There was no doubt as to the popularity of that order. "All we men" wanted to go in swimming, and that right away. In a jiffy, white figures began to drop over the side with a splash, and soon shouts of glee filled the air. The water was warm and clear as crystal, and so dense with salt that a man diving, came up like a cork. In fifteen minutes the order "Knock off swimming" was passed, and though we left the water with reluctance, obedience was prompt, lest the privilege might not again be accorded us.
After hammocks had been given out, boats hoisted—all the work of the day finished, in fact—most of the men gathered aft to hear the band of the "Oregon" play. It was a volunteer band; that is, the musicians were enlisted men, not assigned for the band. They played with vim and precision.
It was almost dark; only the ships' outlines could be made out. The red and white signal lights twinkled at intervals at the mastheads of different vessels, while beams of light showed on the still, dark water from open ports. The whole fleet lay quiet while the men listened to the strains of music from the "Oregon." It was more like the rendezvous of a cruising yacht club than a fleet of warships gathered in the enemy's country.
The music from the battleship ceased, and for a moment all was still save for the lapping of the water against the ships' sides and the splash of a fish as it leaped out of water.
Suddenly and together, a shrill piping on all the ships broke the silence, followed by the hoarse cry, "All the anchor watch to muster."
On all men-of-war at eight o'clock, the anchor watch is mustered. It consists of sixteen men—eight on duty from nine till one o'clock, the other eight from one till "all hands" at 5:30. The first part always calls its relief at one o'clock.
The mustering over, all flocked aft to hear the band again, but were disappointed, for the concert was over.
However, the men had come aft for music and music they must have in some shape.
So "Steve" the modest was dragged out, and after some persuasion sang the following to the tune of "Lou, Lou, How I Love Ma Lou." "Baron," the gunner's mate, accompanied him on the mandolin, and Eickmann, the marine corporal, helped out with his guitar.
"'Way down at the Brooklyn navy yard,Where ships are rigged for sea,Three hundred little 'heroes'Went aboard the old 'Yankee.'Oh! we were young and foolish,We longed for Spanish gore,And so they set us workingAs we never worked before.CHORUS:"Hard-tack and salt-horse every day,Work, slave, for mighty little pay;And just before we get to sleepWe hear the bosun pipe like this(Whistle),'Up all hammocks, all hands.'"They turn us out each morning,To scrub our working clothes;To polish guns and bright work,To 'light' along the hose.To wash down decks and ladders,To coil down miles of rope,To carry coal in baskets,To live on air and hope.CHORUS:"Hard-tack and salt-horse every day,Work, slave, for mighty little pay;And when we think our work is doneWe hear the bosun pipe like this(Whistle),'Turn to.'"Way down at Santiago,We fit the forts one day.The shells were bursting o'er us,There was the deuce to pay.We hid our inclinationTo run and hide below,Because we're little 'heroes,'They've often told us so.CHORUS:"Hard-tack and salt-horse every day,Work, slave, for mighty little pay;And just as all the fight was overWe heard the bosun pipe like this(Whistle),'Gun-deck sweepers, clean sweep fore and aft.Sweepers, clean your spit kits.'"One Saturday we anchoredJust off the Isle of Pines,To load up with pineapples,And look for Spanish signs.We called away the cutters,With seamen filled them up,And captured five small sailboats,Two Spaniards and a pup.CHORUS:"Hard-tack and salt-horse every day,Work, slave, for mighty little pay;And when we'd like to talk it overWe heard the bosun pipe this(Whistle),'Pipe down.'"
"'Way down at the Brooklyn navy yard,Where ships are rigged for sea,Three hundred little 'heroes'Went aboard the old 'Yankee.'Oh! we were young and foolish,We longed for Spanish gore,And so they set us workingAs we never worked before.
CHORUS:"Hard-tack and salt-horse every day,Work, slave, for mighty little pay;And just before we get to sleepWe hear the bosun pipe like this(Whistle),'Up all hammocks, all hands.'
"They turn us out each morning,To scrub our working clothes;To polish guns and bright work,To 'light' along the hose.To wash down decks and ladders,To coil down miles of rope,To carry coal in baskets,To live on air and hope.
CHORUS:"Hard-tack and salt-horse every day,Work, slave, for mighty little pay;And when we think our work is doneWe hear the bosun pipe like this(Whistle),'Turn to.'
"Way down at Santiago,We fit the forts one day.The shells were bursting o'er us,There was the deuce to pay.We hid our inclinationTo run and hide below,Because we're little 'heroes,'They've often told us so.
