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On Foreign Service; Or, The Santa Cruz Revolution

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Title: On Foreign Service; Or, The Santa Cruz Revolution

Creator: T. T. Jeans

Illustrator: W. Rainey


        
Release date: June 7, 2014 [eBook #45914]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45914

Credits: Produced by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON FOREIGN SERVICE; OR, THE SANTA CRUZ REVOLUTION ***




Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover art]




            *[Frontispiece: "I HAULED IT UP HAND OVER HAND"
                         (missing from book)]*




                           On Foreign Service

                     Or, The Santa Cruz Revolution


                                   BY

                    STAFF SURGEON T. T. JEANS, R.N.

                Author of "Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N."
                       "Ford of H.M.S. Vigilant"



                 _ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I._



                        BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
                       LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
                                  1911




                               *Preface*


This story is based on experiences, of my own, in various parts of the
world, and describes a Revolution in a South American Republic, and the
part played by two armoured cruisers whilst protecting British
interests.

It describes life aboard a modern man-of-war, and attempts to show how
the command of the sea exercises a controlling influence on the issue of
land operations.

As the proof sheets have been read by several officers of the Royal Navy
and Royal Marines, and many suggestions and corrections made, the naval
portion of the story may be taken to give an accurate description of the
incidents narrated.

T. T. JEANS,
       Staff Surgeon, Royal Navy.

ROYAL NAVAL HOSPITAL,
       CHATHAM.




                               *Contents*

CHAP.

      I. Ordered to Santa Cruz
     II. A Revolution imminent
    III. The Revolution breaks out
     IV. The Rescue of the Sub
      V. Gerald Wilson Captures San Fernando
     VI. The *Hector* goes to San Fernando
    VII. General Zorilla falls back
   VIII. Zorilla loses his Guns
     IX. Zorilla attacks
      X. The Fight round the Casino
     XI. San Fernando attacked from the Sea
    XII. How we fought the Four Point Sevens
   XIII. Bad News for Gerald Wilson
    XIV. *La Buena Presidente* Fights
     XV. The Santa Cruz Fleet again
    XVI. The Attack on Santa Cruz
   XVII. The Ex-policeman
  XVIII. The *Hector* goes Home




                            *Illustrations*


"I hauled it up hand over hand" . . . _Frontispiece_ (missing from book)

"His eyes simply spat fire"

"Is that Gerald Wilson aboard?"

"I gave the first a blow on the point of his jaw"

"I dodged to the rear of the first wagon"

Mr. Bostock takes Command

The effect of the Shell

Scrambling down the Mountain Side




                              *CHAPTER I*

                        *Ordered to Santa Cruz*


            _Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._


Only eight months ago Ginger Hood and I had been midshipmen aboard the
old _Vengeance_, and of course had spent most of our time, in her,
trying to get to windward of her sub, pull his leg, and dodge any job of
work which came along.  Now the boot was on the other leg, for we were
sub-lieutenants ourselves--he in the _Hercules_, I in the _Hector_, with
gun-rooms of our own to boss, and as we'd only been at the job for a
month, you can guess that we hadn't quite settled down yet, and felt
jolly much like fish out of water.

The _Hector_ and _Hercules_ were two big armoured cruisers, as like as
two peas, and they had come straight out from England to Gibraltar to
work up for their first gunnery practices.  For the last ten days they
had been lying inside the New Mole waiting for a strong south-easter to
blow itself out, and we had taken the opportunity of trying to make our
two gun-rooms friendly; for, as a matter of fact, they hated each other
like poison, his mids. taking every opportunity of being rude to mine,
and mine to his.  These rows were always reported to us, and if we
hadn't been such chums, I do believe that we, too, should have fallen
out.  If a _Hercules_ mid. came aboard the _Hector_ on duty, my chaps
would let him wear his legs out on the quarterdeck for hours sooner than
ask him down below, and you can guess that they were just as kind aboard
the _Hercules_ if any of my mids. had to go aboard her.  I had sixteen
of the beauties in my gun-room to look after, and Ginger had fifteen; if
his were more bother to him than mine were to me, I don't wonder he
thought that his hair was turning grey.  Never did they meet ashore
without a free fight or some trouble or another cropping up.  The row
had started on board the _Cornwall_, where they had all been together as
cadets, over some wretched boat-race.  The winning crew had used racing
oars, which the second boat's crew either hadn't had the savvy to get,
or didn't find out till too late that they might have used.  However it
was, there had been a glorious row at the time, and as some of my mids.
had pulled in the losing boat and some of Ginger's in the winning one,
both gun-rooms still kept the feud going.

Ginger and I thought that the best way to patch up their quarrel was to
make them play matches against each other, and this we had
done--'soccer,' hockey, and cricket on the dockyard ground, and a
'rugger' game on the North Front.

There wasn't the slightest improvement.  I had jawed my chaps till I was
tired, and Ginger had jawed his, without the least effect; and now
they'd just spoilt what might have been a grand game of hockey by
squabbling all the time, claiming fouls, and 'sticks,' and nonsense like
that, every other minute.

The game had been so unpleasant that Ginger and I were thankful when it
was finished, slipped on our coats and watched our two teams quarrelling
and taunting each other as they left the ground in two separate groups.

'Look at the young fools, Billums!' Ginger said angrily.  'Did you ever
see anything so perfectly idiotic?'

'Come along up to the Club,' I said savagely. 'We'll have some tea.  It
makes one feel perfectly hopeless.  I'd like to cane the whole crowd of
them.'

Up we went together, and found the Captains and a number of the
ward-room fellows from the two ships lying back in the wicker chairs on
the verandah, basking in the sun and waiting for afternoon tea.  As we
came up the steps, they sang out to know which gun-room had won.

'_Hercules_ won, sir,' I told our Skipper, Captain Grattan.  'Won by
four to two.'

'Tut, tut, boy!  What's that now?  Still one game ahead, ain't you?'

'No, sir, we're all square.'

'Well, beat 'em next time, lad.'

A jolly chap our Skipper was--short and plump and untidy, with a merry
twinkle spreading over his funny old face, all wrinkled up with the
strain of keeping his eyeglass in place.  Everybody knew him as 'Old Tin
Eye,' and he was so jolly unaffected that nobody could help liking him.

As we leant our hockey sticks up against the railings and sat down in
the corner, we could hear him chaffing Captain Roger Hill, the tall,
thin, beautifully dressed Skipper of the _Hercules_, and could jolly
well see by the way he fidgeted in his chair that he didn't like it a
little bit.  Old Tin Eye would call him 'Spats,' and he didn't like it
in public, and squirmed lest we inferior mortals should hear of it. I
don't suppose he knew that nobody ever did call him anything but
'Spats.'  You see, he never went ashore without white canvas spats over
his boots, and they were very conspicuous.

Our Fleet Surgeon, Watson--a morose kind of chap--and Molineux, the
Fleet Surgeon of the _Hercules_, stopped talking 'shop' to ask Ginger
how many goals he'd scored (Ginger was the terror of his team); and
Montague, our Gunnery Lieutenant, and Barton, their gunnery-man, left
off talking about the coming gun-layers' 'test' to ask us if the
gun-rooms had made up their row.

'No such luck, sir,' we said.  'They're worse, if anything.'

Whilst we were having our tea, one of the Club 'boys' brought along the
little Gib. paper, and of course our Skipper had first turn.

'Cheer up, Spats, old boy!' he sang out loudly enough for every one to
hear--he loved tormenting Captain Roger Hill; 'there's trouble in Santa
Cruz again.  Old Canilla, the President, has collared half-a-dozen
Englishmen belonging to the Yucan Rubber Company, and won't give 'em up.
If you've got any shares in it you'd better sell them.'

'Hello,' I sang out to Ginger.  'I've got a brother out there.  He's
supposed to be rubber-planting, but I'll bet he spends most of his time
teaching his natives to bowl leg breaks at him.  Hope they haven't
collared him--I'm sorry for them if they have.'

We saw the telegrams ourselves later on, but there wasn't any more
information.  Old Gerald, my brother, didn't belong to the Yucan
Company, and we forgot all about it because there was a much more
exciting telegram above this one.  The United Services had beaten
Blackheath by fifteen points to five--a jolly sight more exciting that
was, especially as I had played for the U.S. this season before we left
England, and knew all the chaps playing on our side.

Well, that night I had the middle watch, and whilst the Angel and Cousin
Bob (you don't know who they are yet, but you precious soon will) were
making my cocoa, the light at the Europa Signal Station began flashing
our number.  I telephoned to the fore-bridge to smarten up the
signalman, and ask what the dickens he meant by being asleep; and then,
just for practice, and for something to do, leant up against the
quarterdeck rails and took in the signal.  'Admiral Superintendent to
Captain Grattan.  Coal lighters will come alongside at daybreak.  (Full
stop.) Both _Hector_ and _Hercules_ will fill up with coal and water as
soon as possible, and will complete with ten days' fresh provisions.
(Full stop.)'

A second or two later the signalman came running up with his signal-pad,
and, not having the faintest idea what was in the wind, I took it down
to the Skipper.  I had to shake him before he would wake; and when he
sat up in his bunk, found his eyeglass, tucked it into his eye, and read
the signal, he chuckled, 'Tut, tut, boy; we're off somewhere--finish
gunnery.  Won't old Montague be sick of life?  Show it to the Commander,
and repeat it to old "Spats"--I mean Captain Roger Hill.'

As I was tapping at the Commander's door, Cousin Bob and the Angel came
along, and I knew they were up to some dodge, for I could see them
grinning in the light of the gangway lantern.

'Couldn't you let us off watch, as we've got to coal early to-morrow?
Your cocoa's just inside the battery door,' they asked me as I went in.

The Commander was out of bed like a redshank, read the signal, and gave
me his orders for the morning.  'Can I let Temple and Sparks turn in,
sir, as we're coaling early?'

'Confound them!  I suppose they'd better, the young rascals.  Turn the
light off as you go out, and for heaven's sake make that lumbering ox of
a sentry outside my cabin take his boots off.'

I looked round to find the two mids., but they'd taken the leave for
granted and gone below, so I drank my cocoa and finished my watch by
myself.

I may as well tell you about the two young beauties.  Bob Temple was,
unfortunately for me, my cousin--a scraggy, freckled, untidy midshipman,
who hadn't the brains to get into mischief, or to get out of it again,
but for his pal the Angel.  What had made them chum together I don't
know, for the Angel (Tommy Sparks) was the exact opposite of Bob--as
spruce and ladylike a chap as you ever saw, always beautifully neat and
clean, with a face like a girl's, light hair, and blue eyes.  He looked
as though butter couldn't possibly melt in his mouth, and devoted every
moment when he wasn't asleep or eating to getting himself and my _dear_
young cousin into a scrape.  It was one of his latest efforts which had
cost them watch and watch for three days, and that was why they were
keeping the 'middle' with me that night; so you can guess why they were
so keen on the coaling signal, and had streaked down below.  It didn't
matter to me a tinker's curse how many watches the Angel kept, but with
Cousin Bob it mattered a good deal.  His people looked on me as his
bear-leader, and every time he got into a row sooner or later I heard
about it from them, or from his sister Daisy.  I'm hanged if you are
going to hear any more about her, except that she used to think me a
brute whenever his leave was stopped, or he had 'watch and watch,' and
put it all down to me.  I hadn't had to cane him yet, but I knew that
would have to happen sooner or later, and I guessed that when it did
happen, she'd write me a pretty good 'snorter.'

Don't think that Bob would peach--not he, intentionally--but I knew
exactly what he'd write home--something like this:


'The Angel sends his love--he and I cheeked the Padre at school
yesterday--we had awful fun--old Billums (that was I) caned the two of
us after evening quarters.  This morning we both pretended we couldn't
sit down, and groaned when we tried to, till the Padre went for old
Billums for laying it on so hard.  We've got our leave stopped for
trying to catch rats on the booms with a new trap which the Angel has
invented. The Commander caught his foot in it.  You should have heard
him curse.'


That was the kind of thing that used to go home, and his father and
mother, and my mother too, to say nothing of Daisy, put it all down to
me.

I had to turn the hands 'out' at seven bells, to rig coaling screens,
the whips, and all the other gear for coaling, turned over my watch to
the fat marine subaltern who relieved me, and got a couple of hours'
sleep before the coal lighters bumped alongside.

It was a case of being as nippy as fleas after that, because we _had_ to
beat the _Hercules_.  You should have seen the Angel and Cousin Bob in
blue overalls, with white cap covers pulled down over their heads,
digging out for daylight down in my coal lighter among the foretopmen,
all of them as black as niggers, shovelling coal into baskets, passing
them up the side, dodging the lumps of coal which fell out of them and
the empty baskets thrown back from the ship. There wasn't much of the
Angel left about either of them then.

At the end of the first hour we'd got in 215 tons, and as the little
numeral pendants 2-0-7 ran up to the _Hercules_ foreyard-arm to show how
many tons she had taken in, our chaps cheered.  We'd beaten her by eight
tons.

'I bet she cheated even then,' I heard Bob tell his chum.

We were still a ton or two to the good after the second hour, and then
the 'still' was sounded in both ships, and every one went to breakfast.

You should have been there to have seen us in our coaling rigs--simply a
mass of coal dust and looking like a lot of Christy Minstrels--squatting
on the deck outside the gun-room, and stuffing down sardines with our
dirty hands, every one talking and shouting and as merry as pigs in a
sty.  Even young Marchant, the new clerk, had got into a coaling rig of
sorts and worked like a horse--he was so keen to beat the hated
_Hercules_.

I gave them all a quarter of an hour to stuff themselves, and then down
we clambered into the lighters again and began filling baskets--nobody,
not even the Angel, shirking a job like this, when there was the chance
of getting even with the _Hercules_.

The men came struggling down after us, long before the breakfast
half-hour was finished, and we could see the _Hercules'_ people swarming
down into her lighters as well.

In all the lighters we must have had sixty tons or more in baskets
before the bugler sounded the commence, the ship's band upon the booms
banged out 'I'm afraid to go home in the dark,' the drum doing most of
it; the men began cheering and singing the chorus, and the baskets began
streaming on board again.

By the end of the fourth hour we were as hard at it as ever, but then
Commander Robinson--we didn't care for him much, as he was such a
bully--began bellowing at us, because the _Hercules_ was fifteen tons
ahead.  We could hear her chaps cheering. The band banged out again
'Yip-i-addy,' and the Skipper, with his eyeglass tucked in his eye and
his long hair straggling over his neck, walked round the upper deck
singing down to the lighters, 'Go it, lads, we must beat 'em.'

Down in my lighter the men were working like demons.  They looked like
demons too, got up in all sorts of queer rigs, and only stopping to take
a drink from the mess tins of oatmeal water which the 'Scorp'[#]
lighterman ladled out for them.


[#] Natives of Gibraltar are often called 'Scorps' (Rock Scorpions).


'Look out how you're trimming your lighter, Wilson,' the Commander had
bellowed.

'Aye, aye, sir,' I shouted back, but never thought what he really
meant--thought he meant we weren't working hard enough.

'We can't do no more 'ardly,' Pat O'Leary, the captain of the foretop,
panted.  'The foretop men be pulling their pound--anyway, sir,' and he
seized basket after basket and hove them on the platform rigged half-way
up the ship's side, doing the work of three men.

'Keep it up, foretop,' I shouted, shovelling for all I was worth, Bob
and the Angel keeping me busy with empty baskets.  Then there was a
warning shout from up above, a lot of chaps cried, 'Look out, sir!' and,
before I knew what had happened, I was in the water, all my chaps were
in the water, the lighter had turned turtle, and twenty or more tons of
good coal was sinking to the bottom of the harbour.

The first thing I thought was, 'We can't beat them now,' knew it was my
fault, and felt a fool.  The Commander was bellowing for me to come
aboard, and Bob and the Angel, with their faces rather cleaner and
bursting with laughter, were bobbing alongside me. Then O'Leary
spluttered out that the 'Scorp' lighterman was missing, and we both up
with our feet and dived down to find him.

The water was so thick with coal dust that we couldn't see a foot away
from us, but O'Leary touched him as he was coming up for breath and
brought him to the surface, pretty well full of water and frightened out
of his wits, though otherwise none the worse.

I did feel a fool if you like.  What had happened was that we had dug
away all the coal on one side, and I had never noticed--I was so
excited--that the lighter was gradually heeling over, till over she
went--upside down.  The band had stopped, the whole of the coaling had
stopped, the men looking over the side to see if any of us had been
drowned, till the Commander, hoarse with shouting, shrieked for them to
carry on again, whilst we clambered up the ship's side like drowned
rats, O'Leary helping the lighterman. Well, there wasn't the faintest
chance of our beating the _Hercules_ now.  Every one knew it, everyone
slacked off, and there was no more cheering and shouting of choruses.

It was my stupidity that had spoilt everything.

The only thing that I could give as an excuse was that I'd never been in
charge of a coal lighter before, but I jolly well knew that the
Commander would say, 'And I'll take care you never have charge again,'
so I kept quiet whilst he stormed at me, shouting that he'd make me pay
for the twenty tons.  When he was out of breath, he took me, dripping
with coal water, to the Captain, who was very angry and very
disappointed about the _Hercules_ part of it, but he hated the Commander
bellowing at people, so wasn't as severe as he might have been.  He sent
me away to right the lighter, and it took us--me and the foretop men--a
couple of hours to do it, fixing ropes round her under water.  We
shouldn't have done it even then hadn't Stevens--one of the Engineer
Lieutenants and a chum of mine--switched on the current to the electric
fore capstan, and we hauled her round with this.

Another loaded lighter had been brought off from the shore to make up
for the coal I'd tipped into the harbour, and then we were sent to empty
her, whilst the rest of the ship's company sat with their feet dangling
over the side, jeering at us.

By the time we had finished we were all in a pretty bad temper, all
except O'Leary, who kept up his 'pecker' till the last basket had been
filled and hauled up the side.  'I ought to have told you--anyway, sir;
I've coaled from lighters time enough to have known better,' he said,
trying to buck me up.

I reported myself to the Commander, had another burst of angry bellowing
from him, and then every one had to clean ship.

Bob and the Angel were shivering close to me, so I sent them down below
to get out of their wet things, but they were up again in a couple of
seconds, and could hardly speak for excitement.

'We're off to Santa Cruz.  They've collared a steamer as well as those
Englishmen, and we're off to give 'em beans.  Isn't that ripping?'

It jolly well was, but the youngsters had had just about enough of
working in their wet clothes, and were shaking with cold, so I sent them
down again and went on with my job--it didn't make any difference
whether hoses were turned on me or not, I was so wet.  Presently, old
Bill Perkins, our First Lieutenant, came limping along, his jolly old
red face beaming all over.  'Never mind, Wilson, we'll beat 'em another
time; lucky none of you were hurt or drowned.'  He saw that I too was
about blue with cold, and took my job whilst I changed into dry things.

Old Ginger came over after dinner from the _Hercules_. 'They're having a
sing-song in the gun-room, but I thought I'd give you a look up,' he
told me--'awfully sorry about the lighter business.'  Of course he'd
come across to cheer me, and he did too, both of us talking twenty to
the dozen about Santa Cruz and the chances of our having a 'scrap.'

My chaps presently started a bit of a jamberee, old Ginger singing a
couple of songs and joining in the choruses.  We were just beginning to
forget all about the coaling, when a signalman came down and handed
Barton, the senior mid., a signal.  'Senior Midshipman, _Hercules_, to
Ditto, _Hector_.--Hope none of you are any the worse for your nice
little swim.'

The mids. were too angry to speak for a minute, and then the storm
burst, and they called the _Hercules_ gun-room all the names they could
lay hold of, old Ginger looking very uncomfortable, and very angry too.

'Never mind, Billums,' he said.  'We've done our best to make 'em
friends, and they won't be,' and then sang out, 'Gentlemen, I apologise
for that signal--don't answer it--its beastly rude, and I'll cane the
senior midshipman to-morrow morning.'

There was no more sing-song after that, old Ginger went back to his ship
as angry as we were, and I turned in, knowing jolly well that my chaps
would hate Ginger's all the more, and that Ginger beating the senior
mid. would only make things worse.

'Let's hope we get mixed up in a 'scrap' or two out in Santa Cruz,'
Ginger had said as he went away, and I knew that that was about the only
thing that would do the trick and make them friends.

That was a bad day's work for me.  I'd shown myself a fool, the
Commander wouldn't forget my carelessness for months, and the Skipper
would feel he couldn't trust me.  That made me want to kick myself.




                              *CHAPTER II*

                        *A Revolution Imminent*


            _Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._


Early next morning, just as the sun was lighting up the signal station
at the top of the Rock, we and the _Hercules_ slipped from our buoys and
shoved off into the Atlantic, the _Hercules_ two cables astern of us.

We rounded Tarifa Lighthouse; the jolly old Rock, sticking up like an
old tooth, was hidden by the Spanish mountains; we saw the white walls
of Tangier under the snow-capped Atlas mountains, on the African side,
and then we began to tumble about merrily in the open Atlantic.  The
_Hector_ wasn't still for a minute at a time, and my mids. had something
else to think about than the latest _Hercules_ gun-room insult.  Most of
them felt pretty 'chippy,' _though of course_ it had nothing to do with
us rolling and pitching.  Rather not!  None of them were seasick,
perfectly absurd!  They were only a little out of sorts; didn't want any
breakfast, or got rid of what they did eat pretty rapidly; much
preferred lying down in a corner inside the battery screen, out of the
wind, and took a deal of 'rousting' out of it before they'd do their
job.  For all that, they'd have been awfully angry if any one had
suggested that they were seasick.  The gun-room messman had given us the
strongest of kippers for breakfast that morning--this was his idea of a
joke--and as we couldn't keep a single scuttle open, and there was
practically no ventilation in the gun-room, you can imagine that you
could almost cut the atmosphere with a knife.

