ter her, and masts
and funnels reeled through a muggy haze as she lurched across the
surf-swept shoals. She floated high and light, her muddy side rising like
a wall as she steadied between the rolls that dipped her channels in the
foam. Outside, the swell was regular and the roll long and rhythmical;
the haze thinned, the air got sweet and cool, and the hearts of the crew
got lighter as she steamed out to open sea. For all that, men lowered
their voices and trod quietly when they passed the poop cabin where her
dead owner lay.

At sunrise, Mayne hoisted the house-flag, and the Stars and Stripes
drooped languidly half way up the ensign staff, until the glassy calm
broke and the sea breeze straightened the blue and silver folds. By and
by he changed the course and mountains rose ahead, although a bank of
cloud hid the plain and mangrove forest at their feet. In the afternoon,
he searched the haze with his glasses, and getting a bearing stopped the
engines near Salinas Point at dusk.

"If the weather's good, I'll wait three days," he said. "Then, if you
send no word, I'll pull out for Havana and get the engines properly
fixed. Better take this bag of Spanish money; minted silver goes and you
may find the dagos shy of the president's notes."

Kit took the money, a boat was swung out, and four sailors carried the
plain, flag-wrapped coffin down the ladder. They were rough men, but Kit
imagined he could trust them. Another crew picked up the oars, greasy
caps were lifted, the _Rio Negro's_ whistle screamed a last salute, and
the boat stole away. Mayne steamed off to anchor on good holding ground,
and Kit sat at the tiller, with his eyes fixed on the misty coast.

It was dark when he heard breakers and saw the glimmer of surf. There
were shoals all round him, but he had been told about a bay where a creek
flowed through a sheltered channel. He did not know if he could find the
channel, and if not the boat might be wrecked, but something must be left
to luck and they pulled on before the curling swell. She struck, and
stopped until a comber rolled up astern. It broke and half buried her in
rushing foam, but she lifted, lurched ahead, and did not strike again.
The men were nearly knee-deep as they baled the water out and one was
afterwards idle because his oar had gone. In spite of this, they made the
creek and drifted quietly into the gloom of the mangroves with the
flowing tide.

After a time, the water got shallow and t