CHORUS:
"Hard-tack and salt-horse every day,Work, slave, for mighty little pay;And just as all the fight was overWe heard the bosun pipe like this(Whistle),'Gun-deck sweepers, clean sweep fore and aft.Sweepers, clean your spit kits.'
"One Saturday we anchoredJust off the Isle of Pines,To load up with pineapples,And look for Spanish signs.We called away the cutters,With seamen filled them up,And captured five small sailboats,Two Spaniards and a pup.
CHORUS:
"Hard-tack and salt-horse every day,Work, slave, for mighty little pay;And when we'd like to talk it overWe heard the bosun pipe this(Whistle),'Pipe down.'"
"That's great!" said one and all.
"There is just time for the 'Intermezzo' before tattoo, 'Baron,'" said "Pair o' Pants," the signal boy. "Give it to us, will you?"
"Baron" obligingly complied.
The boys lay around in comfortable, though ungraceful, attitudes, a small but appreciative audience.
As the last high note died away the ship's bugler began that lovely call, "tattoo." We listened in silence, for though we had heard it many times, it was always a delight to us. Then, too, it meant rest (not a drug in the market by any means). Every ship's crew in the harbor, at the same moment was listening to the call blown by their own bugler.
The men tumbled below and began to prepare for the voyage to dreamland.
Five minutes later, when the sleepy "taps" sounded, the decks were almost deserted save for the hammocks, which looked like huge cocoons swung horizontally.
The following days till Sunday were spent in unloading powder and shell. The six and eight-inch charges of powder and the shell were lifted by hand and slid down chutes to the barges alongside. To handle the powder and shell for the thirteen-inch guns, steam was called into service; the thirteen-inch charges being lowered into the waiting boat, by the aid of the cargo boom and steam winch.
This work was hard and the heat trying, but it was accomplished with good grace, for we were glad to get rid of the dangerous stuff.
Sunday, after the usual inspection, several visiting lists were arranged, the most popular being that for the "Oregon." We all wanted to inspect that wonderful ship. Visiting is generally conducted on Sunday or after dark. The word is passed for those who wish to visit a certain ship to "lay aft and report to the officer of the deck." The party, all in clean clothes, are taken to the vessel designated and lined up. After being counted they are allowed to go forward, where they yarn to their heart's content until the word is given by the boatswain's mate for them to muster aft again.
The "visiting party" to Uncle Sam's bulldog was cordially received and shown all over. The great battleship was as clean and neat as a new pin. She looked as if she had just come out of her builders' hands. Paint work spotless, brass work shining, engines fairly dazzling in their brightness. The crew contented and full of enthusiasm for their ship and commander—gallant Captain Clark!
We saw the guns that helped to lay low Cervera's splendid fleet and we saw "the men behind the guns."
Our attention was called to a Jacky sewing on a blue shirt.
"Do you see that man over there?" said our guide.
We answered "Yes."
"Well, that's the chap that blew up one of the torpedo boats."
"Is that so? Tell us about it." We gazed open-mouthed at the gunner as he sat cross-legged on the deck, sewing with all his might.
"Yes, that's the chap. You see, the Spaniard was coming in our direction, and coming like greased lightning. The six-pounders on the superstructure had not been able to stop her, and things began to be interesting—"
"Yes," we gasped, breathlessly, as he stopped to light his pipe.
"Well, as I was saying, the blooming torpedo boat came nearer and nearer, and did not seem to mind the hail of six-pounders any more than a duck does the rain. I dunno why, for she had no protection that a sixer would not penetrate.
"It got to be blamed exciting, when the officer of the division said to that feller over there, who was a captain of an eight-inch rifle, 'Try your hand at it.'
"Bill said, 'Aye, aye, sir, give me time and I'll plunk her sure.' All this time the sneaking craft was coming nearer and nearer. Bill adjusted his sight and looked and looked, but still did not fire.
"'For heaven's sake, hurry up!' said the division officer, getting nervous.
"'In a minute, sir,' said Bill. 'As soon as I get a good bead.'
"He was as cool as an ice machine, and as deliberate as an old hen, but he could shoot, so we held ourselves in as best we could and watched. After waiting for what seemed an hour, Bill pulled the lanyard and the old gun roared. As soon as the smoke cleared away, we looked to see the result of the shot. There was some wreckage floating where the torpedo boat had been—that was all. Bill's shot went home, and exploded in the boiler room, and the whole craft went up in an instant."
We looked again admiringly at the man sitting there so unconcernedly, and then in obedience to the boatswain's call, went aft and aboard our cutter.
