t seemed
ancient history.

The police launch, manned by negro prisoners, with "the Admiral" in a
cushioned arm-chair at the wheel, was soon scudding away across the
sunlit harbor, the breakwater building of the spoil of Culebra "cut" on
our left, ahead the cluster of small islands being torn to pieces for
Uncle Sam's fortifications. The steamer being not yet sighted, we put
in at Naos Island, where the bulky policeman in charge led us to dinner
at the I. C. C. hotel, during which the noonday blasting on the Zone
came dully across to us. Soon after we were landing at the cement
sidewalk of the island--where I had been a prisoner for a day in
January as my welcome to U. S. territory--and were being greeted by the
pocket edition doctor and the bay-windowed German who had been my
wardens on that occasion.

We found the conspirators at a table in a corridor of the first-class
quarantine station. In the words of Lieutenant Long "they fully looked
the part," being of distinctly merciless cut of jib. They were roughly
dressed and without collars, convincing proof of some nefarious design,
for when the Latin-American entitled to wear them leaves off his white
collar and his cane he must be desperate indeed.

We "braced" them at once, marching down upon them as they were
murmuring with heads together over a mass of typewritten sheets. The
Corporal was delegated to inform them in his most urbane and
hidalguezco Castilian that we were well acquainted with their errand
and that we were come to frustrate by any legitimate means in our power
the consummation of any such project on American territory. When the
first paralyzed stare of astonishment that plans they had fancied
locked in their own breasts were known to others had somewhat subsided,
one of them assumed the spokesmanship. In just as courtly and
superabundant language he replied that they were only too well aware of
the inadvisability of carrying out any act against its sovereignty on
U. S. soil; that so long as they were on American territory they would
conduct themselves in a most circumspect and caballeroso manner--"but,"
he concluded, "in the most public street of Panama city the first time
we meet those three dogs--we shall spit in their faces--that's all,
nada mas," and the blazing eyes announced all too plainly what he meant
by that figure of speech.

That was all very well, was our smiling and urbane reply, but to be on
the safe side and merely as a matter of cu