We of the "Yankee" were willing, and I may say, without undue boasting, eager to meet any vessel of equal size or even larger, but to give battle to a whole fleet was a little too much. Nevertheless, when the word was passed to go to "general quarters," there was no sulking nor hesitancy. The battery was ready in record time. Our gun was placed in trim, ammunition hatches opened, cartridges whipped on deck, and the piece prepared for instant use so rapidly that the officer of the division, Lieutenant Greene, gave us warm praise. Then we waited. It is difficult for a layman--a citizen who has not experienced the test of action and danger in battle--to understand or appreciate our feelings that night. It is hard to describe them, to paint with mere words the intense seriousness and gravity of the situation. You can imagine a dark night at sea--a night so black that the senses feel oppressed. You can add to these a thrill of impending danger and a vision of capture by a cruel enemy and the thought that the very next second will sound the signal for an uproar and outbreak of combat, but your impressions will fall far short of the reality--that must be experienced to be appreciated. As we stood at our stations surrounding Number Eight gun, I tried to read the faces of my companions, to see if I could find in them traces of worry or anxiety, or of fear. The situation warranted even the latter emotion. The dim light cast by the nickering battle lanterns sent fantastic shadows dancing over deck and bulkhead, and caused the men at the guns to resemble, in their stained white working clothes, so many gaunt spectres. But they were spectres with a grim purpose in view, and as the officer of the division strode back and forth, alert and watchful, they followed his movements with their eyes, eager for the word that would set them in action. They were not veterans, and their experience in war could have been measured by days, but they were honestly ready to fight and to shed the last drop of their blood for the flag waving over the taffrail. It was a ticklish situation. Even the "Kid," with his careless, happy-go-lucky mind, would have admitted that; but as time passed without bringing a break in the monotony of waiting, we began to feel restless. The tension was still great, but the first sense of apprehension was gone. "I do wish something would happen," muttered "Hay," after a while. "Can you see anything from that port, 'Morrie'?" "A wall of blackness, that's all," replied the Rochester man. "We've changed our course several times," spoke up Flagg. "I think the 'old man' is scooting for cover." "Fool if he didn't," growled Tommy. "They have a pretty habit of court-martialling naval officers when they risk their ship unnecessarily. If Captain Brownson should fail to do all in his power to escape from what his judgment tells him is overwhelming odds, he'd find himself in trouble. Discretion is the better part of valor, even in the navy."