A Sojourn in Cuba 



Our luminous storm was all too short for 

 me. Cuba s rock-waves loomed above the 

 white waters early in the morning. The sailors, 

 accustomed to detect the faintest land line, 

 pointed out well-known guiding harbor-marks 

 back of the Morro Castle long before I could 

 see them through the flying spray. We sailed 

 landward for several hours, the misty shore be 

 coming gradually more earthlike. A flock of 

 white-plumaged ships was departing from the 

 Havana harbor, or, like us, seeking to enter 

 it. No sooner had our little schooner flapped 

 her sails in the lee of the Castle than she 

 was boarded by a swarm of daintily dressed 

 officials who were good-naturedly and good- 

 gesturedly making all sorts of inquiries, while 

 our busy captain, paying little attention to 

 them, was giving orders to his crew. 



The neck of the harbor is narrow and it is 

 seldom possible to sail in to appointed anchor 

 age without the aid of a steam tug. Our cap 

 tain wished to save his money, but after much 

 profitless tacking was compelled to take the 

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