THE officers of the battleship Minnesota gave a reception Christmas Day on board their ship to all the officers of the other ships. The visitors were received at the gangway by the officer of the deck, who had the usual side boys stationed there for the guests to pass by. The visitors were first presented to Capt. Hubbard, after which they paid their respects to Admiral Thomas. Then, turning around on the beautifully decorated deck, they saw depending from the great 12-inch guns of the after turret a board festooned with greens, and on it painted in large letters:

"Peace on earth; good will to men!"

The first effect on the visitor was to startle him. What place was there on a warship, whose primary purpose is destruction, for such a motto and in such a place? Some of the more thoughtless visitors thought it was satire, or perhaps a naval man's idea of a grim joke.

Those who thought it a mockery, a satire or a joke were never more mistaken. The sentiment was made the most prominent decoration on the ship in all sincerity. Scores of naval officers pointed to it with pride and said it exemplified truly the spirit of the American Navy. All declared that if there was one thing more than any other which American naval officers and all true Americans wished for it was world-wide peace and brotherly love. It was declared that no better place outside a Christian church could be found for its display than on an American warship. Many an officer said he hoped it would always be prominent on our warships at the Christmas season.

Certainly good will to man was exemplified at the Christmas celebration on this fleet. It was the most impressive Christmas festival that the nine civilians with the fleet ever saw. Here was a city of 14,000, exclusively of men, some rough, some refined, some educated, some illiterate, some Christian, some with no religion, celebrating the season of good cheer on sixteen battleships in a foreign port five miles from shore. Port of Spain might as well have been 5,000 miles away, so far as its influence was concerned. More than one-half of the American Navy was holding its Christmas festival in its own way, with none else to look on. From first to last its spirit was kindly; from colors in the morning until the last serenading party, gliding over the smooth water in a floating city that had a Venetian aspect, singing songs to the accompaniment of guitars and mandolins, disappeared at midnight, the celebration was in absolute keeping with the sentiment of the day. All was merry and all were merry.

Perhaps a song sung by the Vermont's officers who were towed about the fleet at night in a sailing launch as they called on every warship best reveals the tone of the occasion. They came to the Louisiana on their last call just before midnight. They allowed none of the Louisiana's officers who had gone to bed to dress, and pajamas were almost as common as dress clothes in the company that assembled in the wardroom. When the visitors were going away the last song which came across the water, a song which they sang as they came up the gangway strumming their instruments and lifting up their voices, was this:

Probably that lob-e-dob crew sang that song two hundred times that night. It was adapted from a new Naval Academy song. It has a merry tune and the jingle and the swing of it was infectious. The crew was highrolling only in a naval sense, the rolling wave sense, and in five minutes after they first sang the song to their hosts the hosts were joining in with them. It meant merry Christmas to everybody. Certainly this fleet had one.

For two days boating parties had gone to the heavily wooded shores of this beautiful island and had brought in greens for Christmas. They were mostly palms and bamboo, with trailing vines in profusion. When darkness came on Christmas eve the work of decoration began. Late into the night some of the men toiled. When daylight came every ship was dressed in greens. From truck to water line, on signal yards, rigging, turrets, gangways, there were branches of trees and festoons of vines. Inside the ships the wardrooms and cabins were elaborately decorated. Every wardroom had its Christmas tree and around it were grouped gifts for all. No one was overlooked. Christmas boxes, brought from home with orders not to be unsealed until Christmas Day, were broken open in every part of the ship.

Then came a day of visiting, of sports—rowing in the morning, athletics aboard ship in the afternoon and boxing in the evening—of the big reception on the Minnesota and of the merriest kind of dinner parties with the distribution of Santa Claus gifts in the evening. The gifts were mostly trinkets, but they had hits and grinds in them, and the presentation elicited shouts of laughter. Although the matter of rank was not ignored, apparently the high and low officers, from Admiral and Captain down to midshipman, were seated on the good fellowship basis and as equals. The Fourth Ward at the foot of the table went out of business for one night. The middies and ensigns could burst into song when they chose, and if any one forgot to say sir no one thought it strange. Here on the Louisiana ten minutes after we sat down to dinner came an instance of the feeling that makes the whole world kin on Christmas. The youngsters had been singing the Louisiana song, the chorus of which runs thus:

Capt. Wainwright had been toying with a tin whistle which he had pulled from a bonbon. Stealthily he put it to his lips and blew it loud, and then that eye of his, which has the piercing power of a 12-inch shell, grew bright with the light of geniality and kindness that lie deep set and yet overflowing behind it, and he was a youngster, too. The Fourth Ward men might sing "Louisiana Lou," but he was willing to show that he could blow a tin whistle when the occasion demanded it.

