“A million dollars for a steamer; yea! all I am worth for a ship to carry me to Boston! Oh! Brother, Brother!”
Jack, though stricken to the heart by what the message said, still held firm grip upon his self-command for the sake of the kind old man before him. When he heard the muttered words of his suffering friend, for one instant he stood as if suddenly struck by some helpful idea, then cried,
“You have the fastest sailing ship on the Atlantic, Cousin John. The ‘Adams’ has only half a cargo aboard. She can beat any steamer that sails from Haiti to America, if there be breeze but sufficient to fill her canvas. My crew is aboard. Within one hour my water casks can be filled, the anchor up, the bow-sprit pointing to Boston, and, God send the wind, we’ll see the Boston lights as soon as any steamer could show them to us, or I’ll tear the masts out of the ‘Adams’ trying.”
Like the revivifying effect of an electric shock, the words of the seaman sent new life into John Dunlap. He sprang to his feet, grabbed for a hat and coat lying on the hall-table and, ere Jack realized what was happening, was racing down the pathway, leading to the road, calling back:
“Come on, my lad, come on!”
Soon Jack was by the old man’s side, passing his arm through that of his godfather, and thus helping him forward, their race toward the water was continued.
Not one word was said to the house-servants. The Dunlaps saw no one before they dashed from the premises; no, not even the evil, flashing eyes of the old black hag, who, listening to what they said, peered at them through the low window case.
“Mr. Brice, call all hands aft,” commanded Captain Dunlap as he stepped upon the deck of his ship, half an hour after leaving the house of Mr. Dunlap in Port au Prince.