At “afternoon quarters”—­1:30—­a drill, new to us, was taught; called by the officers “physical drill,” and by the men “rubber-necking.”  We hardly felt the need of exercise.  The swinging of a swab and use of sand and canvas, to say nothing of “scrub and wash clothes” before breakfast, seemed to us sufficient work to keep our muscles in good condition; but it is one of the axioms in the navy that “Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do,” so the men were soon lined up—­sufficient space being given each man to allow him to swing his arms, windmill fashion, without interfering with his neighbor.

A regular calisthenic exercise was gone through, such as may be seen in gymnasiums all over the country; but instead of a steady, even floor, upon which it would be quite easy to stand tiptoe, on one foot, or crouched with bended knees, it was quite a different matter to do these “stunts” on the constantly rolling deck.

At the order, “Knee stoop, one,” we bent our knees till we sat on our heels.  “Heads up, hands on the hips, there!” said Mr. Greene of our division, as some one obeyed an almost irresistible impulse to keep his balance by putting out his hand.  The man obeyed, but at that instant the ship gave a lurch, and the poor chap fell over on his head and almost rolled down the berth-deck hatch.

The laugh that followed was promptly suppressed, and though the exercise was not carried out with a great deal of grace or ease, Mr. Greene seemed to be satisfied with the first attempt.

We steamed along all the afternoon past the coast of Cuba and within plain sight of the beautiful, surf-rimmed beach.  We looked for signs of the enemy, but not a living thing could be seen.  Not a sign of human habitation; not an indication that any human being had ever set foot on this desolate land.  So beautiful, so grand, so lonely was it that we longed to go ashore and shout, just to set a few echoes reverberating in the hills.

Toward night, we turned seaward, and the land was lost to view; at the same time the “Yosemite,” manned by the Michigan Naval Reserves, who had accompanied us thus far, dropped out of sight in the haze.  She was bound for Jamaica.

A ship painted the “war color” now in vogue in the United States navy, will disappear as if by magic when dusk comes on.  The lead color makes any object covered with it invisible in half light or a haze.

There had been much speculation during the day and evening as to our probable destination, but we remained in ignorance until the next morning, when it became known that our orders were to call at the port of Cienfuegos, a prominent city of southern Cuba, some three hundred and thirty miles from Santiago.

It was reported that the object of our visit was to intercept and capture a blockade runner said to be aiming for that port.  The news received an enthusiastic welcome fore and aft.  The billet of “fleet messenger” was becoming tiresome.