we
sure got trimmed, good and planny! Hot! My! Saay, cap'n, I guess-- Ah
well, a' course you've been through some heat, too--but it was sure some
warm hell down there! Yes--sir!" A bright lad!

His words recall to us a windy afternoon on Fifth Avenue, in the days
when our Uncle Sam was dispassionate and neutral. Flags whipping noisily
in the high breeze, the crowds, the bands, and the long khaki column in
fours winding towards the North River ferries to embark for Mexico, on a
task that called for inhuman restraint. Newsboys were shouting aloud the
peril of Verdun, and the thought came to us then--"Will that stream of
manhood ever march east?" And now, under our feet and in our charge,
fourteen hundred--"the best ever, yessa!"--are bound east by every
thrust of the screw, and out on the heaving waste of water around us are
fifteen thousand more; and the source is sure, and the stream, as yet,
is but trickling.

ON OCEAN PASSAGE

THE weather has certainly moderated. In but an hour the sea has gone
down considerably. There is no longer height enough in the tumble of it
to throw us about like a Deal lugger. We steam on a more even keel; the
jar and racket of the racing propeller has altered to a steady rhythmic
pulse-beat that thrusts our length steadily through the water. At times
the rain lashes over and shuts out sight of our neighbours, but we have
opportunity to regulate our station in the lengthening intervals between
the squalls. Improvement in the wind and sea has brought our somewhat
scattered fleet into better and closer order. The rear horse-transports
have come up astern and seem to have got over the steering difficulties
that their high topsides and small rudder-immersion effected in the
heavier sea. Only the barometer shows no inclination to move, in keeping
with the better conditions--the rain, perhaps, is keeping the mercury
low.

It seems plain sailing for a while. The Second can look out for her; no
use having too many good men on the bridge. We are only in the way out
here, stamping and turning on the wet foot-spars, or throwing bowlines
in the 'dodger' stops to pass the night. Four bells--two a.m.--the time
goes slowly! We are somewhat footsore. Perhaps, sea-boots off, a seat
for a minute or two in the chart-room may ease our limbs for the long
day that lies before us.

A long day, and the best part of another long day before we reach port!
A wearisome stretch of it! We ought to have some syste