It was when the bluejackets went ashore that the Americans began to realize what Brazil's welcome really meant. The boys landed with a whoop and began to scatter. Sailorlike some of them headed for the saloons, but the people expected that and were surprised that more of them didn't fall by the wayside. Most of the men, however, went in for rational enjoyment. They crowded the post card emporiums, they bought fruit and trinkets, they piled on the tramways and went any old place so long as it was somewhere.

They filled the streets, the cinematograph places. Yes, they hired automobiles and rode about like nabobs to the astonishment of the natives, who must have wondered at the princely wages the United States paid its men. They went to the best restaurants and hotels. Everywhere they were welcomed. "English spoken here" was a frequent sign. They were even allowed to loll on the grass of the many beautiful parks, an act that costs a native a fine of from five to fifteen milreis. They were respectful to all, but they had a commanding way about them that took. They owned the town; they knew it, but did not attempt to take the slightest advantage of it.

As the days went by and one saw the behavior of these bluejackets his American heart was filled with pride over them. They were clean, intelligent, manly, open, as fine a brand of sailor as ever wore a uniform, obeyed an order or sported their money lavishly in a foreign port.

The first thing that greeted the eye of every man who landed at the beautiful park that used to be an eyesore in the central part of the waterfront was a big sign reading:

"Information Bureau for American Seamen."

It was an information bureau, a real one. It was the most useful kind of a welcome ever provided in a foreign port for the sailors of any people. The American and English residents, aided by those of other countries, had been busy preparing for weeks for the visit of Jack ashore. Every safeguard, every assistance that was possible to make his liberty comfortable, profitable, enjoyable was looked after. It took hard cash to do it, but the money was raised and it amounted to thousands of dollars.

In the first place, the ferry company to Nictheroy set apart a large room in its commodious new building. Counters were put up for information booths, postal card booths, exchange of money, sale of various kinds of tickets for things with guides by the score and attendants anxious to answer all kinds of questions. Men and women worked there from twelve to fourteen hours a day for ten days in the stifling heat, all eager to be of assistance to Jack ashore. A pamphlet was provided giving a map of the city and displaying all the chief places of interest. Full information was printed about everything that a man bent on rational enjoyment could desire. The pamphlets told all about transportation, about the places to see, about postage and the many general and special excursions that had been planned.

Jack soon found it out and he rushed there in throngs. He found long tables in the room with free writing paper, ink, pens, mucilage, and down he sat to write to sweetheart or wife. Then he went to change his money. Here he struck a snag. A dollar is worth 3,200 reis. One of the sailors got a $10 note changed. He received in exchange 32,000 reis. He was astonished.

"Here, fellers!" he shouted, "I got 32,000 reis for $10. Gee, whiz! Me for Wall Street! When kin I get a steamer home, mister? Holy Moses! I've got rich and I didn't know it."

Jack found out quickly that he wasn't rich, for Rio is just now fairly oppressed with enormously high prices, due, it is said, to paying heavy taxes for all the improvements that have been going on. He found that he had to pay 300 reis for an ordinary postage stamp, 400 reis for a glass of limeade, about 800 reis for a handkerchief or a collar, and as for a bottle of beer, that was good for a thousand reis or so, and the money began to melt quickly. But what did Jack care? It was an automobile for him, or something equally expensive. What's the use of being an American man-o'-war's man if you can't act like a millionaire for an hour or so in a foreign port?

When the money was changed Jack found out the full value of these self-sacrificing men and women who had done so much for his comfort. He got a fair exchange for his money and wasn't robbed. This committee had provided him with guides to all sorts of places free of charge, had made up excursion parties all over the city and the surrounding country, had provided rubbernecks—and how Jack did grin when he saw the familiar things—carriages, special trams and what not; had provided for the sale of meal tickets, the best postal cards, had co-operated with the police to look for stragglers.

Well, Jack smiled and smiled, and he knew he was in the hands of his friends. The Prefect of the city, Gen. Souza Aguiar, was chairman of the committee, and all the leading Americans and Englishmen joined in. Especially active was the acting Consul-General of the United States, J. J. Slechta, and Myron A. Clark, the Y. M. C. A. secretary. The Y. M. C. A. here is affiliated with the Sands street branch in Brooklyn. The placards told Jack all about it, and the first thing he asked was if Miss Gould had helped to pay the expenses. He was told that she had not, because she had probably not been informed about it. He answered invariably:

"Betch'r sweet life she would if she'd known about it. 'Ray for Helen Gould!"

