WITH THE BATTLE FLEET

Courtesy of Collier's Weekly

In the Straits of Magellan

WITH
THE BATTLE FLEET

CRUISE OF THE SIXTEEN BATTLESHIPS OF THE
UNITED STATES ATLANTIC FLEET FROM HAMPTON
ROADS TO THE GOLDEN GATE

DECEMBER, 1907-MAY, 1908

BY

FRANKLIN MATTHEWS

ILLUSTRATED BY

HENRY REUTERDAHL
(Courtesy of Collier's Weekly)

1909
B. W. HUEBSCH
NEW YORK

Copyright 1909
by B. W. HUEBSCH

1st Printing, October, 1908
2d Printing, December, 1908
3d Printing, February, 1909

TO
REAR ADMIRAL RICHARD WAINWRIGHT, U.S.N.,
(Captain of the U.S.S. Louisiana on the Atlantic Fleet's Cruise to the Pacific)

AN ABLE OFFICER AND
A GENTLEMAN

[CONTENTS]

[INTRODUCTORY]

On December 16, 1907, there sailed from Hampton Roads, bound for San Francisco, a fleet of sixteen American battleships, the most powerful collection of warships ever assembled under the American flag and about to undertake the longest cruise that any fleet of any nation had ever made. It was ordered to make this journey of about 14,000 miles by President Roosevelt, Commander-in-Chief of the Navy by virtue of his office, for reasons which he did not deem wise to make public fully and which up to this writing have not been revealed. In his annual message submitted to Congress a few days before the fleet sailed the President designated the fleet, still known officially as the U. S. Atlantic Fleet, as the Battle Fleet.

Rear Admiral Robley D. Evans was in command of the fleet, of the first squadron and of the first division of the first squadron. The ships of his division were the Connecticut, (Captain H. Osterhaus), Kansas (Captain C. E. Vreeland), Vermont (Captain W. P. Potter) and Louisiana (Captain Richard Wainwright). The ships of the second division of the first squadron were commanded by Rear Admiral William H. Emory and were the Georgia (Captain H. McCrea), New Jersey (Captain W. H. H. Southerland), Rhode Island (Captain J. B. Murdock) and Virginia (Captain S. Schroeder). The second squadron of the fleet and its third division were commanded by Rear Admiral Charles M. Thomas, and the ships of his division were the Minnesota (Captain J. Hubbard), Ohio (Captain C. W. Bartlett), Missouri (Captain G. A. Merriam) and the Maine (Captain G. B. Harber). The ships of the fourth division were commanded by Rear Admiral Charles S. Sperry, and his ships were the Alabama (Captain T. E. DeW. Veeder), Illinois (Captain J. M. Bowyer), Kearsarge (Captain H. Hutchins) and Kentucky (Captain W. C. Cowles). There were about 14,000 men on the ships and the value of the vessels and stores was about $100,000,000.

The following compilation shows where the fleet stopped, how long each stay was and the distance travelled.

Sailed from Hampton Roads, Va., December 16, 1907.

Arrived Port of Spain, December 23, 1907; sailed December 29, 1907; 1,594.7 knots; time 7 days 9 hours.

Arrived Rio de Janeiro, January 12, 1908; sailed January 22, 1908; 3,225 knots; time, 13 days 20 hours.

Arrived Possession Bar, Chile, January 31, 1908; sailed February 1, 1908; 2,076 knots; time, 9 days.

Arrived Punta Arenas, Chile, February 1, 1908; sailed February 7, 1908; 75 knots; time, 9 hours.

Arrived Callao, Peru, February 20, 1908; sailed February 29, 1908; 2,693 knots; time, 12 days 10 hours.

Arrived Magdalena Bay, Mexico, March 12, 1908; sailed April 11, 1908; 3,025 knots; time, 12 days 23 hours.

Arrived San Diego, Cal., April 14, 1908; sailed April 18, 1908; 590 knots; time, 2 days 21 hours.

Arrived San Pedro, Cal., April 18, 1908; sailed April 25, 1908; 75 knots; time, 9 hours.

Arrived Santa Barbara, Cal., April 25, 1908; sailed April 30, 1908; 85 knots; time, 10 hours.

Arrived Monterey, Cal., May 1, 1908; sailed May 2, 1908; 210 knots; time, 25 hours.

Arrived Santa Cruz, Cal., May 2, 1908; sailed May 5, 1908; 15 knots; time, 2 hours.

Arrived San Francisco Lightship, May 5, 1908; sailed May 6, 1908; 60 knots; time, 6 hours.

Arrived San Francisco, Cal., May 6, 1908; 15 knots; time, 2 hours. Total knots, 13,738.

Actual time of cruising, 61 days 19 hours.

The departure of the fleet excited intense interest throughout the civilized world. Its progress was watched with eagerness at home and abroad. The letters printed herewith record what took place on this momentous journey, and they constitute practically a chronological story of the cruise. Every word of them was passed upon by duly appointed naval officers with the fleet. Their accuracy therefore must be unquestioned. They were written for The Sun of New York and they were printed originally by that newspaper and its clients simultaneously throughout the country. They are reproduced by the special permission of the Sun Printing and Publishing Association and in response to a large number of written and oral requests that a permanent record be made of the cruise and its incidents.

The author takes pleasure in making acknowledgment of the kindly co-operation of Lieut. F. Taylor Evans of the Louisiana in the preparation of the letters and in the elimination of technical naval errors through his watchful supervision. The author is also under obligations to very many officers of the fleet, especially to Lieutenant Commander C. T. Jewell, navigator of the Louisiana, for suggestions and for assistance in gathering information, as well as for the cordiality with which he and the other correspondents, all of whom were sent with the fleet by special direction of the President, were received on the ships.

F. M.

New York, July 1, 1908.

WITH THE BATTLE FLEET

CHAPTER I
FROM HAMPTON ROADS TO TRINIDAD

Run of the Battleships Down to the West Indies—The "Sweet Sixteen" Quick to Get Down to Business After the Sentiment of the Good-by—Formation of the Fleet—Difficulties of Maintaining the Proper Distances—Naval Routine—Gospel of Neatness—Neptune's Preparations for Celebrating the Crossing of the Line—Arrival at Trinidad.

On Board U.S.S. Louisiana, U. S. Battle Fleet,

Trinidad, Dec. 24.

"I call 'em 'Sweet Sixteen', sir," said the bos'n's mate to the Sun correspondent as Admiral Evans in the flagship Connecticut led the battle fleet past the capes of the Chesapeake out to sea just before noon on December 16 and the gentle swells lifted and lowered the bows of one ship after another to nod their own farewells to the Mayflower at anchor near the Tail of the Horseshoe.

The officers and men had stood at attention to receive the good-by and godspeed of the President, and they had thundered their farewells to him from the throats of the 3-pounder barkers that spat fire and snorted out great puffs of smoke, but when each ship began to find herself she too made her good-by as only a dignified ship could make it, taking no orders from Admiral or Captain as to when and how often she should bow to the ship that carried the President.

A stiff northwest wind seized hold of the great streamers of smoke that poured over the tops of smoke-pipes, and as these streamers frayed themselves out against the blue sky and the bright sun the breeze seemed to lift them toward the southeastern heavens, where some power wove them together to pull the ships along and give them a fine sendoff. All of Monday and Tuesday whoever it was in the kingdom of Old Boreas that was doing the tugging on the ships made a good job of it, for practically every vessel in the fleet had to check speed constantly.

Admiral Evans had his own notions as to the way a great fleet should set sail on a prolonged voyage, and his commanding officers got down to business in a jiffy. All acted as if sending a fleet of sixteen battleships on a 14,000 mile cruise were a mere matter of ordinary routine. The officers of the deck on all the ships were concerned chiefly about keeping their proper distances, the navigators were taking bearings and already getting ready for figuring out latitudes and longitudes, the executive officers were going about to see that everything was in proper order for routine at sea and the captains were mostly on the bridges casting their eyes about and keeping their ears open, alert to correct any move that might mar the performance of their ships in the fleet formation.

Below decks in engine and fire rooms, and in all the other of the scores of places where men watch and work in a warship, routine was established quickly.

It was all very businesslike. Every ship was doing the same thing at the same time. True, the fleet had started for San Francisco, but that was a mere detail, so little has the matter of destination to do with perfecting drill on a warship.

Copyright by Pictorial News Co.

The Fleet Leaving Hampton Roads

Getting away from Hampton Roads may have sent a lump into many a man's throat, but not one showed it. On every ship the band was playing the usual good-by medley composed of "Home, Sweet Home," "The Girl I Left Behind Me" and "Auld Lang Syne." The middle part of the medley brought thumping of many feet on the deck, but there was silence and stern looks ahead when the beginning and end were reached, over and over again.

A staff officer on the Louisiana showed the attitude of the naval man. He had told his wife and family exactly where to go in a remote but conspicuous place on the ramparts of old Fort Monroe so that he could distinguish them easily with his glass. He had told them he would be on the after bridge. When the ship came near the station of his family he stole far out on the bridge, fixed his glass on the family group and waved and waved his handkerchief. The answer came quickly and the flashes seemed to be wigwags, such as a naval officer's wife might be expected to know.

