Five minutes later Stephen was bowling through the
chute and showing the rival boat a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar
pair of heels.
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.
Very well, this growing swarm of new pilots presently
began to undermine the wages, in order to get berths.
Too late—apparently—the knights
of the tiller perceived their mistake. Plainly,
something had to be done, and quickly; but what was
to be the needful thing. A close organization.
Nothing else would answer. To compass this seemed
an impossibility; so it was talked, and talked, and
then dropped. It was too likely to ruin whoever
ventured to move in the matter. But at last
about a dozen of the boldest—and some of