One might fill columns with the songs that were sung. There is room for the chorus of just one more. The game is for about one-half of the company to sing the chorus and just before the finish the others shout an interrogatory of astonishment at the top of their voices. The chorus runs:

The merriment on the Louisiana was not exceptional. It was a mere copy of what was going on in sixteen wardrooms. Every ship was sure it had the merriest dinner and the merriest time all around in the fleet, and that was true strictly.

The bluejackets had their own fun, and they yielded to none in their belief that they had the best time of all. Of course they were right. Look at this menu that Uncle Sam provided for their dinner:

And here is the music that Bandmaster Cariana provided:

And didn't the first class men have liberty to go ashore? Didn't they come back loaded down with souvenir postal cards, baskets of fruit, parrots and monkeys? And wasn't every man of them able to toe a seam as he answered to his name on the liberty list? If there was a suspicion of a rolling gait in two or three couldn't they lay it to the heat? Certain it was that not one of them had drunk any of that stuff down here that they call biograph whiskey, the kind that makes you see moving pictures, for the only moving pictures that any of them saw that night were the dozen sparring matches and two wrestling contests on the quarter deck, where the bluejackets were piled high on high under the awning clear up over the turret to the after bridge—as packed a house for the space as Caruso ever sang to.

And didn't John Eglit, the Louisiana's American champion naval boxer, who knocked out the English champion, Leans of the Good Hope, last May, take on a man from another ship and promise only to tap him and not knock him out, so that the boys could admire him and cheer him? Eglit is a master at arms, a ship policeman at other times, and it isn't safe to say things to him, even flattering things, but here the boys could cheer him and he couldn't answer back. And didn't the officers sit close to the ropes just where President Roosevelt sat on his trip to Panama? And didn't Midshipman McKittrick, the recent champion boxer of the Naval Academy, referee the bouts? And didn't Midshipman Brainerd, the well known oarsman of the Naval Academy not long ago, act as time keeper? And it made no sort of difference to him that he sat next to a negro coal passer!

And then didn't the men who didn't have liberty have comic athletic sports in the afternoon? You bet they did! "Spud" races, obstacle races, sack races, three-legged and wheelbarrow races; lemon races, where the contestants held a lemon in a spoon between their teeth and the first man that crossed the line in the running won; shoe races, where a man's shoes were tied in a bag and shaken up and he had to open the bag after a run and then put them on and lace them up, the winner to be the first man reporting to the referee. It was all fun and the bullies shouted themselves hoarse over it. What matter if a dozen men reported at the sick call the next morning with feet so sore that they could hardly walk from the running in bare feet on the hard decks? Oh, yes, the bluejackets had the best time of all!

And then there was rowing in the morning. You who have seen the Poughkeepsie and New London contests may think you have seen great rowing spectacles, and so you have, but you want to see rowing contests in a fleet of 14,000 Jack Tars to know what enthusiasm is. The men lined the rails, turrets, bridges, masts and tops and danced and yelled like Comanches as the crews passed down the line of ships. They yelled just as loud when fourteen officers' crews contested. A pretty incident occurred after this race. There had been great rivalry between the officers of the Vermont and the Louisiana. Each thought it would win. Neither did, the Louisiana coming in fourth and the Vermont fifth. The Vermont crew immediately rowed to the Louisiana and the two crews in their rowing clothes sat in the wardroom and passed the bowl around. When the Vermont's men went home the entire crew of the Louisiana gathered at the rail and cheered. The Vermont men tossed their oars and then the crew sang their Merry Christmas song, the first of the 200 or more times that it was heard by the fleet.

