"Hay" proved to be a prophet.
An hour later, on rounding a point of land, we came upon a small, armed launch steaming about near an old-time roofed-in gunboat which was riding at anchor in the harbor. As soon as we hove in sight the gunboat and launch opened fire. It was at long range, however, and the projectiles merely stirred up the water a mile away.
As the "Yankee's" guns replied, a two-masted steamer made her appearance from within the harbor and vanished behind the keys. The fusillade was lively, we firing fully one hundred rounds, but there was little damage done. After a time, the launch retreated, and we went outside for the night.
"It's the last of that scrap," remarked Tommy, the boatswain's mate, as he piped down. "We haven't any time to devote to such small fry."
The following morning, after "all hands," the "Yankee" started westward along the coast. Cienfuegos was passed, and presently the cruiser was taken nearer shore. The lookouts were told to keep watch for horsemen riding near the beach. This order aroused our flagging interest, and the majority of men on board maintained a careful scrutiny of the white strip of land just beyond the breakers.
It was not until noon, however, that our search was rewarded. It was just after passing a deep inlet that one of the lookouts espied a group of men gathered near the water's edge. There seemed to be a number of them, and not far away could be seen a blue and white flag flying from a small staff.
The engines were stopped, and a boat officered by Lieutenant Duncan, and carrying "Hay" as interpreter, went ashore. "Hay" had spent several years in the West Indies and was thoroughly familiar with the Spanish language. As he was unique in that respect on board the ship, he often did duty as interpreter.
The boat landed in a little cove. After parleying for a while, one of the landing party was seen to wigwag. A few moments later the boat returned, bringing three Cubans, one of whom was the Cuban governor of Matanzas. The others were a captain and commander respectively. "Hay" was immediately surrounded and asked to describe what he saw ashore.
"I have had the honor of photographing a detachment of the Cuban Army of Liberation," he replied, quizzically. "To tell the truth, it looked like a part of Coxey's army. There were about thirty of them, and the clothing of the whole outfit wouldn't supply a New England farmer with a season's scarecrow. They carried guns of all descriptions, some of them with the barrels sawed off short like cavalry carbines; and not one of the men looked as if he knew the meaning of a square meal."
"Like Washington's army at Valley Forge, eh?" observed LeValley, joining the group.
"Yes, and they are fighting for their liberty, too."
"How did they like being photographed?" asked Tommy.
"Tickled to death. When I asked them to line up they almost fell over each other. Next to eating, I think the poor devils love to have their pictures taken. They were just like children, and when I pressed the button they stood round waiting for the photograph to drop from the kodak."
"Reminds me of the Cubans of Puerto Principe when the railway was built to that place," put in "Zere," the chief quartermaster. "A temporary roundhouse had been constructed, and when the first locomotive reached the city and was placed in it to be cleaned, all the natives from miles around gathered there. They crowded the windows and doors and were evidently waiting for something. Finally the engineer asked one of them what he wanted to see. 'We watch for mule to come out,' was the startling reply."
"Mule?" echoed Flagg.
"Yes, that was the only motive power known to them," grinned "Zere." "They thought even a Yankee engine must have a mule somewhere inside."
"That's like the natives of Guatemala," spoke up "Hop," the messenger. "When the street cars were introduced it was the usual thing for a native wishing to ride, to mount the platform and knock politely on the door. Some one inside would rise and open it, and then the native would enter and shake hands all round."
"Fancy doing that on a Broadway cable car," laughed "Stump."
Our imagination was not strong enough for that.
The Cuban guests remained with us for several hours, then went ashore, together with a boat-load of provisions contributed by the ship.
The whaleboat returned to the ship when the watch on deck had just been piped to supper. The other watch, therefore, had the job of pulling her up. The steady tramp, tramp, began and the boat slowly rose up foot by foot, till it was level with the rail, then there was a sudden jar and a crash. In an instant six men of the crew were in the water, while the boat floated away by itself.
There was a rush of feet on deck, loud shouts and cries of "Throw them a rope," "Set adrift the life buoy," "Where's that life belt?" and the like.
The men at mess jumped up, overturning cups and plates and dishes of food. One forecastle man pulled off his jumper and dove in to help.
