Dewey at Manila.
The White Squadron.
It was the 19th of April. An American fleet lay in the harbor of Hong-Kong, where it had been anchored for nearly a month, impatiently awaiting the command that should send it to battle.
There was feverish expectation of war, and bustle of preparation, and Commodore Dewey nervously walked the deck; for, every moment the longed-for order was expected.
It was the 19th of April, and the White Squadron lay gleaming in the sunlight,—and yet by the night of the 20th the White Squadron was no more; for she had exchanged the snowy garb of peace for the sombre gray of war. The ships’ painters had, in this short time, given the entire fleet a significant coating of drab.