“And with not a man on board;” chimed in Bab, “nobody to depend upon but ourselves. This will be something to talk about when we get back to Bellville, won’t it?”
The crew worked with a will, and in a very few minutes the Banner was once more breasting the waves of the Gulf, her prow being turned toward the West Indies. As soon as she was fairly out of the cove, a half a dozen pairs of eyes were anxiously directed toward the southern horizon, and there, about three miles distant, was the Stella, scudding along under all the canvas she could carry. The gaze of the young sailors was then directed toward the Louisiana shore; but in that direction not a craft of any kind was in sight, except the revenue cutter, and she was leaving them behind every moment. Exclamations of wonder arose on all sides, and every boy turned to Walter, as if he could tell them all about it, and wanted to know what was the reason the tug had not arrived.
“I don’t understood it any better than you do, fellows,” was the reply. “She ought to have reached the island in advance of us. And I don’t see why the Lookout hasn’t put in an appearance. If father and Uncle Dick reached home last night, they’ve had plenty of time to come to our assistance. It would do me good to see her come up and overhaul that schooner.”
“Isn’t that a cutter, off there?” asked Chase, who had been attentively regarding the revenue vessel through Walter’s glass. “Let’s signal to her. She’ll help us.”
“Humph! She wouldn’t pay the least attention to us; we’ve tried her. The captain wouldn’t believe a word we said to him.”
It was now about nine o’clock in the morning, and a cold, dismal morning it was, too. The gale of the night before had subsided into a capital sailing wind, but there was considerable sea running, and a suspicious-looking bank of clouds off to windward, which attracted the attention of the yacht’s company the moment they rounded the point. The crew looked at Walter, and he looked first at the sky and clouds and then at the schooner. He had been on the Gulf often enough to know that it would not be many hours before the sea-going qualities of his little vessel, the nerve of her crew, and the skill on which he prided himself, would be put to a severer test than they had yet experienced, and for a moment he hesitated. But it was only for a moment. The remembrance of the events that had just transpired in the cove, the dangers with which Fred Craven was surrounded, and the determination he had more than once expressed to stand by him until he was rescued—all these things came into his mind, and his course was quickly decided upon. Although he said nothing, his crew knew what he was thinking about, and they saw by the expression which settled on his face that there was to be no backing out, no matter what happened.
“I was dreadfully afraid you were going to turn back, Walter,” said Eugene, drawing a long breath of relief.
“I would have opposed such a proceeding as long as I had breath to speak or could think of a word to utter,” said Perk. “Featherweight’s salvation depends upon us entirely, now that the tug has failed to arrive and the cutter has gone back on us.”
“But, fellows, we are about to undertake a bigger job than some of you have bargained for, perhaps,” said Bab. “Leaving the storm out of the question, there is the matter of provisions. We have eaten nothing since yesterday at breakfast, and the lunch we brought on board last night will not make more than one hearty meal for six of us. We shall all have good appetites by the time we reach Havana, I tell you.”
“I can see a way out of that difficulty,” replied Walter. “We will soon be in the track of vessels bound to and from the Balize, and if we fall in with one of those little New Orleans traders, we will speak her and purchase what we want. I don’t suppose any of us are overburdened with cash—I am not—but if we can raise ten or fifteen dollars, a trader will stop for that.”