The sea ladder was put over the side and "Long Tommy" went down it, taking with him a piece of line; this he slipped under the arms of Rowland, the forecastle man, who had struck an oar on the way down, and was hurt. The man was soon hauled up on deck. The other four were also rescued. One went floating calmly off on the life buoy and was picked up by the gig, and the rest caught rope-ends and were safely hauled aboard, none the worse for their involuntary bath.
Lines were coiled down again, the sea ladder unshipped and put in its place, and soon all was quiet and shipshape again—but we discovered that two spit kits and a monkey-wrench had been thrown overboard to aid the sinking sailors.
"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," quoted the "Kid," who happened to be sweeper that week. "I won't have to polish the brass onthosekits again."
Shortly after the return of the last boat, smoke was sighted to seaward. The crew was called to general quarters without delay, and our ship steamed out to investigate. After a brief but exciting chase, we discovered that the supposed enemy was the auxiliary cruiser "Dixie," a sister ship of the "Yankee." She was manned by the Maryland Naval Reserves, and her armament was composed of six-inch breechloading rifles, not of the rapid-fire class.
It soon became evident that her commanding officer, Commander Davis, was superior in rank to Commander Brownson, and he took charge of affairs at once. Captain Brownson was rowed over to the "Dixie" to pay his respects, and on his return a rumor that we were to be relieved of coast patrol duty by the "Dixie" and to proceed to Key West, went through the ship like wildfire.
Tom LeValley brought the news to a group of us gathered on the after gun deck. We were just discussing the peculiar, and apparently ridiculous, degrees of etiquette found among naval officers in general, as exemplified by the ranking of Commander Davis over Commander Brownson.
"They are both commanders," Tommy was explaining, "but Commander Davis happens to rank Commander Brownson by sixteen numbers in the official list. Both entered the service November 29, 1861, and—"
"Whoop!"
Down the ladder charged LeValley, wildly flourishing his cap. He stopped in front of us and gasped: "Hurrah! we're going—going to the United States, fellows."
"What's up?" demanded "Stump."
"The 'Dixie'—"
"Yes?"
"She's to relieve us, and we are ordered to Key West and then to New York. We're going—"
"Rats!" broke in "Hay," in disgust. "You can't give us any game like that. It's a rumor, my boy. We're never going home. The 'Yankee' is the modern 'Flying Dutchman,' and—"
At that moment the "Kid" appeared in sight, and his beaming face convinced us. It was glorious news, but not one of us felt like cheering. Our emotions were too deep for that. The mere prospect of seeing home again was enough pleasure for the moment, and we were content to talk quietly over the welcome possibility of soon meeting relatives and friends.
The "Yankee" was destined, however, to experience a little more service before dropping anchor in home waters.
For several days we cruised along the coast between Casilda and Cienfuegos. We came to know it very well; every ravine in the mountains was familiar, every inlet in the coral-bound shore known to us. It began to grow monotonous.
Time lay rather heavy on our hands, but not too heavy, for we were put to work, two guns' crews at a time, coaling in a new and torrid fashion: the coal in the after hold had not all been taken out during the northern cruise, so it was decided to pack it in bags, two hundred pounds to a bag, carry it forward and stack it in an unused ballast tank.
Number Six and Number Eight guns' crews were among the first to engage in this pleasant occupation.
We found heat enough below to supply a good-sized house all winter, so clothing seemed unnecessary. We stripped to the waist, "Cumming," a member of Number Six gun's crew, remarking that he thought a cool glance and a frozen smile would be sufficient in such a warm climate.
The work was hard and dirty and the heat terrific. We saw no necessity for the transfer. Jack never can see the need of work unless it happens that some other crew is doing it.
We cheered ourselves, however, by singing "There's a hot time in the old ship to-day."
While we lay close inshore, the "Dixie" cruised outside, and toward evening the two vessels met, and together we went to Casilda, a port near Trinidad. We stood by while the "Dixie" threw a few shells into the fort. Two days later the "Yankee" parted from her consort and proceeded to the Isle of Pines.
It was here one of the most laughable incidents of the cruise occurred. While steaming past one of the outlying islands, a small fleet of fishing sloops was discovered at anchor inshore. Under ordinary circumstances such unimportant craft would not have been molested, but in the present case it was suspected that they formed part of the fleet supplying fish to the Havana market. To destroy them was our bounden duty.
"Man the starboard fo'c'sle six-pounder and fire a shell in their direction," ordered the captain from the bridge.