The officer stood it for about two minutes. Then he pulled himself together sharply, turned and walked away. He walked over to a group of his mates.

"Did you make out your people, Jones?" asked one of them who had noted what was going on.

"I believe they were over there somewhere in the crowd," was the reply with an apparently unconcerned smile.

He had finished with that side of his existence. From now on he knew no family; his duty was to his flag and ship. What was that signal at the forward truck? Had anybody made it out? His heartstrings were out of sight and he was thankful they were.

The business side of the start was another story. Orders had been issued to steam in exact column, that is, one ship directly behind its leader at a distance of 400 yards from masthead to masthead. Steam was up; engines, steering gear, annunciators, and all the rest of the modern contrivances had been tested; boats hoisted in and gangways unrigged, and then came the flagship signal to get under way.

How the men did step around and the anchor engines tug! The division officer watched until the anchor was clear of the mud, when he reported it to the executive officer, who takes a ship in and out of port. Finally the anchor was sighted, the "All ready" signal made, the engines began to throb and the ships turned on their heels and got under way.

It was a pretty manœuvre in the crowded Roads with the swift tide sweeping the ships seaward. In the chains the leadsman was swinging his plummet and calling out such things as "By the mark seven," "By the deep six," "By the quarter less six," while the ships slowly paraded down the bay. The channel was so shallow that the ships stirred up the mud and some of it got into the machinery, and there were hot bearings that were cooled down with the hose. It would not do to falter or make a blunder of any kind, for the President was looking on and no excuses would be tolerated.

It was a far different story from the old days. The old sloop of war Jamestown lay in the Roads, and if the fleet could have stopped to listen she would have spun a yarn on how they used to leave port. She would have remarked upon the change. When she set sail capstan bars would be shipped and all that part of the ship's company manning the bars would bring the anchor chain "up and down, sir," as the officer in charge of the fo'c's'le would report. The captain and First Luff (the executive officer who "had to have the ship working like a chronometer, no thanks if he did and his hide scorched by his superiors if he didn't") would stand on the quarter block on the weather side and the navigator and officer of the deck on the lee side.

Then would come the sharp commands, "Aloft light yardmen!" "Aloft topmen!" "Aloft lower yardmen!" "Lay out!" "Let fall!" and a cloud of snowy canvas would drop loose and limp. Then would come the commands, "Topsail sheets and halyards!" "To'gallant sheets and halyards!" "Set taut!" "Haul away!" with the shrill sound of the bos'n's whistle to the tramp of hundreds of feet.

When a band was on board there would be a martial air. If not the officer would shout "Stamp and go!" and this noise with the feet meant so much extra pulling, and the good ship was soon on her course. Sometimes a chanty would be sung instead of the "Stamp and go," and when the ship was bound for Rio, just as this fleet is, one could hear the light hearted, and the heavy hearted ones too, singing a refrain that the men of this fleet might well have sung if the days of the chanty had not gone to limbo:

Heave away for Rio!
Heave away for Rio!
My bonny young girl,
My head's in a whirl,
For I'm bound for the Rio Grande.

The old days have gone, but many a bluejacket's head (bluejacket, mind you; not Jackie, for many of Uncle Sam's tars and sea dogs don't like that term) was in a whirl over some bonny young girl, as witness the hundreds of letters that were sent ashore on the mail orderly's last trip.

And so the ships passed out to sea. The matter of fact officers occasionally cast their eyes about and when they had time to give expression to their feelings about all that one would hear from them would be:

"Mighty fine, sight, this. Wonder what they're doing back there? Distance seems wrong. Better get up his position pennant or the Admiral may get after him. What's that? We're fifty yards too close? Give her three revolutions slower. Only twenty-five now? Give her only one slower. Get her distance now? Standard speed."

And the signals to the engine room would quit jangling for a time while the Captain or officer of the deck looked around again and repeated:

"Mighty fine sight, this!"

It all depends on the way you look at it. You couldn't see much going down the Chesapeake Bay channel. There was a turn or two, but the smoke of the saluting obscured things and it was not until the ships headed out to sea and the Connecticut was past the whistling buoy, which also seemed to want to have a share in the sendoff, that it was possible to get a satisfactory look at the entire fleet that stretched away for more than three miles.

Then came a signal for open order. The Admiral's ship went right on. The next following bore out to port and the next to starboard. Then the ships paired off to port and starboard, making two lines, each a quarter of a point off the flagship, which had a lane to itself in the centre, giving the Admiral and his staff on the after bridge a view of all. Perhaps the formation may be understood better by the average reader by saying that it was a wing and wing formation.

Signals were passing along the line constantly and semaphores were throwing their arms about as if they were manikins performing for the amusement of the 14,000 men afloat. It was pretty to see a mass of flags fall to the deck simultaneously from time to time. It was impressive to see the flag of the country fluttering from the gaffs of mainmasts. It was fine to see the ships keeping in line.

The commanding officers might refer to the spectacle as a mighty fine sight, but the few civilians with the fleet shared the sentiment of a tar who sidled up to the Sun man and said:

"This makes you proud of your country. You know already that the country is big and great and all that, but when you see it reduced to this kind of business on the ocean you are sure your country is great. None but a great country could produce such a sight as this. I'm glad I've had the chance to see it."

In single file for two hours the ships kept on their course. They were like so many Indians on a jaunt. Each ship stood for sovereignty. Each stood for brute strength. Each stood for the development of science and skill. Each stood for an impressive expression of patriotism. In that fleet of sixteen ships there seemed to be concentrated, according to some of those who looked at them, the entire power of the United States for good or evil.

When it came to estimating the brute strength of the fleet it grew bewildering. The mathematicians got busy. They figured out that there were nearly 1,000 guns of various kinds on the entire fleet and they talked about the weight of projectiles and charges and then got down to muzzle velocity in foot seconds and muzzle energy in foot tons and a lot of other terms that would make a landlubber's head dizzy. They told how the average muzzle velocity of those guns was 2,700 feet a second and that a 13-inch gun's energy was equal to raising 31,372 tons a foot, while that of a 12-inch gun, with which these ships are all armed, could lift, by the power of one discharge, 44,025 tons a foot. Then they got to figuring out how much all the guns could lift and how swift the things they shoot could go. This ran the figures up into the millions of foot tons just for one discharge.

When some one tried to figure out how many millions upon millions of foot tons could be raised if all the projectiles in the fleet were fired—the exact number of the thousands upon thousands of these projectiles it would not be prudent even to indicate—why, an amateur at figures, the simple addition, subtraction, multiplication and division man, got a headache.

Then the figure sharps got after the engine power, and they tried to show if one ship had something like 15,000 horse-power, more or less, what the combined ships must have and what could be done with it on land—that is, how many railroad trains, each a mile long, could be pulled so many thousands of miles; how many bridges like those across the East River they could pull down with just one tug at them; how many cities such power could light; how many great factories and mills could be run with that power, and even how much goods could be made out of it—well, after that the amateur began to wonder if he could add up two and two.

After that it was figured out that the displacement in tons for the entire fleet was more than a quarter of a million, and the weight of a lot of other heavy things in the world was estimated. By this time the amateur was clear flabbergasted, and all he could say, landlubber that he is and will be until Neptune has him ducked, was that if the fleet did displace 250,000 tons of water the ocean didn't show any signs of it and Uncle Sam would have to try many, many thousands of times if he expected to get the better of old Neptune by displacing water.

After the mathematical sharps had finished, what are known as the word painters and grainers became busy. Some of the word painters compared the long file of ships to a line of gray geese in a long follow-your-leader flight to the south for a warmer clime. The ships did look gray at times, according to the atmospheric conditions, but the gray geese analogy was voted not a success because geese haven't things sticking up in the middle of their backs resembling the smoke-pipes of battleships. Besides, geese do not give out black or any other kind of smoke.

The painters got out their vocabulary of magnificent, awe inspiring, formidable demons of war, bulldogs of the sea, peace compellers and all that string and began to weave them all together, and it was voted all right and probably appropriate, but it was said that these did not hit quite the right note.

That was that this fleet was going out for business of a different kind from that which any other American fleet had undertaken. The business in hand was the moulding of sixteen battleship units into one battle fleet unit, not sixteen times stronger than one unit, but with the strength increased in something like geometrical ratio. The problem, therefore, was to make this fleet a unit, not like a chain, strong only as its weakest link, but like a rope, far stronger than the multiplied strength of its various strands.

Charles H. Cramp, the veteran shipbuilder, nearly ten years ago pointed out in a paper read at the annual meeting of naval men and marine engineers in New York City that the greatest training need of the United States navy was what he called battleship seamanship. That meant not navigation merely, but the synchronizing of one battleship to others, the tuning up, so to speak, the team work, to use a football analogy, in sailing, manœuvring, shooting—all pulling together.

Two hours after clearing the Capes Admiral Evans gave the signal for one of his favorite cruising formations, that is, in columns of fours. The four divisions of the fleet drew up in parallel lines with an Admiral at the head of each line.

