“You would make a ‘professor of tattooing’ wild with envy,” said Greene to “Steve,” as the latter appeared over the rail.

“Well, I don’t know,” retorted “Steve,” “I am thinking of reporting you for misappropriating government property.  You’ve got more paint on yourself than you put on the ship.”

After a day and a half of dreary work we had the satisfaction of seeing the vessel’s sides one uniform color from stem to stern.  It was a big job for such a short time and our arms ached at the very thought of it.

The sides painted, our attention was given to the decks.  They were swabbed thoroughly, first with a damp swab, and after they were entirely dry the spar deck was covered with red shellac, this being applied with a wide varnish brush.  The gun deck was then taken in hand and treated in the same way.

By Saturday night the ship was as fine as a “brand new jumping-jack before the baby sucked the paint off.”

Some of the men still suffered from black-and-blue spots, which, however, a little turpentine liniment would have banished.

Rumors were rife that we would be bound for New York shortly, but few believed them; the circulators themselves certainly did not, of that we felt sure.

“The idea!” said “Mourner,” who, though ready to swallow most rumoristic pills, could not manage this one.  “Go to New York with eighty bags of mail for the Santiago fleet!  I can see us doing it.”

[Illustration:  “THE SPAR DECK WAS COVERED WITH RED SHELLAC”]

[Illustration:  “THE MARINES AIRED THEIR HAMMOCKS ON THE FORECASTLE DECK”]

“Taps” sounded at nine o’clock, and we were glad enough to turn in.

When all hands were called, I rubbed my eyes in astonishment, for as I glanced out of the deadlight near which my hammock swung, I saw that we were under way and well out to sea.  I put on my togs in a hurry, and after lashing and stowing my “dream bag,” rushed on deck.

Yes, sure enough, we were at sea.

“Stump” came and grabbed me round the waist—­he could hardly reach higher.  “We’re bound for New York,” said he.  “We met the ‘St. Paul’ going in and the signal boys say we signalled, ’We have urgent orders to proceed to New York.’  What do you think of that?” he added, breathlessly.

“With eighty bags of mail for the Santiago fleet,” said I, thinking of the poor fellows who were longing with all their hearts for those same bags.

“Regular navy style,” added “Stump.”

Though it was hard on our friends off Santiago we could not be cast down, and the near prospect of liberty—­of an opportunity to see home and friends, of again setting foot on shore—­transformed the entire crew.

Everywhere could be seen smiling faces.  Laughter and merry chatter filled the air, and the rollicking songs written by “Steve” and others were more in evidence than ever.  The daily routine of work seemed lighter.  There was no grumbling, no fault finding; even the interminable task of shifting coal was carried on with actual cheerfulness.  Grimy hands and blackened faces and tired bodies were forgotten.