All the ammunition for the fleet was unloaded by Tuesday. We still carried a small quantity of both powder and shell for the "Massachusetts."
Tuesday afternoon we anchored alongside the sailing collier "Frank A. Palmer," and began to coal. The "Yankee's" sister ship "Prairie," manned by the Massachusetts Naval Reserves, lay on the other side; we exchanged visits and found them good fellows, and we yarned away to our heart's content.
We had now become, in a degree, used to coaling; our muscles were hardened and some long-needed labor-saving devices had been introduced, so the work was a little easier.
Coaling continued till Friday night. During the morning of that day we were told that if two hundred tons were put aboard, a chance would be given us on the morrow to see the wrecks of Cervera's once fine vessels. It was all the incentive we needed, and the coal came aboard in a steady stream. A little after seven the required amount was in the bunkers, and by eight o'clock the stages and other coaling paraphernalia were stowed away and the "Yankee" had cast loose and was anchored by herself.
The following morning dawned bright and clear. Admiral Sampson came aboard at 8:30. We manned the "cat falls" and got under way at once.
On the way down to the wrecks, the ship was cleaned, so by the time we reached the ruins of the Spanish vessels, the "Yankee" was spick and span.
We passed the wrecks of the two torpedo boats, passed the mouth of Santiago harbor, till finally we came to the "Almirante Oquendo" and the "Maria Teresa," fifteen miles west of old Morro.
The two wrecks lay close together. They were a melancholy sight; the "Almirante Oquendo," badly listed to port, a great rent in her side, rusted, almost completely demolished. The "Maria Teresa" seemed in better shape, but many shot holes were visible in her side.
It was a dreary though gratifying sight. The great green-clothed mountains looked down serenely on these two examples of man's handiwork and man's destructiveness; the blue sea dashed itself to foam against the coral-bound coast; and the bright sun shone over all.
The admiral went over in our gig, together with the captain and executive officer. Several other boats went along, carrying, beside the regular crews, commissioned and chief petty officers.
As we watched the boats bobbing in the short billows on their way, we, who were left behind, could not help comparing these battered hulks before us with our magnificent ships in Guantanamo Bay.
All hail to the American seamen, "the men behind the guns"!
For a few days there was little to do beyond the never-ending routine work: scrubbing decks, cleaning paint, and polishing bright work on guns and equipments.
We were beginning to wonder if we were to lie at anchor indefinitely, and if our last chance of seeing any active service had gone by.
On the morning of Monday, August 1st, we had orders to get under way and go to sea. Tongues began to wag at once, and before we had fairly cleared the harbor a dozen different destinations had been picked out.
It would seem as if there could be no great danger in letting the men have some knowledge of where they are bound when fairly at sea, with no beings to whom the secret might be told, save sharks and dolphins, but
"Theirs not to make reply,Theirs not to reason why."
"Theirs not to make reply,Theirs not to reason why."
The navy has little use for Jacky's brains; only his trained muscles and sinews. There is no life that can be depended upon to take the pride of intellect out of a man like that of a sailor, as Rudyard Kipling has shown in the case of Harvey Cheyne. We of the crew could think of many a cad on whom we would like to try the discipline.
The most popular rumor ran to this effect: we are bound for Porto Rico to take part with the "Massachusetts," "New Orleans," "Dixie," and other ships of the fleet in a bombardment of San Juan.
By the time land had faded from view, we knew that we really were bound for Porto Rico, but for what purpose we knew not. The rumor was correct in part, at least.
We were glad to get to sea again. There is an undefinable feeling of relief, almost of joy, when the regular throbbing of the engines begins and the ship rolls and heaves to the swell.
The spirits of the men rise; smiles lighten up their faces, and snatches of song can be heard as they work coiling down lines, lashing movables, and preparing the vessel for the rough-and-tumble conflict with the sea.
As the sun sank, the waves rose. By the time the first night watch went on duty, the old steamer was tossing like a chip.
The guns' crews of the watch on deck were ordered to sleep by their posts, and all was in readiness for instant action.
At eleven o'clock we were roused by the call for "general quarters," and in a minute, all hands were in their places. We looked vainly, at first, for the cause of this commotion, but finally made out off our port bow the dim outlines of a steamer.
It was only when our ship was on the top of the roll that we could make out our chase at all—nothing but a wall of water could be seen when we lay in the trough.
"That boat is certainly doing her best to get away," said "Bill." "And, holy smoke! see how she rolls."
"She can't trot in our heat," said "Dye." "We're gaining on her every minute."
