The badly damaged destroyer entered the harbor of Buenaventura on the coast of Colombia on May eleventh, followed closely by the Japanese steamer _Iwate_, which had been lying off the coast of Panama. Grinding his teeth with rage, Dayton had to look on while a Colombian officer in ragged uniform, plentifully supplied with gilt, who was in the habit of commanding his tiny antediluvian gunboat from the door of a harbor saloon, came on board the _Barry_ and ordered the breeches of the guns and the engine-valves to be removed, at the same time depriving the crew of their arms. The Japanese waiting outside the harbor had categorically demanded this action of the government in Bogota. This humiliating degradation before all the harbor loafers and criminals, before the crowds of exulting Chinese and Japanese coolies, who were only too delighted to see the white man compelled to submit to a handful of marines the entire batch of whom were not worth one American sailor, was far harder to bear than all the days of battle put together. And even now, when Admiral Dayton's fame reaches beyond the seas and the name of James Dayton is in every sailor's mouth as the savior of his people, yes, even now, he will tell you how at the moment when, outside the Straits of Magellan, he crushed the Japanese cruisers with his cruiser-squadron, thereby once again restoring the Star Spangled Banner to its place of honor, the vision of that grinning row of faces exulting in the degradation of a severely damaged American torpedo-boat appeared before him. It is only such men as he, men who experienced the horrors of our downfall to the bitter end, who could lead us to victory--such men as Dayton and Winstanley. [Footnote 1: Perry, the American commodore, with a fleet of only eight ships, forced Japan to sign the agreement of Kanagawa, opening the chief harbors in Japan to American trading-vessels, in the year 1854.] _Chapter XII_ ARE YOU WINSTANLEY? The bow of the English freighter _Port Elizabeth_ was plowing its way through the broad waves of the Pacific on the evening of the fourteenth of September. The captain and the first mate were keeping a sharp lookout on the bridge, for they were approaching San Francisco. The steamer had taken a cargo of machinery and rails on board at Esquimault for San Francisco, as was duly set forth in the ship's papers. In Esquimault, too, the second mate enlisted, though the captain was not particularly eager to take a man who carried his arm in a sling. Since, however, he could find no one else to take the place of the former second mate, who had gone astray in the harbor saloons of Victoria, the captain engaged the volunteer, who called himself Henry Wilson, and thus far he had had no cause to regret his choice, as Wilson turned out to be a quiet, sober man, thoroughly familiar with the waters along the Pacific coast.