noon
Somewhere beyond that towering mountain was Santiago , the port in which the flea-like squadron of Admiral Cervera was bottled up , and there was a deadly fear in our hearts that the wily Spaniard would sally forth to battle before we could join our fleet . We pictured to ourselves the gray mountain massed high about the narrow entrance of Santiago Bay , the picturesque Morro Castle , squatting like a grim giant above the strait , and outside , tossing and bobbing upon the swell of a restless sea , the mighty semicircle of drab ships waiting , yearning for the outcoming of the Dons . We of the `` Yankee , '' I repeat , were in an agony of dread that we would arrive too late . Cape Maysi , the scene of many an adventurous filibustering expedition , was passed at high noon , and at eight bells in the evening the anchor was dropped off Mole St. Nicholas , a convenient port in the island of Hayti . As we steamed into the harbor we passed close to the auxiliary cruiser `` St. Louis . '' The anchor was scarcely on the bottom when the gig was called away . We awaited the return of Captain Brownson with impatience .