But Peterson knew about the keel as well as any, and he caught what he thought was water enough before he yelled to Williams to drive her in. She sped in like an arrow; and again the white wave reared high and broke upon its prey. By then, I was in water to my waist. I caught Helena out with one reach of my arms, just as I saw Williams and Peterson stagger in with Mrs. Daniver between them. In some miraculous way we got beyond danger, and met my pirates, dancing and shouting a welcome to our desert isle. Their advent, thereon, gave the two womenfolk a fervent wish to embrace, sob and weep extraordinarily. I had said nothing to Helena and said nothing now.
“Where’s the dingey, Peterson?” I called, as he came up, grinning.
“Coming in,” said he; and forsooth that water-rat, Willy, made a better landing of it than any of us, and calmly helped us now to haul the heavy motor skiff up the beach, a few feet at a time as the waves thrust it forward.
“Thank God!” I heard Helena exclaim. “Oh, thank God! We’re safe, we’re all safe, after all.”
I looked at my little group for a time, all soaked to the skin, all huddled now close together. Peterson, Williams, Willy—all the crew, yes. Auntie Lucinda and the woman who had called me a coward—the two captives, yes, Jean Lafitte and Henri L’Olonnois and myself, Black Bart—all the ship’s owners. What lacked? For a moment I could not tell why I had the vague feeling that something or some one was missing.
“Willy,” said I at last, “where’s John, the cook?”
“Why, I don’t know,” said Willy. “Didn’t he come with you?”