The Lady and the Pirate - Emerson Hough (lightweight ebook reader .txt) 📗

more than these slight precautions which I have indicated, we lay all that afternoon in plain view of the world; and because all the world could not suspect us of such hardihood, all the world went by without suspecting that the stolen Belle Helène and her ruthless pirate crew were there in full sight and apparently inviting or defying apprehension. Sometimes a passing craft would salute us as we lay, and we returned the courtesy without fail. I know not whether more bottles were cast overboard by Aunt Lucinda, but if so, we heard of none. At last, after what seemed days to me, though no more than hours, the shade of twilight fell across the river, the outlines of the passing boats grew less distinct. Now and again we could hear the wail of railway whistle, or see the curved snake of the lighted train dashing across the alluvial lands toward the ferry. Here and there, beyond, pin points of red lights shone. At last the night fell full, and, gladly enough, I gave the order for the continuance of our journey.

We slipped down-stream gently and silently, yet speedily withal, seeking to time our arrival, as nearly as we might, to the hour assigned for the delivery of our supplies at the dock.

“I’m none too easy in my mind,” said my old skipper to me, as we stood together forward.

“Why not, Peterson?”

“It’s them two boys,” said he. “You talk of pirates—there’s the bloodiest pair of pirates as ever was. I hardly know whether my own life’s safe or not, to hear them talk.”

“Never do you mind, Peterson,” said I. “Those boys may be useful to us yet. The one with blue eyes has proved himself able to keep the ladies in their cabin, and as for the one who was going to run you through when we took the boat, he still may have to work to keep Williams down in the engine-room when we make our landing.”

“It may come out all right,” said the old man gloomily, “but sometimes I fear for the worst.”

“You always do, Peterson, and that is no frame of mind for a healthy pirate. But here we are below the railway warehouse district, and I think nearly opposite slip K, where we land. Port your helm, and run in slow. We’ve got to have gasoline, although I must say my two bullies took aboard quite a store up there at the Bayou.”

“Port it is, sir,” said Peterson gloomily, still smoking. And he made as neat a landing as ever in his life.

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 cafés—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?”

“That is the adventure!”

“You would turn me over to the authorities?”

“No, but I would sell my parole for a mess of woodcock, Harry.” She laid a hand upon my arm. “I can’t tell you how much I want a little supper at Luigi’s, Harry. I like the Chianti there. Between us we could afford thirty cents a bottle, could we not? Now, if I gave my parole—and of course, every one would be here at the boat just the same—But of course, I did not expect you would.”

“Why did you not?”

“Because it is an adventure, because it will take something of real courage, I fancy, to meet a risk like that!”

“There would be some risk for us all,” said I truly.

“There you go, balancing and not deciding. You are no pirate.”

“What will you give me if I go, Helena?” said I.

“Nothing beyond thanking you. One thing, you must not think that I would trick or trap you.”

“Many a criminal has been trapped by a woman whom he loves,” said I slowly. “But you would not do that if I had your word, even though you hated me. And you do hate me very much, do you not?”

“Yes, very much. But if you took me by New Orleans without a supper at Luigi’s, I should hate you even more.”

“Jean—Jean Lafitte,” I called out in a low tone of voice.

“Aye, aye, Sir!” he saluted, as he came to the place where we stood, like some seasoned sailorman, regardless of youthful hours of sleep.

“I am going up-town with the captive maiden. Do you stand here on watch. We shall be gone about three hours.”

“Hully gee!” ejaculated