t to hear the band of
the "Oregon" play. It was a volunteer band; that is, the musicians were
enlisted men, not assigned for the band. They played with vim and
precision.

It was almost dark; only the ships' outlines could be made out. The red
and white signal lights twinkled at intervals at the mastheads of
different vessels, while beams of light showed on the still, dark water
from open ports. The whole fleet lay quiet while the men listened to the
strains of music from the "Oregon." It was more like the rendezvous of a
cruising yacht club than a fleet of warships gathered in the enemy's
country.

The music from the battleship ceased, and for a moment all was still
save for the lapping of the water against the ships' sides and the
splash of a fish as it leaped out of water.

Suddenly and together, a shrill piping on all the ships broke the
silence, followed by the hoarse cry, "All the anchor watch to muster."

On all men-of-war at eight o'clock, the anchor watch is mustered. It
consists of sixteen men--eight on duty from nine till one o'clock, the
other eight from one till "all hands" at 5:30. The first part always
calls its relief at one o'clock.

The mustering over, all flocked aft to hear the band again, but were
disappointed, for the concert was over.

However, the men had come aft for music and music they must have in some
shape.

So "Steve" the modest was dragged out, and after some persuasion sang
the following to the tune of "Lou, Lou, How I Love Ma Lou." "Baron," the
gunner's mate, accompanied him on the mandolin, and Eickmann, the marine
corporal, helped out with his guitar.

"'Way down at the Brooklyn navy yard,
Where ships are rigged for sea,
Three hundred little 'heroes'
Went aboard the old 'Yankee.'
Oh! we were young and foolish,
We longed for Spanish gore,
And so they set us working
As we never worked before.

CHORUS:
"Hard-tack and salt-horse every day,
Work, slave, for mighty little pay;
And just before we get to sleep
We hear the bosun pipe like this
(Whistle),
'Up all hammocks, all hands.'

"They turn us out each morning,
To scrub our working clothes;
To polish guns and bright work,
To 'light' along the hose.
To wash down decks and ladders,
To coil down miles of rope,
To carry coal in baskets,
To live on air and hope.