"She's not a warship," said "Long Tommy," who was lucky enough to possess a pair of glasses. "I wonder if we're going to get a prize at last?"
"You forget the fishing sloops. 'Remember the fish,'" laughed "Hay."
The two vessels came nearer and nearer, till finally they were within hailing distance.
"What ship is that?" called out Captain Brownson, through the megaphone. "And where are you bound?"
The answer came faintly over the tossing waves: "The 'Burton,' with coal for Santiago from Guadeloupe."
"Ah, ha!" said Tommy, "we get a prize at last."
"Wait a minute," said "Stump," "he is saying something else."
A gust of wind came at that moment and carried most of the sound away, but we gathered that our hoped-for prize had papers from our consul allowing her free passage.
There was a universal groan of disappointment, and when the order was given to "secure," the hose was pulled up with unnecessary violence, hatches were lowered, and gun closets closed with no gentle hands. Such keen disappointment must somehow find a vent.
There was great excitement the following afternoon when the word was passed for all hands to get out their leggings and to wear shoes to midday quarters. And when we were arranged into companies, and had haversacks, canteens, and knapsacks doled out to us, we concluded that a landing party would be made up for Porto Rico.
"The 'old man' is going to show the 'Spinache' that the 'Yankee' boys can fight on land as well as on sea," said Tommy, as he yanked at an obstinate haversack strap.
We marched round and round the spar deck to the music of bugle and drum till we got well into the swing of it, and felt very martial and formidable indeed.
The "Dixie" hove in sight at this juncture, and after a long megaphone conversation, we learned that the "Massachusetts," for which we had some ammunition, was on her way to Guantanamo, so we reluctantly turned around and retraced our way, the "Dixie" leading. Porto Rico was not for us. Alas!
We felt like
"The King of France and his hundred thousand menDrew their swords and put them up again."
"The King of France and his hundred thousand menDrew their swords and put them up again."
The next morning we hove-to a Norwegian steamer, the "Marie," and before we realized what was being done, we found that we had a prize at last. A snug little steamer she was, well loaded down with coal for Cervera's fleet.
"Cutlets" went over in a whaleboat, with a prize crew of six men.
"Well, well! this is almost too good to be true," said an after guard. "Thisisgreat luck. We capture a prize and get rid of 'Cutlets' at the same time."
To which we all said, Amen.
We separated from the "Marie," and, as the "Yankee" was much the faster, she was soon lost to sight.
The anchor had no sooner been dropped in Guantanamo Bay than our captain went over to the "New York," and then signals began to be displayed, and soon after all hands were hauling on the "cat falls."
The skipper returned; the gig was pulled up to its place, and very soon we were ploughing the water in the open. As we went out, our prize came in.
It seems the encounter with the "Burton" was told to the admiral, and he at once ordered us to go out and get her.
We headed straight out. The black smoke poured out of the funnels; the ship shook with the pounding of the strained engines. The land faded from view.
About two o'clock we sighted the object of our chase, and it only required a blank shot from the forward six-pounder to bring her to.
The prize crew, consisting of six seamen, some firemen and engineers, and officered by Lieutenant Duncan, went over and took possession of our second prize in one day.
Captor and captive then turned and headed for Guantanamo.
The men were in high spirits. Speculation was rife as to the amount of prize money each would secure, and some even went so far as to plan the spending of it.
Every one felt very gay, and as if something should be done to celebrate our good fortune. We would have liked to spend some money for an entertainment, but that was impossible.
"Dick," however, was impressed into service to furnish some amusement. "Dick," a forecastle man, is a born story-teller, and we knew if we could get him started, some fun would be assured.
After some pressure he acquiesced, and began the following yarn:
"One day a certain Irishman, Mike Dooley by name, departed this life. He was much respected, and his death caused no little sorrow to his friends and neighbors. His wife and children were simply inconsolable. The widow wished to have a handsome funeral in his honor and spent her savings in furtherance of that plan. She had enough money for everything, except the silver inscription plate. But that difficulty was easily overcome, for 'What's the matter wid Pat Molloy painting it nately in white paint?' she said.
"Pat, being approached on the subject, expressed his entire willingness, and soon after called for the casket and took it away. He was told to letter the following, in neat, white letters: 'Michael Dooley departed this life in his prime, at the age of twenty-eight.'
"Pat was a bricklayer by trade, and painting was only a 'side line' with him.
"He started to put the inscription on the casket, and got along bravely till he came to 'age of twenty-eight.' Then he realized that he could not make the figures. He puzzled over it a long while, for he did not like to ask and thus show up his ignorance.
