George at the Wheel

"I am afraid not. I never tried it."

"Well, step up here and see what you can do," said Mr. Black, moving away from the wheel, but still keeping his right hand upon one of the spokes. "We often have passengers come up here and steer for us. One of those boys who got off at Natchez, steered for me yesterday for over three hours; but then he is a pilot's son, and has made a good many trips up and down the river. Don't get in front of the wheel," he added, as George stepped down from the bench and laid his hands upon the spokes. "Stand at the side of it – so. Now you have got perfect control of it. Do you see that white pole out there in the bow? That is the jack-staff, and the large black ball you see about half way up the staff, is the night hawk."

"What is it for?"

"That is what we steer by in the night."

"I shouldn't think you could see it."

"O yes, we can. It shows almost as plainly as it does in the daytime, and by keeping one eye on it we can tell which way the boat is swinging. Do you see that leaning tree up there in the bend? Well, keep the jack-staff pointed straight toward it."

"If I do that I shan't keep the boat in the middle of the river," said George.

"I don't want you to keep in the middle of the river. I want you to go where the water is the deepest."

Mr. Black moved away from the wheel, and George had the swiftly-moving boat under his own control.

CHAPTER IX

THE PILOT'S GRATITUDE

George was greatly surprised to find that it requires skill, and a good deal of it, too, to do so simple a thing as keeping a steamer in a straight course. Mr. Black had done it without the least apparent exertion, not unfrequently managing the wheel with only one hand, but George could not, for the life of him, keep the jack-staff directed towards the object in the bend that had been pointed out to him. That leaning tree was like the negative pole of a magnet: it seemed to repel rather than to attract; and every time the jack-staff was brought to bear upon it, the bow would swing to one side or the other, and George could not hold it anywhere. Like all beginners, he kept the wheel in constant motion; but he was quick to learn anything in which he was interested, and it was not long before he found out that there was always an increased strain upon the tiller rope before the boat began to swing, and that easing the wheel a spoke or two did more good than giving it a round turn. When he had learned this much, he had taken the first step towards learning how to steer a steamboat.

"The deepest water is not always to be found in the middle of the river," continued Mr. Black. "If it was, what would be the use of pilots? Anybody could take a boat up or down the river, provided he knew the bells and could handle the wheel. But the channel is constantly changing, and to-day we find plenty of water in places where sand-bars were high and dry a year or two ago."

"How do you know, then, but that the channel we are now following may change over to the other side of the river before you come down again?" said George.

"I don t know it. I shouldn't be in the least surprised, for stranger things than that have happened. Do you see that tow-head over there?" inquired Mr. Black, directing the boy's attention to a little grove of willows that grew on the farther side of the stream; "that's 'Old' river. The Mississippi used to run on the other side of that tow-head, at least three miles from where it runs now. It is these constant changes that make it necessary for us to have fields-men, who are willing to devote all their time to keeping track of the channel. A pilot of twenty, or even ten years ago, would find it hard work to take a boat to New Orleans. In fact, I don't believe that he could do it, if he depended entirely upon himself. But we help one another all we can. For example, when we get to Cairo, some pilot there, who hasn't been down the river for a few months, will ask me how I got into Helena; there's a very bad river there, you know, and lots of bars, and those bars are always on the move. I'll tell him all the turns I made, and he will remember every word I say, and make the same turns in the darkest of nights. That's why I told you that a man must have a good memory to be a pilot. Now here we are in the bend, and this leaning tree will be of no more use to us to-day. We must find something else to steer by. Bring her around easy, keeping just about this distance from the shore – that's it – now a little more. Steady at that. Do you see that log cabin up there in the bight of the next bend? Well, run the boat right in at the door."

George, who changed the course of the boat very cleverly in obedience to these instructions, told himself that he was learning rapidly, and the pilot remarked that he was doing very well indeed for a boy who had never touched a wheel before. While he was thus engaged, Ned, who had grown tired of idling away the time in his bunk, sauntered up to the hurricane-deck, and exhibited the greatest surprise at what he saw when he glanced toward the pilot-house. He came up the steps, seated himself on the elevated bench, and listened eagerly to the conversation between Mr. Black and his cousin. He must have heard something that interested him, for when the dinner-bell rang, and Mr. Black took the wheel, after telling George that he could come up and steer for his partner in the afternoon, if he felt so inclined, Ned hurried off to hunt up his father, whom he found in the barber shop.

"George has struck something already," he whispered, as he turned the water into one of the wash-bowls, "and I hope from the bottom of my heart that he will make the most of it. He has been steering the boat all the morning, and from what I heard him say to the pilot, I gained the idea that he has some intention of becoming a river man."

"Perhaps it would be a good opening for him," said Uncle John, burying his face in one of the towels.

"I am sure it would," replied Ned. "It would take him three years at least to learn the river, and there are no vacations, you know."

That was the reason why Uncle John had not suggested to George, that it would be a good plan for him to go back to school, because there were vacations; and because he knew that during those vacations, George would be very likely to run down to Texas to see how things were going there. It was Uncle John's desire to see the boy settled in some business, that would occupy every moment of his time.

"It is a dangerous calling, but a very honorable as well as a useful one," added Uncle John. "We couldn't get along without pilots, you know."

