That evening word was passed to him to report at the captain's cabin, and he went, just as soon as he could slip on his best suit of clothing, wash up, and comb his hair, for on board of every man-o'-war a visit to "headquarters" is a big thing to any of the crew, and a "sprucing up" is, consequently, indispensable. This was the first time Walter had visited the cabin of the _Brooklyn_, and the elegant surroundings immediately caught his eye. But in days gone by, before he had been compelled to live with the miserly Job Dowling, he had been used to a home furnished just as handsomely, and therefore the surroundings did not overawe him. There was a small table in the centre of the cabin, at one end of which sat Commodore Schley, looking over a map of the Cuban coast. At the other end of the table sat Captain Cook, the firm and strict, yet well-beloved commander of the flagship. "You sent for me, sir," said Walter, as he came in, "toed the mark," and saluted. "You are Walter Russell?" asked Captain Cook, while Commodore Schley dropped the map and looked on with interest. "Yes, sir." "You have been absent from the ship ever since June the second, or third?" "Yes, sir. But I couldn't help it. I was sick and fell overboard,--and I've had a whole lot of adventures since." "So the officer of the deck tells me," answered the captain, dryly. He looked at the commander of the squadron. "Commodore Schley, would you like to ask Russell any questions?" At this the commodore smiled and pulled meditatively at the little goatee he wore. "Russell, you can tell us your story in detail. But do not take over ten minutes," he said, and covered his eyes with his hands, as if in deep thought--one of his favorite attitudes. Standing as before and still "toeing the mark," Walter told his story again, simply but forcefully. Whether his hearers were listening or not he could not tell, for not a word was said until he had finished. Then, however, came a flood of questions concerning the spot at which he had landed after leaving the _Merrimac_, the names of the various Cuban and Spanish leaders that he had encountered, and the names of the marines with which he had fought. He was also questioned about the trails and their conditions. "Could loaded wagons get over them, in your estimation?" asked Commodore Schley. "Not very well, sir. In one place I saw an ox-team with a load of fruit, and the load was in danger of being dumped every minute. Some of the paths are not fit for a pack-mule to use." "What of the Cubans you met? Were they well armed?" "A few of them had guns, but most of them had nothing but their machetes, sir. Ammunition, I was told, was very scarce." "What of food?" "That was scarce, too." And Walter smiled. "A good eater would starve to death on what both the Spaniards and the Cubans have to offer." "Do the Spaniards expect an army of invasion--that is, did you hear any talk on the subject?"