"Finally a bright idea struck him. Four sevens make twenty-eight—why not put down four sevens—that was easy!
"The job was finished just in time.
"The relatives and friends were gathered round to pay their last respects. One friend was asked to get up and make a few remarks. He did so and began as follows:
"'I am glad to be able to say a few words on this sad occasion, a few words of praise for our beloved friend; for other words than praise could not be said of him. I am proud to have known him and to have been numbered among his friends. His virtues need hardly be repeated. You knew him well. His generosity, his friendliness, and all the rest he possessed. I knew him from his youth up, and I am well aware of his goodness, as are you. He was a good husband, a good father, and a good friend. It is hard to give him up, but it must be. He died at the age of——'
"Here the speaker glanced at the casket beside which he stood, and read the following:
MICHAEL DOOLEY
DEPARTED THIS LIFE IN HIS PRIME,
AT THE AGE OF
7777.
"'Yis, my bereaved friends,' he continued, 'he was a good father, husband, and friend, and none knows that better than I. He was cut off in the pride of manhood, you might say—in his prime, at the age of——'
"He glanced at the inscription again, then, after a painful pause, blurted forth: 'Well, how the divil did he escape the flood?'"
The sound of "tattoo" interrupted our laughter at this point, and all Hands tumbled below.
The following day we got rid of the last of the ammunition to the "Massachusetts." A sigh of relief and thankfulness went up as the last charge of powder was taken over the side.
The same day we saw some of our prize money vanish into thin air. The "Burton" was released, and steamed out of the harbor.
It was about this time that a well-authenticated rumor went the rounds to the effect that we were to go with a formidable fleet to Spain, harass her coasts, and do up Camara's fleet. This rumor was so well founded that many of us believed it, and, consequently, much time was spent in writing farewell letters.
The prospect of soon seeing the "land of the free and the home of the brave" was not very bright. The consensus of opinion at this time was that we would see our year out in Uncle Sam's service.
There was considerable gloom. The start once made and the "Yankee" actually on her way to the land of the Dons, all would be well and all hands would be cheerful; but the contemplation of the long trip in the wrong direction was a very different matter.
The air was full of rumors. All was uncertain. We continued to write farewell letters, while the invading fleet still lay quietly at anchor, but ready to sail to the ends of the earth at a few hours' notice.
The night of August 10th was moonless and dark. There had been no music from the "Oregon's" band, and none of our men felt inclined to sing.
The uncertainty had begun to tell, and all were a little depressed.
I was "it" for anchor watch, and, as is often the case, the anchor watch manned the running small boat.
We visited several vessels of the fleet, the crew staying in the boat while the officers went aboard. When we finally started to return to our own ship, we carried two of our officers, Mr. Duncan, Mr. Barnard, and an officer from the "Indiana." As we cleared the wall-like sides of the "St. Paul," we noted that the general signal call (four red lights) was up on the "New York." Then, as we watched, the red and white bulbs began to spell out a message that made us all thrill with joy. The interest of the moment broke down all barriers of rank, and officers and men spelled out the exciting words aloud.
A-S-S-O-C-I-A-T-E-D P-R-E-S-S D-E-S-P-A-T-C-H
S-T-A-T-E-S T-H-A-T P-E-A-C-E P-R-O-T-O-C-O-L
H-A-S B-E-E-N A-G-R-E-E-D U-P-O-N.
We Jackies would have liked to yell, but our lessons had been too well learned, and we restrained ourselves. We put the officer from the "Indiana" aboard his own ship and then returned to the "Yankee."
As soon as the boat was secured for the night, I went around waking some of my particular friends to tell them the great news, forgetting that they could see it quite as well as I. All were too good-natured, however, to object; on the contrary, they seemed glad to talk about it. There was some dispute as to the meaning of the word "protocol"; but all agreed that, whatever its meaning, it must be good, coupled as it was with "peace."
As we talked quietly, we heard faintly, softly, a verse of "Morse's" song:
"Our fighting cruise will soon be o'er,Hurrah! Hurrah!We'll be happy the moment our feet touch shore,Hurrah! Hurrah!And 'Cutlets' and 'Hubbub' and all the restMay stick to the calling they're fitted for best,Butwe'llall feel gay whenThe 'Yankee' goes sailing home."
"Our fighting cruise will soon be o'er,Hurrah! Hurrah!We'll be happy the moment our feet touch shore,Hurrah! Hurrah!And 'Cutlets' and 'Hubbub' and all the restMay stick to the calling they're fitted for best,Butwe'llall feel gay whenThe 'Yankee' goes sailing home."
