o the darkness the
pointing finger of a search-light. It swept the wharves, showing them
black with people; it moved between the custom-house and the fort, and
disclosed the waters of the harbor alive with boats, loaded to the
gunwale with armed men. Along the ramparts of the fort the shaft of
light crept slowly, feeling its way, until it reached the flag-staff.
There it remained, stationary, pointing. From the halyards there
drooped a long, white cloth.

With a cheer, Roddy spun the wheel, and swung the bow of the launch
toward Miramar.

"You needn't go to Curacao to-night, General!" he cried. "This city
votes solid for Rojas!"

From the wharves to the farthest limits of the town the cheers of
victory swept in a tidal wave of sound. With one accord the people,
leaping, shouting, dancing, and cheering, raced into the Alameda.

"To Miramar," they shrieked, "to Miramar! _Viva Rojas!_"

To those in the launch the cheers of triumph carried clearly. The
intoxication of the multitude was contagious.

"What do you wish?" demanded Roddy breathlessly--"to show yourself to
the people, or----"

"No!" cried the General, "to my home, to my home!"

When San Carlos surrendered, those in charge of the _cartel_, making a
virtue of what they knew would soon be a necessity, threw open the
cells of the political prisoners, and Peter, McKildrick, and Pedro
found themselves in the street, once more free men. There they learned
that Vega and his band had been routed, and that Vega, driven back to
the harbor, had taken refuge on a sailing boat, and was on his way to
Curacao.

From Caracas the news was of more momentous interest. The rising of
the Rojas party in Porto Cabello had led the same faction at the
capital to proclaim itself in revolt. They found themselves unopposed.
By regiments the government troops had deserted to the standard of
Rojas, and Alvarez, in open flight, had reached his yacht, at La
Guayra, and was steaming toward Trinidad. Already a deputation had
started for Porto Cabello to conduct Rojas to the capital. But as to
whether in freeing Rojas Roddy had succeeded or failed, or whether
Rojas had been assassinated, or had been set at liberty by his
victorious followers, they could learn nothing.

Only at the home of Senora Rojas could they hear the truth.
Accordingly, with the rest of the city, they ran to Miramar. The house
was ablaze with lights, and the Alameda in front of it, the gardens,
even the long porti