The reception on the Minnesota was also memorable. Henry Reuterdahl, the artist, who was with the fleet to make pictures of it, had carte blanche in the matter of decorations. The "Peace on Earth" emblem was his idea. He canopied the wardroom with flags. He put up shells and revolvers and cutlasses and other implements of war in effective places and he mingled the bunting in color and arrangement so deftly that the naval men were astonished over it. Old friends in the fleet gave greetings. It was brought out in one of the conversations that Rear Admiral Evans, the Commander-in-Chief of the fleet, was the only man in the fleet who fought in the civil war. And it was also revealed that he was in the greatest pageant of warships that ever left Hampton Roads before this one. That was in December, 1864, almost forty-two years to the day that the present fleet left. That fleet went out to capture Fort Fisher, where Admiral Evans was wounded and where, with a revolver, he prevented a surgeon from cutting off his right leg. There were 14,000 men in that fleet, about the same number as in this. There were sixty naval vessels and the rest were ninety transports under command of Gen. B. F. Butler. Admiral Porter was the naval officer in charge. It took the fleet from 10 o'clock in the morning until after 4 in the afternoon to pass Cape Henry. This fleet did it in two hours. When Admiral Evans was asked about it he said that the little tender Yankton, which goes with this fleet for use on ceremonious or other useful occasions, could have whipped that entire fleet of itself. Its modern small guns—3-inch ones—could shoot so far that it could lie completely out of the range of any of the guns on that fleet and simply bombard the vessels to pieces.

But to return to Trinidad. The Venezuelan coast had been in sight for an hour on Monday, December 23, before Trinidad was made out a little after noon. A haze obscured things on shore. Gradually a dark lump on the horizon took shape, then it assumed color, a deep green, and then on the highest point, something like 400 feet above the sea, a white needle pierced the haze in the sky. It was the lighthouse that points the way to the four entrances into the Gulf of Paria from the Caribbean, called the Dragon's Mouths. The lighthouse was a visible sign of the care of British for shipping. It is said to be one of the best in any of England's colonial possessions.

Admiral Evans headed his ships toward the narrow entrance to the east of the main one. It is called Boca de Navios, one of the many reminders of the old Spanish days before England swept down through these waters. The Admiral had ordered his ships in single file of the open order or wing and wing formation. Approaching more closely he ordered exact column, one directly behind another, at a distance of 400 yards. When within three miles of the entrance he veered off to take the large passage to the west, Boca Grande. Then he made a sharp turn after he had cleared the entrance to the gulf. For some time he stood in toward the shore.

Then came another turn to the south, and then followed what Admiral Evans said afterward was one of the finest naval sights he had ever witnessed. Orders had been signalled for the four ships of the first division of the fleet to turn to the east and come up the bay of Port of Spain in parallel formation. The other divisions were ordered to follow the same plan when they arrived in position. Here was a long line of warships that had been turning and twisting around headlands and in muddy waters, going in single file, as if headed for the Serpent's Mouth, the other entrance to the Gulf of Paria. A flag fluttered from the Connecticut's signal yards. At once the first four ships turned at right angles. You could have run a tape line across the bows of the Connecticut to the Louisiana and found the Kansas and Vermont exactly on the mark. The change in the course came so suddenly that it made even naval men jump. Like four chariot horses the ships stood in as if on a battle charge.

Port of Spain could just be made out on the beach eight miles away. The ships were pointed directly for it, and if they had intended to bombard it they could scarcely have been more aggressive looking in the way they swung into that bay. The second division kept on in the lead of the single file of ships until they reached places directly behind the ships of the first division. Then they made a dramatic swing also. The third and fourth division in turn did the same thing.

The fleet was then in four columns headed directly for the beautiful little port with its shallow harbor. As long as standard speed of 11 knots was maintained the four leading vessels kept on a line that was as well dressed as a squad of fours in a military company. For two miles this formation kept up. Then half speed was signalled. The Vermont and Kansas being new in fleet evolutions and not yet being standardized completely as to speed revolutions, did not keep the line so well, but Admiral Evans was not displeased and said they did very well. The Vermont fell back nearly half a length by the time slow speed was ordered and the engines were stopped finally. The signal to come to anchor was hoisted and when it went up sixteen mud hooks splashed into the bay simultaneously. Before it had been slowed down the Louisiana had received its second special commendation for smart manoeuvring from the Admiral.

"Well done, Louisiana," the flags on the Admiral's bridge said for all the rest of the fleet to see, and Capt. Wainwright and his officers took it modestly. The Louisiana had been the only ship in the fleet to receive this signal and this was the second time it had come.

Long before the fleet had come to anchor it was noticed that the torpedo flotilla, which had started from Hampton Roads about two weeks before the fleet, was in the harbor. Mishaps to the Lawrence had brought the flotilla back that morning after it had gone eighty miles on the leg to Paria. The mishaps were not very serious, but it was better to make repairs in a port than at sea and so Lieut. Cone, in charge, had come back. The supply ships and colliers were also in port.

