Jimmy and his friend shared this immunity from mal de mer. I could
see Jean now helping haul down our burgee, and the deck boy, Willy, in
his hurried work about the boat. Williams, I could not see. But
Peterson was now calm and much in his element, for a better skipper
than he never sailed a craft on the Great Lakes.
"I think she's going to blow great guns," said he, "and like enough
the other engine'll pop any minute."
"Yes?" I answered, stepping to the wheel. "In which case we go to Davy
Jones about when, Peterson?"
"We don't go!" he rejoined. "She's the grandest little ship afloat,
and not a thing's the matter with her."
"Can we make the channel and run inside the long key below the Côte
Blanche Bayou?"
"Sure we can. You'd better get the covers off the boats, and see the
bottom plugs in and some water and supplies shipped aboard--but
there's not the slightest danger in the world for this boat, let me
tell you that, sir. I've seen her perform before now, and there's not
a storm can blow on this coast she won't ride through."