-beaten coast, and directly fronting the centre
ship could be seen a narrow cleft in the hill--the gateway leading to
the ancient city of Santiago de Cuba.

As we steamed in closer to the fleet we saw indications that something
of importance had occurred or was about to occur. Steam launches and
torpedo boats were dashing about between the ships, strings of
parti-colored bunting flaunted from the signal halliards of the flagship
"New York," and nearer shore could be seen one of the smaller cruisers
evidently making a reconnaissance.

"We are just in time, Russ," exclaimed "Stump," jubilantly. "The fleet
is getting ready for a scrap. And we'll be right in it."

I edged toward the bridge. The first news would come from that quarter.
Several minutes later, Captain Brownson, who had been watching the
signals with a powerful glass, closed the instrument with a snap, and
cried out to the executive officer:

"Hubbard, you will never believe it."

"What's happened?"

The reply was given so low that I could catch only a few words, but it
was enough to send me scurrying aft at the top of my speed. The news was
startling indeed.

CHAPTER VIII.

WE JOIN SAMPSON'S FLEET.

As the "Yankee" steamed in toward the blockading fleet off the entrance
to Santiago harbor, the scurrying torpedo boats and the many little
launches darting here and there like so many beetles on a pond, became
more apparent, and it was plainly evident to all that something of great
importance had recently happened.

The scattered remarks made by Captain Brownson on the bridge formed,
when pieced together, such a wonderful bit of news that I could scarcely
contain myself as I hurried aft. I wanted to stop and fling my cap into
the air. I felt like dancing a jig and hurrahing and offering praise for
the fact that I was an American.

As it happened, I was not the only member of the "Yankee's" crew that
had overheard the "old man's" words. The second captain of the after
port five-inch gun, a jolly good fellow, known familiarly as "Hay" by
the boys, chanced to be under the bridge. As I raced aft on the port
side he started in the same direction on the starboard side of the spar
deck. His legs fairly twinkled, and he beat me to the gangway by a neck.

"What do you think?" I heard him gasp as I came up. "Talk of your
heroes! Whoop! Say, I'm glad I am a son of that old flag aft there. It's
the greatest thing that ever happened."

"What?" chorused a doz