CHAPTER XX. FRESH TRIUMPHS. No sooner had Stephen reached the landing-place than he hired a native boat to take him off to the flag-ship, which, with several of her consorts, was lying some little distance off the shore and in front of the Naval establishment. Several others were close in by the wharfs. “They look in a slovenly state indeed,” he said to himself, “infinitely worse than the Chilian ships did when we first got out there. There are two or three by the flag-ship that look in a fair state of order, but the rest might be a fleet of big colliers, with their yards up and down anyhow, their rigging all slack, and everything dirty and untidy.” In ten minutes they were alongside of the flag-ship, whose appearance presented a strong contrast to that of the others. Telling the boatman to bring up his bundle after him, Stephen ascended the ladder. A petty officer came up to him as he stepped on to the deck. “What is your business?” he asked him in Portuguese, which Stephen now spoke fluently. “I wish to speak to the admiral.” The sailor looked at him from head to foot. “Have you an appointment with him?” “I have not, but he will see me, nevertheless, when he knows that I am here.” On looking round while the man hesitated, Stephen saw the admiral speaking to an officer in captain’s uniform. The petty officer, after some hesitation, went up to the officer on watch, who at once came over to Stephen. “You want to speak to the admiral?” “I do, lieutenant. I see him yonder, and if you will be good enough to inform him that Lieutenant Embleton is here and ready to report himself for duty, you will find that he will not mind being disturbed.” The officer looked at him doubtfully. “You have neither the appearance of an Englishman nor of a lieutenant,” he said. “That may be, sir, but it does not alter the fact.” At this moment the captain left the admiral’s side and walked forward. “What is it, Lieutenant Romoro?” he asked as he passed them. “This gentleman,” and he hesitated over the word, “says that he is Lieutenant Embleton, and desires to speak to the admiral.” “Lieutenant Embleton!” the captain repeated in English; “not the admiral’s flag-lieutenant in Chili, surely? If so, Lord Cochrane will be delighted to see you; he has spoken of you to me several times. He believed you to be dead, and but yesterday he was saying how he missed your services.” “I am the man, sir,” Stephen replied. “I have been eighteen months in crossing the continent, and to get here from Para had to make the voyage to the Cape de Verde and back again.” “I congratulate you on your escape,” the captain said, shaking his hand warmly. “My name is Crosbie, I am Lord Cochrane’s flag-captain, I will take you to him at once.” The admiral had left the deck and retired to his cabin. Captain Crosbie took Stephen there, and at once knocked at the door and entered.