My chaps presently started a bit of a jamberee, old Ginger singing a couple of songs and joining in the choruses. We were just beginning to forget all about the coaling, when a signalman came down and handed Barton, the senior mid., a signal. ’Senior Midshipman, _Hercules_, to Ditto, _Hector_.—Hope none of you are any the worse for your nice little swim.’ The mids. were too angry to speak for a minute, and then the storm burst, and they called the _Hercules_ gun-room all the names they could lay hold of, old Ginger looking very uncomfortable, and very angry too. ’Never mind, Billums,’ he said. ’We’ve done our best to make ’em friends, and they won’t be,’ and then sang out, ’Gentlemen, I apologise for that signal—don’t answer it—its beastly rude, and I’ll cane the senior midshipman to-morrow morning.’ There was no more sing-song after that, old Ginger went back to his ship as angry as we were, and I turned in, knowing jolly well that my chaps would hate Ginger’s all the more, and that Ginger beating the senior mid. would only make things worse. ’Let’s hope we get mixed up in a ’scrap’ or two out in Santa Cruz,’ Ginger had said as he went away, and I knew that that was about the only thing that would do the trick and make them friends. That was a bad day’s work for me. I’d shown myself a fool, the Commander wouldn’t forget my carelessness for months, and the Skipper would feel he couldn’t trust me. That made me want to kick myself. *CHAPTER II* *A Revolution Imminent* _Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._ Early next morning, just as the sun was lighting up the signal station at the top of the Rock, we and the _Hercules_ slipped from our buoys and shoved off into the Atlantic, the _Hercules_ two cables astern of us.