‘Mr. W——­, don’t that chute cut off a good deal of distance?’

‘I think it does, but I don’t know.’

‘Don’t know!  Well, isn’t there water enough in it now to go through?’

‘I expect there is, but I am not certain.’

’Upon my word this is odd!  Why, those pilots on that boat yonder are going to try it.  Do you mean to say that you don’t know as much as they do?’

’They!  Why, they are two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar pilots!  But don’t you be uneasy; I know as much as any man can afford to know for a hundred and twenty-five!’

The captain surrendered.

Five minutes later Stephen was bowling through the chute and showing the rival boat a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar pair of heels.

Chapter 15 The Pilots’ Monopoly

One day, on board the ‘Aleck Scott,’ my chief, Mr. Bixby, was crawling carefully through a close place at Cat Island, both leads going, and everybody holding his breath.  The captain, a nervous, apprehensive man, kept still as long as he could, but finally broke down and shouted from the hurricane deck—­

‘For gracious’ sake, give her steam, Mr. Bixby! give her steam!  She’ll never raise the reef on this headway!’

For all the effect that was produced upon Mr. Bixby, one would have supposed that no remark had been made.  But five minutes later, when the danger was past and the leads laid in, he burst instantly into a consuming fury, and gave the captain the most admirable cursing I ever listened to.  No bloodshed ensued; but that was because the captain’s cause was weak; for ordinarily he was not a man to take correction quietly.

Having now set forth in detail the nature of the science of piloting, and likewise described the rank which the pilot held among the fraternity of steamboatmen, this seems a fitting place to say a few words about an organization which the pilots once formed for the protection of their guild.  It was curious and noteworthy in this, that it was perhaps the compactest, the completest, and the strongest commercial organization ever formed among men.

For a long time wages had been two hundred and fifty dollars a month; but curiously enough, as steamboats multiplied and business increased, the wages began to fall little by little.  It was easy to discover the reason of this.  Too many pilots were being ‘made.’  It was nice to have a ‘cub,’ a steersman, to do all the hard work for a couple of years, gratis, while his master sat on a high bench and smoked; all pilots and captains had sons or nephews who wanted to be pilots.  By and by it came to pass that nearly every pilot on the river had a steersman.  When a steersman had made an amount of progress that was satisfactory to any two pilots in the trade, they could get a pilot’s license for him by signing an application directed to the United States Inspector.  Nothing further was needed; usually no questions were asked, no proofs of capacity required.