The so-called ^great naval drill* in Florida Bay de-
tained me at Key West and Havana until spring. The
spectacle of wooden vessels exploding cans of powder
upon the ends of booms provides a memory so ludi-
crous that it belongs to the farcicalities of journalism.
Hig^ explosives, such as lyddite or T.N.T., had not
been invented ; the Whitehead torpedo was undreamed
of as a weapon of war. During that tedious winter,
I visited Santiago aboard the Powhatan, with Captain
J. C. Beaumont. There a well-authenticated story
reached me that gave a weird turn to the Keeler mys-
tery, and although its application to his disappearance
is conjectural, the narrative is sufficiently strange to
stand by itself.
