’Well, go aboard and report yourself to the Commander. I’ll see you to-morrow.’ ’_Viva los Inglesas! Viva la Marina Inglesa!_’[#] yelled the ragamuffins, as I solemnly marched back to the carriage, and drove back, trying to avoid the eyes of de Costa and his Secretary, who were tittering and grinning delightedly. [#] Hurrah for the English Navy. ’Hi, lad! Get in here,’ I called to Marchant, as we overtook the boys from the first gun. ’What’s the matter with your right hand?’ ’Jammed it in the breech-block, sir. They let me do cartridge number,’ he answered proudly. ’Bad?’ I asked. ’One finger’s nearly off, I’m afraid, sir.’ ’Tut! tut!’ I said. ’You won’t be much use for writing, boy, not for some weeks.’ ’I’m afraid not, sir—I’m very sorry, sir.’ Dear, dear! If all this got known, I knew I should get into a terrible row at the Admiralty—it was very tiresome. When I got aboard I sent for my steward. ’How many can I ask to dinner to-night, please, Mobbs?’ ’We might do eight, sir,’ he allowed, after a time. ’Give my compliments to Mr. Bostock when he comes aboard, and ask him to give me the pleasure of his company at dinner to-night, the same to Mr. Marchant and the five senior midshipmen when they come aboard.’ ’Very good, sir,’ he said, much annoyed, ’but it won’t be what we call a ’igh-class dinner, sir.’ ’Tut! tut! That doesn’t matter, Mobbs. We’ll not grumble,’ I told him, as he went away to consult the cook, scratching his head in despair. We didn’t grumble, and I made the Comfort stand behind young Marchant and cut up his meat for him—it was about the only job he was fit for—and we finished the evening in poor little Navarro’s cabin trying to cheer him. He was very down on his luck—poor little chap. *CHAPTER XII* *How We fought the Four Point Sevens* _Written by Midshipman Bob Temple_ You _must_ hear about that lark we had at San Fernando—the day the Santa Cruz fleet steamed up from El Castellar with the transports. The Angel and I were perched on top of the for’ard fire-control position, watching the ships shelling Cousin Gerald’s troops at the entrance, near the fort, but though we could hear the guns plainly enough, and sometimes see their flashes, the ships themselves only looked like black specks under a cloud of smoke. Mr. Montague, the Gunnery Lieutenant, who was in the control position beneath us, kept on craning his neck round the edge of the sloping iron plate we were squatting on and singing out, ’Don’t you two midshipmen fall off! You’d probably kill the Captain and make a nasty mess on the deck, so be careful.’ ’Right, sir,’ we sang out, and jammed our feet against one of the foremast backstays, and made ourselves as snug as sparrows on a water-spout. ’I think we should land on the shelter deck and bounce off on top of the for’ard turret, don’t you?’ I said, as my chum and I looked down.