"Well, if we are to have any scraps," said "Bill," "we certainly must know how to work the ship and the guns. For, as the skipper said, 'our own fire is our best protection.'" We bowled along at a good fifteen-knot gait, day after day and night after night. The weather was magnificent and the climate delightful. It was full moon, and such a moon as few of us had seen before--so bright that letters could be and were written by her silvery light. Though drills of all sorts were of constant occurrence, there were times after mess when we could "caulk off" and enjoy the glorious weather. Our experience of bad weather along the coast of New Jersey and Long Island had given us keen zest for the good conditions we were now enjoying. We were sailing along in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream--the Gulf weed peculiar to that current slipping by as we forged through it. "Stump," "Dye," of Number Eight's gun crew, a witty chap and a good singer, "Hay," and I were leaning over the taffrail, looking into the swirling water made by the propeller's thrust, when "Dye" remarked: "This is the queerest water I ever saw in all my days; it looks like the bluing water our laundress used to make, with the suds mixed in." The smooth sea was dark and clear as could be, but where churned by the propeller it turned to the color of turquoise. "I really believe," said "Bill," as he joined the group, "that we could use it to turn our whites blue." It was a delight and marvel to us all; we would have liked nothing better than to have spent hours gazing at these wonderful colors. As we stood absorbed in the sight before us, we were interrupted by the short, sharp ringing of the ship's bell--a dozen or more strokes given in quick succession followed, after a short pause, by two more strokes. Some one shouted "Fire, boys!" and all hands rushed for their stations--some to the hose-reel, some below to the gun deck to close the ports, and some to the berth deck to receive the hose when it came down. We did not know whether it was drill or actual fire, but the skipper's talk of the night before gave us unusual energy, and the preparations were made in record time. The canvas hose was pulled along the deck with a swish, the nozzle grasped by the waiting hands below and carried with a run away aft on the berth deck. The fire was supposed to be raging at this point, as was indicated by the two last strokes of the alarm signal. While the hose was being led out, sturdy arms tugged at the port lanyards and pulled them to. Others battened down the hatches, to keep the draught from adding fury to the flames. All this was done in less time than it takes to tell it, and the men stood at their posts, perspiring and panting from the quick work.