then
bring her triumphantly into Key West or, better still, New York."

"Want to go out in a blaze of glory, do you?" said Tommy, the long.

"Sure. I'd like to burn some of that powder we took such trouble to
load."

This expressed the sentiments of the whole ship's company.

To have one more good fight--in which we were to come out victorious, of
course--get a few souvenir shot holes where no harm would be done, and
then go home. This would just about have suited us.

We floated around lazily all day Friday and Saturday with a chip on our
shoulder, as it were, but no "Monserrat" came to knock it off.

The lookouts at the masthead strained their eyes, and half the men not
actually at work did likewise. All in vain; not an enemy did we see. A
number of transports homeward bound, bearing worn but happy soldiers,
were passed, and some came near enough to exchange cheers and good
wishes.

The screw revolved but slowly, and the ship moved just enough to give
steerage way. Every passing wave did as it wished with the great hulk,
and she rolled like a log in the long swell.

Sunday night a change came over the almost quiet ship. The propeller
turned with some energy; the steering engine whirred, and the "Yankee"
changed her course. This time she headed straight for Guantanamo, and
before many minutes we knew that we were returning to our old anchorage.
The orders were to blockade the passage and keep a bright lookout for
the "Monserrat"; if by Sunday at six o'clock she had not appeared, we
were to return to the fleet.

The men who were so sure that we should never see Guantanamo again wore
a sheepish air, and those who were not so sure lorded over them and
remarked cheerfully, "I told you so."

Those of us who were sleeping at midnight were wakened and told to come
to the port and look. Sleepily we obeyed, but the moment we reached the
opening we were wide awake. There, not three miles off, rolling in the
ground swell, lay a great fleet, the searchlights sweeping the heavens
and sea; the signal lanterns twinkling.

As we looked, we saw at the masthead of the foremost vessel the signal
lights spell out A followed by D, the "Yankee's" private night signal.
Then, and our eyes almost started from our heads as we gazed, the lights
continued to spell:

"Blockade raised; hostilities ceased."

"Hurrah!" shouted some one behind me.

"Wait a minute," said "Hay," "that's not all."

The lights went on spelling: "We are