“Yes, and Brown is her captain,” Captain Saunders exclaimed.
“Why has she come here, do you suppose?” asked Mr. Dartmoor.
“To take Americans and other foreigners to the north before a general bombardment is begun. Brown has probably received word that Chile contemplates aggressive action, and he has come to our rescue. Dartmoor, our overland journey need not be undertaken. We can sail north in an American man-of-war.”
A half hour later they left the hotel and went by the little train, some to Chucuito and others to Callao. While walking to the station, Bella Caceras, who had been very quiet ever since the advent of the Pensacola, stepped to Captain Saunders’s side and said to him:—
“I’m so sorry. No, not exactly sorry, because I’m glad for your sake, but I’m sorry for ours.”
“Sorry about what, young lady?”
“That mamma and I cannot go to the United States.”
“But why can’t you go?”
“You said, didn’t you, that the war vessel would take away Americans and other foreigners? We are Peruvians.”
“Bless my heart!” ejaculated the captain, “if you look at old Brown only half as wistfully as you do at me, he will not only take you, but will surrender his cabin for your occupancy. Of course you will go, if any of us do. I promise that.”