The gun was loaded in short order, and presently a projectile went screeching across the water, dropping with a splash near the largest sloop. Several small rowboats were seen to pull away from the smacks, and it was evident the crews had fled in terror. Directly after dinner, the "Yankee's" first cutter and the second whaleboat were ordered away, manned and armed. A Colt machine gun was placed in the bow of the former, and each carried an extra squad of armed marines.
When the expedition returned it had in tow five decked sloops, one of which contained a quantity of fresh fish. Orders were given to attach the latter to our stern, and to fire the others and set them adrift. Before this was done, however, enough fish to supply the wardroom and cabin messes were taken out.
"The crew can have its share to-morrow," quoth the captain.
The "crew" waited impatiently, but when the morrow came it was found that, through some one's blunder, the sloop containing the fish had been burned, and an empty one towed to sea with us. The joke, if it might be so termed, was on the crew.
The watchword heretofore on the "Yankee," as on every one of Uncle Sam's ships, had been "Remember the Maine." Hereafter it was "Remember the fish." This was done so persistently that the officer who was responsible for the blunder was dubbed "Fish," and whenever he went near any member of the crew he was likely to hear, in a low tone, "Remember the fish."
After leaving the Isle of Pines the eastern shore of Cuba was rounded and a straight run made for Key West. At noon on the 27th of June, just twenty-nine days after the "Yankee" sailed from New York, we again entered a home port. The time was brief as time goes, but our varied experiences in foreign waters made the sight of the stars and stripes flaunting over American soil particularly pleasing.
As we neared our anchorage the most entrancing rumors were rife. We were to get shore liberty without doubt, and the ship was to be coaled by outside labor. We took no stock in the latter rumor till an officer voiced it—then we believed. Our clean blues were furbished up, lanyards scrubbed, and money counted. We understood that there was little to see at Key West; that it was a dull and uninteresting place. Still it was land, and we had not set foot ashore for almost three months.
If we had not been so anxious to get ashore we might have been able to appreciate the marine picture.
The harbor, if it could be called a harbor, was full of war vessels, prizes, and colliers. Three grim monitors tugged at their anchor chains, apparently impatient at the restraint, while a few graceful, clean-cut, converted yachts swung with the tide.
The gunboat "Wilmington," and the cruisers "Newark" and "Montgomery," floated with a bored air. In ship's language they said, Why are we loafing here? Why not be up and doing?
The "Lancaster," a fine old frigate, the flagship of the commodore, had a fatherly air and seemed to say: "Be good and you will all have a chance."
Once more we got our shore-going clothes ready, only to be disappointed, and again the promises made to us proved elusive. The day following our arrival, we were told that no shore liberty would be given at Key West, and while the reasons were all sufficient, a man who has set his mind on an outing ashore after a hundred days at sea, finds it somewhat hard to reconcile himself to the inevitable.
One of the hardest, if not the hardest, thing we had to bear was the lack of letters and news from home. When one has been deprived of all tidings from his own people for so long the longing for word of them becomes almost unbearable.
In the midst of our toughest work we felt that a letter from home would act like a strong tonic and brace us for the effort, and it would have done so. But no such balm came, though we eagerly scanned every incoming vessel for the signal "We have mail for you." Now at last, though there might be tons on tons of coal to be put in at Key West, though the ship might have to be scrubbed and painted from truck to water line, we felt certain we would get letters from home. Letters that we ached for. And so when we sighted the fleet and old fort, and realized that we had reached Key West and mail at last, our joy was too great for utterance.
The whaleboat went ashore and brought back two bags of precious missives, with the sad news that eight bags had been sent on a despatch boat to the "Yankee" at Santiago.
We were glad enough to get two bags, yet we almost gnashed our teeth when we thought of the eight fat pouches that were chasing us around the island of Cuba.
The mail was brought to the wardroom and dumped out on the table for the commissioned officers to sort and pick out their own letters. A news-hungry group stood the while at the doors, watching and mentally grumbling that such an awfully long time was being taken to accomplish so simple a thing.
Finally the master-at-arms was sent for and the worth-its-weight-in-gold mail turned over to him to distribute. To the gun deck poured the eager throng. The master-at-arms backed up against the scuttle-butt for protection, then shouted out: "Let one man from each mess get the mail; the rest of you stand off, or you won't get any till to-morrow." The rest of us stood to one side then, realizing that time would be thus saved.
