The Spanish Admiral
Cervera had left the home waters with his fleet of cruisers and
torpedo-boats and no one knew where they were. The lookouts on all the
vessels were ordered to keep a sharp watch for strange ships, and
especially for those having a warlike appearance. All the newspapers and
letters received on board the different cruisers of the patrol fleet
told of the anxiety felt in the coast towns and of the fear that the
Spanish ships would appear suddenly and begin a bombardment. To add to
the excitement and expectation, especially of the green crews, the men
were frequently called out of their comfortable hammocks in the middle
of the night, and sent to their stations at guns and ammunition
magazines, just as if a battle was imminent; all this was for the
purpose of familiarising the crews with their duties under war
conditions, though no enlisted man knew whether he was called to
quarters to fight or for drill.

These were the conditions, then, when one bright Sunday the crew of an
auxiliary cruiser were very busy cleaning ship--a very thorough and
absorbing business. While the men were in the thick of the scrubbing,
one of the crew stood up to straighten his back, and looked out through
an open port in the vessel's side. As he looked he caught a glimpse of a
low, black craft, hardly five hundred yards off, coming straight for the
cruiser. The water foamed at her bows and the black smoke poured out of
her funnels, streaking behind her a long, sinister cloud. It was one of
those venomous little torpedo-boats, and she was apparently rushing in
at top speed to get within easy range of the large warship.

"A torpedo-boat is headed straight for us," cried the man at the port,
and at the same moment came the call for general quarters.

As the men ran to their stations the word was passed from one to the
other, "A Spanish torpedo-boat is headed for us."

With haste born of desperation the crew worked to get ready for action,
and when all was ready, each man in his place, guns loaded, firing
lanyards in hand, gun-trainers at the wheels, all was still--no command
to fire was given.

From the signal-boys to the firemen in the stokehole--for news travels
fast aboard ship--all were expecting the muffled report and the rending,
tearing explosion of a torpedo under the ship's bottom. The terrible
power of the torpedo was known to all, and the dread that filled the
hearts of that waiting crew could not be put into word