A mile—­two miles—­it seemed like ten to the taut oars-men, and then a black hiatus of still water showed in the phosphorescent foam.  O’Reilly explored it briefly; then he turned back toward the ship.  When he had gone as far as he dared, he lit a lantern and, shielding its rays from the shore with, his coat, flashed it seaward.  After a short interval a dim red eye winked once out of the blackness.  O’Reilly steered for it.

Soon he and his crew were aboard and the ship was groping her way toward the break in the reef.  Meanwhile, her deck became a scene of feverish activity; out from her hold came cases of ammunition and medical supplies; the field-piece on the bow was hurriedly dismounted; the small boats, of which there were an extra number, were swung out, with the result that when the Fair Play had manoeuvered as close as she dared everything was in readiness.

Many of these expedicionarios were professional men, clerks, cigar-makers, and the like; few of them had ever done hard manual labor; yet they fell to their tasks willingly enough.  While they worked a close watch with night glasses was maintained from the bridge.

O’Reilly took the first load through the reef, and discharged it upon a sandy beach.  No one seemed to know positively whether this was the mainland or some key; and there was no time for exploration; in either event, there was no choice of action.  Every man tumbled overboard and waded ashore with a packing-case; he dropped this in the sand above high-tide mark, and then ran back for another.  It was swift, hot work.  From the darkness on each side came the sounds of other boat crews similarly engaged.

Johnnie was back alongside the ship and ready for a second cargo before the last tender had set out upon its first trip, and then for several hours this slavish activity continued.  Some crews lost themselves in the gloom, fetched up on the reef, and were forced to dump their freight into the foam, trusting to salvage it when daylight came.  Every one was wet to the skin; bodies steamed in the heat; men who had pulled at oars until their hands were raw and bleeding cursed and groaned at their own fatigue.  But there was little shirking; those whose strength completely failed them dropped in the sand and rested until they could resume their labors.

Daylight was coming when the last boat cast off and the Fair Play, with a hoarse triumphant blast of her whistle, faded into the north, her part in the expedition at an end.

O’Reilly bore Norine Evans ashore in his arms, and when he placed her feet upon Cuban soil she hugged him, crying: 

“We fooled them, Johnnie!  But if it hadn’t been for you we’d have turned back.  The captain was afraid of the reef.”

“I don’t mind telling you I was afraid, too,” he sighed, wearily.  “Now then, about all we have to fear are Spanish coast-guards.”