When we reached the mouth of the river the captain began to show signs of nervousness, though he had been entirely self-controlled throughout the worst of our troubles. We couldn’t see where we were going, but we could distinctly feel that the open bay lay not far ahead of us. What we wanted was to have the Sumner ’s searchlight turned on our path, but the only thing we had with us with which to convey this desire to the ship’s officers were red rockets⁠—the last resort of the sailor in distress. There was nothing else to do; the launch captain began firing them off, and a weirder scene than was revealed by their momentary glare can hardly be imagined. They produced the desired effect, however, and in less than ten minutes a great shaft of light, straight from the bridge of the Sumner , was sweeping the banks of the river and bay shore and affording us just the kind of assistance we required.