In a few minutes the full significance of all these ships became known. Here was a sight that no other foreign port in the world had ever seen. Twenty-nine ships were flying the American flag at once. There were really thirty-one connected with the navy, directly and indirectly, in port, but two of the colliers flew foreign flags. Far in toward the city, however, were three more vessels flying our flag, one a brigantine, another a small steamship, and another a little vessel that plies up the Orinoco. So thirty-two specimens of Old Glory fluttered in the breeze just before the sun went down.

The anchorage Admiral Evans selected was fully five miles from "the beach," as the naval man puts it. No ships can go directly to the landing places in Port of Spain and only small ones can approach within half a mile. As soon as the anchors were down the Admiral signalled that no one was to go ashore until he had gone the next morning to pay his official respects to Sir Henry M. Jackson, K. C. M. G., the Governor-General. It was nearly 8 o'clock that night when the health officer gave pratique, much to the relief of some ships, because there had been a few cases of measles and some other diseases that are classed as contagious, but great care had been taken in the matters of isolation and disinfecting. Indeed, every patient in the fleet was convalescent. It was a relief to Admiral Evans also to learn that there had not been a case of yellow fever in Trinidad for six weeks. Accordingly he gave orders to allow liberty to all the first class men in the fleet.

The next morning Admirals Evans, Thomas, Sperry and Emory went ashore to pay their respects to the Governor-General. He had sent carriages with a guard of honor to escort them to the Government House. Port of Spain is not a saluting port, because no English garrison is kept here, and therefore no guns boomed on arrival.

Admiral Evans exhibited great tact and showed the nicest regard for the situation when he asked Governor-General Jackson to return his call that afternoon at the Queen's Park Hotel. The Governor and the Admiral are old friends. The Governor is not strong, having returned recently from London, where he underwent a surgical operation. A journey of five miles out to the ships in the blazing sun, Admiral Evans thought, would be too much for him and the Governor appreciated thoroughly the Admiral's solicitude for his health.

Soon the officers and liberty men began to come ashore. Trinidad is no new place to many officers. It lies at the foot of a splendid range of the St. Anne Mountains and it is heavy with the odors of tropical verdure. It has been called the most attractive of all British West Indian colonies. Its streets are kept beautifully, its negro constabulary are efficient and polite. Its schools are fine. Those who had never visited the place were delighted with its appearance, its balconied houses, its abundance of flowers and vines creeping over walls and up the sides of houses, its great department stores, which send the heads of departments to Paris and London every year to get the latest in fashions; its motley population of English, Spanish, French and the thousands of Hindu coolies that are brought over here under contract to work on the plantations. Hindu beggars were on the streets and Hindu women, well gowned and clean as an American warship, were in evidence. Some wore rings in their noses and the more prosperous had their arms bejewelled up to the elbows with silver bracelets and other trinkets.

But let the truth be known! Trinidad didn't warm up to the fleet at all. It regarded it with apparent indifference. Officially nothing could have been more cordial than its reception. Popularly Port of Spain didn't seem to give a hang, except the fruit vendors, especially the alligator pear men, and the merchants who had things to sell. About three American flags flew over shops. American fleets have been welcomed here before with lawn parties and dances and great receptions. There was one reception at the Constabulary Barracks, and very cordial it was too, but the town didn't even take the trouble to come down to the waterfront to gaze over the water and see what sixteen battleships looked like in the distance. The ships may have been too far out. Or perhaps it was because the races were to come on during the last three days stay of the fleet. It was hardly the climate, because that never interfered with enthusiasm over an American fleet before, notably when Admiral Sampson dropped in here in 1899. Let it all go with the statement that on shore every one seemed glad to greet the Americans, even if the town seemed cold. Some of the officers renewed old acquaintances socially and several parties of friends visited the ships. One young officer came back with a story that pleased the fleet. He met a charming young English woman who said that she had travelled a good deal and had been in New York only three months ago. The young officer perked up at once.

"I suppose you saw the Great White Way in New York?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, indeed," was the innocent reply. "Mother and I went to see it one Sunday morning."

"It is beautiful," said the officer.

"Very," was the response.

