How they did it Ned never knew. Subsequent comparison of notes revealed the fact that the others were quite as ignorant as he, but somehow they struggled on, till their outstretched fingers touched the sides of the _General Barrill_. Willing hands were extended from her decks, and they were drawn on board. None too soon, however, for as Ned’s toes left the water a greenish body gleamed near the surface and made a dart, like the spring of a tiger, for the rescued boy. Ned could not repress a shudder as he realized how very narrow his escape had been. Had they not had the word “American” plainly inscribed in their faces, voices and actions, it is doubtful what would have been their reception on board the Costavezan sea-scout. As matters were, however, in spite of their positively tramp-like appearance, they were speedily recognized, before they even spoke, as belonging to the powerful nation which had befriended the South American power. The decks of the _General Barrill_ presented a vastly different appearance to the trim aspect of the _Beale_. They were littered with debris of the bombardment, and here and there Ned noted, with a shudder, some crimson splashes. Evidently the destroyer had not come off scot free in her daring attack. Even while he was subconsciously noting all this, a shell burst so close to the craft that a smother of spray showered her. A young officer, wearing the somewhat gaudy naval uniform of Costaveza, and bedizened with a pair of huge gold epaulets, approached them. “He looks like a bandmaster,” whispered Herc, in spite of Ned’s warning to keep quiet. The officer bowed civilly and asked in that tongue if any of them spoke Spanish. Receiving an affirmative reply from Midshipman Stark, their new-found friend requested them to step aft. He led them to the small bridge on the conning tower, on which stood a tall, thin South American, with a pair of field glasses in his hand. His bronzed face was thrown into vivid relief by a pair of bristling white moustachios. In his faded uniform, very different from the brilliant trappings of his young officers, Captain Gomez looked every inch the sea fighter as he stood on his little bridge. He seemed as calm and self-possessed as if he were gazing at the affair as a safely situated spectator. By his side stood an officer peering into the range-finder and handling the gun controls. Captain Gomez turned to a sailor, who stood at his elbow, as he noticed the Americans being piloted aft, and gave an order. The man’s hand shoved over the lever of the engine-room telegraph to “speed ahead.” At once the _General Barrill_ began to forge through the water, pointing her nose to the north. The fort fired viciously after her, but the range was lost, and their shells simply blew holes in the water. The commander, his work for the moment over, greeted the newcomers cordially.