“The set of the Gulf Stream, I reckon, or maybe some of those mysterious currents that nobody knows much about. Derelicts have a queer habit of bobbing up where no one expects them.” The morning after this conversation the _Beale_ steamed slowly between two high headlands of rock, clothed with palms and other tropical growth, and after proceeding some distance into the basin formed by the two “horns” of the harbor came to an anchorage. Immediately the Stars and Stripes went up at her blunt stern, and men were set to work rigging the starboard gangway. “Doesn’t look much as if there was a revolution going on ashore there, does it?” asked Stanley, who had joined the boys as they stood leaning over the starboard rail forward, gazing at the scene that unfolded itself before them. It was a gorgeous panorama of color and light. In the foreground was the harbor, almost landlocked at its entrance by two projections of rocky cliff. Across the glassy water, dotted with small native craft, with here and there a coasting steamer lying at anchor, was the town--a mere huddle of red roofs and white walls, as seen from the _Beale’s_ decks. Behind the town came a belt of vivid greenery, and beyond that shot up like a huge rampart a wall of blue mountains, with sharply serrated skyline and densely wooded sides, covered, seemingly, to their summits. “It’s like a scene in a theater,” said Herc admiringly. And so it was. Lieutenant Timmons, with sword and cocked hat, and accompanied by his officers, all in full dress uniforms, shortly emerged from his cabin. His boat, of which Herc and Ned formed part of the crew, was called away at once. “You’ll have a good chance for a run ashore,” whispered Stanley, as they briskly came alongside the starboard gangway and the officers stepped on board. Ned and Herc already knew that the Lieutenant’s destination was the American consulate. The row ashore occupied but a brief space of time. The eight men composing the crew had never rowed with greater vigor. Somehow the sight of land close at hand seems to endow Jack with wonderful muscles and energy. Soon they were at a landing, on which several inquisitive townsfolk and barefooted loungers, with yellow cigarettes between their fingers, were assembled. “The men can take a run ashore for two hours, Stanley,” said Lieutenant Timmons, as he left the boat and, followed by his little escort, made his way up a narrow, dark street. In front of one balconied building on this thoroughfare the American flag was floating, denoting that there was the American consulate.