Some of the visitors historically inclined recalled that Columbus visited this place and named it in honor of the Trinity; others that Sir Walter Raleigh had made this his headquarters for a long time; still others that Cortez took leave of Velasquez here when he started out on his conquest of Mexico. The commercially inclined went to visit the famous and malodorous Pitch Lake, from which Raleigh smeared his ships and which supplies a large part of the asphalt for American use. Others were glad to learn that they have struck oil here and that it is expected that this island will soon become the chief centre for a great British oil industry.

But there were those in the fleet who didn't care for Columbus or Raleigh or Cortez or asphalt or oil. One was an old bos'n's mate. He was down here in the late '80s on the old sloop Saratoga. He had a yarn to spin and it was brought out by the fact that on the day of the fleet's arrival two men from one of the torpedo flotilla had drifted away from their vessel without oars and had been carried out of sight before their absence was noticed. It was feared that they had been lost in the Gulf, but the rough water calmed at night and they drifted ashore and came back at daylight the next morning.

The bos'n's mate told how a party of apprentices and three marines started out from the Saratoga in a sailing cutter one fine morning to go to Pitch Lake. They had not gone more than four miles before a heavy sea came up and a great gust capsized the cutter.

There were many sharks in the water and three of the party were either drowned or eaten by sharks. The others clambered on the overturned boat and were helpless, as the craft was drifting out to sea. Then it was that one of those men in the navy who can no more help showing bravery when it is demanded than they can help breathing, arose to the situation. He was Shorty Allen, an apprentice, and he declared that he would try to swim ashore to get help. The others told him he must not do it, but Shorty just laughed at them. They said the sharks would get him and that it was madness to try it. Again Shorty said he would go. They would all be lost, he said, if they got no help and it was better that one man should lose his life than a dozen.

Nothing could change Shorty's determination. He threw off his clothes and leaped into the sea. His companions watched him buffeting the waves for an hour or so and then he was lost to view. The sharks hung about the overturned boat and probably that fact saved Shorty. He reached land in four or five hours thoroughly exhausted. After a rest on the beach he hunted up some fishermen, whom he induced to go after his shipmates. They were all rescued and regained the Saratoga the next morning.

"I tell ye, boys," said the bos'n's mate, "I have a likin' for this place. I was one of that party and Shorty saved my life here. I don't know where Shorty is now. He was commended for his bravery. He said it didn't amount to nothing, modest like. I don't know whether he's alive. If he's dead, God rest his soul!"

The chief incident of the stay of the fleet in this port, aside from the exchange of official courtesies, was the coaling of the ships. That is the dirtiest work that can be done about any ship, and to an American warship in its white dress it seems almost like profanation. It's a task that the navy has learned how to do with despatch and one might almost say with neatness. At daybreak the next morning after the arrival of the fleet the colliers steamed up slowly to the sides of the ships of the first division. All had been made ready for them. Tackle and coal bags and shovels and running trucks had been prepared while the ships were making port. All hands turned to. One section from each division of each ship was sent into the hold of the collier. Four such sections were employed in the collier at once. The coaling bags, each capable of holding 800 pounds, were thrown over and then the dust began to fly. All the ventilating machinery of the ship had been stopped and canvas had covered all the openings so that as little of the dust as possible could find its way into any other place than the bunkers. The chutes to the bunkers were all open. The marines and the men of the powder division were on the turrets and other places to expedite things. Down in the coal bunkers the engineer division were put at stowing the coal away smoothly and evenly. The bunkers on such occasions in the tropics are veritable black holes and the men have to be relieved frequently.

Jack makes the best of a bad job, and coaling ship illustrates this. The men got out their old coal stowing clothes that once were white and theoretically still are white. Some of them got old discarded marine helmets for headgear. Some tied handkerchiefs around their heads, the brighter the color the better. Some had no head covering. Some rolled up the leg of one trouser just for the fun of the thing. Some wore socks over their shoes—anything to make things lively and get that coal in at the rate of 100 tons an hour.

The bags were filled, attached to the whip—as the derrick hoist is called—and swung up to the deck. There the bags were seized and those intended for stowage on the side next to the collier were dumped quickly. Those intended for the other side of the ship were placed on little trucks and pulled across the deck and then dumped. It was lively work, step and go, and laughter and good cheer enlivened the task. The ship's band was placed on the after bridge, where it played quicksteps and jigs and made the men run and heave and shovel and toss as if coaling ship was the greatest fun in the world.

