the outward
reaching of the mighty guns.

That evening--the evening of June 3d--the "Yankee's" decks presented an
animated spectacle. The novel surroundings and the prospect of action
kept the boys interested. The "Rumor Committee" was in active session,
and one of its principal members, the captain's orderly, brought the
news forward that the auxiliary cruiser would surely lead a procession
of battleships into Santiago harbor the following day.

This was a little too strong for even the marines to swallow. We lay
down by our loaded guns that night, feeling that it was well to be
within easy reach of our defenders.

Hammocks were laid on the deck close to each five-inch breechloader, and
the regular watch was doubled. Lack of experience made all these warlike
preparations very impressive, and it was some time before the boys fell
asleep. For my part, such a restlessness possessed me that, after trying
to woo slumber for a half hour, I left my place and crawled over nearer
the open port.

"Hello, Russ," whispered a voice, apparently from the outside. "Just
lean out here if you want to cool off. Isn't the night air fine?"

A small figure wriggled in from where it had been hanging over the port
sill, and in the faint light I recognized "Kid," as we called him, the
smallest boy on board, and so pleasant and popular that we had
unanimously elected him the mascot of the ship.

I was glad to see that it was "Kid." His fund of ready wit and his
never-failing good-nature made him a welcome companion at all times. He
did not belong to my gun, being a "powder monkey" on No. 16, a
six-pounder on the spar deck, but "Kid" was privileged, and he could
have penetrated to the captain's cabin with impunity.

"Thought I'd drop down here for a rest," he began, stretching himself
and yawning. "Too much tramping about on deck to sleep. Say, looks as if
we were going to have a little rain, doesn't it?"

The moon had just passed behind a scurrying cloud, causing the silvery
sparkle of its reflection to suddenly fade from the surface of the
water. The lights and shadows on the nearby beach changed to a streaky
dark smudge. There was a damp touch to the air.

"This would be a proper night for one of those sneaking torpedo boats to
give us a scare," resumed "Kid," thoughtfully. "Funny ways of fighting
those Dagoes have, eh? It's like prisoner's base that I played when I
was a boy."

"Kid's" eighteen years were a mature age in his opin