Inside of five minutes more Walter found himself surrounded by half a dozen officers, including a major of marines, who questioned him closely regarding his adventures and concerning the various detachments of Spanish soldiers that he had encountered.
"You've been through a good deal, lad," said the major, slapping Walter on the shoulder. "I dare say you wouldn't like to go through it again."
"No, indeed! The Spaniards are—are brutes!" exclaimed the youth. "I only hope we send them from Cuba a-flying. I think they and the Cubans must have been fighting for the past three years like a lot of cats and dogs. It's high time Uncle Sam took a hand." This reply brought forth a hearty laugh from those gathered around. Walter, young as he was, had hit the nail right on the head, as later events proved.
The major of marines did not see how the lad could be transferred to the Brooklyn, which was a good many miles off, in the direction of Santiago. "You'll have to remain here until some boat bound for Commodore Schley's flagship chances along," he said. "At present only the Marblehead, Suwanee, and Porter are here, but others are coming and going constantly."
"And what of the army of invasion?" asked Walter, with keen interest.
"I believe it has already left Key West. I know it started from Tampa several days ago."
"Was the Seventy-first New York with the troops?"
"They were. Why do you ask?"
"My brother is a member of that regiment. Hurrah! He'll be down here soon," concluded Walter.
He was now dismissed, and lost no time in hunting up one of the marines' cooks, who speedily filled him up with meat, bread and butter, and coffee. "We're not living like kings, you see," said the cook, but grinning to see how the food disappeared.