from shore, were crashing on the beach. The _Jessie_ was plunging madly
to two anchors, and every second or third sea broke clear over her bow.
Two flags were stiffly undulating from the halyards like squares of
flexible sheet-iron. One was blue, the other red. He knew their meaning
in the Berande private code--"What are your instructions? Shall I
attempt to land boat?" Tacked on the wall, between the signal locker and
the billiard rules, was the code itself, by which he verified the signal
before making answer. On the flagstaff gaff a boy hoisted a white flag
over a red, which stood for--"Run to Neal Island for shelter."

That Captain Oleson had been expecting this signal was apparent by the
celerity with which the shackles were knocked out of both anchor-chains.
He slipped his anchors, leaving them buoyed to be picked up in better
weather. The _Jessie_ swung off under her full staysail, then the
foresail, double-reefed, was run up. She was away like a racehorse,
clearing Balesuna Shoal with half a cable-length to spare. Just before
she rounded the point she was swallowed up in a terrific squall that far
out-blew the first.

All that night, while squall after squall smote Berande, uprooting trees,
overthrowing copra-sheds, and rocking the house on its tall piles,
Sheldon slept. He was unaware of the commotion. He never wakened. Nor
did he change his position or dream. He awoke, a new man. Furthermore,
he was hungry. It was over a week since food had passed his lips. He
drank a glass of condensed cream, thinned with water, and by ten o'clock
he dared to take a cup of beef-tea. He was cheered, also, by the
situation in the hospital. Despite the storm there had been but one
death, and there was only one fresh case, while half a dozen boys crawled
weakly away to the barracks. He wondered if it was the wind that was
blowing the disease away and cleansing the pestilential land.