Here is a summary of what work was done for our sailors by this bureau in ten days:

Eight thousand sheets of paper and 5,000 envelopes provided free of charge, 21,000 guides to the city printed and circulated, about 175,000 postage stamps sold, nearly 2,000 meal tickets sold, 3,500 special excursions provided, these in addition to the many general excursions; about $175,000 exchanged at the lowest possible rates, about 170,000 post cards sold, about 2,000 automobile trips arranged.

So Jack and all the others of the fleet went sightseeing. They went to Petropolis, the summer capital, with its temperate climate, in the tropics, and only twenty-two miles away, up back of the Organ Mountains. You climb the heights on a cog railroad, just as you climb Pike's Peak, and you see the magnificent views of valleys, the bay, the ravines and gulches that would do credit to the Rocky Mountains. Jack and his mates went to Corcovado in throngs, starting on trolleys that crossed the famous old aqueduct back of the hills right in the city and climbed on and up around the city for miles with scarce a hundred feet of straight track. Then they took the steep cog railroad, and after a time found themselves poised on the peak 2,300 feet above the city, with this place of 800,000 inhabitants and its bay and the sea all spread out before them in probably the most fascinating panorama that the world presents. They visited the wonderful botanical garden, with its magnificent avenue of royal palms and its flower beds, its trees, its ferns, a truly royal place. One of the young officers told what he thought of this garden when he said:

"When I get married I am going to come down here and march up that mile of palms for the aisle in God's church. It will be the finest setting for the finest bride in the world. The newspapers needn't take the trouble to mention the bridegroom's name. That of the bride linked with the majestic aisle will be sufficient."

And so one might go on and on into raptures and extravagant expressions. The people's gracious mood matched their city and the visitors were simply overwhelmed with hospitality on every side.

The sailors grew to the situation. Day by day there were fewer signs of too much drinking. Occasionally a man or two would overstep the bounds, but the authorities saw to it that the Americans handled their own men in that condition.

Only one incident marred the visit, and it was a pity that any mention of it was cabled to the United States. After that had been done it was necessary to send the truth and correct misapprehension. It was on the first night of liberty. It was merely a saloon brawl. A native negro had a row with another and threw a bottle at him. The second dodged it and the bottle struck one of our seamen at a table and hurt him. He got after the negro, who escaped. Back the negro came with a razor and fell upon the first bluejacket he saw.

Several of the best petty officers on one of the ships jumped in to quell the disturbance. The rabble thought they jumped in to fight. Stones were thrown and three of the peacemakers were hurt. The local police didn't size up the situation and were slow to act. They arrested the negro, but let him go. After that they said it was a deplorable blunder.

Liberty was recalled at once and marines were sent ashore, but it was soon over, and the next morning at the request of the authorities 2,000 men were sent ashore instead of 1,000 daily as had been planned. The men were warned to conduct themselves properly, and to the everlasting credit of our American seamen it must be said they heeded the caution well.

An illustration of what might have been occurred on the night of Sunday, January 19. Rival political clubs were parading about town carrying banners and flags and also giving cheers of "Vivan los Americanos!" They invited a lot of bluejackets to join them. Not knowing what the parades meant, good natured Jack of course would go along. About twenty of them joined each of two processions and had the distinction of carrying the flags and hurrahing every other step. It was great fun. The naval officers on shore heard of what was going on and dashed up in automobiles. The Brazilians would not let their dear friends go and the officers had a hard time to get the men free. They at once obeyed instructions to scatter, and said they were simply having a good time with their new friends.

Ten minutes later those two parades minus the bluejackets came into a collision and there was quite severe rioting, with stone throwing and the use of knives and bludgeons. Had the bluejackets remained innocently with the parades they would have been in the thick of it and terrible reports would probably have been cabled to the United States of our sailors mixing in political affairs, probably instigating revolution and being most awful rioters. It was a narrow escape to get them away in time.

By the end of the week so completely had good feeling been established that from 4,000 to 5,000 men were sent ashore on Sunday. It was the largest liberty party of American sailors ever known. New York never saw so many of our men ashore at one time. It made one proud of his country and its men to see that party ashore. There were not twenty cases of drunkenness when the boys came home.

