It was Paul who uttered the remark. The youngest member of the gunners' crowd rested in the shadow of one of the long guns, half asleep. Near by sat Walter and Si, each writing letters, although there was no telling when the communications would be taken from the Brooklyn and sent home. At Key West Walter had looked for some word from Ben and from Job Dowling, but none had come.
"I'd like to know if my uncle went to Boston, and if he learned anything concerning that Deck Mumpers and the stolen heirlooms," Walter observed to Si, after nodding to Paul, in agreement that it didn't look like fighting.
"Well, you'll have to possess your soul in patience," answered the young Yankee. "But oh, this is dead slow!" And thrusting his letter into an envelope, he addressed it and laid it away.
Several days had been spent around the mouth of Santiago Bay, without anything being brought to light. If the Spanish fleet was within the harbor, it knew enough to keep out of sight, that was certain.
"If I was Commodore Schley, I'd rush past old Morro and make short work of this," grumbled Paul, stretching himself and yawning. "Why, we'll all die of laziness if this keeps on."
"I hear the Merrimac has broken down," put in Caleb, who had just come below. "That means another wait of twenty-four hours or more, even if Cervera isn't in the harbor. Why under the sun must those dagos play such a game of hide-and-seek? Why can't they come up and fight like men?"
"Perhaps Admiral Cervera is bombarding some of our cities at this very moment—" began Si, when a sudden loud hurrah caused all hands to leap up and make for the deck.
"What's up?" came from a hundred throats.
"The Iowa has just signalled that she has seen a big Spanish warship showing her nose around the harbor point!" was the wild answer. "We've found the Dons at last!"
And then came another hurrah and a wild yell. "Let us get at 'em! Down with the Spaniards! Remember the Maine and Dewey's victory at Manila!"