"We'll go to the bottom, sure!" groaned one young fellow, who had come from a prairie farm and had never seen the ocean until he had set sail from San Francisco. "We can't stand this, and I know it. Oh, what wouldn't I give to be home again!" And he sank down on his bunk and covered his face with his hands.
"Rouse up there, Charley," said one of his friends. "Remember, you can die but once, and what's the difference if it's drowning or a Filipino bullet?"
"Oh, don't talk so, please don't, Frank," was the reply. "It's no joke, indeed it isn't!" And so the talking went on between the pair. Walter felt sorry for the prairie boy and presently walked over to give him a word of cheer.
"I don't think we'll go down," he said. "Storms like this are not unusual, and most ships weather them. The storm won't last much longer." And then the volunteer's face brightened a bit, although he was still doubtful. It must be said, however, that all the volunteers were not afraid. The majority of them took the storm, and the violent pitching of the transport, as a joke, and some of them indulged in a vast amount of "horse play" in consequence. One soldier bet another that he
