Part 13 (1/2)

”Time!” chuckled ”Stump.” ”Give Tom a chance.”

”As I opened the front door of the little wooden house where we had placed the body,” said Tom, prompt to take advantage of the opportunity, ”I saw two gleaming eyes glaring at me from the inner room. I tell you, my heart fell clean down into my boots.”

”Should think it would,” muttered the ”Kid,” peering about the wheel-house with a s.h.i.+ver. ”Ugh!”

”I dropped the lantern,” resumed Tom, ”and staggered back. Just then a----”

”Half dozen policemen entered the front door just as Patrick and the supposed Mike reached the bottom of the stairs,” broke in Bill, taking up the thread of his story. ”Well, when the Irish coppers saw Pat with the monk hanging around his neck they thought the old Nick had him. They started to run, but the old woman reached the lower floor in time to see both Mike and the monkey. She grabbed a broom, but the monk slipped through the front door, and----”

”That's the end of your story. And a good job it is too,” remarked Tom.

”It is better than having no end,” retorted Bill. ”You spin out a yarn to beat the band.”

”It's getting late,” spoke up ”Hod,” yawning. ”If you fellows are going to chew the rag all night I----”

”Only a word more,” interrupted Tom. ”As I staggered back I fell into the arms of the nurse, who had come down to see what kept me. I explained in a hurry, and he lit a match. We both went in and discovered----”

”Sh-h-h! Get out of here, you fellows,” suddenly spoke up a voice at the door on the starboard side. ”Here comes 'Cutlets'!”

There was a scramble for the opposite door, and in much less time than is taken in the telling, the wheel-house was empty. We huddled in the shadows for a moment; then dodged forward. As we reached the hatch I heard the ”Kid” ask Tom:

”Say, what was it you saw? Tell a fellow, won't you?”

”Two bra.s.s k.n.o.bs on an old chest,” was the calm reply.

”Huh!”

The following day being Sunday, was given over to rest and recreation and the writing of letters, until late in the afternoon. The day dawned clear but very warm. There was very little breeze stirring, and the spar and gun decks, where we spent the most of our time, were almost stifling. ”Corking mats,” as they are termed in naval parlance, were very much in evidence. The sailor's ”corking mat” is a strip of canvas which he spreads upon the deck to protect his clothing from the tarry seams, when he feels the necessity for a siesta or nap, which is quite often.

Toward evening we were put to work at a task which gave welcome promise of coming action. Under the direction of the executive officer we broke out a number of bags of coal from the orlop deck and piled them five deep, and about the same number in height, around the steam steering engine under the forward wheel-house. This was to give added protection to a vital part of the s.h.i.+p.

The work was hard and unpleasant, especially to men who had not spent the major portion of their lives at manual labor, but it was one of those disagreeable fortunes of war to which we were growing accustomed, and we toiled without comment. That night when we turned in, that is, those who were fortunate enough to have the ”off watch,” it was generally rumored about the decks that the fleet would surely bombard early the following morning.

About two bells (five o'clock) the different guns' crews, who were sleeping at the batteries, were called by the boatswain's mates, and told to go to breakfast at once.

”It's coming,” exclaimed ”Hay,” joyfully. ”The old 'Yankee' will see her real baptism of fire to-day. 'Kid,' you young rat, you'll have a chance to dodge sh.e.l.ls before you are many hours older.”

”You may get a chance to stop one,” retorted the boy.

After a hurried meal, word to clear s.h.i.+p for action was pa.s.sed, and the ”Yankee's” boys set to work with a vim. The task was done more thoroughly than usual. The boats and wooden hatches were covered with canvas, everything portable that would splinter was sent below, the decks were sanded, and all the inflammable oils were placed in a boat and set adrift for the ”Justin,” one of the colliers, to pick up.

The day seemed fitted for the work we had in hand. The sky was overcast, and occasionally a rain squall would sweep from the direction of the land, and envelop the fleet. It was not a cold, raw rain, like that encountered in more northern lat.i.tudes in early summer, but a dripping of moisture peculiarly grateful after the heat of the previous day.

Shortly before seven o'clock, the members of the crew were in readiness for business. The majority had removed their superfluous clothing, and it was a stirring sight to watch the different guns' crews, stripped to the waist and barefooted, standing at their stations. There was something in the cool, practical manner in which each man prepared for work that promised well, and it should be said to the everlasting credit of the Naval Reserves that they invariably fought with the calmness and precision of veterans whenever they were called upon.

In the present case, there would have been some excuse for faint-heartedness. The crew of the ”Yankee,” made up of men whose previous lives had been those of absolute peace, who had never heard a shot fired in anger before their arrival at Santiago, who had left home and business in defence of the flag--these men went about their preparations for attacking the fortifications with as little apparent concern as if it were simply a yachting trip.

There was no holding back, no hesitancy, no looks of concern or anxiety, but when the signal to advance insh.o.r.e appeared on the ”New York,” at six bells (seven o'clock), there was a feeling of relief that the time of waiting was over.

We were to be in it at last.

The flags.h.i.+p's signal to advance in formation was obeyed at once. Moving in double column, the fleet stood in toward the batteries. The first line, as we saw from the after port, was composed of the ”Brooklyn,”

”Texas,” ”Ma.s.sachusetts,” and ”Marblehead.” The line to which the ”Yankee” was attached, included, besides that vessel, the ”New York,”