CHAPTER XX.
FRESH TRIUMPHS.
No sooner had Stephen reached the landing-place than he hired a native boat to take him off to the flag-ship, which, with several of her consorts, was lying some little distance off the shore and in front of the Naval establishment. Several others were close in by the wharfs.
“They look in a slovenly state indeed,” he said to himself, “infinitely worse than the Chilian ships did when we first got out there. There are two or three by the flag-ship that look in a fair state of order, but the rest might be a fleet of big colliers, with their yards up and down anyhow, their rigging all slack, and everything dirty and untidy.”
In ten minutes they were alongside of the flag-ship, whose appearance presented a strong contrast to that of the others.
Telling the boatman to bring up his bundle after him, Stephen ascended the ladder. A petty officer came up to him as he stepped on to the deck.
“What is your business?” he asked him in Portuguese, which Stephen now spoke fluently.
“I wish to speak to the admiral.”
The sailor looked at him from head to foot. “Have you an appointment with him?”