The night was moonless and warm. An impalpable haze¹ dimmed the star-glow, only the diffused² illumination of the open sea enabled the passengers of the Fair Play to identify that blacker darkness on the horizon ahead of them as land. The ship herself was no more than a formless blot⁴ stealing through the gloom, and save for the phosphorescence at bow and stern no light betrayed her presence, not even so much as the flare⁵ of a match or the coal from a cigar or cigarette. Orders of the strictest had been issued and the expedicionarios, gathered along the rails, were not inclined to disregard them, for only two nights before the Fair Play, in spite of every precaution, had shoved her nose fairly into a hornets' nest and had managed to escape only by virtue⁷ of the darkness and the speed of her engines.  
She had approached within a mile or two of the pre-arranged landing-place when over the mangroves had flared⁹ the blinding white light of a Spanish patrol-boat; like a thief surprised at his work the tramp had turned tail and fled, never pausing until she lay safe among the Bahama Banks.
 
Now she was feeling her way back, some distance to the westward¹⁰. Major Ramos was on the bridge with the captain. Two men were taking soundings in a blind search for that steep wall which forms the side of the old Bahama Channel. When the lead finally gave them warning, the Fair Play lost her headway and came to a stop, rolling lazily; in the silence that ensued Leslie Branch's recurrent cough barked loudly.
 
"They're afraid to go closer, on account of the reef," O'Reilly explained to his companions.
 
"That must be it that I hear," Norine ventured. "Or maybe it's just the roaring in my ears."
 
"Probably the latter," said Branch. "I'm scared stiff. I don't like reefs. Are there any sharks in these waters?"
 
"Plenty."
 
"Well, I'm glad I'm thin," the sick man murmured.
 
Major Ramos spoke¹¹ in a low tone from the darkness above, calling for a volunteer boat's crew to reconnoiter and to look for an opening through the reef. Before the words were out of his mouth O'Reilly had offered himself.
 
Ten minutes later he found himself at the steering-oar of one of the ship's life-boats, heading shoreward. A hundred yards, and the Fair Play was lost to view; but, keeping his face set toward that inky horizon, O'Reilly guided his boat perhaps a half-mile nearer before ordering his crew to cease rowing. Now through the stillness came a low, slow, pulsating¹² whisper, the voice of the barrier reef.
 
The trade-winds had died with the sun, and only the gentlest ground-swell was running; nevertheless, when the boat drew farther in the sound increased alarmingly, and soon a white breaker streak¹³ showed dimly where the coral teeth of the reef bit through.
 
There was a long night's work ahead; time pressed, and so O'Reilly altered his course and cruised along outside the white water, urging his crew to lustier strokes. It was haphazard¹⁴ work, this search for an opening, and every hour of delay increased the danger of discovery.
 
A mile—two miles—it seemed like ten to the taut¹⁵ oars¹⁶-men, and then a black hiatus of still water showed in the phosphorescent foam¹⁷. O'Reilly explored it briefly¹⁸; then he turned back toward the ship. When he had gone as far as he dared, he lit a lantern and, shielding its rays from the shore with, his coat, flashed it seaward. After a short interval¹⁹ a dim red eye winked²⁰ once out of the blackness. O'Reilly steered²¹ for it.
 
Soon he and his crew were aboard and the ship was groping her way toward the break in the reef. Meanwhile, her deck became a scene of feverish²² activity; out from her hold came cases of ammunition²³ and medical supplies; the field-piece on the bow was hurriedly dismounted; the small boats, of which there were an extra number, were swung out, with the result that when the Fair Play had manoeuvered as close as she dared everything was in readiness.
 
Many of these expedicionarios were professional men, clerks, cigar-makers, and the like; few of them had ever done hard manual labor²⁴; yet they fell to their tasks willingly enough. While they worked a close watch with night glasses was maintained from the bridge.
 
O'Reilly took the first load through the reef, and discharged it upon a sandy beach. No one seemed to know positively²⁵ whether this was the mainland or some key; and there was no time for exploration; in either event, there was no choice of action. Every man tumbled overboard and waded²⁶ ashore²⁷ with a packing-case; he dropped this in the sand above high-tide mark, and then ran back for another. It was swift, hot work. From the darkness on each side came the sounds of other boat crews similarly engaged.
 
Johnnie was back alongside the ship and ready for a second cargo²⁸ before the last tender had set out upon its first trip, and then for several hours this slavish activity continued. Some crews lost themselves in the gloom, fetched up on the reef, and were forced to dump their freight into the foam, trusting to salvage²⁹ it when daylight came. Every one was wet to the skin; bodies steamed in the heat; men who had pulled at oars until their hands were raw and bleeding cursed and groaned³⁰ at their own fatigue³¹. But there was little shirking; those whose strength completely failed them dropped in the sand and rested until they could resume their labors³².
 
Daylight was coming when the last boat cast off and the Fair Play, with a hoarse³³ triumphant³⁴ blast of her whistle, faded into the north, her part in the expedition at an end.
 
O'Reilly bore Norine Evans ashore in his arms, and when he placed her feet upon Cuban soil she hugged him, crying:
 
"We fooled them, Johnnie! But if it hadn't been for you we'd have turned back. The captain was afraid of the reef."
 
