LIFE IN THE PILOT-HOUSE.
"Now, I just want to know if anybody ever heard of such miserable luck
as I have," exclaimed Ned, who was the first to break the silence. "Here
I was, pluming myself on being the owner of the finest cattle ranche in
Texas, when, as if to mock me and show me how all my bright hopes are
destined to end, in walks George, as cool as a cucumber, and looking as
though he had never seen a Greaser. Why in the world couldn't they hold
fast to him after they got him? My forty thousand a year are up a hollow
stump, and George knows everything. Did you hire those men to capture
him?"
"Didn't you hear me say that every word of his story was false?"
demanded his father, fiercely. "Would I be likely to put my nephew's
life in jeopardy?"
"If there is no truth in it, I don't see how he came to hear it from so
many different sources."
"And neither do I see how he found out that you sent that money to Gus
Robbins," said Uncle John. "Have you any idea how that got to his ears?"
"Not the slightest," answered Ned. He saw that his father was almost
ready to boil over with fury, and he did not think it would be quite
safe to acknowledge that it was through his own admissions that George
had become acquainted with that little circumstance. "Gus must have told
him; or it may be that I have enemies as well as you. But what are we
going to do? That's the question."
And it was one that aroused Uncle John from the stupor into which he had
fallen, and showed him the necessity of prompt and decisive action. He
jumped from his chair and began walking up and down the room.
"Can George turn you out of your position and have somebody appointed in
your place?" continued Ned.
"Of course he can. I hoped to keep him in ignorance concerning that
fact, but Gilbert, or some other busy-body, has been posting him."
"Then you had better make things straight with him and be quick about
it," said Ned, growing frightened again. "If you don't, he'll oust you
sure, and then what will become of me--of both of us? You'll have to go
back to your desk again, and I'll have to pick up my yard-stick. Father,
I never could endure that sort of life again. You _must_ make it up with
him?"
Uncle John wrung his hands and groaned. He was terribly agitated, and it
was not to be wondered at. He could not have told which he stood the
more in fear of--punishment at the hands of the angry settlers, who
would be sure, sooner or later, to learn all about his dealings with his
nephew, or the loss of the management of his brother's property. He
could not bear to think of either.
"Where are you going?" inquired Ned, as his father suddenly turned
toward the door and laid his hand upon the knob.
"I am going to see George," was the reply. "It would never do to let him
go back home feeling as he does now, for you and I would never dare to
show our faces there again. I am going to try to reason with him first,
and if that has no effect, I shall use my authority."
"That's the way to talk," exclaimed Ned, gleefully. "Pound him within an
inch of his life, and if you want any help, call for me. I will leave
the door open so that I can hear you."
Ned had been on the very point of volunteering to go with his father, in
order to back him up during the coming interview, and holding himself in
readiness to assist him as circumstances might require; but the fear
that the interview might end in a fight, checked the words that arose to
his lips. George's fists were pretty large and heavy, and a good fair
blow from one of them would have played sad havoc with the little sense
that Ned Ackerman possessed.
"I hardly think that extreme measures will be called for," said Uncle
John, "but if they are, I shall use them. Stay here until I return."
"I declare, I didn't know that George could be so insolent," thought
Ned, as his father closed the door behind him. "The idea of a little
snipe like him sitting there and talking to a gray-headed man as he
would talk to a boy of his own age! I wonder that he wasn't kicked out
of the room for his impudence. But I believe that father is afraid of
him; he certainly acted like it; and if he is, it proves that he has
been up to something. I hope he will lay his plans with a little more
skill next time."
Ned kept his ear at the open door, but no sounds came up from below to
indicate that his father had found it necessary to use his authority in
order to bring the refractory George to his senses. He passed a long and
gloomy hour alone in his room, and sometimes his impatience and suspense
increased to such a degree that it was all he could do to keep from
going out in search of Uncle John. When the latter at last made his
appearance, Ned saw at a glance that he had passed through another
exciting and stormy interview. The perspiration stood on his forehead in
great beads, and his face was as flushed as it would have been if he had
just finished a hotly-contested foot-race with somebody. He dropped into
his chair, and drew his handkerchief from his pocket.
"Now, I tell you what's a fact," said Ned, to himself; "if he has been
trying to use 'extreme measures,' he has got worsted at it; he has come
back whipped. Well, why don't you speak?"
"Let me recover my breath, won't you?" exclaimed Uncle John,
impatiently.
"Is everything all right, or not?" demanded Ned, paying no attention to
this request. "I want to know the best or the worst, at once."
"I am to retain my position as his guardian," said Uncle John, "but he
imposes some hard conditions."
"You didn't agree to them, of course?"
"Of course, I did. I couldn't do otherwise."
"Why didn't you use the authority you talk so much about?"
"I didn't think it was best. I can do as I please about keeping my
promises."