Nothing could have been more cordial and warmhearted, more lavish, than the entertainments given in the name of the Brazilian Government. The one regret was that Admiral Evans, because of an attack of his recurrent malady, rheumatism, was unable to take part in them personally. Admiral Thomas took his place admirably.

The tone of all the official greetings was that of undisguised friendship. President Penna made it manifest on the first day when he met the officers at Petropolis. Then Vice-Admiral Cordovil Maurity voiced it in English on the top of Corcovado the next day, and perhaps it is well to give his speech in full. Here it is as translated for the Americans:

President Penna again made the welcome plain when he said at his luncheon the day following to the Admirals and several Captains at Petropolis:

The Minister of Foreign Affairs added to all this in the great banquet given to the officers later in the Monroe Palace when, after offering a toast to President Roosevelt, he said:

The same thing was iterated and reiterated in hundreds of private dinner parties. It received its most vociferous expression on January 16 at a smoker given to the officers of the fleet at the Park Fluminense, an outdoor music hall with a mere roof covering and a stage, set in a garden. It was like the outdoor suburban amusement places in which St. Louis and other of our Western cities abound. Four bands of the ships were massed at the entrance to the pavilion. An immense American shield was lighted with electricity.

The flags of Brazil and England and the United States were entwined. The place was reserved exclusively for American officers and their hosts. They had an unusually good vaudeville show and in the intervals our combined band played. Beer and cigars were served, and soon things began to warm up. When a medley of patriotic American airs was played the cheers began to rise. They could have been heard for blocks. Soon Annapolis songs and yells and shouts were being given. In the intermissions the place fairly rocked with the songs and yells of old days. Men who had been tablemates for months shook hands with one another as if they had just met after a prolonged separation. Speeches were going on at a dozen places at once.

Then came the close. Our bands first played the Brazilian national hymn. What a job that is will be told later. A great outburst of cheers followed after every man had ceased to stand at attention. The Brazilians were beside themselves with joy. Then came "God Save the King!" Every one could sing that, and while standing at attention a mighty chorus of song rolled out. More frantic cheering!

Then came "The Star Spangled Banner." Profound silence was observed to the last note. When the salute was finished a cyclone roar followed. Men jumped on chairs and yelled and yelled. Hats went into the air. The Brazilians and English could not be contained. A score of men were on tables, each trying to take command of the occasion, each calling for three cheers for this person and that, for this country and that. None heard the others, but it was a grand acclaim of good fellowship and intense patriotism.

One little Brazilian called for three cheers for President Roosevelt. The Sun man heard him because he was only two feet away. The cheers rolled out and the Brazilian thought he had taken the place by storm, and was as happy as a child, but the cheers were simply a part of all that was going up and meant for everybody and everything in the way of international friendship. It was a night that stirred one.

And so the visit wore on, and it was a pretty tired crowd of guests and hosts before the finish came. Probably the weariest men on the ships were the bandmasters who struggled through the bars of the Brazilian national hymn. No disrespect is meant, but those Americans who are clamoring for a new national hymn ought to hear what the Brazilians have to put up with and then rest themselves content for all time with what we have.

In the first place the Brazilian hymn is so long that when you are playing it as a Brazilian warship passes the Brazilian gets out of hearing and almost out of sight before you finish. After a few struggles with the music the orders were given on some ships to shorten up if the other ship was out of hearing and save the wind of the players. Then too it is queer music. It goes hippety hop—it seems a combination of waltz and march, of anthem and jig. It may be music, but the writer of this is frank to say that the Japanese national hymn, with its weird swoops and dives, curls and twists, seems like a gliding Strauss waltz compared with the Brazilian hymn. One of the bandmasters on the fleet complained that his men could not play it properly.

"Musish no-a good," he said. "No Italian musish players. All come from Kalamazoo, bah!"

The Brazilians had hard struggles with the names of our warships. Minnesota, Louisiana and such were all right, but Connecticut staggered them. They made almost as bad as a mess of it as when they pronounced the name of the High Life Club here or the Light and Power Company. The Brazilian name for the High Life Club is Higgie Leaffie Cloob. That of the Light and Power concern is Liggety Poor Companee. Let it go at that. The reader must imagine how they pronounced Connecticut, for it can't be put down on paper.

