Cuba -- History -- Revolution, 1895-1898 -- Fiction
From the point of leaving it was perhaps five miles across the sound to
the fringe of keys which in this neighborhood bordered the old Bahama
Channel with its unplumbed depths of blue water. Here it was calm, so
the run was soon made. The boat handled well enough, all things
considered; nevertheless, to O'Reilly, her navigator, it was an anxious
hour. Not only was he forced to keep a sharp lookout for blockading
gunboats, but he feared he was doing wrong in committing his precious
freight to the uncertainties of the Atlantic. Even had he been alone,
with a crew of able sailors under him, this voyage would have daunted
him, for it was without doubt the wildest adventure in which he had
ever participated. When he hinted at these fears and put the matter
before his companions for a final test, Branch refused to speak, but
Esteban and the girls were earnestly in favor of pushing on. Jacket, of
course, loudly seconded them.
At sunset they entered a pass and ran between low mangrove banks. The
tide was ebbing and it hurried them through and out into the open sea,
where they felt the lift of the mighty ocean swell. Over these slow
undulations the sailboat plowed, heading toward the empty northern
horizon, with the kindling Pole Star as a beacon. The sky was clear,
the sea was gently roughened by the night breeze, the constellations
grew bright and appeared to hang low.
When the coast-line of Cuba had become a blur astern Rosa crept back
and seated herself beside her husband.
"I breathe freely for the first time since that day when Don Mario came
to offer me marriage," she told him. "The past is beginning to seem
like a bad, bad dream and I feel a great hope, a great gladness. I am
reborn, O'Rail-ye."
"A few hours more and we can all breathe easy." He smiled down at her.
She laid her small palm over his fingers which grasped the
steering-oar, whereupon he cried with pretended sternness: "Avast
there! Don't distract the attention of the skipper or he'll sail his
boat in circles. Look out or he'll send you below."
Rosa persisted mutinously, so he punished her with a kiss planted
fairly upon her pouting lips, whereupon she nestled closer to him. "How
much I love you," she whispered. "But I never can tell you, for we are
never alone. Was there ever such a courtship, such a marriage, and such
a wedding journey as ours?"
"We're the owl and the pussy-cat who went to sea in a beautiful
pea-green boat, 'With plenty of honey and lots of money, wrapped up in
a ten-pound note.' Some day when we've settled down in our Harlem flat,
and I'm working hard, we'll look back on this and consider it romantic,
thrilling. Maybe we'll long for excitement."
"Not I," Rosa shivered. "To be safe, to have you all to myself where I
can spoil you, that will be excitement enough."
"We'll rent that little apartment I looked at, or one just like it."
"But, O'Rail-ye, we're rich."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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