"So you can; I didn't think of that."
"If I find that George's interests require me to exercise my own
judgment, as I have done in the past, I shall not hesitate to do it,"
continued Uncle John, who could not bear that his own son should see him
in his true character. "He cannot possibly foresee every emergency that
may arise."
"George told you that not a steer was to be sold off the place while he
was _gone_," said Ned. "What did he mean by that?"
"He meant just what he said. Zeke is the only one who has authority
from George to sell any cattle."
"Well, if that isn't a pretty state of affairs, I wouldn't say so,"
exclaimed Ned, in great disgust. "So Zeke is put over you, is he?"
"Oh, no; he is left in charge of George's herd, and when he wants money,
he is at liberty to sell cattle to get it. George himself is going North
to find something to do."
"Well, there!" cried Ned, bringing his hands together with a loud slap.
"I have heard some good news at last. That will leave us monarchs of all
we survey, won't it? I will get rid of that Zeke the first thing I do."
"How will you go to work? If I told him that his services were no longer
required he would pay no attention to me. George said so."
"Very well; let him stay; but when he comes after supplies, just see
that he doesn't get any."
"But he'll not come to us; he'll go to Gilbert. George arranged all that
before he left. Then he ordered Jake and Bob to visit every one of our
herds and find out just how many cattle there were in each of them. They
are to send a report to him through Gilbert, and George says that when
he comes home the number of cattle he finds on the ranche must
correspond with that report, or there'll be trouble between us."
"Why, father, he has tied your hands hard and fast," exclaimed Ned,
springing from his chair, and walking about the room in a state of great
excitement.
"He _thinks_ he has," said Uncle John, quietly.
"I don't see why in the world you agreed to any such degrading terms,"
continued Ned.
"I did it because it was that or the desk for me, and the yard-stick for
you," answered Uncle John. "But there are one or two contingencies that
George did not provide for. Some of the cattle will probably be stolen."
This was said in so significant a tone of voice that Ned would have been
dull indeed if he had failed to catch his father's meaning.
"Then, again, there are herdsmen in the country who will suit us much
better than those we now employ, and as fast as they turn up I shall
hire them, without consulting anybody's wishes except my own."
"So you can," exclaimed Ned, joyfully. "That boy has somehow got the
idea into his head that he is just a trifle smarter than anybody else,
but he will find that there are others in the world who are just as
smart as he is. Did he have any more to say in regard to those
ridiculous stories that somebody has been circulating about you?"
"He did, and he believes them to be true. I assured him that they were
not, that I was perfectly willing that my conduct should be investigated
at any time, and finally we shook hands, and agreed to let by-gones be
by-gones."
"I should think you would have felt more like knocking him down," said
Ned; "I know I should."
"His perverseness was certainly very trying to my patience; but, after
all, my way of settling the difficulty was the best. We shall leave
Brownsville for St. Louis to-night; and as we are to travel in his
company, I want you to be very guarded in your words and actions.
Everything is satisfactorily settled, and we must be careful to treat
him as kindly and considerately as we did before he insulted us."
A stranger would have supposed, from this, that Ned and his father were
the injured parties, and that George had no reason to complain of their
treatment of him.
Uncle John did not tell all that happened during his second interview
with George. While he was in the presence of his son his pride had
enabled him to keep up some show of courage; but when he was alone with
his nephew, he had nothing to sustain him, and it was all he could do to
keep from breaking down entirely. He loudly denied every accusation that
George brought against him, but the boy gave him to understand that he
knew just what he was talking about, and that there was but one way in
which Uncle John could ever regain his confidence. That was by dealing
fairly with him in the future. This the old man eagerly, almost
abjectly, promised to do; but we have already seen how sincere he was
when he made those promises.
"I don't want to see him again," said Ned, "and neither can I bear the
thought of travelling in his company as far as St. Louis. I don't see
why you consented to any such arrangement. Why didn't you let him go
alone, if he is so very anxious to leave to-night? We could have waited
until to-morrow."
"But we must be willing to do something for the sake of appearances,"
replied his father, who would have breathed much easier himself if
George had been a thousand miles away at that moment. "One reason why I
decided to go with him, was because I want to see him settled at
something before I leave him."
"But just think how he will lord it over us!" said Ned, who knew very
well how he would have acted if he had been in his cousin's place. "He
will let everybody know that he is the moneyed man and that we are the
dependants."
"You need not be at all alarmed. George is not that sort of a boy. I'll
say that much for him."
Ned's fears on this score were entirely set at rest when he met his
cousin at the supper table. George had always been somewhat reserved in
the presence of his relatives--he could not help feeling that there was
something between himself and them that kept them apart--and the events
of the last few days did not in the least widen the gulf between them.
Having taken his uncle to task for his rascality, and come to a plain
understanding with him, he regarded all differences between them as
settled for ever, and he never referred to them in any way. If Mr.
