as badly
cut up about the rigging, but otherwise uninjured. Her loss was but five
men. The first tidings of this was the arrival of the "Tornado" in
Hampton Roads, with a prize crew on board, and the royal ensign of Spain
floating beneath the stars and stripes.

When the extras announcing the news were shouted in the streets, the
enthusiasm of the people knew no bounds. From every building, from every
window, the flag was displayed. Throngs of excited men marched through
the avenues, cheering and shouting, and the recruiting was renewed so
vigorously, that New York's quota of the four hundred thousand men
called for by the President was filled within the next twenty-four
hours after the news came.

In the midst of this furore, the bulletins announced that the Spanish
ironclads "Zaragoza" and "Numancia" had sailed from Havana, with no
destination announced; that their consorts, the "Arapiles" and
"Vittoria," together with three transports, "San Quentin," "Patino," and
"Ferrol," the latter well laden with coal and provisions, were preparing
to follow; also, that the huge "El Cid" had been fitted for sea, and was
about to sail from Vigo, Spain.

Just before this intelligence arrived, the United States steam frigate
"Franklin," forty-three guns, carrying the flag of Vice-Admiral Stephen
C. Rowan, left Hampton Roads on a cruise, northwardly.

Where were the Spanish ironclads going?

On Sunday morning, April 9th, Trinity Church was crowded with
worshipers. The venerable Bishop of New York was present, and was to
deliver the sermon. His erect, stately form, clad in the flowing robes
of his office, had just appeared in the pulpit, and he had spoken the
words of his text, when a commotion in the rear of the church caused him
to stop and look up, wondering at the unseemly interruption.

A soldier emerged from the crowd, and, making his way to the Astor pew,
handed a letter to Mr. John Jacob Astor. The ruddy face of that
gentleman blanched as he read its contents. Then he rose, walked to the
pulpit, and handed the missive to the bishop.

A dead silence prevailed--at last broken by these simple words:

"Brethren, the war-vessels of the public enemy have appeared off our
Harbor. Let us pray."

A deep, heart-felt Amen responded to the appeal made in eloquent, though
faltering, tones; and then, quiet and orderly, the congregation left the
temple. It was fitting that such a prayer should be the last ever
offered in a sanctua