right into what seems to be a solid, straight wall (you knowing very well that in reality there is a curve there), and that wall falls back and makes way for you. Then there’s your gray mist. You take a night when there’s one of these grisly, drizzly, gray mists, and then there isn’t any particular shape to a shore. A gray mist would tangle the head of the oldest man that ever lived. Well, then, different kinds of moonlight change the shape of the river in different ways. You see—”
“Oh, don’t say any more, please! Have I got to learn the shape of the river according to all these five hundred thousand different ways? If I tried to carry all that cargo in my head it would make me stoop-shouldered.”
“ No! You only learn the shape of the river; and you learn it with such absolute certainty that you can always steer by the shape that’s in your head , and never mind the one that’s before your eyes.”
“Very well, I’ll try it; but after I have learned it can I depend on it? Will it keep the same form and not go fooling around?”
Before Mr. Bixby could answer, Mr. W——came in to take the watch, and he said—
“Bixby, you’ll have to look out for President’s Island and all that country clear away up above the Old Hen and Chickens. The banks are caving and the shape of the shores changing like everything. Why, you wouldn’t know the point above 40. You can go up inside the old sycamore snag, now.” 4
So that question was answered. Here were leagues of shore changing shape. My spirits were down in the mud again. Two things seemed pretty apparent to me. One was, that in order to be a pilot a man had to learn more than any one man ought to be allowed to know; and the other was, that he must learn it all over again in a different way every twenty-four hours.
That night we had the watch until twelve. Now it was an ancient river custom for the two pilots to chat a bit when the watch changed. While the relieving pilot put on his gloves and lit his cigar, his partner, the retiring pilot, would say something like this:
“I judge the upper bar is making down a little at Hale’s Point; had quarter twain with the lower lead and mark twain 5 with the other.”
“Yes, I thought it was making down a little, last trip. Meet any boats?”
“Met one abreast the head of 21, but she was away over hugging the bar, and I couldn’t make her out entirely. I took her for the Sunny South —hadn’t any skylights forward of the chimneys.”
And so on. And as the relieving pilot took the wheel his partner 6 would mention that we were in such-and-such a bend, and say we were abreast of such-and-such a man’s woodyard or plantation. This was courtesy; I supposed it was necessity . But Mr. W——came on watch full twelve minutes late on this particular night—a tremendous breach of etiquette; in fact, it is the unpardonable sin among pilots. So Mr. Bixby gave him no greeting whatever, but simply surrendered the wheel and marched out of the pilothouse without a word. I was appalled; it was a villainous night for blackness, we were in a particularly wide and blind part of the river, where there was no shape or substance to anything, and it seemed incredible that Mr. Bixby should have left that poor fellow to kill the boat trying to find out where he was. But I resolved that I would stand by him anyway. He should find that he was not wholly friendless. So I stood around, and waited to be asked where we were. But Mr. W——plunged on serenely through the solid firmament of black cats that stood for an atmosphere, and never opened his mouth. Here is a proud devil, thought I; here is a limb of Satan that would rather send us all to destruction than put himself under obligations to me, because I am not yet one of the salt of the earth and privileged to snub captains and lord it over everything dead and alive in a steamboat. I presently climbed up on the bench; I did not think it was safe to go to sleep while this
“Oh, don’t say any more, please! Have I got to learn the shape of the river according to all these five hundred thousand different ways? If I tried to carry all that cargo in my head it would make me stoop-shouldered.”
“ No! You only learn the shape of the river; and you learn it with such absolute certainty that you can always steer by the shape that’s in your head , and never mind the one that’s before your eyes.”
“Very well, I’ll try it; but after I have learned it can I depend on it? Will it keep the same form and not go fooling around?”
Before Mr. Bixby could answer, Mr. W——came in to take the watch, and he said—
“Bixby, you’ll have to look out for President’s Island and all that country clear away up above the Old Hen and Chickens. The banks are caving and the shape of the shores changing like everything. Why, you wouldn’t know the point above 40. You can go up inside the old sycamore snag, now.” 4
So that question was answered. Here were leagues of shore changing shape. My spirits were down in the mud again. Two things seemed pretty apparent to me. One was, that in order to be a pilot a man had to learn more than any one man ought to be allowed to know; and the other was, that he must learn it all over again in a different way every twenty-four hours.
That night we had the watch until twelve. Now it was an ancient river custom for the two pilots to chat a bit when the watch changed. While the relieving pilot put on his gloves and lit his cigar, his partner, the retiring pilot, would say something like this:
“I judge the upper bar is making down a little at Hale’s Point; had quarter twain with the lower lead and mark twain 5 with the other.”
“Yes, I thought it was making down a little, last trip. Meet any boats?”
“Met one abreast the head of 21, but she was away over hugging the bar, and I couldn’t make her out entirely. I took her for the Sunny South —hadn’t any skylights forward of the chimneys.”
And so on. And as the relieving pilot took the wheel his partner 6 would mention that we were in such-and-such a bend, and say we were abreast of such-and-such a man’s woodyard or plantation. This was courtesy; I supposed it was necessity . But Mr. W——came on watch full twelve minutes late on this particular night—a tremendous breach of etiquette; in fact, it is the unpardonable sin among pilots. So Mr. Bixby gave him no greeting whatever, but simply surrendered the wheel and marched out of the pilothouse without a word. I was appalled; it was a villainous night for blackness, we were in a particularly wide and blind part of the river, where there was no shape or substance to anything, and it seemed incredible that Mr. Bixby should have left that poor fellow to kill the boat trying to find out where he was. But I resolved that I would stand by him anyway. He should find that he was not wholly friendless. So I stood around, and waited to be asked where we were. But Mr. W——plunged on serenely through the solid firmament of black cats that stood for an atmosphere, and never opened his mouth. Here is a proud devil, thought I; here is a limb of Satan that would rather send us all to destruction than put himself under obligations to me, because I am not yet one of the salt of the earth and privileged to snub captains and lord it over everything dead and alive in a steamboat. I presently climbed up on the bench; I did not think it was safe to go to sleep while this
Similar Books
