CHAPTER VII 
A SOJOURN IN CUBA 
O NE 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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