swer for it that nothing was left out, unless it was in the
hurry of the unpacking last night. Quick, while there is time! What
has been left behind? Do you mean there is something still on board?"

"Yes, my good friend," said the Don softly; "the crew. Captain Reed,"
he continued excitedly, "with your brave fellows to man that battery the
day must be my own. Villarayo's sun would set in blood and dust; my
poor oppressed country would rise in pride to happiness and peace; and I
should be President indeed--my people's father--he who has saved them
from slavery and chains."

The skipper shook his head.

"No, no," continued the Don softly. "Listen. This country is rich in
mines; there are precious stones; there is no reward you could ask me
afterwards that I would not give. I care for nothing of these things,
for I am fighting for my country and my people's homes. Captain Reed,
you have always been my friend, my trusted friend, who brought me all
these in answer to my prayer. There is this one thing more. I ask it
of my trusted friend."

Poole glanced at his father's stern face, which seemed to turn colder
and harder than he had ever seen it before, and then turned quickly to
look at Fitz, who was watching him with questioning eyes which seemed to
say, What will he reply?

But reply there was none, apparently for minutes, though the space of
time that elapsed could have been numbered in moments, before he spoke,
and then it was in a low, softened and pained voice.

"No, Don Ramon," he said. "You ask me for what I cannot give."

"Give!" cried the Don passionately. "I offer to pay you!"

"Yes, sir," said the captain, without changing his tone, "and that makes
it worse. I tell you my heart is with you in your project, and that I
wish you success, but I am answerable to those men, their friends, and I
suppose to my country's laws for their lives. I have no right to enter
into such an enterprise as this."

"Why?" cried the Don passionately. "You fought with me before!"

"Yes--to save their lives and yours. It was in an emergency. This is a
different thing. I cannot do it."

"Then you forsake me?" cried the Don angrily. "That is neither true nor
fair," replied the skipper sternly. "I have helped you truly and well,
and run great risks in bringing you those munitions of war. With that
you must be content. As for forsaking you, you know in your heart,
through my help and the counsel you have rece