"Guess the sea was too much for them," was the general comment.

According to our reckoning we had pa.s.sed the thirty-fifth parallel of lat.i.tude, right off the Plata, just before noon. We were also in the proper longitude, but all was thick, and the general supposition was that the Argentine fleet had met our torpedo flotilla, which was more than a day ahead of us, and had escorted that into the Plata.

It was just about 1 o'clock in the afternoon when a wireless message was received from the Culgoa saying that the Argentine ships were asking him by wireless for our longitude and lat.i.tude. The figures were sent back promptly. Their figures were also given and some error was made in transmission. It was figured that they were something like 110 miles to the south and a little to the west of us. The weather began to moderate and then the opinion was that if they steered straight for us we ought to meet them about 6 o'clock that Sunday evening. But about 4 o'clock there came another message from the Culgoa, saying they were about five miles from that ship and going southwest, the same course as ours. It was a surprise.

Admiral Evans also received by wireless through the Culgoa this message of greeting from Admiral Oliva, in command of the Argentine ships:

Jan. 26, 1908, 2 p.m.

_To Rear Admiral Evans_:

The commander of the San Martin division of the Argentine navy salutes Rear Admiral Evans, his officers and men, and transmits to him the position of the Argentine division ordered to meet him as by dead reckoning lat.i.tude 36 46' S., longitude 53 41'

W.

HIPOLITO OLIVA.

To this greeting Admiral Evans sent this response:

Jan. 26, 1908, 2:43 p.m.

_To Rear Admiral Oliva_:

Rear Admiral Evans thanks the chief of the Argentine division for his courtesy and begs that he will transmit to the Argentine Government his thanks for sending a naval division to meet the United States fleet.

EVANS.

Then came another surprise. The Culgoa told us that the Argentine ships were steaming at the rate of fourteen and a half knots and were only fifteen knots away.

"Fourteen and a half knots, eh!" was the open eyed and arch browed comment. "Wonder how long they can keep that up! Pretty smart that for a South American squadron!"

The sun burst out from the clouds half an hour before sunset and the navigators got satisfactory observations and it was possible to send back our exact position. The Argentines had been groping around for us up to that time and the best they could do was to find the Culgoa and the Yankton. The long twilight of the high lat.i.tude in midsummer followed, but just after 8 o'clock the Connecticut sent a signal to the fleet and immediately shot its after searchlight high in the heavens. It caught the clouds miles and miles back, a brilliant beam. Then came another signal to the fleet and instantly the after searchlights of all sixteen ships were combined in a monstrous shaft of light that cleft a path gleaming with the brilliance of a comet's tail through the lowering clouds. It vibrated and pulsated with the glow of an aurora borealis and every quiver and dart seemed to say to the Argentines:

"Here we are! Here we are! Follow this and you'll find us. We're only going ten knots an hour. You'll soon catch up. Hurry along; we'll be glad to see you."

For twenty minutes that extract of the sun bored into the clouds behind, showing the way. It was a veritable pillar of fire by night. The combined smoke of all the smokepipes of the fleet would have made a pretty good pillar of cloud by day had it been clear, but it was too late for that now. Shortly before 9 o'clock, well astern, the faint light of a ship could be made out with the naked eye. The quartermaster on the bridge said there were four lights. Word was sent to the Captain--the usual rule when any vessel is sighted--and the news spread about, and soon dozens of men were straining their eyes to see the four lights. By a little after 10 o'clock all had become so plain that it was said the ships were within five miles. They came a little nearer and then slowed down for the night, keeping the same speed as our ships.

When daylight came on Monday, January 27, one of the fairest days nature ever provided, with a crisp southwest breeze, corresponding to the northwest breeze with us, every breath of it a tonic, the Argentine ships were about three miles astern of us. Shortly before 7 o'clock Admiral Evans ordered a double evolution. The fleet was in four divisions abreast, an Admiral leading each division. The second and fourth divisions were slowed down, and then by an oblique movement two squadrons were formed. These again were shifted into one column of sixteen ships proceeding wing and wing. The colors were hoisted at the gaff and the Argentines showed their beautiful blue and white ensigns.

Soon the Argentines were observed to put on more speed. The naval day begins at 8 o'clock in the morning. No greetings would be pa.s.sed before that time. The Argentine ships kept creeping up, and when the first pa.s.sed the Kentucky, the last ship in our column, to starboard, it was seen that her rails were manned. The Argentine ships were in war color, dark olive green. Their crews were in white. Our crews had been shifted to blue in the chilly blow of the day before, but our ships were white.

Up along the line came the Argentines. Every ship had received a signal to pay the usual honors. Marine guards were drawn up, the crews were at attention, the bands on our ships played the Argentine national hymn and the bands on the four Argentine vessels played ours.

Sixty-four times the national air of each country was played as the Argentines slowly forged ahead. Many of the officers had got out the naval books to recognize the ships of the visitors, as they might be called. Most of the officers made them out correctly. They were two armored cruisers of the Cristobal Colon cla.s.s and two protected cruisers. They were the San Martin, Buenos Ayres, Pueyrredon and 9 de Julio, and they made a smart show, each having a bone in her teeth. They were at intervals of 1,000 yards, and they kept the intervals as accurately as American ships would have done, and that is saying a great deal, as any one can testify who has seen this fleet sweep into a foreign harbor.

The San Martin had pa.s.sed the Louisiana and Vermont and was abreast of the Kansas and just behind the Connecticut, and about a thousand yards to the westward, when up went the American ensign. It was a beautiful new flag, and the bright sun lit up its folds gloriously. The ensign could scarcely have looked better upon Old Ironsides. Then a gun barked out the first detonation of the salute. One by one the guns were counted. Thirteen roared out. Then came another flash and report.

