HOPE DEFERRED.
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."
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 men
Drew 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.
"This _is_ great 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 rest
May stick to the calling they're fitted for best,
But _we'll_ all feel gay when
The '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."