has wet my whistle pretty thoroughly to-night.”  “Stump,” in his most impressive manner, stepped forward, and in true master-of-ceremonies style introduced our entertainer.  He was enlarging on the undoubted merits of the composer and singer, and had waxed really eloquent, when a strong gust of wind blew the water that lodged in the awning squarely down his neck.  This dampened his ardor but not our spirits.

“Morse,” like the good fellow he was, got up and sang this song to the tune of “Billy Magee Magaw”: 

    When the “Yankee” goes sailing home again,
                    Hurrah!  Hurrah! 
    We’ll forget that we’re “Heroes” and just be men,
                    Hurrah!  Hurrah! 
    The girls will giggle, the boys will shout,
    We’ll all get a bath and be washed out,
    And we’ll all feel gay when
    The “Yankee” goes sailing home.

    The city bells will peal for joy,
                    Hurrah!  Hurrah! 
    To welcome home each wandering boy,
                    Hurrah!  Hurrah! 
    And all our sisters and cousins and girls
    Will say “Ain’t they darlings?” and “See the pearls!”
    So we’ll all feel gay when
    The “Yankee” goes sailing home.

    Our patrolling 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.

Even “Bill” was able to find voice enough to shout “Good!” and give “Morse” a resounding slap on his wet oilskinned shoulder.  The song voiced our sentiments exactly, and cheered us a lot.  None of us believed that “Our patrolling cruise would soon be o’er,” however, and hardly a man would have taken his discharge had it been offered to him that moment.  We had put our names to the enlistment papers and had promised to serve Uncle Sam on his ship the “Yankee” faithfully.  We had gone into this thing together, and we would see it through together.  Still we would “All feel gay when the ‘Yankee’ goes sailing home.”

“That reminds me of a story,” began Potter, when “Long Tommy,” the boatswain’s mate of the watch, interrupted with, “Potter, take the starboard bridge.  I will send a man to relieve you at the end of an hour.”  So Potter went forward to relieve his mate, who had stood an hour of lookout duty on the starboard end of the bridge.

He went forward, swaying with the motion of the ship, his oilskin trousers making a queer, grating noise as one leg rubbed against the other, and “Stump” said, “I’ll bet he won’t stay with us long; he talks too much.”  A prophetic remark, as future events proved.