"Will the torpederas be ready?"
"They must be ready!" cried Rafael, stamping his foot. "We may never get such another chance. If we can only sink The Pizarro, it will dishearten the troops of Xuarez now besieging Janjalla, and they can be easily defeated."
"If we can manage that, it will be a sad blow to Don Hypolito!"
"Dios! so I should think," replied Rafael, laughing gaily. "He will come south with more troops, and find Janjalla occupied by us, and his way barred by two torpederas and The Iturbide. Then The Pizarro's loss won't please him. Carajo! no."
"Bueno! But you forget The Pizarro has search-lights, torpedo-netting——"
"Not the last, mi amigo!" interrupted Rafael quickly. "I told you before, the netting was left behind in Tlatonac when the war-ships left for Acauhtzin. As to the search-lights, she can keep them on The Iturbide or on the other torpedera. Then, my friend, The Montezuma will make things unpleasant for her."
"It's a mere chance, Rafael!"
"Quien sabe!" retorted the young man, shrugging his shoulders; "all warfare is mere chance. Come and look over the boat."
As the fittings of the torpederas were somewhat complicated, engineers had been sent out from England in charge, and these, being paid heavily by the Junta, remained to manœuvre the boats. Among them Jack discovered a Scotchman, from Aberdeen, with whom he struck up a friendship. This gentleman, whose clan was Mackenzie, showed them all over the boat, and spoke in terms of great affection of the Whitehead torpedoes.
"Eh, mon!" he observed to Jack, as they surveyed those triumphs of modern warfare, "jouist gie her a shove, an' she'll smash the hail boatie to bits—into sma' bits."