A Gunner Aboard the "Yankee": From the Diary of Number Five of the After Port Gun (Russell Doubleday): The Yarn of the Cruise and Fights of the Naval Reserves in the Spanish-American WarDoubleday, Russell
History
A Gunner Aboard the "Yankee": From the Diary of Number Five of the After Port Gun (Russell Doubleday): The Yarn of the Cruise and Fights of the Naval Reserves in the Spanish-American War
Doubleday, Russell
Spanish-American War, 1898 -- Juvenile fiction
Constant, wide-awake, alert watchfulness was necessary. It was hot and
close below, and at night it was almost impossible to keep awake. It is
difficult enough to keep wide awake for an hour's lookout on deck, when
there is much to see and the air is brisk and invigorating, but it is
quite a different matter to be roused in the middle of the night to
stand two hours' watch in a close, hot hold, where nothing more
interesting than cases of powder and the bare, blank sides of the ship
are to be seen.
At first, the knowledge that the lives of all on board and the safety of
the ship herself depended on the alertness of the watch, kept us wide
awake and anxious, but as time went on, it grew harder and harder to
resist nature's demand for sleep; therefore, when the order was given to
unload the ammunition, none were gladder than the men of the "magazine
watches."
After evening mess the boatswain's mate--he got his orders from the
bridge--came aft, shouting as he walked, "All you men who want to go in
swimming may do so right away."
[Illustration: "HE GOT HIS ORDERS FROM THE BRIDGE"]
[Illustration: "ALL YOU MEN WHO WANT TO GO IN SWIMMING MAY DO SO"]
There was no doubt as to the popularity of that order. "All we men"
wanted to go in swimming, and that right away. In a jiffy, white figures
began to drop over the side with a splash, and soon shouts of glee
filled the air. The water was warm and clear as crystal, and so dense
with salt that a man diving, came up like a cork. In fifteen minutes the
order "Knock off swimming" was passed, and though we left the water with
reluctance, obedience was prompt, lest the privilege might not again be
accorded us.
After hammocks had been given out, boats hoisted--all the work of the
day finished, in fact--most of the men gathered aft 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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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