This advice is manifestly so timely that no time is lost in following it. The two hulls are laid side by side, the smoothness of the water permitting the operation in safety and hundreds of brawny arms are quickly at work transferring the cargo from the Semiramis to the Pearl.
At last the work is completed and Van Zandt looks inquiringly at Don Manada.
“Will you continue with the yacht or accompany the cargo on board the Pearl?” he asks.
The Cuban emissary hesitates. “If I might add to the already heavy debt of gratitude I owe you—”
“Oh, that’s all right,” interrupts Van Zandt. “So you will remain with us. I am glad of your company. We sail for Santiago and afterward”—he hesitates a moment, his eyes wandering to Miss Hathaway, who is watching curiously the motley crew of the Pearl—“well, eventually back to New York.”
Manada nods gratefully. “I am of more service to the cause in America than I could possibly be in Cuba,” he says, apologetically.
The adieus are said, the lines cast off, and the Semiramis and Pearl move slowly apart. The latter shapes her coarse for the little harbor of Cantero, where the arms and ammunition are to be landed.
“We are but ten hours’ sail from Santiago, Miss Hathaway,” Van Zandt remarks, as Louise idly watches the rapidly disappearing Pearl. “Then you will bid adieu to the Semiramis.”
“Regretfully, indeed, Mr. Van Zandt. The last few days have sped all too quickly.”
“‘We take no heed of time but by its flight,’” quotes Van Zandt. “How long do you expect to remain in Cuba?”