“A few guns over there on Corregidor would soon stop this talk of our waking up some morning and finding Manila at the mercy of an enemy,” Phil declared after studying the landscape earnestly. “But these islands are too far away for our people at home to take much interest. Half of them would be glad to see another nation wrest them from us.--Hello! there’s one of those native lorchas,”[1] he added as his keen eye discovered a sail some miles away almost ahead of their steamer; “we passed one coming in this morning on the ‘Rubi.’ I looked at her through the captain’s spy-glass; her crew were the ugliest looking cutthroats I’ve ever seen. They reminded me of that picture ‘Revenge.’ Do you know it?” he asked suddenly turning to Sydney, and then describing the picture in mock tragic tones: “A half score of scowling Malays, in the bow of their ‘Vinta’; their curved swords in their mouths and their evil faces lustful with passion and hope of blood, approaching their defenseless victims. I hope the captain gives them a wide berth, for I haven’t even a revolver.” The Americans had so far discovered but few people on board the steamer; the captain and pilot were on the bridge while on the lower decks there were scarcely a dozen lazy natives, listlessly cleaning the soiled decks and coiling up the confused roping. “Do you think we are the only passengers?” Sydney asked as they entered their stateroom to make ready for the evening meal. Phil shook his head. “No, there must be others, for I heard a woman’s voice in a cabin near ours.” As they again emerged on deck and walked aft to where their steamer chairs had been placed, a young Filipino girl rose from her seat and bowed courteously to the two young officers. Phil noticed as he saluted that she was a remarkably pretty girl of the higher class dressed in becoming native costume, and from her dark eyes there shone intelligence and knowledge. “Have I one of the señor’s chairs?” she asked in excellent Spanish. “It was very stupid of me to have forgotten mine.” Both lads remarked at once the air of good breeding and the pleasing voice; the guttural lisp so common in the Malay was lacking. She could not have appeared more at her ease and yet they saw by her dark skin and straight black hair that no other blood than the native flowed in her veins. “This is my small brother,” she explained as a slight lad of about seven came toward them from behind a small boat, resting on the skids of the upper deck. “He is my only companion,” she added half shyly. The midshipmen were at a loss how to talk to this girl of an alien race. If her skin had been fair they would have welcomed her gladly, seeing before them a pleasant two days of companionship before they would arrive at their destination; but she belonged to a race whose color they had been taught to believe placed her on a social footing far beneath their own.