"Heads up, hands on the hips, there!" said Mr.Greene of our division, as some one obeyed an almost irresistible impulse to keep his balance by putting out his hand.

The man obeyed, but at that instant the ship gave a lurch, and the poor chap fell over on his head and almost rolled down the berth-deck hatch.
The laugh that followed was promptly suppressed, and though the exercise was not carried out with a great deal of grace or ease, Mr.Greene seemed to be satisfied with the first attempt.
We steamed along all the afternoon past the coast of Cuba and within plain sight of the beautiful, surf-rimmed beach.

We looked for signs of the enemy, but not a living thing could be seen.

Not a sign of human habitation; not an indication that any human being had ever set foot on this desolate land.

So beautiful, so grand, so lonely was it that we longed to go ashore and shout, just to set a few echoes reverberating in the hills.
Toward night, we turned seaward, and the land was lost to view; at the same time the "Yosemite," manned by the Michigan Naval Reserves, who had accompanied us thus far, dropped out of sight in the haze.