The ordinary civilian can scarcely appreciate what it means to a warship to get mail. Officers and men talk about it for days. The departure of the fleet from Rio was set for December 21, but it was seen that it meant that the mail from New York would probably be missed by one day. The fleet was all agog as to whether Admiral Evans would remain over one day or would leave a collier to bring the mail on. When it was learned that the official receptions and good-bys would require another day in port there was rejoicing. "We'll get the mail!" was on every one's lips. Soon word was passed that the steamship Byron, bringing it, had reached Bahia. Then came the announcement that she would reach Rio between 4 and 6 P. M. on January 21. The time came and no mail ship. Then came 8, 9 and 10 o'clock, and no steamship had been reported passing in. Long faces were everywhere. Just before 6 o'clock the next morning the lookout reported the Byron passing in. Word was passed around and many an officer tumbled out of his bunk to catch a sight of the vessel that had letters from home on her. The bluejackets were already at work, but they stopped long enough with the others to give greeting to the ship. "The mail has come! The mail has come! The mail has come!" You heard it everywhere. Even the bugles seemed to sound it out. Good cheer was on all sides. Soon it was learned that the ship had been passed by the quarantine officer. Then came a race for her with launches. More than twenty of these boats, counting those from auxiliaries as well as battleships, began a race to reach her. The engineers hit 'er up and the coxswains steered as straight as they could. Over the rollicking waves the little craft plunged and rolled and every snort they gave seemed to say: "The mail has come. We're after it. We'll soon be back. The mail has come!" The launches clustered about the ship like an eager crowd of boys scrambling for pennies. They had to be straightened out. The bags had been arranged on deck and then there came a stream of men passing them down. There was an average of twenty bags to each ship. As fast as each launch got its load it dashed back at full speed to its ship. The bags were hurried up the sides and fairly ripped open. Half a dozen men were set at sorting out the letters and papers. In less than two hours after the Byron had anchored hundreds of men were going about with a contented but far away look upon their faces. "Oh, yes, thank you," was a general remark. "They're all well and they had a pleasant Christmas. Your people all right, too? That's good. 'Twas nice to hear from home, wasn't it? Wonder when we'll get the next one?" There are many stock questions asked on board of a man-o'-war. In time of conflict the chief one is: "Wonder where we'll catch the enemy?" In time of peace the chief one seems to be: "Wonder where we'll get the mail?"