[Illustration: The Hector and the Hercules]

Pearson, the A.P., the engineer sub, Raynor, and I were alone in our
glory when we began tackling the messman's kippers; but soon the mids.
came along, and it was worth a fortune to watch them put their heads
inside the gun-room, take a 'sniff,' and go away again.  Presently Bob
and the Angel came dashing down, and we three chuckled as they rushed
in, got a breath of it, stopped dead in their tracks, pretended they
didn't mind, and sat down as near the door as they could get.  We
watched them 'peck' a bit, Bob's freckles showed up more than ever, the
Angel looked perfectly green, and they were both as silent as mummies.

The ship gave a big roll to starboard, a green sea slapped over the
glass scuttles and darkened the whole gun-room; there was a crash of
crockery smashing in the pantry; Bob and the Angel grabbed their plates,
back the old _Hector_ tumbled to port; Bob's coffee-cup slid gracefully
into his lap--he could stick to it no longer--and rushed away.

The Angel lasted another lurch, but that finished him.

'Afraid I--caught--cold--in the water--yesterday--afraid Bob did
too--I'm not--very hungry--I'll see what's the matter with Bob,' he
gulped, swallowing every word; and, clapping his hand over his mouth, he
disappeared after his chum.

More than half the mids. never ventured further than the gun-room flat,
where they caught the first whiff of kipper, and those who did, didn't
stay long.

'We'd get a fine mess surplus if they'd only keep like it,' the A.P.
grinned; 'but, confound them, they won't.'

'They'd enjoy an hour down in the engine-room now.  Wouldn't they?'
Raynor chuckled.

Of course they were as right as a trivet in a couple of days, and you
may bet that they made up for those lost meals.

Every one on board expected that there might be a bit of a scrap when we
got across to Santa Cruz, and you can guess how we got hold of Brassey's
_Naval Annual_ and Jane's _Fighting Ships_ to see if Santa Cruz had any
ships good enough to give us a show.

They hadn't; that was the worst of it.  Three or four miserable
out-of-date cruisers, half-a-dozen gunboats, and a couple of torpedo
boats built in the year one.  There certainly was a cruiser building for
them at Newcastle, a ship named _La Buena Presidente_, a big monster
like our latest cruisers, and even bigger and more powerful than the
_Hector_ herself; but Raynor had seen her in the Tyne since she was
launched, knew all about her, and was certain that she couldn't be ready
inside six months.

'What a pity they didn't wait till they'd got her!' Bob said, with his
mouth open.  And that was about what we all thought.

Still, though there wasn't likely to be any sport with their wretched
Navy, we might have to bombard a fort or two, which would be good enough
business; and, more exciting even than that, we might have to send a
landing-party ashore.

We didn't waste much time all these eight days we were at sea, the
Commander, Bill Perkins, and Montague, the Gunnery Lieutenant, slapping
round, from morning to night for all they were worth.  The marines,
three companies of seamen, two field-guns' and two maxim-guns' crews,
and a stretcher party of stokers were told off to land.  Their leather
gear, haversacks, water-bottles, and rolled-up blankets were all got
ready, hung over their rifles in the racks, and, morning and evening, we
made an evolution of 'falling in' on the quarterdeck and fo'c'stle, and
getting on our gear in double quick time.

Ten of my sixteen mids. were told off to land, and were as happy as
fleas in a blanket, fitting their leather gear and sharpening their
dirks all day long, and thinking about what they'd do when they got
ashore half the night.

Marchant, the young clerk--he'd only just joined the Navy, and this was
his first ship--was told off to land as 'Old Tin Eye's' secretary.

He was being pretty well bullied and knocked into shape by the mids.,
and made to feel what a hopeless worm he was; but now there were six of
them who'd have given their heads to change places with him, and he
absolutely swelled with pride and importance.

Three days after leaving Gib. the weather became gloriously warm, the
sea simply like a sheet of glittering glass, the sun glaring on it all
day long. It was grand to be alive, and we all--officers and men
alike--went into training, and were doubled round and round, morning and
evening, till the sweat rolled off us.  Every evening, too, the parallel
bars and the horizontal bar were rigged on the quarterdeck, and the
ward-room fellows and we gun-room people did gymnastics for an hour or
so, finishing up with a follow-my-leader round the battery till we
nearly dropped.  On board the _Hercules_ they were doing gymnastics and
the new Swedish drill, on the fo'c'stle, the whole day long.  But the
sight of all was the fat blue marine subaltern--the Forlorn Hope, we
called him--doubling up and down the quarterdeck, on his own, to work
off his fat, so that he could march properly when he landed--his cheeks
flopping from side to side, and running with perspiration. I'm sure you
would have died of laughing, especially when his opposite number--the
Shadow--the awfully thin red marine subaltern, doubled round after him,
trying to work up an appetite, and put on more weight.  It was the
terribly earnest faces they shipped that made one laugh.  When you come
to think of it, the whole thing was really jolly odd.  Here were these
two great grey ships, with their long grim 9.2's and 7.5's, and their
twelve hundred odd men, pounding steadily along for eight days and
nights, to a country hardly any one of us had heard of before, and every
one on board both of them was digging out to make himself and them as
fit as 'paint,' in case there was a job for us when we did get there.

The Commander even stopped bellowing at people, and brimmed over with
good temper.

We had two great heroes on board--at any rate the mids. thought they
were--one of the lieutenants--Bigge--who had been with Sir Edward
Seymour in the Relief of Pekin force, and Mr. Bostock, the Gunner, who
had been through the siege of Ladysmith during the Boer War.

Some one told the story how five Chinamen had attacked Bigge whilst he
was trying to blow in a gate or something like that, and how he settled
the whole lot of them with his revolver.  Whether it was true or
not--and I believe it was--the mids. simply hung round him now, and
tried to get him to tell them some of his experiences.  They looked at
the little bit of yellow and red ribbon on his monkey-jacket, and simply
longed for a chance to earn something like it, and have a bit of ribbon
to stick on their chests. Although they never could get _him_ to talk
about his show, Mr. Bostock would talk about the siege of Ladysmith, and
how the naval brigade helped the sappers, that awful morning on the
crest of Wagon Hill--would talk as long as they'd like to listen.

He'd sit smoking ship's tobacco in his cabin--it hadn't any scuttle or
ventilation whatever of any account, so you can have an idea what the
smell was like--and the mids. would crowd in, those who couldn't do so
squeezing into the doorway, and listen by the hour.  Nothing else but
war was talked about from morning to night.

Well, on the ninth day out from Gibraltar, we sighted Prince Rupert's
Island, ran in through the northern channel, and anchored two miles off
Princes Town in a great wide bay, with the dark mountains of Santa Cruz
just showing up on the horizon away to the west.  Somewhere up among
them old Gerald was teaching his natives to play cricket.

The Skipper went ashore immediately in the picketboat, to call on the
Governor and get news and fresh orders; so you can guess how excited we
all were when she was seen coming tearing off again, and the Skipper ran
up the accommodation ladder.  I believe every officer in the ship was up
on the quarterdeck to hear the news, and you can just imagine what we
felt like when we saw that the Skipper had shipped a long face, and when
he shook his head at us and went down below.

In three minutes we knew the worst--it was all over the ship.  The
Englishmen and the English steamer had been released; old Canilla, the
President, had apologised handsomely, and all was peace. Wasn't it
sickening?

'Ain't it a bally shame,' Montague, the Gunnery Lieutenant, said,
'stoppin' our gun-layers' test at Gib., just as we were in the thick of
it; bringin' us lolloppin' along here, and nothin' for us to do when we
get here--no landin' party, no nothin'.'  And he sent word down to Mr.
Bostock to re-stow and pack up all the leather gear and water-bottles.

'It do take the 'eart out of one,' Mr. Bostock told the sympathising
mids., 'not a blooming chawnce to let off so much as a single ball
cartridge,' and he went below to see that none of his landing party gear
was missing.

The Governor himself came off to return the Skipper's call, and brought
off some of the shore chaps with a challenge to play us at football,
hockey, tennis, cricket, polo, or anything and everything we jolly well
liked.

That bucked us all up a bit, and Clegg, our Surgeon--a great, tall chap
and a grand cricketer--who ran the sports on board, sent for me to fix
up things.  Between us we fixed enough matches to last the first ten
days.

'Can't play you at polo,' we told them, 'we've only got one chap who's
ever played in his life.'

'Well, I'll tell you what we'll do,' one of them said, 'we'll lend you
ponies to practise for the match, and if you'll lend us one of your
boats, we'll practise in her, and pull a race against you in ten days'
time. What d'you say to that?  That'll even up matters a bit.'

'Let's get this little lot finished first,' we said, laughing.

They were a sporting crowd.  This was a Tuesday. On Wednesday we were to
play Princes' Town at rugby--it made me sweat only to think of it,
although this was what they called their winter--whilst the _Hercules_
was to play the Country Club.  On Thursday we were to change rounds, and
on Friday the two ships were to play the whole of Prince Rupert's
Island.

On Saturday they thought we might have a cricket match--if it wasn't too
_cold_!  'Right you are,' we said, 'if there's anything left of
us--though we shall probably be melted by that time.'

There were dances every night, and picnics and tennis parties for those
who weren't playing anything else.

'We're going to have a fizzing time, Wilson, after all,' Dr. Clegg said,
as we watched them go ashore, after having had no end of a job to get
their boat alongside, because there was such a crowd of native boats
swarming round the foot of the ladder, loaded down to the gunwales with
bananas, oranges, melons, and things like that, the buck niggers on
board them quarrelling, and squealing, and laughing, dodging the lumps
of coal the side boys threw to make them keep their boats away from the
gangway.

Most of the boats had their stern-sheets weighted down with black
ladies, dressed in white calico skirts and coloured blouses, trying to
look dignified and squealing all the time, holding up bits of paper
whenever they caught sight of an officer, and singing out, 'Mister
Officah, I vash your clo's--I hab de letter from naval officah--I good
vasher-lady, you tell quatamasta, let me aboard--all de rest only black
trash.'

They were allowed on board presently, and down into the gun-room flat
they swarmed--old ones, young ones, fat ones, and thin ones, all trying
to get our washing to take ashore.  'Me Betsy Jones, me vash for Prince
George, sah!  I know Prince George when he so high, sah!  Betsy good
vasher-lady, you give me your vashing.' They were all round the 'Angel.'
'Ah! bless your pretty heart, my deah, you give your vashing to Matilda
Ann; I vash for Prince George and for Admiral Keppel--verrah nice man
Admiral Keppel.'  He was pulled from one to the other, and when he
escaped into the gun-room they followed him.  He was jolly glad to hear
the picketboat called away and escape.

It was all very well to arrange matches; but a wretched collier came
creeping into the bay that very afternoon with three thousand tons of
Welsh coal for the _Hercules_ and ourselves, and, instead of playing
football, we jolly well had to empty her between us. There was no going
ashore for any one except the paymasters, and for two whole days we were
busy. The heat of it and the dirt of it were positively beastly. It took
us twenty-two solid hours to get in 1400 tons, because the men couldn't
work well in that heat.  It was bad enough on deck, but down in the
collier and down below in our own bunkers the heat was simply terrific.

We felt like bits of chewed string when we did go ashore on the third
day to play the combined match, and chewed string wasn't in it after
we'd been playing ten minutes.  I don't think that we could have
possibly held our own, but that game never ended. We were waiting for
the 'Angel' to get back his breath after being 'winded,' and were wiping
the sweat out of our eyes, when a marine orderly came running on to the
ground with orders from the Skipper for us to return on board at once.

We stuck the 'Angel' on his feet, told the other chaps what had
happened, bolted for our coats, and were off through the town to the
Governor's steps as fast as we could go, the marine orderly puffing
behind us and the nigger boys, thinking we were running away from the
Prince Rupert's team, shouting rude things after us.

Boats were waiting there, the ward-room and gun-room messmen came along,
followed by strings of niggers carrying fruit and live fowls and
turkeys--everything was bundled down into the stern-sheets--there was no
time for ceremony--and we were only waiting for Perkins, the First
Lieutenant, who was lame and couldn't run.  He'd being doing touch
judge.

Cousin Bob was the midshipman of the boat--the second barge.  'What's
up?' I asked him.  'Somebody's died--over in Santa Cruz--and we're
ordered off to Los Angelos at once.  We're to attend the funeral or
something like that.'

'Funeral!' we groaned; 'fancy spoiling a football match for a funeral,'
and the 'Angel,' who'd recovered by now, squeaked out that he'd already
engaged most of his partners for the dances--'ripping fine girls, too,
you chaps.'

Perkins came hobbling along, his red face redder than ever, hustled his
way through the laughing, jostling crowd of niggers at the top of the
steps, and jumped down among us, mopping his face.  'All in the day's
work, lads; shove off, I'm in the boat.'

'Hi, Bill!' some of the ward-room people sang out, 'some one wants you,'
and they pointed to where an enormously stout black lady was elbowing
her way to the front.

'Hi, Massa Perkins!  Hi, Massa Perkins!  How d'ye do, Massa Perkins--me
Arabella de Montmorency--you sabby Arabella--Arabella see your deah red
face--vash for you in de flagship--de _Cleopatra_--you owe Arabella
three shillin' and tuppence--you pay Arabella--vat for you no pay
Arabella--Arabella vash for you when you midshipman in de _Cleopatra_.'

'All right, old girl,' Perkins sang out, waving his stick cheerily at
her, 'I sabby you, you come aboard, by an' by, when we come back--give
you some ship's baccy--come aboard the _Hector_.'

'Shove off,' he told Bob, and off we pulled, the crew grinning from ear
to ear, and the niggers all cackling with laughter, dancing about and
singing out, 'Three cheers for the red, white, and blue,' 'Old England
for ebber,' and Mrs. Arabella's voice following us, 'I mak' de prayer to
de good Lo'd for Massa Perkins--Him keepa Massa Perkins from
harm--Arabella want de three shillin' and tuppence.'

'You've got some nice friends, Bill,' the ward-room officers chaffed
him.

The cable was already clanking in through the hawse-pipe as we got
aboard, and in half an hour the _Hercules_ was following us out through
the eastern passage, and we headed across for the mainland and Santa
Cruz.

It was my morning watch next morning (from four to eight), and it was a
grand sight to see the sun rise behind us, flooding the calm sea with
red and orange colours, whilst the little wisps of clouds which hung
about the sides of the fierce-looking mountains of Santa Cruz, in front
of us, kept on changing from gold to pink and from pink to orange.

O'Leary was the quarter-master of the watch, and I saw the old chap
looking at them.  He shook his head at me, 'Better than an
"oleo"--that--sir.  That's God's own picture.'

Even the stokers who'd just come off watch and were cooling themselves,
down on the fo'c'stle below us, stood watching the grand sight, and
then, down at the foot of the mountains, a long white line showed up.

'That's the breakwater at Los Angelos,' fat little Carlton, our
navigator, told me.

As we forged along through the oily, glistening sea, and got closer, we
could see the masts and funnels and fighting-tops of the little Navy of
Santa Cruz sheltering behind it, all tinged with the sunrise; and the
hundreds of windows in the lighthouse and the houses clustered at the
foot of the mountains were all glowing as if they were on fire.  If old
Gerald had heard we were coming, it was quite likely that he'd come down
from the estate and might be snoring on his back behind one of them,
snoring like a good 'un and dreaming about the last football match he'd
played in.

Then high up the side of the dark mountains a ball of white smoke shot
out, hung there in the still air for a second or two, and melted away,
changing colour as it disappeared.

'That's the sunrise gun, sir, from one of their forts, sir.  Them Dagos
be half an hour adrift, I'm blowed if they ain't,' O'Leary said.

The bridge was crowding up now, for the Skipper and the Commander and a
host of mids. had come along to bring the ships to anchor.

'Pretty sight that,' the Skipper grunted, squinting through his
eyeglass.

'Like pink icing on a wedding cake, sir,' the Commander added, thinking
he'd said something funny.

'Yes, sir; beautiful, sir,' chipped in the navigator, really wondering
what the Skipper was referring to, but very eager to agree with him--he
would have licked his boots if he thought the Skipper would like it.

'Bring ship to an anchor,' snapped out the Skipper, and the boat's'n's
mates piped, 'Watch, bring ship to an anchor--duty-men to their
stations--away second barges.'

The anchoring pendants were run up to our masthead--the answering
pendant on board the _Hercules_ got to her masthead almost as soon--and
we moved slower and slower in towards the breakwater.

The navigator reported, 'On our bearings, sir;' the Skipper nodded to
the Commander, who bellowed down to the fo'c'stle, 'Let go;' the
signalman hauled down the pendants; the starboard anchor splashed into
the sea, and the cable began rattling out through the hawse-pipes.

Down went the pendant aboard the _Hercules_, and her anchor splashed
behind us.

'Full speed astern both,' snapped the Skipper to the man at the
engine-room telegraph and the water churned up under our stern.

'Going astern, sir,' sang out the leadsman, with an eye on the water.

'Stop engines,' the Skipper snapped again, and the old _Hector_ was once
more at anchor.

At eight o'clock we saluted the Santa Cruz flag; the fort, up in the
clouds, which had fired the sunrise gun, returned it after a while, and
the swarthy little port doctor came out from behind the breakwater, in a
fussy little steam-launch, to see if we had any infectious diseases on
board, and as we hadn't, to give us 'pratigue'--take us out of
quarantine.

After a lot of silly rot, he bowed and scraped himself on board, said
'bueno, bueno,' about a hundred times, bowed and scraped himself down
the ladder into his boat, and went fussing back behind the breakwater
again.

He'd brought some letters from our Minister at Santa Cruz, and it turned
out that it was the President's wife who had died.  She was to be buried
next day, so we were a trifle early.

'We might have finished that "footer" match after all,' I heard the
Angel grumble to Cousin Bob.

I rather hoped that Gerald would have written, but he hadn't--he was a
terrible hand at writing letters.

The Skipper--Old Tin Eye--went ashore to call on the Military Governor,
who returned his call almost before he could get back.

He was a long, lean, hollow-cheeked Spanish kind of a chap, in a white
uniform and marvellous hat with green and yellow plumes, his chest
covered with medals and orders--a grand-looking old fighting-cock. He
brought with him his two A.D.C.'s--one of them as black as your hat, and
the other fat and short, with an enormous curved sabre ten sizes too big
for him and gilt spurs so long that he could hardly get down the
ladders, even by walking sideways.  He looked just like a pantomime
soldier.

He brought his black pal down to the gun-room to leave the Governor's
cards, and, as he could speak a little English, we got on all right.

I noticed him looking at me rather curiously, and at last he said, 'You
know Senor Geraldio Wilson?'

'Old Gerald! he's my brother.  Why?' I asked.

'You have the same,' and he pointed to his face and hair.  Old Gerald
has the same yellowish hair and grey eyes that I have.

Funny that he'd spotted me, wasn't it, for we never thought each other
much alike?

'You know Gerald?' I asked him.

'All peoples know Senor Geraldio,' he replied, very courteously, but
with an expression on his face as if he wasn't going to say any more.

We took them on deck, and whilst their boat was being brought alongside,
and they were waiting for the Governor to come up from the Captain's
cabin, they were awfully keen on the after 9.2 gun.

'Make shoot many kilometres?' the fat chap asked.

'About thirty,' I told him, doing a rough calculation in my head, and he
told his black pal, and they jerked their thumbs towards the mountains.
It didn't take much brains to guess that they were wondering whether we
could shell the city of Santa Cruz itself. They looked at that gun jolly
respectfully after that.

Later on that day, we learnt a lot about local politics from two English
merchants, who came off to call and feel English 'ground'--as they
expressed it--under their feet again.  They looked jolly cool in their
white clothes and pith sun-helmets.

'It's a mighty change from a week ago,' they said. 'All the Europeans
and Americans here at Los Angelos and up in Santa Cruz were practically
prisoners, some had actually been thrown into San Sebastian--the old
fort of Santa Cruz--and we were all expecting notice to quit the
country, when they heard that you were coming along, apologised to the
chaps in San Sebastian, and let the rest of us along.  We're glad to see
you, you bet we are, for there's trouble coming.'

'What?  Where?' we asked, frightfully keen to know, all the mids.
crowding round and keeping as silent as mice.

'Revolution! that's what's coming.  It's as certain as we're sitting
here.  Old Canilla, the President, is hated everywhere, except in his
own province of Santa Cruz and the city itself.  The country will revolt
directly the Vice-President--de Costa--gives the word. It's been coming
for years, but Mrs. President, the old lady who's to be buried
to-morrow, was the Vice-President's sister, and, though they hate each
other like poison, she kept the peace between her husband and her
brother.  'Every one called her _La Buena Presidente_, and now she's
gone'--they shrugged their shoulders--'we don't know what will happen.
The very day _La Buena Presidente_, poor old lady, died, General
Angostina was shot in the back--he was the most popular general in the
country and backed the de Costas--and no attempt has been made to arrest
his assassins, who boast about it at the Military Club.  In fact, the
paper this morning says that one has been promoted for "services to his
country."'

'_La Buena Presidente_?' the A.P. sang out; 'that's the name of the new
cruiser building for them at Newcastle.'

