130

LIFE O3~ THE MISSISSIPPI.

a good steersman; so good, indeed, that I had all the work to do on
our watch, night and day ; Mr. Bixby seldom made a suggestion to
me; all he ever did was to take the wheel on particularly bad nights
or in particularly bad crossings, land the boat when she needed to be
landed, play gentleman of leisure nine-tenths of the watch, and collect
the wages. The lower river was about bank-full, and if anybody had
questioned my ability to run any crossing between Cairo and "New
Orleans without help or instruction, I should have felt irreparably
hurt. The idea of being afraid of any crossing in the lot, in the

day-time, was a thing too preposte-
rous for contemplation. Well, one
matchless summer's day I was
bowling down the bend above
island 66, brimful of self-conceit
and carrying my nose as high as a
giraffe's, when Mr. Bixby said—

11 am going below a while.
I suppose you know the next
crossing ? *

This was almost an affront
It was about the plainest and
simplest crossing in the whole
river. One couldn't come to any
harm, whether he ran it right or
not; and as for depth, there never
had been any bottom there. I knew
all this, perfectly well.

* Know how to run it ? Why,
I can run it with my eyes shut.'

c How much water is there in it 1'

* Well, that is an odd question. I couldn't get bottom there with
a church steeple/

* You think so, do you ?'

The very tone of the question shook my confidence. That was
what Mr. Bixby was expecting. He left, without saying anything
more. I began to imagine all sorts of things. Mr. Bixby, unknown
to me, of course, sent somebody down to the forecastle with some

[ SCALED TO DEATH.'