Jacket, of course, went along. Upon the announcement of O'Reilly's
intended departure for the States he had promptly abandoned Cuba
to her fate. He foreswore her utterly and declared himself a loyal
American citizen. He made it plain once more, and for the last
time, that where O'Reilly went, there went he, for they were one
and indivisible. It dismayed him not at all to turn his feet to
new pathways, his face toward new adventures.
Relying upon the best information obtainable at Cubitas, O'Reilly
had counted upon securing a sailboat from a certain fisherman
whose sympathies were known to be loyal, but in this he was
disappointed. The party arrived at its destination, a tiny
clearing on an unfrequented part of the north shore, only to find
it deserted and already grown to weeds. The house was empty, the
boats were gone--all but one old hulk, too rotten to warrant
moving, which lay high up on the sand, its planks worm-eaten, its
seams wide spread by the sun.
Having established Esteban in the hut, O'Reilly took counsel with
his Cubans, but gained little satisfaction from them. They knew of
no other fisherman in this vicinity; the nearest towns were in
Spanish hands; they advised a return to Cubitas at once. This
O'Reilly would not listen to. Sending them in one direction, he
took Leslie and Jacket and rode away in the other.
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