"Where's the dingey, Peterson?" I called, as he came up, grinning.
"Coming in," said he; and forsooth that water-rat, Willy, made a
better landing of it than any of us, and calmly helped us now to haul
the heavy motor skiff up the beach, a few feet at a time as the waves
thrust it forward.
"Thank God!" I heard Helena exclaim. "Oh, thank God! We're safe, we're
all safe, after all."
I looked at my little group for a time, all soaked to the skin, all
huddled now close together. Peterson, Williams, Willy--all the crew,
yes. Auntie Lucinda and the woman who had called me a coward--the two
captives, yes, Jean Lafitte and Henri L'Olonnois and myself, Black
Bart--all the ship's owners. What lacked? For a moment I could not
tell why I had the vague feeling that something or some one was
missing.
"Willy," said I at last, "where's John, the cook?"
"Why, I don't know," said Willy. "Didn't he come with you?"