The men were pulling frantically, ran the boat under our side—the side away from the town—where they were safe—and stopped to take breath. I recognised the officer standing in the stern-sheets—the smart chap who had put old ’Spats’ and myself into our seats in Santa Cruz Cathedral. He recognised me too, and, taking off his hat, sung out, ’_Permis—sion, Yuesencia_, to stay.’ ’Tut! tut! boy! Stay as long as you like,’ I called down, and pointed to the gangway. ’Come on board and have a drink.’ He got his boat alongside, and was up the ladder in a twinkling. I took him down below. He was very excited, and kept shrugging his shoulders and spreading out his hands. ’_Nous sommes trahis—trahis_! Before that we depart from Los Angelos, ze guns of ze forts make _plusieurs coups_—bang!—bang!—bang! We all up jump—we ask _pourquoi_ they do so? They tell us General Zorilla has won _une grande bataille—los insurrectos sont vaincus complètement—allez!—allez!—San Fernando est le votre. Nous sommes trahis—trahis! Nous arrivons à El Castellar_—what we find? _El General? Oui! Mais l’armée?_—where is it? _L’artillerie_—all gone—_peuf_! We are brave—we advance—_et quoi_!’ he shrugged his shoulders till I thought he’d dislocate them. ’You see what arrive—and they leave me en arrière—behind. _Peuf! Nous sommes trahis!_’ I tried to soothe him, praised his great courage, and sent the picket-boat, which had already brought back the few people from the sunken gunboat who had not got aboard their own ships, to tow him and his boats down to the transports. I knew that the insurgents would not fire on her when she was protected by the steamboat’s White Ensign, and as we had helped them several times, we might as well do the Government troops a good turn—once in a way. Then I went ashore myself—the smoke of the gallant armada smudging the opposite side of the bay as it steamed back to El Castellar. I went ashore in uniform, too—Perkins, my First Lieutenant, coming with me, and the Comfort, my coxswain, following at a respectful distance behind. I was doing my best to work myself into a temper, for I wanted to know what the dickens the Provisional Government and Mr. Gerald Wilson meant by firing over my ship, but I’d hardly got ashore, before Mr. Gerald Wilson came galloping past—on his way back along the coast—and I forgot about the shells over my ship, and sung out, ’Beaten ’em again! Good lad! Good lad!’ ’I hope he didn’t hear the "good lad" part,’ I said to Perkins, as Wilson galloped on. ’Afraid I wasn’t very angry with him.’ ’I don’t think you were,’ he said, smiling. I really don’t think I was. We met hundreds of the insurgents pouring back through the town, sweating like pigs, but wild with enthusiasm at the defeat of the Government troops, shouting ’_Viva los Inglesas_’ as they passed us on their long march back to El Castellar. ’I don’t see how we helped ’em to-day,’ I said to Perkins, who was hobbling along on his game leg beside me.