“Who’ll run her?” he at length demanded of me, looking from me to my two associates. Then forth and stood Jean Lafitte; and answered a question I confess I had not yet myself asked: “Ho! I guess a fellow who can run a gasoline pump in a creamery can handle one of them things. So think not, fellow, to escape us!”
I reassured Robinson, who was apparently ready to make a run for it; and I explained to Lafitte and L’Olonnois my plan.
“We’ll by no means discard our brig, the original Sea Rover,” said I, “and we’ll tow her along as our tender. But we’ll christen the prize the Sea Rover instead, and hoist our flag over her—and paint on her name at the first point of call we make. Now, let us hasten, for two thousand miles of sea lie before us, and Robinson is also five miles from home.”
But Robinson became more and more alarmed each moment. He had my money, I his bill of sale, but ride back to town with us he would not. Instead, he washed his hands of us and started back afoot—to get the town marshal, I was well convinced. It mattered little to us; for once more did sturdy Jean Lafitte more than make good his boast. With one look at the gasoline tank to assure himself that all was well, he made fast the painter of the old Sea Rover, and even as L’Olonnois with grim determination planted the Jolly Rover above our bows, and as I tossed aboard the cargo of our former craft, Lafitte cranked her up with master hand, threw in the gear, and with a steady eye headed her for midstream, where town marshals may not come.
I looked at my mates in admiration. They could do things I could not do, and they faced the future with no trace of hesitation. I caught from them a part of this resolution I so long had lacked. I added this to my determination to see Helena Emory once more and soon as wind and wave would allow. So that, believe me, the blood rose quickly in my veins as I saw now we had faster travel ahead of us.
“Square away the main braces, my hearties!” I called. “Break out the spinnaker and set the jibs. It’s a wet sheet and a flowing sea, and let any stop us at their peril!”
“Aye! Aye! Sir,” came the response of Jean Lafitte in a voice almost bass, and “Aye! Aye! Sir,” piped the blue-eyed Lieutenant L’Olonnois. The stanch craft leaped ahead, wallowing in cross seas till we reached the mid-current of the Mississippi’s heavy flood, then riding and rising gamely as she met wave after wave that came up-stream with the head wind. The eyes of Lafitte gleamed. L’Olonnois, hand over eyes, stood in our bows. “Four bells, and all’s well!” he intoned in a vigorous voice.
It was my own heart made answer, in the sweetest challenge it ever had given to the world: “All’s well!” And far ahead I, too, peered across the wave, seeking to make out the hull of fleeing craft that bore treasure I was resolved should yet be mine.
“More sail, Officer!” I called to Jean Lafitte. He grinned in answer.
“You’re in a hurry, Black Bart. What makes you?” And even L’Olonnois turned a searching gaze upon me.