O'Neill and Krüger spoke until the afternoon bled slowly into evening, the Caribbean sun sinking behind the horizon in bands of crimson and bruised purple. The humid air cooled only slightly, thick with the scent of salt, damp wood, and distant smoke from cooking fires. At last, long after dusk had settled, the merchant ship reached the port, its lanterns bobbing like tired stars upon the black water.
O'Neill, ever the courteous host, offered Krüger a bed in his own house.
Krüger declined without hesitation.
"My soldiers and I have endured too much together on the ocean," he said calmly. "I cannot, in good conscience, sleep beneath a solid roof while they rest in tents or on bare planks. To do so would tarnish my honor as a general—and worse, it would cheapen the sacrifices of my men."
