The ships themselves came along now, and this time they did notice us, their crews crowding behind the hammock nettings and in the gun ports to see the awful destruction La Buena Presidente had done to us. The flagship had only 'Presidente' on her stern—the 'Canilla' part had been knocked off—and she slowed down and fired seventeen guns to salute the sunken ship.
For the first time since that awful morning I felt happy, and rushed down below to tell Navarro what had happened.
He did not seem in the least depressed, and shrugged his shoulders. 'I make the guess. When you tell me El Castellar no fire guns when they pass, I had the suspic—ion. De Costa will now be Presidente—Canilla will fly.'
'What will become of General Zorilla?' I asked him. I didn't want to see the old chap go to the wall.
He raised his eyebrows. 'He never change. If Canilla tell him "fight," he will fight till he killed; but when de Costa is Presidente and tell him to fight, he also fight till he killed.'
I knew what Navarro meant, and it was just what I thought the grand old chap would do.
Well, that is what happened and how everything was changed in a single hour; the Santa Cruz Admiral came to call on the Skipper and explain matters, and the Provisional Government came off to renew their claims for Recognition. It was just as Navarro had thought. The news that their old comrades in La Buena Presidente had beaten one of the finest cruisers in the English Navy had come to the ships huddled under the breakwater at Los Angelos, expecting every hour that she'd come along and sink them, and they were so proud of her and her people, and so enraged when they heard that she'd been treacherously sunk after her glorious fight, that they hoisted the black and green flag and came along to throw in their lot with the insurgents.
The Provisional Government, as a reward for his great services, made the Admiral Vice-President and gave his job to Captain Pelayo.
This pleased the fleet even if it did not please the Admiral, who must have known that it was only done so that there'd be no chance of his altering his mind again. Gerald told me, long afterwards, that he'd been given the choice either of becoming Vice-President or of being shot.
The Hercules went off to Princes' Town to renew the Provisional Government's demand for Recognition, and came back again, two days afterwards, with the welcome news that both the British and United States Governments had granted it. This was like a weight off my chest, because Gerald now could come and go wherever he liked without fear of arrest.