There was considerable gloom. The start once made and the "Yankee"
actually on her way to the land of the Dons, all would be well and all hands would be cheerful; but the contemplation of the long trip in the wrong direction was a very different matter.
The air was full of rumors. All was uncertain. We continued to write farewell letters, while the invading fleet still lay quietly at anchor, but ready to sail to the ends of the earth at a few hours" notice.
The night of August 10th was moonless and dark. There had been no music from the "Oregon"s" band, and none of our men felt inclined to sing.
The uncertainty had begun to tell, and all were a little depressed.
I was "it" for anchor watch, and, as is often the case, the anchor watch manned the running small boat.
We visited several vessels of the fleet, the crew staying in the boat while the officers went aboard. When we finally started to return to our own ship, we carried two of our officers, Mr. Duncan, Mr. Barnard, and an officer from the "Indiana." As we cleared the wall-like sides of the "St. Paul," we noted that the general signal call (four red lights) was up on the "New York." Then, as we watched, the red and white bulbs began to spell out a message that made us all thrill with joy. The interest of the moment broke down all barriers of rank, and officers and men spelled out the exciting words aloud.
A-S-S-O-C-I-A-T-E-D P-R-E-S-S D-E-S-P-A-T-C-H S-T-A-T-E-S T-H-A-T P-E-A-C-E P-R-O-T-O-C-O-L H-A-S B-E-E-N A-G-R-E-E-D U-P-O-N.
We Jackies would have liked to yell, but our lessons had been too well learned, and we restrained ourselves. We put the officer from the "Indiana" aboard his own ship and then returned to the "Yankee."
As soon as the boat was secured for the night, I went around waking some of my particular friends to tell them the great news, forgetting that they could see it quite as well as I. All were too good-natured, however, to object; on the contrary, they seemed glad to talk about it.
There was some dispute as to the meaning of the word "protocol"; but all agreed that, whatever its meaning, it must be good, coupled as it was with "peace."
As we talked quietly, we heard faintly, softly, a verse of "Morse"s"
song:
"Our fighting cruise will soon be o"er, Hurrah! Hurrah!
We"ll be happy the moment our feet touch sh.o.r.e, Hurrah! Hurrah!
And "Cutlets" and "Hubbub" and all the rest May stick to the calling they"re fitted for best, But _we"ll_ all feel gay when The "Yankee" goes sailing home."
In spite of the peace news we got orders to go out with the "Dixie" and blockade the Crooked Island Pa.s.sage. So about four o"clock we hauled up the anchor and went to sea. All were gay, and many shook their hands in farewell to Guantanamo Bay.
We were instructed to keep a sharp lookout for the steamer "Monserrat,"
which had gained fame as a blockade runner. It was rumored that she carried Captain-General Blanco; that she was well armed, and had a captain noted for his unscrupulousness and for his fighting qualities.
"I"d like to meet that ship," said "Hay," "have a good "sc.r.a.p" with her, get a couple of shot holes in our upper works and battle flags, and then bring her triumphantly into Key West or, better still, New York."
"Want to go out in a blaze of glory, do you?" said Tommy, the long.
"Sure. I"d like to burn some of that powder we took such trouble to load."
This expressed the sentiments of the whole ship"s company.
To have one more good fight--in which we were to come out victorious, of course--get a few souvenir shot holes where no harm would be done, and then go home. This would just about have suited us.
We floated around lazily all day Friday and Sat.u.r.day with a chip on our shoulder, as it were, but no "Monserrat" came to knock it off.
The lookouts at the masthead strained their eyes, and half the men not actually at work did likewise. All in vain; not an enemy did we see. A number of transports homeward bound, bearing worn but happy soldiers, were pa.s.sed, and some came near enough to exchange cheers and good wishes.
The screw revolved but slowly, and the ship moved just enough to give steerage way. Every pa.s.sing wave did as it wished with the great hulk, and she rolled like a log in the long swell.