The departure of the fleet bids fair to be even more spectacular than the one at Hampton Roads, only the powder and smoke, and the blare of the bands and all the rest of the show will be in honor of another President than our own. When the last gun has boomed it will mean not only good-by to President Penna and Brazil, but it will be the blackthroated response of 14,000 American sailors to Rio. The guns will declare Rio to be not only the City of All Delights but the City of All Hospitality.

CHAPTER VI
NATIONAL SALUTES AT SEA

THE passage of the battle fleet from Rio to this the southernmost city of the world was marked by a marine spectacle unprecedented, so far as any one in this fleet can recall, in naval annals. A squadron of the Argentine navy came out hundreds of miles to greet our ships, and probably for the first time in the history of navies national salutes were fired upon the high seas. Squadrons and fleets have passed one another before time and time again, and honors have been exchanged, the flags of flag officers have been saluted, but after these courtesies have been finished they have gone their separate ways, all official proprieties having been observed.

But this greeting was so unusual that Admiral Evans set a new naval fashion, and after his flag had been saluted—seventeen guns, by the way; the number increases on the way around, and if the warships keep it up, each one giving the Rear Admiral more and more guns, he will soon be an Admiral of the fleet in the thundered judgment of other nations, no matter what action Congress may take—he ordered the salute of twenty-one guns for the Argentines. The Argentine ships gave full justification, for they had manned the rails on approaching our ships, an honor paid ordinarily only to the head of a nation.

Admiral Evans met this unusual compliment by choosing to regard it as an honor to our nation, not a personal matter, and he fired twenty-one guns, to which the Argentine flagship responded at once. In addition to those honors the crews of the various ships cheered one another as they passed. It was all different from the accepted rule of fleets or squadrons in passing and it left a fine feeling.

"I never saw sentiment carried so far in all my naval experience," said one man who will soon have the right to hoist a two-starred Rear Admiral's flag. "Perhaps it was unusual, but it was impressive; it was impressive."

Our fleet had no sooner reached Rio than Admiral Evans was informed that the Argentine ships would come out from Buenos Ayres to greet him on the way to Punta Arenas. Three days before sailing inquiries were made as to his probable course and the hour when he would be off the mouth of the River Plata. The information was cabled duly and our fleet held itself in readiness to do the proper and handsome thing for this unusual occasion. Saturday, January 25, was almost a wonder day at sea. The air, which had been accumulating a chill under cloudy skies and an eastern wind, became balmy and the sea was as smooth as a pond. The sky remained overcast and the fleet had been running for three days practically by dead reckoning. Late on Saturday night the fleet overtook the tender Yankton and the "beef boats," Glacier and Culgoa. They were ordered to take their places with the fleet and when everybody except those on watch went to sleep it was expected that the three smaller craft would be in their places in the morning. But the wise weather sharps who know this region sniffed the air and said:

"Weather breeder!"

Sure enough at daybreak a heavy sea began rolling across from the southern coast of Africa and the wind began to blow. Before 7 o'clock the ships were plunging and making heavy weather of it. On the log books it was set down as a moderate gale. The waves sometimes were twenty-five feet high. The ships with quarter decks cut down were smothered with spray and solid water from time to time. The ships rolled very little—never in the strongest gale have the ships of the Connecticut class at least had their tables racks in place—but they yawed and dipped, as all ships in heavy weather are expected to do. The Yankton and Culgoa were not in sight. The weather had been too much for the little Yankton and she was ordered to slow down and the Culgoa was told to stand by her. The air was thick with rain squalls and mist and a more miserable day could hardly be imagined.

The morning wore on and nothing was heard from the Argentine ships.

"Guess the sea was too much for them," was the general comment. According to our reckoning we had passed the thirty-fifth parallel of latitude, right off the Plata, just before noon. We were also in the proper longitude, but all was thick, and the general supposition was that the Argentine fleet had met our torpedo flotilla, which was more than a day ahead of us, and had escorted that into the Plata.

It was just about 1 o'clock in the afternoon when a wireless message was received from the Culgoa saying that the Argentine ships were asking him by wireless for our longitude and latitude. The figures were sent back promptly. Their figures were also given and some error was made in transmission. It was figured that they were something like 110 miles to the south and a little to the west of us. The weather began to moderate and then the opinion was that if they steered straight for us we ought to meet them about 6 o'clock that Sunday evening. But about 4 o'clock there came another message from the Culgoa, saying they were about five miles from that ship and going southwest, the same course as ours. It was a surprise.

