Saturday, Sunday, and Monday were spent in the same way—­stowing food for Uncle Sam’s mighty guns.

The thirteen-inch shells were crated in heavy planks, bound with iron; slings of rope were placed around them and they were lowered slowly into the hold.  The eight, six, and five-inch shells had a lashing of tarred rope and a loop by which they might be lifted and handled.

Charges of smokeless powder for thirteen, eight, and six-inch guns, in copper canisters, were also taken aboard.

When all was stowed, we carried enough explosives to blow the water out of the bay.  At half-past two on July 12th, the anchor was raised, the cat falls manned, and we bade New York good-by once more.  A brisk northeast breeze was blowing, kicking up an uncomfortable sea, and when Sandy Hook was passed it became necessary to close all ports and batten down hatches.

The rolling and pitching of the ship soon began to make things interesting on the gun deck.  Immense green seas, shipped at intervals on the upper deck, sent little streams of water trickling down through openings as yet unprotected.

At evening quarters it was all we could do to stand upright.  A number of men left their stations suddenly without permission, and seemed to take great interest in the sea just over the rail.

As the sun sank, the wind rose, and with it came rain—­rain in sheets—­the “wettest” kind of rain.

When the port watch was relieved at eight o’clock, even the veriest landsman among us could tell that the situation was becoming serious.  We turned in at once, determining to get all the sleep possible in that pandemonium of sound.

The value of hammocks in a heavy sea was proved beyond all peradventure, for once we got into them and closed our eyes, we hardly realized that the ship was almost on her beam ends much of the time.

From time to time we were wakened by the crash of a mess chest, as it broke from its lashings and careened around the deck.  The mess pans and pots banged and thumped.  At intervals the lurching of the vessel caused a mess table with the accompanying benches to slide to the deck with a crash.

At twelve, we of the port watch were wakened from our much-interrupted rest and ordered on deck for muster.

As we slid from our hammocks we realized for the first time the fury of the storm.  It was impossible to stand upright.

The old hooker rolled so, that it was impossible to keep from sliding even when one lay prone on the deck.  The men on lookout had all they could do to hang on.  One moment the end of the bridge would rise high in air and the next almost bury itself in the seething waters.

The wind roared, the lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled.

The dense fog hung like a curtain round the ship, so the whistle was blown incessantly.

The boatswain’s mate ordered me to go forward and stand an hour’s watch on the bridge.  I obeyed, creeping on all fours most of the time, till I reached the opening between the deck houses.  I escaped, by a hair’s breadth, a sea which came over the side like a solid green wall.