“All the more reason for our making haste,” said Dr. Perkins, addressing the others; “it would be hard fortune indeed if Ben were to be robbed of his fortune by a flood.”
The shed which had sheltered the Sea Eagle overnight was close to the water’s edge so that the goods were soon transported on board. All was found to be in good shape, and the two darkies, who had watched the air craft overnight, received an extra gratuity for their pains. The adventurers had been particular not to give out any details of their flight, and it was expected that they would stay in New Orleans for some days before proceeding, so that no curious crowd, only a few negroes and stragglers, were on hand to see them start.
Dr. Perkins had an excellent chart of the river, showing distinctly the location of Black Bayou, which lay back from the river amidst a maze of other wriggly creeks and water courses. The Belle of New Orleans had been on her way to a “far back” plantation to pick up cotton, when she blew up, which accounted for the wreck being submerged in such an out of the way place.
As they flew along the river, but far above it, they could see human beings, busy as ants, working along the levees, strengthening them against the dreaded floods which already had devastated whole sections of country in Ohio and farther up the mighty stream. At length the course of the Sea Eagle was changed till she was flying over a perfect maze of water courses and bayous, winding in and out of a dense forest. From above, it looked like a lace work of water overlying a piece of dark green plush.
But the map showed a landmark for Black Bayou. Harry’s plan was marked “Ruined plantation house and sugar mill.” Frank was the first to spy out this important “bearing.” The Sea Eagle was at that time not very far up, and the gaunt walls and desolate overgrown buildings of the once prosperous place could be seen clearly. “Giant cypress with three forks,” was the next marking, and, sure enough, on a little patch of an island, not far from the ruined plantation, they presently saw a gaunt dead tree answering this description.
“Bayous and bullfrogs! We’re getting hot now!” cried Pudge excitedly. “Ben, I believe that that rascal was telling the truth after all.”
“I’m inclined to think so, too, Master Pudge,” rejoined Ben; “and look—look there—that must be the Catfish Island marked on the plan. See, it’s just the shape of one of them critters.”
“So it is, Ben,” cried Frank, peering down. “Goodness, this is exciting, though. Just think, in a short time we shall know if our flight for a fortune is——”
“A fizzle or not,” interrupted the slangy Pudge.
“Right off Catfish Island two points to the north,” read out Harry.