again, rode away up the hot and dusty street. The correspondent opened the envelope with his thumb, and read: "Rain and hail," and started, and then, seeing that the watchful eyes of half the row were upon him, turned his back and took a narrow code-book from his pocket, and ran his finger down its page. He held it toward me, as I stood looking over his shoulder, and I read: "Rain and hail" "War is declared, fleet ordered to sea." And a few moments later the porch was empty, the hall of the hotel was piled high with hand-bags and sailors' kits, and hackmen were lashing their horses down the dusty street; and at the water's edge one could see launches, gigs, and cutters streaking the blue surface of the bay with flashes of white and brass; signal flags of brilliant reds and yellows were spreading and fluttering at the signal halyards; wig-waggers beat the air from the bridges, and across the water, from the decks of the monitors, came the voices of the men answering the roll: "One, two, three, FOUR! one, two, three, FOUR."

There were still ships to coal, or Captain Sampson, who had become Admiral Sampson since half past four, would on the word have started to blockade Havana. But as they could not be left behind, all of those ships that were ready were moved outside the harbor and the fleet was signalled to have steam up at four o'clock the next morning. That night as the sun sank and it sinks at Key West with a splendor and glory that it assumes in but few other ports of the world-it spread a fiery red background for thirteen black ships of war outlined with gallows-like yards against it. Some still lay at anchor sparkling with cargo lights and with the coaling barges looming bulkily along side, and others moved across the crimson curtain of the sky less like ships than a procession of grotesque monsters of the sea, grim, inscrutable, and menacing.

War had been declared. It had come at last, and as the fleet lay waiting for the day, it is a question if any man in the squadron slept that night, but did not instead keep watch alone, and wonder what war might bring to him. To whom would it bring honor, to whom honor with death, to whom would the chance come and who

would seize it when it came, and who would make it come?

In the quick changes of war and under its cruel tests, unknown men would become leaders of men, and those who had attained high places and had risen and fattened in the days of peace, would be pushed aside into oblivion; the newspapermade generals would see a gunner's mate become in an hour the nation's hero, new conditions and new problems would rise to find men ready to grasp them-anything was possible-new alliances, new enemies, and new friends. The declaration of war meant all these things, a new map and a new chapter in the history of the world.

one

And yet while men wondered as to what the morrow might bring forth, the physical aspect of the night was strangely in contrast with the great change of the day. We could imagine the interest and excitement which the declaration of war had roused in all corners of the country; we knew that for the moment Key West was the storm-centre of the map of the United States, and that where the squadron would go, what it would do, and how soon it would move upon the enemy were questions that men were asking in clubs, and on street corners; we knew that bulletin-boards were blocking the streets of lower New York with people eager for news, and that men and women from Seattle to Boston were awake with anxiety and unrest.

And yet at the heart of it all, in the harbor of Key West, save for the water lapping against the great sides of the ships and the bells sounding in chorus across the stretches of the bay, there was only silence, and the night wore every aspect of peace. For though all through that night the vessels talked with one another, they spoke in a language of signs, a language that made less sound than a whisper. That was the only promise for the morrow, their rows of lanterns winking red and white against the night, and vanishing instantly in mid-air, and the great fingers of the searchlights sweeping grandly across the sky, halting upright for a moment, and then sinking to the water's edge, measuring out the heavens and carrying messages of command to men many miles at sea.

The morning of the twenty-third awoke radiantly beautiful with light and color.

In the hollows of the waves deep blue and purple shadows caught the million flashes of the sun, and their white crests danced in its light. Across this flashing picture of light and movement and color, the leaden-painted war-ships moved heavily in two great columns, the battle-ships and monitors leading on the left, the cruisers

moving abreast to starboard, while in their wake and on either flank the torpedoboats rolled and tossed like porpoises at play. To the active imagination it might have appeared that each was racing to be the first to throw a shell into Cabanas prison, to knock the first stone from the ramparts of Morro Castle, to fire the first

steered his tramp steamer, the Buen Ventura, into the very jaws of the enemy. And it was upon him that the honor fell of receiving the first shot our navy had fired "in anger" in thirty years. It was an unsought-for honor which probably the Spanish captain did not appreciate.

According to his own story, as he told it that same afternoon in the harbor of Key West, when he saw so many "beautiful war-ships flying the American flag, he said

F

to himself: "Behold! the courtesy of my race requires that I salute these beautiful war-ships." Those are his exact words. And in admiration and innocence this poor man raised the red and yellow standard of Spain.

This was at half past five in the morning of April 23d. Lieutenant Frank Marble was officer of the deck on the flagship, and from the forward bridge he had reported the presence of a vessel on the starboard bow. The admiral signalled the ship nearest the Buen Ventura, which happened to be the Nashville, "What colors does the stranger show?"

Both the Helena and the Nashville signalled back "Spanish," and the answer came from the flagship, to the Nashville, "Capture her."

The signal as it is in the code-book is really much fuller than that, but that is its meaning. So the Nashville fired a shot across the Buen Ventura's bow. Patrick Walton fired it. It was the first shot of the war. A second shot followed, and the Buen Ventura hove to, and a prize crew, under Ensign Magruder, boarded her, and a press boat buried her bows in the water and rushed back to the United States with the news that the squadron had taken her first prize, and that the blockade had begun. And so it came about that a fluttering of flags and a couple of shots aimed at a flashing, dancing sea formed the first hostile act of our war with Spain.

OR twelve days after war was declared the flagship New York lay ten miles off Morro Castle, blistering in the sun by day and made beautiful by the moon at night. She was the Central Office of the blockading squadron, and from her, messenger boys, in the shape of black and grimy torpedoboats, carried orders to the men of war that stretched along the coast from Cardenas to Bahia Honda. While they lay waiting or patrolling their

server in the dis

tance might see much smoke and some flame, but whether the cause of the fire were accidental or incendiary, whether there were loss of life or deeds of heroism, he could only guess.

In its creaturecomforts life on board the flagship was like that on board of a yacht cruising in summer seas; but overshadowing its comforts was an organization as complete as that of the Bank of England, and discipline as absolute as that of a monastery. In no military post, from Knightsbridge Barracks to Gibraltar, from Fort Houston to Fort Sill, nor in Greece, Egypt, France, Russia, or Germany have I seen discipline better observed, or such "smartness, or such intelligent obedience as I noted during the ten days that I remained on the New York. In that time

there were many novel experiences to impress one; there was much that was entirely new and quite incomprehensible. There

were some exciting races after blockade runners, some heavy firing, some wonderful effects of land and sea and sky, some instances of coolness and courage and of kindness and courtesy, but what was more impressive than all else besides, was the discipline of the ship's company and the perfection of her organization. Many .men can swagger and be brave and shoot off a gun. That our sailors are brave no one has ever doubted, even before the victory of Manila harbor, but the best sailor is the man who not only can stand by his gun, but who can stand watch eight hours on end without stealing a few minutes' sleep; who respects himself, his