“I thought I’d done it with a shell,” the boatswain’s mate replied disappointedly. “Well, if we get within the range of this little piece of iron,” patting his rifle, “I’ll take great pleasure in writing my initials on that Espinosa’s yellow carcass.”
The midshipman did not take this soft-hearted sailorman seriously. In a fight, he knew he was as brave as twenty men, but with a vanquished enemy he was as gentle as a woman.
“If we can catch him alive, I don’t wish to kill him,” Phil answered now, in Spanish, to include Rodriguez, who had not understood the declarations of the disappointed sailor.
“I claim the privilege of doing that, Señor Perry,” the colonel replied.
Phil regarded him sternly. The native looked into the midshipman’s eyes unwaveringly.
“Why should you?” the lad asked.
“Ah, señor, I had forgotten,” the native said earnestly, taking his revolver from its holster and holding it butt forward to the midshipman. “Colonel Remundo in Luzon, Colonel Martinez in Kapay, and now Gregorio Rodriguez, surrenders to you as a prisoner of war.”
Phil looked aghast, while O’Neil mumbled inarticulate nautical phrases of surprise.
“Are you then Maria’s brother?” the lad asked.
Gregorio nodded his head slowly, still holding his revolver for Phil to take.