In spite of the peace news we got orders to go out with the "Dixie" and blockade the Crooked Island Passage. So about four o'clock we hauled up the anchor and went to sea. All were gay, and many shook their hands in farewell to Guantanamo Bay.
We were instructed to keep a sharp lookout for the steamer "Monserrat," which had gained fame as a blockade runner. It was rumored that she carried Captain-General Blanco; that she was well armed, and had a captain noted for his unscrupulousness and for his fighting qualities.
"I'd like to meet that ship," said "Hay," "have a good 'scrap' with her, get a couple of shot holes in our upper works and battle flags, and then bring her triumphantly into Key West or, better still, New York."
"Want to go out in a blaze of glory, do you?" said Tommy, the long.
"Sure. I'd like to burn some of that powder we took such trouble to load."
This expressed the sentiments of the whole ship's company.
To have one more good fight—in which we were to come out victorious, of course—get a few souvenir shot holes where no harm would be done, and then go home. This would just about have suited us.
We floated around lazily all day Friday and Saturday with a chip on our shoulder, as it were, but no "Monserrat" came to knock it off.
The lookouts at the masthead strained their eyes, and half the men not actually at work did likewise. All in vain; not an enemy did we see. A number of transports homeward bound, bearing worn but happy soldiers, were passed, and some came near enough to exchange cheers and good wishes.
The screw revolved but slowly, and the ship moved just enough to give steerage way. Every passing wave did as it wished with the great hulk, and she rolled like a log in the long swell.
Sunday night a change came over the almost quiet ship. The propeller turned with some energy; the steering engine whirred, and the "Yankee" changed her course. This time she headed straight for Guantanamo, and before many minutes we knew that we were returning to our old anchorage. The orders were to blockade the passage and keep a bright lookout for the "Monserrat"; if by Sunday at six o'clock she had not appeared, we were to return to the fleet.
The men who were so sure that we should never see Guantanamo again wore a sheepish air, and those who were not so sure lorded over them and remarked cheerfully, "I told you so."
Those of us who were sleeping at midnight were wakened and told to come to the port and look. Sleepily we obeyed, but the moment we reached the opening we were wide awake. There, not three miles off, rolling in the ground swell, lay a great fleet, the searchlights sweeping the heavens and sea; the signal lanterns twinkling.
As we looked, we saw at the masthead of the foremost vessel the signal lights spell out A followed by D, the "Yankee's" private night signal. Then, and our eyes almost started from our heads as we gazed, the lights continued to spell:
"Blockade raised; hostilities ceased."
"Hurrah!" shouted some one behind me.
"Wait a minute," said "Hay," "that's not all."
The lights went on spelling: "We are on our way to New York. You are to proceed to Guantanamo."
The hurrah, as we spelled out the first sentences, was followed by a groan, as we read the last. We were glad, indeed, to know that peace had come, but it was hard to see that great fleet homeward bound, and know that we must go back to our old post, to stay indefinitely.
"Hope deferred maketh the heart sick."
The days following our arrival at Guantanamo were days of keen expectation and equally keen disappointment. A rumor that we were to return home at once would start up from nowhere in particular, and circulate until it was believed. Then would come a denial and consequent discontent. The enforced idleness of riding at anchor day after day became so monotonous at last, that any little incident served to create excitement. Visiting parties between the ships were permitted occasionally, and the "Yankee's" crew grasped the opportunity to inspect some of the other auxiliary cruisers. One or two liberty parties were allowed ashore at Camp McCalla, from which the men returned, tired and warm, but full of enthusiasm and interest for the things they had seen. The amount of "curios" and souvenirs brought aboard would fill a museum. Pieces of projectiles and Mauser cartridge shells, fragments of an unusual red wood, and pieces of fossil rock, of which the cliff was composed, were stowed away in bags and ditty boxes.
The bay now had a very deserted appearance. All the battleships and many of the cruisers had gone North. The auxiliary cruisers, "New Orleans," "Newark," "Marblehead," and a number of converted yachts were all that remained, besides our own vessel. It was still a goodly fleet, but in comparison to the great squadron, seemed small.
For the first time we were at a loss for something to do. Time hung heavy on our hands. The routine work, including morning "quarters," was finished by half-past ten every morning, and the balance of the day was spent as pleased us best, within certain well-defined limits.
Much time and thought were spent in chasing down rumors, and watching signals from the flagship.
