The day before we left the yard one of my mates sprained his back
lifting a box of canned meat. In civil life he had been a lawyer with a
promising practice, his office being with one of the best known men of
the bar. He gave it up and joined the Naval Reserves because, as he
expressed it, "To fight for one's country is a patriot's first duty."
When the accident happened, he refused to go below to the sick bay until
the doctor stated that rest for a few days at least was absolutely
necessary.

"It isn't that I mind the hurt, boys," he said, with a smile, as he was
assisted to the hatch, "but I hate to be knocked out in my first
engagement, and that with a box of canned corned beef."

The monotony of work was broken on the ninth of May, when preparations
were made to leave the yard. The destination was only Tompkinsville, but
there was not a man on board but felt that, as the last hawser was cast
off, we were fairly started on our cruise in search of action. As the
"Yankee" was assisted away from the wharf by a Government tug, a number
of friends gathered ashore cheered lustily and waved their hats and
handkerchiefs. The scene had been repeated time without end, no doubt,
but it went to our hearts all the same, and there was many a husky note
in the cheers we gave in return.

There was also encouragement in the whistles we received as we dropped
down the East River, and we felt as if our small share in the war would
be appreciated by those compelled to stay at home. We steamed directly
to the vicinity of Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island, anchored off
Tompkinsville, and then picked up a berth there for the night. Half way
down the bay we met a tug carrying a committee from the "Sons of the