Sunday night a change came over the almost quiet ship. The propeller turned with some energy; the steering engine whirred, and the "Yankee"
changed her course. This time she headed straight for Guantanamo, and before many minutes we knew that we were returning to our old anchorage.
The orders were to blockade the pa.s.sage and keep a bright lookout for the "Monserrat"; if by Sunday at six o"clock she had not appeared, we were to return to the fleet.
The men who were so sure that we should never see Guantanamo again wore a sheepish air, and those who were not so sure lorded over them and remarked cheerfully, "I told you so."
Those of us who were sleeping at midnight were wakened and told to come to the port and look. Sleepily we obeyed, but the moment we reached the opening we were wide awake. There, not three miles off, rolling in the ground swell, lay a great fleet, the searchlights sweeping the heavens and sea; the signal lanterns twinkling.
As we looked, we saw at the masthead of the foremost vessel the signal lights spell out A followed by D, the "Yankee"s" private night signal.
Then, and our eyes almost started from our heads as we gazed, the lights continued to spell:
"Blockade raised; hostilities ceased."
"Hurrah!" shouted some one behind me.
"Wait a minute," said "Hay," "that"s not all."
The lights went on spelling: "We are on our way to New York. You are to proceed to Guantanamo."
The hurrah, as we spelled out the first sentences, was followed by a groan, as we read the last. We were glad, indeed, to know that peace had come, but it was hard to see that great fleet homeward bound, and know that we must go back to our old post, to stay indefinitely.
"Hope deferred maketh the heart sick."
CHAPTER XX.
TAPS.
The days following our arrival at Guantanamo were days of keen expectation and equally keen disappointment. A rumor that we were to return home at once would start up from nowhere in particular, and circulate until it was believed. Then would come a denial and consequent discontent. The enforced idleness of riding at anchor day after day became so monotonous at last, that any little incident served to create excitement. Visiting parties between the ships were permitted occasionally, and the "Yankee"s" crew grasped the opportunity to inspect some of the other auxiliary cruisers. One or two liberty parties were allowed ash.o.r.e at Camp McCalla, from which the men returned, tired and warm, but full of enthusiasm and interest for the things they had seen.
The amount of "curios" and souvenirs brought aboard would fill a museum.
Pieces of projectiles and Mauser cartridge sh.e.l.ls, fragments of an unusual red wood, and pieces of fossil rock, of which the cliff was composed, were stowed away in bags and ditty boxes.
The bay now had a very deserted appearance. All the battleships and many of the cruisers had gone North. The auxiliary cruisers, "New Orleans,"
"Newark," "Marblehead," and a number of converted yachts were all that remained, besides our own vessel. It was still a goodly fleet, but in comparison to the great squadron, seemed small.
For the first time we were at a loss for something to do. Time hung heavy on our hands. The routine work, including morning "quarters," was finished by half-past ten every morning, and the balance of the day was spent as pleased us best, within certain well-defined limits.
Much time and thought were spent in chasing down rumors, and watching signals from the flagship.
Troopships from Santiago, laden with homeward-bound troops, sailed by the mouth of the harbor, but we, the first volunteers to reach the seat of war and to see active service, still lingered. The "Resolute" and "Badger" left at last, and it was rumored that we would follow next day.
But still we lingered.
Occasionally we got mail that told of home doings, and almost every letter finished with, "I suppose that you will soon be home, now that peace is declared." But still we lingered.
We knew that we could hardly expect to be relieved at once; that there were many arrangements to be made in the Navy Department; many orders to be signed, and new plans to be formulated. But the thought carried little comfort with it. The pangs of homesickness were getting a strong hold on us.
Dr. "Gangway" McGowan had the ship"s carpenter nail a nice, smooth piece of board over a hole in the wire netting of his cabin door; some wag took advantage of the opportunity, and lettered plainly the following, on its white surface:
[Ill.u.s.tration]
He would have done a rushing business if he could have found a sure cure for homesick "heroes."