“That’s the last of the hacienda Luisa coffee,” he said, indicating a boat alongside.  “The peons tell me the next lot’s coming down, but if we ship it, we’ll miss the tide.”

“You can close the hatches.  The coffee must wait.”

“It’s high-grade stuff and brings top price.  I sure don’t like to leave it to spoil.”

“We must risk that,” Kit said quietly.

“There’s another thing; Pedro, the clerk, reckons they’re fighting near Salinas and the president’s not popular in that neighborhood.  Looks as if you might have some trouble to take the old man to the mission.”

“It’s possible,” said Kit.  “I’m going to try.  Have everything ready for us to get off to-night.”

Mayne lifted his hand to his cap.  “Very well, sir.  We’ll start as soon as there’s water enough.”

He went away, but Kit knew what he meant.  The captain had done his duty by indicating obstacles, but he approved his new master’s resolve and owned his authority.  Kit was persuaded he would have Mayne’s loyal help and went back to Adam’s room.  When it was getting dark, Adam moved his head as the engines began to throb and the propeller churned noisily in the shallow water.  It stopped after a few turns and steam blew off.

“Finlay’s giving her a trial spin,” Adam remarked, in a very faint voice.  “I see you’ve got things fixed and I’m ready to start.”  He stopped and shut his eyes for a minute or two, and Kit did not know if he was conscious or not.  Then he resumed in a strained whisper:  “All’s ready; ring for full-speed.  I’m going to meet my wife.”

He drew a hard breath, sighed, and did not speak again.  An hour afterwards, Mayne met Kit coming out of the room, and glancing at his face took off his cap.

“I guess it hits you hard and I’ll miss him, too,” he said.  “I’ll not get another master like the Buccaneer.”

He went off to give some orders and Kit sat down, feeling very desolate.

When the tide had risen and flowed past, oily smooth, under the full moon, the windlass began to rattle and the cable clanged.  The anchor came up and when the engines shook the ship Mayne pulled the whistle-line and a long blast rolled across the woods.  Next moment a rocket soared and burst in a shower of colored lights.

“Vanhuyten and Askew’s signal!  The head of the house is making his last trip,” the captain remarked.

The echoes sank, the colored lights burned out, and the measured beat of engines jarred upon the silence as the Rio Negro went to sea.  For a time the land breeze blew the steam of the swamps after her, and masts and funnels reeled through a muggy haze as she lurched across the surf-swept shoals.  She floated high and light, her muddy side rising like a wall as she steadied between the rolls that dipped her channels in the foam.  Outside, the swell was regular and the roll long and rhythmical; the haze thinned, the air got sweet and cool, and the hearts of the crew got lighter as she steamed out to open sea.  For all that, men lowered their voices and trod quietly when they passed the poop cabin where her dead owner lay.