“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, “you must excuse me if I seem to be somewhat preoccupied. I have just heard that Lieutenant Santos, my gunnery officer, is dead. He was wounded in the engagement, but we all thought, till a few moments ago, that he would rally. I am seriously hampered now in handling my ship.”
“Were your losses great?” inquired the midshipman.
“No. With the exception of the officer, of whose death I have just learned, we escaped with two wounded and one killed. But Lieutenant Santos was a power among the men.”
The captain’s Latin blood seemed aroused. He smote the table with his lean fist. Suddenly he spoke.
“You gentlemen are naval men. You will understand my predicament. My crew is, at best, what you Americans call a ‘scratch one.’ You see, when the insurgents seemed likely to prove successful, the crews of the other government vessels, and, I am ashamed to say, the officers, too, deserted to the revolutionists’ cause. I had to take my crew as I could get them. Some are off merchant vessels. Others are landsmen. There are not more than a dozen trained men among them. Lieutenant Santos, however, was a man of marked ability. He was whipping them into shape splendidly.”
“I should think so if he handled the guns to-day,” interposed Midshipman Stark.
“I agree with you,” went on the captain. “Now, gentlemen, I was educated in your country, and I can see the faults of my countrymen. They are brave in success, but they lose heart when engaged for a lost cause. That is the case with the rest of my officers. Already they are wavering. I can see signs of it. It would take little to precipitate a mutiny.”
“A mutiny!” exclaimed Midshipman Stark, horrified.
“Yes,” calmly went on the old sea fighter, “in which case I would probably be shot or imprisoned on board my own craft.”
The Americans gazed at him in astonishment. Apparently the commander of the General Barrill occupied much the same position as a man in a powder magazine with a pipe in his mouth. By his account they understood that the one efficient officer on board, the only man on whom he could rely, had just passed away. “But, after all,” thought the middy, “our concern now is to get back to the Beale with our report. I’m afraid it won’t be an encouraging one.” Aloud, however, he said: