George at the Wheel; Or, Life in the Pilot-House

by Harry Castlemon

"O, you may say 'pshaw!' as much as you please," replied Mr. Black, solemnly, "but I tell you, that the Kendall is a dead duck. You'll never steer her into St. Louis. That's my prediction and I want you to remember it."

George did recall it to mind when he and Bob Owens, the boy who had twice saved his life, sat shivering on the bank of the river and watched the Sam Kendall as she burned to the water's edge; but that the minister and his gray horse had anything to do with her destruction, was something he could not think of without getting angry. Mr. Black was honest in his belief that the Kendall was a doomed boat, and so was Mr. Scanlan; and after they left New Orleans, one or the other of them was always in the pilot house. But it happened that the minister and his gray horse went ashore at Donaldsonville, and then the pilots breathed a little easier.

"There!" said George, as the obnoxious passenger disappeared over the levee, all unconscious of the alarm which the mere presence of himself and his beast had excited in the minds of some brave but superstitious men. "We brought him up here all right, and the old Kendall is still on top of the water."

"I am glad to see him go," answered Mr. Black, "but the run isn't over yet. There are a good many miles between here and St. Louis. But, George, if we do get through all right you'll stay with me, won't you?"

Mr. Black and his partner had of late fallen into the way of asking George some such question as this every time they entered into conversation with him; but they could say nothing to make him change his mind. Sometimes the boy was on the point of telling them everything and then asking them what they thought about it; but he as often checked himself, for he could not bear that even his friend Mr. Black should know what a rascal his Uncle John was.

One gloomy night George stood alone at the wheel, while the Kendall, with all her berths full of sleeping passengers, was ploughing her way up the river through darkness so intense that one could scarcely see his hand before him. Mr. Scanlan was snoring loudly in his bunk. Mr. Black, who had tired himself out by standing his regular watch between New Orleans and Donaldsonville, had gone below to obtain a little rest, and George had the pilot-house to himself. He generally felt a thrill of pride on such occasions as these, for the responsibility that was placed upon him made him think that he was of some use in the world; but on this particular night he was anything but cheerful. He was certain that the minister and his gray horse had nothing to do with it, he was equally sure that the unwelcome presence of his Uncle John, who now and then passed before him like a thunder-cloud across a clear sky, was not exerting a depressing influence upon him, but still he was very uncomfortable, and could not rid himself of the impression that there was danger hanging over him.

Being constantly on the alert George did not fail to see the bright light on shore which suddenly shot up through the darkness, and which he knew was a notice to the Kendall that there were passengers or freight waiting for her at that landing. He blew the whistle, warned the engineers, rang the bell for the lead, turned the bow of the steamer toward the fire, and just then Mr. Black, who had heard all these signals, came into the pilot-house. He allowed the boy to make the landing, which the latter did in his usual good style, and then he lay down on the bench with his hat for a pillow, while George went down to the boiler-deck.

After awhile he saw a boy dressed in black, wearing his hat low over his forehead and carrying a valise in his hand, come up the gang-plank and disappear in the direction of the engine-room, but he did not pay any particular attention to him. This was Bob Owens, with whom George was destined to have a good deal to do during the next few years of his life. Bob, as we know, had stolen a large sum of money from David Evans, The Mail Carrier, and run away from his home in Rockdale to enjoy it. When he reached Linwood landing he was arrested by the constable, who suspected him of having stolen the horse he was riding, but which was Bob's own private property. Through the gross carelessness of that officer he managed to escape from him very easily, and having turned his horse loose and started him toward home, he changed his clothes and boarded the Kendall, intending to go to St. Louis on her. When he reached that city he was going to buy a horse and rifle and plunge into the wilderness to win a name for himself as a borderman; but circumstances arose which induced him to change his plans. He did win a name for himself, but it was as a soldier and not as a hunter.

When George became tired of watching the crew at their work, he moved over to the other side of the boiler-deck, and seating himself on the railing looked at a steamer that was going up the river and thought of the future. He became so completely engrossed in his meditations concerning his hard lot in life that he did not know that the bell rang, that the lines were cast off, that the paddle-wheels were set in motion, and that the boat began to swing away from the landing. The sound that aroused him from his reverie was a stealthy footstep on the guard behind him. He turned quickly and saw his Uncle John at his side; but before he could speak to him the man gave him a push that sent him into the river. He went over the rail with such force that he turned a complete somersault, and striking the water feet first "went clear down to China," as he afterward declared, although his friends rather doubted this from the fact that he could give no clear account of what he saw there.

When George found himself struggling in the water, he lost all heart. He could not swim, although he made a feeble attempt to do so as soon as he arose to the surface. He did not hear the uproar that arose on board the steamer, or the frantic orders to "stop her," which the mates shouted up at the captain, nor did he see the boy who plunged fearlessly into the river and swam to his assistance. But he felt his grasp, and resigning himself entirely to the boy's control, he was towed safely to the shore. His rescuer was Bob Owens. He told the young pilot something of his plans while they were changing their wet clothes for dry ones, and it was through him that Bob was induced to abandon, for the present, his idea of becoming a hunter. The two boys became fast friends, and their friendship lasted until they got into trouble that tested Bob's a little too severely.