nounced air of a caballero grande. The other two were small, brown-faced men, wearing white military uniforms, high riding boots and swords. The clothes of all were drenched, bespattered and rent by the thicket. Some stress of circumstance must have driven them, diable à quatre, through flood, mire and jungle.
“O-hé! Señor Almirante,” called the large man. “Send to us your boat.”
The dory was lowered, and Felipe, with one of the Caribs, rowed toward the left bank.
The large man stood near the water’s brink, waist deep in the curling vines. As he gazed upon the scarecrow figure in the stern of the dory a sprightly interest beamed upon his mobile face.
Months of wageless and thankless service had dimmed the admiral’s splendour. His red trousers were patched and ragged. Most of the bright buttons and yellow braid were gone from his jacket. The visor of his cap was torn, and depended almost to his eyes. The admiral’s feet were bare.
“Dear admiral,” cried the large man, and his voice was like a blast from a horn, “I kiss your hands.
