In Rome， in London， in Paris， in Vienna， you will hearthem say： ‘Welcome back， Don Sabas.’ Come！ —tonto—baboon of a boy—admiral， whatever you call yourself，turn your boat. Put us on board the Salvador， and hereis your pay—five hundred pesos in money of the EstadosUnidos—more than your lying government will pay you intwenty years.”
Don Sabas pressed a plump purse against the youth’shand. The admiral gave no heed to the words or themovement. Braced against the helm， he was holding thesloop dead on her shoreward course. His dull face was litalmost to intelligence by some inward conceit that seemedto afford him joy， and found utterance in another parrotlikecackle.
“That is why they do it，” he said— “so that you will notsee the guns. They fire—boom！ —and you fall dead. Withyour face to the wall. Yes.”
The admiral called a sudden order to his crew. The lithe，silent Caribs made fast the sheets they held， and slippeddown the hatchway into the hold of the sloop. When thelast one had disappeared， Don Sabas， like a big， brownleopard， leaped forward， closed and fastened the hatchand stood， smiling.
“No rifles， if you please， dear admiral，” he said. “It wasa whimsey of mine once to compile a dictionary of theCarib lengua. So， I understood your order. Perhaps nowyou will—”
He cut short his words， for he heard the dull “swish” ofiron scraping along tin. The admiral had drawn the cutlassof Pedro Lafitte， and was darting upon him. The bladedescended， and it was only by a display of surprising agilitythat the large man escaped， with only a bruised shoulder，the glancing weapon. He was drawing his pistol as hesprang， and the next instant he shot the admiral down.
Don Sabas stooped over him， and rose again.
“In the heart，” he said briefly. “Senores， the navy isabolished.”
Colonel Rafael sprang to the helm， and the other officerhastened to loose the mainsail sheets. The boom swunground； El Nacional veered and began to tack industriouslyfor the Salvador.
“Strike that flag， senor，” called Colonel Rafael. “Our friendson the steamer will wonder why we are sailing under it.”
“Well said，” cried Don Sabas. Advancing to the masthe lowered the flag to the deck， where lay its too loyalsupporter. Thus ended the Minister of War’s little piece ofafter-dinner drollery， and by the same hand that began it.
Suddenly Don Sabas gave a great cry of joy， and randown the slanting deck to the side of Colonel Rafael.
Across his arm he carried the flag of the extinguished navy.
“Mire！ mire！ senor. Ah， Dios！ Already can I hear thatgreat bear of an Oestreicher shout， ‘Du hast mein herzgebrochen！’ Mire！ Of my friend， Herr Grunitz， of Vienna，you have heard me relate. That man has travelled toCeylon for an orchid—to Patagonia for a headdress —toBenares for a slipper—to Mozambique for a spearhead toadd to his famous collections. Thou knowest， also， amigoRafael， that I have been a gatherer of curios. My collectionof battle flags of the world’s navies was the most completein existence until last year. Then Herr Grunitz securedtwo， 0！ such rare specimens. One of a Barberry state，and one of the Makarooroos， a tribe on the west coast ofAfrica. I have not those， but they can be procured. Butthis flag， senor—do you know what it is？ Name of God！