of the officers of the ship.  He examined the tug from stem to stern, sat on boxes of ammunition which seemed to him to be boxes of sardines, stumbled over packages of rifles from which butts and muzzles protruded; and failed utterly to find anything that could be regarded as contraband.  The mere fact that a vessel is engaged in transporting arms and ammunition does not, of necessity, bring it within reach of the law.  But that particular vessel was a good deal more than under suspicion; it was under the closest surveillance and open to the sharpest scrutiny.  The temporary myopia of that particular lieutenant of the United States navy was no more than an outward and visible sign of a well-developed sense of humor, and an indication of at least a personal sympathy for the Cubans in their struggle.  Tragedy is illustrated by the disaster to the steamer Tillie.  One day, late in January, 1898, this vessel, lying off the end of Long Island, took on one of the largest cargoes ever started on a filibustering expedition to Cuba.  The cause is not known, but soon after starting a leak developed, beyond the capacity of the pumps.  A heavy sea was running, and disaster was soon inevitable.  The cargo was thrown overboard to lighten the ship and the vessel was headed for the shore on the chance that it might float until it could be beached.  The water in the ship increased rapidly, and extinguished the fires under the boilers; the wind, blowing a high gale, swung into the northwest, thus driving the now helpless hulk out to sea.  Huge combing waves swept the decks from end to end.  O’Brien tells the story:  “We looked in vain for another craft of any kind, and by the middle of the afternoon it seemed as though it was all up with us, for there was not much daylight left, and with her deck almost awash it was impossible that the Tillie should keep afloat all night.  The gale had swept us rapidly out to sea.  The wind, which was filled with icy needles, had kicked up a wild cross-sea, and it was more comfortable to go down with the ship than even to think of trying to escape in the boats.”  At last, when there seemed no longer any hope of rescue, the big five-masted schooner Governor Ames came plunging through the heaving seas, and, by masterly seamanship and good fortune, backed by the heroism of her commander and crew, succeeded in taking off all except four, who went down with the ship.  But the work went on.  There is not space here to tell of the several vessels whose names, through the engagement of the craft in these enterprises, became as familiar to newspaper readers as are the names of ocean liners today.  A few months later, the United States Government sent its ships and its men to help those who, for three hard years, had struggled for national independence.

XII

THE STORY OF SUGAR