A CUB-PILOTS EXPERIENCE.

59

* Well, if this an't good, I'm blest.'

The 'off-watch' was just turning in, and I heard some brutal
laughter from them, and such remarks as ' Hello, watchman ! an't
the new cub turned out yet % He's delicate, likely. ^ Give him some
sugar in a rag and send for the chambermaid to sing rock-a-by-baby
to him.'

About this time Mr. Bixby appeared on the scene. Something
like a minute later I was climbing the pilot-house steps with some of
my clothes on and the rest in my arms. Mr. Bixby was close behind,

GOME ! TURN OUT ! *
commenting. Here was something fresh
—this thing of getting up in the middle
of the night to go to work. It was a detail in piloting that had
never occurred to me at all. I knew that boats ran all night, but
somehow I had never happened to reflect that somebody had to get
up out of a warm bed to run them. I began to fear that piloting
was not quite so romantic as I had imagined it was; there was
something very real and work-like about this new phase of it.
It was a rather dingy night, although a fair number of stars were
out. The big mate was at the wheel, and he had the old tub pointed