Gilbert had known it, he would have declared that George was "too
confiding for any use;" and perhaps we shall see that he would not have
been very badly mistaken if he had pronounced such a judgment upon the
boy's actions.
The three left Brownsville that night for Galveston, at which place they
boarded a steamer bound for New Orleans. They stopped there a week in
order to give Uncle John and Ned an opportunity to see the sights, and
to drive out the shell road to Lake Pontchartrain. Ned and his father
had, of course, passed this way when they went to Texas, but they were
so impatient to see the property of which Uncle John was to have charge,
and to begin the spending of its handsome revenues, that they had not
wasted a day in this or any other city along their route.
Having done New Orleans and vicinity to their satisfaction, they took
passage for St. Louis on board the steamer General Quitman.
She was a very fine and a very swift vessel (during the war she was
fitted up by the rebels as a cotton-clad ram, and we know, by
experience, that some of the gunboats in the Mississippi squadron were
very much afraid of her), and she left the miles behind her at an
astonishing rate, her loud "exhaust" proclaiming her approach to the
settlers who lived along the banks a league in advance of her.
While the novelty of this mode of travelling lasted, George and his
companions were at no loss to know what to do with themselves. They
found abundant gratification in sitting on the wide guards, enjoying the
rapid motion, and watching the panorama that passed so swiftly before
them; but this grew monotonous after a while, and then Ned took to his
bunk; Uncle John read the papers and magazines with which he had
provided himself before starting from New Orleans, and George, being
left to himself, strolled about the boat to see what he could find that
was worth looking at. One day he went up to the hurricane-deck, where he
took his stand and watched the pilot who was steering the vessel.
"Come in; come in," said the latter, when he saw that the boy was
interested in his movements.
"Thank you, sir. I didn't know that you allowed passengers in here,"
replied George, as he ascended the steps that led up to the pilot-house
door.
"O, yes we do, and we are glad to have them come, for we get lonely
sometimes. Sit down there," said the pilot, pointing to a high bench
that was built against the after-bulkhead. "Then you can look out ahead
and on both sides of you and see everything."
"I think you pilots have an easy way of making a living," said George,
as he took possession of the bench. "You have no dirty work to do as the
engineers have."
"That is very true," replied the pilot. "We are on duty only while the
vessel is under way. As soon as we reach port we are at liberty to go
ashore and spend the time as we please, until the boat is ready to start
again. But it is not an easy berth for all that. In fact, I don't know
_any_ easy way of making a living. You are a young man, and you don't
want to start out in life with the foolish notion that you can make
headway in the world unless you are willing to work."
"I know what work is," said George, with a smile.
"What is your business?"
"I have none just at present. I am looking for an opening. I am from
Texas, and I used to herd cattle."
"Were they your own, or did they belong to somebody else?"
"They were my own property."
"There, now!" exclaimed the pilot. "I'll warrant that you sold out your
herd in the hope of finding some easier way of making a livelihood. You
will never find it. I have spent some months in Texas, and I know how
those ranchemen live. They have nothing to do, month in and month out,
but ride around on horseback and keep their stock from straying away. If
I had money enough I would go into that business to-morrow; and if you
are wise, you will go straight back to it."
"I can't," replied George, who told himself that after his new
acquaintance had tried herding unruly cattle for a while, and been
caught out in a 'norther or two, and jumped down on by raiders, he would
be quite willing to resume his place in the pilot-house. "Circumstances
compel me to strike out in another direction. How long does it take one
to learn the river, and how much does it cost?" added George, who had
suddenly taken it into his head that he would like to be a pilot. It
was an active, out-of-door occupation, and that was just what he wanted.
"Well, that depends," was the answer. "If you have a good memory and are
a judge of water, you could learn it in three years, or less. The cost
need not amount to any great sum. If you have any personal friends among
pilots, one of them might be induced to take you for nothing; but a
stranger would probably charge you something. In fact, he wouldn't think
of taking you as a 'cub' unless you agreed to pay him."
"I don't know a single pilot," said George, "and I should be perfectly
willing to pay for instruction. How much does a licensed pilot receive
for his services?"
"That also depends. If there is plenty of freight, and the water is
good, they sometimes get two hundred and fifty dollars a month."
"Three thousand dollars a year!" exclaimed George.
"Well--no; not always. There is scarcely one pilot in ten who works
every month in the year. Unless his boat is in some regular trade, he is
paid off as soon as the trip for which he was hired is made, and he
remains idle until he finds another job. If times are dull and the water
low, he may not find anything to do for months; for pilots are not
wanted when boats are not running, you know, Tommy."
"My name is George Ackerman," said the boy.
"Ah! I am delighted to hear it. My name is Black. I suppose you can
steer a horse pretty well, can't you? I thought so. Do you think you
could steer this boat?"
"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.