'Named after her,' one of them said.  'She's big enough to sink the
whole of the rest of their fleet, and that's where the trouble comes in.
The fleet is loyal to the President just now, but he's in a terrible
funk lest the crew he is sending to England to bring her here alter
their minds.  If they do, they can make cat's-meat of the rest, and then
old Canilla's up a tree, for he can't scotch a revolution in the
provinces to north and south of him, unless he holds command of the sea
and prevents them joining forces.

'When's this revolution to start?' we asked rather chaffingly.

'To-morrow at 1.25 sharp.  That's the official time for the funeral
service to end, and till then Canilla and de Costa will be friends.
To-morrow night there won't be a single friend of the Vice-President in
Santa Cruz, unless he's shot or in San Sebastian.  De Costa himself
won't be in Santa Cruz either, unless he's shot or arrested as he leaves
the cathedral.  He'll be off to his own province of Leon. Now you can
guess why we're glad to see you.'

'I'm jolly glad we didn't stay to finish that footer match,' the Angel
sang out, as they took their leave. 'We're going to have some jolly fun,
ain't we, Bob?'

'D'you know a chap called Gerald Wilson, a brother of mine?' I asked one
of them, a very fat chap, whose name was Macdonald.  'A chap with yellow
hair something like mine and a jaw like an ox.'

'Know him!' he answered quickly; ''pon my word, I've been looking at you
and wondering whom you were like.  Why, you're as like as two peas,
though he's a bit broader and taller.'

'Do we know Gerald Wilson?  Don Geraldio? Why, my dear chap, every one
knows your brother,' the other Englishman joined in.  'He's the maddest
chap in the country, and if our Minister doesn't get him out of it
pretty quickly, he'll get his throat cut.'

'Or be a general in the revolutionary army,' Macdonald added.  'He's
right "in" with the de Costas.'

Well, that was exciting if you like--to me, but the mater would be
awfully upset if she knew--poor old mater.

'Where's he now?' I asked excitedly.  'I've not seen him for five
years.'

'Up in Santa Cruz, he lives at the European Club,' Macdonald answered.
Then an idea struck him, and he continued, 'Some of your people are
going up to the funeral.  If you like to go, I'll take you; get ashore
to-morrow morning by 6.30.  I'm driving up. The funeral will be worth
seeing, even if you hadn't your brother up there.  I'll find him for
you.'

'Thank you very much, I'll try and get leave,' I told him, as he went
down into his boat.

'You can bring a couple of your midshipmen if you like,' he shouted up.

I was so excited I hardly knew what to think or do, it was so worrying
about Gerald, from the mater's point of view, and so splendid from mine.

To-morrow was my day 'off,' the Commander gave me leave, the two mids.
were, of course, the Angel and Cousin Bob, and they were too excited to
do anything else but walk up and down the quarterdeck with their eyes
glued on the mountains, where Santa Cruz lay, in the clouds, five
thousand feet above them.




                             *CHAPTER III*

                      *The Revolution breaks out*


            _Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._


A whole crowd of us from the _Hector_ and the _Hercules_, all bound for
Santa Cruz, went ashore at six o'clock next morning.  On our way
inshore, after we'd pulled round the head of the breakwater, we had a
good view of the Santa Cruz ships.  Rotters they all looked, slovenly
kept, nothing seamanlike or shipshape about them, with their 'wash
clothes' hung about the rigging and even over the quarterdeck
railings--anyhow.

And a funny-looking crowd of soldiers they had too, falling in on the
wharf where we landed, ready to receive the two Skippers when they came
ashore--in uniform--to attend the funeral on duty.  They were all South
American natives or full-blooded niggers, half of them bare-footed, none
of them dressed alike.  Some had hats like the French army _kepi_,
others, broad-brimmed felt or straw hats; their shirts were of every
colour under the sun, and a pair of loose dirty cotton trousers seemed
to be about the only uniform they had.  They all had rifles--of sorts--a
bayonet, and a leathern belt hanging loose over their hips to support a
cartridge pouch, but many had lost their bayonet frogs and scabbards,
and simply stuck the naked bayonet inside the belt.

My chum with the gilt spurs and enormous sabre seemed to be bossing the
show, and was too busy trying to get the men into something like order
to notice me.

We all pushed our way along through a not at all friendly mob of people,
Bob and the Angel sticking to me like leeches.  Then we lost the rest of
our people, and felt pretty lost ourselves till a grinning native caught
hold of my sleeve.

'_Buenos_!  _Senor_!  You _Senor Wilson_?  _Senor_ Macdonald send me.  I
his boy.'

We were jolly glad to find any one who would take us to him.

'How did you find me in the crowd?' I asked him.

'_Senor_ Macdonald say you like _Senor Geraldio_. All peoples know Senor
Geraldio.'

'Blowed for a yarn,' I thought.  'Old Gerald wouldn't be very
flattered.'

We stepped out briskly enough then, and you ought to have seen the Angel
strutting along in the middle of the road, in a blue suit and straw hat,
the trousers beautifully creased, the latest thing in ties round his
neck, the most startling thing in socks showing under his turned-up
trousers, looking as if he was off to a tea-party in Southsea.  Even the
niggers smiled at him and got out of his way.  We came upon Macdonald in
a minute or two, waiting for us at a corner, with a carriage and six
grand-looking mules--the carriage was like a big two-wheeled governess
cart with an awning over it, and he was so enormous that he almost
filled it.

In we jumped, the two mids. managed to squeeze themselves alongside the
native driver, our guide kicked the mules in the stomach, one after the
other, just to wake them up; the driver cracked his whip, and away we
went bump-terappity along the bumpy road, the bells on the harness
jingling like fun.

We clattered along past rows and rows of red mud cottages, dogs flying
out at us from every door, and giving the two mids. a grand time with
the whip, pack mules tied up to the door-posts frisking about and
kicking up their heels as we went past, and long-legged fowls scattering
like smoke in front of us.

'You're extraordinarily like your brother, now you're in plain clothes,'
Mr. Macdonald muttered, with his mouth full--for he'd started on the
hampers already.

'Jolly proud of it,' I answered, but he only made a face and shrugged
his shoulders.

We started climbing soon after, and the mules had a pretty hard time of
it for the next three hours, zigzagging up the most appalling road,
panting and grunting.  The mids. and I walked the steepest parts, but
neither the driver nor Mr. Macdonald budged from their seats.  The
higher we got the more cheerful we were.  It was grand looking down at
Puerta and the sea, with the _Hector_ and _Hercules_ like toy ships
lying inside the breakwater, but Mr. Macdonald did not let us stop
anywhere for more than a minute at a time, because there was a whole
line of jangling mule carriages coming up after us, and he didn't want
to be overtaken.  The mids. didn't either, for there were four
_Hercules_ mids. in the one next behind us, and they were not going to
be beaten by them if they could help it.

Every now and again, at the corners where the road zig-zagged, we came
across thirty or forty native soldiers, evidently guarding the way.

'That looks as if they were expecting trouble,' Mr. Macdonald told me.
'It's most unusual.  D'you see the colours they have in their hats?'

Nearly all of them had a patch of yellow and green stripes sewn on.

'I've never seen the regular troops wearing them,' he said.  'Did you
notice that the stripes were _vertical_!  That means that they are
President's men.  The de Costa's colours are black and green, but the
stripes are worn _horizontally_, and of course they aren't allowed to
wear them.'

He shook his head very ominously.

'Things are going to hum to-day.  You'd have been wiser to stay on
board.  You're too like your brother.'

You can guess that this only made it more jolly exciting.

Every now and then we met long trains of mules or donkeys, with huge
bundles on their backs, pacing wearily down the road.

'They're carrying rubber or cocoa down to Los Angelos,' Mr. Macdonald
said.  'The President makes them bring all their rubber through Los
Angelos; that's one of the grievances they have against him.'

Jolly interesting everything was, and once the men with one long mule
train took off their big hats, bowing and saying, '_buenos_.'

'They're doing it to you, not to me,' Mr. Macdonald said.  'They're from
Paquintos, close to your brother's estate, and think you are he.'

It was a jolly funny feeling to land at this out-of-the-way spot and
find so many people appear to know me; don't you think it was?

By this time we had left the shade of the tropical trees below us, and
the road and the side of the mountain were simply bare rock--the heat
terrific. At half-past ten we were at the top, and got our first glimpse
of Santa Cruz spread out in a hollow beneath us, with mountain ridges
all round it.  Our mules roused themselves into a trot, and we slung
along at a good rate, kicking up a cloud of dust.  The _Hercules_ mids.
had been gradually drawing closer, and now they came along at a gallop,
and would have passed us, singing out rude remarks, but the Angel seized
the whip and beat our poor brutes into a gallop too, and the teams
simply tore along, side by side, the drivers having all they could do to
keep on the road.  The two carriages bounced along close together, I
thought the wheels would lock every other second, and the mids. were
hitting at each other with their sticks and shouting.

Luckily we didn't meet anything, but I saw that, just ahead, the road
narrowed, and that we couldn't possibly get through there side by side.

'Let them go ahead,' I shouted, and leant over to help the driver pull
in the team, but then one of the _Hercules_ mids. sang out, 'Who upset
the coal lighter?' the others shouted, 'The rotten _Hectors_!'--and that
made me as mad as a hatter.  I didn't care whether we all went to glory
or not so long as we beat them--after that.

'Pull up, you fools!' Mr. Macdonald shouted, but the mules were quite
out of hand.

We came to the narrow part, the leading mules bumped into each other,
then the others, till the wheelers were touching; our axles bumped once
or twice, there was a lurch and a crash, the other carriage toppled over
on to the bank, the wheeler mules were on their backs, and the mids.
shot out head over heels as we flew past, the Angel and Bob cheering
wildly.

Before we were out of sight we saw the four mids. and the driver on
their feet again, trying to right the carriage, so I knew they weren't
hurt.

Mr. Macdonald simply wagged his head from side to side.  'It was my
weight brought us through--you'd have upset but for me.'

I do actually believe he enjoyed it.

We were in the city itself by now, and the mules had steadied down on
the rough stone streets crowded with people on foot or riding horses or
mules.  There were soldiers at every corner--quite smart chaps
these--and they all had the vertical green and yellow stripes in their
helmets or hats.  The same colours, hoisted with the stripes vertical,
hung at half-mast from nearly every house, and the few women, we saw,
had the same colours too.

'There are some of de Costa's people,' Mr. Macdonald sung out, as we
passed a group of sunburnt men outside a cafe.  I looked, and saw that
they had patches of green and black stripes worn horizontally.

'They call the two parties the Verticals and Horizontals,' Mr. Macdonald
told me.  'Those are countrymen; you can see that by their rig.'

'Hi!' he sung out; 'look up there, up to the left, that's San Sebastian,
where our chaps were put in "chokey" a fortnight ago.'

It was a crumbling old fort perched on a rocky hill just above the big
building, and we three looked at it jolly keenly.

Then we got into the better part of the town, dazzling big white houses
with gratings in front of every window, and women peering out from
behind the curtains in most of them.  Everywhere were soldiers, and the
yellow and green flags drooping at half-mast.

Next we drove through a great open place, white with dust and dazzling
in the sun, with a grand old weather-beaten cathedral on one side, and
on the other some public garden with palms and huge tropical ferns.  We
had to draw up to let a regiment march into the square, and then we
wedged our way out of it, into a side street, turned a corner, and
stopped in front of a big door with strong iron gates, sentries with
fixed bayonets on each side of it, and a whole jumble of French,
English, German, American, and Dutch ensigns hanging down from a
flagstaff above it.  There was a wizened little black chap leaning up
against the wall; he started when he saw me, and let his cigarette drop
out of his mouth.  He was an ugly-looking little beast.

'The European Club,' Mr. Macdonald said.  'Out you jump.  I bet your
brother's in here.'

We followed him into a cool courtyard with a splashing fountain in the
middle of it, and through the open French windows I heard the click of
billiard balls--a jolly homely sound--and, looking in, there was Gerald,
with his coat off, watching the other chap making his stroke, his jolly
old lion head with the long yellow hair brushed back and his grand
square jaw--not a bit like me.

He didn't see me as I went in and touched him on the back.  'Hello,
Gerald!'

'Hello, Billums!  What the dickens are you doing here?  How's the mater?
Well played, Arnstein (this to his opponent).  Wait till I've "knocked"
him. Won't be a second.'

He won quite easily, and then he stood us all lunch at the Club.  I did
my best to pump him about the revolution, but he kicked me hard under
the table, so I didn't say any more about it.  The mids. had a grand
time, hardly uttered a word, but simply ate steadily through course
after course, not even the excitement of hearing regiments of infantry
tramping past every now and again, with their bands playing, putting
them off their feed.

'Come along,' Gerald said presently, 'I've got a window from which we
can see everything; there'll be room for all of you.'

But Mr. Macdonald wasn't coming, so we left him.

'Be here by three o'clock,' he said, 'not a minute later, and I'll drive
you back.'

As we left the gate I noticed that the sentries looked rather puzzled at
Gerald and myself.

'I couldn't say anything in there,' Gerald began, when we'd got out into
the crowded street; 'you never know who may be listening.  We're going
to have a revolution, and I'm rather mixed up in it.  You saw that
little plain-clothes chap at the gate, he's one of the President's
secret police, and has been shadowing me for the last four days.'

I had seen him, the one who'd been so startled when I went in.

'Don't you carry a revolver or anything?' I asked nervously.

'My dear old Billums, I've never thought of it.'

I bothered him to get one in case anything happened.

'All right, old chap, I'll think about it.'

There was too great a crush in the narrow streets to do much talking,
and we had a lot of trouble to push our way along.  There were quite a
lot of people wearing the horizontal black and green stripes in these
streets, and you could tell they were strangers by their weird-looking
clothes and by the way they flocked along with their eyes and mouths
open.

We presently passed a lot of officers standing outside a doorway.

'That's the Officers' Club,' Gerald told me, as he took his hat off, and
they all clicked their heels and saluted, looking from Gerald to myself
with that same puzzled look--they seemed very unfriendly.  We waited a
minute or two to let a battery of field artillery rumble past--the guns
were 'horsed' with mules--turned down another side street, and entered a
cool courtyard with more fountains splashing.  There were any number of
people in it; they nearly all had black and green rosettes with
horizontal stripes, and all bowed very cordially to Gerald.  He spoke to
several, looked as if he had heard bad news, and took us into the back
of the Hotel de L'Europe, up some narrow wooden stairs, opened a door on
a narrow landing, and there we were in a corner room with a large French
window opening on to an iron balcony and overlooking the great square.
The cathedral tower, with its arched entrance and broad steps, wasn't
fifty yards away.

'You'll get a grand view here--it's cool too--you'd get sunstroke
outside--stay where you are--I'll be back presently--I've just had some
important news,' Gerald jerked out, and left us to watch the people and
the soldiers pouring into the square--'Plaza' every one called it.
These soldiers were jolly smart-looking chaps, well dressed and well set
up, very different to those we had seen at Los Angelos.  They all had
the vertical green and yellow stripes in their white helmets, and even
we could see that they were pretty rough in dealing with the people.  We
saw several of the ward-room fellows hunting about for a good place to
see the procession, and the two Skippers drove up to the cathedral, in
uniform, the soldiers making a way for their carriage, and driving the
people back by prodding them in the stomach with the butt-ends of their
rifles.

Gerald came in again looking worried.

'Everything all right?' I asked.

He nodded, and sat down in a corner.

'The soldiers don't treat the people very gently,' I said, and he told
me that they were all Presidential troops in the city that day, and that
there was no love lost between them and the country people, who had
poured into the city to pay respect to the President's wife. 'If you
look closely, you'll see that a great many of these are wearing the
badge of the de Costas--the horizontal green and black stripes.'

'I heard to-day,' he went on, 'that the President's wife, just before
she died, made her brother, de Costa, and her husband, Jose Canilla,
shake hands and promise to keep the peace after she was gone.'

'Will they?' Bob asked, with his mouth open.

He only smiled and shrugged his shoulders--quite like a Spaniard.  'They
called her _La Buena Presidente_, and she was a good old lady and kept
the peace, but she's kept back progress and reform for years.  There's
no such thing as freedom in the country.  There will soon be a change
now.'

'They named that ship which Armstrong's building after her, I suppose?'
I asked him, and he nodded.

I tried to pump him about her, but he'd tell me nothing, except that she
would be ready very soon, and was strong enough to blow the rest of the
Santa Cruz Navy out of the water.  I knew that well enough.

I wanted to ask him if there was any chance of her new crew favouring
the Vice-President's party--as Mr. Macdonald had suggested--and a whole
lot of other things, but a frightful din started in the 'Plaza.'

Bob, pointing down below, yelled for us to look, and we saw a
drunken-looking countryman waving his broad-brimmed felt hat, with an
enormous black and green rosette fastened to it, in the face of one of
the officers with the troops.  He tried to take no notice of it, but in
a second or two lost his temper, seized the rosette, tore it off, threw
it on the ground, and stamped it into the white dust with his
patent-leather boots.

There was a roar of anger at this, booing and hissing from people
crowding in the windows of a house close by, and the mob beneath us
began pushing and shouting; knives were drawn, the few women there began
screaming, and the soldiers, standing in line, turned round to drive the
people back.  Some cavalry came galloping up, and began hitting at the
people with the flat of their swords.  One of them was pulled off his
horse and disappeared in the struggle, people were pressing in from all
sides of the Plaza, and things began to look jolly ugly, when we heard a
pistol fired, and a very smart-looking young cavalry officer, who was
trying to get his men together, reeled in his saddle and fell on the
ground, his fiery little horse plunging away down the swaying lines of
soldiers.

Women screamed, every one stopped struggling and drew back, leaving him
lying there, by himself, all doubled up in a heap, in the dust, blood
trickling from his mouth.  Almost before we'd realised what had
happened, a young priest, in black cassock, dashed across from the
cathedral steps, knelt down, and lifted the officer's head on his knee.
We saw him press a little black crucifix to his lips, but it was too
late, the poor chap was as dead as a door-nail.

Then there was another wild burst of shouting and hooting from the mob
and from the people at the windows.

'They've got the man who fired the shot,' Bob squeaked--he was so
excited--and we could see a lot of soldiers struggling with a very tall
man.  He wrested himself free, knocked down one or two, burst through
the line of troops, and went running away from the cathedral, the crowd
trying to prevent the soldiers following.  I'd never seen anything so
exciting.  He dodged, and doubled, and got clear again for a second,
running towards one corner, but there were soldiers everywhere, one of
them tripped him with the butt-end of his rifle, and he fell sprawling
on the pavement right under our window.  Before you could say a word, a
couple of soldiers had driven their bayonets through him--we could
actually hear the points knocking against the pavement.  In a moment the
mob were on them, and a fierce fight commenced. What would have happened
I don't know, but then the loud crashing music of the Dead March in
'Saul' sounded from the opposite side of the square.

'Thank God,' I heard Gerald mutter, 'here comes the procession.'

Officers dashed up again, shouting and cursing, the soldiers fell back
into line, the mob hid their knives and took up their places, the space
in front of the cathedral was cleared in a twinkling-, Bob, leaning out
of the window, told us that they'd brought the body of the officer into
the hotel, and that the other body had disappeared, the purple velvet
hangings which hid the cathedral entrance from us were drawn apart, and,
right in the middle, on the top step, a tall old priest, gorgeously
dressed, was standing with his arms lifted up.  He must have been a
bishop at the very least, because directly the people saw him, they fell
on their knees in the dust, leaving only the soldiers standing erect.

This really was a most extraordinary effect after the noise, and
yelling, and struggling of a few moments before.  Now nothing could be
heard, except, some way off, the funeral march, the clatter of cavalry
horses, and the grating of the wheels of the funeral car, a dark mass we
could see just entering the square.

Behind the cavalry marched a couple of companies of sailors from the
ships at Los Angelos, their white uniforms stained with sweat; then came
eight horses, with velvet cloths flowing almost to the ground, dragging
the great state funeral car covered with more purple velvet, the troops
reversing arms and the kneeling people crossing themselves as it passed
in front of them.

Walking two or three yards behind the car were two men, and then a gap
in the procession.

'There they are,' Gerald said excitedly.  'The little wizened chap in
uniform, with the grey moustaches, is the President, and the fat man in
plain clothes the Vice-President.'

The two walked slowly past under our window, and we got a jolly good
view of them.  The little chap was covered with orders and medals, and
looked a grand little soldier and jolly fierce, whilst the big chap,
clumsily built, slouched along, one step behind the President, and
didn't seem at all at ease.  He was perspiring very much too--his collar
was all limp--and he kept on looking from side to side as if he didn't
much care for his job.

'You wouldn't if you were he,' Gerald half shouted. He had to shout,
because the massed bands were now passing beneath us kicking up the most
appalling din.

After the bands had gone by, long rows of people, some in uniform,
others in plain clothes--notable people of sorts, I suppose--went
shuffling past, looking hot and uncomfortable.

We saw the cavalry and seamen halt, forming a guard on each side of the
cathedral steps, and then, as the big hearse drew up at the foot of
them, a great discordant bell clanged out from the tower above, and a
second later there was the loud boom of a gun.

'That's the first minute-gun from San Sebastian,' Gerald said.

The bands suddenly ceased, from the open cathedral doors we heard the
grand rolling sound of an organ, and, as the coffin was borne up the
steps, choristers broke out into a shrill anthem--an awfully melancholy
sound, which made me catch my breath for a second.

