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Authors: Sonja Heisinger
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open, so he allowed her to guide him. Her hands were steady and sure, and when they arrived at the cabin, she lowered him to the floor, where a blanket was laid out for him. He arranged himself, his arms and legs awkward and heavy, then exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep with a sigh.
Josephine carefully removed his boots and found another blanket to drape over him. She then placed a canteen of water beside him, should he wake with thirst in the night.
Chapter Eight
Havana, Cuba
As the Steam Rose sailed south, the weather shifted drastically. In a matter of days, the harsh winter was quickly transformed into a warm, tropical summer. Presently, the sun made her way through the clouds and, before long, white cheeks and white noses were ruddy with shades of red. Coats were discarded and long sleeves rolled above the elbows. The men came out from the shadows of their cabins to bellow songs into the ocean air and play games on deck.
A favorite new pastime among the younger men was a competition of balance. Beneath the rigging, they would climb onto the railing and see who could stand the longest without clutching the ropes to steady themselves. It was slightly dangerous and enormously amusing, and those who refused to play were very happy to place wagers on those who did. Lucius was very keen on the sport, and was often among the first to take the challenge.
It seemed as though the present good humor had not escaped a single soul on board. The initial newness of the journey had worn off, and the Steam Rose began to feel something like home. Reputations were born out of gossip, as everyone soon learned everyone else’s names. Friendships were forged, histories were told, resources were shared, and those who were disagreeable were quickly singled out as the victims of dastardly pranks. These, also, were activities that Lucius proudly initiated. He was soon known as an outrageously fun sort of fellow who possessed uncanny luck and an endless amount of energy, a quick temperament, and a seemingly bottomless capacity for both alcohol and entertainment. He was also damned fortunate to share a cabin with the only women on board.
Passengers flooded the decks as the Steam Rose advanced upon the coast of Cuba. No one on board had ever seen anything like it. It was the stuff of fantastic illustrations, of story books and plays; but as often as they squinted and squeezed and rubbed their eyes, they were amazed to see the same thing: an exotic green land covered in exotic green vegetation, seemingly adrift upon an exotic blue sea.
As they approached the island, they entered the Bay of Havana, and were greeted by an old Spanish fortress that stood pale and silver in the daylight. Amidst its crumbling walls were twelve rusted cannons, and a new lighthouse that rose proudly before the garrison. The men stood gaping and pointing at the great stone embattlement, which they soon learned was the Castillo Morro of Cuba.
The Steam Rose had come to deliver and receive goods and letters, as well as pick up a few straggling gold-seekers. The new arrivals were told there was no room onboard but the free space on deck, where they might sleep if they agreed to rent a mat for the outrageous amount of five dollars. It was a steep price for a bed roll that was, in fact, a flour sack.
A certain porter did not quite know how to respond when one of the stragglers refused the offer.
“I got my bed on my back, mate,” the traveler told him. He was a large man, tall with wide-set shoulders and a strong chest. Everything about him was dark; his hair was wavy and black, his eyes hard, his skin thick and leathery from the sun. He was not a young man, but it was difficult to judge just how old he was.
He was the kind of man who was interested in nobody’s business but his
Josephine carefully removed his boots and found another blanket to drape over him. She then placed a canteen of water beside him, should he wake with thirst in the night.
Chapter Eight
Havana, Cuba
As the Steam Rose sailed south, the weather shifted drastically. In a matter of days, the harsh winter was quickly transformed into a warm, tropical summer. Presently, the sun made her way through the clouds and, before long, white cheeks and white noses were ruddy with shades of red. Coats were discarded and long sleeves rolled above the elbows. The men came out from the shadows of their cabins to bellow songs into the ocean air and play games on deck.
A favorite new pastime among the younger men was a competition of balance. Beneath the rigging, they would climb onto the railing and see who could stand the longest without clutching the ropes to steady themselves. It was slightly dangerous and enormously amusing, and those who refused to play were very happy to place wagers on those who did. Lucius was very keen on the sport, and was often among the first to take the challenge.
It seemed as though the present good humor had not escaped a single soul on board. The initial newness of the journey had worn off, and the Steam Rose began to feel something like home. Reputations were born out of gossip, as everyone soon learned everyone else’s names. Friendships were forged, histories were told, resources were shared, and those who were disagreeable were quickly singled out as the victims of dastardly pranks. These, also, were activities that Lucius proudly initiated. He was soon known as an outrageously fun sort of fellow who possessed uncanny luck and an endless amount of energy, a quick temperament, and a seemingly bottomless capacity for both alcohol and entertainment. He was also damned fortunate to share a cabin with the only women on board.
Passengers flooded the decks as the Steam Rose advanced upon the coast of Cuba. No one on board had ever seen anything like it. It was the stuff of fantastic illustrations, of story books and plays; but as often as they squinted and squeezed and rubbed their eyes, they were amazed to see the same thing: an exotic green land covered in exotic green vegetation, seemingly adrift upon an exotic blue sea.
As they approached the island, they entered the Bay of Havana, and were greeted by an old Spanish fortress that stood pale and silver in the daylight. Amidst its crumbling walls were twelve rusted cannons, and a new lighthouse that rose proudly before the garrison. The men stood gaping and pointing at the great stone embattlement, which they soon learned was the Castillo Morro of Cuba.
The Steam Rose had come to deliver and receive goods and letters, as well as pick up a few straggling gold-seekers. The new arrivals were told there was no room onboard but the free space on deck, where they might sleep if they agreed to rent a mat for the outrageous amount of five dollars. It was a steep price for a bed roll that was, in fact, a flour sack.
A certain porter did not quite know how to respond when one of the stragglers refused the offer.
“I got my bed on my back, mate,” the traveler told him. He was a large man, tall with wide-set shoulders and a strong chest. Everything about him was dark; his hair was wavy and black, his eyes hard, his skin thick and leathery from the sun. He was not a young man, but it was difficult to judge just how old he was.
He was the kind of man who was interested in nobody’s business but his
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