ning up that coal almost
as fast as we put it in."

He disappeared up the galley ladder, grumbling as he went.

"Another county heard from," said "Stump." "It does seem rather tough,
but here goes"--he gave a vicious jerk to the hose he was handling and
the stream caught "Hay" full in the neck, whereupon "Hay" saw to it that
"Stump" had a salt-water bath.

By the time "mess gear" was piped, the ship was very clean, so during
the afternoon we were left largely to our own devices. Some wrote
letters, though the possibility of sending them or of receiving answers
was very remote. Others gathered in little knots and read or sewed, and
still others took advantage of the time to "caulk off" and make up some
lost sleep.

And so passed another Sunday. Though we might not have a religious
service we were certainly cleanly, and, therefore, at the worst, not far
from godly.

Nothing of interest occurred until early Monday morning. Several minutes
before "mess gear" was due, a lookout at the masthead reported smoke in
sight off the starboard bow. The engine room was signalled for full
steam, and the "Yankee" sped away in chase.

"It's our day for scrapping," said "Stump." "We've had more fighting on
Monday than on any other day of the week. I wonder if it's a Spanish
cruiser?"

"It is heading for Trinidad, whatever it is," remarked "Hay." "Do you
see that sloping hill just ahead? It marks the entrance to the little
port of Trinidad. If I am not mistaken we'll find a gunboat or two in
the harbor."

[Illustration: "THE FUSILLADE WAS LIVELY"]

"Hay" proved to be a prophet.

An hour later, on rounding a point of land, we came upon a small, armed
launch steaming about near an old-time roofed-in gunboat which was
riding at anchor in the harbor. As soon as we hove in sight the gunboat
and launch opened fire. It was at long range, however, and the
projectiles merely stirred up the water a mile away.

As the "Yankee's" guns replied, a two-masted steamer made her appearance
from within the harbor and vanished behind the keys. The fusillade was
lively, we firing fully one hundred rounds, but there was little damage
done. After a time, the launch retreated, and we went outside for the
night.

"It's the last of that scrap," remarked Tommy, the boatswain's mate, as
he piped down. "We haven't any time to devote to such small fry."

CHAPTER XVI.

"REMEMBER THE FISH."

The following morning, after "all hands," the "Yankee" st