- clad gunboats, only half our tonnage, and pays no attention
to our flag." Still another shot is fired, and a solid shot skips over the waves, barely two lengths astern of the yacht.
"Shall we ram him, sir? We can send him to Davy Jones' locker in ten minutes, and not harm the yacht, either."
Van Zandt's eyes glance aloft at the Stars and Stripes standing out clear and free from the maintop, and then his eyes turn to the Spanish gunboat.
"Steam toward him full speed," he says at length, "and if he fires on the American flag again"—the white teeth shut with an ominous click—"ram him full amidship, let the consequences be what they may."
But the flag is not fired upon again. The Spaniard has once more laid a new course and is now bearing down full on the yacht. The two craft are quickly within hailing distance, and from the gunboat comes the inquiry in Spanish as to the name and character of the yacht.
"The Semiramis, pleasure craft, New York for Santiago," is Capt. Beals' reply.
The Spanish captain is profuse in apologies for firing on the yacht. She closely resembles a rebel craft, he explains, and the gunboat was sure she was that vessel, even if she did fly the American flag. Would the Semiramis accept his most humble apologies? His gunboat, La Pinta, was about to proceed to Santiago for orders; and if it please los Americanos they might sail thither in company, which would insure the stranger against the annoyance of being overhauled by some of the other numerous Spanish vessels blockading the ports.
Van Zandt consults with Capt. Beals.
"He wants to make sure we don't land anything," remarks the latter. "It might save some trouble to accompany him to Santiago."
Yes, the Spaniard is informed, the American accepts the apology and the escort of the gunboat to Santiago.
Before the brief southern twilight has drifted into night the Semiramis is lying at anchor in the harbor of Santiago, under the guns of the Spanish gunboat La Pinta.