Troopships from Santiago, laden with homeward-bound troops, sailed by the mouth of the harbor, but we, the first volunteers to reach the seat of war and to see active service, still lingered. The "Resolute" and "Badger" left at last, and it was rumored that we would follow next day. But still we lingered.
Occasionally we got mail that told of home doings, and almost every letter finished with, "I suppose that you will soon be home, now that peace is declared." But still we lingered.
We knew that we could hardly expect to be relieved at once; that there were many arrangements to be made in the Navy Department; many orders to be signed, and new plans to be formulated. But the thought carried little comfort with it. The pangs of homesickness were getting a strong hold on us.
Dr. "Gangway" McGowan had the ship's carpenter nail a nice, smooth piece of board over a hole in the wire netting of his cabin door; some wag took advantage of the opportunity, and lettered plainly the following, on its white surface:
He would have done a rushing business if he could have found a sure cure for homesick "heroes."
On Tuesday, August 23d, our depression reached its culminating point, for the word had been passed unofficially that we might lay here indefinitely—two weeks, a month, three months—there was no telling when we would get away from what had become a hateful spot to us. The men went about with a dejected air, and while all were good-natured enough, there was little inclination to talk.
As night drew near, we saw several troopships pass the harbor homeward bound, and the sight did not lighten our gloom.
When the sun finally sank, we were as melancholy a crowd as ever trod a deck.
The men gathered in little groups, bewailing in monosyllables the decidedly gloomy future, when some one glanced up and saw that Commodore Watson's flagship, the "Newark," was showing the general signal lights. Then, as the answering lights blazed on the other ships, the red and white lanterns began to spell out a message.
The news spread at once that the flagship was signalling a general message or one of interest to the whole fleet.
Soon the rail was lined with signal boys, and signal boys,pro tem.
Those who could read them, spelled the messages aloud, letter by letter.
"'Y-A-N-K-E-E' A-N-D 'N-I-A-G-A-R-A' W-I-L-L
S-A-I-L F-O-R T-O-M-P-K-I-N-S-V-I-L-L-E T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W.
'D-I-X-I-E' A-N-D 'F-E-R-N'
W-I-L-L G-O T-O H-A-M-P-T-O-N R-O-A-D-S."
With a single bound all was changed from gloom to gladness.
No man could say how glad he was, but every man felt his heart grow warm within him. There was a deep feeling of gratitude for the providential care we had received, and for the happy release that now had come.
"Cupid," the ship's bugler, played "Home, Sweet Home," and instead of mobbing him as we would have done had he played it three hours earlier, we applauded. He also played "America," and then "Dixie," in honor of our Maryland friends on our sister ship of that name. It pleased them mightily, as was evidenced by the cheer that came over the quiet water to us. Their bugler returned the compliment soon after by playing "Yankee Doodle."
There was much good feeling when the men went below, to turn in, but not to sleep; we were too happy for that.
As the talk and laughter gradually died down (the order, "Turn in your hammocks and keep silence," was not very strictly observed that night), a voice would be heard singing—not always the same voice:
"But we'll all feel gay whenThe 'Yankee' goes sailing home."
"But we'll all feel gay whenThe 'Yankee' goes sailing home."
The following morning Scully did not have to repeat "up all hands," for he had hardly got the words out of his mouth before every man was scrambling into his clothes as fast as he could.
Soon after breakfast the order was given to hoist up the catamaran, and then the rest of the boats were pulled up one by one. The boat's falls were run away with in a fashion that made the officers smile. The tackle-blocks fairly smoked.
The only thing that marred our perfect joy was the departure of some of the marines to the "New Orleans." We had grown to like them all very much, and especially a pleasant fellow we dubbed "Happy," because of his unvarying cheerfulness. We had hoped to bring them all back with us, and were sorry to see them go.
We listened with eager ears for the final order before sailing, "All hands on the cat falls," and just before noon we heard it. In ready response the men came tumbling up, and in a jiffy the anchor was pulled up as if it weighed five hundred, instead of five thousand pounds.
The leadsman stood on his little platform and sang out, as he heaved the lead, the number of fathoms. It was the last touch we had of Cuban soil.
As the old ship gathered headway, cheer after cheer rang out from the ships that were left behind, and in answer to each, our crew, which had gathered on the forecastle, gave three rousing hurrahs and a tiger.
So we sailed out of Guantanamo Bay for the last time.
It was with a feeling of sadness mixed with joy that we watched the headland, that stands like a guard on one side of the bay, disappear in the haze. We were one of the first ships to enter its then hostile portals. We had gained renown there; we had seen the American flag raised on its beautiful shores, and but a few minutes ago we heard a ringing American cheer come over its clear waters, bidding us Godspeed and a joyful home coming.