"I heard George say, that he would be willing to give fifty dollars a month to learn the business," said Ned.

"Very well. If he has made his decision, the want of money shall not stand in his way. Could you describe the pilot to me, so that I could recognise him?"

"Do you know that tall, dark man, with long black whiskers that come clear down to his waist, and who always dresses in light clothes?"

"I believe I have seen him," said Uncle John, in reply.

This was all the conversation that passed between Ned and his father on this subject, but it was enough to enable the boy to understand, that Uncle John had marked out a course of action for himself. And so he had. He scraped an acquaintance with Mr. Black before he went to dinner, told him of the relationship that existed between himself and the boy who had spent the morning in the pilot-house, and had a long talk with him about river men and the dangers of the life they led. He told him, too, that he (Uncle John) was a very wealthy man, and quite willing to indorse any arrangements his nephew might be able to make with Mr. Black. This, of course, increased the pilot's interest in George, and an incident happened that very afternoon that increased it still more.

Contrary to his usual custom, George ate his dinner in great haste that day. He had already become infatuated with life in the pilot-house, and he was eager to see more of it. As he ran up the steps that led to the hurricane deck, his eye chanced to fall upon something that lay close to the cabin skylights, and under the shelter of the projecting roof, where it must have rolled when it dropped from its owner's pocket. It was a large, black pocket-book, and if there was any faith to be put in appearances, it was well filled. George picked it up, turned it over in his hands, and looked all around the deck to see if there was any body in sight. As he did so, a rather flashily-dressed young man, who had been standing near the bell, hurried up to him with a great show of eagerness. He was one of the passengers, and George had often bestowed more than a passing glance upon him, for the reason that he had seen him drinking at the bar, and playing cards in the cabin for money.

"I am very much obliged to you," said he, as he held out his hand. "I couldn't imagine where I had dropped it, and I thought I was ruined."

If the young man had hoped to surprise George into promptly surrendering the article he had found, he was doomed to be disappointed. It is true that the boy was from the country, and that he had never had anything to do with city sharpers; but he was pretty smart, for all that, and his quick wit served him in the place of experience.

"What is it?" said he, as he put his hand behind him.

"Why, it is my pocket-book. It is a black one with a silver clasp."

"I am well aware of that fact," replied George, who knew that the young man must have caught a momentary glimpse of the article in question while he was holding it in his hands. "It is easy enough to describe the outside of a thing after you have seen it, but can you describe the contents?"

"Of course I can. There's a good deal of money in it."

"How much?"

"That is something I can't tell, for I am so careless with money, that I never keep a strict account of what I carry about with me. There are also some papers in it that are of no value to anybody except myself."

"All right," said George. "Come on."

"Where are you going?"

"Down to find the captain. You can come with me and describe those papers to him."

"I will give you a hundred dollars the minute you hand over my property," said the young man.

"I don't want your money. I only want to be sure that I give the wallet into the hands of its owner."

As he said this, he took his hand from behind him and put it into his pocket. The young man had a fair view of the wallet, for George did not attempt to hide it from his gaze, and he saw that it was pretty "fat." Believing that its plumpness was occasioned by a big roll of greenbacks which he would find on the inside in case he could get the pocket-book into his possession, he thought he could afford to increase his reward.

"That's mine," said he. "I have carried it for years, and I would recognise it among a thousand. Hand it over here, without any more fooling, and I will give you two hundred dollars to reward you for your honesty. Just think of it! That is a big sum for a boy like you to own."

"I don't want your money," repeated George. "Whenever you get ready to prove the contents of this pocket-book, you can go to the old man to do it."

So saying he ran down the stairs, paying no heed to the protests of the young man, who increased his offer of reward to two hundred and fifty dollars, and turning into the cabin found the officer of whom he was in search just rising from the table.

"I have found something, sir," said he, "and I would thank you to take charge of it until the owner calls upon you for it."

He handed out the pocket-book, as he spoke, and the captain at once opened it to see if he could find anything to indicate who the owner was.

"It belongs to somebody who is pretty well fixed," said he, at length. "There's a big roll of bills here, as well as – Hallo! Jerry Black," he exclaimed, pulling out a card and reading the name that was written upon it. "He is one of my pilots – the man I saw you steering for this morning. He will be glad to remember you for this, for you have placed him under very heavy obligations. I say it knowing something of his circumstances. If you are not afraid to trust me with it, I will give it to him as soon as he awakes. He has gone to bed for the afternoon."

When George ascended to the hurricane deck again he looked every where for the young man who had laid claim to the lost pocket-book, but he was not to be seen. The boy had said nothing to the captain about that little affair, because he did not want to get the would-be swindler into trouble. He had easily foiled him in his attempt to cheat Mr. Black out of his property, and that was the end of the matter so far as George was concerned. When he entered the pilot-house he found there a new man, who greeted him cordially.

"So you're the boy that wants to be a pilot, are you?" said he, "Jerry spoke to me about you. Come on, and let us see what you can do."

George had the boat under his charge almost all that afternoon. About four o'clock Mr. Black suddenly mounted the steps. His face was very pale and he looked as though he had lost everything on earth that was worth living for.