It proved to be a wretched trip. Off Hatteras the Dunham Castle
labored heavily for twelve hours, and bad weather followed her
clear into the old Bahama Channel. Not until she had thrust her
nose into the narrow entrance of Neuvitas harbor did she wholly
cease her seasick plunging, but then the weather changed with
bewildering suddenness.
Cuba, when it came fairly into sight, lay bathed in golden
sunshine, all warmth and welcome, like a bride upon an azure
couch. The moist breath from her fragrant shores swept over the
steamer's decks and Johnnie O'Reilly sniffed it joyfully.
He had brought little luggage with him, only an extra suit of
khaki, a few toilet articles, and a Colt's revolver, the companion
of his earlier Cuban days. He was holding the weapon in his hand,
debating how and where to conceal it, when the first officer
paused in the state-room door and, spying it, exclaimed:
"Hello! Smuggling arms to the Insurrectos, eh?"
O'Reilly laughed. "It's an old friend. I don't know just what to
do with it."
"I'll tell you," the mate volunteered. "Lead your old friend out
here to the rail, shake hands with him, and drop him overboard
before he gets you into trouble."
"Really?"
"I mean it. They won't let you land with that hardware. Take my
tip."
But Johnnie hesitated. Though his intentions were far from
warlike, he could not bring himself, in view of his secret plans,
to part with his only weapon.
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