The voyage home was like a triumphal journey. All hands were in high spirits. The gloom of a few hours before was dispelled by the talismanic words, "'Yankee' and 'Niagara' will sail for Tompkinsville."
Though we were exceedingly glad, there was a good deal of quiet thinking going on.
One and all realized that we had been exposed to no ordinary dangers. Danger from the enemy's fire; danger from a deadly climate; danger from the effects of unaccustomed labor; danger from wind and raging sea. We had been brought through safe and sound by an all-wise God to lead peaceful, useful, and, it is hoped, helpful lives at home.
This same thought had been in our minds many times before, and with the feeling of thankfulness would come a sense of surprise that we should pass through it all without harm.
We sped on and on, the ship's prow ever pointed North. We watched the water to note the change in color; to see when the blue water of the Gulf Stream should be left behind and the green northern sea should be entered.
As we neared New York our impatience grew with every added mile, and this eagerness was felt by officers as well as men.
We sometimes forgot that our officers were capable of feeling disappointment, impatience, and joy; that they also had to stand watch and get along on short allowance of sleep; that they, too, were subject to annoyances as well as we. If we had not felt this before, we fully realized, now, how muchourofficers had done for us.
Lieutenants Duncan, Greene, and Barnard, Dr. McGowan, Ensigns Dimock and Andrews, always treated us fairly and honestly.
Every man has a deep-seated feeling of loyalty and affection for them that will last as long as life shall last.
As the tropical latitudes were left astern the nights became cool, and the watch on deck had the novel experience of walking post in pea coats. Shortly after daybreak on the twenty-seventh of August the Atlantic Highlands were sighted, and, to quote one of the forecastle men, "All hands shouted to see God's country once more!"
Though we had seen the Highlands, Sandy Hook, and all the familiar landmarks of the harbor many times, never had they seemed so attractive.
The steam vessels we met tooted a welcome, as our identity became known, and the sailing craft dipped their colors in salute.
Inside the Narrows, and ranged along the Staten Island shore, we found our companions of the Santiago blockade, and, as we passed through the fleet to our anchorage, the crew stood at "quarters" in their honor.
We heard later of the great reception these tried and true fighting ships of Uncle Sam's had received, and we only regretted that we were not present to add our little mite to the applause.
After two days' stay off Tompkinsville, during which time the ship was fairly overrun with visitors eager to see the "Yankee" and her crew of "heroes," we steamed through the Narrows en route for League Island. Orders had arrived from Washington providing for the paying off and discharge of the New York Naval Reserves, and little time was lost in obeying.
On reaching League Island, the naval station near Philadelphia, we found the old-time war monitors "Nahant" and "Jason" in port. The crew of the "Nahant," made up of the New York Naval Reserves, were in readiness to accompany the "Yankee's" crew back to the metropolis.
While waiting for the specified date—Friday, September 2d—bags were packed for the last time, and all preparations made for leaving the ship. Now that the hour for departure was rapidly approaching, many of the boys began to express regrets. Despite the hardships attending the cruise, it had brought many happy days—days made pleasurable by novel and strange surroundings—and it is not claiming too much to say that not one of the "Yankee's" crew would have surrendered his experience.
Friendships had been formed, too—friendships cemented by good fellowship and mutual peril. Those who have spent many days at sea know that acquaintances made on shipboard in the midst of calms and storms and the dangers of the deep, are lasting. And that was now being impressed upon the boys of the "Yankee."
While the crews of the "Nahant" and "Yankee" were preparing for the railway trip to New York, arrangements were being made in that city for a rousing welcome to the returning Naval Reserve Battalion.
Shortly after ten the boys were mustered aft to hear Captain Brownson's parting speech. In his usual brisk manner he said that we were now to go back to our peaceful avocations; to our homes; to join our relatives and friends, and to become again private citizens. He ended by wishing us the best of luck.
The cheers that followed shook the old ship from keel to topmast, nor were the cheers for Lieutenant Hubbard any the less hearty.
A very few minutes after, we piled into a tug and steamed away. Little was said, for there was a feeling of real regret: we were fond of the old boat, after all.
"Patt," the gunner's mate; the marines, and the few men of the engineer force who stayed on board, waved good-by.
We boarded a special train with the crew and officers of the "Nahant," and were soon speeding over the level country towards New York.
After a very fast trip we reached Jersey City, where we were fitted out with rifles and belts, and were met by the band that was to lead us through the city.