“Shall we obey the signal?”

It was Ned who asked the question, his hand on the engine-room telegraph; for at the minute the Calvo had issued her request—or rather order, backed up as it was by the report of the gun—the Dreadnought Boy had been standing at the instrument.

“Yes,” ordered the captain; then, in reply to a questioning look from the others, he added:

“They will send a boat, and then we can put into execution a little plan which has just occurred to me.”

The necessary replying flags were run up on the General Barrill’s stumpy signal mast. In reply the Calvo steamed closer, and then lowered a boat.

As the two vessels lay bobbing on the swell, at[233] a distance of a thousand yards or so from each other, the small craft struck the water, and the next instant was gliding swiftly over it toward the Barrill. The early sun glinted brightly on the gold lace of the personages seated in her stern as she approached.

“Officers!” exclaimed Stark.

“Of course,” rejoined the captain. “They are of the impression that they are on their way to pay a visit to an American vessel.”

“Well, if they actually were, they’d get a warm reception,” rejoined the middy. “Firing that gun was the nerviest thing I ever heard of.”

“You must recollect, senor,” put in the captain gently, “that the insurgent navy is not versed in naval etiquette.”

“It’s time they got a sharp lesson,” sniffed the middy.

There was little time for more conversation of any sort. The boat from the Calvo, a double-ended whale craft, ranged alongside, and the officers on board her stepped nimbly to the Barrill’s low decks, being aided on board by several sailors.[234] Drawn up in hospitable array to receive them were Midshipman Stark and his companions. None of these could repress slight smiles as they noted the glances of astonishment the visitors bestowed on the dark-visaged crew. Evidently they were puzzling their minds over what such palpable South Americans were doing on board an American ship. The new arrivals, however, bowed politely, although they evidently had a dozen questions quivering on the tips of their tongues.

Without giving them time to speak, however, the Americans ushered them aft and below into the leather-upholstered cabin. Up to this time not a sign of Captain Gomez had been seen. Shortly, however, he was to make a dramatic entrance.

“You gentlemen will pardon my saying so,” began the officer, who evidently outranked the rest of the visitors, “but I could almost have sworn that this craft was the General Barrill of our—or rather formerly—of our navy.”

“Of our former navy, would have been a better[235] way to put it,” thought Ned, carefully flicking an imaginary spot off his uniform to hide a smile. The reader has, of course, not forgotten that the Americans, when they made their dramatic entry on board the destroyer, were equipped with the uniforms of the officers of the craft, which they still wore. The golden stars—the number of which denoted rank—had, however, been ripped off. In all essentials the garments bore a close resemblance to our own naval uniform.

But it was easy to see, despite the fact that Midshipman Stark and the rest were palpably Americans, that the visitors were suspicious and uneasy.

“I say, gentlemen,” went on the other, “that the resemblance is extraordinary. Of course, your boat has four funnels, while ours had but three.”

“Good thing he didn’t take a notion to poke a finger into that fourth funnel,” thought Ned. “The paint is still wet, and that canvas is not really stretched tight enough.”
 
Suddenly one of the young officers from the Calvo, who had been looking about him, gave a sharp exclamation.

“Why, here is a cushion embroidered with the name of the General Barrill!” he cried in a puzzled voice, “and——”

The sharp voice of his superior cut in.

“There is some trick here. I call upon you to explain it at once, or——”

He halted in amazement. Four revolvers were covering himself and his officers, and from a door opening into a side stateroom suddenly stepped Captain Gomez himself. There was a look of mild triumph on his features as he emerged from the place of concealment, in which he had been posted to watch the progress of events.

“Captain Gomez!” gasped out the commander of the Calvo, for such was the rank of the other. “What does this mean, sir?”

“Are you a prisoner of these Americans?” gasped out another officer.

“No, gentlemen, but you are my prisoners,” replied the Costavezan captain calmly. “I advise[237] you to submit to the fortunes of war with a good grace.”

“Trapped!” burst out the other officer. He gazed in front of him despairingly.

He was a brave man in his way. So were his officers. But the bravest men are not the most reckless, and he saw, by the grim look in his captor’s eyes, that a dash for the stairway between themselves and the deck would have been, under the circumstances, suicidal.

Suddenly a loud cheer disturbed the tense silence. It came from above.

“Hurray!”

“What was that?” gasped the insurgent captain.

“I rather think it was your boat going to the bottom. We thought it best to scuttle her,” rejoined Captain Gomez, with the same deadly calm. “You gentlemen will, therefore, have to be our guests for a time. I trust you will make yourselves at home. One thing, before we leave you to your own devices, however, I must request your weapons.”
 
There was no help for it, and with a very bad grace the captives unbuckled their swords and gave up their service revolvers.

“Chess, gentlemen, is an excellent game. It teaches the reso............