“I’ll be safe over it in two minutes more, for there is water enough where I am going,” replied George, who wished the captain would mind his own business and let him give the whole of his attention to steering the boat.
“Nine feet!” shouted the watchman.
“Stop her!” commanded the captain.
“No need of it, sir, for we are over now,” said George; and so it proved, for the next word was, “no bottom.” George rang the bell to show that he was done with the lead, and the captain continued:
“The snag the Barleycorn picked up is about here somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, two hundred yards above; and worse than that, a portion of the Barleycorn’s wreck lies right in the channel.”
“Well, you had better go down and tell Mr. Black to come up here. I’d rather trust him than you. I’ll take care of her until he comes,” said the captain, moving toward the wheel.
“I am able to take care of her myself,” replied the young pilot.
“But I don’t think it safe to trust you. This is my boat, and I’ve got considerable at stake. Give me the wheel.”
“I’d rather not do it, sir. Mr. Black told me particularly to give it into the hands of nobody except himself or Mr. Scanlan.”