“Ah, your vessel is a yacht. And the cargo—of what does that consist?”
“Two thousand rifles and 200,000 rounds of cartridges.”
“How is it loaded?”
“The ammunition is packed in kegs, ostensibly containing salt fish; the rifles are in bags and are hidden at the bottom of bins of potatoes in the hold.”
“The cargo could be shifted before daybreak, do you think?”
“Two or three hours should suffice.”
“Good. You must have noticed, lying in the neighborhood of your vessel, a rather trim article in the yacht line.”
“The Semiramis? Yes. A magnificent vessel!” exclaims Manada.
Van Zandt nods. “She is my property and I believe her to be the fastest vessel afloat in the world to-day. Now here is my plan—I consider it the only one that will extricate you from the dilemma in which you are placed: I will place the Semiramis at the service of the struggling patriots of the Antilles. We will shift the Isabel’s cargo before the night is gone, and before the sun goes down on another day the Semiramis will be on her way to Cuba. Once without New York bay I defy anything short of a cannon ball to overhaul her. What say you, Don Manada?”
The Cuban’s face expresses the astonishment and joy that he feels. To be raised suddenly from the depths of despair to the pinnacle of hope effects a remarkable change in one of his temperament.