The five starred white flag, called the five of clubs, was run up at the fore truck of the Connecticut to indicate that that ship was the guard ship. The lines were run at intervals of 1,600 yards, and the ships of each division, still in wing and wing fashion, were at distances of 400 yards. To be strictly naval you must call the space between two lines of ships interval and the space between two individual ships in line distance.

Well, after the ships were spread out they covered an area of more than two square miles, and then one began to realize what all these ships meant. The circle of twelve or fourteen miles that hemmed them in and that expanded in front and contracted in the rear seemed practically filled with them. Distances were kept fairly well and the ships plodded along in the smooth sea nodding their approval of what was going on.

It was this problem of distance that kept the officers of the decks busy. When you think that each of these ships represented a weight of from 15,000 to 18,000 tons more or less, and that you had to move that ship at the rate of 10 knots an hour and keep it within 400 yards of a ship in front of you; when you consider how some ships move a trifle of an inch faster than another ship at the same number of propeller revolutions; when you think that one of the propellers of your own ship will do more work than the other at the same number of revolutions, and that this will throw you out of your course and make you steer badly if you don't correct it; when you think that your leader may vary in his speed; when you think of all this, you can begin to understand the problem of those officers on the bridge to keep the ships in line and at proper distances.

It took some time for each ship to determine how many revolutions were necessary to produce ten knots speed, according to the standard of the flagship. For example, the Louisiana's experts figured on sixty-seven revolutions. It was too much, for after an hour or two it was found that sixty-five would do the work. Some of the ships were between two numbers. All the time each ship was gaining or losing a trifle and this had to be corrected every minute or two. On each ship a young midshipman stood on the bridge beside the officer on watch looking through a little instrument of bars and glasses and wheels graduated to a scale of figures and called a stadimeter. He reduced the truckline and the waterline of the flagship to some mathematical basis involving triangulation—what's the use of trying to explain it? No one but a mathematician could understand it—and then he would say, "370 yards, sir," or perhaps the figures would be 325 or 460, or what not, and the officer of the deck would have to signal to the engine room to slow down or go faster.

It was to be watchful every minute of the hour. The midshipman often had to report distances every fifteen or twenty seconds and the corrections of speed were going on every two or three minutes.

When you got more than forty yards out of the way you had to fly a triangular pennant of white with red border and this was set down against your ship on the flagship, and that you didn't like, if you were the responsible officer.

And so the first day at sea wore on and the sun went down with a glow of gold in the west that seemed like a benediction. Just as it sank below the horizon the pink rays that were gathering reflected themselves on the starboard sides of the white ships and gave them a touch of color. Lights on the main truck on the foremast and at the stern and at the sides appeared instantly, and it was night-time on the fleet.

The black smoke rose straight in the air, other lights began to twinkle and soon, in the glow of the twilight and the gleam of the lights on the vessels themselves and the illumination of the moon close to the full, the ships took on an aspect such as lower New York assumes early in the evening of mid-winter days when office buildings are lighted. When the smoke smudged the sky or clouded the moon, however, it was like a city of factories and it was decided that there was just one expression that would give some idea of its beauty. It was this:

"Spotless town afloat."

Zest was added to the day's sendoff and work when the officers were gathered in the wardroom at dinner and a wireless telegram of good wishes from the Mayflower, received a short time before, was read. There were cheers for the President, especially on the Louisiana, which is called the President's ship because he sailed on her to Panama, and hundreds of the officers and crew feel that they know him personally.

"Good for the President!" shouted one of the officers in the waist of the table.

"So say we all," responded a man on the other side, "but I wish he had told us where we are going."

That man didn't have to wait long, for soon there was sent into the wardroom of every ship a message signalled from the flagship which said that after a brief stay on the Pacific Coast the fleet would come home by way of Suez. This is what Admiral Evans signalled:

UNOFFICIAL SIGNAL.

U. S. S. Connecticut

December 16th, 1907.

The President authorizes the Commander-in-Chief to inform the officers and men that after a short stay on the Pacific Coast it is the President's intention to have the fleet return to the Atlantic Coast by way of the Mediterranean.

Every man jumped at that news; every one wished his wife or sweetheart could know it at once. One of the puzzles about the fleet was settled.

There is no room in this first letter of the long cruise to go into detail about the thousand and one things—incidents, ceremonies and drills—that make up the routine and life on the warship. These will come afterward in other forms. One might tell how the men on guard at the side lights at night sing out after a bell is tapped: "Port light burning bright," "Starboard light burning bright," how "the 9 o'clock light is out, sir" report is made and received; how they "put the shirts on" the gun muzzles and mainmast; how the call to dinner to the officers is done on the Louisiana with a fife and drum, "rolling roast beef," they used to call it, and probably, do yet in the British navy, only the tune is different in ours, for it is "Yankee Doodle"; how "sweethearts and wives" are toasted once a week; how "make it eight bells" is said; how scores of these things, many of them well known, are done and why. Let it go for the present.

If there is one thing that impresses the civilian even more than the ceremonies or the peculiar routine of a warship it is the cleanliness of things. This applies as much to the men as it does to the remotest nook and cranny in the darkest and deepest part of the ship.

The officer would take you into some corner where you had to bend your back and almost go on your hands and knees and show you that it was as clean as the most exposed parts of his bailiwick. The fleet had not been out two days before the executive officer issued an order about cleanliness.

The men were cautioned to keep themselves and their clothes clean on penalty of going on the scrubbing list. It did not mean that there were men on board who were slack in this respect, but there were a lot of youngsters who had never been to sea before and they needed to be broken in. What the scrubbing list is was well explained by an old time sailor on board. He said:

"Man-o'-war cleanliness is different from any other that I know. I distinguish it from all other kinds because it is the most searching and far reaching thing of the kind in the world.

"It really begins on the inside of a man, at his soul, although I am sorry to say you can't always see the effect of it there, and it works its way out to his skin, clothing and surroundings. All must be immaculately clean, and this habit is so thoroughly ingrained in the men that to maintain it they will even commit crime.

"I mean just what I say. Let me give you an instance:

"In one of the old ships in which I sailed fresh water—it was the case of all of 'em, sir—fresh water was a scarce article even to drink. No fresh water could be had to wash our clothes. Salt water does not clean clothing properly, no matter how you work over your duds.

"So our men in the old days actually used to steal the water out of the breakers, the small casks kept in the boats at all times in case of emergency, such as shipwreck. That is what I mean by committing crime. We actually used to steal from the most important supply on the ship just for the sake of keeping ourselves clean.

"For uncleanliness a man would be stripped naked and his skin scrubbed with sand and canvas—no man ever forgot it who experienced that—and sometimes with ki-yar brushes, by two husky bos'n's mates. All hands soon got the habit of being clean."

There was much interest on the ships as to how the wireless telephone would work out. The system has been in operation only a few months and is largely in the experimental and almost the infantile stage.

All of the battleships are equipped with the apparatus and there was no doubt about it, you could talk to any ship in the fleet from any other and at times the sounds of the voice were as clear as through an ordinary telephone. At times they weren't, and there was a division of opinion among the officers as to the real value of the invention.

As is the case with the wireless telegraph only one ship of a fleet can use the telephone at one time. While one ship is talking to another all the other ships must keep out of it and even the ship to which the message is being sent must keep still and not break in. The receiver must wait until the sender has got all through with what he has to say and then he can talk back.

The sending and receiving machines use part of the apparatus of the wireless telegraph outfit. If an attempt is made to use the telegraph while the telephone is in use the telephone goes out of commission at once because it is absolutely drowned out. The telegraph apparatus uses so much greater power that it is like a loud voice overwhelming a soft one.

The operator at the telephone would sound a signal with some sort of a buzzer that had the wail of a lost cat in its voice and then he would put a little megaphone into the mouthpiece of the telephone and would say, sharp and clear:

"Minnesota! Minnesota! Minnesota! This is the Louisiana! This is the Louisiana! This is the Louisiana! We have a press message for you to send to the beach. We have a press message for you to send to the beach. Do you hear us? Do you hear us? Minnesota! Minnesota! This is the Louisiana! Go ahead! Go ahead!"

Sometimes the message would fail. Sometimes the wireless, one kind or the other, would be working on other ships. Sometimes the answer would come at once and the operator would write down the reply and hand it over to you.

When connection would be established fully the operator instead of reading off your press message would click it off by a telegraph key to the Minnesota's operator. That was to make sure that he would get it correctly. Peculiarly spelled words employed in cabling could not be made out by the ordinary operator and it was taking chances to spell them out with the voice, and hence they were sent with the key, the operation really being a combination of the wireless telephone and telegraph, yet not at all complicated in practical operation.

Everyone of the electrical experts with the fleet is convinced that the wireless telephone is going to be of value. Most of them have talked with it clearly for distances of at least twenty miles. One difficulty is in keeping it tuned up because the wireless telegraph apparatus is also on board.

Some of the experts seemed to think that one service dropped in efficiency if the other was kept keyed up to its best. All were confident that as soon as certain difficulties were overcome, difficulties no more serious, they said, than the ordinary telephone encountered in the beginning, the apparatus would be workable as readily as a telephone on land. Give it time, was the way the situation was summed up.

