlan stands on the deck of USS Raleigh and watches as the ship’s guns unleash a volley of shells. He is one of the few Americans who has been told about the secret agreement with the Spanish. Every other officer on the bridge believes that they are taking part in a genuine attack.

And so far, everything is unfolding as planned. Most of the fleet has remained farther offshore while Raleigh and two other ships have taken up position across from a coastal battery.

Captain Coghlan has deliberately given his gunners an incorrect range of 7,000 yards. And that should mean their shells land safely in the empty ground beyond the shoreline.

But as the latest volley is fired, an explosion rises above the fort’s stone walls. It’s a direct hit.

One of his gunners has clearly ignored his instructions—and now that the correct range has been established, Raleigh’s other gunners join in as well. A flurry of shells whistles through the air and smashes into the fort. Angrily, Coghlan orders his ship to cease fire. The officers on the bridge stare at him in surprise, puzzled by this sudden outburst, but Coghlan offers no explanation. He orders the guns silenced, then directs Raleigh to leave the battle line altogether.

For an hour, the other ships continue to fire in the direction of the fort. American troops then advance toward Manila. And at the agreed moment, the Spanish garrison raises a white flag, allowing U.S. forces to occupy the city before Filipino revolutionaries have time to intervene.

But while this surrender may have been arranged in advance, the battle is not entirely make-believe. Men on both sides who do not know the full plan exchange real fire, and dozens are killed.

Still, the capture of Manila effectively marks the end of the Spanish-American War. Four months later, the United States and Spain sign the Treaty of Paris. Under its terms, Spain relinquishes its claims to several overseas colonies, and the Philippines is officially transferred to American control.

But for the Filipino revolutionaries, this is a devastating betrayal. And in less than a year, they will begin fighting a new war—against the United States. Their struggle will continue for decades, and genuine freedom will not come until 1946, well after the staged Battle of Manila denied them victory on August 13th, 1898.

Outro

Next on History Daily. August 14th, 1971. A study of prisoner behavior at Stanford University quickly descends into the psychological abuse of the experiment's volunteers.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing by Muhammad Shahzaib.

Sound design by Mollie Baack.

Music by Thrumm.

This episode is written and researched by Owen Paul Nicholls.

Edited by Scott Reeves.

Managing producer Emily Burke.

Executive Producers are William Simpson for Airship, and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.