"Jimmy Legs" called out the names, and the representatives of the different messes took them. We heard Kennedy's name called, and a murmur of sympathy spread around. "Poor chap," said one, "he would give the use of his wounded arm for that letter."
"Yes," said another; "he has to suffer homesickness as well as pain, and a letter from home would brace him up as nothing else could."
Every man took his treasures to a quiet place, a place apart, if such could be found, to enjoy them alone. The few who got none—well! may I never see such disappointed, sorrowful faces again.
The letters read and pondered over awhile, tongues began to be loosened, and soon all over the ship was heard the buzz of conversation. Chums told each other the little items of news that to them seemed the most important things in the world. And after all had been told and retold, the men gathered in groups and discussed their past months' experiences.
"Do you know," said Craven (a descendant of that famous line of naval heroes, a seaman and member of Number Thirteen six-pounder gun's crew), "I think we are wonderfully fortunate to come through this experience as well as we have. Just think! We have been under fire five times, and only one man has been injured. Why," he continued, and his hearers nodded assent, "I used to have the most awful visions—thought I saw the men lying round our gun in heaps, while fresh ones jumped to take the places of the fallen."
"And they would," said messenger "Hop," who happened to be passing on his way aft to deliver an order.
The "Yankee" had seen some spirited fighting, though most of her crew had anticipated nothing more exciting than patrol duty.
Moreover, it was almost certain that we had not seen the end of active service. At present, however, the crew settled down once more to the monotony of ship life in port—which is about equivalent to garrison duty for a soldier.
The "Yankee's" stay in Key West was marked by one of the most melancholy incidents of the cruise. Thomas Clinton LeValley, one of the first of the New York Naval Reserves to respond to the call for volunteers, died from appendicitis in the hospital ashore, to which he had been removed for treatment. "Tom," as he was familiarly called by his shipmates, was on board the "Yankee" during the five engagements of that vessel, and proved himself loyal and steadfast on every occasion. He was well liked by the officers and men of the crew, and his death was deeply regretted by all. It was his fate to be the one member of the New York Naval Reserves to lose his life in the service of his country.
When a big barge heaped high with coal came alongside and was made fast, we began to doubt the assurances given us, that the coal would be put in by outside labor. A tug hove in sight shortly afterward that caused our gloomy faces to light up with gladness, for it carried a gang of negroes. The tug made fast to the barge, and its living cargo was soon hard at work filling the ship's bunkers.
All that afternoon we "lingered in the lap of luxury," as "Bill" put it. At six o'clock our dusky (doubly dusky) coal heavers went ashore, their labor over for the day. Though the workmen had left, the work was still to continue. The crew coaled till twelve o'clock, working in quarter watches. The following day another barge came alongside and part of the crew had to turn to and help the hired shovellers.
"So much," said "Stump," snapping his fingers, "for the officers' assurances."
Up to this time we did notknowwhere we were going. Of course the "Rumor Committee" were ready with news of destinations galore. We were to return to our patrol duty, to join the Flying Squadron and threaten the coast towns of Spain, to join the blockading squadron off Havana. We were to do a dozen or more things just as probable or just as improbable.
A coal barge still lay alongside the starboard side of the ship, when a lighter appeared and made fast to the port side, loaded with express packages, parts of machinery, pipes, and bags of mail for every ship on the Santiago blockade.
"Now we will get those eight bags of mail," said a forecastle man, exultantly. And from that moment we knew we were going back to Cuba.
But like a good many people who think they know it all—we didn't.
Bunkers, holds—almost every available space, in fact, was filled with coal.
Then began the much dreaded job of painting. Stages were hung over the side, each manned by two men, and with much reluctance we began to daub the old "Yankee" with gray paint.
The men were unaccustomed to such work, though some could handle the brushes sold in "artist's materials" shops well enough, and they spattered gray paint all over themselves. It was thought easier to wash skins than jumpers, so many were decorated in wonderful fashion.
"You would make a 'professor of tattooing' wild with envy," said Greene to "Steve," as the latter appeared over the rail.
"Well, I don't know," retorted "Steve," "I am thinking of reporting you for misappropriating government property. You've got more paint on yourself than you put on the ship."
