I nodded. As "government straight" meant the extremely simple bill of fare provided by Uncle Sam, consisting of salt beef, pork, hardtack, beans, and canned butter, with an occasional taste of dried fruit, I was compelled to admit my acquaintance with it. "Well, the other night I got to dreaming that I was back in New York," resumed "Kid." "I dreamt I dropped into a bang-up restaurant and ordered beefsteak, fried potatoes, pie, and----" A groan came from one of the gun's crew, who was within hearing, and "Kid" lowered his voice. "Hit him where he lived, I guess," he chuckled. "Well, I woke up so hungry that I couldn't stand it any longer. I looked up the Jap and struck him for a hand-out. He wanted a shirt, and I wanted something to eat, and we made a bargain. I brought him my extra mustering shirt--it was too large for me, anyway--and he gave me some bread and butter, cold potted tongue, three bananas, and----" "For mercy's sake, stow that," muttered a voice from back of the gun-mount. "Don't we suffer enough?" "That's 'Hand-Out' Hood," grinned "Kid." "He's kicking because he didn't get it. Well, I gave the shirt to the Jap, and what did he do but lose it. My name was on the collar, and 'Jimmy Legs' put me on the report. The 'old man' was easy, though. Gave me four hours extra duty. I asked him if I couldn't work it out in the wardroom pantry." "Kid's" chuckle came to a sudden stop, and he leaned out through the port. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Thought I saw something moving over there near the beach." "Must have been a shadow." "Guess so. Still, it looked like some kind of a--" Bang! The sharp report of a rapid-fire gun cut short his words. Another followed almost instantly, then came a regular volley. The effect on the crew of the "Yankee" was instantaneous. The men sleeping at the guns scrambled to their feet, hammocks were kicked out of the way, and before the word to go to general quarters was passed, every member of the crew was at his station. "I thought I saw something moving inshore," cried "Kid," as he scurried away. "It's a Spanish torpedo boat," muttered "Stump." "Great Scott! just listen to the 'New Orleans.' She's firing like a house afire." Suddenly there came a deep, thunderous roar. It was the voice of a thirteen-inch gun on the "Massachusetts." Sixty seconds later the six-pounders on the "Yankee's" forecastle joined in the chorus, and the action became general. "Do not fire without orders, men," cautioned Lieutenant Greene, the officer in charge of our division. "Just take it easy and bide your time." It was our first experience in actual fighting, and our anxiety to "let loose" was almost overwhelming. We were held to our stations so rigidly that but few glimpses could be caught of the outside. The "New Orleans," on our starboard, was still rattling away.