The little President and the lumbering great Vice-President, mopping his
forehead, walked after the coffin side by side, and disappeared into the
gloom of the cathedral, followed by all the untidy string of notables,
who scrambled in after them in a very undignified manner, as though they
wanted to get out of the heat.

As the last one crowded in, the velvet curtains were drawn across the
door again and shut out the noise of the singing.

'That's the last time any one will see those two together again in
peace,' Gerald muttered, and turning round I saw that he was looking
fearfully worried and anxious.

'What's the matter?' I asked.

'There's hardly a Vice-President's man among that lot,' he whispered.

'What's that mean?'

'They've cleared out, Billums--fled to the country--it's the beginning.
Something's gone wrong.  It's beginning too soon.'  He was very excited,
and could hardly sit still.  In a minute or two he jumped up, sang out
that he must find out how the land 'lay,' and told us to stay where we
were.

'If there's any shooting, lie down on the floor--there may be some.'

'Let me come with you?' I asked, awfully keen to go, but he shook his
head, and went out.

I wished he'd have let me go with him.

The mids. hadn't noticed him go, for they were tremendously excited
again.  Some more cavalry were clattering along between the lines of
soldiers, and in front of them, his black horse flecked with white foam,
they had recognised the Governor of Los Angelos and his two A.D.C.'s,
the fat little chap looking a jolly sight smarter on a horse than he did
climbing down ladders on board the _Hector_.  They stopped opposite the
cathedral, dismounted, the Governor strode up the steps, the black
A.D.C. handed him a big blue paper, and he stood there looking nervously
first at the velvet curtains drawn across the entrance, and then at the
troops and the kneeling masses of people behind them.  A battery of
field artillery began unlimbering on each side of the steps, the guns
pointing straight across the Plaza, more infantry marched up and formed
a semicircle, four deep, round the base of the steps, and the line of
soldiers, turning round, forced the people to rise from their knees, and
pressed them back away from the cathedral.  There wasn't the least doubt
that something was going to happen, and I remembered that Mr. Macdonald
had told us that the Vice-President might be arrested or shot directly
after the service--perhaps that blue paper the Governor of Los Angelos
had in his hand was the warrant.

All this time the huge bell in the cathedral tower above us clanged and
jarred, and the minute-guns from San Sebastian shook the air, and made
it feel even hotter than it was.  We were so excited that, for a moment,
I forgot about Gerald.

Suddenly we heard the organ inside the cathedral throbbing, the velvet
curtains were drawn aside, the Governor of Los Angelos, unfolding his
blue paper, sprang forward, and the little white figure of the President
appeared.  The massed bands blared out some weird tune--probably the
Santa Cruz National Anthem--the troops presented arms, the Governor
saluted, and then seemed uncertain what to do.  He was looking for some
one--the Vice-President, I felt certain--but his clumsy figure didn't
appear, only the long string of notables.  I saw the Governor shake his
head and disappear into the cathedral, one of his A.D.C.'s dashed down
the steps, and the President, without looking back or moving a muscle of
his face, mounted a white horse, which was waiting for him, and cantered
away at the head of a cavalry escort, all the troops presenting arms and
shouting, '_Viva el Presidente_.'

Once or twice since we'd been in that window, hawkers had tried to make
us buy things by shoving up little baskets, of sweets and fruit,
fastened to long poles.  They went from window to window and did a
roaring trade.  Now as we watched the President cantering away, another
basket was thrust up.  I pushed it away, but it came again.  I shook my
head at the man down below who had done it, and saw something strange in
his expression.  He nodded, and motioned with his free hand as if he
wanted me to pick something out, shoving the basket right under my nose.

I looked in, and there, under some small oranges, was a piece of folded
paper.  I seized it, the basket was drawn down again, and I unfolded it.
Hurriedly scrawled there was, 'Can't come back.  Get back to the Club
quickly, and stay there.--Gerald.'

'Phew!'  I went cold all over with excitement.  I didn't know what to
think.

I looked at my watch, it was 1.30, and remembered that Mr. Macdonald had
told us chaffingly that the revolution would begin at 1.25 sharp.  I
wasn't going to move yet, especially if there was going to be any
fighting; we hadn't to meet Mr. Macdonald till three o'clock, and we
might as well see all the fun there was going on.

The soldiers began clearing the square now, crowds of people passing
along under our windows, Bob and his chum spotted some of our mids., and
yelled to them and to the four _Hercules_ mids. who came by too, but the
noise was so great, and they were so busy shoving and pushing in the hot
crowd, that they didn't hear them.

Presently Captain Grattan--Old Tin Eye--squinting through his eyeglass
and smiling at the crowd, Captain Roger Hill, sitting bolt upright and
looking bored, Perkins, and the Fleet Surgeon drove past in a carriage.
They were all in uniform, and the soldiers made a way for them through
the people.

'There's not going to be any firing after all,' the Angel said sadly.
'Look how peaceably all the people are clearing out.'

'Well, come along,' I sang out, 'we'll go along to the Club,' so we
picked up our hats and sticks, opened the door, and ran 'slick' into the
arms of that ugly little chap I'd seen outside the Club--the one Gerald
said had been shadowing him.

He had half-a-dozen sturdy nigger soldiers behind him, and he held up a
blue paper in front of me, grinning cunningly--hateful little beast.

I couldn't read the lingo, but there was Senor Gerald Wilson written
among the print, and a scrawling 'Jose Canilla' at the bottom, so I
guessed at once that this was a warrant for Gerald's arrest, and that he
must have given the little beast the slip.  The nigger chaps began
closing round me, and had the cheek to try and seize hold of my wrists.

Well, I'm pretty strong, and I'm pretty bad-tempered too, and this was
too much for me.  I'd torn the warrant to bits, punched Gerald's friend
good and hard in the face, and laid out the first two chaps who'd
touched me--banged their heads against the woodwork of the narrow
passage, before I'd thought of it--but then the others drew their
revolvers, and that wasn't playing the game.  I yelled to the mids.,
shoved them back into the room, banged the door, and slipped two bolts
in as the chaps charged it.

'Lean out and try to get some of our fellows to help us,' I sang out;
'I'll hang on to the door.'  It was the first idea that came, but then
it flashed through my head that the longer I kept them fooling round
after me, the more chance Gerald would have of escaping--I knew now that
that was what he must be doing.

'Slide down into the street--over the balcony--get to the Club--and tell
the Skipper I've been arrested,' I yelled out.

'Ain't going to leave you,' the Angel and Bob cried, and came in again
and got their shoulders against the door.  'There's not a single one of
our chaps about,' they panted, pushing against the creaking door.

My Christopher! it was a shoving match.  Luckily the passage outside was
so narrow that only two people abreast could shove properly, but the
screws in the clasps of the bolts at the top of the door began to
'draw,' and I knew we couldn't hold them for long.  Then they fired a
pistol through the door--high up--the bullet smashing against the
opposite wall.

I knew it was no use staying any longer, I didn't want a bullet in me.
'Clear out, and I'll come too,' I sang out, and we bolted to the window,
climbed over the balcony, and shinned down the iron uprights. As my feet
touched the pavement, a dozen soldiers threw themselves on top of me; I
hadn't a chance to strike out, my head was covered with a cloak, and the
next I knew I was inside the hotel bar, being trussed like a turkey.

As soon as he could do it safely, the little brute who'd had the warrant
came and kicked me in the stomach and spat at me--I must have had my
pipe in my hand when I hit him, for he had a gash across his
forehead--and the two whose heads I'd banged came along and kicked me
too.

Thank goodness, Bob and his chum weren't there--I guessed that they'd
been cute enough to cut away to the Club.

Even then I rather enjoyed it (not the kicking part--I'd be even with
those swine some day), thinking how disappointed they would all be when
they found that I wasn't Gerald.

Some more soldiers poured into the room, the little brute pulled a dirty
greasy cloth off a table, I was covered with it, carried outside like a
sack of potatoes, and dumped into a cart.  Something else soft was
dumped in beside me, half-a-dozen chaps sat on me to keep me quiet, and
off we drove.  I could hear horses' hoofs on either side of the cart and
the clatter of scabbards and jingle of accoutrements, so knew I had a
cavalry escort, and felt jolly proud that Gerald was such a big 'pot' in
the revolution business as to require one.

We went slowly after a little while--going uphill. I wondered whether
they were taking me to San Sebastian, but didn't wonder long, because a
minute-gun was fired--about the last of them--and it sounded quite
close.

In a minute or two we bumped and rattled across a wooden bridge, and
then stopped.

As I was hauled out, they pulled the cloth away from the soft thing
beside me, and it was the body of the officer who'd been shot in the
square. Ugh! that was rather beastly.  An old chap came along--the boss
of the fort, I suppose--and jawed to me in French and Spanish, and got
savage when I couldn't understand him.  He thought I _wouldn't_.

He soon got tired of this, and I was led across the courtyard by a band
of ruffians with fixed bayonets and loaded rifles (I saw them load their
magazines). We passed behind the crumbling old walls, where a party of
soldiers were cleaning out the saluting guns, and I was shoved into a
kind of store-room, dug out of the rock or in the thickness of the
walls, and shut in there by a big iron gateway of a door, on the outside
of which a miserable little beast of a half-nigger sentry leant and
smoked cigarettes.

There were seven others in there, all quiet individuals in plain
clothes, who rose and bowed to me when I was brought in, thinking at
first, I suppose, that I was Gerald.  They looked very relieved when
they saw that I wasn't.  Two of them had rosettes of black and green
with the stripes horizontal, so I knew why they were there.  One very
courteous old gentleman put a cigarette between my lips, lighted it with
his own, and then slacked off the ropes round my wrists and arms, the
sentry, turning round to watch us, simply shrugged his shoulders when my
arms were free again, and I commenced whirling them round and round to
try and do away with the numbness and the 'pins and needles.'  He just
half opened the breech-bolt of his Mauser rifle, pointed very
suggestively at the cartridges inside, turned round again, and went on
smoking.  Somebody offered me an empty cartridge-box and I sat on it,
watching the other chaps busy writing things in notebooks or even on
their shirt cuffs.

It struck me that possibly they were writing their 'wills.'

Well! that was a funny ending to my first day ashore, if you like,
though so long as Gerald got clear away I didn't mind, and so long as
Bob and his chum had fetched up at the Club I knew that things would
turn out all right.

It was jolly hot in that hole of a place, and as the afternoon went on
the sun shone straight in through the gratings of the door and it was
like an oven.

I sweated like a pig.

Every now and then I heard a cart rattle across the drawbridge.  That
generally meant a fresh arrival, some other Horizontal caught, and he'd
be shoved in with us.  At first I was terribly afraid lest I should see
Gerald brought along; but four o'clock came, Gerald evidently hadn't
been caught, and I began to feel quite easy in my mind about him.

I did wonder why nobody from the ship had come along, but wasn't
particularly worried.  Things would 'pan out' all right, and this was a
rummy enough experience for any one.

Just after four o'clock there was great excitement in the courtyard
outside.  Soldiers ran about hunting for their rifles and formed up
behind the saluting guns, trumpets sounded some kind of a 'general
salute,' I heard a lot of horses' hoofs clattering over the drawbridge,
and a few minutes later round the corner stalked the little President
and a crowd of officers, the Governor of Los Angelos and his two
A.D.C.'s among them.

He'd evidently come along to count his day's 'bag,' for he walked along
the grating looking in at us. My aunt! he had the cruellest eyes I'd
ever seen.

He first caught sight of the old chap who'd unfastened my ropes.  Phew!
he did give him a piece of his mind through the grating! and then the
old fellow was dragged out and marched off to a bit of blank wall
between two of the saluting guns.  The fat little A.D.C. went up to him,
and then I knew what was going to happen, for I saw him offer to tie a
handkerchief across his eyes--he was going to be shot.  But he wouldn't
have his eyes covered, and for a moment I saw him standing bolt upright
with his arms folded in front of him.  Then some soldiers ran up, stood
in a line between him and me, an officer gave an order, their rifles
went up to the present; I turned my head away and saw the other
prisoners clutching the gratings, their throat muscles all swollen, and
their eyes starting out; there was a scraggy volley, and the President
came back again.

Two more men were hauled out and shot, and I shall never forget the face
of one of them as he was marched away.  It was just like picking a fat
hen out of a coop, and we were the hens.  Then back the President came a
fourth time, and I was dragged out.

He knew that I wasn't Gerald right enough, but his eyes simply spat
fire, and he stamped with rage and was more furious than ever because I
couldn't understand him.

[Illustration: "HIS EYES SPAT FIRE"]

The fat little A.D.C. was called up to ask questions. He gave me a
friendly wink, and I notched up a point in his favour.

He jabbered away to the President and I heard 'Wilson no Don Geraldio'
and '_Hector buque de guerra--Inglesa--Los Angelos_.'

He asked me if I knew where Gerald was.  Of course I didn't and shook my
head, 'No! old chap, I don't.'

The President didn't believe it when this was told him.

'El Presidente say shoot you if do not say where is Don Geraldio.'

Of course that was only bluff, and I smiled.

Then the firing party were called across, but that was still only bluff,
I thought, and it didn't frighten me in the least till I saw the fat
little A.D.C.'s face turn yellow under his brown skin.

Well, then I was in a mortal funk, if you like, and something inside me
went flop down into my boots.

'Our cannon--cannon of _Hector_--shoot thirty kilometres,' I jerked out,
remembering how impressed the A.D.C.'s had been with our after 9.2, my
tongue feeling a bit sticky and my knees not altogether steady.

The old Governor, the two A.D.C.'s, and several other officers were
evidently doing their best for me. I heard 'kilometres' mentioned once
or twice, and then the President waved his hand majestically and I was
taken back and the grating locked behind me.

My head was buzzing, and I don't mind telling you that I felt a jolly
sight more comfortable inside than outside--just then.  The little
President and all his staff went away, and I heard their horses
clattering over the drawbridge.  Before he went away, my fat little pal
came along and held out his cigarette case through the gratings.  I
bowed and smiled and took one cigarette; but he shook his head, he
wanted me to empty it.  I did this and then had a brilliant inspiration.
My cigarette case was a pretty decent one, so I offered him mine.

'We change cigarette cases--for remembrance--I shall always remember,' I
said.

The kind-hearted little chap seemed quite pleased, took mine as I took
his, bowed, said '_Adios_! I also shall remember,' and went after the
others as fast as his spurs and his sabre and his fat little legs would
let him.

I sat down on my cartridge-box and wondered what the dickens 'Old Tin
Eye' was doing and what had become of Bob and the Angel, smoked one of
my pal's cigarettes, examined the cigarette case--it was an oxydised
silver one with black enamel work, probably made in Paris--and watched
some black convicts with chains round their ankles filling in three
graves under the wall opposite.

Phew! there might have been four if I hadn't remembered about the 9.2's
and the thirty kilometres. I shivered and felt jolly sick, and wished to
goodness I was back again in the _Hector's_ gun-room.




                              *CHAPTER IV*

                        *The Rescue of the Sub*


                   _Written by Midshipman Bob Temple_


'Cut along to the Club and find the Skipper,' Billums had sung out as we
slid down from that window at the Hotel de L'Europe, and when we jumped
to the pavement we saw all the soldier chaps--dozens of them--pouncing
on him.  They didn't pay any attention to us, and it was no good
stopping there, so my chum, the Angel, and I scooted away as fast as we
could go.

We wormed our way round the corner, out of the square all right, and
then we lost ourselves, and were wedged in among an awful crowd of
people, carts and mules, cavalry and artillery all jumbled up together,
jostling and shoving and cursing.  We could hardly move at all, or see
where we were going.

We did get along presently, and kept looking down the side streets to
try and see all those flags over the Club gate, but we'd forgotten
exactly which turning it was.  We'd work our way to the outside of the
crowd and dart down a side street, looking for the flags and those two
sentries, and dart back again into the main street, holding on to each
other so as not to get separated, and push and push till we got to the
next side street.  It was awfully hot work; we couldn't find it and I
simply felt terrified about Billums, when we ran into those four
_Hercules_ mids. whom we'd upset in the morning.  I'd never been so glad
to see any one before.

'Hello!  Coal lighters!  What's the hurry?' they sang out.  'Looking for
coal?'

We didn't mind that in the least.

'Where's the Club?' we gasped.  'Quick! tell us!  Our Sub's been
arrested, and we want to find our Skipper.'

'We've just come from there,' they shouted.  'My aunt! what a lark!
Come along!' and they turned back and all six of us pushed our way
along. It was hot work, if you like.

'What's he been up to?' one of them asked me.

'They think he's an insurgent; he is just like his brother who is one.'

We saw the flags almost directly, dashed through the gateway into the
Club, the _Hercules_ mids. after us, and saw Mr. Perkins sitting under a
punkah trying to get cool.

'Where's the Captain, sir?' we asked.

'Don't know!  Was here ten minutes ago.'

We hunted everywhere--he wasn't in the Club--and ran back to Mr.
Perkins.

'The Sub's been arrested, sir; they're half-killing him.  They think
he's his brother and have carried him off.  What can we do?'  Mr.
Perkins whistled and scratched his head.

That big German man who had been playing billiards with cousin Gerald in
the morning was sitting close by and jumped up, 'What you say? Gerald
Wilson caught?'

'No,' we both piped out, 'not Gerald, his brother Bill, our Sub; they've
collared him at the hotel near the cathedral.'

'Phew! that's awkward!  Something must be done at once.  They'd shoot
Gerald Wilson if they caught him, and they may shoot his brother.'  He
spoke very rapidly.

'What can be done?' Mr. Perkins asked, his red face getting quite white.

'I'll drive you to the British Minister--it's a long way out of the
town--he's gone there, I know--that's the only thing we can do--you'll
have to wait till my carriage comes.'

We did wait, waited for half an hour--it seemed hours, and though Mr.
Perkins stood us lemon squashes and cakes we were much too worried to
eat anything.  The _Hercules_ mids. waited about--the greedy pigs--till
Mr. Perkins had to order some for them too, and they finished the whole
lot of cakes, ours as well as theirs.  Then the big German called us,
and he and Mr. Perkins and we two drove away. It was a quarter to three
and Mr. Macdonald would be expecting us in a quarter of an
hour--whatever should we do I The Angel and I couldn't keep our feet
still--we felt so awful--because we could have walked faster than the
carriage went in the crowded streets.  When we turned down a side
street, the nigger driver lashed the horses into a gallop, we got out
into the country, and presently pulled up at a big white house with the
Union Jack flying above it.

Oh!  It was so comforting to see it.

Out we jumped, the German hurried us through a courtyard, a black
footman in livery led us through a lot of beautiful cool rooms into a
garden with palms and fountains, and we saw a whole crowd of
people--English ladies too--sitting in the shade.  We forgot to be shy,
we were so frightened, caught sight of Captain Grattan and Captain Roger
Hill, and, without waiting, simply ran up to them through all the
ladies, and told them all about it.

'Tut, tut, tut, tut,' our Captain said, jumping out of his chair and
screwing in his eyeglass.  'Tut, tut, that's serious.  Come this way,'
and he took us in to the British Minister--a big tall chap with a nose
like a hawk and great bushy eyebrows, dressed in white duck clothes.  We
had to tell our story again, clutching each other; he made us so
frightened, looking at us so fiercely.  You couldn't tell from his face
what he thought of it, but he told the Captain that he'd change into
uniform and take us to the President right away.

'It's serious,' he said.  'Gerald Wilson is too openly mixed up in
politics to claim our protection, and things may go badly with his
brother.'

We felt so jolly relieved that something was at last going to be done
that we did have some tea then, the ladies crowding round the Angel and
helping him, though they weren't so keen on me--they never are, which is
a jolly good thing.  'If I'd a face like a girl's they'd fuss round me
too,' I told the Angel, and he was beastly rude and called me 'Old
Pimple Face,' and made them all laugh at me.  I could have kicked him.

The Minister was back again before we'd finished stuffing, and then
hurried us away--he and the Captain in one carriage, and Mr. Perkins and
we two in another.

We drove as fast as ever we could back to the town, and the soldiers we
passed looked as if they'd like to shoot us.  They scowled so much that
I was jolly glad that the Minister was in his gorgeous gold braid
uniform and the Captain and Mr. Perkins were in theirs.  We had to pass
close to San Sebastian, and we told Mr. Perkins that that was probably
where Billums had been taken.  'Mr. Macdonald told us they take all the
revolutionary people there.'

Just as we'd told him this, we heard a scrappy kind of a volley from
inside the walls.

'Good God!'  Mr. Perkins nearly jumped off his seat, his red face
turning quite yellow; 'they're shooting people already.  Why can't we go
faster?'  I almost blubbed.

We were back again in the city now, the streets simply filled with
soldiers, leaning up against the walls, trying to find a little shade
and some of them shouting rudely at us as we passed.

At last we stopped opposite some big iron gates through which soldiers
were coming and going in hundreds.  The sentries there wouldn't let the
Minister pass through at first, till an officer came along.  Then we all
got out and walked in, following the Minister, who stalked along, head
and shoulders taller than any of the officers standing about, and pushed
his way into a big room crowded with very excited people, most of them
officers, half of them niggers and the other half not much lighter.
They left off chattering as we appeared, and bowed and clicked their
heels when they saw the Minister, but didn't look at all pleased.

'They hate us English,' I heard the Minister tell the Captain.  'Most of
us favour the Vice-President's party, though only Gerald Wilson has been
fool enough to do so openly.'

