’From Captain, _Hercules_, to ditto, _Hector_.—The following signal has been received from the Admiralty: "The cruiser known as _La Buena Presidente_, flying the unrecognised flag of the insurgent Provisional Government, left San Josef on the 22nd. She is to be arrested as soon as possible, and handed over to the Government at Santa Cruz. Force is to be employed if necessary. Steps are to be taken to inform the Government Authorities that she will not be allowed to afford any assistance to the insurgents." ’Identical orders have been received by the Governor of Prince Rupert’s Island from the Foreign Office.’ ’That’s a bit of a knock-out for your brother, I’m afraid,’ he said sadly. I don’t know what I answered, I’d never been so miserable in my life; this simply turned everything upside down again, and whatever Gerald did now, he could never hope to win—things were too hopelessly against him. The possession of _La Buena Presidente_ was the insurgents’ only chance of success, and without her they could do nothing. I knew that Gerald was too proud to escape from the country, and he’d probably end by being killed in some rotten little action or shot against the wall, between those saluting guns, in San Sebastian. The only bright thing at all, on that miserable day, was a ’wireless’ from dear old Ginger. ’Have sent your telegram home.’ I wished he was here, I’d have banged him on the chest, made up that silly row on the spot, and we’d have talked over things. The Provisional Government did come aboard, later on, smiling all over, the New President’s unhealthy face looking happy for the first time, and his little Secretary bobbing about as if he were on springs. They came to formally demand Recognition from the Foreign Powers, and of course the Captain passed on the demand, by ’wireless,’ to the _Hercules_ for her to transmit to London. Neither the Captain nor any one else had the heart to tell them the bad news, so they all went ashore as cheerful as crickets, fully expecting a favourable reply. ’I’ll let you know as soon as the reply comes,’ the Captain sent his coxswain to tell me, and I waited all the rest of that wretched day, wandering about like a lost sheep. I couldn’t even turn in at night, and spent most of it on the bridge waiting for the reply to be telephoned up from the wireless room. The answer came at last, and it seemed to blotch out the last hope. ’The existence of the Provisional Government cannot be recognised.’ ’Don’t send it ashore till the morning,’ the Skipper muttered; ’bad news will keep. The Government are evidently anxious to make up for their slackness in allowing the insurgents to get hold of that ship in English waters, and I’m afraid no Provisional Government can expect to last long now that we have to hand her over to the Santa Cruz people.’