After stamping Steve’s passport, the man from the Immigration Department returned it to him, saying, “There’s a Phil Pitcher waiting for you on the wharf. If you’re ready to go in now, you can come along with me.”

A few minutes later, Steve followed the man down the ladder at the side of the Horn. Below, rising and falling with the swells of the bay, was a large, deep rowboat manned by six burly black men. The immigration official stepped into the boat and helpfully took Steve’s suitcase as the boy followed.

The men pushed away from the ship and began rowing toward town. For a few minutes, Steve looked back over the stern. Already the Horn’s cargo hoists were lifting heavy boxes from the hold to the barges that had pulled alongside the freighter. In a little while she would be on her way again, and Steve felt a temporary surge of regret that he was not going along.

But quickly he pushed the thought aside and turned his gaze shoreward. Here, he thought, is the beginning. This is what I actually asked for. It wasn’t the Horn or a trip through the Caribbean that I wanted. It was Antago. No, rather, it was Azul Island. Well, I’ve seen it, part of it at any rate. No, I’m not discouraged by what I’ve seen. Somehow, I had expected it to be different from the others—forlorn, forsaken by all save the horses. It makes Azul Island all the more interesting. I’ll have to arrange with Pitch to get there some way.

A fishing boat passed close by, its sails hard on the wind. And ahead, Steve could see other boats moored closely to the sides of a canal.

They went up the canal, finally turning in toward a wharf, alongside which there was a large shed. Steve looked for Pitch. At first he did not recognize him, for his gaze passed over the small, thin man wearing knee-length pants and a long-peaked cap. Then the man regained his attention by calling to Steve and sweeping off his cap, waving it vigorously. Seeing the steel-rimmed glasses the man wore was all that Steve needed to identify Pitch at that distance. Waving back, he replied to Pitch’s greetings and his frequent questions called across the twenty feet of water. Yes, Steve yelled back, he’d had a good trip. Yes, everything was all right at home. It was good seeing him, too. Antago looked fine, just fine.