We stuck very closely to him whilst officers and orderlies kept on
streaming in and out of a small door leading into another room.  Most of
their uniforms were jolly smart--either white with yellow facings or
khaki with white facings.  Cavalry officers had a light-blue striped
cotton tunic fitting very tightly and very bulging khaki
riding-breeches.  They looked awful dandies, and all wore stiff white
shirts with cuffs although it was so hot--the blacker they were and the
more like niggers, the more stiff white cuffs they showed.

What the Angel and I noticed chiefly about the infantry officers was
that they didn't seem to worry so much whether their clothes fitted
them, and they nearly all wore patent-leather 'Jemima' boots, with the
elastic generally worn out and quite loose round the ankles.

'The President is not here--won't be here for some time--he's gone to
San Sebastian,' the Minister said in a low voice.

You could never tell whether he was worried about it or not--his voice
and his face never changed.  'We shall have to wait.  He's a fiery
little chap--thinks he is the Napoleon of the west, and loves to show
off before us Europeans.  He'll be in a pretty bad temper to-day.  He
meant to arrest the Vice-President, de Costa, as he left the cathedral,
but he and his friends got wind of it and left by a side door; smuggled
away as priests or nuns, some say, and have slipped through his fingers.
He meant to "scotch" the revolution which is coming, and he's failed
badly, so he'll be a pretty handful to tackle.'

'Well, _he_ might be able to tackle him,' the Angel whispered, and we
both thought that he looked perfectly grand in his uniform.  Then there
was a great clatter outside; we could hear officers calling their men to
attention; trumpets were blown, all the officers in the room took their
cigarettes out of their mouths, stood bolt-upright, and in came the
President just as we'd seen him in the procession.  Every one made a
lane for him to pass into the room beyond, and he spotted us, but hardly
took any notice of the Minister's salute or of our Captain's either,
which made the Angel and me very angry, though we were really too
frightened at his very cruel-looking eyes to be angry.

Several people followed him--all very gorgeously dressed--covered with
medals and with green and yellow sashes over their shoulders, and the
last to come in was the little A.D.C. from Los Angelos with the big
spurs and the curved sword.

The Minister spoke to one of them, who seemed to be doing 'orderly'
officer, but he only shrugged his shoulders, went into the little room.
We heard a few fierce words and back he came, shrugging his shoulders
all the more.

'He says the President is too busy to see me,' the Minister told the
Captain, who was gradually getting angry at being treated like this.
Then there was another commotion, and in came the grand-looking old
Governor of Los Angelos and the black A.D.C.  He seemed to be a friend
of the Minister, for he stopped and shook his hand, bowed and yarned
quite pleasantly. He too went into the other room.

'I've told him that I must see the President,' the Minister said, and we
waited again, though even he wasn't successful, and came back shrugging
his shoulders and spreading out his hands, his great sword clanking
along the floor.

The Minister's face never altered the slightest bit. 'He refuses to see
me--will only receive the senior foreign Minister--that is the Comte de
Launy, the Frenchman.  It's no use waiting here any longer--we must go
and find him--it will take an hour.'

His voice never altered in the slightest degree, but the Captain was
'tut tutting' and polishing his eye-glass, whilst Mr. Perkins was
bubbling over with wrath.

As we went out we saw the officers all sneering at us, but the Governor
sang out something very angrily, and they stood to attention and he
himself bowed us out.  We were jolly glad to get out, I can tell you,
because it was such a horrid feeling to have all these strange
fierce-looking officers all round us without being able to understand a
word they said, and to feel certain that they'd like to murder us.

'Well, the old Governor's a gent, isn't he?' the Angel whispered.

We drove back to the Residence--I was feeling awfully sick with funk
about Billums--and there we were left whilst the Captain and the
Minister drove away again to find the Frenchman.

It was long after four o'clock; Mr. Macdonald would be on his way down
to Los Angelos, and we hadn't the least idea how we should get back; but
we didn't want to go back so long as old Billums was shut up in San
Sebastian, and might be shot any minute.

There were only three ladies there now, the Minister's wife and her two
daughters, and they did their very best to cheer us up.  The Angel was
in great form--he always was when ladies were about--and sang his rotten
songs; but as I couldn't sit still, I wandered out into the courtyard,
and fed some goldfish in one of the fountains.  It was fairly cool
there, and every time I heard wheels I ran to the gateway, but they
didn't come back till nearly six o'clock, and when I rushed out, hoping
to see Billums with them, there was only a dried-up little man in
another gorgeous uniform--the French Minister.

'No good, Temple,' the Captain said, looking awfully serious.

'He won't let him go till his brother surrenders--does it to humiliate
us.'

'What are you going to do now, sir?' I asked him, but he didn't answer.

They all three drove away again, and Mr. Perkins told me that they were
going to collect all the foreign Ministers, and intended to see him in a
body.

Then he and we two mids. had to do more waiting--it was terrible.  The
sun went down, it got dark quite suddenly, and we couldn't help thinking
of the awful road down the mountains to Los Angelos and how we were
going to get down there at night.

The Minister's wife gave us some dinner and tried to be jolly, but I
couldn't be, and couldn't eat anything. She and the girls were pretty
nervous too, because, all the time we were pretending to have dinner,
there were noises as if a riot was going on in the town.  We were all
fidgeting, and the black men-servants in their scarlet liveries were
very jumpy.  You could see by the way they moved about that they were
frightened too.

The Minister's wife made them close the big windows and that drowned a
good deal of the noise, and I couldn't see the dark creepy shadows of
the palms outside and felt less uncomfortable.  She kept on saying, 'I
wish your father would come back,' and, just as we were going to have
some coffee, we heard the banging of rifles.  The black footman dropped
his tray, and all of them simply trembled.  It was no use to sit any
longer at the table, the two girls began to cry, and then it was our
turn to do something to help.

The firing sometimes seemed to be coming our way, so we three went round
the garden and made sure that all the gates were locked--a jolly creepy
job it was out there in the dark, and I jumped every time I heard a
rifle go off.  The servants were all standing about, whispering and
looking frightened, which made it all the more horrid; so, to give them
something to do, we sent them to close all the shutters, though we
couldn't get them to go into the street to close some there, and had to
do that ourselves.  Then we made the three ladies come into the
drawing-room, lighted all the lamps, and tried to cheer them up.  The
Angel played the piano, and Mr. Perkins, who hates singing, bellowed out
some sea-songs and made them join in the choruses.  That wasn't much of
a success, so he scratched his funny old head and did a few tricks. One
was to stand straight upright and then sit down on the floor without
bending his knees, and he did it so jolly well that it nearly shook the
ornaments off the mantelpiece, and the bump frightened them all. Then he
showed them how he could fall flat on his chest without bending his
knees, and did it, but banged his chin hard on the polished floor, so
that wasn't quite a success either.

We couldn't think of any other tricks.

Nine o'clock came, and ten o'clock--there was no firing now--and
half-past ten came before we heard several carriages coming towards the
house, and went out into the courtyard to the street gate.

The Minister, the Captain, the tall German, who turned out to be the
German Minister, and was in a grand-looking uniform, the little
Frenchman, four or five others, and the United States Minister in
ordinary evening dress, got down, and then several ladies, closely
wrapped up, came in too.

All the Ministers disappeared into another room by themselves, only the
Captain and the ladies coming into the drawing-room.  He was saying
'tut, tut' all the time, and all we could get out of him was, 'We've
been treated like children--tut, tut--by a miserable half-bred
savage--he won't listen to us.'

'A lot of firing going on in the city, isn't there, sir?' Mr. Perkins
asked.

'Only a few drunken soldiers letting off their rifles,' he grunted, and
then he was sent for, and a few minutes afterwards a man-servant came in
to ask the Minister's wife to speak to her husband.  She went out, and
we could hear her speaking to him, and back she came looking very pale.
'Captain Grattan' (that was our Captain) 'has asked us to stay on board
the _Hector_, my dears; we are going down with him to-night.'

She tried to look cheerful, but they and we knew what that meant--that
it wasn't safe for them in Santa Cruz any longer--and the girls began to
cry again. All three of them went away to get ready.

'Phew!  Great smokes,' Mr. Perkins whistled, 'it's come to a pretty
pass--that ass of a Sub has stirred up a hornets' nest, if you like.'

'It wasn't his fault, sir,' I said; 'he couldn't help it.'

Just then the Captain and the Ministers trooped in. They looked as
though they'd come to some decision which pleased them, and it made the
Angel and me feel more happy about poor old Billums up there in San
Sebastian.  We both wondered whether he'd had any dinner, and what he
thought had become of us--all this time.  Some more ladies came in, all
wrapped up in furs because the night was very cold, and in the middle of
all the hubbub we heard a lot of cavalry coming along.  They stopped
outside the house, and a moment later the Governor of Los Angelos, with
his two A.D.C.'s, came in.  Weren't we pleased to see him, that's all!
There was more bowing and scraping, coffee was handed round, and we two
edged alongside the little A.D.C. who had talked English in the gun-room
yesterday.  He recognised us then and said, smiling, 'We take you to Los
Angelos to-night--the senoras and the senoritas also--we have many horse
soldiers--the road it has much danger.'

'How about Billums--William Wilson--our Sub?' we asked, 'up in San
Sebastian.'

He smiled, and pulled out--what d'you think?--old Billums's cigarette
case--I knew it jolly well--and said, 'I give him my--he give me him,'
but shut up like an oyster, shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head
when we asked him if Billums was coming with us. That made us miserable
again, and we went out to see what the cavalry escort were like.  They
had dismounted, and were swaggering into the courtyard, looking absolute
villains, most of them niggers, their carbines and bandoliers over their
shoulders, revolvers in their belts, and swords, which clanked and
rattled whenever they moved.  The servants were giving them cigarettes
and some food, but, for all that, they didn't seem at all friendly, and
the whites of their eyes showed up under the swinging lanterns, and made
them look more like brigands than ever.  The Angel palled up to them and
made them show him their rifles, but I felt too frightened and only
hoped that the Governor was coming with us. The carriages drove up, all
the ladies came out and were put into them, the dear old Governor of Los
Angelos handing them in and bending down to kiss our Minister's wife's
hands in such a jolly manner that the Angel and I could have hugged him.

We felt that he could be absolutely trusted, and weren't we jolly glad
again when his horse was led up and he and part of the escort rode away
with the ladies.

In the last carriage the Captain, Mr. Perkins, and we two mids. were
stowed, and away we went after them with the two A.D.C.'s bobbing behind
on their horses and the rest of the escort, leaving the Ministers all
standing together under the lamp which lit up their faces and all their
beautiful gold lace.

'They don't look very "sniffy," do they?' I whispered to the Angel, 'I
should if I was letting my wife go away like this.'

'Not if you'd got those uniforms on and had a Frenchman or a German or a
Dutchman watching you,' he whispered.

I expect he was right.

The Governor came clattering back on his great horse to see that we'd
started, and then went on ahead again, the black A.D.C. bumping along
after him.

You can imagine what a row we made, and how, as we got into the streets,
all the shutters of the windows were thrown back and people peered at us
from behind the bars; dogs, too, flew out and barked from every doorway.
It was a wonderful night--a big moon and millions of stars, the tops of
the mountains showing up all round us.  Jolly cold it was, too, and the
Angel and I were glad to snuggle together under a rug.

We seemed to go a long way round, skirting the city, and though
sometimes at street corners pickets and patrols challenged us, they were
quite satisfied. Presently we passed close to a great shadowy building
high up on our right.  It had a funny little tower at one corner, and we
recognised the shadow at once--it was San Sebastian.

The Angel and I squeezed each other to buck ourselves up, and kept our
eyes on it all the time.  It looked most awfully gloomy, and it seemed
horrid to think that only twelve hours ago Billums had driven past it
with us, and now he was inside and we were going back without him.

'What will he think of us?' I gulped.  'Poor old Billums!'

Well, we got on to the main road, left the city behind us, and presently
began to go downhill.  Mr. Perkins went to sleep soon, his jolly red
face rolling from side to side as the carriage bumped, and the Captain
snuggled down in the other corner, and we knew when he went to sleep,
because his eyeglass fell out, and he didn't 'tut, tut,' and put it
back.

We didn't go to sleep for a long time--we were too miserable and
cold--and watched the troopers riding on each side of us with their
blankets over their shoulders, and every half-mile or so, flaming fires
at the side of the road, with soldiers sitting round them. We could hear
them challenging the carriages in front, but when we got up to them,
they only stared at us, or called out to the escort, and wrapped their
blankets round them more closely.  There was a huge nigger chap riding
on my side of the carriage, and both he and his wretched thin horse
seemed nearly asleep.  I watched him bobbing and lurching from side to
side in his saddle, waking up with a start whenever his poor brute
stumbled, and then must have gone to sleep, because the next I remember
was finding that we were going past rows of houses--pitch dark, with not
a sound coming from them--and knew that we'd got down to Los Angelos.

I was colder than ever, because the Angel had all the rug, but the smell
of the sea was grand.

We drove down to the wharf where we'd landed in the morning.  The
carriages all stopped--I could hardly stand when I got out because my
legs were so cramped--and two of our barges were waiting for us, their
mids. holding up lanterns and singing out to let us know where they
were.

The cavalry escort clattered away, the old Governor kissed the hands of
all the ladies as he helped them into the boats, the two A.D.C.'s,
looking frightfully sleepy, clicked their heels and bowed, the Captain
said, 'Tut, tut,' a good many times and shook the Governor by the hand,
the Angel and I managed to get hold of the fat A.D.C. and shake his
hand, and off we all went.

It was simply splendid to be in a boat again and to hear the oars go
'click, click' in the rowlocks, and when we'd got round the end of the
breakwater to see the lights of the _Hector_ and _Hercules_.  The other
chaps who had gone back before us had taken orders for the two barges to
wait in, all night, if necessary; that was why we'd found them there.

The Angel and I were both of us dead tired, and went down below to turn
in, but there was a lot of scurrying up above; we heard the Gunnery
Lieutenant sent for, and the Captain's Clerk was turned out. Evidently
something exciting was going to happen, so we ran up on deck again and,
peeping down the ward-room skylight, saw our Captain and the Captain of
the _Hercules_, the Commander, and most of our senior officers all
sitting round the table, which was littered with papers and confidential
books.

We stole away, because the officer of the watch whacked us over the back
with his telescope, and were undressing in the gun-room flat when the
bugler sounded the 'officers' call' and 'both watches fall in.'  We
heard 'Clear lower deck' being shouted along the mess decks and bugles
sounding aboard the _Hercules_, so instead of undressing we shifted into
uniform, whilst every one else tumbled out of their hammocks and shifted
into theirs.  We all clattered up on deck.

'Everybody aft' was piped, and the men came streaming through the dark
battery door into the glare of the group light on the quarterdeck,
buttoning up the tops of their trousers and stuffing their flannels down
them.

The master-at-arms reported 'Lower deck cleared, sir,' to the Commander,
he reported to the Captain, and the Captain, standing on the top of the
after 9.2 inch turret, coughed, said 'tut, tut,' a good many times, and
then told the men that Billums had been collared because he was so much
like his brother, who'd mixed himself up in politics, that the President
was going to keep him till Gerald surrendered, and that all the foreign
Ministers were agreed that steps had to be taken jolly quickly to get
him out of San Sebastian.

The men were as quiet as lambs, waiting for the exciting part and to
know what he intended doing. You couldn't hear a sound.  'I want you to
clear for action--now--do it quickly--I'm going to take the _Hector_
inside the breakwater at daylight, whilst Captain Roger Hill'--he called
him 'Old Spats,' but corrected himself--'gets under way in the
_Hercules_ and prepares to tackle the forts.  They've got some--you've
seen them--up on the hill above the town--but won't give us much
trouble.  If Mr. Wilson is not at the landing-stage at noon, the foreign
Ministers will be, and they and all the Europeans who wish will come
aboard this ship.  That being the case, I shall then--acting under the
Ministers' orders--take possession of the five Santa Cruz cruisers and
gunboats inside and shall tow them out.'

You could feel the men getting excited, and then he gave several more
'tut, tuts,' and told us that a revolution had started, and that, as the
revolutionary people came from both the provinces to the north and
south, and the mountains separated them and made it impossible for them
to combine successfully by land, the only way they could do so was by
the sea, and as long as the President had his cruisers and gunboats he
could prevent them doing so, and keep the upper hand.

'If we capture his ships, the insurgents can do what they like,' and he
finished up with, 'There are ladies aboard--we couldn't leave them in
Santa Cruz--so work quietly.  Carry on, Commander!'  We dug out like
smoke, turning the boats in and filling them with water, getting down
davits and rails, lashing the rigging, and working hard till daylight
came.

Then all us mids. scrambled down below to get some hot cocoa and bread
and butter, and were up on deck again in a jiffy, for the buglers
sounded 'cable officers,' which meant that we were just going to weigh
anchor, and we didn't want to miss any of the fun.

The _Hercules_, cleared for action, just astern of us, was looking
awfully grim, her long guns simply bristling over the sides, and white
ensigns lashed in her rigging.

Petty Officer O'Leary came up to ask about Billums--he was very worried
about him--and, just as we began to steam ahead, a cloud of smoke shot
out from one of the forts above the town.

'They're going to fight,' I sang out, not quite certain that I wasn't
frightened.

But O'Leary growled, and said, 'No such luck, sir, anyway, that's only
the sunrise gun--late as usu'l, sir.'

'General quarters' was sounded--we could hear it too aboard the
_Hercules_--and we all had to rush to our stations.  Mine was in the
starboard for'ard 9.2 turret, and you may bet your life that directly
we'd cleared it away, and had things ready inside, I got my head jammed
outside the sighting hood to see what was going on.

We headed straight inshore, and then made a wide sweep round the
lighthouse and the end of the breakwater.

As we turned, the white forts about the town came into view, and we
tried to get our gun to bear on them, but though we gave it extreme
elevation, cocking it up in the air, we couldn't elevate it nearly
enough.

Mr. Bigge, the lieutenant in charge of my turret, was very angry about
it, but of course nothing could be done.  That was why the _Hercules_
was steaming backwards and forwards, far enough outside the breakwater
for her guns to bear.

As we crept up to the town, I kept my telescope glued on the forts, but
couldn't see any sign of life in them.

'They aren't going to fight, sir, are they?' I asked Mr. Bigge, and he
didn't think they were, which was very disappointing--one doesn't mind
being fired at when one is inside a turret.

On the port side--the breakwater side--we were now right alongside the
Santa Cruz Navy--miserable dirty little ships when you saw them close to
us. Their people were awake and on deck, but hardly bothered to look at
us, and were fishing over the side, smoking cigarettes, and spitting in
the water, some of them washing clothes and hanging them up in the
rigging.  They did hoist their colours--the vertical green and yellow
stripes--after a time, but that was the only thing they did.  Not very
exciting, after all we had been hoping for, was it?

Just before we got up to the end of the breakwater we'd dropped a kedge
anchor made fast to our biggest wire hawser, and as we went along we
paid the hawser out astern.  Then when we'd got just beyond the
landing-stage we dropped an anchor, and there we were in a pretty close
billet, not enough room to turn, but our kedge ready to haul us out
stern first, and everything as snug as a tin of sardines.  We were not a
hundred yards from the wharves where that guard of honour had been
yesterday, but only a few people and some mules were moving sleepily
about, and a lonely-looking sentry leant against a great pile of cocoa
bales and yawned.

Well, we'd taken them by surprise right enough, and there was nothing to
do but to wait till noon and see what happened.  It was a jolly long
wait, and I don't really know whether I wanted most to see Billums come
off, or to capture the cruisers if he didn't.  I know that all the other
chaps didn't want him to come off.  Outside the breakwater the
_Hercules_ still steamed backwards and forwards, with her guns trained
on the forts in case anything happened, and during the forenoon got down
her top-masts and wireless gear.  This made her look all the more
ferocious, and our Commander began bellowing and cursing 'that he'd have
to do the same and spoil all his paint-work.'  It took us a couple of
hours, but it was much better than doing nothing, and later on in the
morning crowds of people came down on the wharves to look at us, and
watch us working.  My eye! but it was appallingly hot in there.

At about ten o'clock the forts began to show signs of life, hoisting
yellow and green flags and training their guns round and round.  They
had two dynamite guns in one of them--so the books said--and we felt as
though they couldn't possibly miss us if they had fired.  That sounded
far too exciting--dynamite seemed rather unpleasant---but the Gunnery
Lieutenant's 'Doggy' brought the news that none of the guns in the fort
could be depressed enough to hit us, which was rather a
relief--really--though the others didn't think so.  The cruisers, too,
began to get up steam, let down their gun ports, and ran their guns out.
We could see them being loaded, and then they were trained on us, which
was very exciting when you remember that they were only fifty yards
away.

Directly they had the cheek to do this our port guns were trained on
them--the foremost 9.2 on one, the port for'ard 9.2 on another, two of
the 7.5's on a third, and so on, with orders to fire directly the Santa
Cruz ships fired.

Of course these poor little things wouldn't have stood a chance, but
they kept their crews at their guns, and if they'd only been able to let
off one broadside it would have swept our decks.  This made it jolly
interesting for all of us who were getting down the topmasts and had to
work in the open.

I had never thought about how Billums or the Ministers were coming off,
and when at seven bells the first and second barges were called away,
you can imagine how excited I was, because the second barge was mine.
They lowered us into the water, planked a Maxim gun in the bows,
revolvers and cutlasses were served out to the crew, and I had my dirk
and revolver.

The Commander bellowed down that we were to go inshore, lie off the
steps at the landing-place, and wait for Billums or the Ministers.

I was in white uniform with a white helmet, and it was so boilingly hot
that, though the men only had on straw hats, flannels, and duck
trousers, they sweated under their cutlass belts before they'd pulled
half-way inshore.

