However, to the disappointment of both Dreadnought Boys, the Beale weighed anchor that evening and stood off down the coast to another port—Hermillo. There were several American mining interests in this neighborhood, but, so far they had not been jeopardized by the revolutionists, who were busy to the northward, concentrating that branch of their army for an attack on Boca del Sierras itself. If they could gain this important base, they would have control of the principal seaport of Costaveza, and be in a position to dictate terms. However, from the information he had gained from the consul, Lieutenant Timmons had decided that there was no immediate danger of an attack on the city. So, in pursuance with his orders, he decided[99] to steam down the coast and ascertain the condition of affairs farther south.

For three or four days the destroyer dawdled about in the port of Hermillo, the lieutenant being in constant communication by wire with Boca del Sierras. He and his officers were constantly ashore, and the boys, who were eager for the promised action, which they felt sure would come when they were detailed to shore duty, almost wore themselves out with impatience. At last, however, one bright evening the command to weigh anchor came, and the Beale once more moved northward. As she left Hermillo a low vessel of war, not unlike herself, came steaming in just as the Beale drew out of the roadstead.

“Hello, another destroyer!” exclaimed Ned, as his eyes fell on the newcomer.

“Yes, I guess it’s the General Barrill,” said Stanley, who, as usual, was beside the boys. “She’s a destroyer the Costavezan government bought from the Argentine just before the revolution broke out.”

“If she had four stacks instead of three, she[100] could easily be mistaken for us!” exclaimed Ned.

“That’s a fact,” agreed Stanley. “She’s exactly the same type.”

“What’s that flag she’s flying?” asked Ned, as the vessel’s ensign dipped in response to the Beale’s courtesy.

“Red, white and blue, with a gold star in the middle. That’s the flag of the Costavezan republic,” remarked Stanley, gazing at the destroyer as she came to an anchorage.

“She ought to be capable of putting the rebels out of business,” observed Herc.

“Don’t be so sure of that,” put in a sailor who had joined the group. “The revolutionists have got a few boats of their own. When I was ashore I heard that the northern section of their forces had seized the rest of the government’s navy, and that they had ’em waiting some place up the coast ready for action.”

“Wonder what the General Barrill is doing in here?” inquired Ned.

“Put in to coal, most likely. They’ll need her up north if those revolutionists attack Boca del[101] Sierras. A few shells from those guns of hers would do a lot of damage.”

“But how about the revolutionists’ fleet?”

“Mostly old tubs, converted yachts and the like, with rapid-fire guns and maybe a few six-inchers mounted on ’em,” said the sailor, who had sauntered up. “A modern destroyer like the Barrill, if she was handled properly, could do a lot of damage to ’em—send ’em to the junk pile, in fact.”

The next morning the Beale steamed up to her old anchorage in the harbor of Boca del Sierras. But, while they had been gone, another occupant had been added to the shipping of the harbor—the American mail steamer. How good it looked to see Old Glory flying bravely at her stern. But they were not to have the company of the mail steamer for long.

About an hour after they anchored, she blew a long blast of her whistle and, dipping her flag in sea courtesy to the hornet-like destroyer, she steamed majestically out between the two capes on her way south. Shortly afterward the lieutenant’s[102] boat was called away, and he was rowed ashore to communicate with the consul and also receive dispatches, which he expected would have been forwarded by the mail boat, which left New York one day later than the Beale. As before, the men were informed that they could stretch their legs ashore while waiting the return of their officers, and Ned and Herc were once more among the lucky ones.

As the officers’ visit was likely to be but a short one, however, there was no opportunity this time for a run into the country, so, accompanied by Stanley, they strolled about the docks. On one wharf there was a scene of great activity going forward. From the mail steamer there had been landed a number of boxes, on which were stenciled in big letters, “Agricultural Machinery.” That they were of great weight was evidenced by the fact that the men who were working to get them into a small launch by means of an old hand crane seemed to find the task about equal to their strength.

“That rope’s going to part before long,”[103] grunted Stanley, gazing at the aged cable of the hand crane, which was raveled and did not look capable of handling weights of the ponderous character of the boxes.

A box was poised in mid-air ready for swinging over above the launch as he spoke.

Suddenly there was a sharp crack and a cry of alarm from the workmen.

“Ah, ah! I thought so!” exclaimed Stanley. “There she goes!”

The accident he had anticipated had occurred. The rope had snapped under the strain, and the box which was being hoisted had crashed down on the stringpiece of the dock. For an instant it balanced as if it meant to topple over into the launch below, but finally it settled back and fell with a heavy thud on the floor of the wharf.

As it did so one of the end boards flew off under the strain, and the receptacle gaped open.

By this time the group from the Beale were quite close by, and Ned’s sharp eyes fell on some shiny metal apparatus inside the case. Stanley saw it at the same instant, and so did Herc.
 

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