"Guert!" shouted the rider, "we're all ready to sail! Come on! The coast is clear! Come back with me!"
"Hurrah! I'm ready," he began.
"Go, my dear boy!" interrupted the old señora. "I will call them to say good-by to you. I would not detain you if you were my son. It is your duty!"
Quickly enough, the Alvarez household gathered to say farewell to their young guest. They were all brimming with hospitality. They urged him to come again and to consider their house his home. Nevertheless he could see, plainly enough, that not one of them dreamed of detaining him, now. They understood that his post of honor was behind the guns of the Noank, and they would have despised him if he had not felt just as he did.
A horse was brought, and Señor Alvarez himself rode with Vine and Guert to the seashore, less than ten miles away. That distance was galloped rapidly. A boat was at the beach with a sailor from the Noank in it, and in a minute or so more it had three rowers. Loud and sincere were the last grateful farewells from the señor on the beach. As hearty were the good wishes sent back from the boat, but Guert's heart was thrilling as it had not thrilled during all his peaceful weeks at the Paez plantation.
There, yonder, at the mast of his beautiful schooner, floated the stars and stripes, the banner of freedom. There, waiting for him to rejoin them, were his own brave captain and the crew that seemed to him as his kindred. Away out yonder, outside of all these reefs and keys and ledges, was the great ocean.
"Hurrah, Vine!" he shouted. "Hurrah for a cruise and fights and prizes!"
"We're bound to have 'em!" said Vine.
As they pulled along, moreover, he told Guert that one of the sailors of the Santa Teresa had come all the way from Porto Rico in a rowboat to tell Captain Avery a lot of news that the captain had as yet kept to himself.
"It looks to me," said Vine, "as if we had some work all cut out for us."