A Gunner Aboard the "Yankee" Part 8

"I really believe," said "Bill," as he joined the group, "that we could use it to turn our whites blue."

It was a delight and marvel to us all; we would have liked nothing better than to have spent hours gazing at these wonderful colors.

As we stood absorbed in the sight before us, we were interrupted by the short, sharp ringing of the s.h.i.+p's bell--a dozen or more strokes given in quick succession followed, after a short pause, by two more strokes.

Some one shouted "Fire, boys!" and all hands rushed for their stations--some to the hose-reel, some below to the gun deck to close the ports, and some to the berth deck to receive the hose when it came down.

We did not know whether it was drill or actual fire, but the skipper's talk of the night before gave us unusual energy, and the preparations were made in record time. The canvas hose was pulled along the deck with a swish, the nozzle grasped by the waiting hands below and carried with a run away aft on the berth deck. The fire was supposed to be raging at this point, as was indicated by the two last strokes of the alarm signal.

While the hose was being led out, st.u.r.dy arms tugged at the port lanyards and pulled them to. Others battened down the hatches, to keep the draught from adding fury to the flames.

All this was done in less time than it takes to tell it, and the men stood at their posts, perspiring and panting from the quick work.

We had hardly time to catch our breath when the order "Abandon s.h.i.+p" was heard. Immediately there was a scurry of feet, and a rush for the upper deck; but some stayed below to carry s.h.i.+p's bread and canned meats to the boats--two cases of bread and two cases of meat for the large boats, and one case of each for the smaller. The crews and pa.s.sengers of each boat gathered near it. Every man had been a.s.signed to a boat either as crew or pa.s.senger, and when the order "abandon s.h.i.+p" was given, every one knew instantly where to go for refuge.

Though we had already gone through this "fire drill" and "abandon s.h.i.+p"

(one always followed the other), it had then been done in peaceful waters and in a perfunctory way. Now that we were entering "the theatre of war," we felt the seriousness of it all, and realized that what was now a mere drill might become a stern reality.

The order "Secure" was given; the hose was reeled up, the ports opened, and the provisions returned to their places in hold and store room. The men went to their quarters, and so stood till the bugler blew "retreat."

The time not devoted to drills was taken up in getting the s.h.i.+p ready for the serious work she was to undertake.

All woodwork on the gun deck not in actual use was carried below or thrown overboard, and the great cargo booms were either taken down and stowed safely away, where the splinters would not be dangerous, or were covered with, canvas.

These preparations had a sinister look that made us realize, if we had not done so before, that this was real war that we were about to engage in--no sham battle or manoeuvres.

The men went about their work more quietly and thoughtfully, for one and all now understood their responsibilities. If the s.h.i.+p made a record for herself, the crew would get a large share of the credit; and if she failed to do the work cut out for her, on the crew would be laid the blame. If the men behind the guns and the men running the engines did not do their work rapidly and well, disaster and disgrace would follow.

As we neared the scene of conflict, the discipline grew more and more strict. Before a man realized that he had done anything wrong, his name would be called by the master-at-arms and he would be hauled "up to the mast" for trial.

"You ought to see the gang up at the mast," said "Stump," one bright afternoon. "'Mac' and 'Hod Marsh' have gathered enough extra duty men to do all the dirty work for a month."

"What were you doing up there?" asked a bystander.

"Why, I thought I heard my name called, and as discretion is the better part of valor, I lined up with the rest, and I was glad I did, too, for it was good sport."

"Maybe you thought it was sport, but how about the chaps that were 'pinched'? Who was up before the skipper, anyhow?"

"Oh, there was a big gang up there--I can't remember them all; 'Lucky Bag Kennedy' was there, for being late at general quarters the other day. When the captain looked at him in that fierce way of his and asked what he had to say for himself, 'Lucky Bag' said he didn't realize the time. The skipper could hardly keep his face straight. 'Four hours,' he said, and that was all there was to it."

"Poor 'Lucky Bag,'" came from all sides as "Stump" paused to take breath.

"Then there was 'Big Bill,' the water tender," continued "Stump." "He was hauled up for appearing on the spar deck without a uniform. When the skipper asked him what he had to say for himself, 'Big Bill' cleared his throat with a _woof_--you know how it sounds: the s.h.i.+p shakes and trembles when he does it--and the 'old man' fairly tottered under the blast. 'Big Bill' explained that he could not get a uniform big enough for him, because the paymaster could not fit him out. The captain almost grinned when he heard the excuse, and 'Big Bill'--well, he enjoyed the situation, I'll bet a month's pay."

There was a little pause here, and we heard a great voice rumbling from below. Then we knew that "Big Bill" was telling his intimates all about it, embellis.h.i.+ng the story as only he could do.

We laughed sympathetically as the shouts of glee rose to our ears. We had all enjoyed his good-humored Irish wit.

"Well, who else was in trouble this afternoon, 'Stump'?" said "Mourner,"

the inquisitive.

"Oh, a lot of unfortunate duffers. Several who were put on the report for being slow in las.h.i.+ng up their hammocks got a couple of hours extra duty each. One or two were there because they had clothes in the 'lucky bag'--they had left them round the decks somewhere, and the master-at-arms had grabbed them. The owners had to go on the report to get the clothes out. It cost them a couple of hours each."