Speaking about wireless telegraph, have you heard the latest wrinkle in it, the most up to date use of it? Of course you haven't. It remained for the voyage of this fleet to disclose it.

Three days out, every ship got wireless messages from Father Neptune warning it to be ready to receive him on crossing the line. The message was genuine because it was posted up and a copy sent to the executive officer as soon as it was received. An orderly brought it to him with an unusually stiff salute while the wardroom was at mess.

It served notice on all "landlubbers, pollywogs and sea lawyers" that they must be initiated and it appointed one Fore Topmast as "official representative of his Most Gracious Majesty Neptune Rex, Ruler of the Royal Domain." It called for a meeting of the "faithful subjects" to arrange for the ceremonies of his visit.

The meeting on the Louisiana was held in No. 12 casemate, on the port side of the gun deck aft. The proceedings were secret, but it was soon known that royal policemen, royal barbers, royal judges, royal counsel and a lot of other royal functionaries were appointed. The word went through the ship that the ceremonies were to be pretty strenuous; that no one who had not crossed the Equator would escape.

To show how serious this was here is a copy of one of Neptune's messages and the order that followed its reception:

NOTICE.

The following wireless was received at 11 p.m., December 19, 1907:

Fore Topmast, Official Representative on Board the Good Ship Louisiana of His Majesty Neptune Rex, Ruler of the Royal Domain.

At the time the Thomas W. Lawson turned turtle many of my trusted police were on board, and as a result they were more or less injured and all of the regulation uniforms carried by them were lost. Therefore it will be necessary for me to designate many of my royal subjects on board the good ship represented by you to act in their stead, and you are authorized to make the selection from among the most faithful of those who belong to the royal realm.

In making the appointments you will consider their qualifications as to severity, alertness, seadogness, their knowledge as to the interior plans of the ship and their ability to follow the trail of any landlubber, pollywog or sea lawyer who endeavors to escape the initiation as prescribed by me.

You will report to me by wireless the names of the subjects selected, the position assigned and the proficiency of each in order that I may forward their commission at once.

You will have the regulation uniforms made up at once and will carry out all orders in this connection.

Your Majesty,

Neptune Rex,

Ruler of the Royal Domain.

GENERAL ORDER NO. 3.

In view of the above I have this day, the 20th of December, 1907, selected from among the royal subjects on board the good ship Louisiana the trusted police as directed by his Majesty, and those selected have been notified of their appointment, all of whom have accepted. The attention of all the royal subjects is invited to paragraph X, article VIIX, regulations of the royal realm, relative to police duty and to the punishments prescribed for those who fail to perform their duty properly and to the landlubber, pollywog or sea lawyer who tries to avoid the initiation as prescribed by his Majesty.

As noted in the wireless message from his Majesty many of the uniforms were lost, the trusted police selected will at once visit his Majesty's tailor, the sailmaker's mate, and be measured for the uniform to protect him from the crabs, eels and sharks.

Fore Top, O. R. H. M. N. R.

Two days later this wireless was received and an order issued complying with directions:

NOTICE.

The following wireless was received at 1 a. m., December 21:

Fore Topmast, Official Representative of His Majesty Neptune Rex, Ruler of the Royal Domain, on Board the Good Ship Louisiana.

It has been reported to me by a member of my secret police on board of the good ship on which you are my representative that there are several landlubbers, pollywogs and sea lawyers who intend to escape the initiation as prescribed by me by stowing themselves away; of course this is folly on their part, as there is not a hole or corner on board the good ship Louisiana that my faithful police and subjects are not familiar with, and it is therefore impossible for any one to avoid escaping the royal initiation. Those who do try to escape the initiation in this manner will of course be apprehended, and when brought before me on the day of the ceremonies they will not soon forget the trick they endeavored to play on the royal realm, and the dose they get will be more severe than any I have as yet prescribed. Referring to the secret code of the royal realm, the following landlubbers, pollywogs and sea lawyers have been reported to me as mentioned above: Gabnokto, Thnruowk, Mawjtrqmorptzs, Wqquopbchr and Ybxquotrdhgle. You will therefore at once issue orders to the chief of police to attend to these crabs and to put his best men on their trail, and if the above is true they will so report to me upon my arrival on board.

Your Majesty,

Neptune Rex,

Ruler of the Royal Domain.

GENERAL ORDER NO. 4.

This is to inform the members of the royal realm on board the good ship Louisiana that I have this day issued orders to the chief of police to place five of his best men on the trail of the men as mentioned in his Majesty's wireless and whom you will all know by referring to the royal secret code which you have in your possession. You will also keep track of these animals and report to me any out of the way move which they should make. You will also be on the lookout for any other of these who happen to be on board, and should they make a false move I will make a special report to his Majesty with recommendations which will cover all defects.

Fore Top,

Official Representative of His Majesty.

After one day's steaming in four columns the fleet was deployed into two columns. For one day the speed was increased to 11 knots. The little tender Yankton, which is to be used as the Admiral's yacht in port and for short journeys and which has been running with the fleet off the starboard side of the flagship, was sent on ahead to get a good start. One day's steaming at 11 knots brought her back to us and then the fleet resumed the slower speed.

The weather was fine throughout. When the trade wind belt was encountered about 300 miles north of St. Thomas the ships pitched a good deal, but there was little rolling. Sea legs had been acquired by that time and few on board were incapacitated. There was a squall now and then in the Caribbean with a dash of rain for five or ten minutes, but that was nothing.

On Friday, December 20, the Missouri was detached from the fleet to take a sailor sick with peritonitis to San Juan, and later that night the Illinois was sent to Culebra with a sailor who had pneumonia. Of course both could have been treated on board ship, but Admiral Evans thought that it would be more humane to give these men the best treatment that could be had on shore and so did not hesitate. Two great warships were sent away from the fleet formation, all for the comfort of two men. The ships joined the fleet again late on Saturday.

There were only one or two slight mishaps to ship machinery reported on the journey down, really nothing worthy of note, a pump or something of that kind being out of order. The fleet went along in splendid style. Three days out the intervals and distances were almost perfect at all hours of the day and night. The voyage soon became a double procession of warships, with just the ordinary routine going on.

On Sunday, December 22, the first death on the fleet was reported. It was that of Robert E. Pipes, an ordinary seaman on the Alabama, enlisted at Dallas, Tex., in August last. He died of spinal meningitis. Nothing was known of the death on the fleet until eight bells were sounded at 4 P.M. Admiral Evans had gone ahead of the fleet at noon to make a four or six hour test of the new fuel called briquettes, and his ship was out of sight. Admiral Thomas on the Minnesota was in command. His ship was leading the second squadron, 1,600 yards to port.

The men on watch saw the national colors being raised on the mainmast. There was a scurry on every ship to get up the colors. Every one wondered whether land or a ship had been sighted. Slowly the colors went up and then down to half mast. All colors on the other ships went to half mast. The order for half speed was given and then came a signal to stop. The rails of the ships were crowded at once. Up and down the columns the men looked and then it was seen that the quarterdeck of the Alabama was crowded. The order had been given there: "All hands aft to bury the dead!"

The captain read the burial service. An opening in the lines of the men on the lee side was made and Pipes's body, sewed in a hammock and weighted with shot, was slipped gently over the side. It made very little splash. Three volleys were fired by the marines, taps were sounded, the colors were run up to the gaff on the mainmast on all the ships and standard speed was ordered again as the flags came down. The ceremony occupied exactly nine minutes and Admiral Thomas sent a wireless telegram to Admiral Evans notifying him of what had been done. The burial cast a gloom for a few minutes on all the ships.

Much to the regret of many officers and men, Admiral Evans took the Virgin instead of the Anegada passage into the Caribbean and then headed straight for Trinidad. Many had hoped that he would sail along the chain of islands and that they might catch a glimpse at least of Martinique and some of the other historic places. But business is business on a fleet as well as on shore. Coal must be saved, and the way to go to a place is to go on the shortest possible line consistent with safety.

So it was that on Monday, December 23, Trinidad, just off the Venezuelan coast, came in sight, the ships entered the Dragon's mouth into the Gulf of Paria and swung around the point and anchored in the roadstead off Port of Spain just before sunset.

The first leg of the journey was over. It was merely the warming up stage. To-morrow will be Christmas. A bunch of mistletoe is already hanging in the Louisiana's wardroom. Some of the ships brought their Christmas trees and greens along. There'll be sports of all kinds—boxing, rowing by officers and men, athletic contests on ship—good cheer generally.

Just fancy a Christmas with the thermometer at 90 degrees!

[CHAPTER II.]
CHRISTMAS WITH THE FLEET

Gay Day on the Battleships off Port of Spain—"Peace on Earth" the Motto on the Big Guns—Officers' Reception on the Minnesota—Boat Races and Athletic Sports for the Crew—How the Fleet Charged Into Port—Men on Their Good Behavior—Official Visits—Coaling Day.

On Board U.S.S. Louisiana, U. S. Battle Fleet,

Port of Spain, Trinidad, Dec. 28.

