"They must be brought on board at once."

"That is not all, sir."

"Is there more, Young Glory?"

"Yes, sir. There are two large boats also filled with ammunition."

"That must be brought aboard, too."

The captain turned to the lieutenant-commander, and gave the necessary orders.

"Now, Young Glory, you and Dan Daly will come to my cabin at once. I want to hear all that's happened."

And he sat spellbound whilst Young Glory related the whole story, beginning with Dan's escape, and ending with the capture of the boats.

"It's a letter I had for you, sir," said Dan, "but faith, I couldn't get out to sea."

"The letter is no good now, Dan. Tear it up."

"No, no!" exclaimed Captain Miles, eagerly, taking possession of it.

"This letter shall be preserved. It will be a memento of one of the bravest actions ever done by an American seaman."

It was little rest that Dan and Young Glory had that night.

Their comrades insisted on hearing every detail of their marvelous adventures, and the day had dawned before they sank to rest.

Each of them was indulged with an unusual allowance of sleep that night, on account of their great exertions, and when they awoke and went on deck, the sh.o.r.es of Cuba had faded from sight, and the gallant Cruiser Brooklyn was steaming through the Caribbean sea in an easterly direction.

"Where are we bound?" was the universal question now.

"Ask Young Glory. He knows everything," laughingly said one of the men.

"It's Porto Rico we're going to," cried one of the sailors. "I heard an officer say so."

"Porto Rico! That belongs to Spain, eh?" asked one of the sailors.

"Spain! Why, no! China, of course!"

"Ha, ha!"

The men were in the highest spirits now. They had not enjoyed the work of the past few days, cruising about off Valmosa and Monterey. Inaction is the last thing a blue jacket appreciates.

Now there was always something to do, and Captain Miles, a first-cla.s.s officer, saw that everything was done to perfection.

"If we do go into action," he said, "it will not be our fault if we are beaten!"

The run to Porto Rico took some days.

The lookout men were on the alert, expecting to sight land every minute.

Suddenly there was a shout from one of them.

"Porto Rico at last!" cried one of the sailors, joyfully.

"A sail!" cried the lookout man.

"Where?"

"On the port bow!"

One of the officers instantly went to the top with his binocular, bringing it to bear on a small, far distant speck on the ocean.

"A sail, surely," he said, "but what is it?"

"Well, sir?" shouted Captain Miles.

"It is a sail, sir."

"What do you make of it, Mr. Robson?"

"Hard to say. Certainly not a battle ship, nor even a gun-boat."

"What, then?"

"Looks like a small boat, sir. Perhaps there may be people aboard, but at present it's impossible to say."

Mr. Robson was a lieutenant on the Brooklyn. He had been early in the war on the battle ship Indiana. There Young Glory had served under him, and had learned to appreciate the attention to duty and the bravery displayed by this gallant officer.

He and Captain Miles paced the deck now, talking over what should be done.

"I should send a boat, sir."

"We shall see in a minute or two what is best to be done, Mr. Robson.

We're running directly for the sail."

"It's not a boat, sir!" cried Mr. Robson, after a while.

"Not a boat?"

"No."

"What, then?"

"A raft."

"You're right," said the captain, after another look. "A raft, sure enough, and what's more, is that there are people on it. Order out two boats."

"Yes, sir."