Another shot, and still another, comes echoing over the water from the Infanta Isabel, her target the fast-filling steamer.
Suddenly Ashley is electrified by the command in the stentorian tones of Capt. Meade:
"Clear the ship for action!"
A second later the trumpet's harsh notes and the sharp rattle of drum, mingling with the shrill whistles and rough voices of the boatswain, mates and the noisy clanging of the electric gongs, call the sturdy crew of the America to "general quarters."
Then, indeed, is the blood of the newspaper man stirred by the scenes about him. The decks throb with the rush of hurrying feet as the men hasten to their stations. The gun crews are casting loose the great guns, the murderous rapid-fire cannon and the secondary batteries. Some are hastily donning equipments, others filling sponge-buckets and still others stripping themselves of all superfluous clothing, laying bare their brawny forms.
Hatches are covered, hose laid and pumps rigged, ladders torn away, and decks turned topsy-turvy, in the twinkling of an eye. Rifles, cutlasses and revolvers come out from the armory in quantities that amaze Ashley. The marine guard falls in and topmen are scrambling nimbly aloft to secure anything movable there.
Down come the rails, out come davits and awning stanchions—everything movable is stowed away or secured. The magazines are opened and the tackle rigged over the ammunition hatches ready to hoist shot and shell for the guns.
"The grim panoply of war," Jack thinks, as he hastens to conduct the wondering Juanita below. Even here, he observes to his great surprise, the captain's sacred cabin has been invaded "on the jump" by the crews of the after guns.
As Ashley returns to the quarter-deck he notes that the America is bearing hard down almost at right angles on the Spanish warship, now distant less than a mile.
"Evidently here is an excellent opportunity for an in-
