“He referred to it. But his officers were keen to win a bit of glory for themselves, and they argued him the other way round, as I figured it from his heated remarks. He didn’t relish the job of sailing into you chaps. In fact, the black-whiskered don was in a state of mind. Are you, by any chance, a British subject?” “No, Captain Henderson, but I might find ye a Britisher or two among me crew. I have an assorted company of gentlemen of fortune.” O’Shea explained matters at some length, and Captain Henderson vehemently interrupted to say: “I don’t know that it makes a lot of difference whether you are British subjects or not. Blood is thicker than water. Shall I steam away and leave you to be shot on the say-so of a raving Spanish skipper?” “I should be disappointed in you if ye did,” gravely answered O’Shea. “’Tis not what I would do for you.” The master of the _Caronic_ permitted O’Shea to finish his narrative. “So you picked up the Van Steen party?” he rapped out. “We heard of the loss of the _Morning Star_. The Spanish skipper out yonder said I might take them off in my ship before he attacked you.” “And what do ye propose to do about us?” wistfully asked O’Shea. “Of course this is none of your row, and your ship is not a British navy vessel----” “But I am a British seaman,” snapped Captain Henderson. “And you are shipwrecked people who have asked me for assistance. That is all I have to know. And, by George, it’s all I want to know.” “And ye will take us off?” “At once. And I imagine I had better land you in a British port. What about Jamaica?” “Jamaica will suit us, Captain Henderson. The United States will not be salubrious for us until this piracy charge blows over. And the Cubans can dodge across to their native land. But what will ye do if the Spanish cruiser objects?” “She will not fire on my flag,” thundered the master of the _Caronic_, “nor will she dare to take shipwrecked men from my decks. Tell your people to be ready to go aboard. I will signal my chief officer to send more boats.” Cheering and weeping, the company of the _Fearless_ abandoned their stronghold. It was an evacuation with the honors of war, and the American ensign was left flying above the huge heap of sand. Disinclined to join the jubilation, Captain Michael O’Shea wandered away from his seamen and stood gazing at the liner whose lights were blazing like a great hotel. Nora Forbes walked along the beach until she came to him. He waited for her to speak. “I saw you leave the crowd,” said she, “and I followed you. I wanted to talk to you this afternoon--to tell you--to try to tell you--what I thought of the sacrifice you were prepared to make. Were you going away, to your death, without saying good-by to me?” He took her hand in his as he answered: “It was hard enough to face my finish without bidding farewell to you, Nora Forbes. But this is our good-by, here on the beach to-night.”