He was well liked
by the officers and men of the crew, and his death was deeply regretted
by all. It was his fate to be the one member of the New York Naval
Reserves to lose his life in the service of his country.

When a big barge heaped high with coal came alongside and was made fast,
we began to doubt the assurances given us, that the coal would be put in
by outside labor. A tug hove in sight shortly afterward that caused our
gloomy faces to light up with gladness, for it carried a gang of
negroes. The tug made fast to the barge, and its living cargo was soon
hard at work filling the ship's bunkers.

All that afternoon we "lingered in the lap of luxury," as "Bill" put it.
At six o'clock our dusky (doubly dusky) coal heavers went ashore, their
labor over for the day. Though the workmen had left, the work was still
to continue. The crew coaled till twelve o'clock, working in quarter
watches. The following day another barge came alongside and part of the
crew had to turn to and help the hired shovellers.

"So much," said "Stump," snapping his fingers, "for the officers'
assurances."

Up to this time we did not _know_ where we were going. Of course the
"Rumor Committee" were ready with news of destinations galore. We were
to return to our patrol duty, to join the Flying Squadron and threaten
the coast towns of Spain, to join the blockading squadron off Havana. We
were to do a dozen or more things just as probable or just as
improbable.

A coal barge still lay alongside the starboard side of the ship, when a
lighter appeared and made fast to the port side, loaded with express
packages, parts of machinery, pipes, and bags of mail for every ship on
the Santiago blockade.

"Now we will get those eight bags of mail," said a forecastle man,
exultantly. And from that moment we knew we were going back to Cuba.

But like a good many people who think they know it all--we didn't.

Bunkers, holds--almost every available space, in fact, was filled with
coal.

Then began the much dreaded job of painting. Stages were hung over the
side, each manned by two men, and with much reluctance we began to daub
the old "Yankee" with gray paint.

The men were unaccustomed to such work, though some could handle the
brushes sold in "artist's materials" shops well enough, and they
spattered gray paint all over themselves. It was thought easier to wash
skins than jumpers, so many were decorated in wonderful fashion.

"You would make a '