There was a rush of feet on deck, loud shouts and cries of "Throw them a rope," "Set adrift the life buoy," "Where's that life belt?" and the like. The men at mess jumped up, overturning cups and plates and dishes of food. One forecastle man pulled off his jumper and dove in to help. The sea ladder was put over the side and "Long Tommy" went down it, taking with him a piece of line; this he slipped under the arms of Rowland, the forecastle man, who had struck an oar on the way down, and was hurt. The man was soon hauled up on deck. The other four were also rescued. One went floating calmly off on the life buoy and was picked up by the gig, and the rest caught rope-ends and were safely hauled aboard, none the worse for their involuntary bath. Lines were coiled down again, the sea ladder unshipped and put in its place, and soon all was quiet and shipshape again--but we discovered that two spit kits and a monkey-wrench had been thrown overboard to aid the sinking sailors. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," quoted the "Kid," who happened to be sweeper that week. "I won't have to polish the brass on _those_ kits again." Shortly after the return of the last boat, smoke was sighted to seaward. The crew was called to general quarters without delay, and our ship steamed out to investigate. After a brief but exciting chase, we discovered that the supposed enemy was the auxiliary cruiser "Dixie," a sister ship of the "Yankee." She was manned by the Maryland Naval Reserves, and her armament was composed of six-inch breechloading rifles, not of the rapid-fire class. It soon became evident that her commanding officer, Commander Davis, was superior in rank to Commander Brownson, and he took charge of affairs at once. Captain Brownson was rowed over to the "Dixie" to pay his respects, and on his return a rumor that we were to be relieved of coast patrol duty by the "Dixie" and to proceed to Key West, went through the ship like wildfire. Tom LeValley brought the news to a group of us gathered on the after gun deck. We were just discussing the peculiar, and apparently ridiculous, degrees of etiquette found among naval officers in general, as exemplified by the ranking of Commander Davis over Commander Brownson. "They are both commanders," Tommy was explaining, "but Commander Davis happens to rank Commander Brownson by sixteen numbers in the official list. Both entered the service November 29, 1861, and--" "Whoop!" Down the ladder charged LeValley, wildly flourishing his cap. He stopped in front of us and gasped: "Hurrah! we're going--going to the United States, fellows." "What's up?" demanded "Stump." "The 'Dixie'--" "Yes?" "She's to relieve us, and we are ordered to Key West and then to New York. We're going--" "Rats!" broke in "Hay," in disgust. "You can't give us any game like that. It's a rumor, my boy. We're never going home. The 'Yankee' is the modern 'Flying Dutchman,' and--"