It was an oddly composed crowd that gathered forward of the great turret from which projected two twelve-inch guns. The crew consisted of Russian "Jackies," in man-of-war rig; but the spectators were the invited guests of the builders from whose control the ship had not yet passed. There were lawyers, naval officers, engineers, and politicians, with one or two officials of the city and State government--all bound to have a good time, whether the _Retvizan_ should prove slow or fast. They buttoned their overcoats up around their throats--for the day was chilly, and the draught made by the vessel as she gathered speed was sharp--and in little knots, here and there, joked, laughed, and sang like boys on a lark. One young man was constantly moving about, alert and active, interested apparently in everything and everybody on board. Most of the Boston men seemed to know him, and exchanged jokes with him as he passed. "Hullo, Larkin, you here?" called out one. "Better go ashore while there's time--you'll be sea-sick when we get outside!" "I never yet was sick of seeing!" retorted the young man. "The _Bulletin_ must have a good story on to-day's trip." "Why didn't they send a reporter that knew his business?" jested another. "Don't _you_ say anything, Alderman, or I'll fix up an account of you that will make you turn pale when you read it to-morrow morning," said the jolly reporter; and off he went, followed by a chorus of laughter. Fred Larkin was one of the most valued reporters on the Boston _Daily Bulletin_. He had risen to his present position, from that of mere space writer, by sheer determination, pluck, and hard work, which characteristics, backed by fine character and a sunny good-humour, made him a favourite with both his superiors and his comrades on the staff. Three years before this sea-trip Fred had been sent to Cuba as war correspondent for the _Bulletin_, had performed one or two remarkable feats in journalism, had been captured by the Spaniards, and on the very day when he expected to be executed in Santiago as a spy had been exchanged and set free. Meanwhile on this same perilous journey inland, he had met a young Spanish girl named Isabella Cueva, who subsequently appealed to him for protection, and whom, a few months later, he married. They now had one bright little dark-haired boy, a year old, named Pedro. "He's a wonderful child," Larkin would assert. "Talks Spanish like a native, and cries in English!" Besides the company of invited guests on the _Retvizan_, the officers of the ship-building company, and the Russian crew, there were a number of supernumeraries--butlers, cooks, and stewards, of various nationalities.