Admiral Evans also received by wireless through the Culgoa this message of greeting from Admiral Oliva, in command of the Argentine ships:

To this greeting Admiral Evans sent this response:

Then came another surprise. The Culgoa told us that the Argentine ships were steaming at the rate of fourteen and a half knots and were only fifteen knots away.

"Fourteen and a half knots, eh!" was the open eyed and arch browed comment. "Wonder how long they can keep that up! Pretty smart that for a South American squadron!"

The sun burst out from the clouds half an hour before sunset and the navigators got satisfactory observations and it was possible to send back our exact position. The Argentines had been groping around for us up to that time and the best they could do was to find the Culgoa and the Yankton. The long twilight of the high latitude in midsummer followed, but just after 8 o'clock the Connecticut sent a signal to the fleet and immediately shot its after searchlight high in the heavens. It caught the clouds miles and miles back, a brilliant beam. Then came another signal to the fleet and instantly the after searchlights of all sixteen ships were combined in a monstrous shaft of light that cleft a path gleaming with the brilliance of a comet's tail through the lowering clouds. It vibrated and pulsated with the glow of an aurora borealis and every quiver and dart seemed to say to the Argentines:

"Here we are! Here we are! Follow this and you'll find us. We're only going ten knots an hour. You'll soon catch up. Hurry along; we'll be glad to see you."

For twenty minutes that extract of the sun bored into the clouds behind, showing the way. It was a veritable pillar of fire by night. The combined smoke of all the smokepipes of the fleet would have made a pretty good pillar of cloud by day had it been clear, but it was too late for that now. Shortly before 9 o'clock, well astern, the faint light of a ship could be made out with the naked eye. The quartermaster on the bridge said there were four lights. Word was sent to the Captain—the usual rule when any vessel is sighted—and the news spread about, and soon dozens of men were straining their eyes to see the four lights. By a little after 10 o'clock all had become so plain that it was said the ships were within five miles. They came a little nearer and then slowed down for the night, keeping the same speed as our ships.

When daylight came on Monday, January 27, one of the fairest days nature ever provided, with a crisp southwest breeze, corresponding to the northwest breeze with us, every breath of it a tonic, the Argentine ships were about three miles astern of us. Shortly before 7 o'clock Admiral Evans ordered a double evolution. The fleet was in four divisions abreast, an Admiral leading each division. The second and fourth divisions were slowed down, and then by an oblique movement two squadrons were formed. These again were shifted into one column of sixteen ships proceeding wing and wing. The colors were hoisted at the gaff and the Argentines showed their beautiful blue and white ensigns.

Soon the Argentines were observed to put on more speed. The naval day begins at 8 o'clock in the morning. No greetings would be passed before that time. The Argentine ships kept creeping up, and when the first passed the Kentucky, the last ship in our column, to starboard, it was seen that her rails were manned. The Argentine ships were in war color, dark olive green. Their crews were in white. Our crews had been shifted to blue in the chilly blow of the day before, but our ships were white.

Up along the line came the Argentines. Every ship had received a signal to pay the usual honors. Marine guards were drawn up, the crews were at attention, the bands on our ships played the Argentine national hymn and the bands on the four Argentine vessels played ours.

Sixty-four times the national air of each country was played as the Argentines slowly forged ahead. Many of the officers had got out the naval books to recognize the ships of the visitors, as they might be called. Most of the officers made them out correctly. They were two armored cruisers of the Cristobal Colon class and two protected cruisers. They were the San Martin, Buenos Ayres, Pueyrredon and 9 de Julio, and they made a smart show, each having a bone in her teeth. They were at intervals of 1,000 yards, and they kept the intervals as accurately as American ships would have done, and that is saying a great deal, as any one can testify who has seen this fleet sweep into a foreign harbor.

The San Martin had passed the Louisiana and Vermont and was abreast of the Kansas and just behind the Connecticut, and about a thousand yards to the westward, when up went the American ensign. It was a beautiful new flag, and the bright sun lit up its folds gloriously. The ensign could scarcely have looked better upon Old Ironsides. Then a gun barked out the first detonation of the salute. One by one the guns were counted. Thirteen roared out. Then came another flash and report.

