“As you have been so frank with me,” answered the captain, in reply to an inquiry from Phil, “I shall tell you what is my greatest anxiety.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The navy to a man were in sympathy with the rebels, and as soon as General Ruiz began to collect his army and threaten the capital, our two war vessels, the ‘Soledad’ and ‘Barcelo,’ with a torpedo-boat, sailed from La Boca for Rio Grande, where they won the sympathy of the citizens and set up the capital of the rebellion. My men are wavering in their allegiance to our cause, and if they should mutiny and take the ship, turning it over to the rebels, our cause would be lost.” He stopped speaking and glanced seriously at his eager listeners. “My life would of course be sacrificed. I should either be shot by the mutineers or else executed by our enemy.” This was indeed a startling announcement for our lads. A mutiny on board the “Aquadores” might be as serious to them as it would be for her captain. “The ‘Aquadores,’” the captain continued in the same low tone, “is a powerful ship. She was built in your country for our government, and when this war broke out, a power held her at the dockyard, although I had my crew on board and was ready to sail; it was the government of the United States. I could not set sail until your country was satisfied of my honest intentions. She is more than a match for the ships of our enemy, but our men are poorly trained, our officers are half-hearted and incompetent, mere adventurers. They would willingly fight against their country if they believed it would be to their personal advantage.” The two boys felt a deep sympathy for Captain Garcia. They saw in him a man of a thousand, differing materially from the majority of his race. Honorable, brave and loyal, he was ready to die for his cause. Believing he was sailing toward his death, they had known him for over twenty-four hours and had not, until this minute, heard one word of complaint. The sound of many people talking loudly, with excited cries and exclamations, struck upon their ears. The captain’s grave face turned a shade paler. “What is that?” he cried. Phil knew immediately that O’Neil’s strategy was bearing fruit. “Let’s see,” he proposed, advancing to the hatchway. They descended the ladder and stood in astonishment at the sight presented. O’Neil had indeed succeeded. He had placed a crew at one of the six-inch guns and was making the men go through the drill in American style. The native sailors were laughing with excitement. They were as happy as if they were playing at some athletic game. Phil glanced anxiously at Captain Garcia. The latter’s face had dropped its careworn expression. His eyes brightened. “Ah, if I had a crew like that man,” he sighed. Phil was silent. The time had not arrived to offer the aid of himself and his two friends. He knew the pride of the race to which the captain belonged. He knew by his face that he was a pure-blooded Castilian.