heer went up from the
crew. This time even the officers joined in.

Very shortly after came the order "All hands on the cat falls," at which
every man Jack came running forward. The blue-clothed figures poured up
the companion-ways like rats out of a sinking ship, for "all hands on
the cat falls" means up anchor, and up anchor meant new experiences,
perhaps a brush with a Spanish man-of-war or the capture of a Spanish
prize. The anchor was yanked up and guided into place on its chocks in a
hurry, and soon the "Yankee" was under way and headed southward. As we
passed the "Columbia," the men of both ships stood at attention, feet
together, hands at the side, heads up, silent. So a ship is saluted in
the United States Navy, a ceremony dignified and impressive, though not
as soul-stirring as the American cheer.

The "Scuttle Butt Navigators," or, as the "Yankee" boys called them,
the Rumor Committee, were very busy that bright day in May. According to
them we were to sail seaward and discover Cervera's fleet, the
whereabouts of which was then unknown. We were to sail south and bombard
Havana. The older, wiser heads laughed at such rumors, and said it was
foolishness, but all were ready and anxious to listen to the wildest
tales.

All the time the ship was getting under way the routine work was going
on. The sweepers had obeyed the order given by the boatswain's mate,
accompanied by the pipe peculiar to that order, "Gun-deck sweepers,
clean sweep fore and aft; sweepers, clean your spit kits."

At twenty minutes past nine the bugle sounded the first or officers'
call to quarters, a call that sounded like "Get your sword on, get your
sword on, get your sword on, get your sword on, get your sword on right
away!" Ten minutes later came "assembly," and the men rushed to their
places at the guns and their stations in the powder divisions.

After our division had been mustered, "Long Tommy," the boatswain's mate
and captain of our gun, said to "Hay," "I think we'll have some shooting
to-day. I saw the gunners' mates rigging a target."

"Good!" said "Hay," "what does it look like?"

"Why," explained Tommy, "it's a triangular sail, having a black spot
painted in the middle, supported by a raft, also triangular, which is
floated by three barrels, one at each corner."

"Can't be very big," said "Stump."

"About ten feet at the base, tapering to a point. The red flag that
flies from the top is perhaps fourteen feet from the wa