o send back until they were sure of the
launch. So he hurried after them, struggling the while into a coat far
too small, though fortunate in the fact that his captive's head was big
in proportion to the rest of his body.

Some few men were met, running from the town to the main road where
they had located the shooting. Each breathlessly demanded news, and
was forthwith given most disconcerting information by a savage blow.
The _Andromeda_ had received no quarter, and her crew retaliated now.
They did not deliberately murder anyone, but they took good care that
none of those whom they encountered would be in a condition to work
mischief until the night was ended.

It was a peculiar and exasperating fact that although they were
descending a steep incline to the harbor the presence of trees and
houses rendered it impossible to see the actual landing-place. Hence,
there was no course open but to race on at the utmost speed, though De
Sylva was careful to keep his small force compact, and its pace was
necessarily that of its slowest members. Among these was Coke, who had
never walked so far since he was granted a captain's certificate. He
swore copiously as he lumbered along, and, what between shortness of
breath and his tight boots and clothing, the latter disability being
added to by a ridiculously inadequate Brazilian tunic, he was barely
able to reach the water's edge.

Happily, the launch was there, moored alongside a small quay. From the
nearest building it was necessary to cross a low wharf some fifty yards
in width, and De Sylva's whispered commands could not restrain the
eager men when escape appeared no longer problematical but assured.
They broke, and ran, an almost fatal thing, as it happened, since the
soldiers whom Philip had seen from the rock were still on board. One
of them noticed the inexplicable disorder among a body of men some of
whom resembled his own comrades. He had heard the firing, and was
discussing it with others when this strange thing happened.

He challenged. San Benavides answered, but his voice was shrill and
unofficer-like.

The engines were started. A man leaped to the wharf. He was in the
act of casting a mooring rope off a fixed capstan when De Sylva shot
him between the shoulder-blades.

"On board, all of you!" shrieked the ex-President in a frenzy.

"At 'em, boys!" gasped Coke, though scarce able to stagger another foot.

The men needed no bidding. Sheets of flame