As we got close to the wharf it was more exciting still, because the
people crowding there and the soldiers began shouting and jeering at us,
shaking sticks and throwing stones--not to hit us, but to splash us.
They weren't brave enough to do any more, because they could see all the
starboard twelve-pounders on board the _Hector_ trained on them.  I felt
jolly important, and when Blotchy Smith--the midshipman of the first
barge and a pal of mine--sang out for me to 'lay on my oars,' we bobbed
up and down only about ten yards away and pretended we didn't see them.

We waited and waited; eight bells struck aboard the _Hector_, there
wasn't a sign of any one coming, and the black ruffians on the wharf
became more irritating than ever.  Several lumps of mud and dirt had
been thrown into the boats, and one had struck my clean helmet, but I
still pretended not to notice anything. It got so bad soon that Blotchy
Smith sang out to me to train my Maxim on the crowd, and you would have
laughed if you'd seen the brutes clearing away.

Then the _Hector_ signalled across that carriages could be seen coming
down the road from Santa Cruz, and after another long wait we heard the
mob ashore groaning and hooting, and a lot of cavalry and several
carriages came clattering and rattling along the wooden wharves.

You can guess how we wondered whether it was Billums coming or only the
Ministers.  It wasn't Billums, for we saw all the foreign Ministers, and
knew that they would not have come with him.

Some soldiers made a way for them, and then we had to pull backwards and
forwards, taking them and a lot of Europeans--Mr. Macdonald among
them--off to the ship, and afterwards go back for their luggage.

'Well, we'll have a bit of a "dust up" after this, sir,' my coxswain
said, and that was about the only comfort.

The Angel told me afterwards that when the Ministers got on board their
wives came up and made asses of them, they were so jolly pleased to see
them, but they'd all been sent below by the time my boat had been
hoisted in.  Then we had to collar the cruisers.

Well, even that was disappointing, because they never made any
resistance, the officers simply shrugged their shoulders when we hauled
their colours down and hoisted our own white ensigns, and ordered their
men to pull ashore.  You couldn't really blame them, because our 9.2
shells would have blown them to smithereens; but, for all that, it was
very tame.

By half-past one we'd got hawsers aboard their flagship, the _Presidente
Canilla_, and by three o'clock hawsers had been passed from her to the
others, and we simply went astern, hauling on our kedge anchor till we
were clear of the breakwater, and then steamed astern with the whole of
the Santa Cruz Navy coming along after us like a lot of toy ships on the
end of a string.  It looked perfectly silly, and the last one--a gunboat
as big as a decent Gosport ferry-boat--fouled the end of the breakwater
till our chaps aboard of her shoved her off, and along she came after
the rest of them.  By five o'clock we and the _Hercules_ had anchored,
and all the prizes as well.

It was a jolly tame ending to all the excitement, and we all wondered
what we should do next to make them give up Billums.  The A.P. said that
we should probably land and take possession of the Custom House.

He bucked us up a good deal, but not even that came off, because before
we finished making everything shipshape for the night, out puffed the
port launch, flying a huge white flag in her bows and the yellow and
green ensign in the stern, bringing out our friend the Governor and his
two A.D.C.'s.  They came along to make complete apologies, and say that
Billums should be given up next morning.  He brought a letter from the
President simply grovelling to the various Ministers and imploring them
and the merchants to come ashore again.  Wasn't that grand, although,
you know, we couldn't help feeling that we'd been rather playing the
bully?

When it got dark, the Angel, and I, and Mr. Bostock, the Gunner, with
half-a-dozen hands, were sent aboard one of the ships, the _Salvador_,
an old torpedo-gunboat kind of affair, to keep watch through the night.
We had revolvers served out to us in case any chaps from shore tried to
play the idiot; but they didn't, and we simply sat down under an awning
with our coat-collars turned up, and took it in turns to keep watch, or,
if we were all awake, got Mr. Bostock to tell us tales of Ladysmith.

In the morning we all went back to the _Hector_, and at five minutes
past ten o'clock old Billums came along in the port launch, the Governor
bringing him off and making more apologies.  Billums _was_ glad to get
back again--he wanted a shave and a clean collar most awfully--and you
can guess how jolly glad we were to have him.  The Commander bellowed at
him that he'd make him pay for all the paint-work which had been spoilt
by clearing for action, but it was only his way--he couldn't help
it--and the _Hercules_ gun-room sent a signal, 'Sub to ditto. We are all
jolly glad to get you back,' which was nice of him, though his beasts of
mids. didn't join in with the signal--just like them.

Well, the Ministers and the merchants went ashore jolly pleased with
themselves, but they left all the ladies on board, as they thought it
wiser for them to go to Prince Rupert's Island with us till things had
quieted down in Santa Cruz.

We gave Billums a rousing good sing-song, till the Commander ordered us
to chuck it, and was appallingly rude to him; and next morning we left
the Santa Cruz Navy for its own people to take back behind the
breakwater, and shoved off for Prince Rupert's Island.

You should have seen the Angel looking after the Minister's two
daughters!  It was too asinine for words, and I told him so.  He said I
was jealous, and we jolly nearly came to punching each other's heads
about them.




                              *CHAPTER V*

                 *Gerald Wilson captures San Fernando*


               _Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson_


Those thirty-six hours in San Sebastian are over and done with, and I
shouldn't care to go through them again.  They were the longest hours I
have ever spent, and they, at any rate, taught me what it does feel like
to be a prisoner, and to look through an iron gateway and envy
everything outside it, and everybody.  The other chaps--_insurrectos_
they all were--had been jolly decent to me, although I could not
understand their lingo, and the way they settled down and took things as
a matter of course was simply extraordinary.  Even when two more were
dragged out the morning I was released, and shot against that parapet,
the others only shrugged their shoulders and simply smoked cigarettes
all the harder.  You could only imagine that they were but
half-civilized, had known no other way of carrying on the politics of
the Republic, and were so used to violence and murder that, when their
turn came to go 'under,'they simply bowed to the inevitable, their only
consolation being that probably in another few weeks or months, if luck
favoured their party, that same stuffy room would be crowded with
President's men, and quite possibly the same villainous-looking
firing-party would just as cheerfully prop them up against that wall and
shoot them down.  These same miserable-looking convicts, whom I'd seen
with chains round their ankles, would almost certainly be there to dig
fresh graves.

Of course, all those hours I wondered what our chaps were doing to bail
me out, but didn't worry much--I knew things would come right in the
end--and of course they did.

But I did worry about Gerald and what his hare-brained adventures would
lead him to.  He had always been getting into trouble at home, and that
was why the pater and mater had shipped him out to Santa Cruz, though
they little thought that he'd take a leading part in a revolution, and
the poor old mater would be fearfully worried when she heard about it.
It was jolly to know that an Englishman, and my own brother, was such a
boss among these fierce, blood-thirsty, half-Spanish people, but that
wouldn't be much comfort to the mater if he was stuck up against the
parapet of San Sebastian, which would certainly be his fate if he ever
fell into the clutches of the President.

It was my chum of the cigarette case who actually fetched me down and
took me aboard the _Hector_. Even whilst I was trying to thank him, the
Commander began bellowing that 'He'd make me pay for the paint he'd
spoilt clearing for action and housing the topmasts.'  He was as rude as
it was possible to be, but every one else--'Old Tin Eye' included--was
all right, and Ginger signalled congratulations from the _Hercules_.

Of course my adventure was known all over Princes' Town before we'd
anchored more than an hour or two, and reporters from the local papers
and Reuter's Agent came bustling on board for more details, but were
told nothing, except that I'd been arrested by mistake, and that, as a
hint to the President to let me out again, 'chop, chop,' one or two of
the Santa Cruz gunboats had been seized.  We had all been ordered to
give no political information to anybody, but you may imagine that their
ears were rigged out for something more exciting than that, and you can
jolly well guess who gave it to them--the Angel backed up by Cousin Bob.
They saw their way to getting a cheap 'blow out' at the Savannah Hotel,
and actually had the cheek to tell the two local reporters that if
they'd stand them a dinner there, they would tell them all they knew
about it.

They had put their names down in the leave book for the late boat and
went ashore, but of course I had no idea what their game was.  I had
turned in early, and they woke me, by knocking at my cabin and asking if
they could come in.

I switched on my light, and there they were, in their best blue suits,
grinning from ear to ear.

They both began talking twenty to the dozen. 'We've given you such a
"leg up"--we've had a topping feed at the Savannah, and you'll see all
about it in the papers to-morrow!'

'All what?' I asked.

'All about you fighting dozens of soldiers, knocking them over, and of
our trying to rescue you.'

'We put in a lot of extras to make it look better,' Bob squeaked.

'We told them all about knocking over the rotten _Hercules_ mids., and
about you being so like Cousin Gerald.'

'What!' I sang out, sitting up in my bunk. 'You blessed idiots, what rot
have you been up to? You know you had orders not to speak of it.'

'We didn't say a word about politics, not a word,' Bob said rather
nervously.  'It's quite all right; we never mentioned politics.'  The
Angel added, 'We didn't tell them the real way you escaped.'

'Out with it!  What did you tell them, you fools?'

They were backing out of the cabin--rather sulky--but I yelled for them
to come back.  'Now, none of your tomfoolery.  What did you tell them?'

'Well, we gave ourselves a bit of a leg up too,' the Angel began,
looking down his nose as good as gold.

'It really was all a joke,' Bob interrupted, 'it was their fault if they
believed it.  We told them that we waited till night under the walls of
San Sebastian, wriggled over the parapet, and found your dungeon.'

'We told them that we'd whistled "Rule, Britannia!"--very
softly--till--we--heard--you--whistle back,' the Angel stuttered out,
choking with laughter, 'and that the sentry was asleep, and we only had
to knock him down--and gag him--steal the key--open the door--all of us
crawling away again over the walls and tramping it on our flat feet down
to Los Angelos.'

'You don't mean to tell me that they believed all that rot?'

'We think they did--wasn't it a joke?' Bob said--he was beginning to see
that I didn't think it a joke.  'We gave them the key of the dungeon--an
old brass key we'd found on the armourer's bench before we went ashore.'

'It was the key of the bread-room that was broken yesterday,' the Angel
gurgled, when he could stop laughing.  'And we said we'd all swum off to
the ship in the dark.'

I wasn't in the humour to see how it was funny, and sent them out of it.
'If anything does come out in the papers, I'll beat you both,' I told
them.

'Well, the feed was worth a hiding, and the joke too,' Bob mumbled, as
they went away--thank goodness the Angel was no relation of mine and had
no mother or sister who could write snorters to me, so he didn't dare to
be rude.

You can guess how angry I was next morning, when the wretched local
papers did come aboard, and saw in big letters: 'Romantic Escape of
British Naval Officer--Plucky Middies effect Rescue,' and underneath it
was the silliest nonsense you could possibly read.  Honestly, even now I
don't know whether it was put in as a joke, and whether, instead of Bob
and the Angel pulling the reporters' legs, they were pulling ours.
Angry!  I was too angry to speak!

They described me as Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, the celebrated
United Service half-back, and the brilliant naval officer, specially
appointed to command the _Hector's_ gun-room by the Lords of the
Admiralty as a mark of their appreciation of my services!  Angry!  My
blessed potatoes!  I sent for my dear cousin and the Angel and gave them
six of the best over the gun-room table--as hard as I could lay it
on--the first three for making their Sub look a fool, and the last three
for disobeying the Captain's orders.  I know which were the hardest
whacks, and I didn't care a biscuit what Bob's sister, Daisy, thought or
wrote.  They went away muttering that the dinner was worth it--every
time--which was meant to be rude, because they both had got it into
their noddles that they'd actually given me a 'leg up,' and couldn't see
that they'd only made a laughing-stock of me.

First of all the Commander sent for me on the quarterdeck.  He had
Perkins there as a witness, and before I ever had a chance of saying
anything, bellowed out, 'You're the "brilliant naval officer," are you?
You're a fool, and an idiot, and a useless idiot.  You can't keep order
in the gun-room, and the sooner you get out of the ship the better.'  He
bellowed till the maintopmen, painting masts and yards up aloft, left
off painting to listen to him.  He didn't ask me to speak, so I
didn't--said not a word--which made him almost apoplectic with rage, his
ugly red face getting perfectly crimson.  Every time he stopped for
breath, Perkins kept on trying to tell him that perhaps it wasn't my
fault, which sprung him off again, and at last he turned round and
cursed him for interfering.

Perkins twisted round on his heel and hobbled off, but the Commander
called for him to come back, and he did, his jolly face all tightened
out.

'Did you hear the Commander curse me on the quarterdeck?' he asked very
quietly.

'I did, sir,' I said; and he turned to the Commander, 'Very well, I
shall see the Captain about it.  I'm not going to stand any more of it.'

You should have seen the Commander's face.  His mouth opened, and he
looked as if he would willingly have murdered the two of us, then he
bounced off the quarterdeck, and into his cabin just inside the battery,
and banged the door, like the childish bully he was.  As he didn't come
out again, I went below.

Then the Skipper sent for me.  He was grinning all over his face: 'Those
two boys have made a fool of you, Wilson; tut! tut! stop their
leave--whack 'em both.'

'I've beaten them, sir, already,' I told him, 'and given them six
apiece--as hard as I could,' and explained to him that I had no idea why
they went ashore.

'Tut! tut! no harm done; they got their dinner all right; tell 'em to
lunch with me, tut! tut!--if they can sit down--I'd have done it myself
for a good dinner--thirty years ago.'

Old Ginger and I had arranged to go for a walk together that afternoon,
to shake up our livers, and I was not particularly keen, after what had
happened, to ask leave from the Commander, but I screwed up my courage
and did so, and was flattened aback when he said, 'Very good, Wilson.
Come and have "chow" with me in the ward-room to-night--celebrate your
release.'

That was the rotten, or rather the irritating, part about him.  After
he'd been as rude as a fishwife, and long before you'd got over bubbling
with anger at the sight of him, he'd come up as if nothing had happened
and take the wind out of your sails.

Of course I had to say 'Yes,' although at the time I'd have much
preferred to take him on with bare knuckles and punch his head to
relieve my feelings.

Old Ginger met me at the Governor's steps, where we landed, and we had a
fifteen-mile walk as hard as we could go--tearing along till we hadn't a
dry rag between us.

Fifteen miles in that climate takes more out of you than twice the
distance in England, so you can guess we were pretty well 'done' by the
time we got back to the landing-steps.

Whilst we waited for our boats we sat under the shade of the fruit
market and watched the niggers--all as cheerful as sand-boys--unloading
a cargo of cocoa-pods from a small schooner.  The washer-ladies were
coming ashore, too, from the _Hector_ and _Hercules_, cackling like hens
because of the huge bundles of clothes they'd got.  Perkins's friend,
Arabella de Montmorency, was the first to waddle up the steps, grinning
from ear to ear, and carrying a huge bundle.  'The good Lo'd be
praised,' she sang out to a buck-nigger waiting for her, 'Massa Perkins
pay Arabella the three shilling and tuppence--Massa Perkins know
Arabella good vash-lady--no black trash for Massa Perkins.  I pray de
good Lo'd keep Massa Perkins in His strong hand.'  She went back into
the boat for more washing, but the other washer-ladies had bagged it,
and there was a fine row.  All their men friends joined in shouting, and
yelling, and shaking their fists at each other, and we hoped to see a
good free-fight, but the Sikh policeman on duty stepped majestically
forward, said a few sharp words, and they all burst out laughing,
Arabella waddling away with her man carrying the disputed bundle, and
trying to look dignified, telling everybody: 'Arabella no black
trash--Arabella vash for de British naval officah.'

It was too funny for words, Ginger and I were simply doubled up with
laughter, when I felt some one touch my shoulder, and, looking round,
saw a thick-set native chap, as brown as leather--like those soldier
chaps we'd seen on the wharf at Los Angelos--in a blue striped cotton
vest, which showed his lumpy chest muscles through it, and a pair of
loose cotton drawers, his brown legs and feet naked.  He was bowing and
holding a broad Spanish grass hat in front of him with one hand.
'William Wilson,' he kept on saying.

'What is it, old cock? me William Wilson--all light--belong ploper.
What's your game?'

His face beamed, and he pulled a dirty crumpled letter from under his
vest and handed it to me.

It was addressed to me in Gerald's handwriting, and I tore it open, his
face beaming again as he pointed a thin brown finger first to the
address, and then circled it round my face, saying, 'William Wilson.'
It was the only English he seemed to know.  I read:


'DEAR OLD BILLUMS--Sorry to have cleared out so hurriedly the other
day--just managed to give them the slip in time--heard news of your
adventure and the Navy business--wish you chaps would collar the lot of
them, for good.  Keep a look-out for that little chap who was shadowing
me; he'll try and get even with one of us.  Tell the mater I'm having a
ripping time--better than planting--will pay better than planting if our
side wins.  Tell her those socks she made me are A1.  Look out for
yourself--you're too much like me for this corner of the world.  Don't
send an answer.--GERALD.'


The nigger was still beaming and bowing, and he pointed to my hair.  I'm
jiggered if he hadn't spotted me by it.

That was a funny go, if you like, and I was jolly glad to know that
Gerald was all right.  It didn't worry me a ha'penny candle about that
detective chap--I'd be only too jolly glad to see his ugly face and
smash it.  Ginger and I thought that the little messenger must have come
in one of the many trading-schooners which slipped across from the
mainland at night when the land breeze sprung up. We gave him all the
small change we had in our pockets, and he smiled, and bowed, and
disappeared among the merry crowd round us.  He couldn't speak a word of
English except my name, and my Chinese pidgin-English wasn't a success.

This was the only excitement and the only news I got from Gerald for
several weeks.  In the meantime the _Hector_ and the _Hercules_ carried
out the gunnery practices which had been interrupted at Gibraltar,
returning to anchor off Princes' Town every Thursday night till Monday
morning, so we managed to get in a good many football matches.  Ginger
and I borrowed grounds and had some more gun-room matches as well, but
they didn't smooth things over, rather the reverse, for when we beat the
_Hercules_ at rugby by a try, which, they swore, wasn't one, matters
went from bad to worse.  There actually was some doubt about it, for
Perkins had been referee (we couldn't get any one else) and couldn't
keep up with the ball on account of his game leg.  We had to separate
the two teams in the pavilion, and after that my mids. seldom came back
to the ship from a tennis party, picnic, or dance, or anything in fact,
without having some furious tale to spin.

Old Ginger and I pretty nearly washed our hands of them and let them go
their own way.

There was no regular news from Santa Cruz all this time, because the
President had closed the Telegraph Company's office, but the Pickford
and Black steamers still called at Los Angelos twice a month before
coming to Princes' Town, and they brought news of what was going on.

As it chiefly came from Santa Cruz, it was from the President's point of
view, and if it was at all correct, most of de Costa's people were
already in San Sebastian or flying in front of the President's
invincible troops.

Our fat friend, Mr. Macdonald, appeared at the Princes' Town Club one
day when I happened to be there, and he, too, gave me anything but
cheering news.  Nearly every week, he told me, the guns of San Sebastian
fired a salute in honour of another victory over the _insurrectos_.
'They're not showing fight anywhere; the President's troops are scouring
the provinces and driving them from place to place, whilst his cruisers
and gunboats scour the coast and prevent any arms or ammunition being
smuggled ashore.'  This made me jolly nervous about Gerald, and very
miserable too, for he also had told me that Gerald's rubber plantation
had been entirely destroyed in revenge for his taking up arms.  It may
have served him right, but it was beastly hard luck on the pater, who
had bought the place for him.

Of course we seemed to be in the thick of everything, because Prince
Rupert's Island was only fifty-two miles from the nearest point on the
coast of Santa Cruz, and, as it was the centre of all the foreign trade
of the Republic, the revolution, which was going on there, was
practically the only thing talked about. By listening to the English
merchants and officials talking at the Club we got to know quite a lot
about the military position and the chances of the two parties.

You see the Republic of Santa Cruz stretches for almost a hundred and
fifty miles along the eastern shore of South America, and is made up of
three big provinces.

Starting from the south, there was the province of Leon, with its vast
swamps, forests of mahogany, and other valuable trees, and its rubber
and cocoa plantations.  It was on the northern border of this province
that Gerald had his plantation.

The capital and centre of its trade was San Fernando, situated at the
top of a narrow inlet of the sea called La Laguna.  Most of this trade
was in the hands of Europeans, and the town itself was held for the
President by a General Moros with about a thousand troops.  From what we
heard, he didn't worry much about anything, except to loot the Custom
House occasionally or take bribes from the merchants and captains of
trading-ships.  The President always had a 'down' on this province, and
hindered its trade as much as he could without stopping it altogether;
and, after his old General had had a 'picking' at San Fernando, every
ship had to stop at the narrow mouth of La Laguna and pay more dollars.
The President had a pretty modern fort there--El Castellar--to make them
heave to if they forgot to stop, and directly the revolution started he
had given orders that no ships whatever were to be allowed to pass, so
you can pretty well imagine how the English merchants cursed.  Then
northward of the province of Leon came the towering mountain ranges and
plateaus of Santa Cruz, arid, and scorched, and dusty, rising almost
precipitously from the forests of Leon, and falling again in terrific
ridges and chasms into the northern province of San Juan, the eastern
slopes falling into the sea as we had seen at Los Angelos. The mineral
wealth--copper, gold, and silver--of the Republic was in these
mountains, and they absolutely cut off the southern province of Leon
from any communication with the northern province of San Juan. There
were mountain paths and dangerous mule-tracks, but what I mean is that
no armies could possibly assist each other across them, and old Canilla
could sit up in Santa Cruz, at the top of his mountain, and jolly well
choose his own time to crush any rising in the provinces spread out at
his feet, and, so long as his Navy was loyal, could prevent any
insurgents from one province getting to the other by sea.