THE officers of the battleship Minnesota gave a reception Christmas Day on board their ship to all the officers of the other ships. The visitors were received at the gangway by the officer of the deck, who had the usual side boys stationed there for the guests to pass by. The visitors were first presented to Capt. Hubbard, after which they paid their respects to Admiral Thomas. Then, turning around on the beautifully decorated deck, they saw depending from the great 12-inch guns of the after turret a board festooned with greens, and on it painted in large letters:

"Peace on earth; good will to men!"

The first effect on the visitor was to startle him. What place was there on a warship, whose primary purpose is destruction, for such a motto and in such a place? Some of the more thoughtless visitors thought it was satire, or perhaps a naval man's idea of a grim joke.

Those who thought it a mockery, a satire or a joke were never more mistaken. The sentiment was made the most prominent decoration on the ship in all sincerity. Scores of naval officers pointed to it with pride and said it exemplified truly the spirit of the American Navy. All declared that if there was one thing more than any other which American naval officers and all true Americans wished for it was world-wide peace and brotherly love. It was declared that no better place outside a Christian church could be found for its display than on an American warship. Many an officer said he hoped it would always be prominent on our warships at the Christmas season.

Certainly good will to man was exemplified at the Christmas celebration on this fleet. It was the most impressive Christmas festival that the nine civilians with the fleet ever saw. Here was a city of 14,000, exclusively of men, some rough, some refined, some educated, some illiterate, some Christian, some with no religion, celebrating the season of good cheer on sixteen battleships in a foreign port five miles from shore. Port of Spain might as well have been 5,000 miles away, so far as its influence was concerned. More than one-half of the American Navy was holding its Christmas festival in its own way, with none else to look on. From first to last its spirit was kindly; from colors in the morning until the last serenading party, gliding over the smooth water in a floating city that had a Venetian aspect, singing songs to the accompaniment of guitars and mandolins, disappeared at midnight, the celebration was in absolute keeping with the sentiment of the day. All was merry and all were merry.

Perhaps a song sung by the Vermont's officers who were towed about the fleet at night in a sailing launch as they called on every warship best reveals the tone of the occasion. They came to the Louisiana on their last call just before midnight. They allowed none of the Louisiana's officers who had gone to bed to dress, and pajamas were almost as common as dress clothes in the company that assembled in the wardroom. When the visitors were going away the last song which came across the water, a song which they sang as they came up the gangway strumming their instruments and lifting up their voices, was this:

Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!

We're happy and well;

Here comes the Vermont,

Say, don't we look swell?

We're a highrolling,

A lob-e-dob crew,

Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas to you!

Probably that lob-e-dob crew sang that song two hundred times that night. It was adapted from a new Naval Academy song. It has a merry tune and the jingle and the swing of it was infectious. The crew was highrolling only in a naval sense, the rolling wave sense, and in five minutes after they first sang the song to their hosts the hosts were joining in with them. It meant merry Christmas to everybody. Certainly this fleet had one.

For two days boating parties had gone to the heavily wooded shores of this beautiful island and had brought in greens for Christmas. They were mostly palms and bamboo, with trailing vines in profusion. When darkness came on Christmas eve the work of decoration began. Late into the night some of the men toiled. When daylight came every ship was dressed in greens. From truck to water line, on signal yards, rigging, turrets, gangways, there were branches of trees and festoons of vines. Inside the ships the wardrooms and cabins were elaborately decorated. Every wardroom had its Christmas tree and around it were grouped gifts for all. No one was overlooked. Christmas boxes, brought from home with orders not to be unsealed until Christmas Day, were broken open in every part of the ship.

Then came a day of visiting, of sports—rowing in the morning, athletics aboard ship in the afternoon and boxing in the evening—of the big reception on the Minnesota and of the merriest kind of dinner parties with the distribution of Santa Claus gifts in the evening. The gifts were mostly trinkets, but they had hits and grinds in them, and the presentation elicited shouts of laughter. Although the matter of rank was not ignored, apparently the high and low officers, from Admiral and Captain down to midshipman, were seated on the good fellowship basis and as equals. The Fourth Ward at the foot of the table went out of business for one night. The middies and ensigns could burst into song when they chose, and if any one forgot to say sir no one thought it strange. Here on the Louisiana ten minutes after we sat down to dinner came an instance of the feeling that makes the whole world kin on Christmas. The youngsters had been singing the Louisiana song, the chorus of which runs thus:

Lou, Lou, I love you;
I love you, that's true;
Don't sigh, don't cry,
I'll see you in the morning;
Dream, dream, dream of me
And I'll dream of you,
My Louisiana, Louisiana Lou.

Capt. Wainwright had been toying with a tin whistle which he had pulled from a bonbon. Stealthily he put it to his lips and blew it loud, and then that eye of his, which has the piercing power of a 12-inch shell, grew bright with the light of geniality and kindness that lie deep set and yet overflowing behind it, and he was a youngster, too. The Fourth Ward men might sing "Louisiana Lou," but he was willing to show that he could blow a tin whistle when the occasion demanded it.

One might fill columns with the songs that were sung. There is room for the chorus of just one more. The game is for about one-half of the company to sing the chorus and just before the finish the others shout an interrogatory of astonishment at the top of their voices. The chorus runs:

Dreamin', dreamin', dreamin' of dat happy lan,'

Where rivers ob beer aboun',

Where big gin rickeys fill de air

And highballs roll on de groun'.

Great shout:

What! Highballs roll on de groun'.

Melody:

Yas, highballs roll on de groun'.

The merriment on the Louisiana was not exceptional. It was a mere copy of what was going on in sixteen wardrooms. Every ship was sure it had the merriest dinner and the merriest time all around in the fleet, and that was true strictly.

The bluejackets had their own fun, and they yielded to none in their belief that they had the best time of all. Of course they were right. Look at this menu that Uncle Sam provided for their dinner:

And here is the music that Bandmaster Cariana provided:

And didn't the first class men have liberty to go ashore? Didn't they come back loaded down with souvenir postal cards, baskets of fruit, parrots and monkeys? And wasn't every man of them able to toe a seam as he answered to his name on the liberty list? If there was a suspicion of a rolling gait in two or three couldn't they lay it to the heat? Certain it was that not one of them had drunk any of that stuff down here that they call biograph whiskey, the kind that makes you see moving pictures, for the only moving pictures that any of them saw that night were the dozen sparring matches and two wrestling contests on the quarter deck, where the bluejackets were piled high on high under the awning clear up over the turret to the after bridge—as packed a house for the space as Caruso ever sang to.

And didn't John Eglit, the Louisiana's American champion naval boxer, who knocked out the English champion, Leans of the Good Hope, last May, take on a man from another ship and promise only to tap him and not knock him out, so that the boys could admire him and cheer him? Eglit is a master at arms, a ship policeman at other times, and it isn't safe to say things to him, even flattering things, but here the boys could cheer him and he couldn't answer back. And didn't the officers sit close to the ropes just where President Roosevelt sat on his trip to Panama? And didn't Midshipman McKittrick, the recent champion boxer of the Naval Academy, referee the bouts? And didn't Midshipman Brainerd, the well known oarsman of the Naval Academy not long ago, act as time keeper? And it made no sort of difference to him that he sat next to a negro coal passer!

And then didn't the men who didn't have liberty have comic athletic sports in the afternoon? You bet they did! "Spud" races, obstacle races, sack races, three-legged and wheelbarrow races; lemon races, where the contestants held a lemon in a spoon between their teeth and the first man that crossed the line in the running won; shoe races, where a man's shoes were tied in a bag and shaken up and he had to open the bag after a run and then put them on and lace them up, the winner to be the first man reporting to the referee. It was all fun and the bullies shouted themselves hoarse over it. What matter if a dozen men reported at the sick call the next morning with feet so sore that they could hardly walk from the running in bare feet on the hard decks? Oh, yes, the bluejackets had the best time of all!

And then there was rowing in the morning. You who have seen the Poughkeepsie and New London contests may think you have seen great rowing spectacles, and so you have, but you want to see rowing contests in a fleet of 14,000 Jack Tars to know what enthusiasm is. The men lined the rails, turrets, bridges, masts and tops and danced and yelled like Comanches as the crews passed down the line of ships. They yelled just as loud when fourteen officers' crews contested. A pretty incident occurred after this race. There had been great rivalry between the officers of the Vermont and the Louisiana. Each thought it would win. Neither did, the Louisiana coming in fourth and the Vermont fifth. The Vermont crew immediately rowed to the Louisiana and the two crews in their rowing clothes sat in the wardroom and passed the bowl around. When the Vermont's men went home the entire crew of the Louisiana gathered at the rail and cheered. The Vermont men tossed their oars and then the crew sang their Merry Christmas song, the first of the 200 or more times that it was heard by the fleet.

