"Now!" exclaimed the mate, "I've thought of one thing. You'll be at the Velasquez plantation. Mebbe for some time. They'll have heaps o' books. It'll help you learn Spanish if you'll try and read anything you find there. Learn all you can, wherever you happen to be." "I just will!" said Guert. "Now," said Prentice, "I'm goin' below. Some time to-morrer, if the wind holds good, we'll be in Porto Rico. Then you'll see something new." Guert also had to go below and turn in, but it was not easy to sleep with his head so full, even after so very fatiguing a day. He was lying awake, therefore, long afterward, when he was startled by sounds on deck. "Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Something's happened! What if they should have sighted a British man-o'-war? If there's going to be any more fighting, I want to be at my gun!" He was getting to be a genuine sailor, therefore, and the cannon he was stationed with had become a sort of pet and much as if it were his own property. Not much careful dressing was called for after he sprung out of his bunk, and then he was up on deck without waiting for orders. Not a great deal of noise had been made, after all, and most of the weary crew were still keeping their watch below, as soundly asleep as ever. Two pairs of ears, however, had been as keen as Guert's, and here were Coco and Up-na-tan, already at the pivot-gun, prepared for anything that might turn up. The moon was shining brightly and the wind was fair. The sparkling, foaming sea looked beautiful, and all was peace except upon the deck of the privateer. Away to leeward Guert could dimly see a sail that he believed to be the _Santa Teresa_, and at that moment a red ball rocket went up from her deck and burst, to inform her American friends that she was doing well. "She's all right, then," Guert heard Captain Avery say to the man at the wheel. "I wish I knew what this feller is to wind'ard. Up-na-tan, be ready, there, with that gun. It looks to me like a brig o' some sort. It might happen to be one o' these 'ere British ten-gun brigs. I don't know, yet, whether or not one o' them 'd prove too much for us, if we got in the first broadside." "Well, Captain," said the steersman, "we can't very well get out of her way, jest now. She has managed to come up to wind'ard of us, and she can hold on, best we can do. It's our bad luck!" "Maybe it's her's," said the captain, grimly. "I won't call up the men for a bit. If there's a hard fight a-comin', a rest won't hurt 'em. It may be a Spanish coast-guard or a Frenchman. Everything down this way isn't British. Up-na-tan, take this night-glass and see what you can make of her."