However, there was one thing 'up against' the President.  The province
of San Juan bred all the cattle and live-stock of the Republic, and he
was obliged to keep a big army down in the northern plains to guard
them.  Once the insurgents got the upper hand in San Juan he would have
to depend entirely on importing cattle from the neighbouring Republics
or from Prince Rupert's Island--not so much to feed his troops, but
Santa Cruz itself.

Now you will have a rough idea how the land lay, and can understand
that, so long as his Navy was loyal to him and prevented the two
insurgent provinces on either side of him from combining, the President
would be cock of the walk.

That was the opinion of nearly every one in Princes' Town, and, though
they all favoured the insurgents and wanted them to win, they'd shake
their heads and say that old Gerald's chances were pretty bad.

Then came news, from Santa Cruz, that there'd been a great battle fifty
miles or so to the north'ard of San Fernando, and that de Costa's
insurgent troops had been defeated with great slaughter.  There was a
rumour going through the Club that Gerald had been killed, but I
couldn't find how it had started.

'Don't you worry.  All my eye!' my chum 'in the know' said; 'de Costa
isn't such a fool as to try a pitched battle yet.  Wait for another six
months. The President is only trying to bluff the people who are finding
the money to keep his end up.'  Then he told me something more about
that big armoured cruiser _La Buena Presidente_.

He had an idea that de Costa's people were trying to get hold of her.
'If they do,' he said, 'she can simply wipe the floor with all Canilla's
rotten old tubs, and his game will be finished in a couple of months.'

I couldn't help worrying about Gerald and the mater--when she heard the
news--for she thought he was still tapping his rubber trees.  It may
have been because of that, but I played abominably against the Prince
Rupert's Island team that afternoon.  It was fearfully hot, the sweat
seemed to make my eyes all hazy; my fingers were all thumbs, I fumbled
my passes, and if I did gather them properly, could think of nothing
except to get rid of the ball quickly, without passing forward.  I was
playing centre three-quarters, so messed up the whole of our attack and
we lost badly.  The Angel at 'half kept looking at me with a puzzled
face, wondering what was wrong, and all our chaps were shouting
themselves hoarse, 'Buck up, Wilson,' but nothing would go right, and
directly after the match I trudged down to the Governor's steps by
myself, to smoke a pipe and wait for our boat.

You know what it feels like to have lost the game for your side; so I
wanted to be alone, slung my heavy sweater over my back, with the arms
tied round my neck, put on my coat over it, and sat down where old
Ginger and I had sat that time before.

I smoked and watched a crowd of niggers hustling round me unloading a
lighter which had come ashore from one of Pickford and Black's steamers
lying off in the harbour--she had come in from Los Angelos that
morning--and had just taken off my straw hat to light another match
inside it, when I heard a naked footstep behind me, a fierce kind of a
grunting hiss, and something struck my shoulder.

I was on my feet and had turned in a second, and there was that little
brute who had been shadowing Gerald, and had nabbed me up at Santa Cruz.
He had a long knife in his hand, and I knew him at once, although he was
dressed as a coolie, by the scar on his forehead--the one my pipe had
made.

I had hold of his wrist in a jiffy, but it was all oily. He wriggled
himself free, I made another grab at him, but he was like an eel, and
bolted through the crowd of niggers.  It was all done so quickly that no
one seemed to have noticed him, and, though I dashed after him, I lost
sight of the little beast.  Something warm began trickling down inside
my jersey, and I gave up following him to see what damage had been done.
The knife had made a gash in the skin over my left collar-bone, and I
was bleeding like a pig.  Like an ass, I must have fainted, for when I
woke up my head was resting in the huge lap of Arabella de Montmorency,
who was pinching up the skin near the gash; there were crowds of
jabbering niggers all squashing round me; the tall grave Sikh policeman
had his notebook out, and I heard her chattering away: 'The good Lo'd be
praised.  He send Arabella to sab de life of de British naval
officah--some black trash hab done dis--no buckra niggah from Princes'
Town--oh, de pretty yellow hair.'

Luckily for me Dr. Clegg and the rest of the football team came up and
rescued me, or the old 'washa-lady' would probably have kissed me.

Of course I was all right directly, and Dr. Clegg stitched me up when we
got aboard, but I was on the sick list for a week.  The knife had cut
clean through the knot in the sleeves of my sweater, and this had
probably saved my life.  Strangely enough, when I got on board, there
was a letter waiting for me from my friend the fat A.D.C., telling me,
in very bad English, that Pedro Mendez--that was the name of the ugly
brute--had been dismissed the police force for bungling Gerald's arrest,
and had left Santa Cruz burning to be revenged on us both.  The letter
and the ex-policeman had probably come across together in the Pickford
and Black steamer which I'd been watching.

It was awfully decent of my A.D.C. chum to have taken all this trouble
to warn me, because it must have been jolly hard work for him to write a
letter in English.

He signed himself Alfonso Navarro, and I shouldn't forget his 'tally' in
a hurry.  It wasn't his fault that the letter had been a bit late, and
it didn't make me the less grateful.

The Angel and Bob, pale with excitement, came rushing into my cabin
directly Dr. Clegg had finished with me, and of course they wanted to
see the letter. Bob wanted the stamps and begged the envelope. He gave a
whoop.  'Look at that, Billums--on the back--it's in French!'

Scrawled in pencil very hurriedly was _Votre frere est blesse seulement
dans le bras droit_.

Phew! then there had been a battle after all, and I felt sick all over,
because it struck me that my brother might have been captured, otherwise
how would the A.D.C. know?  And if he was captured, I knew it meant San
Sebastian and a firing-party.

It was mail day too; I had to write home, and it was jolly difficult not
to tell the mater what I'd heard about Gerald.  I couldn't tell her
about the little brute either--only about my having done so badly at
football.

It was lucky I didn't say anything about Gerald, because three days
later--Dr. Clegg still kept me in my bunk--one of our boats brought off
another note to me.

'One of those nigger kind of chaps gave it me, sir,' the coxswain of the
boat said.  'Didn't seem to talk English--nothing but your name, sir.
He cleared out directly he'd got rid of it.'

I thought of Gerald's messenger and thought it must be from Gerald,
though it wasn't in his handwriting. It was from Gerald, for all that,
and I soon knew why the handwriting was so funny, for he wrote:


'We've had a bit of a scrap--got a bit of a shell in my right arm.
Learning to write with my left--don't tell the mater.  We got a bit of a
hiding--my fault--I'm all serene barring the arm.  You'll hear news,
important news soon.--GERALD.'


Well, he wasn't a prisoner, which was the great thing, and I felt jolly
cheerful again.

'Wouldn't it be ripping if we could get some leave and go over there and
chip in?' Bob and the Angel said, their mouths and eyes wide open.

Of course that was what we all wanted to do, and wondered all this time
why the English Government allowed the President to go on stopping our
trade. It was jolly galling to all of us to see the fleet of local
British steamers lying in Princes' Town harbour doing nothing, simply
because the President up at Santa Cruz wanted to punish the insurgents.
The English merchants were grumbling furiously, and wanting to know what
use the _Hector_ and _Hercules_ were if they weren't to be used to
protect their trade. Everybody was saying that it was a thousand pities
that more people hadn't followed Gerald's example and gone in for the
revolution 'bald headed.'  In fact, Gerald had become a popular hero,
and you can imagine how proud it made me.  But then I got rather a nasty
jar.  The Captain sent for me, and I found him in his cabin with a lot
of papers in front of him.  He tut, tutted and hummed and hawed a good
deal, and then burst out with: 'Look here, Wilson, you'd better give
that brother of yours the tip to keep clear of Princes' Town or an
English man-of-war. I've got orders to arrest him if I can get my hands
on him.  Look at this!' and he showed me a big document beginning,


'Whereas it has been represented to us by our Minister resident in Santa
Cruz in the Republic of Santa Cruz that a person, Gerald Wilson--known
as Don Geraldio--being a British Subject, has taken up arms against the
Government of Santa Cruz Republic, that Government being at present on
terms of friendship with his Britannic Majesty's Government, all
law-abiding subjects of his Britannic Majesty are hereby warned, on pain
of being indicted for felony, to abstain from affording any assistance
to the aforesaid Gerald Wilson.'


I got very red in the face, and then came to the part,


'The utmost endeavour is to be made to arrest the aforesaid Gerald
Wilson should he enter British Territory.'


That was roughly what I read, though I can't remember now the actual
words, but it was so full of legal phrases that it made me feel cold all
over.  It seemed so beastly cold-blooded too, as if he hadn't already
done more actually for old England than all the rest of us English out
here put together.

'Well, boy, give him the tip to keep clear--that's all,' the Skipper
said, screwing his eyeglass in and running his fingers through his long
hair.

'I can't, sir,' I told him.  'I don't know where he is.  He's wounded
too, sir.'

Then I told him about the letters I'd received and how I'd got them.

'Well, well, boy, I can tell you.  Tut, tut!  Read that--I got it from
our Minister this morning--brought across in a trading-schooner.  You're
not to speak of it till the news comes out.'

He was simply bubbling with pleasure, and handed me another paper.


'Received reliable news that General Moros abandoned San Fernando
yesterday--insurgents, under Don Geraldio, occupied it
immediately--Vice-President de Costa has formed a Provisional Government
there.  General Zorilla, Governor of Los Angelos, left Santa Cruz
hurriedly this morning to take command of President's army in the
south.'


That, then, was the important news Gerald had written to me to expect.
I simply felt hot and cold all over with excitement and the pride of
imagining him, with his yellow hair and his arm in a sling, head and
shoulders above every one else, marching into San Fernando at the head
of his troops; and to have the fierce old Governor of Los Angelos on his
track--their best fighter--even that was simply glorious.

'Surely, sir, he won't be arrested if the insurgents win?'

The Skipper shrugged his shoulders.  'Those are my orders, whether he's
a hundred Generals rolled into one, or even the President himself, so
you'd better give him the tip.'

I went away feeling very proud of Gerald, but very upset about the other
thing.  It did seem such jolly hard lines after he'd risked everything
to help the side that was friendly to Englishmen, and had made a great
name for himself in the country, and made all these half-civilized
people respect all Englishmen because of him.  I was worrying about this
in my cabin, and how I could manage to warn him, when Ginger came
banging at the door.

'Look here, Billums, old chap, I've just come across from the
_Hercules_.  This has got to stop. D'you know what has happened now?
One of your chaps in your picket-boat has smashed up our steam pinnace,
rammed her whilst she was trying to get alongside the Governor's
steps--cut her down to the water--did it on purpose.'

I had heard about it in the morning; Bob, who was running the
picket-boat, had told me.  Her pinnace had tried to get alongside before
our boat, neither would give way, because the two mids. disliked each
other so much, and there'd been a collision.

'It was your boat's fault, Ginger; she cut across our bows.  I've
reported it to the Commander.'

'Be blowed for a yarn.  Our Padre was in the boat and said it was done
on purpose--the whole boat's crew said it was.  The mid. tried his best
to get out of the way, and had his engines full speed astern.  It was
done on purpose, I tell you.'

'It wasn't,' I said, getting angry with Ginger. 'It was your confounded
mid. who tried to cut across our bows, our Engineer Commander was in the
boat and told me so.  The picket-boat has had to be hoisted in with her
stem smashed in.  D'you mean to say you don't believe me?'

'Well, if it comes to that, d'you mean to say you don't believe me?'
Ginger jerked out.

'No, I'm hanged if I do! you've got hold of the wrong end of the stick,'
I said hotly.

'But, my dear chap, the Padre said----'

'I don't care a hang for your Padre--our Engineer Commander----'

'Then you won't take any notice of it?' Ginger was getting excited now.

'None,' I said, 'except to report your mid.'

'You won't cane your chap?'

'No, I'm hanged if I will.  It was young Bob Temple, he's too stupid to
try and do a thing like that.  Your boat was simply poaching--I'm hanged
if I'll cane him.'

Ginger's face looked as angry as mine felt, and he burst out with:
'Thank goodness, I haven't got a cousin aboard my ship, and ain't in
love with his sister!'

Well, that finished me, and I swung off that if he thought that was why
I didn't cane him he was welcome to think so for the rest of his
blooming existence.

'All right,' he muttered angrily, 'I'll not trouble to try and patch
things up again.'

'I hope you jolly well won't.  If your chaps want to cut across our
bows, tell 'em to look out--that's all.'

'You absolutely refuse?' he said very coldly.

'Absolutely,' I answered, just as icily, holding the door curtain back.

'All right; sorry to have troubled you,' and Ginger had gone up on deck
before I could think of anything more, and I knew that we'd jolly well
parted 'brass rags' at last--after all the times we'd sworn that we'd
never let the gun-room quarrels make any difference to us.

I wanted to rush off to the _Hercules_ and make it 'up' on the spot, but
that beastly remark about Bob being my cousin--and the other
thing--simply set me tingling all over, and I'd see him in Jericho
first.  If he thought that every time our midshipmen had a row, mine
were to go to the wall, he was jolly well mistaken.

There was bound to be a row about the damaged boats, and there was--a
regular Court of Inquiry--and a lot of hard swearing on both sides, the
only result of which was that Ginger and I--we'd been glaring at each
other all the time--got badly snubbed for not keeping better control
over our gun-rooms.

Well, all this, coming directly after the worry about Gerald, made me
feel pretty bad-tempered.  I wanted Ginger to yarn with more than any
one, but that was 'finish,' and, as my shoulder wasn't quite all right
yet, I had nothing to do but wander about the ship like a caged monkey.

Every one knew about San Fernando in two or three days, and by the time
my shoulder was all right and I could go ashore--you bet I kept my eyes
skinned to see that chap who'd knifed me--news began coming pretty
regularly from that town, brought by small sailing-boats which managed
to get through at night--and most of it was pretty bad news.

Gerald and the insurgents had certainly got possession of San Fernando,
but El Castellar, the strong fort at the narrow inlet to the bay, was
still in the hands of the President, and still stopped all trade. Not
only that, but, worse still, the Santa Cruz gun-boats slipped up there
and amused themselves by bombarding the defenceless town.  The whole
Insurgent army didn't possess anything even as big as a field-gun, so
the gunboats could fire away in comfort as long as their ammunition
lasted.  We heard that the warehouses and offices along the sea-front
had already been practically destroyed by shell-fire.  As these nearly
all belonged to English firms, whose headquarters were at Princes' Town,
the whole colony was in an uproar; and, much to our joy, our Skipper was
ordered--from home--to take the _Hector_ up to San Fernando and report
on the state of affairs. You can imagine how excited we all were, and
how I looked forward to seeing old Gerald bossing round in his General's
uniform.

That chum of mine ashore--the man who seemed to be 'in the know'--came
up to me in the Club, the day before we were to sail, and made me
introduce him to the Skipper.  'I want him to take a few things to San
Fernando for me,' he told me.  'I've got some machinery for one of our
estates--it's been lying on the wharves for the last six weeks, and they
can't get on without it.'

I didn't hear what passed between them, but knew that the Skipper was in
such high spirits that he'd have done anything for anybody just then.
And so it turned out, for that evening a lighter came alongside, and I
had the job of hoisting in four large crates of hydraulic machinery,
some boxes of shafting, and dozens of smaller crates.  The Commander was
furious, but the Skipper had said 'yes,' and although his jolly face
fell when he saw how 'chock-a-block' the battery deck was, with all
these packing-cases, he wouldn't go back on his word.

After we'd finished I was getting a bit of supper in the gun-room when
O'Leary came knocking at the door and wanting to speak to me.  He
wouldn't come in.  'Beg pardon, sir, but I wants to 'ave a word with
you, private like.'

'What is it?' I asked, taking him into my cabin.

He carefully pulled the curtain across, and then said in a half-whisper,
'We let down one of they small crates rayther 'eavy like, sir, and
started one of the boards, sir.'

'That doesn't matter,' I said.

'Eh, but it do, sir!  I banged 'im in again, but not afore I'd seen
inside it--a hammunition box--sir--the same as what we've got for our
twelve-pounder.'

My aunt! that made me all jumpy.

'Are you quite certain?' I gasped.

'As certain as I'm astanding 'ere, sir.  That ain't no bloomin'
'ydraulic machinery--they boxes marked "shafting" be guns, sir, that's
what they be.'

Hundreds of things rushed through my head.

'Did any one else see it?' I asked, and was jolly glad when he shook his
head.

'N'ary a one, sir; I covered 'em up too quick; and I ain't going to tell
no one neither, sir, for I 'ears your brother is takin' a leadin' part
in this 'ere revolution, and maybe he'll be wantin' a goodish deal o'
'ydraulic machinery before he's through with it. That's why I tells you,
sir.  I couldn't keep it all to myself--in my chest--without tellin'
some one.'

My brain was so hot that I couldn't think properly.

'Don't mention it to a soul; I'll think over it,' I told him.

'No, that I won't, sir; good-night, sir;' and O'Leary left me.

Well, if he was correct, and it was ever found out, the Skipper would
get in an awful row; if any one found out that I knew about it, it would
mean the 'chuck' for me, and if I told what I knew, and it turned out to
be true, old Gerald wouldn't get his guns.

You can pretty easily guess what I did--kept as mum as a mummy--and how
I gloated over all that jumble of boxes and packing-cases and the long
boxes marked 'shafting for hydraulic machinery' when I walked through
the battery next morning on my way to the bridge.

As we passed under the stern of the _Hercules_ I saw Ginger on watch,
and I was just going to wave to him when I remembered that we'd parted
'brass rags' and didn't.  I wished to goodness that we hadn't
quarrelled.

All that watch, as we drew nearer and nearer to the mainland, I kept on
thinking of these crates and boxes, frightened lest any one else should
have any suspicion about them, and couldn't help remembering the words
in that document which the Skipper had shown me, 'All law-abiding
subjects of his Britannic Majesty are hereby warned to abstain from
affording assistance to the aforesaid Gerald Wilson, on pain of being
indicted for felony.'

'Felony' has a jolly nasty sound about it.  And there was another thing.
Suppose Gerald came off to the ship when we anchored at San Fernando.
Well, they couldn't arrest him unless he actually came aboard, and I
determined to stay on deck all the time, and warn him off before he
could get alongside. I'd tell all the watch-keeping lieutenants, and the
'Forlorn Hope' and the 'Shadow' too, for they kept watch in harbour.




                              *CHAPTER VI*

                *The *_*Hector*_* goes to San Fernando*


          _Written by Captain Grattan, R.N., H.M.S. 'Hector'_


As the English merchants in Prince Rupert's Island were kicking up no
end of a fuss about the stoppage of their trade with Santa Cruz, I
received orders from home to take my ship to San Fernando and report on
the state of affairs there; so one morning I left old 'Spats'
comfortably anchored off Princes' Town and toddled across.  Young
Wilson--my Sub-Lieutenant--has told you about that fort at the entrance
to La Laguna, the fort which had been firing on our merchant steamers
and stopping all trade to San Fernando, at the head of the bay, fifteen
miles farther on, and as we steamed towards the gap in the high cliffs
which marked the entrance, all of us on the bridge were anxious to know
whether the insurgents had managed to capture it yet.  We could see the
little white lighthouse on the port side, the rambling white walls of
the fort itself, perched high in the air, on the starboard side, and
presently the yeoman of signals reported that a small cruiser, lying
close inshore, was flying the Government colours--you could tell them
because the stripes were vertical--so we guessed that it still remained
in the President's hands.

The heat, however, was so great that the glare from the water and the
mirage from the baking rocks made it difficult to see anything
distinctly, and it was not till we drew nearer that we made out a large
yellow and green flag, hanging limply down over the fort itself.  That
settled the question.

In another quarter of an hour we were passing through the entrance,
when--well, I couldn't believe it myself, and I saw it, so can hardly
expect you to believe it--the miserable sons of Ham in that fort had the
colossal cheek to fire a shot across my bows.

'Accident, my dear boy!' I told Wilson, who was officer of the watch;
'of course it was an accident; but I'm blowed if, before we'd got a
cable length past the entrance, a second shot didn't come along and make
as neat a furrow across my fo'c'stle deck-planks as you'd see anywhere.
It scattered the stokers and bandsmen basking under the awning, and I
quite enjoyed their little obstacle-race into the shelter of the
battery.'

'My dear boy, they don't mean it; but just put your helm hard a-port and
go full speed astern starboard--if you please.  Give 'em back a 9.2
common,[#] please, Commander; they've only fired by accident, but
accidents are bound to happen sometimes in the best-regulated ships.'
Round we swung on our heels--we just had room--and I dropped my eyeglass
to laugh more easily, because that little cruiser--one of those piffling
little things I'd towed out of Los Angelos six weeks ago--had hauled
down her flag, and was scurrying off as fast as she could go.  The poor
idiots who'd had their little accident in the fort thought, I suppose,
that we were running away, so didn't ease off again, and by the time
Montague, my Gunnery Lieutenant, had reported the for'ard 9.2 cleared
away, and the fo'c'stle awning had been furled, we'd turned and were
coming back past the fort. 'Have your accident, Montague--as soon as you
like; but I'll only give you one, so don't miss.'


[#] 'Common' = common shell, A thin-walled shell with a heavy bursting
charge.


