The sharp report of a rapid-fire gun cut short his words. Another
followed almost instantly, then came a regular volley. The effect on the
crew of the "Yankee" was instantaneous. The men sleeping at the guns
scrambled to their feet, hammocks were kicked out of the way, and before
the word to go to general quarters was passed, every member of the crew
was at his station.

"I thought I saw something moving inshore," cried "Kid," as he scurried
away.

"It's a Spanish torpedo boat," muttered "Stump." "Great Scott! just
listen to the 'New Orleans.' She's firing like a house afire."

Suddenly there came a deep, thunderous roar. It was the voice of a
thirteen-inch gun on the "Massachusetts." Sixty seconds later the
six-pounders on the "Yankee's" forecastle joined in the chorus, and the
action became general.

"Do not fire without orders, men," cautioned Lieutenant Greene, the
officer in charge of our division. "Just take it easy and bide your
time."

It was our first experience in actual fighting, and our anxiety to "let
loose" was almost overwhelming. We were held to our stations so rigidly
that but few glimpses could be caught of the outside. The "New Orleans,"
on our starboard, was still rattling away.

Notwithstanding our own inaction (the gun deck battery was not used),
there was a certain exhilaration in even listening to the sounds of
conflict, and the eager, tense faces surrounding the guns reflected in