"Wot! fightin'?" said the sailor man to me (He was wooden-legged and close on eighty-three). "Why, bless 'ee, sir, who knows what fightin' are, When iron pots is classed as men-of-war, And kittles sail the sea without a spar? Such wessels were not seen at Trafalgar." "Old Nelson!" said the sailor man to me (He was lying like a hatter, I could see). "I was with him when the Frenchies' line we broke, With our wooden ships and sailors' hearts of oak, And the great three-decker's cannon's voice awoke, Every minute as they thundered thro' the smoke." "Oh, blow it!" said the sailor man to me (His language, I admit, was rather free), "Now you sends a black torpedo, and it seeks To hit a wessel sideways--then she leaks, And sinks while every sailor prays and shrieks, Wot fightin'--why, it's murder! yah! the sneaks." On leaving Cocom, Jack at once went to Don Miguel and informed him of the Indian rising. Maraquando thought but little of the affair, as it was unlikely unarmed savages would dare to attack a force of one thousand soldiers. Besides, the journey to Janjalla was through a civilised and cultivated country, and an Indian raid was improbable. Nevertheless, at Jack's urgent request, he spoke to President Gomez about the matter, and though his Excellency took the same view as did Maraquando, yet he sent on messengers to overtake the reinforcements and inform them of their possible danger. The next day at three o'clock the vessels were to leave for Janjalla, but when the hour came it was found that the torpederas were far from ready. It is true _The Iturbide_ was in a state of efficiency, and could have left Tlatonac at the appointed time, but the complicated engines of _The Montezuma_ and _The Zuloaga_ were somewhat out of gear. Though the engineers worked day and night to get everything in order, yet it was not until three days had elapsed that the squadron was ready to start. This delay made Rafael feel very uneasy lest the consorts of _The Pizarro_ should return south before they could sink her by the torpedoes. He reckoned out the matter with Jack. "Dios, mi amigo! Three days have gone since _The Cortes_ and _The Columbus_ passed Tlatonac with the transports to the north. It is three hundred miles to Acauhtzin, and those boats steam at the rate of twelve knots an hour----" "True," interrupted Jack, significantly; "but the transports do not." "That is so, Juan. Let us reckon accordingly. Steaming at the rate of twelve knots, the war-ships would probably reach Acauhtzin in twenty-five hours. Allowing for the slowness of the transports say thirty hours. In twenty-four hours they will be able to take in troops, provisions, horses and guns. That makes fifty-four hours. Steaming south to Tlatonac thirty hours. Eighty-four hours. To Janjalla from here it is a hundred miles--say twelve hours. In all ninety-six hours. Divide by twenty-four, that is exactly four days."