fully propelling our noble frigate over the trackless ocean, under the watchful care of efficient and experienced men, we are glad to get on deck again, and to the cooler, fresher atmosphere above. The marines are putting up their swing ing mess-tables now and are preparing for supper, so wishing them bon appétit, which the hardy fellows undoubtedly possess anyway, let us go upon the spar-deck again for a tramp up and down as a "constitutional," before we in our turn prepare ourselves for the dinner hour, when the entire mess, with the sole exception of the officer of the deck, and possibly one of the engineers, assembles around the well-covered table. And right good fellows, too, are this little company of officers, hearty and straightforward as seamen seem to be all the world over, and their heartiness tempered with a genial courtesy and ready hospitality toward the landsman, their messmate for the time being.

The wardroom of the Chicago is a large, handsomely furnished apartment. The long table runs athwartships the entire width of the deck, and the staterooms of the officers, in two rows on the port and starboard sides aft of the table, open on a roomy space, well lighted and ventilated, and are models of convenience and comfort. Stern discipline holds its sway, however, even here as well as forward where Jack swings his hammock, and punctually at ten o'clock the master-at-arms makes his appear ance, cap in hand, and respectfully but firmly intimates that lights must be put out. An extension may be granted, however, to officers desiring to burn a light in their own staterooms, but those who are reluctant to "seek the seclusion that their cabins grant" as yet, or who wish to find consolation in the fragrant weed, are compelled to climb the ladder to the gun-deck, there to while away the time in the smoking corner until it suits them to turn in. Many a pleasant hour have we passed there in the society of one or two congenial companions, listening to the yarns and stories of many an exciting or humorous episode of sea-life, told in low tones and with the eloquence born of adventure. Where two marine orderlies keep constant vigil day and night, a light is burning by the enclosed

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skylight hatch that ventilates the wardroom on the deck below, and serves as an opening to pass up the ammunition for the spar-deck battery. All the way forward along the deck the hammocks of the men are swinging, and we can hear their deep breathing, and the mutterings of some honest fellow as he dreams; while close by-almost over our heads-a number of young cadets sleep the sleep of youth and health in their swinging canvas beds, undisturbed by our presence. Occasionally the midshipman of the watch slips noiselessly down the companion-ladder and consults the barometer swinging in the passage leading to the admiral's cabin.

Sometimes at this hour, when the sea is calm and the moon is shining, we lean against the machine-gun in the sponson and look out of the open port. Oh, the glory of a moonlight night at sea! The sides of our ship gleam ghostly white against the deep blue of the water, and the foam, as she sends the surges billowing away from her, is bright as burnished silver, and casts waves of reflected light up to the top of the high bulwarks, while the shadows of the great guns, thrust out of the ports, slide up and down on the wave-crests, or lose themselves in the black hollows of the seas. Directly ahead the ocean is a mass of glittering light as of electricity, while away off on our quarter the lamps of the Atlanta and Yorktown gleam brightly over the dark and heaving waters. Like some vague shape of night gliding over the sea seems the Atlanta, as a gleam of light, like a great eye opening and shutting, flashes from her sides. She is talking to us, and the flashes of light are from her electric night-signals spelling out a message to the flagship.

But it is the hour or two after dinner, when the excellent band "discourses sweet music," and before tattoo ringing out sends Jack to his hammock, that to officers and crew alike are perhaps the most pleasant of all the twentyfour. Everybody off duty congregates on the gun-deck to listen to the music, and to pass the time in social intercourse before bed - time. The sailors gather forward of the mainmast in a compact mass near the band, the electric lights shining on their attentive faces

and bringing them into sharp relief against the gloom behind them. Manly, honest faces most of them, from the wrinkled-browed, rough-bearded, weather-beaten old quarter-gunner, to the wide-eyed, smooth-faced, curly-pated apprentice; from the handsome soldierly marine sergeant-firm mouth, shaded by the long military mustache drooping toward the square chin-to the pale, haggard-eyed stoker, released for a time from the parching heat of the fire-room. The band is playing a waltz, and Jack and his mates are dancing together away forward there, by the dim light of a lamp, dancing with a grace, an ease, an elegance that many a ball-room swell might strive in vain to emulate. See the airs of that youngster there, the "lady" of the couple, and the coy manner in which he rests on his partner's shoulder and points his toes out, tripping lightly in the "mazes of the dance," and mimicking, with comical accuracy, the pretty affectations of some "bud" at her first ball, to the intense delight of his grinning shipmates. Or that other fellow there, dancing by himself in a little cleared space, with one hand on his hip, the other arm raised in graceful curve above his head as he cuts a pigeon wing or glides with careless ease and long sliding step, like a "ballerina" of the ballet he is so fond of attending in the many ports he visits. But Jack is at his best in the art terpsichorean when the band having dispersed and the seductive strains of a Strauss waltz no longer urge him to fanciful flights of mimicry-some shipmates produce a banjo or two and an accordion or a concertina, and the lively notes of a hornpipe resound on the deck away forward. Then he brings forth all his originality, agile and quick and dancing all over, with head, hands, body, and feet, stamping on the deck with resounding thwack of his feet and rattling with his heels in rhythmic accompaniment to the music with the regularity and finish of the rolling of a drum, until, glowing and breathless, he gives one final spring into the air and makes way for another. With the stroke of two bells-nine o'clock-the bugle sounds tattoo, followed immediately by taps. Out go the lights forward, some one or two remain

ing dimly burning, and Jack, healthfully tired, swings himself lightly up into his hammock, and, on the gun-deck silence reigns fore and aft.

