Letters that we ached for.

And so when we sighted the fleet and old fort, and realized that we had reached Key West and mail at last, our joy was too great for utterance.
The whaleboat went ashore and brought back two bags of precious missives, with the sad news that eight bags had been sent on a despatch boat to the "Yankee" at Santiago.
We were glad enough to get two bags, yet we almost gnashed our teeth when we thought of the eight fat pouches that were chasing us around the island of Cuba.
The mail was brought to the wardroom and dumped out on the table for the commissioned officers to sort and pick out their own letters.

A news-hungry group stood the while at the doors, watching and mentally grumbling that such an awfully long time was being taken to accomplish so simple a thing.
Finally the master-at-arms was sent for and the worth-its-weight-in-gold mail turned over to him to distribute.

To the gun deck poured the eager throng.

The master-at-arms backed up against the scuttle-butt for protection, then shouted out: "Let one man from each mess get the mail; the rest of you stand off, or you won't get any till to-morrow." The rest of us stood to one side then, realizing that time would be thus saved.
"Jimmy Legs" called out the names, and the representatives of the different messes took them.