April, in the tropics!

Four miles off the coast of Mexico, east of the historic port of Vera Cruz, the United States dreadnought, “Long Island,” moved along at slow cruising speed.

The few days out from New York had brought marked changes in climate.  While people in New York found the weather still cold, here in Mexican waters, officers and men alike were in the white uniforms of the tropics –­all save those whose work below compelled them to wear dungarees.

On the bridge forward, two officers paced at a time.  During the night hours there were always three there.

Aft, on the quarter-deck, marines were going through the rifle gymnastic drill.  In some of the divisions officers and men were busy at the big gun drills.  Others were cleaning a ship that always seemed spotless.  The few that were off duty gathered wherever they could find room, for a battleship at sea, with her full complement of officers and men on board, is a crowded affair.

No other ship of the American fleet was in sight, but two operators, constantly on duty in the wireless room, kept the “Long Island” in constant touch with a score of vessels of the United States Navy.

“Have you any idea what we’re doing here?” asked Danny Grin, as he and Dave met on the superstructure.

“No idea whatever,” Ensign Darrin admitted.  “I have noticed, though, that the officers on the bridge keep a constant lookout ashore.  See; two of them, even now, have their binoculars trained on the shore.”

“I don’t see anything over there,” replied Dalzell, “except a house or a small village here and there.  I looked through the binoculars a little while ago, and to me it appeared a country that was about nine-tenths swamp.”

“In the event of sending landing parties ashore,” Dave hinted, “we might have to fight in one of those swamps.  When it comes to fighting in the tangles and mazes of a swamp, I fancy the Mexicans have had a whole lot more experience than we have had.”

“Why should we have to send landing parties so far from Vera Cruz?” Dan demanded, opening his eyes.

“We’re only forty or fifty miles east of Vera Cruz,” Darrin went on.  “Danny boy, Vera Cruz is supposed to have a garrison, at present, of only about eight hundred of General Huerta’s Mexican Federals.  But suppose it was rumored that the Americans intended to land at Vera Cruz.  Isn’t it likely that the garrison would be greatly increased?”

“Let ’em increase their old garrison,” smiled Dalzell, contemptuously.  “The first landing parties from our fleet would drive out any kind of a Mexican garrison that Huerta could put in that town.”

“Exactly,” nodded Dave, “and then the Mexicans would naturally fall back.”

“We can chase ’em,” asserted Ensign Dalzell.

“Certainly, but a large force of Mexicans might fall back along the coast, through the swampy country we are now facing.”

“In that case,” argued Dan, “we wouldn’t have to follow the brown rascals on foot.  We could use the ship to follow ’em, and land and fight where we found ’em.”

“To be sure,” Ensign Darrin agreed.  “But the Mexicans, knowing their own swamps, would have considerable advantage.  They might have part of their force retreat, drawing us further and further into a swamp, and then have another force get between us and our ships.”

“Let ’em try it,” retorted Dan Dalzell, grimly, “If there is anything new that the Greasers want to know about American methods of fighting, our fleet is full of officers who are willing to be patient instructors.  But take my word for it, Dave, if the Mexicans ever try to draw us into one of those swamps, they’ll learn so much about real Yankee fighting that it will be fatal to all the Mexicans who take the instruction from us!”

“That’s all very good,” Darrin nodded, thoughtfully.  “Still, we shall make a greater success of operations in the swamps if we study them as much as possible at present.”

“I hope the study will soon be followed by a recitation,” grinned Dalzell.  “I feel that I’m going stale with so much study.  Now, if we could only hear a few shots, and then fall in with an advancing firing line!”

“You bloodthirsty wretch!” rebuked Ensign Darrin, but he smiled in sympathy.

“This waiting and watching grows wearisome,” groaned Danny Grin.

“But we’re watching behind big guns,” returned Dave Darrin, grimly.  “Surely, when our ships are down here in such force, and others are being rushed through preparation before coming into these waters, there must be something more in the air than the ordinary kind of watching and waiting.  Cheer up, Dan!  Before long you’ll hear some of our big guns speak, and you’ll hear the rattle of small arms, too.”

“Understand, please,” begged Dalzell, “I’m not bloodthirsty, and I abhor the very thought of war, but, since we’re doing all the watching and waiting, I wish these Mexicans would hurry up and start something!”

Trent climbed to the superstructure.  Then, catching sight of his juniors, he came toward them.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Watching,” sighed Dave.

“And waiting,” added Danny Grin.

“Then perhaps you youngsters will be interested in the news of what’s going on under this superstructure,” suggested Lieutenant Trent.

“What’s happening below?” demanded Dalzell.  “More watching –­and waiting?”

“Why, I have an idea that we won’t have to wait much longer,” replied Trent, smiling at the eager faces before him.  “I’ve just learned that, for the last twenty minutes, Captain Gales has been standing in the wireless room, and that Commander Bainbridge is with him.  They are, so I hear, having a hot and heavy wireless talk with Admiral Fletcher.”

“A little talk, as a relief from so much watching and waiting, eh?” asked Darrin, dryly.

“Why, I believe that the talk is going to lead to something real,” replied Lieutenant Trent, trying hard to keep the flash of excitement from showing in his own eyes.  The fact is, something has happened.”

“Don’t ‘string’ us like that!” urged Danny Grin.  “Why, Trent, the American Navy, and the Army, too, has been waiting for three years or more for something to happen.  But so far it has all happened on the Mexican side.  Don’t tell us, at this late day, that the United States is going to start anything to happening on the other side.”

“There’s something up,” Trent insisted.  “I don’t know what it is; I haven’t an idea of the nature of the happening, but of this I feel rather sure, –­that now, at last, the Mexicans have done something that will turn Yankee guns and Yankee men loose.”

“I wonder if you’re any good as a prophet, Trent?” pondered Dan, studying his division officer’s face keenly.

“We’ll wait and see,” laughed the lieutenant.  “If there really is anything in the wind, I think we’ll have a suspicion of what it is by mess-hour to-night.  A little more watching and waiting won’t hurt us.”

“Hear that commotion on the quarter-deck?” demanded Dave, suddenly.  “I hear a lot of talking there.  Come on.  We’ll see if waiting is about to be turned into doing.”

Trent walked slowly aft.  Still chatting with him, Dave and Dan kept by his side.  Then they stood looking down upon the quarter-deck.

Presently two messengers came running out, looking eagerly about them.  One messenger, catching sight of the three officers on the superstructure, came bounding up the steps, halting and saluting.

“Compliments of the executive officer,” announced the messenger; “Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell are directed to report to his office immediately.”

“Perhaps you’ll hear the news at once,” murmured Trent, as his juniors left him.

When the two ensigns reported to him, Commander Bainbridge was pacing the passageway outside his office.

“The captain is awaiting us in his office,” said the executive.  “We will go there at once.”

The instant he entered the captain’s quarters, Darrin had sudden misgivings of some impending misfortune, for Lieutenant Cantor, very erect, and looking both stern and important, was talking in low tones with Captain Gales.

“Now, what has the scoundrel found to fasten upon me?” Ensign Dave Darrin wondered, with a start.  “And how has he managed to drag Dan into it?”