“We were on our way up the coast,” he explained after he had heard their story, “and, seeing signs of an insurgent battery ashore there, we decided to give the crew a little gun practice.” “Of which they don’t seem to stand much in need,” smiled the midshipman. The captain looked grave, but said nothing more for the moment. He ushered the castaways into his cabin and ordered refreshments for them. In the meantime he had flung open a cabin door and indicated a bathroom and some spare uniforms, which looked very inviting to the adventurers. When they emerged in their regalia, a decided improvement had taken place for the better in their appearance, though, to tell the truth, not all of the uniforms were a very correct fit. A white-coated man, evidently a surgeon, entered the main cabin as they emerged from the bathroom. He spoke a few words to the captain, who crossed himself and muttered some words. His face had grown grave. Evidently what he had just heard was of a disquieting nature. He looked up as his guests filed in. “Ah, gentlemen,” he said, “you must excuse me if I seem to be somewhat preoccupied. I have just heard that Lieutenant Santos, my gunnery officer, is dead. He was wounded in the engagement, but we all thought, till a few moments ago, that he would rally. I am seriously hampered now in handling my ship.” “Were your losses great?” inquired the midshipman. “No. With the exception of the officer, of whose death I have just learned, we escaped with two wounded and one killed. But Lieutenant Santos was a power among the men.” The captain’s Latin blood seemed aroused. He smote the table with his lean fist. Suddenly he spoke. “You gentlemen are naval men. You will understand my predicament. My crew is, at best, what you Americans call a ‘scratch one.’ You see, when the insurgents seemed likely to prove successful, the crews of the other government vessels, and, I am ashamed to say, the officers, too, deserted to the revolutionists’ cause. I had to take my crew as I could get them. Some are off merchant vessels. Others are landsmen. There are not more than a dozen trained men among them. Lieutenant Santos, however, was a man of marked ability. He was whipping them into shape splendidly.” “I should think so if he handled the guns to-day,” interposed Midshipman Stark. “I agree with you,” went on the captain. “Now, gentlemen, I was educated in your country, and I can see the faults of my countrymen. They are brave in success, but they lose heart when engaged for a lost cause. That is the case with the rest of my officers. Already they are wavering. I can see signs of it. It would take little to precipitate a mutiny.” “A mutiny!” exclaimed Midshipman Stark, horrified. “Yes,” calmly went on the old sea fighter, “in which case I would probably be shot or imprisoned on board my own craft.”