We can easily imagine a young man looking out the porthole of his ship in Havana Harbor and admiring the Cuban sunset.

Friend Jenkins was a 32-year-old first lieutenant from Pittsburgh and he must have been immensely proud to serve on the first battleship constructed for the U.S. Navy, the USS Maine. At 9:40 p.m. Feb. 15, 1898, a gigantic explosion devastated the forward section of the ship, killing over 260 of the crew within minutes. Lt. Jenkins was one of only two officers to die that night.

By 1890 the once great Spanish Empire in the new world had been reduced to the islands of Cuba and Puerto Rico. Long simmering tensions in Cuba erupted into open rebellion in 1895 and the Spanish government had resorted to brutal methods to crush it.

Americans were outraged by these terrible events so close to our shores. Business leaders worried about their investments.

At the same time, rapid communication was transforming the news.

Cheap mass market newspapers fought for readers in the rapidly expanding cities of America. Most well-known were Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World and William Randolph Hearst’s New York Journal, which both used increasingly hysterical headlines to sell papers.

The situation in Cuba was made-to-order for this war of words and pictures. Stories were often twisted beyond recognition. Journal artist Frederick Remington’s request to come home because “there is no war” was met with this reply from Hearst, “You furnish the pictures; I’ll furnish the war.”

Into this rapidly deteriorating situation, the battleship Maine had been sent to Havana to protect American citizens.

The immediate U.S. Navy investigation concluded that a bomb had exploded outside the ship and war became inevitable. Nobody, then or now, has ever determined exactly what happened to the Maine, but few people cared.

Newspaper headlines screamed this was “The Work of an Enemy” and the cry went up to “Remember the Maine.” Only President William McKinley, a Civil War veteran, seemed reluctant.

“I have been through one war, and I do not want to see another,” he said.

Events were soon beyond his control and war with Spain was declared in April 1898.

Because of our Revolution, Americans developed a reflexive distrust of “standing armies.”

The practical result was an almost total disregard for any national preparation to fight a major conflict. A pattern of starting from scratch was repeated several times. Most notably, after the Civil War the armies were disbanded, weapons were discarded and the soldiers sent home.

As a result, America was ill-equipped to go to war with a major European power in 1898. Or so it seemed.

As it happens, one element of our national defense had received considerable attention in the two decades before the Maine disaster. A series of events around the world and within the nation led to a growing realization that America needed a strong navy to survive and thrive in a world of international trade and competing empires.

Two great oceans had kept us isolated from world affairs, but modern technology was making it increasingly difficult to stay aloof, while rapidly expanding businesses needed new markets for their goods.

The Maine was the first of a new class of all steel hull warships developed to meet the demands of this changing world. Not surprisingly, 6,000 tons of nickel steel plate armor came from the Homestead Works of Carnegie Steel Company.

By 1898 the Maine had been joined by several other battleships and armored cruisers to form a modern fighting force that was ready to meet this new challenge.

As war clouds loomed, the Asiatic Fleet was ordered to make ready to challenge a Spanish squadron stationed in the Philippine Islands.

Under the command of Commodore George Dewey, the ships sailed to the large British base in Hong Kong. When war was declared, Dewey received orders to attack, and his officers were given a farewell dinner by their hosts.

Dewey later recalled overhearing a common remark, “A fine set of fellows, but unhappily we shall never see them again.” In the British view, the Spanish fleet and harbor defenses would destroy these gallant Americans.

The Battle of Manila Bay commenced at dawn April 30, 1898, after the fleet slipped past the harbor forts during the night.

Dewey stood on a small deck of the flagship USS Olympia and calmly issued an order to the ship’s captain, “You may fire when ready Gridley.”

Two hours later, most of the Spanish fleet was on fire or sinking, and the Americans broke off the fighting to have breakfast.

Resuming the battle, the American guns destroyed the surviving ships and shore defenses. By noon the battle was over. One American sailor had died of sunstroke.

The fight did not go as smoothly for the army. Thousands of men were hastily equipped with antique guns and woolen uniforms before departing for battle in the tropical heat.

By mid-June, the first troops landed near the capital of Santiago and major fighting began for control of the hills around the city.

The Spanish defenders were finally driven off San Juan Hill shortly after Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders and several units of Black troops charged up and captured nearby Kettle Hill.

John “Black Jack” Pershing, serving as a leader in the African American 10th Cavalry Regiment, later recalled with pride the remarkable sight of white and Black units fighting side by side.

The capture of Santiago left the remaining Spanish fleet in Cuba at the mercy of American guns on the high ground. On July 3, those ships made a run for it to escape the Atlantic Fleet blockading the harbor.

The results were entirely predictable. Only hours after the chase began all the Spanish ships were run aground or sunk, with the loss of one American sailor.

Independence Day dawned with the United States taking a new place in the order of nations. The fighting had lasted only 10 weeks and a peace treaty was signed in December 1898. Secretary of State John Hay would soon refer to this conflict as “a splendid little war.”

Steve Cicero, a former history teacher with the Butler Area School District, gives presentations on history as The History Hobo and can be reached at thehistoryhobo@gmail.com.