We all looked forward to “general muster” with a good deal of interest, and when it occurred, and the captain had inspected our persons, clothes, the ship, and mess gear, we decided that “Patt’s” description fitted exactly, and were duly impressed with its solemnity.

We found to our sorrow that we of Number Eight’s crew were not to enjoy sunshine undisturbed, but were soon put to work carrying coal in baskets from the after hold forward, and dumping it in the bunker chutes.

This work had been going on almost every day, and all day, since we left Tompkinsville.  The coal was in the after hold and was needed in the bunkers forward, so every piece had to be shovelled into bushel baskets, hoisted to the gun deck, and carried by hand to the chute leading to the port and starboard bunkers.  A dirty job it was, that not only blackened the men, but covered the deck, the mess gear, the paint work, and even the food, with coal dust.

Number Eight’s crew had been at this pleasant occupation for about an hour, with the cheerful prospect of another hour of the same diversion.  “Hay” was running the steam winch, “Stump” was pulling the baskets over the hatch coaming as they were hauled up by the winch, and the other five were carrying.

“Say, this is deadly slow, tiresome work,” said “Flagg,” who was carrying with me.  “I’d give almost anything for a little excitement.”

The last word had scarcely been uttered when there came the sounds of ’commotion on deck.  A voice cried out in sharp command, the rudder chains creaked loudly, the ship heeled over to starboard, and then we who were at the open port saw a long, snaky object shoot out from the edge of the haze and bear down upon us.

“My heaven!” shouted “Stump,” “it’s a torpedo boat!”

The commotion on deck had given us some warning, but the sudden dash of the long, snaky torpedo boat from out the haze came as a decided shock.  For one brief moment we of the after port stood as if turned to stone, then every man ran to his quarters and stood ready to do his duty.  With a cry, our second captain sprang to the firing lanyard.  Before he could grasp it, however, the officer of the division was at his side.

“Stop!” he exclaimed authoritatively.

The interruption was fortunate, for, just then, a swerve of the oncoming torpedo boat revealed a small flag flying from the taffrail staff.  It was the American ensign.

The reaction was great.  Forgetting discipline, we crowded about the port and laughed and cheered like a lot of schoolboys.  Potter, in his joy and evident relief, sent his canvas cap sailing through the air.  A rebuke, not very stern, however, came from the lieutenant in charge of the division, and we shuffled back to our stations.

“Cricky! what a sell,” exclaimed the second rifleman, grinning.  “I was sure we had a big job on our hands this time.  I’m rather glad it is one of our fellows after all.”