They were a jovial party, grimy with sand and sweat, their blue sailor shirts open, their faces red and their big hands tarry and scarred. They passed him hard biscuit and meat and a cup of coffee――and every now and again the earth shook to the explosion of a shell. While they were asking him questions about himself, and Vera Cruz, and the Mexicans (for whom they appeared to feel much scorn) there was a fresh hullaballoo, somewhere in the main trench. Up they sprang, to crowd and gaze. “Another pill-tosser to feed the bloomin’ dons,” they cried. “Hooray!” And here, through the trench, there came one of the great naval guns: first, rounding an elbow, a long double file of sailors, stripped to the waist, leaning low to a rope and tugging like horses; then the breech of the gun, then high wheels upon which it had been mounted, with other sailors wrestling at them; then the immensely long barrel, with still other sailors pushing at this clear to the muzzle. A bo’s’n trudged beside, urging the work. When the gun stuck for a moment crowbars were thrust under the wheels―― “Heave-ho! Together, now! Heave-ho!” “Aye, aye! Heave-ho!” “Heave, my bullies!” And they panted a song: “’Way down Rio, Rio, Rio! ’Way down Rio, Oh!” The gun went surging by. “We’ll be needed up for’d, maties,” said one of the sailor squad. “Young ’un, you set your course the direction you were steering.” They mopped their mouths with the backs of their tarry fists and lurched on after the cannon. Jerry proceeded. Next, but not much farther, the trench was cut by another trench, crossing it at right angle and extending without end on either hand. This trench on right and left was lined with blue-capped, blue-coated soldiers, crouching low, or daringly peering through openings they had made in the ridge of sand thrown out in front of the trench, their long-barreled muskets leaning against the wall, beside them. Jerry kept on, following the wheel tracks. His trench grew shallow; and the wheel tracks wound through low places amidst the dunes. He left the trench behind him. Next, he began to see soldiers in squads――messing, shaking their blankets free of sand, clearing out small trenches that had almost filled during the storm; and so forth and so forth. And tents, some blown flat and being hoisted again; and the United States flags, and regimental flags; and stacks of muskets in rows. The soldiers appeared to be of the rough-and-ready order; many of them bearded or stubbly, their uniforms worn carelessly, their caps set at an angle; some were barefoot, as if easing their feet; some had on shoes, and some had one trouser-leg tucked into a boot-top; and several who seemed ill were sitting enveloped in Mexican blankets. They were singing――these soldiers――in groups, as they lolled or worked at various tasks; singing not very musically, but gaily: