These, with their long, dried stems, make wonderful torches, that give out fierce heat.
Now for the matches.
I rubbed the box dry, snapped it open and to my joy found the contents perfectly preserved.
Immediately a blaze sprang up, increasing to a roar, and Hildegarde, approaching, held out her chilled hands approvingly to the heat.
My duty in keeping up the fire caused me to be almost constantly on the jump, but our garments steamed and soon we began to feel better.
I began to consider our situation.
Where were we—on what coast, and how near civilization? I had money with me, but no means of defense against wild animals save a knife.
Looking back and cudgeling my brains to do a little figuring, I reached the conclusion that after changing our course we must have come back about as far as we had gone the other way.
Consequently the chances were we might have been wrecked upon the coast of Tobasco, and not a great distance from that wicked though gay capital, Berlin.
Now, I had pretty good and substantial reasons for never wanting to see old Bolivar again—there were those in the Central American metropolis who owed me a grudge, and a pretty healthy one at that, which they would be only too glad to pay.