, Admiral, let me
see you.

"Respectfuly and cordially,

"CLARA BARTON."

These were anxious days. While the world outside was making up war
history, we thought of little beyond the terrible needs about us; if
Santiago had any people left, they must be in sore distress; and El
Caney, with its thirty thousand homeless, perishing sufferers, how could
they be reached?

On that Sunday morning, never to be forgotten, the Spanish fleet came
out of Santiago Harbor, to meet death and capture. That afternoon
Lieutenant Capehart, of the flag-ship, came on board with the courteous
reply of Admiral Sampson, that if we would come alongside the New York
he would put a pilot on board. This was done, and we moved on through
waters we had never traversed; past Morro Castle, long, low, silent, and
grim; past the wrecks of the Spanish ships on the right; past the
Merrimac in the channel. We began to realize that we were alone, of all
the ships about the harbor there were none with us. The stillness of the
Sabbath was over all. The gulls sailed and flapped and dipped about us.
The lowering summer sun shot long golden rays athwart the green hills on
either side and tinged the water calm and still. The silence grew
oppressive as we glided along with scarce a ripple. We saw on the right
as the only moving thing, a long, slim yacht dart out from among the
bushes and steal its way up half-hidden in the shadows. Suddenly it was
overtaken by either message or messenger, and like a collared hound
glided back as if it had never been.

Leaning on the rail, half lost in reverie over the strange, quiet beauty
of the scene, the thought suddenly burst upon me--are we really going
into Santiago, and alone? Are we not to be run out, and wait aside, and
salute with dipping colors, while the great battle-ships come up with
music and banners and lead the way?

As far as the eye could reach no ship was in sight. Was this to remain
so? Could it be possible that the commander who had captured a city
declined to be the first to enter, that he would hold back his flag-ship
and himself, and send forward and first a cargo of food on a plain ship,
under direction of a woman? Did our commands, military or naval, hold
men great enough of soul for such action? It must be true, for the
spires of Santiago rise before us, and turning to the score of
companions beside me I ask: "Is there any one here who will lead the
Doxology?" In an instant the full rich voice