Al 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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