hances with
the open sea at night and so would proceed no farther. "To-morrow--four
o'clock--wind right--go!" he said, with a dramatic gesture and what
seemed to the colonists an unnecessarily explosive emphasis on the last
word.

The boats were anchored in the narrow entrance to the harbor, where the
smooth-running tide closely resembled a river. On one bank, one hundred
yards away, were an old stone fort and a few Cuban shacks. Some of the
passengers were desirous of going ashore to see the fort and the houses,
but neither entreaties nor bribes could force the old Cuban captain to
allow the use of his small boats. The Cubans are fond of waiting and
cannot appreciate American restlessness. So we were obliged to sit
quietly and gaze wistfully at the green-clad shore. As night came on, it
was found that loaves of bread and large chunks of salt beef constituted
the larder. It was poor fare, but the colonists accepted the situation
cheerfully and broke bread and ate as much of the greasy meat as they
could.

It was a radiant evening, with soft, caressing breezes and a star-lit
sky of incomparable beauty. Many of the voyagers saw the famed Southern
Cross for the first time and gazed at it long in silent contemplation,
overcome by that delicious feeling of dreamy content which takes
possession of one in the tropics. On one of the boats, religious
services were held, conducted by a Georgia clergyman, the Rev. A. E.
Seddon of Atlanta, one of the most enthusiastic and uncomplaining of the
colonists. The singing of hymns was joined in by many of the
eighty-seven passengers on the boat, and prayers were offered by no less
than four individuals. It was a singularly impressive scene, not
altogether unlike what took place on board the _Mayflower_ centuries
before.

The peaceful evening was followed by a night of great discomfort. The
passengers were crowded together, and many slept, or attempted to sleep,
on boxes, barrels, or the lumber which formed a part of the cargo of the
schooner. I slept, at intervals, on the lumber designed for the hotel at
La Gloria. Often had I slept in hotels, but this was my first experience
in sleeping _on_ one. Some of the passengers on the schooners sat up all
night in preference to lying upon boxes and lumber. We were not,
however, without entertainment during that long, wearisome night. We had
a philosopher among us, in the person of quaint old Benjamin
Franklin--of Griffin's Corners, New York--