And when we saw this one for the second or third time (for we only caught a glimpse of it every now and then), a big man, who had been sitting on the edge of the raft, and hardly ever saying a word, sung out: "I believe that's a Russian bark." And after he had had two or three more sights at her, he said: "Yes, I know she is." "That's so," said the captain; "and she's bearing down on us." Now, how in the world they knew what sort of a ship that was, and which way it was sailing, I couldn't tell for the life of me.

To me it was a little squarish spot on the lower edge of the sky, and I have always thought that I could see well enough.

But these sailors have eyes like spy-glasses.
Now, then, we were all alive, and began to get ready to put up a signal.
Fortunately, the pole was on the raft,--I believe the captain had it fastened on, thinking we might want it,--and now all we had to do was to make a flag.

We three got out our handkerchiefs, which were wet, but white enough yet, and the captain took out his.

We tied them together by the corners, and made a long pennant of them.