We ran by the river-front of Baton Rouge, and lay to on the opposite
side while our dingey ran in with mail. I sent Peterson and Lafitte
ashore for the purpose, and meantime paced the deck in several frames
of mind. I was arrested in this at length by L'Olonnois, who was
standing forward, glasses in hand.
"Here they come," said he, "and a humpin' it up, too. Look, Jean
Lafitte is standin' up, wavin' at us. Something's up, sure. Mayhap, we
are pursued by the enemy. Methinks 'tis hue and cry, good Sir."
"It jolly well does look like it, mate," said I, taking his glasses.
"Something's up."
I could see the stubby dingey forced half out the water by Peterson's
oars, though she made little speed enough. And I saw men hurrying on
the wharf, as though about to put out a boat.
"What's wrong, Peterson?" I shouted as he came in range at last.
"Hurry up!" It was Lafitte who answered. "Clear the decks for action.
Yon varlet has wired on ahead to have us stopped! They're after us!"
So came his call through cupped hands.
I ran to the falls and lowered away the blocks to hoist them aboard,
even as I ordered speed and began to break out the anchor. We hardly
were under way before a small power boat, bearing a bluecoated man,
puffed alongside.
"What boat is this?" he called. "Belle Helène, of Mackinaw?"
In answer--without order from me,--my bloodthirsty mate, L'Olonnois,
brought out the black burgee of the Jolly Rover, bearing a skull and
cross-bones. "Have a look at that!" he piped. "Shall we clear the
stern-chaser, Black Bart?"
"Hold on there, wait! I've got papers for you," called the officer,
still hanging at our rail, for I had not yet ordered full speed.
"He hollered to me he was going to arrest us, Mr. Harry," explained
Peterson, much out of breath. "What's it all about? What papers does
he mean?"
"The morning papers, very likely, Peterson," said I. "The baseball
scores."
"Will you halt, now?" called the officer.
"No," I answered, through the megaphone. "You have no authority to
halt us. What's your paper, and who is it for?"
"Wire from Calvin Davidson, Natchez, charging John Doe with running
off with his boat."
"This is not his boat," I answered, "but my own, and I am not John
Doe. We are on our way to the coast, and not under any jurisdiction
of yours."
He stood up and drew a paper from his pocket, and began to read. In
reply I pulled the whistle cord and drowned his voice; while at the
same time I gave the engineer orders for full speed. Shaking his fist,
he fell astern.