After a day and a half of dreary work we had the satisfaction of seeing the vessel's sides one uniform color from stem to stern. It was a big job for such a short time and our arms ached at the very thought of it.
The sides painted, our attention was given to the decks. They were swabbed thoroughly, first with a damp swab, and after they were entirely dry the spar deck was covered with red shellac, this being applied with a wide varnish brush. The gun deck was then taken in hand and treated in the same way.
By Saturday night the ship was as fine as a "brand new jumping-jack before the baby sucked the paint off."
Some of the men still suffered from black-and-blue spots, which, however, a little turpentine liniment would have banished.
Rumors were rife that we would be bound for New York shortly, but few believed them; the circulators themselves certainly did not, of that we felt sure.
"The idea!" said "Mourner," who, though ready to swallow most rumoristic pills, could not manage this one. "Go to New York with eighty bags of mail for the Santiago fleet! I can see us doing it."
"Taps" sounded at nine o'clock, and we were glad enough to turn in.
When all hands were called, I rubbed my eyes in astonishment, for as I glanced out of the deadlight near which my hammock swung, I saw that we were under way and well out to sea. I put on my togs in a hurry, and after lashing and stowing my "dream bag," rushed on deck.
Yes, sure enough, we were at sea.
"Stump" came and grabbed me round the waist—he could hardly reach higher. "We're bound for New York," said he. "We met the 'St. Paul' going in and the signal boys say we signalled, 'We have urgent orders to proceed to New York.' What do you think of that?" he added, breathlessly.
"With eighty bags of mail for the Santiago fleet," said I, thinking of the poor fellows who were longing with all their hearts for those same bags.
"Regular navy style," added "Stump."
Though it was hard on our friends off Santiago we could not be cast down, and the near prospect of liberty—of an opportunity to see home and friends, of again setting foot on shore—transformed the entire crew.
Everywhere could be seen smiling faces. Laughter and merry chatter filled the air, and the rollicking songs written by "Steve" and others were more in evidence than ever. The daily routine of work seemed lighter. There was no grumbling, no fault finding; even the interminable task of shifting coal was carried on with actual cheerfulness. Grimy hands and blackened faces and tired bodies were forgotten.
"There's a mighty good dinner waiting for me in the dear old house," exclaimed "Stump," unctuously. "I can sniff it afar. And say, fellows, won't we forget—for a few hours at least—that such things as reveille and scrub and wash clothes and coal humping and salt-horse exist on earth?"
"Oh, good Mr. Captain, how long will it be before we hear the welcome call, 'Shift into clean blue, the liberty party!' and find ourselves piling over the side," groaned "Hay."
"You will be glad enough to come back to your Uncle Samuel," grinned "Steve." "When your time is up you will be waiting for the boat."
"No doubt," replied Flagg. "We will be ready to complete our time of service, but there are some, if rumor speaks the truth—"
He finished with a significant wink.
He referred to the many threats of "French leave" made by certain members of the crew—threats which did not materialize except in a very few cases. The disgruntled members of the "Yankee's" crew were composed mainly of the "outside" men—men not of the Naval Reserves. Among the latter, despite the unaccustomed hardships to which they were subjected, a firm determination existed to remain until lawfully mustered out.
The trip from Key West to New York was marked by only one important incident—the celebration of the Fourth of July. It was unlike that familiar to the majority of the crew. There were no fireworks, no parades, nor bands playing the national anthem. The day opened squally, and sharp gusts of rain swept the decks. The usual routine of work was proceeded with, and it was not until eight bells (noon) that we fully realized the date. At exactly midday a salute of twenty-one guns was fired, and those of us who were super-patriotic, took off our caps in honor of the flag. That ended the ceremony.
"Never mind," said Tommy, when one of the boys bewailed the meagre celebration, "never mind, shipmate. There's a good time coming when we can whoop 'er up for Old Glory as much as we please. Then we'll make up for to-day. We can't expect to do much under these conditions, you know."
The day following (a fine,cool, bright one, and how we did appreciate it!) was spent by all hands in getting the ship spick and span for the inspection of visitors, who were sure to be on hand to welcome us.
The semi-weekly ceremony of airing hammocks and bedding was indulged in. The bugler blew "hammocks," whereupon all hands lined up to receive them from the stowers. They were then unlashed on the gun deck, and inspected by the officers of the different divisions, who ordered that they should be taken up to the spar deck. The blankets and mattresses were spread wherever sun and breeze could get at them. The rail, as well as the boats, was covered with them. Red blankets flaunted in the breeze from the rigging till we resembled an anarchist emigrant ship.
