“bo-o-om!”

as if some subtle dissolvent chemical had been suddenly applied to them, the stern works of the bolivar appeared to melt away as the torpedo struck her. for an instant she floated on the surface—half a ship—steam and smoke pouring from her as the water rushed into her engine rooms. then, with a wallowing motion, like a stricken bull sinking to its knees, she staggered and heeled partially over, exposing her keel.

then, with the utmost deliberation—as if she were making up her mind to it, in fact—the bolivar righted herself and began to crawl, like a stricken animal, toward the shore.

“they’ve closed her watertight bulkhead, sir!” called up the smoke-begrimed, half-naked stanley. “they’re making for the shore to beach her. shall i fire and finish her, sir?”

the captain’s eyes were filled with tears. now that the strain of the fight against such odds was over, his emotional nature asserted itself. ned saw that it was with great difficulty that he framed his words when he finally spoke.

“no, let them go,” he said, in a voice he strove in vain to render steady. “my unfortunate countrymen! how many of you have gone to your last accounting to-day?”

ned could not help but respect captain gomez’s grief. it was the sorrowing of a brave man over a fallen enemy. he was glad that no order to complete the annihilation of the bolivar had come. if the insurgents could beach her, they—those who were left alive—would have a chance to gain the shore. ned felt sure that the ends of the republic had been met when they inflicted such a crushing blow on the mutinous vessels.

the first thing the americans hastened to do, after cheering their victory in ringing tones, was to hasten below and see how the injured were faring. they found that midshipman stark,[259] with a bandage about his head, was practically as well as ever, and bitterly disappointed over missing the “cream of the shindy,” as he expressed it. the other wounded were all doing well. their dead numbered twenty—not a heavy loss, considering the sharp work they had been engaged in. but the poor barrill was a melancholy sight. her jury funnel was, of course, gone, and lay, a shapeless mass, on the decks. her other stacks were riddled through and through with shells till they almost wobbled. her conning tower was sadly battered and punctured, and her superstructure forward showed a great, gaping wound, received when stanley’s two bow-chasers had fired their last shot.

while her officers stood amidships, soberly regarding the havoc, the chief engineer emerged from below, hastened up to the captain and drew him aside. in a low voice he imparted what was evidently grave news. what this information was the dreadnought boys soon learned. one of his aides had that moment reported to him that the condenser of the vessel had been so[260] badly damaged by a shell that it was doubtful if she could proceed much farther. he could tinker it up for a few hours, he thought.

“do so,” ordered the captain, a troubled look coming over his face. “in the meantime, my comrades—for such i must call you—let us have some luncheon, and discuss our next steps.”

“we do not wish to interfere with your plans, sir,” spoke up midshipman stark, who had been conferring with his men, “but if it is all the same to you, we should like to be put ashore as soon as possible.”

the captain looked disappointed.

“i was hoping to have you with me longer,” he said, “but i would not for the world thwart your inclinations.”

“it is not our inclination, sir, but our duty,” rejoined the middy. “we left our ship on an errand of confidence. we have so far been unavoidably detained, but now we wish to get back with all the speed possible.”

“i have it!” exclaimed the captain suddenly, “i will put you ashore at los olivos. it is not[261] far from here. i do not know if the rebels have infested it, but even if they have i have powerful friends there who will provide you with horses and a means of getting safely into boca del sierras.”

this was good news for the young man-of-war’s men, who felt it incumbent on them to rejoin their ship as soon as possible. even as things were, it was likely that news of their continued absence had been cabled home.

luncheon was a peculiar meal. it was served from the scant stores of the barrill, and the already depleted menu was not improved by the addition of the insurgent officers. they bore the news of their defeat with long countenances, but bravely enough put the best face possible on matters, and did not let their gloom interfere with the merriment of the others.

“i am going to propose the health of you four brave americans,” whispered the captain, as the meal drew to a close.

“for heaven’s sake, sir, do nothing of the sort, i beg,” whispered the middy, who sat next[262] to him, and who, fortunately, had been the only one to catch his remark. “it might mean the loss of my commission and the ruin of the others.”

“what!” exclaimed the captain in amazement, but in a low voice, “you are never going to acknowledge the magnificent part you played to-day?”

“no, sir. we had much rather it would never be mentioned. these insurgent officers do not know who we are. the matter need never go further.”

“by the saints, you americans are beyond me!” exclaimed the captain, “but, my dear young friend, of course the wishes of yourself or of your friends are sacred to me, and shall be obeyed.”

“thank you,” said the middy simply.

the damaged condenser was repaired by the engine-room force sufficiently to allow the american party to be landed at los olivos that night. they were rowed ashore in plain clothes, borrowed from the friendly officers of the destroyer.[263] under the captain’s guidance they soon reached the home of his friends, a villa set back in magnificent grounds, on the outskirts of the little town. the officer’s acquaintances willingly agreed to aid the americans.

a native guide was provided, and as soon as courtesy would permit, the americans, who could ill conceal their impatience, started on their perilous journey. owing to the wires being cut, no news of developments near to boca del sierras had filtered into the northern country. for all midshipman stark and his companions knew, they might find the insurgents in possession of the place. in that case they faced possibilities it was not pleasant to consider.

at last they were mounted, and, with their horses impatiently pawing the ground, as if as anxious to go forward as they were, they bade farewell to their emotional latin friend, who almost broke down as the hour for parting came. he controlled himself bravely, however, although the squeeze of his hand he bestowed on each of the americans bespoke his high regard for them.

“good-by, sir, and good luck!” called back all of them, as they cantered out into darkness with their guide.

“don’t forget to smash the de barros if she pokes her nose out!” called ned.

the de barros, it will be recollected, was the only remaining vessel at santa anna, a small converted yacht. it was not likely that she would venture to try conclusions with the destroyer, which had proved herself such a terrible opponent, but if she did captain gomez meant to be ready for her.

on and on into the darkness cantered the americans and their silent guide. about midnight the moon arose and showed them that they were traversing a rough, hilly country near the seacoast.

“we are not far from miraflores,” said their guide, as he turned in his saddle.

miraflores!

what memories the name recalled! how much had happened to each of them in the brief interval since their escape from the prison there! how much older each of them felt!

villas began to appear now at long intervals, dotted back in the dense greenery clothing the hillsides. coffee and banana plantations surrounded many of them, with the great, flat “barbecues” showing white in the moonlight.

suddenly, as they rode along, ned halted abruptly. the others drew rein as they noticed this.

“what’s the trouble?” asked the middy, “horse gone lame?”

“no, sir, but i thought i heard something.”

“an owl, most likely. come on, we must be pressing forward.”

“no, sir, this wasn’t an owl. hark! there it is again!”

from a villa some distance back from the road was the apparent source of the cries.

“it’s a call for help, sir!” exclaimed stanley.

“a woman’s voice!” added ned.

“come on, boys,” shouted stark, wheeling from the roadway, “we must see what is going forward up there.”