Regular troops were at every corner—their badges twisted round and blackened—and it really was ludicrous to see the attempts the townspeople had made to show their loyalty to the New President; for at nearly every window there was some kind of an attempt at a black and green flag with the stripes horizontal. A great number of people thought I was Gerald himself, so I came in for quite a royal reception, but we cantered rapidly through the square, field batteries at every corner, past the front of the cathedral, with that huge bell still jarring overhead, and as we passed the Hotel de l’Europe I looked up at the window from which Bob and I and the poor little ’Angel’ had seen the funeral procession and tried to escape that beastly little ex-policeman. I wondered what had become of him, and whether the stumps of his fingers had healed. It was a long and tedious journey down the road to Los Angelos, because at many places barricades, thrown up to prevent Gerald’s troops advancing, were being lazily pulled down, and the litter on the road made it impossible to get along quickly. However, I did not want to be caught in the dark, so we made our horses hurry whenever the road made it possible, and we managed to reach Los Angelos in two hours and a half. One of the boats belonging to the Santa Cruz flagship happened to be waiting alongside the wharf; the ’Gnome’ said something to the coxswain, and off I went in her, in great style, to the _Hercules_. Good little ’Gnome,’ he was pretty well worn out by the time I wished him good-bye, and he went away with our two horses. *CHAPTER XVII* *The Ex-policeman* _Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._ As you can imagine, I wasn’t half pleased to get back to the _Hercules_, and there I had to wait, not a soul being allowed ashore, for a whole week. We heard that order was being maintained in Santa Cruz, and as this was the chief thing Gerald worried about, I was very glad indeed. I never told you that, directly the English and United States Governments had recognised the insurgents, Canilla had sent every foreign Minister, except Mr. Arnstein, and every European merchant, out of the country. Now, however, they all came back from Princes’ Town, and things seemed to be settling down peaceably, just as peaceably, indeed, as after a General Election and a change of Government at home. Canilla and a very small number of officials, who’d made themselves too obnoxious to stay, simply disappeared, finding their way down to some village farther along the coast, and taking refuge on board a Colombian gun-boat which happened to be there. No one seemed to worry about him or them—not in the least.