The marines aired their hammocks on the forecastle deck in the neighborhood of their guns.
After an hour or two, the word was passed to "stow hammocks," and soon all was shipshape again.
This duty was performed once or twice a week, the frequency depending on weather and circumstances.
Wednesday, July 6th, we passed Sandy Hook and entered New York harbor, just thirty-six days since we left it.
As we made our way up the channel, a pilot boat hailed us and told us of Sampson and Schley's glorious victory over Cervera.
Though our joy was great and our enthusiasm intense, we were greatly disappointed that we were not in at the death. We felt sure that if we had been there our skipper would have worked the old craft in near enough to have given us a shot.
We steamed on up the bay and through the Narrows, the happiest lot of Jackies afloat. The captain of every vessel we met pulled his whistle cord until the steam gave out, and the passengers cheered and waved their handkerchiefs, or whatever came handy.
The health officer passed us in a jiffy, and before eight bells struck we were safely at anchor off Tompkinsville.
It transpired that we had been sent North on account of a yellow fever scare. The health officer proved that the fear was groundless. Again we set to work cleaning, scrubbing, polishing, and painting, so by the time our friends came crowding aboard, the ship was as neat as a new pin.
The visitors—how glad we were to see them! Only one who has looked danger in the face and realized that there might never be a home-coming in this world, could understand our feelings as our relatives and friends—bless them—came aboard.
Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and other fellows' sisters crowded up the gangway to greet us.
And all were welcome.
The second day after we anchored, the port watch was given shore leave of twenty-four hours. So we donned our clean blues, and for the first time since May 9th, set foot on solid ground.
As the port watch came over the side the following day, after its liberty ashore, they were met with the order "Shift into working clothes at once and get those shells below." The red ammunition flag was flying at the foremast head, and all thoughts must be given up of the good times ashore.
The starboard watch then went on liberty ashore and the port watch tackled the ammunition.
From noon till after ten, we were kept busy storing thirteen-inch shells for the biggest guns in the navy. They weigh 1,100 pounds apiece and are dangerous things to handle, not only on account of their weight, but because of the charge of powder each carries. We also loaded eight, six, and five-inch shells into the after hold. We turned in at eleven o'clock, and were roused at 3:30 next morning to begin the same heavy work. When the starboard watch returned the following noon, we were still at it, and they, too, had to pitch in and help as soon as they could get into working clothes.
Saturday, Sunday, and Monday were spent in the same way—stowing food for Uncle Sam's mighty guns.
The thirteen-inch shells were crated in heavy planks, bound with iron; slings of rope were placed around them and they were lowered slowly into the hold. The eight, six, and five-inch shells had a lashing of tarred rope and a loop by which they might be lifted and handled.
Charges of smokeless powder for thirteen, eight, and six-inch guns, in copper canisters, were also taken aboard.
When all was stowed, we carried enough explosives to blow the water out of the bay. At half-past two on July 12th, the anchor was raised, the cat falls manned, and we bade New York good-by once more. A brisk northeast breeze was blowing, kicking up an uncomfortable sea, and when Sandy Hook was passed it became necessary to close all ports and batten down hatches.
The rolling and pitching of the ship soon began to make things interesting on the gun deck. Immense green seas, shipped at intervals on the upper deck, sent little streams of water trickling down through openings as yet unprotected.
At evening quarters it was all we could do to stand upright. A number of men left their stations suddenly without permission, and seemed to take great interest in the sea just over the rail.
As the sun sank, the wind rose, and with it came rain—rain in sheets—the "wettest" kind of rain.
When the port watch was relieved at eight o'clock, even the veriest landsman among us could tell that the situation was becoming serious. We turned in at once, determining to get all the sleep possible in that pandemonium of sound.
The value of hammocks in a heavy sea was proved beyond all peradventure, for once we got into them and closed our eyes, we hardly realized that the ship was almost on her beam ends much of the time.
From time to time we were wakened by the crash of a mess chest, as it broke from its lashings and careened around the deck. The mess pans and pots banged and thumped. At intervals the lurching of the vessel caused a mess table with the accompanying benches to slide to the deck with a crash.
