BY W. J. HENDERSON.
It was a day of southwesterly weather, one of those days on which shower follows shower across the murky and writhing sky, and the air feels like water atomized. The boys had grown tired of sitting in the house, and having donned oil-skins and rubber boots, they had gone down to the pier in hope of seeing some interesting sight at sea. They found the Old Sailor in his favorite position, and sat down beside him. He too was clad in oil-skins, and was shaking his head in solemn discontent because he could not get a good view of the ocean. The sea-water was quite cold and the rain was much warmer; consequently the surface of the great deep was covered with a wavering veil of light gray mist, through which the eye could not penetrate more than two hundred and fifty yards.
A few minutes after the boys sat down another thunder-storm broke, and rain fell in torrents. The lightning flashed fiercely and the thunder bellowed mightily. Suddenly, in the very height of the tumult, out of the curtain of the gray mist came a wild, unearthly shriek, rising in pitch and intensity each second. The boys started to their feet, pale to the lips, and gazing at the Old Sailor with appealing eyes. The next instant a long, low, lean, olive-colored hull shot out of the mist. From two funnels, one forward and one aft, great streamers of oily black smoke went swirling away over the stern, while under the bows a snowy jet of gleaming spray spurted high along the craft's sides. From her crouching stern the water sprang outward and upward in a boiling wave, lashed into silver and emerald by the whizzing screws. She shot past the end of the pier, not a hundred yards away, with her whistle shrieking wildly as she went. The boys had barely time to catch the outline of her and to see the crouching figure of the seaman who tried to peer into the mist ahead of her, before she had hissed out of sight, and left only the troubled wake to tell the story of her passage.
"What was that?" gasped Henry, when he could catch his breath.
"That, my son," said the Old Sailor, solemnly, "were the United States torpedo-boat Cushing, bound fur Sandy Hook, an' no time to spare."
"But I should think she'd be in danger of running into some vessel."
"Oh, they can stop her an' back her in twice her own length," said the Old Sailor.
"But why does she go so fast?" asked George. "Do they wish to get out of the rain?"
"No, I reckon they ain't afraid o' rain," said the Old Sailor, with a grave sidewise movement of his head. "But mebbe she are in the same fix as the torpedo-boat Hop-lo were at the battle o' Yalu, w'ich the same I were her bosun's mate, an' also, moreover, kep' her from sinkin'."
"Oh, tell us about that!" exclaimed George.