She left him.  He stared after her up the companionway, bit off a generous piece of tobacco, and ruminated.  If to be a genius is to possess an infinite stock of patience, Mr. Hopper was a genius.  There was patience in his smile.  But it was not a pleasant smile to look upon.

Virginia did not see it.  She had told her aunt the news, and stood in the breeze on the hurricane deck looking southward, with her hand shading her eyes.  The ‘Barbara Lane’ happened to be a boat with a record, and her name was often in the papers.  She had already caught up with and distanced others which had had half an hour’s start of her, and was near the head of the procession.

Virginia presently became aware that people were gathering around her in knots, gazing at a boat coming toward them.  Others had been met which, on learning the dread news, turned back.  But this one kept her bow steadily up the current, although she had passed within a biscuit-toss of the leader of the line of refugees.  It was then that Captain Vance’s hairy head appeared above the deck.

“Dang me!” he said, “if here ain’t pig-headed Brent, steaming the ‘Jewanita’ straight to destruction.”

“Oh, are you sure it’s Captain Brent?” cried Virginia.  The Captain looked around in surprise.

“If that there was Shreve’s old Enterprise come to life again, I’d lay cotton to sawdust that Brent had her.  Danged if he wouldn’t take her right into the jaws of the Dutch.”

The Captain’s words spread, and caused considerable excitement.  On board the Barbara Lane were many gentlemen who had begun to be shamefaced over their panic, and these went in a body to the Captain and asked him to communicate with the ‘Juanita’.  Whereupon a certain number of whistles were sounded, and the Barbara’s bows headed for the other side of the channel.

As the Juanita drew near, Virginia saw the square figure and clean, smooth-shaven face of Captain Lige standing in front of his wheel-house Peace crept back into her soul, and she tingled with joy as the bells clanged and the bucket-planks churned, and the great New Orleans packet crept slowly to the Barbara’s side.

“You ain’t goin’ in, Brent?” shouted the Barbara’s captain.

“Why not?” responded Mr. Brent.  At the sound of his voice Virginia could have wept.

“The Dutch are sacking the city,” said Vance.  “Didn’t they tell you?”

“The Dutch—­hell!” said Mr, Brent, calmly.  “Who’s afraid of the Dutch?”

A general titter went along the guards, and Virginia blushed.  Why could not the Captain see her?

“I’m on my reg’lar trip, of course,” said Vance.  Out there on the sunlit river the situation seemed to call for an apology.

“Seems to be a little more loaded than common,” remarked Captain Lige, dryly, at which there was another general laugh.

“If you’re really goin’ up,” said Captain Vance, I reckon there’s a few here would like to be massacred, if you’ll take ’em.”