"On the port bow!" One of the officers instantly went to the top with his binocular, bringing it to bear on a small, far distant speck on the ocean. "A sail, surely," he said, "but what is it?" "Well, sir?" shouted Captain Miles. "It is a sail, sir." "What do you make of it, Mr. Robson?" "Hard to say. Certainly not a battle ship, nor even a gun-boat." "What, then?" "Looks like a small boat, sir. Perhaps there may be people aboard, but at present it's impossible to say." Mr. Robson was a lieutenant on the Brooklyn. He had been early in the war on the battle ship Indiana. There Young Glory had served under him, and had learned to appreciate the attention to duty and the bravery displayed by this gallant officer. He and Captain Miles paced the deck now, talking over what should be done. "I should send a boat, sir." "We shall see in a minute or two what is best to be done, Mr. Robson. We're running directly for the sail." "It's not a boat, sir!" cried Mr. Robson, after a while. "Not a boat?" "No." "What, then?" "A raft." "You're right," said the captain, after another look. "A raft, sure enough, and what's more, is that there are people on it. Order out two boats." "Yes, sir." "They must start for the raft at once." "Instantly, sir." To lower the boats and man them does not take long on board a man-of-war. Every man knows his place, and the operation proceeds like clock work. In a few minutes they were flying over the water towards the raft. Very soon they saw it was crowded with people. Some of them raised their hands as they saw the boats draw near. "Poor souls!" said Dan Daly. "It's shipwrecked they are, an' starvin' too." "Well, it won't take many minutes to remedy that, Dan." "Pull hard, lads!" cried Mr. Robson. "Every minute counts in a case like this." What a sight met the eyes of the blue jackets. Half of the occupants of the raft were dead men. The survivors seemed to be, many of them, at the point of death. Very few had strength enough to rise even to a sitting position. "No time for talking, lads," said Lieutenant Robson. "Get them back to the ship at once." "And the dead, sir?" "Throw them over. It's all that can be done." Some stimulants had been taken with the boats, and by the time that the Brooklyn was reached one of the men had recovered sufficiently to talk. The others were carried below and given at once into the hands of the surgeon. "You have suffered very much," said Captain Miles, kindly. "Yes, but our troubles are over at last." "You feel strong enough to talk?" "Yes, captain. I'm the mate of the Mary Parker, a fruit ship bound from Rio Janeiro to New Orleans. We were attacked by the Spaniards, and our ship was captured." "What was done with it?" "The cargo--that is, the valuable part of it--was taken by the Spaniard, and our ship was sunk." "And how came you on the water?"