"Hello! They're going to follow the Brazilians' example and give Admiral Evans a Vice-Admiral's salute," was the comment.

Fifteen guns sounded and then came another flash and boom. Then there was another and then they stopped. Well! The Americans were surprised. An Admiral's salute!

"They do things in their own way down here," was the comment, and to this was added invariably: "Wish it was really true," for it must be recorded here in a spirit of accuracy that there is not an officer or sailor or marine on this fleet who, if he had his way, would not make Admiral Evans not only a vice but a full Admiral. It is the honest opinion of this fleet that he deserves to be at least a Vice-Admiral. The men in the fleet do not think it becoming to have the Commander-in-Chief fly a Rear Admiral's flag, a sight that would not be seen in any other navy.

The Connecticut responded to the salute gun for gun, as was quite proper as naval things go. The salute from the San Martin had scarcely ceased before the men on the Argentine ships broke into cheering, and well they might, for they were looking upon a naval spectacle such as few other navies have ever seen. The San Martin crept up beside the Connecticut, forged ahead and then the Connecticut with the Argentine ensign at the main fired the usual salute to the flag of another country upon the high seas. It made the men familiar with the etiquette of salutes jump. It was thrilling to them. The San Martin answered quickly and the exchange of courtesies with guns and bands and manning of rails was ended. But not all the exchange was over. The wireless keys were ticking now and this message came from Admiral Oliva to Admiral Evans:

Admiral Evans sent this reply:

A further exchange of good wishes for pleasant trips followed.

Then the Argentine ships sheered off. They did it most politely. Although their destination was more than 300 miles to the rear, they turned a right oblique, the movement being done in a way that excited the admiration of the Americans, and went off in the same general direction in which our fleet was travelling.

"Don't want to turn their backs on us!" was the explanation given. In toward the coast they went, and not until they were nearly hull down did they turn about and head for home. It was a pretty compliment from most polite men on extremely smart ships.

"That's a real navy!" said the Americans, "even if it is small!"

Coming, as the exchange of greetings did, upon the first bright day after the departure of our fleet from Rio amid gloom and other depressing surroundings, it warmed up the hearts of those on the fleet and the cheers for the Argentine Republic and her navy were genuine expressions of good will.

All that day and the day following the high seas greeting of the Argentines, the ocean was remarkable for its placidity. It was about as boisterous as the heaving billows of famous Cheesequake Creek under a hot summer sun. On the night of the second day of this there came indications of a change. The sea lumped itself a little, the wind changed and on the following morning, Wednesday, January 29, there came the first experience with fog on this voyage. The ships had been manœuvred into a different formation from that on the way to Rio. The four vessels of the first division were abreast at 400 yards interval, with the flagship as right guide. The three other divisions followed each at 1,600 yards distance, the flagship of each division acting as right guide and directly behind the Connecticut. It was a very open formation and seemed to fill the entire circle of the horizon.

Along about 8 o'clock in the morning a fog bank was noticed directly ahead. The temperature had risen about 10 degrees. The day was clear but a blanket of mist hung over the water. There was no time, even had there been any inclination to do so on the flagship, to order the fleet into exact column and put over the towing spars, whereby each ship can tell when it is exactly 400 yards astern of its predecessor.

Orders were given to turn on searchlights in case the ships were obscured from one another. It wasn't long before each ship was cut off from the rest. Then came the turning on of searchlights. One naturally would think that this would be almost farcical when the sun was shining, but not so. Those bright little suns could be seen on the ships near by, gleaming through the mist, when the outlines of a ship only 400 yards away could not be made out. You could keep your distance easily in this way. You knew where your nearest neighbor was, and often you could make out the position of two or three of your neighbors. The lights looked like reflections of the sun in a mirror, only slightly obscured. You can see that, you know, any time a looking glass is used in daylight, as many a small boy has found out when he plays pranks. The glare from the ships was truly a beacon in the gloom, and it made you feel comfortable as you thought of the dangers of navigating those immense ships in close proximity in a treacherous fog.

Sometimes the fog would lift and you could get a view of the ships of your own division. Occasionally the ships of the division behind you would be revealed in the same way. Then would come another thick bank and you would be shut out from the rest of the world, and then you would take particular notice of the signalling by whistles. Each ship would sound its own letter by the toots which made the number corresponding to its letter. This is the way it would go: