". . . They kin number us up all they wanna, but we're the--th N' Yok National Guard--a right good team! Down there on th' Mexican barder, we sure got trimmed, good and planny! Hot! My! Saay, cap'n, I guess-- Ah well, a' course you've been through some heat, too--but it was sure some warm hell down there! Yes--sir!" A bright lad! His words recall to us a windy afternoon on Fifth Avenue, in the days when our Uncle Sam was dispassionate and neutral. Flags whipping noisily in the high breeze, the crowds, the bands, and the long khaki column in fours winding towards the North River ferries to embark for Mexico, on a task that called for inhuman restraint. Newsboys were shouting aloud the peril of Verdun, and the thought came to us then--"Will that stream of manhood ever march east?" And now, under our feet and in our charge, fourteen hundred--"the best ever, yessa!"--are bound east by every thrust of the screw, and out on the heaving waste of water around us are fifteen thousand more; and the source is sure, and the stream, as yet, is but trickling. ON OCEAN PASSAGE THE weather has certainly moderated. In but an hour the sea has gone down considerably. There is no longer height enough in the tumble of it to throw us about like a Deal lugger. We steam on a more even keel; the jar and racket of the racing propeller has altered to a steady rhythmic pulse-beat that thrusts our length steadily through the water. At times the rain lashes over and shuts out sight of our neighbours, but we have opportunity to regulate our station in the lengthening intervals between the squalls. Improvement in the wind and sea has brought our somewhat scattered fleet into better and closer order. The rear horse-transports have come up astern and seem to have got over the steering difficulties that their high topsides and small rudder-immersion effected in the heavier sea. Only the barometer shows no inclination to move, in keeping with the better conditions--the rain, perhaps, is keeping the mercury low. It seems plain sailing for a while. The Second can look out for her; no use having too many good men on the bridge. We are only in the way out here, stamping and turning on the wet foot-spars, or throwing bowlines in the 'dodger' stops to pass the night. Four bells--two a.m.--the time goes slowly! We are somewhat footsore. Perhaps, sea-boots off, a seat for a minute or two in the chart-room may ease our limbs for the long day that lies before us. A long day, and the best part of another long day before we reach port! A wearisome stretch of it! We ought to have some system of relief. Why not? Why not take a relief? The chief officer is as good a man as the master. Why not let him run the bus for a spell? Oh, just--just--just a rotten way we have of doing! In the Navy they make no bones about turning over to their juniors; why should we make it so hard for our-- "_Says it is hazy, sir! Told me to let you know he hasn't seen any of the ships for over an hour!_"