After breakfast aboard, we all took a hand in starting the motor.
"It runs as though made for the job," exclaimed Hiram, hardly able to contain himself. He had not shaved for several days and with dirty working clothes he looked indeed a longshoreman, but was oblivious to the fact.
When the motor had run long enough to get warm I told him to throw in the clutch that started the propeller, which he did without skill and so suddenly that the Fearsome took up the slack of her lines and before I could stop the motor or get to the clutch she snapped them and was free from the wharf.
Hiram realized he had blundered from inexperience and his face flushed.
"Ben, will that hold us up? It was a devil of a thing for me to do," he said, catching my arm, greatly alarmed.
"Captain, have you plenty of line aboard?" I called.
"Yes, plenty," he assured.
"Let's give her a few turns and if she moves all right we'll head for the entrance of the lake."
"I think we're safe in that," he replied, and Hiram's look changed to one of confidence at once, evidently concluding his first blunder was not fatal to the enterprise in which his whole soul was wrapped.
The captain took the wheel, while I gave the motor half speed and Hiram stood in wonder, watching as we moved swiftly up the canal, and when clear of it I gave the motor full speed and the captain without more ado squared away towards Mississippi Sound, the gulf to New Orleans on the river.