The reception on the Minnesota was also memorable. Henry Reuterdahl, the artist, who was with the fleet to make pictures of it, had carte blanche in the matter of decorations. The "Peace on Earth" emblem was his idea. He canopied the wardroom with flags. He put up shells and revolvers and cutlasses and other implements of war in effective places and he mingled the bunting in color and arrangement so deftly that the naval men were astonished over it. Old friends in the fleet gave greetings. It was brought out in one of the conversations that Rear Admiral Evans, the Commander-in-Chief of the fleet, was the only man in the fleet who fought in the civil war. And it was also revealed that he was in the greatest pageant of warships that ever left Hampton Roads before this one. That was in December, 1864, almost forty-two years to the day that the present fleet left. That fleet went out to capture Fort Fisher, where Admiral Evans was wounded and where, with a revolver, he prevented a surgeon from cutting off his right leg. There were 14,000 men in that fleet, about the same number as in this. There were sixty naval vessels and the rest were ninety transports under command of Gen. B. F. Butler. Admiral Porter was the naval officer in charge. It took the fleet from 10 o'clock in the morning until after 4 in the afternoon to pass Cape Henry. This fleet did it in two hours. When Admiral Evans was asked about it he said that the little tender Yankton, which goes with this fleet for use on ceremonious or other useful occasions, could have whipped that entire fleet of itself. Its modern small guns—3-inch ones—could shoot so far that it could lie completely out of the range of any of the guns on that fleet and simply bombard the vessels to pieces.

But to return to Trinidad. The Venezuelan coast had been in sight for an hour on Monday, December 23, before Trinidad was made out a little after noon. A haze obscured things on shore. Gradually a dark lump on the horizon took shape, then it assumed color, a deep green, and then on the highest point, something like 400 feet above the sea, a white needle pierced the haze in the sky. It was the lighthouse that points the way to the four entrances into the Gulf of Paria from the Caribbean, called the Dragon's Mouths. The lighthouse was a visible sign of the care of British for shipping. It is said to be one of the best in any of England's colonial possessions.

Admiral Evans headed his ships toward the narrow entrance to the east of the main one. It is called Boca de Navios, one of the many reminders of the old Spanish days before England swept down through these waters. The Admiral had ordered his ships in single file of the open order or wing and wing formation. Approaching more closely he ordered exact column, one directly behind another, at a distance of 400 yards. When within three miles of the entrance he veered off to take the large passage to the west, Boca Grande. Then he made a sharp turn after he had cleared the entrance to the gulf. For some time he stood in toward the shore.

Then came another turn to the south, and then followed what Admiral Evans said afterward was one of the finest naval sights he had ever witnessed. Orders had been signalled for the four ships of the first division of the fleet to turn to the east and come up the bay of Port of Spain in parallel formation. The other divisions were ordered to follow the same plan when they arrived in position. Here was a long line of warships that had been turning and twisting around headlands and in muddy waters, going in single file, as if headed for the Serpent's Mouth, the other entrance to the Gulf of Paria. A flag fluttered from the Connecticut's signal yards. At once the first four ships turned at right angles. You could have run a tape line across the bows of the Connecticut to the Louisiana and found the Kansas and Vermont exactly on the mark. The change in the course came so suddenly that it made even naval men jump. Like four chariot horses the ships stood in as if on a battle charge.

Port of Spain could just be made out on the beach eight miles away. The ships were pointed directly for it, and if they had intended to bombard it they could scarcely have been more aggressive looking in the way they swung into that bay. The second division kept on in the lead of the single file of ships until they reached places directly behind the ships of the first division. Then they made a dramatic swing also. The third and fourth division in turn did the same thing.

The fleet was then in four columns headed directly for the beautiful little port with its shallow harbor. As long as standard speed of 11 knots was maintained the four leading vessels kept on a line that was as well dressed as a squad of fours in a military company. For two miles this formation kept up. Then half speed was signalled. The Vermont and Kansas being new in fleet evolutions and not yet being standardized completely as to speed revolutions, did not keep the line so well, but Admiral Evans was not displeased and said they did very well. The Vermont fell back nearly half a length by the time slow speed was ordered and the engines were stopped finally. The signal to come to anchor was hoisted and when it went up sixteen mud hooks splashed into the bay simultaneously. Before it had been slowed down the Louisiana had received its second special commendation for smart manœuvring from the Admiral.

"Well done, Louisiana," the flags on the Admiral's bridge said for all the rest of the fleet to see, and Capt. Wainwright and his officers took it modestly. The Louisiana had been the only ship in the fleet to receive this signal and this was the second time it had come.

Long before the fleet had come to anchor it was noticed that the torpedo flotilla, which had started from Hampton Roads about two weeks before the fleet, was in the harbor. Mishaps to the Lawrence had brought the flotilla back that morning after it had gone eighty miles on the leg to Paria. The mishaps were not very serious, but it was better to make repairs in a port than at sea and so Lieut. Cone, in charge, had come back. The supply ships and colliers were also in port.

In a few minutes the full significance of all these ships became known. Here was a sight that no other foreign port in the world had ever seen. Twenty-nine ships were flying the American flag at once. There were really thirty-one connected with the navy, directly and indirectly, in port, but two of the colliers flew foreign flags. Far in toward the city, however, were three more vessels flying our flag, one a brigantine, another a small steamship, and another a little vessel that plies up the Orinoco. So thirty-two specimens of Old Glory fluttered in the breeze just before the sun went down.

The anchorage Admiral Evans selected was fully five miles from "the beach," as the naval man puts it. No ships can go directly to the landing places in Port of Spain and only small ones can approach within half a mile. As soon as the anchors were down the Admiral signalled that no one was to go ashore until he had gone the next morning to pay his official respects to Sir Henry M. Jackson, K. C. M. G., the Governor-General. It was nearly 8 o'clock that night when the health officer gave pratique, much to the relief of some ships, because there had been a few cases of measles and some other diseases that are classed as contagious, but great care had been taken in the matters of isolation and disinfecting. Indeed, every patient in the fleet was convalescent. It was a relief to Admiral Evans also to learn that there had not been a case of yellow fever in Trinidad for six weeks. Accordingly he gave orders to allow liberty to all the first class men in the fleet.

The next morning Admirals Evans, Thomas, Sperry and Emory went ashore to pay their respects to the Governor-General. He had sent carriages with a guard of honor to escort them to the Government House. Port of Spain is not a saluting port, because no English garrison is kept here, and therefore no guns boomed on arrival.

Admiral Evans exhibited great tact and showed the nicest regard for the situation when he asked Governor-General Jackson to return his call that afternoon at the Queen's Park Hotel. The Governor and the Admiral are old friends. The Governor is not strong, having returned recently from London, where he underwent a surgical operation. A journey of five miles out to the ships in the blazing sun, Admiral Evans thought, would be too much for him and the Governor appreciated thoroughly the Admiral's solicitude for his health.

Soon the officers and liberty men began to come ashore. Trinidad is no new place to many officers. It lies at the foot of a splendid range of the St. Anne Mountains and it is heavy with the odors of tropical verdure. It has been called the most attractive of all British West Indian colonies. Its streets are kept beautifully, its negro constabulary are efficient and polite. Its schools are fine. Those who had never visited the place were delighted with its appearance, its balconied houses, its abundance of flowers and vines creeping over walls and up the sides of houses, its great department stores, which send the heads of departments to Paris and London every year to get the latest in fashions; its motley population of English, Spanish, French and the thousands of Hindu coolies that are brought over here under contract to work on the plantations. Hindu beggars were on the streets and Hindu women, well gowned and clean as an American warship, were in evidence. Some wore rings in their noses and the more prosperous had their arms bejewelled up to the elbows with silver bracelets and other trinkets.

But let the truth be known! Trinidad didn't warm up to the fleet at all. It regarded it with apparent indifference. Officially nothing could have been more cordial than its reception. Popularly Port of Spain didn't seem to give a hang, except the fruit vendors, especially the alligator pear men, and the merchants who had things to sell. About three American flags flew over shops. American fleets have been welcomed here before with lawn parties and dances and great receptions. There was one reception at the Constabulary Barracks, and very cordial it was too, but the town didn't even take the trouble to come down to the waterfront to gaze over the water and see what sixteen battleships looked like in the distance. The ships may have been too far out. Or perhaps it was because the races were to come on during the last three days stay of the fleet. It was hardly the climate, because that never interfered with enthusiasm over an American fleet before, notably when Admiral Sampson dropped in here in 1899.

Let it all go with the statement that on shore every one seemed glad to greet the Americans, even if the town seemed cold. Some of the officers renewed old acquaintances socially and several parties of friends visited the ships. One young officer came back with a story that pleased the fleet. He met a charming young English woman who said that she had travelled a good deal and had been in New York only three months ago. The young officer perked up at once.

"I suppose you saw the Great White Way in New York?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, indeed," was the innocent reply. "Mother and I went to see it one Sunday morning."

"It is beautiful," said the officer.

"Very," was the response.

Some of the visitors historically inclined recalled that Columbus visited this place and named it in honor of the Trinity; others that Sir Walter Raleigh had made this his headquarters for a long time; still others that Cortez took leave of Velasquez here when he started out on his conquest of Mexico. The commercially inclined went to visit the famous and malodorous Pitch Lake, from which Raleigh smeared his ships and which supplies a large part of the asphalt for American use. Others were glad to learn that they have struck oil here and that it is expected that this island will soon become the chief centre for a great British oil industry.