"I don't mind telling you I was afraid, too," he sighed, wearily. "Now then, about all we have to fear are Spanish coast-guards."
 
Dawn showed the voyagers that they were indeed fortunate, for they were upon the mainland of Cuba, and as far as they could see, both east and west, the reef was unbroken. There was still some uncertainty³⁵ as to their precise position, for the jungle at their backs shut off their view of the interior; but that gave them little concern. Men were lolling about, exhausted³⁶, but Major Ramos allowed them no time for rest; he roused them, and kept them on the go until the priceless supplies had been collected within the shelter of the brush. Then he broke open certain packages, and distributed arms among his followers³⁷.
 
Even while this was going on there came an alarm; over the low promontory³⁸ that cut off the eastern coastline a streamer of smoke was seen. There was a scurry³⁹ for cover; the little band lay low and watched while a Spanish cruiser stole past not more than a mile outside the line of froth.
 
The three Americans, who were munching⁴⁰ a tasteless breakfast of pilot-bread, were joined by Major Ramos. He was no longer the immaculate personage he had been: he was barefooted; his clothes were torn; his trousers were rolled up to the knee and whitened by sea-water, while the revolver at his hip³ and the bandolier of cartridges⁴¹ over his shoulder lent him an incongruously ferocious⁴² appearance. Ever since Norine had so rudely shattered his romantic fancies the major had treated both her and O'Reilly with a stiff and distant formality. He began now by saying:
 
"I am despatching a message to General Gomez's headquarters, asking him to send a pack-train and an escort for these supplies. There is danger here; perhaps you would like to go on with the couriers."
 
O'Reilly accepted eagerly; then thinking of the girl, he said, doubtfully:
 
"I'm afraid Miss Evans isn't equal to the trip."
 
"Nonsense! I'm equal to anything," Norine declared. And indeed she looked capable enough as she stood there in her short walking-suit and stout⁴⁴ boots.
 
Branch alone declined the invitation, vowing⁴⁵ that he was too weak to budge⁴⁶. If there was the faintest prospect⁴⁷ of riding to the interior he infinitely⁴⁸ preferred to await the opportunity, he said, even at the risk of an attack by Spanish soldiers in the mean time.
 
It took O'Reilly but a short time to collect the few articles necessary for the trip; indeed, his bundle was so small that Norine was dismayed.
 
"Can't I take any clothes?" she inquired in a panic. "I can't live without a change."
 
"It is something you'll have to learn," he told her. "An Insurrecto with two shirts is wealthy. Some of them haven't any."
 
"Isn't it likely to rain on us?"
 
"It's almost sure to."
 
Miss Evans pondered this prospect; then she laughed. "It must feel funny," she said.
 
There were three other members of the traveling-party, men who knew something of the country round about; they were good fighters, doubtless, but in spite of their shiny new weapons they resembled soldiers even less than did their major. All were dressed as they had been when they left New York; one even wore a derby hat and pointed⁴⁹ patent-leather shoes. Nevertheless, Norine Evans thought the little cavalcade⁵⁰ presented quite a martial⁵¹ appearance as it filed away into the jungle.
 
The first few miles were trying, for the coast was swampy⁵² and thickly grown up to underbrush; but in time the jungle gave place to higher timber and to open savannas⁵³ deep in guinea-grass. Soon after noon the travelers came to a farm, the owner of which was known to one of the guides, and here a stop was made in order to secure horses and food.
 
It was a charming little rancho. The palm-thatched house was set in a grove⁸ of mamey and mango trees, all heavily burdened with fruit; there was a vianda-patch, and, wonder of wonders, there were a half-dozen cows dozing⁵⁴ in the shade. Spying these animals, Norine promptly⁵⁵ demanded a glass of milk, and O'Reilly translated her request to the farmer.
 
The man was obliging until he learned that the American lady purposed drinking the milk fresh and warm; then he refused positively. Fresh milk was full of fever, he explained: it was alive with germs. He would bring her, instead, some which had been boiled and salted in the usual Cuban manner. This he did, but after one bitter mouthful Norine insisted upon her original request. With a dubious⁵⁶ shake of his head and a further warning the farmer directed his son to oblige the pretty lady by milking one of the cows; he made it plain, however, that he disclaimed⁵⁷ all responsibility for the result.
 
Johnnie, who was badly fagged from the previous night's work, found a shady spot and stretched himself out for a nap. He inquired idly if there were any Spaniards in the vicinity, and learned that there were, but that they seldom came this way.
 
"We'd never see them here, if it were not for these sin verguenzas—may a bad lightning split them!—who take money to show them the bridle-paths," the country-man explained. "I'd like to guide them once. I'd lead them into a swamp and leave them to sink in the mud, then I'd go back and cut off their heads. Ha! That would be a satisfaction, now, wouldn't it?"
 
O'Reilly agreed sleepily that it would doubtless be a very great satisfaction indeed.
 
"I'm as good a patriot⁵⁸ as God ever made," the fellow ran on. "You can see that, eh? ............