His accident was quite a success, and when the smoke of the bursting
shell had cleared away, there was a hole in the walls through which even
my coxswain could have steered the galley without breaking an oar, and
that yellow and green monstrosity was being hauled down with a run.

Angry!  Rather not!  I can't afford to get angry; it's bad for my gout;
I'd had my accident, and proceeded on my way quite ready to apologise
for my gross carelessness directly they apologised for theirs. I suppose
I should have had to be angry if that shell, or whatever it was, had
killed any of my people--except my coxswain, and then I should have
blessed them, for he was the most exasperating idiot I'd ever known.

An hour later we came up to San Fernando--a miserable deserted-looking
collection of dingy white walls and warehouses, fizzling in the awful
heat, and, 'pon my word, there was another dirty little cruiser there at
anchor, with the yellow and green ensign flying, calmly potting at the
town--firing a gun every other minute.  We could not see what damage she
was actually doing, but the white walls along the sea-front were riddled
with holes, and that was good enough for me.

'Front row of the stalls, old chap,' I told my navigator, and though
he'd have walked about on his head, or shaved it, if he thought it would
please me, he hadn't a sense of humour, and looked puzzled. 'As close to
her as you can,' I explained, 'between her and the town;' and there we
dropped anchor, and awaited the next item on the programme.  It was
jolly lucky for her that she didn't have any _accidents_.  We hadn't
been comfortably anchored for more than five minutes before dozens of
black and green flags were hoisted over the town, people began to
venture out into the front street, and I had hardly gone below, when one
of the signalmen came running down.  'A boat's pulling this way, sir,
from shore, sir, with a black and green flag flying.'

My coxswain--I called him the 'Comfort' because he was such a nuisance
to me--pulled my cap out of my hands and gave it me, seized my telescope
from under my arm, rubbed the bright part up and down his sleeve, and
handed it back, gave me two right-hand kid-gloves from the table, and I
was ready to receive anybody, the Insurgent Provisional Government, or
the Queen of Sheba, on my quarterdeck. A clumsy white boat, with a huge
ensign, came wobbling off, very careful to keep us between her and the
little cruiser.  The crew were rowing atrociously, each man pulling the
time that suited him best, and it occurred to me that perhaps the
Provisional Government might possibly accept the services of the Comfort
for their official barge.  Then they were near enough for me to see that
there was a white man there, among several dark-skinned people, under
the stern awning--a white man with yellow hair and his right arm in a
sling, my Sub's brother, as sure as life. I looked round and saw Wilson
himself, the colour of a sheet, trying to attract the boat's attention,
and looking piteously at me, 'Here!  Hi! give me a megaphone--some one!'
I sung out.  A dozen people fell over one another to get one, and I
shouted through it, 'Lay on your oars,' and when my Sub's brother had
made them stop, I sang out, 'Is that Gerald Wilson aboard?'

[Illustration: "IS THAT GERALD WILSON ABOARD?"]

'Yes,' he shouted, putting his head out from under the awning.  'Then,
for goodness' sake, don't come aboard my ship, or I'll have to arrest
you.  I've got your warrant on board.  You can come alongside, but don't
leave your boat.'

'Thank you,' he shouted; and it amused me to see my Sub's face.  I
believe that he was even grateful enough to stop the mids. doing
physical drill early in the morning over my head on the quarterdeck. The
Provisional Government--for that it actually was--did manage to get
alongside, and the first man to tramp up the ladder was the
Vice-President--de Costa himself.  I recognised him at once from having
seen him in the cathedral at Santa Cruz.  Poor chap, he had on a black
frock-coat and beautifully brushed tall black hat--in that awful heat
too.  No wonder, if it was necessary, as head of the Provisional
Government, to wear it, that he looked ten years older than when I saw
him last.

His face looked more yellow and flabby, and his black eyes more shifty
than ever.  He bowed, and I bowed, and then he waved his secretary at
me--a little chap in another frock-coat and silk hat who followed him.
The little chap's patent-leather boots were giving him trouble, and he
came along the quarterdeck on his toes, like a cat walking along a wall
covered with broken glass.  Fortunately he could speak a little English,
and whilst his boss was mopping his forehead, he said, 'Presidente de
Costa thank you for coming,' almost breaking himself in half, he bowed
so low.  Four or five more chaps came along, every one of them with an
enormous black and green rosette in his coat.  These were soldiers--two
of them niggers--and very mild-looking soldiers they were, just the sort
you'd imagine would hang about at headquarters, and get soft jobs where
there weren't many bullets flying round.  However, I was wrong in
thinking so.

They spent half an hour on board, explaining that the Dictator's flag
(Canilla's) flew nowhere throughout the province of Leon, except over El
Castellar--the fort which had had the accident two hours before--and of
course swore that they were now strong enough to march on Santa Cruz
itself, and intended to do so very shortly.  The upshot was that they
demanded official recognition from the Foreign Powers.  That was the
whole matter; they wanted recognition so that they could buy warlike
supplies from abroad openly, for of course at the present time no
Foreign Power would allow its subjects to assist them.  'We have this
policy foreign, we encourage the merchants, and we permit all trade very
much of the foreign peoples, and very much the _Inglesas_ also.  Always
they shall be first now that the noble _Inglese_ ship of war visit San
Fernando--the first ship to come,' the little secretary told me.

He looked so diminutive and so important, and was evidently in such
discomfort with his boots and his tight frock-coat, that I had to screw
my eyeglass into my eye till it pained--I wanted to laugh so much.

Not a word did they say about the little cruiser which was lying close
by, waiting for a chance to pot them on their way ashore, or about the
shell-marks on every wall.  Not much, for that would have drawn
attention to the perfectly obvious fact that they could do nothing till
they had command of the sea, and also to the fact that they were
absolutely without any artillery.  A couple of well-fought six-pounder
guns, if they'd had them, would have been quite sufficient to drive off
the wretched little cruiser-gunboat kind of affair.  Poor chaps! you
couldn't help seeing that they were terribly in earnest, but I couldn't
possibly give them any hopes of their Provisional Government being
recognised, the most I could do was to forward their demand by
'wireless' to the _Hercules_ at Princes' Town for her to cable home. I
saw them over the side, and interrupted the brothers Wilson yarning at
the bottom of the gangway.

'Ask your brother if he'll show me round the place if I come ashore for
a toddle,' I sang out.

'Certainly, sir; he'll be only too pleased,' my Sub answered.

'If he dyed his hair I might ask your brother to dine with me to-night,'
I told him, as we watched them slowly splashing ashore; 'I shouldn't
recognise him with his hair dyed--not officially.'

Botheration take it!  I'd never said anything about that wretched
hydraulic machinery I'd been bullied into bringing across.  Still, you
can't talk to Provisional Governments about packing-cases, can you?
However, my Sub relieved my mind on this point.

'I told Gerald that we had a lot of things for a firm here, sir,' he
informed me.  'He's going to tell them.'

'Good lad!  Good boy!' I said, and went below. The commander of the
cruiser wasn't showing any signs of calling on me, in fact he was
beginning to raise steam, so I got ready for my toddle ashore.

'Yes, please; usual leave to officers,' I told the Commander, who
hammered at my door (he always was noisy, thought it made him breezy--it
didn't), and sent the Comfort with my compliments to Dr. Watson, my
Fleet Surgeon, and would he come ashore with me for a walk.  He was so
lazy that he wouldn't be able to walk far, and would therefore act as a
check on my Sub's brother if he wanted to rush me over the country.  I
had thought of taking my Sub himself, but he couldn't come, had to get
out that hydraulic machinery.

The Comfort and five loafing sons of sea-cooks, whom the Commander had
given me as my galley's crew, pulled us ashore, and a miserable-looking
place it was, a long sloping beach covered with rubbish and stinking
seaweed, dead dogs here and there, and live ones, not much more
healthy-looking, prowling about in search of food.

We ran alongside a crumbling wooden jetty, and Wilson was waiting for
us, dressed in white duck riding gear, smart brown gaiters, and with a
smart white polo helmet on his head.  His arm in the sling gave just the
wounded-hero appearance to complete the picture.  He had a carriage
waiting for us, but before we got in he pointed out a very
weather-beaten pillar of granite, about five feet high, standing on the
shore. 'Pizarro landed there with thirteen men in 1522 or thereabouts to
conquer this country--thirteen men, their armour, and ten horses.  Just
think of it!'

This pillar was one of the most sacred things in the Republic, and there
was a white flag flying close to it, so that the gunboats could give it
a wide berth when they shelled the rest of the town.  There were traces
of shell-fire everywhere, but it was astonishing to see how little
actual damage had been done. 'Five men and a little girl killed, and
they've fired over six hundred shell into the town during the last
fortnight,' Wilson told me.  There was one two-storey house close by
with at least twenty holes in the side facing the harbour, and yet it
seemed little the worse--rather improved, from my point of view, because
the holes increased the ventilation.

The place was swarming with people, practically all were men, and nine
out of ten of them had rifles slung round their necks--a ragged
unkempt-looking lot of scaramouches they were, you couldn't call them
soldiers.  Most of them had no equipment at all--a cotton bag to hold
cartridges slung with string over their shoulders, a loose white shirt,
and a ragged pair of cotton drawers, legs and feet bare, and very often
nothing on their heads at all, or, if they had, a rough-plaited,
wide-brimmed grass hat.  Their attempts to salute, as Wilson and we
drove along, were praise-worthy but ludicrous.  There were shrill cries
of '_Viva los Inglesas!_' and they would have followed us if Wilson had
not stopped them, but they were eminently respectful, and the slightest
word he spoke seemed law to them.

'You're a bit of a nob here,' I said.  I wanted to say 'my boy,' but I'm
hanged if I could.  He was two or three sizes too big for me, was Gerald
Wilson. I'm a pretty big boss on board my ship, but I'm hanged if I was
in it compared with him on shore. I've cultivated the 'for goodness'
sake, get out of my way; don't you see it's me' air pretty successfully,
but he'd got it to perfection, apparently without knowing it, and when
he stopped the carriage, and we got out, he strode along with the
chin-strap of his polo helmet over his grand square jaw--simply a
blooming emperor.

He was taking us to the cathedral, on one side of the usual Plaza you
find in all Spanish types of towns, and as we passed the 'Cuartel de
Infanteria,' two or three hundred so-called troops were hurriedly
forming in front of it.  The trumpeter was the only chap in anything
approaching a uniform.

'Kicked out of the regulars for blowing so badly,' Wilson said; and I
didn't doubt his word when I heard him try to sound some kind of a
salute.

'My dear chap!'  Thank goodness, I stopped myself in time and didn't say
that, but wanted to ask him if he thought it possible to knock the
troops I had seen in Santa Cruz with these he had here.

There was something in his face, 'a keep off the grass' look, that made
me, me a Post-Captain commanding one of the finest armoured cruisers in
the Royal Navy, take soundings jolly carefully before I spoke to him.

He saw what I was thinking, and smiled, 'I'm licking them into shape
gradually.  We've only just begun.'

He took us into the cathedral, a crumbling old place with a huge crack
across one side--the result of an earthquake some years ago--and the
cool, musty, religious gloom inside was very comforting after the dazzle
and glare of the sun outside.  Two little stars of light, far away at
the end of the chancel, made the gloom all the more mysterious, and
then, as our eyes became more accustomed, we could make out the gaudy
image of the Holy Virgin, looking down, with calm patient eyes, on the
high altar and its tarnished gaudy tapestry.

At the foot of the steps, below the altar-rails, many women, shrouded in
black hoods, were praying before it.

'They come here when the gunboats start firing; the cathedral is
spared,' Wilson whispered, as we tiptoed out into the glare again.

'Where do the men go?' I asked.

'They carry on with their work,' he answered; and that came with rather
a 'thump' after seeing the men. Perhaps they were better chaps than they
looked.

'Not one shell in twenty bursts,' he said, as an afterthought.

Then he took us across the square to the English Club, the only clean,
cool-looking building there, with a shady creeper-covered verandah all
round it, and long easy wicker-chairs simply inviting rest.

'I shan't get you away from here, doctor, I fancy,' I said to the Fleet
Surgeon, who was already streaming with perspiration, and I didn't.  He
went to sleep the whole of the afternoon in one of those chairs. We
always chaffed him about the book he said he was writing: 'Clubs I have
slept in.'

In the reading-room all the dear old English papers and periodicals, ten
weeks old, were neatly laid on a table, and about a dozen thin,
lantern-jawed Englishmen had come to welcome us.  De Costa, looking
nervous and uncomfortable, was there too, with his secretary (he'd
changed his boots).  We all had a green bitters, and I was given the
longest cigar, and the best I'd smoked for many a day.

I wanted to do as Watson had already done--stretch myself on one of
those long chairs on the cool verandah, with my feet up, and stay there
till it was time to go aboard--but I was much too afraid of Wilson, and
drove away again.  'I'll take it out of my Sub if his brother bullies me
too much,' I chuckled to myself as we bounced along into the country to
see what preparations were being made to defend San Fernando against the
army which fierce old General Zorilla was leading to attack it.  Luckily
the carriage had an awning, but it was horribly hot all the same.

We got out of the town, passing along shady lanes, with little
palm-hidden villas standing back in the shadows of olive groves and
vineyards, and gradually clattered up to some high ground, a regular
tree-covered ridge, at the back of San Fernando, from which we had a
grand view of the town at our feet, the square cathedral tower, the
grand sweeping bend of the head of La Laguna, and, far away to the left,
the faint outline of the rocks which marked its inlet--El Castellar
could not be seen because of the dazzling haze and mist which hung on
the water. The wretched little cruiser had just weighed, and was
steaming slowly past my ship, covering her with black oily smoke.  I
only hoped that the Comfort, or the officer of the watch, had had the
'savvy' to shut my stern windows.

Wilson turned me round to look inland.

Sloping gently downwards at our feet was some open ground, dancing in
the heat, and pigs and goats and some wretched cattle were lazily
browsing there. The road in which we were standing ran down it, a broad
red streak, to a sluggish stream at the bottom, crossed it by a ford,
and gently rose over some more bare, parched, open ground, and was
swallowed in the dark shade of a forest.  Everywhere beyond, look which
way I would, there was nothing but forest, stretching away in the
distance in every direction till the outlines of the trees were lost in
a dim confusion of mist on the horizon.  The town of San Fernando, but
for that bare ground on each side of the stream which swept round it,
was simply built in a great clearing, and it gave me the impression that
that dark motionless forest was silently awaiting the opportunity to
claim its own again and swallow it up.

'That is our first line of defence, and our last,' he said, sweeping his
arm round the horizon.

'Sometimes, when it is not so hot, you can see the dim outlines of the
mountains of Santa Cruz away over there,' Wilson said, pointing to the
north. 'You see that road--Queen Isabella's road they call it--it runs
straight as a die for fifty miles through the trees.  Three hundred
years ago the Spaniards cut it through the forest, and from here to
Santa Cruz you could travel by coach in five days, but now the part
through the mountains has been destroyed by earthquakes.'

'But where are your defences--your trenches?' I asked.

'We have none,' he said, 'we don't want any. General Zorilla is marching
down that road to attack us.  He is a grand old man' ('I know him: he
is,' I said, beginning to understand), 'and a grand soldier, but his
only way through fifty miles of virgin forest is along that road.  It is
a big job, and he knows it. Six days ago he and his army plunged into
it, and they will never leave it, for my little brown forest-men, with
rifles and _machetes_, hover all round him. We are drawing him on, the
farther he gets away from Santa Cruz, the greater difficulty he has to
feed his troops--he has four thousand of them and artillery--and is
already short of food, sending out strong parties to forage, but they
find nothing, and we capture fifty or sixty of his men every day.

'You see that dark mass over there?' he pointed.

I pretended I did see it.

'There's a big clearing close there--just twenty-four miles from
here--and his army camped in it last night.  My little chaps gave them a
rotten time.'

I could not help thinking of those little brown-skinned, half-naked
natives, with their bags of cartridges and their rusty rifles, gliding
from tree to tree, through the thick undergrowth, and never giving the
regulars a moment's rest, day or night.  At night-time too!  I shuddered
to think of it, and began to have a most wholesome respect for those
tattered ragamuffins of his.

'How many have you?' I asked him.

'I don't know,' he said.  'We have something like five thousand rifles,
but whenever there is a spare rifle there are hundreds to claim it.
Here come some who would be soldiers--that is, riflemen; they are taking
food to the front.'

A long train of heavily laden mules came past us, ambling wearily down
towards the stream, each mule led by a little native.  As each passed he
doffed his hat to Wilson, who stopped one of them and made him show me
the _machete_ he carried in his waistband--a long curved knife something
like a bill-hook, only heavier, and not so curved and the blade broad at
the end.  I felt the edge; it was very keen.

'They can cut an arm clean through at a stroke,' he said; 'these
_machetes_ are better than rifles--at night,' and I shuddered again as
the little man, with a grin of pride on his face, ran after his mule.
It wasn't the kind of warfare I'd been brought up to. We watched them
all splashing across the ford, forcing their mules through it as they
tried to stop and drink.  Before the last mule had entered the forest,
the head of another train began to emerge from it.

'Those aren't mules,' I sang out, as they came towards us.

'They're horses,' he said, and walked down towards them.

There were thirty or more thin, hungry-looking beasts, with military
saddles and equipment, each led by a little native, whose eyes sparkled
with pleasure as he saluted Wilson.

'That's good news,' he said, after speaking to one of them; 'we cut off
a whole squadron of Zorilla's cavalry early this morning.  These are
some of the horses.  Look at the boots the men are wearing!'

I hadn't noticed them before, but now I couldn't help smiling, for the
little half-naked men were shambling along with big cavalry boots on
their feet, the soft leather 'uppers' half-way up to their knees.

'Quaint little chaps, aren't they?  Their whole ambition is to be proper
soldiers.  The first thing they want is a rifle, and the next boots.
They'll wear these now till their feet are so blistered that they can't
walk with or without them.'

'Surely Zorilla will have to fall back,' I said, as we drove back to the
town.

He shrugged his shoulders.  'My only fear is that he will break away
towards El Castellar.  About sixteen miles along that road there is a
forest track leading there, and he may have to fall back on it; but
he'll have to leave his wagons and his guns if he does, and his
reputation will be lost.  He's been ordered to attack San Fernando, and
the fierce old man will do so, even if he and his two "A.D.C.'s" are the
only ones left.'

We rattled past the string of captured horses, and drove down to the
shore where I had landed, calling at the Club, on the way, to wake the
Fleet Surgeon and bring him along.

Two big lighters were aground at the bottom of the beach, and hundreds
of natives were swarming round them, wading into the water, bringing
ashore the packing-cases of hydraulic machinery, and making a noise like
a lot of bumble-bees as they dragged them up the sloping foreshore.

Thank goodness we'd got rid of them at last, for the Commander had been
like a bear with a sore head ever since those cases had lumbered up his
battery.

'Why the dickens don't they get rid of their rifles when they're
working?' I asked, because most of them had rifles slung over their
backs.

Wilson smiled, 'That's a regulation I've made. If a man drops his rifle
for any purpose whatsoever, any man without one may pick it up and
becomes a soldier and a _caballero_--a gentleman--and has a _machete_
man to carry his food for him on the march. That's why they won't part
with them!'

That was a quaint idea if you like.

My galley was waiting alongside the little tumble-down jetty, and the
Comfort pushed his way through a crowd of awestruck natives to give me a
signal-paper. 'The Commander thought you'd like to see it, sir--a
"wireless" from the _Hercules_.'

I read, '_La Buena Presidente_, under command of Captain Pelayo, left
the Tyne yesterday.'

I thought it would interest Wilson, so I read it to him.

His eyes gleamed.  'What!  Captain Pelayo!  That's Captain don Martin de
Pelayo--our man--a de Costa man--he's managed to get hold of her after
all,' and he sang out some gibberish to the natives standing round.  In
a moment they had leapt in the air, shouting and waving their hats, and
hugging each other, bolting away towards the town screaming shrilly,
'_La Buena Presidente!  La Buena Presidente! Viva Capitaine Pelayo!_'

I had some inkling of what had happened.

'Don Martin was the best captain in the Navy,' Wilson told me; 'chucked
out because he demanded ammunition for his ships.  We sent him to
England, and if that telegram is correct, he has managed to get hold of
the big cruiser.  In three months de Costa should be President of Santa
Cruz.'

I could not help telling him--not officially, of course--how glad I was;
and as my lazy crew pulled us aboard, the town seemed to be buzzing like
a bee-hive, the bells in the cathedral ringing joyously, and green and
black flags hanging over every building.

'Your brother wants you to ride out to the front with him to-night,' I
told my Sub.  'You can go when you like.'

As usual, the most beautifully cool crisp night followed the terrible
heat of the day, and the town of San Fernando looked extremely
picturesque, a mass of white roofs and clear-cut shadows, bathed in the
light of a full moon.  The road leading up the ridge behind the town
stood out a silvery streak, and the mere thought of it, plunging into
the appalling shadows of that grim forest beyond, made me shiver as I
held my breath and listened for sounds of the struggle I knew must still
be going on twenty miles away. Huddled together in some clearing of the
forest, or strung wearily along the road, brave old Zorilla and his
half-fed men were still surrounded by those fierce, silent, little
forest-men with their terrible _machetes_, their bags of cartridges, and
their rusty rifles.  I turned in feeling rather creepy, and hoped that
my Sub wouldn't do anything foolhardy.

What he did he will tell you himself.




                             *CHAPTER VII*

                      *General Zorilla falls back*


            _Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._


You may bet that I was glad to see Gerald, and to

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