Number Six and Number Eight guns’ crews were among the first to engage in this pleasant occupation.

We found heat enough below to supply a good-sized house all winter, so clothing seemed unnecessary.  We stripped to the waist, “Cumming,” a member of Number Six gun’s crew, remarking that he thought a cool glance and a frozen smile would be sufficient in such a warm climate.

The work was hard and dirty and the heat terrific.  We saw no necessity for the transfer.  Jack never can see the need of work unless it happens that some other crew is doing it.

We cheered ourselves, however, by singing “There’s a hot time in the old ship to-day.”

While we lay close inshore, the “Dixie” cruised outside, and toward evening the two vessels met, and together we went to Casilda, a port near Trinidad.  We stood by while the “Dixie” threw a few shells into the fort.  Two days later the “Yankee” parted from her consort and proceeded to the Isle of Pines.

It was here one of the most laughable incidents of the cruise occurred.  While steaming past one of the outlying islands, a small fleet of fishing sloops was discovered at anchor inshore.  Under ordinary circumstances such unimportant craft would not have been molested, but in the present case it was suspected that they formed part of the fleet supplying fish to the Havana market.  To destroy them was our bounden duty.

“Man the starboard fo’c’sle six-pounder and fire a shell in their direction,” ordered the captain from the bridge.

The gun was loaded in short order, and presently a projectile went screeching across the water, dropping with a splash near the largest sloop.  Several small rowboats were seen to pull away from the smacks, and it was evident the crews had fled in terror.  Directly after dinner, the “Yankee’s” first cutter and the second whaleboat were ordered away, manned and armed.  A Colt machine gun was placed in the bow of the former, and each carried an extra squad of armed marines.

When the expedition returned it had in tow five decked sloops, one of which contained a quantity of fresh fish.  Orders were given to attach the latter to our stern, and to fire the others and set them adrift.  Before this was done, however, enough fish to supply the wardroom and cabin messes were taken out.

“The crew can have its share to-morrow,” quoth the captain.

The “crew” waited impatiently, but when the morrow came it was found that, through some one’s blunder, the sloop containing the fish had been burned, and an empty one towed to sea with us.  The joke, if it might be so termed, was on the crew.

The watchword heretofore on the “Yankee,” as on every one of Uncle Sam’s ships, had been “Remember the Maine.”  Hereafter it was “Remember the fish.”  This was done so persistently that the officer who was responsible for the blunder was dubbed “Fish,” and whenever he went near any member of the crew he was likely to hear, in a low tone, “Remember the fish.”