"h.e.l.lo! They're going to follow the Brazilians' example and give Admiral Evans a Vice-Admiral's salute," was the comment.

Fifteen guns sounded and then came another flash and boom. Then there was another and then they stopped. Well! The Americans were surprised.

An Admiral's salute!

"They do things in their own way down here," was the comment, and to this was added invariably: "Wish it was really true," for it must be recorded here in a spirit of accuracy that there is not an officer or sailor or marine on this fleet who, if he had his way, would not make Admiral Evans not only a vice but a full Admiral. It is the honest opinion of this fleet that he deserves to be at least a Vice-Admiral. The men in the fleet do not think it becoming to have the Commander-in-Chief fly a Rear Admiral's flag, a sight that would not be seen in any other navy.

The Connecticut responded to the salute gun for gun, as was quite proper as naval things go. The salute from the San Martin had scarcely ceased before the men on the Argentine ships broke into cheering, and well they might, for they were looking upon a naval spectacle such as few other navies have ever seen. The San Martin crept up beside the Connecticut, forged ahead and then the Connecticut with the Argentine ensign at the main fired the usual salute to the flag of another country upon the high seas. It made the men familiar with the etiquette of salutes jump. It was thrilling to them. The San Martin answered quickly and the exchange of courtesies with guns and bands and manning of rails was ended. But not all the exchange was over. The wireless keys were ticking now and this message came from Admiral Oliva to Admiral Evans:

Jan. 27, 1908, 8:28 a.m.

_To Rear Admiral Evans_:

Having completed the honorable duty with which I am charged by my Government, I am about to part company for Buenos Ayres, and it would give me great pleasure to transmit any despatches for Admiral Evans.

OLIVA.

Admiral Evans sent this reply:

Jan. 27, 1908, 8:57 a.m.

_To Rear Admiral Oliva_:

The Commander-in-Chief thanks you and the Argentine Government most heartily for the graceful honor done his fleet. He will thank you to transmit to Washington upon your arrival in port that we are all well and proceeding to our destination in the Pacific. He wishes you a pleasant cruise.

EVANS.

A further exchange of good wishes for pleasant trips followed.

Then the Argentine ships sheered off. They did it most politely.

Although their destination was more than 300 miles to the rear, they turned a right oblique, the movement being done in a way that excited the admiration of the Americans, and went off in the same general direction in which our fleet was travelling.

"Don't want to turn their backs on us!" was the explanation given. In toward the coast they went, and not until they were nearly hull down did they turn about and head for home. It was a pretty compliment from most polite men on extremely smart ships.

"That's a real navy!" said the Americans, "even if it is small!"

Coming, as the exchange of greetings did, upon the first bright day after the departure of our fleet from Rio amid gloom and other depressing surroundings, it warmed up the hearts of those on the fleet and the cheers for the Argentine Republic and her navy were genuine expressions of good will.

All that day and the day following the high seas greeting of the Argentines, the ocean was remarkable for its placidity. It was about as boisterous as the heaving billows of famous Cheesequake Creek under a hot summer sun. On the night of the second day of this there came indications of a change. The sea lumped itself a little, the wind changed and on the following morning, Wednesday, January 29, there came the first experience with fog on this voyage. The ships had been manoeuvred into a different formation from that on the way to Rio. The four vessels of the first division were abreast at 400 yards interval, with the flagship as right guide. The three other divisions followed each at 1,600 yards distance, the flagship of each division acting as right guide and directly behind the Connecticut. It was a very open formation and seemed to fill the entire circle of the horizon.

Along about 8 o'clock in the morning a fog bank was noticed directly ahead. The temperature had risen about 10 degrees. The day was clear but a blanket of mist hung over the water. There was no time, even had there been any inclination to do so on the flagship, to order the fleet into exact column and put over the towing spars, whereby each ship can tell when it is exactly 400 yards astern of its predecessor.

Orders were given to turn on searchlights in case the ships were obscured from one another. It wasn't long before each ship was cut off from the rest. Then came the turning on of searchlights. One naturally would think that this would be almost farcical when the sun was shining, but not so. Those bright little suns could be seen on the ships near by, gleaming through the mist, when the outlines of a ship only 400 yards away could not be made out. You could keep your distance easily in this way. You knew where your nearest neighbor was, and often you could make out the position of two or three of your neighbors. The lights looked like reflections of the sun in a mirror, only slightly obscured. You can see that, you know, any time a looking gla.s.s is used in daylight, as many a small boy has found out when he plays pranks. The glare from the ships was truly a beacon in the gloom, and it made you feel comfortable as you thought of the dangers of navigating those immense ships in close proximity in a treacherous fog.

Sometimes the fog would lift and you could get a view of the ships of your own division. Occasionally the ships of the division behind you would be revealed in the same way. Then would come another thick bank and you would be shut out from the rest of the world, and then you would take particular notice of the signalling by whistles. Each ship would sound its own letter by the toots which made the number corresponding to its letter. This is the way it would go:

Connecticut--Letter F--Toot, toot--toot, toot--toot, toot--t-o-o-t!

Kansas--Letter S--Toot, toot--t-o-o-t--toot, toot.

Vermont--Letter R--Toot, toot--t-o-o-t--t-o-o-t.

Louisiana--Letter W--T-o-o-t--t-o-o-t--toot, toot--t-o-o-t.