"Well, how did you get out of it?" said I, when "Stump" paused to breathe.

"I was nearly scared to death," he continued, after a minute or two. "My name was not called, and the rank thinned out till there were only a few of us left. I began to think that some special punishment was being reserved for me, and that the captain was waiting so he could think it over. What my offence was I could not imagine; my conscience was clear, I vow. As I stood there in the sun I thought over the last few days, and made a confession to myself, but couldn't think of anything very wicked.

Had I unintentionally blocked a marine sentry's way and thus interfered with him in the performance of his duty? I had visions at this point of myself in the 'brig,' existing on bread and water. Had I inadvertently gone into 'Cutlet's' pet after wheel-house? I was in a brown study, conjuring up imaginary misdeeds, when a voice sounded in my ear: 'Here, my man; what do you want?' I looked around, dazed, at the captain, who stood by, the closed report book in his hand. Then I realized that my being there was a mistake, so I saluted and said, 'Nothing, sir.'"

"That's a very nice tale," said "Dye." "We'll have to get 'Mac' to verify it."

"It's straight," protested "Stump." "Ask the skipper himself if you want to."

The old boat ploughed her way through the blue waters of the Gulf Stream at the rate of from fourteen to fifteen knots an hour. The skies were clear and the sun warm and bright--cool breeze tempered its heat and made life bearable. The s.h.i.+p rolled lazily in the long swell and the turquoise wake boiled astern. We steamed for days without sighting a sail or a light; we were "alone on a wide, wide sea." At times schools of dolphins would race and shoot up out of the water alongside, much to our glee. All the beauties of these tropical waters were new to us.

Every school of flying fish and flock of Mother Carey's chickens brought crowds to the rail. The sunsets were glorious, though all too short, and the sunrises, if less appreciated, just as fine.

At night the guns' crews of the "watch on deck" slept round their loaded guns, one man of each crew always standing guard. The men of the powder divisions manned the lookout posts.

All hands were in good spirits, calmed somewhat, however, by the thought that soon we might be in the thick of battle, the outcome of which no man could tell.

It was during this voyage that friends.h.i.+ps, begun on the Block Island-Barnegat cruise, were cemented. The life aboard s.h.i.+p tended to "show up" a man as he really was. His good and bad qualities appeared so that all might see. Was he good-natured, even-tempered, thoughtful, his mates knew it at once and liked him. Was he quick-tempered, selfish, uncompanionable, it was quite as evident, and he had few friends.

Sterling and unsuspected qualities were brought out in many of the men.

Every man felt that we must and would stand together, and with a will do our work, be it peaceful or warlike.

Where were we bound? Were we to join the Havana blockading fleet? Were we destined for despatch and scout duty? Or were we to take part in actual conflict?

It was while we were settling these questions to our own satisfaction on the morning of June 2d, that a hail came from the lookout at the masthead forward.

"Land O!" he shouted, waving his cap. "Hurray! it's Cuba!"

The navigator, whose rightful surname had been converted by the facetious Naval Reserves into "Cutlets," for reasons of their own, lost no time in rebuking the too enthusiastic lookout.

"Aloft, there, you measly lubber! What in thunder do you mean? Have you sighted land?"

"Ye-es, sir-r," quavered the lookout.

"Then why don't you say so without adding any conjectures of your own?"

commented the irascible Lieutenant "Cutlets," severely.

The rest of the crew were too deeply interested in the vague streak of color on the horizon to pay any attention to the "wigging" of the man at the masthead. We knew that the dun-hued streak rising from the blue shadows of the ocean was Cuba, and we could think or talk of nothing else.

Somewhere beyond that towering mountain was Santiago, the port in which the flea-like squadron of Admiral Cervera was bottled up, and there was a deadly fear in our hearts that the wily Spaniard would sally forth to battle before we could join our fleet.

We pictured to ourselves the gray mountain ma.s.sed high about the narrow entrance of Santiago Bay, the picturesque Morro Castle, squatting like a grim giant above the strait, and outside, tossing and bobbing upon the swell of a restless sea, the mighty semicircle of drab s.h.i.+ps waiting, yearning for the outcoming of the Dons. We of the "Yankee," I repeat, were in an agony of dread that we would arrive too late.

Cape Maysi, the scene of many an adventurous filibustering expedition, was pa.s.sed at high noon, and at eight bells in the evening the anchor was dropped off Mole St. Nicholas, a convenient port in the island of Hayti. As we steamed into the harbor we pa.s.sed close to the auxiliary cruiser "St. Louis."

The anchor was scarcely on the bottom when the gig was called away. We awaited the return of Captain Brownson with impatience. The news he brought was rea.s.suring, however. Nothing of moment had occurred since our departure from New York. Within an hour we were again out at sea, this time en route to Santiago.

There was little sleep on board that night, and when morning dawned, every man who could escape from below was on deck watching, waiting for the first glimpse of Admiral Sampson's fleet. Shortly after daylight, the squadron was sighted. The scene was picturesque in the extreme.