At twelve, we of the port watch were wakened from our much-interrupted rest and ordered on deck for muster.
As we slid from our hammocks we realized for the first time the fury of the storm. It was impossible to stand upright.
The old hooker rolled so, that it was impossible to keep from sliding even when one lay prone on the deck. The men on lookout had all they could do to hang on. One moment the end of the bridge would rise high in air and the next almost bury itself in the seething waters.
The wind roared, the lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled.
The dense fog hung like a curtain round the ship, so the whistle was blown incessantly.
The boatswain's mate ordered me to go forward and stand an hour's watch on the bridge. I obeyed, creeping on all fours most of the time, till I reached the opening between the deck houses. I escaped, by a hair's breadth, a sea which came over the side like a solid green wall.
The man on the port end of the bridge whom I relieved, shouted in my ear—he could not be heard otherwise—"You want to get a good hold or you'll be fired overboard in a jiffy." Then he left me.
It was the kind of a night one felt the need of companionship. I spent a lonely hour on the bridge, eyes and ears strained for signs of other vessels, face and hands stung by the pelting rain. Underlying all other thoughts was the consciousness that we carried several hundred tons of deadly explosive that might shift any moment or be ignited by a spark from a lamp and explode.
The sandbags stored about the steering gear broke loose and were heaped in picturesque confusion. The scene aft was indescribable. A quantity of débris of varying nature slid across the smooth surface of the gun deck with a rush at every roll, making navigation a difficult, if not perilous, task. Later, to add to the tumult, one man's hammock was cut down by a falling mess table, but he escaped serious injury.
It was not until the following morning that the seas subsided, but the day proved pleasant, and the mishaps of the preceding afternoon were forgotten in the excitement of reaching Norfolk, which port was reached by the "Yankee" shortly before dark. Later in the evening the ship was taken to the navy yard.
"Which means that we are going to hustle more ammunition," observed Tommy, as we made fast to a dock.
"And more stores," added "Dye."
"And coal," chimed in "Stump," with a grimace. "I am glad of it, too."
"Glad of it?" echoed "Dye," in surprise. "That's queer."
"Not at all, dear boy," was the second loader's calm reply. "D'ye see, I am in training for the billet of chief deck hand on a tramp canal boat, and this experience is just in my line."
Four days later the mooring hawsers were cast off and the "Yankee" steamed out between the capes en route to Santiago. From the hour we left Norfolk until the sighting of the Cuban coast, our time was taken up with drills of every description. The following extract from the log for July 18th, will suffice for an example:
"Cleared ship for action at three bells along with general quarters. General quarters again half an hour after turn to at noon. Fire drill and abandon ship at three bells in the afternoon. General quarters again at two bells (9 p.m.)."
Under date of July 19th, one of the crew states in his private diary: "Clear ship for action again. This is a very pretty drill, and is much liked by the boys, as it includes sending all the mess gear and provisions below, where most of them are usually 'pinched.' Clear ship for action always means an exchange of undesirable mess gear, such as broken benches, tables, etc. General quarters at 1:30; fired two shots at an invisible target with smokeless powder. Great success, this new powder. If we had only been provided with it before, every living Spaniard would have trembled at the word 'Yankee'!"
"What are we doing all this clear ship, general quarters, fire drill, and such business for?" said a forecastle man to Craven, who, besides being on a deck gun, from which all that was occurring on the bridge could be seen, was a messenger.
"Why, don't you know?" said the latter. "We have a war artist aboard, and all this extra drilling is being done for his special benefit, so he can work it up for his paper, I suppose."
"Well, if we ever get that artist aboard the old 'New Hampshire' we will teach him a few things, so he can describe them from actual experience," said "Hod" the husky. "He'll be able to describe scrub and wash clothes, sweeping decks, washing dishes, and all the rest, most vividly," he continued, vindictively. "We'll show him how we get under the hose in the morning. Oh, we'll have a bully time with him, and I'll wager that when we're through the honors of naval battles will seem too trivial for him to draw!"
