With daylight, caution gave way to haste, and the rusty little
tramp began to drive forward for all she was worth. She cleared
the three-mile limit safely and then turned south. Not a craft was
in sight; not a smudge of smoke discolored the sky-line.
It had been a trying night for the filibusters, and when the low
coast-line was dropped astern they began to think of sleep.
Breakfast of a sort was served on deck, after which those favored
ones who had berths sought them, while their less fortunate
companions stretched out wherever they could find a place.
Johnnie O'Reilly was not one of those who slept; he was too much
elated. Already he could see the hills of Cuba dozing behind their
purple veils; in fancy he felt the fierce white heat from close-
walled streets, and scented the odors of "mangly" swamps. He heard
the ceaseless sighing of royal palms. How he had hungered for it
all; how he had raged at his delays! Cuba's spell was upon him; he
knew now that he loved the island, and that he would never feel at
rest on other soil.
It had seemed so small a matter to return; it had seemed so easy
to seek out Rosa and to save her! Yet the days had grown into
weeks; the weeks had aged into months. Well, he had done his best;
he had never rested from the moment of Rosa's first appeal. Her
enemies had foiled him once, but there would be no turning back
this time--rather a firing-squad or a dungeon in Cabanas than
that.
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