And so the days pass, with blue skies and favorable winds, and everything is comfortable and pleasant alike with officers and crew in the enjoyment of life at sea in fine weather. Drills of one kind or another are of daily occurrence-gunnery, small-arms, cutlass, and revolver drills, and theoretical instruction of various natures. The chaplain gives a lecture to the apprentice-boys now and then on the geography and history of the foreign countries to be visited by the squadron. Divine service is held on Sunday mornings, which those of the crew who desire to do so may attend. Seated on rows of benches facing a lectern, placed on the gun-deck at the foot of the companion hatch, the men-cleanly shaved and in their best and neatest uniforms are gathered, while ranged on the port side the officers group themselves; and as the chaplain reads the solemn ritual of the church, the heads of the congregation are bowed in reverence, and many a stern face softens as a prayer goes up to the Almighty for the safety and welfare of wife and little ones, for the dear ones at home. Blue skies and favorable winds with an occasional shower, and even a rainy night or two, but that does not take anything from Jack's comfort. His oilskins and sea-boots are proof against any ordinary wet weather, and he makes nothing of it, jogging along through the daily routine, contented and happy, as long as he behaves himself. Punishment - swift, sure, and sternfollows any misconduct on his part; but take it for all in all, Jack and his superiors" get on" swimmingly together, and the close companionship of officers and men, which must of necessity exist in the confined space of a ship of war, is productive of a certain feeling of acquaintance, not to say friendship, with one another, that goes a great way toward softening the harshness of discipline. "Lor' bless you, sir," said an old quartermaster to us once, when the officer of the deck reiterated an order in language more forcible and emphatic than elegant, "that don't mean nothing! Mr. Blank

is one of the finest gentlemen in the service; he only wants to wake the men up!" However, blue skies and favorable winds are not always present to cheer Jack on his voyage across the trackless waste of waters; he is frequently called on to battle with wind and waves for his very existence, and at no time does the training that fosters and develops all his most manly qualities, his courage and his skill as a seaman, show itself to better advantage than when he is called upon in time of storm and danger.

The breeze is freshening and a strong swell causes the ship to roll heavily. Although the sun shines out from the masses of swift-flying clouds, hurrying across the sky with the speed of an express train, the barometer has been steadily falling, and the officer of the deck, walking up and down on the high bridge forward, the long skirts of his ulstershaped great-coat flapping about his legs in the wind, glances often to windward, where cloud-bank on cloud-bank is steadily rising, and whence the wind comes in puffs and squalls, one stronger than the other.

The vessels of the squadron are pitching heavily, the sister-ships Atlanta and Boston sticking their noses into the waves, and apparently burying their forward decks under water only to rise again bravely and dash snow-like clouds of spray high over their superstructures. Away astern, the Yorktown rides like a white seagull, now hidden almost out of sight in the deep hollows of the seas, anon gliding bird-like on their very crests, saucily bidding them defiance and spurning them aside. Stronger and more frequently come the bursts of wind, thicker and more threatening grows the horizon to windward, and still our ships move steadily on under sail and steam. The captain is on deck, and a messenger boy comes jumping aft and, with jerk of forefinger to visorless watch-cap in salute, reports from the officer of the deck, that "the wind is freshening, sir!" and the order to reef topsails is given. Instantly the hoarse cry is heard: "A-all hands reef tops'ls!" and the whole ship is alive in a moment. Up from below springs the executive officer, speaking-trumpet in hand, and takes command of the deck. The

