A group gathered around the capstan aft, after the hammock ceremony had been completed.

Some one said, “I’m glad I can sleep in a hammock a night like this; the heave of the ship will be hardly felt.”

“Yes,” responded the “Kid,” “I wouldn’t swap my ‘sleeping bag’ for the captain’s bed, to-night.”

“That reminds me,” said “Stump.”  “Speaking of beds—­when we were in New York a friend of mine came aboard to see me.  He had a sister, but left her at home.”

“You can thank your lucky stars he did.  If she’d seen your weary, coal-covered visage, you could not even have been a brother to her,” interrupted “Hay.”

“I guess you’re right,” responded “Stump,” with an appreciative grin.  “Anyhow, she did not come.  So when her brother got home she plied him with questions—­this he wrote me afterwards—­wanted to know how I looked, asked what the ship was like, inquired about our food, and then she questioned him about my stateroom.  Was it prettily decorated?  Whose photograph occupied the place of honor on my dressing table?

“Billy, my friend,” explained “Stump,” “is a facetious sort of chap, so he told her that of course such a large crew could not all have staterooms, but I had a very nice one, that could be folded when not in use, and put to one side out of the way.  It was made of canvas, he said, so constructed that it would always swing with the ship, and so keep upright in a rolling sea.

“She listened intently, and finally broke out enthusiastically:  ’How nice!’

“Billy almost had a fit at that, and I nearly had, when I read his letter.”

We all laughed heartily and trooped below to enjoy a few hours’ sleep in our “folding staterooms.”

The next day dawned bright and clear, and warm; with nothing to remind us of the storm of the night before except the seedy look on the faces of some of the “heroes” who were prone to seasickness.

The sun had not been up many hours when the masthead lookout shouted, “Sail ho!” To which the officer of the deck replied, “Where away?”

“Dead ahead, sir.  Looks like one of the vessels of the fleet, sir.”

And so we joined the squadron again, after an absence of twenty-four hours.

Nothing had occurred while we were away.  Cervera’s fleet was still “bottled up” in Santiago harbor, and the American fleet held the cork so effectively that even a torpedo boat could not get out.

After preparing the ship for the usual Sunday inspection, and arraying ourselves in clean whites, polished shoes, and stockings, we thought we had done all the work that would be required of us for the day.  But when the gig returned, bringing the skipper from the flagship, we learned that we were to get under way right after dinner, and steam to the westward.

After “turn to” was sounded at 1:15 o’clock, we noted a long string of signal flags flying from the signal yard, which we found requested permission from the flagship to proceed at once.  As the affirmative pennant on the “New York” slowly rose to its place on the foremast, the “Yankee’s” jingle bell sounded, and the ship began to gather headway.