But there were those in the fleet who didn't care for Columbus or Raleigh or Cortez or asphalt or oil. One was an old bos'n's mate. He was down here in the late '80s on the old sloop Saratoga. He had a yarn to spin and it was brought out by the fact that on the day of the fleet's arrival two men from one of the torpedo flotilla had drifted away from their vessel without oars and had been carried out of sight before their absence was noticed. It was feared that they had been lost in the Gulf, but the rough water calmed at night and they drifted ashore and came back at daylight the next morning.

The bos'n's mate told how a party of apprentices and three marines started out from the Saratoga in a sailing cutter one fine morning to go to Pitch Lake. They had not gone more than four miles before a heavy sea came up and a great gust capsized the cutter.

There were many sharks in the water and three of the party were either drowned or eaten by sharks. The others clambered on the overturned boat and were helpless, as the craft was drifting out to sea. Then it was that one of those men in the navy who can no more help showing bravery when it is demanded than they can help breathing, arose to the situation. He was Shorty Allen, an apprentice, and he declared that he would try to swim ashore to get help. The others told him he must not do it, but Shorty just laughed at them. They said the sharks would get him and that it was madness to try it. Again Shorty said he would go. They would all be lost, he said, if they got no help and it was better that one man should lose his life than a dozen.

Nothing could change Shorty's determination. He threw off his clothes and leaped into the sea. His companions watched him buffeting the waves for an hour or so and then he was lost to view. The sharks hung about the overturned boat and probably that fact saved Shorty. He reached land in four or five hours thoroughly exhausted. After a rest on the beach he hunted up some fishermen, whom he induced to go after his shipmates. They were all rescued and regained the Saratoga the next morning.

"I tell ye, boys," said the bos'n's mate, "I have a likin' for this place. I was one of that party and Shorty saved my life here. I don't know where Shorty is now. He was commended for his bravery. He said it didn't amount to nothing, modest like. I don't know whether he's alive. If he's dead, God rest his soul!"

The chief incident of the stay of the fleet in this port, aside from the exchange of official courtesies, was the coaling of the ships. That is the dirtiest work that can be done about any ship, and to an American warship in its white dress it seems almost like profanation. It's a task that the navy has learned how to do with despatch and one might almost say with neatness. At daybreak the next morning after the arrival of the fleet the colliers steamed up slowly to the sides of the ships of the first division. All had been made ready for them. Tackle and coal bags and shovels and running trucks had been prepared while the ships were making port. All hands turned to. One section from each division of each ship was sent into the hold of the collier. Four such sections were employed in the collier at once. The coaling bags, each capable of holding 800 pounds, were thrown over and then the dust began to fly. All the ventilating machinery of the ship had been stopped and canvas had covered all the openings so that as little of the dust as possible could find its way into any other place than the bunkers. The chutes to the bunkers were all open. The marines and the men of the powder division were on the turrets and other places to expedite things. Down in the coal bunkers the engineer division were put at stowing the coal away smoothly and evenly. The bunkers on such occasions in the tropics are veritable black holes and the men have to be relieved frequently.

Jack makes the best of a bad job, and coaling ship illustrates this. The men got out their old coal stowing clothes that once were white and theoretically still are white. Some of them got old discarded marine helmets for headgear. Some tied handkerchiefs around their heads, the brighter the color the better. Some had no head covering. Some rolled up the leg of one trouser just for the fun of the thing. Some wore socks over their shoes—anything to make things lively and get that coal in at the rate of 100 tons an hour.

The bags were filled, attached to the whip—as the derrick hoist is called—and swung up to the deck. There the bags were seized and those intended for stowage on the side next to the collier were dumped quickly. Those intended for the other side of the ship were placed on little trucks and pulled across the deck and then dumped. It was lively work, step and go, and laughter and good cheer enlivened the task. The ship's band was placed on the after bridge, where it played quicksteps and jigs and made the men run and heave and shovel and toss as if coaling ship was the greatest fun in the world.

The decks were sanded so that the dust would mingle with the sand and not grime the woodwork. After the coaling was over the gear was stowed away first. Then the men washed away the dirt from their hands and around their mouths, noses and eyes and all turned to, baboonlike in appearance, to clean ship. Sides were washed down and decks scrubbed. In two or three hours no one would have known that the ship had been in a black dirt storm. Then the men scrubbed their clothes and finally they scrubbed themselves, got into clean clothes and the task was over.

Four days were occupied with this work for the fleet. The last ship to be coaled was the Maine, for that ship is the greatest coal eater in the fleet. She was reserved to the last, so that she would have the largest supply possible on board for the 3,000 mile run to Rio. The Maine was coaled on Saturday and it depended upon the alertness with which it was done whether the fleet was to sail for Rio at sunset on Saturday or Sunday.

The supply ships had little to do in this port because the ships were not in need of much provisioning. Most of the ships took meat from the "beef ships," as the sailors call the supply vessels, but it was only in limited quantities.

The torpedo flotilla got under way on Christmas morning. The bluejackets were sorry to see it go on that day, for they knew they were going to have fun and wished their mates on the flotilla could also join in the merriment. The Yankton and Panther, the latter a repair ship, sailed two days later. The supply ships Culgoa and Glacier were kept to go along with the fleet because they can steam easily at the rate of 11 knots.

Up to the last day of the stay in port liberty parties were going ashore from the ships every day. To the credit of Jack let it be said that he conducted himself with the dignity that becomes the true American man-o'-war's man. Of course he patronized the saloons. Now and then one would stagger a little on coming to his ship. There were no rows, and the authorities had no complaints to make of unruly behavior. Before each party went ashore the executive officer on each ship read to them the order of Admiral Evans allowing them liberty to the fullest extent in keeping with discipline and warning them to be on their good behavior. The Admiral said that if any unhappy incident occurred ashore he would be obliged to stop all liberty. The men heeded the warning. They visited the shops, bought postal cards by the thousands, patronized jewelry stores, got all the pets they wanted, swaggered through the middle of the streets and gave Port of Spain such a coloring in local aspect as it had never seen before. Three or four baseball games were played on the great park's green. The one great stunt the bluejackets enjoyed most was to hire a hack by the hour and ride around the streets. They wrangled with the cabbies about fares, paid out their good money—it was payday on the ships the day before they arrived—and growled as true sailormen should growl when they got English money in change for their own gold and American notes. Trinidad is a place where prices are quoted mostly in dollars and cents, and yet the medium of exchange is pounds, shillings and pence. Most of the shops take American money at its face value.

The shopkeepers were alive to the situation and they made money from the call at their port. They were accommodating and profited by it. Hundreds of Panama hats were purchased. They were bought by men who would not think of purchasing such hats at home because of the high prices. The American hatters, therefore, have lost little by the transactions except the sale of ordinary straw hats in the summer time for two or three years.

The races in the great oval in front of the Queen's Park Hotel were the chief social event of the stay. Thousands attended them and the Yankee propensity to bet made its effect felt. Some of the boys were a little slow in grasping the details of the mutual pool system. A few of them won money, but most of them didn't. There were all sorts of gambling devices, wheels and cards and the like, in operation near the betting ring, and it was like throwing your money away to go against them. But Jack didn't mind that. One of the bluejackets from the Ohio said he was going to bet all he had in the hope of beating the "blooming British," because some of the English bluejackets once had difficulty in pronouncing the word Ohio. They said the name of the Ohio was "Ho and a Haich and a blooming 10," and they didn't know what to call a ship named O H and 10. The American bluejacket will not try to get revenge again, for he lost.

After the races the Queen's Park Hotel was jammed for the rest of the day and evening. Patrons of the bar were lined up six deep. It was as difficult to get a table on the veranda, or even inside, as it is to get one on New Year's eve in New York. All the rest of Trinidad goes to sleep with the chickens except the Queen's Park Hotel, and that also has an early bedtime on ordinary occasions, but the presence of American officers and the races combined made it break the Ben Franklin rule of early to bed.

And so the visit to Trinidad wore away. The fleet was really glad to leave. Most of the visitors growled and said they'd be glad never to return, but all the same every one who has once been here in the winter and experienced the delightful climate and picturesque surroundings will be glad to see it once again. The motto of the fleet now is: "Heave away for Rio."

Neptune will board us on the way.

[CHAPTER III]
TRINIDAD TO RIO JANEIRO

How the Battleship Fleet Greeted the New Year at Sea—Good Will Fore and Aft—Beautiful Spectacle of a Searchlight Drill With Ninety-six Lights—Crews on the Whole Glad to Get Away from Port of Spain Despite Official Cordiality—The Culgoa and the Catamaran—Missouri's Man Overboard—The Sleepy Brigantine.

On Board U.S.S. Louisiana, U. S. Battle Fleet,

Rio Janeiro, January, 14.

IT is not exceeding the limits of strict accuracy to assert that there was not a man on Admiral Evans's fleet who was not glad to leave Trinidad. The statement must not be taken as reflecting in the least upon the officials of the place. No greetings to a fleet of foreign warships could have been more cordial and sincere than those given by Governor-General Jackson and his assistants. There was no reserve about it. It was genuine and from the heart.

