The captain of the press-boat helped Keating safely to a bunk in the
cabin and received his instructions to proceed to Santiago Harbor.
Then he joined Channing. "Mr. Keating is feeling bad to-night. That
bombardment off Morro," he explained, tactfully, "was too exciting.
We always let him sleep going across, and when we get there he's
fresh as a daisy. What's this he tells me of your doing stoking?"
"I thought there might be another fight tomorrow, so I said I'd come
as a stoker."
The captain grinned.
"Our Sam, that deck-hand, was telling me. He said Mr. Keating put it
on you, sort of to spite you--is that so?"
"Oh, I wanted to come," said Channing.
The captain laughed, comprehendingly. "I guess we'll be in a bad
way," he said, "when we need you in the engine-room." He settled
himself for conversation, with his feet against the rail and his
thumbs in his suspenders. The lamps of Port Antonio were sinking into
the water, the moonlight was flooding the deck.
"That was quite something of a bombardment Sampson put up against
Morro Castle this morning," he began, critically. He spoke of
bombardments from the full experience of a man who had seen shells
strike off Coney Island from the proving-grounds at Sandy Hook.
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