As the boat sank under them, Ned struck out for the General Barrill. He was a strong, swift swimmer, and almost as much at home in the water as on land or the deck of a battleship. To his intense relief, as he gazed about him, he saw the heads of his three companions bobbing up on the water near at hand. All were safe then.

“Swim on your backs,” Ned cried.

It was well they heeded his warning, for at that instant there came a shout from Stanley.

“Duck!”

That was all, but they instinctively obeyed. Even under the water they could feel the jar of the exploding shell which the sharp-eyed man-of-war’s man had spied coming toward them from the fort.

“I’ll bet General de Guzman and Charbonde are praying for our deaths harder than they ever[207] did for anything in their lives before,” thought Ned, as he came to the surface.

The Americans swam on. Only a few feet now. Already hands were held out to them from the decks of the Costavezan destroyer.

“Swim, for Heaven’s sake, swim!”

The sudden cry came from the midshipman.

In their anxiety to gain the destroyer and avoid the shells from the land batteries, they had entirely forgotten another danger—sharks!

As the middy’s cry of warning sounded, a sharp, triangular fin, showing blackly above the blue, came rushing investigatingly toward them. It was followed by another and another. Truly there was desperate need of every ounce of energy that remained in their tired bodies.

How they did it Ned never knew. Subsequent comparison of notes revealed the fact that the others were quite as ignorant as he, but somehow they struggled on, till their outstretched fingers touched the sides of the General Barrill. Willing hands were extended from her decks, and they were drawn on board. None too soon, however,[208] for as Ned’s toes left the water a greenish body gleamed near the surface and made a dart, like the spring of a tiger, for the rescued boy. Ned could not repress a shudder as he realized how very narrow his escape had been.

Had they not had the word “American” plainly inscribed in their faces, voices and actions, it is doubtful what would have been their reception on board the Costavezan sea-scout. As matters were, however, in spite of their positively tramp-like appearance, they were speedily recognized, before they even spoke, as belonging to the powerful nation which had befriended the South American power.

The decks of the General Barrill presented a vastly different appearance to the trim aspect of the Beale. They were littered with debris of the bombardment, and here and there Ned noted, with a shudder, some crimson splashes. Evidently the destroyer had not come off scot free in her daring attack. Even while he was subconsciously noting all this, a shell burst so close to the craft that a smother of spray showered her.
 
A young officer, wearing the somewhat gaudy naval uniform of Costaveza, and bedizened with a pair of huge gold epaulets, approached them.

“He looks like a bandmaster,” whispered Herc, in spite of Ned’s warning to keep quiet.

The officer bowed civilly and asked in that tongue if any of them spoke Spanish. Receiving an affirmative reply from Midshipman Stark, their new-found friend requested them to step aft. He led them to the small bridge on the conning tower, on which stood a tall, thin South American, with a pair of field glasses in his hand. His bronzed face was thrown into vivid relief by a pair of bristling white moustachios. In his faded uniform, very different from the brilliant trappings of his young officers, Captain Gomez looked every inch the sea fighter as he stood on his little bridge. He seemed as calm and self-possessed as if he were gazing at the affair as a safely situated spectator. By his side stood an officer peering into the range-finder and handling the gun controls.

Captain Gomez turned to a sailor, who stood at[210] his elbow, as he noticed the Americans being piloted aft, and gave an order. The man’s hand shoved over the lever of the engine-room telegraph to “speed ahead.” At once the General Barrill began to forge through the water, pointing her nose to the north.

The fort fired viciously after her, but the range was lost, and their shells simply blew holes in the water.

The commander, his work for the moment over, greeted the newcomers cordially.

“We were on our way up the coast,” he explained after he had heard their story, “and, seeing signs of an insurgent battery ashore there, we decided to give the crew a little gun practice.”

“Of which they don’t seem to stand much in need,” smiled the midshipman.

The captain looked grave, but said nothing more for the moment. He ushered the castaways into his cabin and ordered refreshments for them. In the meantime he had flung open a cabin door and indicated a bathroom and some spare uniforms, which looked very inviting to[211] the adventurers. When they emerged in their regalia, a decided improvement had taken place for the better in their appearance, though, to tell the truth, not all of the uniforms were a very correct fit.

A white-coated man, evidently a surgeon, entered the main cabin as they emerged from the bathroom. He spoke a few words to the captain, who crossed himself and muttered some words. His face had grown grave. Evidently what he had just heard was of a disquieting nature. He looked up as his guests filed in.

“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, “you must excuse me if I seem to be somewhat preoccupied. I have just heard that Lieutenant Santos, my gunnery officer, is dead. He was wounded in the engagement, but we all thought, till a few moments ago, that he would rally. I am seriously hampered now in handling my ship.”

“Were your losses great?” inquired the midshipman.

“No. With the exception of the officer, of whose death I have just learned, we escaped with[212] two wounded and one killed. But Lieutenant Santos was a power among the men.”

The captain’s Latin blood seemed aroused. He smote the table with his lean fist. Suddenly he spoke.

“You gentlemen are naval men. You will understand my predicament. My crew is, at best, what you Americans call a ‘scratch one.’ You see, when the insurgents seemed likely to prove successful, the crews of the other government vessels, and, I am ashamed to say, the officers, too, deserted to the revolutionists’ cause. I had to take my crew as I could get them. Some are off merchant vessels. Others are landsmen. There are not more than a dozen trained men among them. Lieutenant Santos, however, was a man of marked ability. He was whipping them into shape splendidly.”

“I should think so if he handled the guns to-day,” interposed Midshipman Stark.

“I agree with you,” went on the captain. “Now, gentlemen, I was educated in your country, and I can see the............