CHAPTER VII 



A SOJOURN IN CUBA 



ONE day in January I climbed to the 

 housetop to get a view of another of 

 the fine sunsets of this land of flowers. 

 The landscape was a strip of clear Gulf water, a 

 strip of sylvan coast, a tranquil company of shell 

 and coral keys, and a gloriously colored sky 

 without a threatening cloud. All the winds 

 were hushed and the calm of the heavens was 

 as profound as that of the palmy islands and 

 their encircling waters. As I gazed from one 

 to another of the palm-crowned keys, en- 

 closed by the sunset-colored dome, my eyes 

 chanced to rest upon the fluttering sails of a 

 Yankee schooner that was threading the tor- 

 tuous channel in the coral reef leading to the 

 harbor of Cedar Keys. "There," thought I, 

 "perhaps I may sail in that pretty white 

 moth.'* She proved to be the schooner Island 

 Belle. 



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