"It's church service," he said, "or it's
general inspection."
Channing looked at his watch. It was thirty minutes past nine. "It's
church service," he said. "I can see them carrying out the chaplain's
reading-desk on the Indiana." The press-boat pushed her way nearer
into the circle of battleships until their leaden-hued hulls towered
high above her. On the deck of each, the ship's company stood, ranged
in motionless ranks. The calm of a Sabbath morning hung about them,
the sun fell upon them like a benediction, and so still was the air
that those on the press-boat could hear, from the stripped and naked
decks, the voices of the men answering the roll-call in rising
monotone, "one, two, three, FOUR; one, two, three, FOUR." The white-
clad sailors might have been a chorus of surpliced choir-boys.
But, up above them, the battle-flags, slumbering at the mast-heads,
stirred restlessly and whimpered in their sleep.
Out through the crack in the wall of mountains, where the sea runs in
to meet the waters of Santiago Harbor, and from behind the shield of
Morro Castle, a great, gray ship, like a great, gray rat, stuck out
her nose and peered about her, and then struck boldly for the open
sea.
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