On the twenty-first of July the "Yankee" arrived off Santiago. The "Brooklyn" was the only warship on guard, and the absence of that grim line of drab-colored ships changed the whole appearance of the coast. The "Brooklyn" seemed lonely, though she rode the seas proudly. "See," she seemed to say, "I am monarch of all I survey"; and she looked every inch a queen, as she swayed slowly in the long ground swell, her ensign snapping in the brisk breeze and Admiral Schley's flag standing out like a board. From our proximity to the shore we were enabled to obtain a better view than before. Old Morro Castle, perched above the mouth of the channel, seemed battered and forlorn. The Stars and Stripes floated on high exultingly from the very staff that formerly bore the Spanish colors, and we thrilled when we saw it. The wreck of the "Reina Mercedes" could be plainly made out, and beyond her could also be seen the masts and stack of the "Merrimac"—a monument to American heroism.
With the U.S.S. "Yankton" (which had run out of coal) in tow, we proceeded to Guantanamo. While entering the bay, the first fleet of transports bearing troops for the invasion of Porto Rico was encountered. Inside the harbor a vast squadron of American ships lay at anchor—some forty vessels in all. The spectacle of such a mighty fleet bearing our beloved colors was indeed inspiring.
We found the "Iowa," "Massachusetts," "Indiana," "Oregon," "Texas," "New York," "Marblehead," "Detroit," "Newark," "Porter," "Terror," "Gloucester," the repair ship "Vulcan," several despatch boats and colliers in the bay. Two gunboats and several steamers captured at Santiago also bore the American colors.
Such a fleet many an important port has never seen, and in New York harbor would draw immense crowds. Here the spectacle was wasted on unappreciative Cubans.
The bay presented a lively appearance with the innumerable little launches and despatch boats darting about from ship to ship. Vessels went alongside sailing colliers to have their bunkers replenished; other ships entered or left at all hours; signals were continually flying from the flagship; occasionally a Spanish launch bearing a flag of truce would come down from the town, and in the midst of it all the crews of the different men-of-war worked on in the accustomed routine, as if peace and war, drills and fighting, were all a part of man's ordinary existence.
Over a month ago we had sailed into this harbor with the "Marblehead"; the ship cleared for action, the crews at their loaded guns, and the battle ensigns flying from fore and mainmast, as well as from taffrail. This time we entered the bay with a feeling that we were to take part in a great naval spectacle.
As soon as we joined the fleet we became amenable to fleet discipline. All orders for routine work came from the flagship. "Quarters" were held but twice a day instead of three times, and then they were short and, therefore, sweet.
Each morning at eight o'clock, when a war vessel is in port, the bugler plays "colors," while the drummer beats three rolls; those of the crew who are under the open sky stand at attention, silent, facing aft, where the flag is being hauled slowly to its place. At the completion of the call all hands salute; then the work is carried on. It is a beautiful ceremony.
Saluting the "colors" morning and evening is not merely a mark of respect for the Government of the nation, but is an act of worship to the God of nations—a silent prayer for guidance and care and an expression of thankfulness.
Shortly after "colors" the morning following our arrival at Guantanamo, orders were given to "turn to" on the ammunition. Launches and barges from other warships came alongside, and the charges of powder and the shells were transferred to them.
When this cargo of deadly explosive began to come aboard a "magazine watch" was set. The ammunition was stowed in all parts of the ship—forward, main, and after holds were filled. A watch was set on each of the holds. It was their duty to watch the temperature day and night and to report the same to the officer of the deck every half hour. Extreme care was taken to guard against fire. In case fire was discovered, it was the duty of the man on watch to run and turn on the water—the key for the valve which regulated this being always carried on his wrist. Then he must notify the officer of the deck, shouting "fire" as he went, after which he must go back and with the hose endeavor to put out the blaze.
Constant, wide-awake, alert watchfulness was necessary. It was hot and close below, and at night it was almost impossible to keep awake. It is difficult enough to keep wide awake for an hour's lookout on deck, when there is much to see and the air is brisk and invigorating, but it is quite a different matter to be roused in the middle of the night to stand two hours' watch in a close, hot hold, where nothing more interesting than cases of powder and the bare, blank sides of the ship are to be seen.
At first, the knowledge that the lives of all on board and the safety of the ship herself depended on the alertness of the watch, kept us wide awake and anxious, but as time went on, it grew harder and harder to resist nature's demand for sleep; therefore, when the order was given to unload the ammunition, none were gladder than the men of the "magazine watches."
After evening mess the boatswain's mate—he got his orders from the bridge—came aft, shouting as he walked, "All you men who want to go in swimming may do so right away."