The decks were sanded so that the dust would mingle with the sand and not grime the woodwork. After the coaling was over the gear was stowed away first. Then the men washed away the dirt from their hands and around their mouths, noses and eyes and all turned to, baboonlike in appearance, to clean ship. Sides were washed down and decks scrubbed. In two or three hours no one would have known that the ship had been in a black dirt storm. Then the men scrubbed their clothes and finally they scrubbed themselves, got into clean clothes and the task was over.

Four days were occupied with this work for the fleet. The last ship to be coaled was the Maine, for that ship is the greatest coal eater in the fleet. She was reserved to the last, so that she would have the largest supply possible on board for the 3,000 mile run to Rio. The Maine was coaled on Saturday and it depended upon the alertness with which it was done whether the fleet was to sail for Rio at sunset on Saturday or Sunday.

The supply ships had little to do in this port because the ships were not in need of much provisioning. Most of the ships took meat from the "beef ships," as the sailors call the supply vessels, but it was only in limited quantities.

The torpedo flotilla got under way on Christmas morning. The bluejackets were sorry to see it go on that day, for they knew they were going to have fun and wished their mates on the flotilla could also join in the merriment. The Yankton and Panther, the latter a repair ship, sailed two days later. The supply ships Culgoa and Glacier were kept to go along with the fleet because they can steam easily at the rate of 11 knots.

Up to the last day of the stay in port liberty parties were going ashore from the ships every day. To the credit of Jack let it be said that he conducted himself with the dignity that becomes the true American man-o'-war's man. Of course he patronized the saloons. Now and then one would stagger a little on coming to his ship. There were no rows, and the authorities had no complaints to make of unruly behavior. Before each party went ashore the executive officer on each ship read to them the order of Admiral Evans allowing them liberty to the fullest extent in keeping with discipline and warning them to be on their good behavior. The Admiral said that if any unhappy incident occurred ashore he would be obliged to stop all liberty. The men heeded the warning. They visited the shops, bought postal cards by the thousands, patronized jewelry stores, got all the pets they wanted, swaggered through the middle of the streets and gave Port of Spain such a coloring in local aspect as it had never seen before. Three or four baseball games were played on the great park's green. The one great stunt the bluejackets enjoyed most was to hire a hack by the hour and ride around the streets. They wrangled with the cabbies about fares, paid out their good money—it was payday on the ships the day before they arrived—and growled as true sailormen should growl when they got English money in change for their own gold and American notes. Trinidad is a place where prices are quoted mostly in dollars and cents, and yet the medium of exchange is pounds, shillings and pence. Most of the shops take American money at its face value.

The shopkeepers were alive to the situation and they made money from the call at their port. They were accommodating and profited by it. Hundreds of Panama hats were purchased. They were bought by men who would not think of purchasing such hats at home because of the high prices. The American hatters, therefore, have lost little by the transactions except the sale of ordinary straw hats in the summer time for two or three years.

The races in the great oval in front of the Queen's Park Hotel were the chief social event of the stay. Thousands attended them and the Yankee propensity to bet made its effect felt. Some of the boys were a little slow in grasping the details of the mutual pool system. A few of them won money, but most of them didn't. There were all sorts of gambling devices, wheels and cards and the like, in operation near the betting ring, and it was like throwing your money away to go against them. But Jack didn't mind that. One of the bluejackets from the Ohio said he was going to bet all he had in the hope of beating the "blooming British," because some of the English bluejackets once had difficulty in pronouncing the word Ohio. They said the name of the Ohio was "Ho and a Haich and a blooming 10," and they didn't know what to call a ship named O H and 10. The American bluejacket will not try to get revenge again, for he lost.

After the races the Queen's Park Hotel was jammed for the rest of the day and evening. Patrons of the bar were lined up six deep. It was as difficult to get a table on the veranda, or even inside, as it is to get one on New Year's eve in New York. All the rest of Trinidad goes to sleep with the chickens except the Queen's Park Hotel, and that also has an early bedtime on ordinary occasions, but the presence of American officers and the races combined made it break the Ben Franklin rule of early to bed.

And so the visit to Trinidad wore away. The fleet was really glad to leave. Most of the visitors growled and said they'd be glad never to return, but all the same every one who has once been here in the winter and experienced the delightful climate and picturesque surroundings will be glad to see it once again. The motto of the fleet now is: "Heave away for Rio."

Neptune will board us on the way.