behind the houses at the next corner, of Mausers covering us from the
latticed balconies overhead. Until at last, when the silence had
become alert and menacing, a lonely man dashed into the middle of the
street, hurled a white flag in front of us, and then dived headlong
under the porch of a house. The next instant, as though at a signal,
a hundred citizens, each with a white flag in both hands, ran from
cover, waving their banners, and gasping in weak and terror-shaken
tones, "Vivan los Americanos."

We tried to pull up, but the ponies had not yet settled among
themselves which of us had won, and carried us to the extreme edge of
the town, where a precipice seemed to invite them to stop, and we
fell off into the arms of the Porto Ricans. They brought us wine in
tin cans, cigars, borne in the aprons and mantillas of their women-
folk, and demijohns of native rum. They were abject, trembling,
tearful. They made one instantly forget that the moment before he
had been extremely frightened.

One of them spoke to me the few words of Spanish with which I had an
acquaintance. He told me he was the Alcalde, and that he begged to
surrender into my hands the town of Coamo. I led him instantly to
one side. I was afraid that if I did not take him up he would
surrender to Paget or to Jimmy. I bade him conduct me to his
official residence. He did so, and gave me the key to the cartel, a
staff of office of gold and ebony, and the flag of the town, which he
had hidden behind his writing-desk. It was a fine Spanish flag with
the coat of arms embroidered in gold. I decided that, with whatever
else I might part, that flag would always be mine, that the chance of
my again receiving the surrender of a town of five thousand people
was slender, and that this token would be wrapped around me in my