A shadowy form arose amidst the blackness of the dock and came directly forward to take our line.
"Who's that?" I demanded. "Are you from Lavallier and Thibodeau?"
"Yes, M'sieu," came the answer. "Those supply is here."
"All right. Help him get the stuff aboard, Peterson."
They went about their work. Just as turning I saw standing at my elbow, the slight form of L'Olonnois, his arms folded and hat drawn upon his brow.
"Bid the varlets hasten," he hissed to me. "Time passes."
"Back to your post, L'Olonnois," I rejoined. "See that the captives remain in their room."
Jean Lafitte, too, proved unable to restrain his curiosity, and this time his habit of close observation was of benefit in an unexpected way.
"Hist, Black Bart!" he whispered distinctly, clutching my arm. "What boat is that?"
He pointed in the dim light to a low lying, battered power boat moored in the same slip with us. Something in her look seemed familiar.
"I can't see her name," said Jean Lafitte, "but she looks a lot like our own old boat."
I hastily stepped on the wharf and got a closer look in the wavering beams of an arc light at the name on the boat's bows. There, in indistinct and shaky, but unmistakable characters, was the title painted by my young ruffians, weeks earlier--_Sea Rover!_
"Jean Lafitte," I whispered, "you are right, and now indeed we must have a care. Yon varlet has beaten us into New Orleans."
"Let's board her and take her," hissed Jean Lafitte. "We can do it easy."
"No, wait," said I. "Perhaps we can think of a better plan. Wait till we get two drums of gasoline aboard. Then we'll make a run for it, if yon varlet is here on the _Sea Rover_. Probably not, for every one seems gone to bed."
"I'll find out," said Jean Lafitte boldly, and before I could stop him was gone, springing lightly on the deck of the _Sea Rover_.
"Hello in there," he hailed. "Are you all asleep?"
A voice muttered something from the shallow cabin, I could not tell what. "We got a barrel of rum for you from Thibodeau's," said Jean Lafitte.
"No, you ain't. Must be some mistake," said a sleepy voice; and now a tousled head appeared, indistinct in the gloom. "Anyhow, I don't know anything about it, and it'll have to stay on the dock until morning.
I'm only the engineer, I come from Natchez. Mr. Davidson, he's up-town."
"Oh, all right," said Jean Lafitte, apparently mollified, and soon was at my side again. So then, we had the information we sought. I was sure my own engineer, Williams, was busy as usual below, oiling and polishing his double sixties.
"Hurry now," I whispered to Peterson. "Get that stuff aboard quick.
Don't forget the crates of fruit and vegetables."
We were nearly done with this work, when for a moment all seemed on the point of going wrong with us. I heard shufflings and door slammings from the after cabin. "Help! Help!" sounded the voice of Aunt Lucinda, somewhat muffled. It chanced that my engineer, Williams, at that moment poked his head up his ladder to get a breath of fresh air.
"What's that?" he demanded of me as I passed. "I thought I heard some one calling."
"Oh, you did, Williams," said I. "It was Mrs. Daniver. She suffers much with neuralgia and is in great pain. I shouldn't wonder if I should have to go up-town and get a physician for her even yet. But, Williams, in any case we'll be sailing soon, and I want you to overhaul the screen of the intake pipe for that port boiler. We're getting into very sandy waters, and of course you don't want anything to happen to your engines. Can you attend to that at once?"
"Surely, sir," said he, and went below again. I closed the hatch on him. Meantime I hurried aft, to see what could be done toward quelling any possible uproar. My blue-eyed lieutenant, L'Olonnois, had been as efficient in his way as Jean Lafitte. Now, in full character, he was enjoying himself immensely. When I saw him, he was standing with his feet spread wide apart in the center of the cabin floor, with drawn sword in his hand.
"Lady," said he, addressing himself to Aunt Lucinda, "it irks me as a gentleman to be rude with one so fair, but let me hear one more word from you, and your life's blood shall dye the deck, and you shall walk the plank at the morning sun. You deal with L'Olonnois, who knows no fear!"
Deep silence, broken presently by a little laugh; and I heard Helena's voice in remonstrance. "Don't be so silly, Jimmie!"
"Silly, indeed," boomed the deep voice of Aunt Lucinda, catching sight of me at the door. "Yonder is the villain who put him up to this."
"Oh, is that you?" said Helena, coming toward me. "Where are we, Harry?"
"In the port of New Orleans, Miss Helena," was my answer, "a city of some three hundred thousand souls, noted for its manufacture of sugar, and its large shipments abroad of the staple cotton."
"May I come on deck?" she queried after a while.
"We are alongside the levee, and there is little to see. We shall be sailing now in a few moments."
"But mayn't I come up and see New Orleans, even for a minute as we pass by? I'll be good."
"You may come up under parole," said I, throwing open the door. "But you must bring your aunt's parole also. You must give no alarm, for we have every reason here for silence."
She turned back and held some converse with Auntie Lucinda, and by what spell I know not, won the promise of the latter to remain silent and make no attempt at escape. A little later she was at my side in the dim light cast by a flickering and distant arc light at the street.
"I have your word, then?" I demanded of her.
"Yes. You can't blame me for wanting to get out, to see what is going on."
"A great deal may be going on here any moment," said I. "In fact, if I could show you the evening newspapers--which I purpose doing to-morrow morning--it might seem to you that a great deal already has gone on.
For one thing, Cal Davidson is in town ahead of us. That's his boat yonder, rubbing sides with us. He doesn't know we're here. He himself is off up-town, at the Boston Club, probably, or perhaps some of the cafes--he knows a thousand people here."
"So do I, Harry," said she. "To think of going by in this plight! And to think of leaving New Orleans without even one little supper at Luigi's, Harry--it breaks my heart."
"We are almost ready to sail, Helena. Suppose we see Luigi's some other time. Things are getting pretty close about us here."
"Any pirate should be a man of courage," said she; "he should be ever willing to take a chance."
"Very well; have I not taken several chances already?"
"And again, a pirate ought to be kind toward all women, oughtn't he, Harry? I asked you this afternoon, why couldn't we be friends again and stop all this foolishness. Let's forget everything and just be friends."
"What! Again, Helena? Have I not tried that and found it a failure?"
"You have no courage. You are no pirate. I challenge you to a test."
"What is it, Helena?"
"Let us go up-town and have a little supper at Luigi's, the way we used to, Harry, when we really were friends."
"What, with Cal Davidson loose in the town and his boat lying here?"