We looked at picturesque old Morro on the bluff, and there, close to the lighthouse, still floated the Spanish colors. It was aggravating, and we would like to have shot the hateful bunting away. We had no sooner reached our station than the boatswain's call echoed from one end of the ship to the other, "Away gig." Whereupon the gig's crew rushed below and "broke out" clean whites. No matter what happens, the gig's crew must always be clean, both in person and apparel. Our gig soon joined the fleet of waiting boats at the flagship's gangway, and lay there while the captain went aboard. The skipper returned about noon and went forward. Immediately, we heard the cry "All hands on the gig falls." Then, before the boat was fairly out of water, we heard the engine bell jingle. We were off again. Some active member of the "Rumor Committee" said we were bound for Jamaica. And after consultation with a signal boy, who came aft to read the patent log, we found that we were heading for that island. The wind was dead ahead and blowing fresh and cool, but the sun was hot, and the boatswain's mates were instructed to keep the men in the shade as much as possible. The stress and strain of the night before made the few hours of "caulking off," that we now enjoyed, particularly grateful. We lay so thick on the windward side of the spar deck under the awning, that it would have been difficult to find foot room. Every hour a signal boy came running aft to read the log, which was attached to the taffrail on the starboard quarter. The log worked on the same principal as a bicycle cyclometer. It had two dials that indicated the miles and fractions of miles as they were reeled off. A long, braided line, having what we called a "twister" attached, trailed behind in the water and made the wheels go round, a certain number of revolutions to the mile. Hour after hour the ship rushed through the water. The engines throbbed in a regular, settled sort of way, that reminded one of a man snoring. The wind blew softly and caressingly. The ship rolled easily in the long swell. It was soothing and restful, and we felt quite reconciled to life in the navy. We almost forgot that we were on an engine of war; that there was enough ammunition below to blow up several "Maine's," and that we were cruising in the enemy's country. The men talked cheerfully of home, pursuits, and pleasures, for it was too fine, too bright, to be depressed. Finally the sun went down in a blaze of glory, dropping suddenly into the sea as it is wont to do in the tropics. In a few minutes it was dark. In these latitudes there is practically no twilight; the sun jumps into his full strength in the morning, and quenches his glory in the sea before one realizes the day is gone. Soon after dark the lookouts began to report lights, and before long we found ourselves steaming into a fine harbor, which we learned was Port Antonio.