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others follow immediately, hurrying on their great-coats and pulling their cappeaks well down over their eyes as they emerge from the hatch into the sharp cutting wind, and the sailormen come bounding up the ladders and run nimbly to their stations. With a voice that rises clear above the noise of the wind, that now howls through the rigging, the "first lieutenant" shouts out his orders. Reef tops'ls! Man the tops'l clewlines and buntlines, weather tops'l braces! Hands by the lee braces, bowlines, and halliards!" The men jump to their work, quickly and without confusion. "Clear away the bowlines, round in the weatherbraces! Settle away the tops'l halliards! Clew Down!" The orders are taken up and repeated, the boatswain's whistle pipes cheerily; a hundred brawny arms stretch at the ropes, and the huge yards swing round and are lowered to the caps, the great sails flapping in the wind with loud reports like pistol shots. Eager as hounds held in the leash and waiting for the word to start, the topmen are huddled together on the deck at the foot of the shrouds. "Haul out the reef tackles! Haul up the buntlines! Aloft, Topmen!" Away they go, scrambling up on the bulwarks and racing up the shrouds hand over hand, swarming into the tops. "Lay Out! Take in two reefs!" and out on the long yards the agile fellows climb; some of them-old Jackies-have kicked off their boots and cling like monkeys to the man-ropes with their stockinged feet, while all of them grasp the stiff sail with muscular fingers, hauling it up fold on fold and reefing it securely; and the wind buffets them and sways them about, plucking off one or two caps and sending them whirling high up in the air away off to leeward. Lay In!" Back to the mast they all scramble again. "Lay Down from Aloft !" And down the rigging they come, any way and every way, sliding down the backstays and tripping down the great shrouds to the deck again. More orders follow, the topsails are hoisted away again, the yards are trimmed, bowlines steadied out, and the boatswain's whistle once more "pipes down." On the horizon the clouds gather more thickly, the

sun, glowing angrily red behind, shoots out a fiery gleam across the raging waves from a rift among them as he slowly disappears. The sea is rising rapidly and the wind tears the crests from the waves and whirls them in smoke-like masses of vapor across the waters, almost shutting out our consorts from view. Down below the ports are all closed, and the gunner is inspecting the batteries to see that everything is secured. There is not much danger of any of the heavy guns, with all their modern appliances for fixing them in their places breaking loose even in a ship that rolls more violently than does ours, but on a man-of-war no precaution to guard against a possible accident is considered unnecessary; and it can be readily understood that if one of these great engines of war, weighing with its carriage and shield in the neighborhood of twenty tons, should become parted from its fastenings and be rolled uncontrolled about the deck or dashed against its sides, a catastrophe might result endangering the safety of the ship and of the lives of her crew. In the ward-room the racks are up on the table and the dishes and glassware slide about in a most inconvenient manner for hungry naval officers, and many a glass is spilled and appetizing morsel dropped in the effort to eat and drink, and to keep one's chair from sliding away from under him at the same time. The band cannot play this evening-some of the bandsmen, to judge from the pallor and woe-begone expression of their countenances, don't want to very much-and we gather together in our accustomed nook on the gun-deck to smoke and chat, and to hold on to what we can grasp to prevent our selves from sliding over to leeward when ever the vessel rolls. The hatches are all covered up-battened down in one or two places-and we can hear the waves crashing against the sides and the spray falling on the deck above. The storm is evidently increasing, and we are not surprised to see the executive officer emerge from the ward-room hatch, clad from head to foot in his oilskins, and to hear the command of: "To your stations, gentlemen!" and the boatswain's cry of: "A-all hands shorten sail!" Up and out to the windy deck above

everyone hurries, and the same evolution that took place before sunset is executed again, except that now all sails are taken in. The gale is upon us in all its fury, and the wind roars through the rigging with the rush and thunder of a mighty cataract. The darkness of the night is intense, and we can just distinguish our topgallant masts wildly swaying high above us and can hear the banging of the sails. We can see nothing of the men that we know are out there on the yards, but now and then we can hear the sound of voices, torn and muffled by the wind, as some order is given. We are signalling to our consorts too, and as the red and green balls of fire dart up into the air, they throw a weird light on objects near at hand, bringing out the forms of the signal officer and his assistants with a startling vividness against the gloom about them. The shouting of orders, the shrieking of the wind, the ear-piercing piping of the boatswain's whistle, the trampling of hundreds of feet, and the booming splash of the waves, make up a very pandemonium of noise. Rapidly the work of taking in the huge squares of canvas is accomplished. Snap! away go the lanterns that have been swinging from the yards, and over all and through all the salt spray is flying, stinging our faces and rattling like fine birdshot against our rain-clothes, as we cling to the rails of the after-bridge and strive to keep our footing on the slippery planks.

The Yorktown is away astern; her lights show dimly for a while, then disappear; she has signalled for permission to heave to-that is, to bring the head of the ship to the wind and thus ride out the storm-but no anxiety is felt on her account, full confidence being felt in the judgment of her commander and the ability and skill of her officers.* The lights of the other ships can be seen waving about in the gloom away off on our quarters, now and then an answering

*The Yorktown joined the squadron in Lisbon Harbor two days after the arrival there of the fleet. From the account of some irresponsible person, with more imagination than regard for the truth, a report of her expe riences was published in some of the newspapers which gave a description of the "heroic" conduct of an imaginary quartermaster, who was said to have saved the This account was cut from the whole cloth, no such ocship by a remarkable exhibition of presence of mind. currence having taken place. The ship was at all times under the absolute control and management of her officers, and at no time considered in any danger.