, the illusions that heroes are made of. While the
war lasted he would assist in his own way, acting as an auxiliary to
those who were fighting, transporting all that was necessary to the
struggle. He began to look with greater respect upon the sailors
obedient to his orders, simple folk who had given their blood without
fine phrases and without arguments.

When peace should come he would not, therefore, retire from the sea.
There would still be much to be done. Then would begin the commercial
war, the sharp rivalry to conquer the markets of the younger nations of
America. Audacious and enormous plans were outlining themselves in his
brain. In this war he might perhaps become a leader. He dreamed of the
creation of a fleet of steamers that might reach even to the coast of
the Pacific; he wished to contribute his means to the victorious
re-birth of the race which had discovered the greater part of the
planet.

His new faith made him more friendly with the ship's cook, feeling the
attraction of his invincible illusions. From time to time he would
amuse himself consulting the old fellow as to the future fate of the
steamer; he wished to know if the submarines were causing him any fear.

"There's nothing to worry about," affirmed Caragol. "We have good
protectors. Whoever presents himself before us is lost."

And he showed his captain the religious engravings and postal cards
which he had tacked on the walls of the galley.

One morning Ferragut received his sailing orders. For the moment they
were going to Gibraltar, to pick up the cargo of a steamer that had not
been able to continue its voyage. From the strait they might turn their
course to Salonica once more.

The captain of the _Mare Nostrum_ had never undertaken a journey with
so much joy. He believed that he was going to leave on land forever the
recollection of that executed woman whose corpse he was seeing so many
nights in his dreams. From all the past, the only thing that he wished
to transplant to his new existence was the image of his son. Henceforth
he was going to live, concentrating all his enthusiasm and ideals on
the mission which he had imposed on himself.

He took the boat directly from Marseilles to the Cape of San Antonio
far from the coast, keeping to the mid-Mediterranean, without passing
the Gulf of Lyons. One twilight evening the crew saw some bluish
mountains in the hazy distance,--the island of Mallorca. During the
night the lighthouses o