"Glad you did," resumed the Commander-in-Chief. "The President wrote me requesting that I should give them up. I told him pretty plainly that it's not wise for the under-dog to kick, and that the refugees were political prisoners who had found a shelter under the British flag. The President can whistle for them. They're on their way to Jamaica by now. All right, Mr. Corbold, carry on." Peter "carried on". With a light heart and feeling that he was treading on air (in his joy he very nearly did as he went over the side), he returned on board the _Rebound_, was told that he was a lucky dog, and on the strength of it had to stand champagne all round the ward-room. At nine next morning, the three battleships, with the signal requesting permission to proceed, shortened in their cables. The answering flags fluttered from the yard-arm of the _Royal Oak_. With bands playing and men lining the sides, the battle-scarred ships steamed slowly past the Flagship. Then, to the strain of ringing cheers, the _Rebound_ and her consorts stood down the river, on their homeward voyage across the Atlantic. Ten days later, the _Rebound_, her gaping wounds temporarily patched, steamed between the Round Tower and Blockhouse Fort, guarding the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour. Gosport Beach, Portsmouth Point, and Portsea Hard were black with people, who cheered to the echo the home-coming ship that had won credit and renown in the battle with the Rioguayan navy. Then, with a powerful tug straining at her bow hawsers and another following discreetly astern, the _Rebound_ glided slowly past the South Railway Jetty, and "opened out" the tapering masts of the veteran _Victory_. Peter remembered the last occasion when he entered Portsmouth Harbour, and the comparison was a pleasant one. Then he was, as he imagined, going on the beach once and for all. Now he was safely re-embarked upon a career after his own heart. Then the huge slipway was bare. Now it was taken up with the keel-plates of a mammoth battleship--the first of Britain's new navy. The dockyard was teeming with life and activity. The ceaseless rattle of pneumatic tools once more filled the air. The huge electric cranes were again endowed with movement. Thousands of busy workmen swarmed everywhere. Trade was already "following the Flag", as it had done in times past. Mercantile shipping was reviving steadily, without the deplorable prospect of a "boom" and its disastrous consequences. Iron and steel workers were getting into their stride; the coal industry was looking up. There was every indication of an era of peace and prosperity.