mercy of those cruel, green waves that licked at the _Hilda's_ sides
with foaming tongues, eager for their prey. Our Jeremiah added to
the general cheerfulness by advancing an enlivening theory to the
effect that the Siminol Moros would undoubtedly surround us ere long,
attracted by our futile signals to the ship, and brought up pleasant
visions of swarthy pirates, under the leadership of our interpreter,
making us walk the plank, or fighting against us to the death on a
deck slippery with our own blood.

Only one more rocket left! How carefully it was hoisted to the top
of the awning, and how circumspect was the man who applied a lighted
cigarette to the fuse, while the rest of us breathlessly awaited the
result. What if it, too, should prove a failure? The very thought
was terrifying. But there went the rocket--up, up, up,--a steadily
mounting streak of red, which seemed to touch the dark dome of the
heavens before breaking into a shower of golden sparks. Eagerly we
watched the ship for some answering sign. The seconds seemed like
hours, the minutes like days. But at last, way over in the distance,
a rocket from the _Burnside_ split the darkness, and we looked at one
another silently, too deeply moved for cheers, knowing it was only
a question then of a race between our ship's launch and the hungry,
hurrying tide.

After a bit we laughed and joked a great deal to make the moments
pass more quickly, while our host told good yarns and recited some
of Eugene Field's inimitable verse in an inimitable way, to a running
accompaniment of the waves dashing against the side of the launch and
her occasional bumping on the rocks below. So long as most of us live
I fancy that "Casey's Table d'Hote" will be associated in our minds
with that night on the coral reef.

At last in the distance we saw the red, white, and blue Coston signal
of the _Burnside's_ launch, its skipper doubtless asking us for a
guiding light, our lantern on the masthead not being visible over
a mile. For a moment we were at a loss what to do, our last rocket
having been used to signal to the ship, but some one took a newspaper
which had been wrapped around a package, divided it in two, soaking
one half of it in machinery oil from the engine-room. This greasy
paper was then put on the end of a fishing-spear, and, when lighted,
it made a glorious blaze, which was immediately answered by a second
signal from the ship's launch, which changed its course, makin