Briefly and with dignity Felipe demanded his vessel of the collector. And now a fresh honour awaited him. The collector’s wife, who played the guitar and read novels in the hammock all day, had more than a little romance in her placid, yellow bosom. She had found in an old book an engraving of a flag that purported to be the naval flag of Anchuria. Perhaps it had so been designed by the founders of the nation; but, as no navy had ever been established, oblivion had claimed the flag. Laboriously with her own hands she had made a flag after the pattern—a red cross upon a blue-and-white ground. She presented it to Felipe with these words: “Brave sailor, this flag is of your country. Be true, and defend it with your life. Go you with God.” For the first time since his appointment the admiral showed a flicker of emotion. He took the silken emblem, and passed his hand reverently over its surface. “I am the admiral,” he said to the collector’s lady. Being on land he could bring himself to no more exuberant expression of sentiment. At sea with the flag at the masthead of his navy, some more eloquent exposition of feelings might be forthcoming. Abruptly the admiral departed with his crew. For the next three days they were busy giving the _Estrella del Noche_ a new coat of white paint trimmed with blue. And then Felipe further adorned himself by fastening a handful of brilliant parrot’s plumes in his cap. Again he tramped with his faithful crew to the collector’s office and formally notified him that the sloop’s name had been changed to _El Nacional_. During the next few months the navy had its troubles. Even an admiral is perplexed to know what to do without any orders. But none came. Neither did any salaries. _El Nacional_ swung idly at anchor. When Felipe’s little store of money was exhausted he went to the collector and raised the question of finances. “Salaries!” exclaimed the collector, with hands raised; “_Valgame Dios!_ not one _centavo_ of my own pay have I received for the last seven months. The pay of an admiral, do you ask? _Quién sabe?_ Should it be less than three thousand _pesos_? _Mira!_ you will see a revolution in this country very soon. A good sign of it is when the government calls all the time for _pesos_, _pesos_, _pesos_, and pays none out.” Felipe left the collector’s office with a look almost of content on his sombre face. A revolution would mean fighting, and then the government would need his services. It was rather humiliating to be an admiral without anything to do, and have a hungry crew at your heels begging for _reales_ to buy plantains and tobacco with. When he returned to where his happy-go-lucky Caribs were waiting they sprang up and saluted, as he had drilled them to do.