But the Trinidad people did not wake up. Half a dozen merchants flew American flags above their shops, perhaps fifty persons all told came out to visit the ships, the clubs were thrown open to officers and now and then some of the residents might drive or stroll down to the waterfront to take a look at the fleet.

There were two reasons for this apparent indifference. One was that the ships were anchored fully five miles from town. It was like anchoring a fleet of vessels at Tompkinsville and expecting the citizens of Manhattan to flock to the Battery to gaze at them or hire small boats to go down to see them. A more powerful reason was that the Christmas horse races were on. That meant three days of closing the shops at noon, three days of betting, three days of sharpening wits to contest with three card monte men, roulette men, wheel of fortune men; three days when the most prosperous of the large Hindu population, in all their picturesque garb, women with rings in noses, bracelets on arms and legs, brilliant hued gowns, and men in their turbans and one garment of a sheet made into coat and trousers—came into town; three days when the society of the place imitated the Epsom and Derby customs and drove into the inner enclosure with their drags and other turnouts, and had luncheons and visits; three evenings of promenading and dining at the Queen's Park Hotel.

How could any one expect the people to get enthusiastic over an American fleet under such conditions? The people had talked for weeks, they said, over the arrival of the fleet, but straightway when it was announced that the races would be held at the same time—well, how can any person attend to two important things at one and the same time? Didn't one of the daily morning newspapers give a quarter of a column of space to the fleet on the second day after its arrival? Talk about enterprise in journalism! Trinidad is the place to go to see a specimen of it.

Admiral Evans expected to sail at 8 o'clock on Sunday morning, December 29, but there was some delay in coaling and he did not get away until 4 P. M. The night before sailing the flagship signalled this message to the entire fleet, to be published on each ship the next day:

The Commander-in-Chief takes pleasure in communicating to the officers and men of the fleet the following extract from a letter just received from the Governor of Trinidad:

"I would ask to be allowed to offer my congratulations on the good behavior of your men on leave. A residence of seven years in Gibraltar, which is a rendezvous of the fleets of the world, has given me some experience of Jack ashore, and I can assert that your men have established a reputation which would be hard to equal and impossible to beat."

The Commander-in-Chief wishes to express his gratification that the conduct of the men has been such as to merit the words quoted above.

That farewell banquet was fine. Every officer and man on the fleet appreciated its kindly and sincere tone and every man was ready to vote Gov. Jackson a brick. There was just one comment made throughout the fleet, and it might as well be set out here, with no intention of raking over the ashes of the past offensively. That comment was:

"There is nothing of Swettenham about Jackson. He's all right!"

The letter from Gov. Jackson sustains what has been said at the beginning of this letter; the official welcome was cordial, sincere and without reserve.

The trip to Rio was marked by two celebrations, New Year's Day and the visit of Neptune on crossing the line. One should not think, because these letters record considerable hilarity on three occasions—Christmas and the other two—all within two weeks, that such is the normal condition on an American warship. These celebrations happened all about the same time—that is all. The prevailing condition on a warship is anything but hilarity, as will be revealed later in these letters.

New Year's, like Christmas, was a general holiday for the fleet. There were quarters in the morning as usual, but after that there was no work and the smoking lamp was lighted all day. Extra things at dinners were provided. As was general on shore, the new year was welcomed with due ceremony and celebrations on the ships. As soon as it was night on December 31 it was evident that something would be doing by midnight.

There was no concerted programme. About 10 P. M. the officers began to drift one by one, into the wardroom. It was a very decorous assemblage. Its members began to tell stories. Now and then a song would start up, and all would join in. A fruit cake made by a fond mother at home was brought out. In some way the eggnog cups seemed to steal out on a side table. Then came a mixture that touched the spot and unloosened the vocal powers.

It wasn't long before the "Coast of the High Barbaree," "Avast! Belay! We're Off for Baffin's Bay," and other songs were being rolled out to the swaying, dipping of the ship in the swells that the strong eastern trades were booming up against the port side. Naval Academy songs were shouted. One officer thoughtlessly sat in the barber's chair in the rear of the wardroom. A great rush was made for him and he was tousled and rumpled and pulled and hauled. He squirmed out of the grasp of his tormentors and then the "Coast of the High Barbaree," with "Blow High, Blow Low," was rolled out again.

Soon it became evident that a New Year's song must be sung. The Christmas song of the Vermont, with the highrolling, lob-e-dob swing in it, was taken as a model and there were a few minutes for adaptation to the Louisiana. When it had been rehearsed properly, it was decided to send a special New Year's greeting to the Vermont's wardroom, because the officers of that ship had made a Christmas serenading call on all the ships on Christmas night in Trinidad. One of the Vermont's officers is Dr. F. M. Furlong. His mates on Christmas Day had nominated him for president and so informed the Louisiana's wardroom when they reached this ship. He was made to make a speech of acceptance and in apparent seriousness he grew eloquent over his chances and his platform. The New Years greeting from the Louisiana to the Vermont was something like this:

"The Louisiana's wardroom sends happy New Year greetings to the Vermont's wardroom and pledges the solid W. C. T. U. vote to Dr. Furlong. Back districts, from the grassy slopes of the Green Mountains to the saccharine depths of the Pelican canebrakes, all heard from. We're happy and well. Happy New Year! Happy New Year! Happy New Year to you!"

The greeting was sent to the bridge to be flung into the air on the illuminated semaphore signals at five minutes to midnight. Then came the final rehearsals of the New Year song, and just as the signals were sending the greeting to the Vermont a dozen lusty officers stole up to the quarterdeck and sang their song softly to see if it was all right. Then they climbed on the upper deck, stepped quietly along the gangway to the forward bridge. They were as silent as Indians. One of them had a great Christmas palm branch fully twelve feet long. One by one they sneaked up the port ladders and stowed themselves far out on the port side of the bridge. All was quiet until eight bells was struck and then eight bells more for the New Year. A great burst of song startled the officer of the deck just as the last letter of the message to the Vermont had been flashed. The song was:

Happy New Year! Happy New Year!
We're happy and well.
Here's to the Lo'siana
And don't she look swell!
We're a highrolling,
Rollicking crew;
Happy New Year! Happy New Year!
Happy New Year to you!

The great palm branch was swung around to the danger of utter disarrangement of engine room signals, and the officer of the deck growled out something about a lot of wild Indians. A high flinging dance followed on the bridge, with the Happy New Year song shouted twenty times or more.

"Get out of here!" ordered the bridge officer.

"All right; we'll serenade the Captain!" shouted the merry crew. Down to the lower bridge, where the Captain has his emergency quarters while at sea, they went. The Captain got a good dose of noise, but being a discreet man he said never a word. There was a rumor that he wasn't inside at all and that, knowing what to do on certain occasions, he had decided to remain in his private rooms below, where not even unofficial knowledge of any high jinks could reach his ears.

Then the procession started for the quarterdeck, and leaning far over the rails on the starboard side with the stiff trade wind blowing the sound from the megaphoned throats of the singers, happy New Year's greetings were sung to the Georgia, 400 yards back and to starboard. That ship heard it easily.

Then came a procession through the Louisiana. The members of the crew were slung in their hammocks, but numerous noises of catcalls and horns and shouts told that no one was asleep. At every section of every division on every deck the sailors were greeted with song. They sat up and cheered. It was fine to have a party of officers come around and wish you a happy New Year. Every mess of the ship received a call. When the warrant officers' mess was reached there was a brilliant display of pajamas and—well, in print one musn't go into particulars too fully. Regulations must be obeyed strictly even when you're having a good time. All the regulations were obeyed—several times, and then some—in that big roundup.

Didn't the bos'n sing:

Bad luck to the day
I wandered away.

and then go into the forty-seven verses about life on the "Old Colorado"? Didn't the electrical gunner join with the chief engineer in giving down the twenty-seven bells song? Didn't the carpenter dance a highland fling? Didn't the scholarly warrant machinist from the Boston Tech. twang a banjo and set the pace for the "Old New York" and the "Dear Old Broadway" songs? And then didn't someone remark that "dear old Kim" hadn't been seen in all the parading that night? A rush was made for Kim's room but it was barricaded.

"Come out, Kim!" was the order.

"Not on your life," was the response.

And then, for revenge, didn't the crowd sing a song about Kim? Every man who knows anything about the United States Navy knows Kim, the genial paymaster's clerk, who sits in the junior officer's mess to keep the youngsters in proper submission, and who has trained a generation of officers in things naval; Kim, who has sailed the high seas in the United States Navy for a quarter of a century and knows so much about the ships and officers that he wouldn't dare to tell it all and ought to be made an Admiral for his knowledge and his discretion; Kim, who has to salute many a man with a star on his sleeve and some of them with two stars, the minute he sees them, and then can call them Bill and Jim and Tom in private; Kim, the best beloved, all around good fellow on the ship; yes, everybody knows Kim. It isn't necessary to print the full name of this obliging, hard working autocrat of the paymaster's office. This is the song that greeted him:

Everybody works but dear old Kim,

He sits 'round all day,